MPBAGS Chapter 12

The idea that Evangeline Rohanson's ghost was hanging around was absurd enough to be almost funny.

Perhaps it was because of the strange story he'd heard before coming here. While gathering information about Evangeline Rohanson, he'd encountered a priest who claimed to have witnessed the dead Evangeline coming back to life.

Gabriel had checked the temple records, but there was no documentation of Evangeline's funeral. When he tracked down the priest who'd supposedly performed a belated funeral service, he found the man had hanged himself in his own home.

No suicide note, they said. By the time Gabriel arrived, the house had already been cleared out—no information to be gleaned. The neighbors only knew that the dead priest had been secretly giving sermons to the families of suicides, pocketing money behind the temple's back.

Gabriel climbed into the carriage with Raphaela. The wheels began rolling toward the Grand Temple.

"Where's Michel?"

"Still standing in front of that painting like his soul's been sucked out. I'm starting to worry he'll walk right into the canvas."

People's reactions to Jim Nofedi's painting split into two camps. Some, like Gabriel and Raphaela, found it ominous. The rest called it an angel and treated it as something sacred.

The knight who'd accompanied Gabriel to examine Donau Blue's body belonged to the latter group. He believed without a shred of doubt that Donau Blue was an angel, and now he stood blank-faced before Jim Nofedi's painting hanging in the temple.

A black canvas in a snow-white temple—impossible to miss. Even the worshippers who came to pray behaved as if their minds had been stripped away after seeing it. Gabriel and a few others had suggested removing the painting, but they'd been ignored.

To Gabriel, they looked no different from people possessed by a demon.

"Did you learn anything useful?"

"Useful..."

Still, he'd obtained a small hint from his conversation with Evangeline Rohanson. Evangeline hadn't taken Donau's corpse—only the paper with the sigil copied on it. The important thing wasn't Donau Blue but that sigil.

"Lady Rohanson looked at that pattern and called it a summoning circle."

"How did she know that?"

"Apparently it was originally hers. Donau Blue stole it."

"Really? Then what does it summon?"

Gabriel paused, recalling their earlier conversation.

"An angel, she said."

"An angel? Then the paper we found matches?"

Raphaela rubbed his arms as if goosebumps were crawling across his skin.

Donau's remains were currently stored in an urn in the temple vault. There'd been no need for cremation—the entire body had been so thoroughly burned that it crumbled at a touch. While collecting the bones, they'd discovered pieces of paper, pristine white and unburned.

How could scraps of paper survive when even bone had been incinerated? It was just like Evangeline, who'd supposedly escaped from fire without a single smudge of soot on her.

They'd pieced together the torn fragments like a puzzle, revealing the pattern Evangeline had called a summoning circle, along with text riddled with gaps. Most of the original writing was impossible to decipher with so many pieces missing, but one sentence—just one—had been perfectly restored.

Revere and worship. Welcome the angel of light who will descend to earth, walking the land.

"Looks like they're summoning an angel."

If that were true, then whatever was born from that ominous pattern would resemble Evangeline Rohanson. Too sinister to be called holy. Too cruel to be called merciful.

"Then is what people are saying true? That Donau Blue was blessed?"

"Hardly. First, we'll say Donau Blue was judged for trying to summon a demon and offer sacrifices. And let's keep what we know about that paper between us."

Raphaela nodded at his words. If the problem lay with the pattern rather than Donau Blue, dealing with that painting alone might move things forward.

A summoning circle... He'd heard of something similar before.

Summoning circles that called forth something to grant wishes—there'd been a wave of such occultry around ten years ago. Or was it longer? Gabriel had been young enough that the timeline blurred. Twenty years ago, maybe, when they'd rounded up sorcerers and conducted a massive purge.

He'd need to visit the library when he got back and check the records from that period.

"Raphaela. Do you know anything about occult—"

He'd been about to ask if Raphaela knew anything when the carriage suddenly lurched sideways.

Screech.

The carriage swayed as if about to topple, barely managing to right itself and stop. Outside, they could hear the coachman trying to calm the panicked, rearing horse.

"Wh-what? Commander, are you all right?"

"Are you all right?"

Fortunately, the carriage had stabilized quickly enough that neither of them was hurt.

"Hey! I thought you said you could handle horses!"

"Sorry, so sorry! A cat jumped out in front of us—"

Raphaela threw open the carriage door and leaped out to protest. The coachman bent double, stammering apologies.

The coachman's face drained of color when he saw the passengers wearing swords. He was terrified they might retaliate for the near-accident. It was just a cat, not even a person—of course they'd scold him for not simply running it over.

But the coachman was extraordinarily lucky that Gabriel was the sort of person who'd rather get hurt himself than run someone down with a carriage. Anyone who'd watched a friend get crushed beneath carriage wheels as a child would probably think the same way.

"My subordinate and I are unharmed. It's fine."

Only after Gabriel reassured him did the coachman breathe a sigh of relief. When he finally lifted his head from his abject bowing, he seemed to recognize that the two were paladins. After spotting the sun god Rahel's emblem on Gabriel's clothing, the coachman privately praised the temple knights for being different from others.

Once Raphaela had climbed back in after receiving the apology, the carriage began moving forward again at a cautious pace.

"Commander, I think my heart fell out of my chest."

Raphaela was still making a fuss, apparently not yet recovered from the shock.

Gabriel listened to the whining and pondered. Was it just coincidence that the carriage had nearly overturned precisely when he'd brought up occultry?

Recently, rumors had been circulating in whispers about a strange holy painting that had been hung in the temple.

Some devout young lady had fainted upon seeing the painting and met the sun god in her dreams. The high priest had lavished praise and given a donation of thanks to the painter. The painting was a gatekeeper that filtered out non-believers.

From mouth to mouth, all manner of wild stories grew and traveled.

And those rumors stretched their long bodies all the way to a remote convent on the outskirts of the capital.

"When do you think Father Berga will be back?"

"Who knows? Why are you asking about him? I'd be happy if that perverted bastard never came back."

"Well, yeah, that's true. But he went to the Grand Temple, right? So he must've seen that holy painting. I'm just curious if the rumors are true."

"Don't be stupid. How could that be real? You're so naive."

The women in nun's habits who'd been sweeping and chattering among themselves caught sight of Daisy approaching from across the way and reduced their chatter, pretending to be proper.

"Good afternoon, Sister."

"May the sun's light always shine upon you, Sister."

Their words were polite enough, but they didn't so much as nod their heads toward Daisy. Daisy silently bowed her head in greeting, pretending not to notice. After she passed, she could hear them whispering again behind her.

"Poor thing. She's going to suffer the most when Father Berga gets back, isn't she?"

The nuns, thinking Daisy had moved far enough away, started laughing and joking among themselves again.

She needed to finish organizing the library today, but she was already running late. Daisy tried not to listen to the noise behind her and hurried her steps.

It had been three weeks since she'd fled the Rohanson estate and arrived at the convent.

Having escaped the monster borrowing Lady Evangeline's body and those eyes watching her, the world felt remarkably peaceful and calm.

Daisy's convent life wasn't as bad as she'd expected. True, she'd only recently arrived and was too shy to easily mix with others, so she was somewhat isolated—but it wasn't particularly uncomfortable.

The nuns who'd just greeted her were mostly children of noble families. People like that would serve God, but they'd never lower themselves to commoners. There'd been no chance of fitting in from the start, so it was best not to care.

"Hey, Daisy!"

Just as she was about to enter the library, someone urgently called her name from behind.

She turned to find one of the nuns from the group she'd just passed, breathing hard. Why would she call out when the only conversation they'd ever had consisted of formal greetings?

Daisy waited while the other woman carefully began, as if approaching fragile glass.

"I just heard—Father Berga's coming back today. So... if he calls for you tonight, don't go. You understand, right?"

So that's why she'd run over. Daisy was momentarily surprised by the unexpected kindness, then nodded.

"Thank you for telling me. I'll definitely refuse."

If this convent had one flaw in its otherwise tolerable existence, it was Father Berga.

Father Berga had a notorious reputation for his way with women. Rumors circulated that he harassed new arrivals at the convent, and from what Daisy had experienced, those rumors were true.

Holding her hand while pretending to encourage her, touching her shoulder. Staring at Daisy with that lingering gaze. Yes. That was the problem. The way he looked at her. Daisy had become hypersensitive to eyes watching her—there was no way she'd miss it.

Since Father Berga could send someone to her room, it would be better to spend the night here in the library, organizing it as an excuse.

And the clock's hand turned. Already 2 o'clock. Checking the clock on the library wall, Daisy decided it was safe to return now and stood up.

Then she drew in a sharp breath at the sight of a man waiting outside her quarters like a sentry. Was he still waiting?

It wasn't Father Berga—it was one of the monks who clung to him like a sycophant.

"Sister. Did you enjoy your nighttime outing?"

"I lost track of time organizing the library. I'm tired, so I'll just go inside and rest now."

Daisy tried to open the door, but the monk pressed his hand against it from behind, blocking her.

"Before that, Father Berga asked me to relay a message. Why don't you hear it first?"