As the wind dies down and the ground starts to take shape beneath us, I squint against the rush of air, looking around. “Elene... are we in Italy now?”
“I don’t know you are the one with the cell phone”
“Yeah… but in the middle of the way it flew away…”
“Hmph” Elene hums with some concern in her tone.
She scans the horizon, her eyes narrowed. I can tell she's just as unsure as I am. But the look she gives me tells me that neither of us really knows what’s going on. After a pause, she shrugs with a smirk. “Not sure, but we’ll find out soon enough.”
We glide down, landing softly in a quieter part of the city. As we touch the cobbled streets, I can’t help but take in the strange, ancient vibe of the place. Narrow alleys lead to bustling squares, and the air smells of fresh coffee and baked goods. The buildings are a mix of old stone and elegant Renaissance facades, their pastel colors muted in the late afternoon sunlight.
People bustle around, speaking in hurried tones, carrying bags, gesturing with enthusiasm. I glance at Elene. “Do you think we can ask someone?”
Elene gives me a sly smile. “Watch and learn.”
We approach a local vendor on the corner—a man arranging fresh fruit in a stall. I step forward and ask in English, “Excuse me, could you tell us where we are?”
He stares at me for a moment, confusion crossing his face. Then, with a soft chuckle, he replies in rapid Italian, “Non parlate italiano?” (You don’t speak Italian?)
I turn to Elene, hoping she’ll have a clue. She steps in with a calm, confident grin and effortlessly switches to fluent Italian. “Siamo appena arrivati, e vogliamo sapere dove siamo. È questa Fiumicino?” (We’ve just arrived, and we need to know where we are. Is this Fiumicino?)
The vendor nods enthusiastically, pointing down the street. “Sì, siamo in Fiumicino! Benvenuti!” (Yes, you’re in Fiumicino! Welcome!)
"You speak Italian?" I ask, a little startled by how effortlessly she converses.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, clearly amused by my reaction. "I’m a demon, remember? I pick up languages fast."
Then I straighten up, giving her a pointed look. "Good, but Elene, listen. We’re in unfamiliar territory here. Please, for the love of everything holy—or unholy in your case—don’t draw attention to us."
"Draw attention?" She tilts her head, a genuine flicker of confusion crossing her face. "Elysia, I am attention. It's not like I can switch it off."
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What I’m trying to say is—"
She cuts me off with a laugh, raising a hand to stop me. "Relax. I’ll behave. Well... mostly. Just don’t expect me too much, okay?"
"Good enough," I say with a resigned nod, already sensing this promise will probably last all of five minutes. Still, her response puts me at ease for the moment as we press onward into the city.
We continue walking down the cobbled streets, the scent of fresh pastries mingling with the clink of wine glasses. The air is filled with soft chatter and laughter, echoing through the narrow alleys. The city blends the old and the new—ancient streets lined with modern cafes, quaint shops, and weathered buildings that have stood for centuries. There’s an undeniable charm to it all.
Everywhere we look, there’s history. The stone buildings, their faded, colorful facades draped with ivy, and the little markets selling everything from handcrafted leather goods to freshly caught seafood. It feels alive, but with a calmness to it—no rush, just a relaxed hum of everyday life.
“This place... it’s beautiful,” I say, my voice filled with awe.
My stomach growls loudly as I walk down the charming streets of Fiumicino, a reminder that I haven’t eaten in who knows how long. I glance at Elene, who's busy scanning the area.
"Alright, so... food," I say, rubbing my stomach. "I could really use something to eat."
She gives me that teasing smile of hers. "I know, I could tell. “
I roll my eyes and dig through my pocket, pulling out a few crumpled dollars. I hand them over to her. "Here, go buy us something. I’m not exactly in the mood for bargaining with anyone in Italian."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You’ve got dollars. We’re in Italy. You know that’s not going to work, right?" She winks at me, taking the money anyway. "Don’t worry, leave it to me."
I watch as she struts up to a street-side vendor selling panini and pastries, oozing confidence. Without missing a beat, she greets him in smooth, seductive Italian, "Ciao, bello. Vorremmo due panini e qualche dolce, per favore?" (Hello, handsome. We’d like two sandwiches and some sweets, please.)
The vendor, a burly man in his mid-forties, blinks twice before grinning widely. "For you, bella, anything." He hands over the food with a wink, and Elene tosses him the dollars with a flourish. Just like that, we’ve got lunch.
I stand there, wide-eyed. "I’ll never get used to how you do that."
Elene shrugs nonchalantly, the food in hand. "It’s a gift." She hands me my sandwich, and we find a bench to sit on. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, melted cheese, and herbs, making my mouth water as I take a bite.
I devour the panino, the flavors richer than anything I’ve had in a long time. After a few bites, I reach for the tiny espresso Elene had ordered for herself. "You know, I’ve always heard Italians have the best coffee," I muse, eyeing the tiny cup with interest. "Let’s see if it’s true."
Before I can even take a sip, a stern-looking man sitting at a nearby table suddenly smacks my hand away from the cup. He says something rapidly in Italian, his tone sharp and disapproving. I freeze, eyes wide, glancing between the man and Elene in confusion. I have no clue what he just said, but the irritation in his voice is clear enough.
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"What?" I ask, glancing at Elene, hoping she can make sense of it.
Elene chuckles, her lips curling into a smile. “He’s right, though. You don’t rush an espresso. It's sacred here. And, apparently, you’ve just broken one of Italy’s most sacred rules.”
The vendor from earlier, who has been watching us, laughs loudly. "Ah, imparerai! La prossima volta, lascia che il tuo amico bellissimo ti insegni come si beve un vero caffè!" ("Ah, you’ll learn! Next time, let your beautiful friend teach you how to drink real coffee!")
I groan, slumping into my seat, still unsure of what exactly just happened but feeling completely out of place. "I’ll stick to panini and leave the espresso to the pros."
Elene leans back, savoring her espresso the right way, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "It’s all part of the experience, Elysia."
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After finishing our meal, the reality of why we’re here comes crashing back to me.
"Now that we’re full, we have to search for Maria," I say, determination rising in my chest.
Elene sighs, leaning back against the bench. “Huh, but what’s wrong with you? We’re in Italy—shouldn’t you be more excited? We still have time”
“We’re not here to take vacations,” I snap, the weight of our task pressing on me. The word “vacation” sets off a sudden, sinking realization.
“Work…” I whisper, my eyes widening in horror.
Elene tilts her head with an amused smirk. “Oh yeah, we have work today, don’t we?” she giggles.
“We have work! I’m going to get fired again!” I wail, throwing a full-blown tantrum, the kind I never thought myself capable of.
Elene chuckles, unfazed, and pats my shoulder like she’s comforting a child. “Don’t worry. When we’re back, I can help you get your job back.”
“Seriously?” My despair gives way to a glimmer of hope.
“But… wasn’t your boss immune to my eyes last time?” she adds, her brow furrowing in confusion.
My fleeting joy evaporates, replaced by soul-crushing despair. I slump over, clutching my head. “Oh, I’m doomed…”
“Elysia!” Elene grabs my shoulders and shakes me with surprising force for someone of her size. It feels like she’s rattling my soul free from my body. “If we’re here, it’s for Maria, right? You didn’t hesitate to come to help her. So don’t you dare regret it.”
Her words hit me harder than her shake, and I blink up at her, stunned. There’s a fierce sincerity in her expression, and for a moment, she seems so much more mature than the carefree demon I’m used to. A tear wells up in my eye—pride, maybe. She’s growing so much.
She raises an eyebrow. “Uh, why are you crying? Did I shake you too hard?”
I hastily wipe my face, sniffling. “No, it’s nothing.”
She sighed " Let's go to find Maria... but stop crying."
Elene is right. We’re here now, and Maria needs us. Consequences can wait.
----------------------------------------
The night stretches on, and with each passing minute, the streets of Fiumicino seem to close in around us. The quiet hum of the talisman grows louder. My heart races as the path ahead feels more and more like a crossing of fates.
“Elysia, it’s getting stronger. I can feel it. We’re getting closer to Maria.”
As we move I can see her step up her pace, her eyes scanning the shadows. I follow closely behind, the city’s winding alleys becoming more deserted as the night deepens. Then, without warning, five men materialize from the darkness, stepping into a corner of a house.
Their presence is overwhelming, each of them exuding an air of quiet authority. The leader, a tall man in his forties, steps forward first. His features are sharp and defined, with dark eyes that seem to pierce right through us, and his cassock flutters slightly in the cool breeze. His dark hair is beginning to gray at the temples, but his posture remains rigid and commanding. His cross gleams under the streetlight, the symbol of his faith and his mission.
“Non dovreste essere qui,” he says smoothly, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. (You shouldn’t be here.)
I glance at Elene, uncertain of what’s happening, but she steps forward as if she’s heard that phrase a thousand times before, her voice calm and confident. “I’m not here for your approval, padre,” she says, her tone smooth, yet unwavering. “I’m here for a reason.”
The man’s lips curl into a slight smirk, eyes still fixed on her, before he introduces himself. “Padre Charles Bellini,” he says with a bit of a theatrical pause. “E voi chi siete?” ("and you are?”)
Elene’s reply is quick and direct. “Not someone you want to mess with.”
I step forward joining in the conversation before screw it even worse.
"Ah... Excuse me!" I blurt out, stepping forward with both hands raised in a gesture of surrender.
"I don’t understand what you’re saying! We’re just foreigners, that’s all," I add, my voice a mix of desperation and awkward politeness. Pointing at Elene, who’s glaring daggers at the group of exorcists, I continue, “My friend here… well… she forgot to take her rabies vaccine as a kid. That’s why she’s so… aggressive. Please forgive her!”
To add emphasis, I lower my head, trying to look as apologetic as humanly possible. If they sense my panic, I hope they mistake it for politeness.
The leader takes a short moment to study Elene, and then his gaze shifts to me. There’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he examines my appearance, but he says nothing about it. However, I catch the sharp look of suspicion in his gaze, as if he senses something off about me—something he can’t quite place.
Before I can gather my thoughts, one of the exorcists behind him—tall, broad-shouldered, and brimming with impatience—steps forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon, his eyes narrowed in a threat that’s all too clear.
“Padre we have a loose mouth here and her pawn” the exorcist talks
The other man beside him, a younger one with a scar above his eyebrow, steps forward, his hands twitching as if itching to act. “Venga!” (Come on!) he growls under his breath, visibly prepared to fight.
"I will make sure both of you learn burn with the power of the holy word" the exorcist with the scar talks with a tone of excitement.
The air feels thick with tension, the exorcists ready to spring into action. But Father Charles, without so much as a flicker of fear, raises a hand to stop them. His voice is calm, almost bored as he addresses the others.
“Basta!” (Enough!) he commands sharply, turning his attention back to the men behind him. His eyes never leave them as he adds, “You’re all too novizi (novices) to notice such a simple illusion.”
The four exorcists stop in their tracks, confusion washing over their faces. Father Charles, still impassive, looks back at me and Elene, his gaze softening just slightly but never losing its sharp edge. “ The supposed man next to the demon is actually a girl, you morons.”
The father sighs in disappointment of his colleagues .
There’s a moment of silence as the other exorcists exchange wary glances, clearly uncertain of what they’ve missed. But they fall back into line, obedient and silent as Father Charles steps forward, now fully addressing Elene and me.
“You’ve been through a lot to get here,” he observes, his tone light but knowing. “I hate to be the one to do this, but do not take it personal.” He lowers from the house roof and approaches us slowly, smiling showing us that he is confident.
I glance at Elene, who, to my surprise, doesn’t seem fazed by this. But I know there’s something more to this than just a simple warning.
“We’re not leaving,” she says firmly.
“ Good… Better for me.”
He smiles, I do not know what is going to happen.