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“What?”
“They’ve got crossbows too. Where do you think we got the idea?”
“Same wood?”
“Of course. They handle it with special gloves.”
“Why?”
“Why kill him? Same line of thought. If he flips, things get thrown off balance. Order is important for them, too, you know. Mortals are the same way, you may have noticed. You all need order. Throw things off and you go crazy. That’s why you’ll put up wit
h despots—even choose them over more benign and loving leaders—just so you don’t have to worry. Disorder makes for a lot of worry, Anthony.”
“You already knew it?”
“Knew what?”
“That I wouldn’t do it and the Jesuits would instead.”
“Yes.”
“Then why send me?”
Again the look, the sigh. “Ah. Think hard.”
I do, and, miracle of miracles, I see it.
“Giovanna is free now,” I say.
“Yes. Frank, bless his immortal soul—which God has indeed agreed to do—is gone in flesh.”
“So He wants me to hook up with her?”
The angel nods. “Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll love you—really love you, innocent that you are—just the way she loved him.”
“That’s it?”
“Not exactly… Because she’ll love you, you’ll have to stop. You’ll have to stop killing people, Anthony. It’s just not right.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Don’t think so.”
“But you will—because, whether you know it yet or not, you love her, too.” What do you say to that?
The angel’s gotten up, straightened his red Zegna, picked up the case, and is ready to leave.
“By the way,” he adds, “He says He forgives you anyway.”
I nod, tired as hell. “I figured that.”
“You’re catching on.”
