Chapter Text
Prologue
Florence, Italy. August 24th, 1555.
“Please spare my children.”
Guiseppe knelt on the polished brown and cream tiles of the floor in t he empty sanctuary, gazing up at the carved and painted wooden figure of the messiah on the cross, the wounds of red paint a garish contrast against the shiny pale flesh.
He bowed his head and continued his prayer, keeping his voice low in deference to the silence of the place, though he’d prefer to shout at the unfairness of heaven.
“ M aso has already rejoined you in heaven along with my sweet Aria ,” he pleaded. “And I am only growing older, let me keep what remains of my family .”
He paused, unsure of what to add. Did the priest not tell them that God was all knowing? Guiseppe uttered the final words of the prayer invoking the three aspects of the divine, then stood. From behind the door to the right of the altar the sound of a hacking cough, faint through the wood, reached his ears. Perhaps one of the priests had taken ill.
Guiseppe turned to leave, and saw that he wasn’t alone. A dark figure stood a wordless vigil near the exit. The man wore black robes and the long black mas k of a plague doctor. Not the sort of person Guiseppe would have expected in the church outside of mass, but perhaps the good doctor also needed divine intervention in these plague-ridden times.
As Guiseppe approached those staring, dark lenses of the mask, a vague sense of unease came over him. But why should he be afraid of a man devoted to healing the sick? He forced his feet to carry him forward to the exit, determined to ignore the ominous, bird-beaked stranger.
“I see you praying,” the doctor said, his voice raspy and indistinct, “fruitlessly hoping to prevent the inevitable, but wouldn’t you rather spend what time you have with those you love?”
A shiver ran down Guiseppe’s spine.
“Who are you? How did you know?” he demanded. Prayers were a private matter between him and God.
“You know who I am.
I have visited your house twice this year,
a week apart
.
”
Guiseppe was certain he’d never
seen
this man before, but his presence was uncomfortable in its familiarity. No, it couldn’t be.
Another fit of coughing came from the closed door, long and harsh. The bird mask turned to the sound. “I am here to see the priest,
not you. But it would be a shame to waste your time here when you could be with
those
soon departed.”
Guiseppe backed away in horror. He did indeed recognize this man for who he was. For what he was.
Those terrible words sank in and Guiseppe fled the church, no longer a place of spiritual comfort. His feet pounded against the basalt cobblestones as he rushed home.
His house was tasteful , speaking of his success as a cloth merchant before the latest plague had come to Florence . A courtyard shielded his home from the noise and bustle of the street, within a garden of blushing pink roses, the honey scent in the whorls of petals filling the air as each summer blended to autumn . Beyond, the stuccoed wall formed an imposing front, with narrow twisting pillars supporting the modest, unembellished pediment above the main doorway.
Guiseppe grasped the iron handle of the door, flung it wide in his urgency to make sure that everything was right. Perhaps he’d been wrong about the stranger in the church. Just another lunatic with too much imagination, or a sadistic inclination to frighten people who’d rather be left alone in their worship. It could have only been a lucky guess. Did the man know him from somewhere, heard some gossip in the market about the deaths of his wife and child?
Inside, the house had few pieces of furniture. When the plague came to the city, his business had dried up. No matter, he’d been poor before, but he couldn’t help wishing that he’d packed up his family and fled at the first sign of disease instead of insisting on staying where his customers were. His wife and children were too high a price to pay for continued financial security. Once people realized that cloth could harbor the disease, his customers had vanished and he’d been forced to sell off most of the furnishings to keep them fed.
Ordinarily, he would have found the children outside playing under the watchful eye of their mother. Since her death they’d been allowed to run wild in the streets, but something told him to look upstairs.
Guiseppe climbed the steps two at a time and rushed to the room at the end of the hall, where he could hear a weak groan through the cracked door. He found his son, a boy of ten, tangled in the sweat-soaked bedding. His face and arms were covered in little egg-shaped, flat blisters—the telltale sign of smallpox.
Sinking to his knees beside the bed, Guiseppe reached out a tentative hand to Nevio’s forehead, confirming what the sheen of sweat on his brow already told him.
“My boy,” Guiseppe murmured, blinking back the tears in his eyes as he drew the child closer to hold in his arms.
“Papa,” Nevio said, “I don’t feel well.”
“It will be alright,” Guiseppe said at last, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sudden inspiration. “I know how to make you well again.”
***
Guiseppe made his way through the darkened streets to the droning hum of the nighttime insects. No lamps were lit, and even the city guards didn’t venture so far from the center at this black hour. The moon’s silver glow was the only light for him to see by as he drew his cloak closer against the chill air.
Soon the cobblestones gave way to the bare dirt road with deep ruts worn by the passage of wagons traveling into the city, and Guiseppe came to where two roads intersected, a place between places. And he waited for midnight, not knowing what to expect. Did he need to speak a magical phrase of summoning, or would his intentions be enough?
The moon rose higher, illuminating waist-high grass on either side of the roads that bent in the breeze.
Then the insects fell silent and the air stilled.
A rumbling like the low growl of huge, unnatural beast disturbed the quiet, and Guiseppe could see the pale shape with lanterns for eyes approaching, far too fast for him to outrun if he’d changed his mind. He trembled, but stood his ground. There was no other way.
It rolled to a stop in front of him, less like a wagon than a boat on wheels as there were no hell-borne beasts of burden to pull it. A shield made of the clearest glass he’d ever seen perched in front of the rider, who appeared as a man like him, but with a far more handsome face beneath golden curls that would be the envy of any painter’s model. But Guiseppe was not fooled. There was no mistaking this entity for a mortal man. This was Lucifer himself, if the stories were to be believed.
The devil had an object that appeared as a stick as thick as Guiseppe’s thumb, with an orange glowing tip wedged between his lips. He took it out, held it between his fingers, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. The distinct scent of that pipe weed that had come over from the new world in recent years wafted toward Guiseppe.
“Hello, Guiseppe,” Lucifer said. “I understand you wish to make a bargain. You must know that I accept one currency and it must be given freely.”
Guiseppe swallowed, then nodded.
“I understand, your Highness, and I offer it of my own will.” How did one properly address the ruler of Hell?
The devil seemed taken aback.
“You’re polite,” he said. “I like that. Get in. I’ll give you a ride home and we can talk.” He gestured at the door on the side of that unearthly conveyance and Guiseppe did as he was told, sinking into the luxurious interior.
They sped along the road, flying past fields of waving grain and the darkened city streets with preternatural speed. Moments later, they were in front of Guiseppe’s own home. The devil turned the key behind the wheel and the rumbling purr died.
“What is it you desire?” Lucifer asked. “Power? Wealth?”
“My son is sick with the plague currently afflicting the city,” Guiseppe explained. “All I wish is for my children to be well—my wife died a week after birthing a stillborn child. There was no baptism. I wish you to release the baby from your realm.”
Lucifer paused, perhaps to consider his request. He gestured at the roses beyond the gate.
“Those are nice,” he said. “Do you tend them yourself, or did you hire a gardener?”
Guiseppe’s features twisted in stunned confusion, then he answered. “Roses are a passion of mine, I care for them myself.”
The devil smiled and nodded understanding.
When he spoke next, an electric buzz filled the air, as if it were merely his words remaking reality and bending the hands of fate itself.
“As you wish, Guiseppe. Your son and your daughter will know no more illness. The soul of your stillborn offspring will be delivered to purgatory and when it is your time to die, I will return to collect you in exchange.”
With the deal struck, the devil and his carriage vanished, leaving behind only the faintest whiff of tobacco and sulfur.
Guiseppe made his way through his front door, his heart heavy. Everyone knew that the fallen one was a deceiver, and would find a way to follow the letter of the contract while violating its intention. He lit a stub of a candle in its holder next to the door, then crept up the stairs and down the hall to his son’s room.
The boy slept undisturbed, his skin perfectly clear and free of any blemish. Guiseppe extinguished his candle, and returned to his own bed by feel in the dark.
***
Lucifer had kept his word through all the long years of Guiseppe’s life, and neither of his children ever got sick again. Even age had not touched them, while Guiseppe grew withered and gray. But he was satisfied with the bargain as he lay on his deathbed a very old man. He’d seen his great-granddaughter’s wedding, and he had nothing more to ask for. Finally, he closed his eyes forever...
...and opened them again at the crossroad. The devil and his car—Guiseppe knew this without knowing how he knew—already waited for him.
“Hop inside,” Lucifer said, puffing on his cigar. “I have a job for you.”
“A job?” Guiseppe asked, surprised. “I thought you only tormented souls. Am I to serve as a temptation to other mortals?”
“Nothing like that.” The devil waved his hand through trailing smoke. “No, I have something much more suited to your talents.”
He started up the engine and drove away to disappear, taking Guiseppe from the Earth forever.