And much sadder.
“I’ve been watching you,” she began. “And the other sisters have been telling me about you. They say you’re a good man even if they struggle to figure you out. You look after the sick, and apparently you made little Clara very happy, God rest her poor soul.” Greta looked at the dead girl with pity and brushed her hand over Clara’s face, closing her eyes for good. “Now the worst is behind her and she’s in a better place.”
“I knew she would die,” said Johann. “And so did you, am I right? The black wings . . . That’s how we found you. You ought to be more careful with your gift, Greta.”
“I am careful. Death can also come as a relief, as suffering finally coming to an end. I give people certainty, but only when they really want to know. You can use this gift for good or bad, and I decided to use it for good.” Greta was still looking at the pale, silent child, but suddenly she turned and looked straight at Johann. Her voice was low and decisive. “But I know you’re not good, Johann Georg Faustus. You are merely acting, just like you have always acted. Your heart is as black as the walls of hell.”
Johann swallowed heavily. “Greta, what happened at Tiffauges—that wasn’t me. I was drugged—”
“I know. Karl told me.”
“Karl?” Johann looked up with surprise. “You’ve been speaking with Karl?”
“Yes, we have met several times since you first came here. And I know why you came to Rome. But I will never go with you. Never! My new home is here—a home like you were never able to give me.”
It hurt Johann a little to hear that Greta had been meeting Karl.
“I can understand you, Greta. All that has happened can’t be undone. I only want . . .” He paused. “I just want you to not think of me as evil. Because I’m not.”
“Oh yes, you are.” Greta narrowed her eyes. “Lahnstein told me everything.”
“Lahnstein?” Johann’s knees suddenly felt weak. “You . . . you meet with the papal representative?”
Greta nodded grimly. “Over the last two years, he has been more of a father to me than you ever were. Yes, we used to think Lahnstein was our enemy. But it isn’t true. The enemy is you.” From beneath her habit she pulled a key ring that hung on a thin leather string around her neck. “Do you see this? Those are the keys to a whole lot of chambers in Castel Sant’Angelo. Viktor von Lahnstein trusts me, and I see him regularly for confession. He led me onto the right path and told me all about you. You are in cahoots with Tonio—with the devil himself. You are but a devil yourself, even if you don’t want to know. And I won’t allow my child to fall into your hands.”
Johann froze. Everything around him suddenly turned blurry.
“Child?” he breathed. “You . . . you have a child?”
Greta frowned. “Karl hasn’t told you? I wasn’t planning on telling him, but he sensed there was something else. He remembered that I said something along those lines when we’d said goodbye.”
Johann felt jealousy flare up again. But he pulled himself together. “Go on,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Yes, I have a child, and he is John’s son. Little Sebastian is nearly two years old now, and he is growing up somewhere safe. He is doing very well.”
Johann closed his eyes. Not only had he taken the man she loved from Greta, but also the father of her child. No wonder she hated him so.
“Where . . . where is your son?” he asked eventually. “Why isn’t he with you? Or did you give him to the foundling house?”
“Why do you think he isn’t here?” Greta gave a small laugh. “I am leading the life of a nun. I have so much to atone for, do you understand? As much as I try to forget it, I am still your daughter. The daughter of a sorcerer and devil worshipper, cursed with your gifts. Your bad blood flows through my veins, too.” She made the sign of the cross. “I don’t want my son to grow up like this. I visit him several times a week. In the beginning it was hard to not see him more often, but now I know that it is for the best. He is better off there than here among all the suffering, and better off than at the foundling house, too.”
“Where is he, Greta?” urged Johann. “Where?”
“Where do you think?” Greta smiled thinly, and her next words stabbed Johann right in the heart.
“Your grandson is where he is safest from you, at Castel Sant’Angelo. And Viktor von Lahnstein does everything in his power to keep him safe.”
23
THE DOOR CRASHED OPEN AND JOHANN STORMED INTO THE small, shabby attic room. Karl looked up, startled. He had been sitting by the window, working on the silhouette of the city in the autumn fog, but now his hand had jerked and an ugly black streak went right across the page.
“You knew!”
“I knew what?”
Johann glowered at him furiously. His whole body was quivering, and he seemed poised to strike Karl. “You knew that Greta had a child by John Reed and that this child lives here in Rome. At Castel Sant’Angelo, with Lahnstein!”
Karl sighed and put the pen aside. “So she told you. I advised her against it. But it seems your daughter wants to hurt you.”
He had met up with Greta a few times at a tavern outside the monastery. As canoness, Greta was free to leave Santo Spirito whenever she wanted, but she hardly ever made use of that privilege. The hospital had become her home. Their conversations had been like those of siblings who hadn’t seen one another in
