Work Text:
The Ministry vestry at 3:00 AM felt like the inside of a ribcage, vaulted, cold and smelling of ancient dust and expensive detergent. Copia was currently pressed against the heavy oak doors, his ears straining for the rhythmic thud thud thud of Secondo’s late night patrol boots.
“Perpetua, please,” Copia hissed into the dark, his voice a frantic tremble. “If he catches us, he won’t just bury us in the South Gardens, he’ll make a spectacle of it. He is already annoyed that I forgot to sign the incense requisition forms.”
Pereptua didn’t answer with words. Instead, a single, sharp snip of tailor’s shears echoed from the center of the room. He was hunched over a dressmaker’s dummy that held Copia’s new Cardinal’s cassock. The garment was violent, screaming red, a color that seemed to offend the very shadows around it.
“He wants you to be a brick in his wall, Copia,” Perpetua murmured, not looking up. He had a needle tucked behind his ear, and a silver thimble on his finger that caught the moonlight like a predatory eye. “A very bright, very stationary brick. I am merely… adding a bit of mortar.”
Copia finally moved, he crept closer, his red socks muffled on the stone floor. “What are you doing to the hem? That’s silk! Hand woven by the Sisters in Italy. If there is a snag the head seamstress will have my head.”
Perpetua let out a soft, feline huff of amusement. He pulled a length of dark, charcoal grey thread through the vibrant red fabric. “I’m adding a weighted lining. It will make the fabric drape with more… authority. When you walk, it won’t swish like a vulgar curtain, it will flow like blood. Secondo leads with a scowl, but you? You’ll lead with a silhouette.”
He paused, glancing up at his twin. “And I’ve added the snack ducts as promised.”
Copia’s eyes went wide. He reached out and felt the inner lining of the deep sleeves. His fingers found a perfectly hidden, velvet lined pocket, just large enough for three biscotti and a stolen clementine.
“Oh, Pet… it’s perfect,” Copia whispered, his theatrical panic momentarily replaced by genuine awe. “I can hide the evidence of my stress.”
“Exactly. A Cardinal with low blood sugar is a Cardinal who makes mistakes,” Perpetua said, moving his needle with terrifying speed.
Suddenly, the peaceful silence was broken. A heavy, metallic clack echoed from the floor above. The sound of a master key turning in a lock.
The twins froze in unison, a symmetrical terror that only siblings could achieve.
“The Nero,” Copia breathed, his facing turning the color of a communion wafer. “He’s early. He’s checking the locks. Perpetua, the window, we have to go!”
“Not yet," Perpertua hissed, his eyes narrowing. “The feather. I haven’t set the feather.”
With the sound of Secondo’s boots beginning their slow, rhythmic descent down the spiral staircase, Perpetua lunged for the collar of the robe. He produced a tiny, antique silver charm, a raven’s feather, and began to stitch it into the nape of the neck with a frantic, rhythmic intensity.
Thud Thud Thud.
The boots were at the beginning of the hall. Copia was practically vibrating out of his skin. His hands hovering over the sewing kit as if he could magically make it disappear.
“He’s going to see the thread! He’s going to see the snips!”
“Silence, you dramatic pigeon,” Perpetua growled, biting the thread off with a sharp snap.
He didn’t run for the window. Instead, he grabbed a discarded black shawl from a nearby dummy, and threw it over the mannequin. He shoved Copia into the deep, velvet curtained alcove where the ceremonial stoles were kept.
The heavy doors groaned open.
Secondo stepped into the room. He didn’t turn on the light, held a single, high powered flashlight that cut through the dark like a blade. He panned it across the room, the beam dancing over the headless mannequins. It lingered for a terrifying second on the lump of the Cardinal’s robe, now shrouded in black.
Secondo let out a loud, weary sigh, the sound of a man who was tired of his own authority. He walked over to the mannequin, his gloved hand reaching out.
Inside the alcove, Copia was holding his breath so hard his vision was starting to spot. Perpetua was pressed against his back, as still as a shadow, his hand resting lightly on Copia’s shoulder to keep him grounded.
Secondo’s hand stopped an inch from the fabric. He seemed to sniff the air, detecting a scent that didn’t belong, citrus.
“I know you’re in here,” Secondo’s voice was a low, vibrating growl that made the velvet curtain shiver. “I can hear the sound of your heartbeats. It’s like the anthem for the incompetent.”
He waited. The twins didn’t move. A minute passed, the longest minute of Copia’s life.
“Fine,” Secondo muttered to himself. “Enjoy the dust. If you aren’t at the 6:00 AM matins, I’m locking the kitchens for a week.”
He turned and strode out, the heavy oak doors thudding shut behind him. The click of the lock sounded like a guillotine.
Copia collapsed against Perpetua, gasping for air. “He knew! He knew and he just… left. Oh Hells, he is going to do something, I can feel it.”
Perpetua stepped out of the shadows, his face pale but his smirk firmly back in place. He walked over to the mannequin and pulled the black shawl away, revealing the red robe and the perfectly hidden silver feather at the neck.
“He doesn’t know everything,” Perpetua said, patting the velvet pocket where the biscotti would soon live. “He thinks he’s the only one with secrets in this Ministry. But he’s forgotten one thing.”
“What’s that?” Copia asked, moving a stray hair back into place.
Perpetua looked at the door, then back to his twin with a wicked, feline grin. “He’s a collector of the past. We’re the ones who are actually going to have to live in the future. And a future with hidden snacks is a future worth having.”
Outside the vestry, Secondo stood in the shadows of the corridor, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the heavy oak doors. He was a man of patience. He knew his brothers, he knew the rhythmic breathing of Copia, he couldn’t be silent if his life depended on it. And where there was Copia, his shadow was always following. He would wait. He would catch them slinking out like scolded hounds, and he would enjoy the lecture that followed.
Ten minutes passed. Twenty.
Inside the room, there was nothing but silence and cloth.
What Secondo had forgotten was that the vestry sat on the ground floor, and the latch on the stained glass window was notoriously temperamental. By the time he finally lost his patience and stormed the room, the twins were already a blur of red and black crossing the moonlit lawn, their feet silent on the grass.
The next morning, the cathedral was filled with the low, drone like chanting of the Ghouls. The air was thick enough with frankincense to choke a horse. Sister Imperator sat in her high pew, her sharp eyes scanning her sons as they filed in.
Copia entered last.
He didn’t shuffle. He didn’t look at his feet. He walked with a newfound, fluid weight. The Cardinal’s red cassock, usually stiff and awkward, seemed to move with him, draping in heavy, authoritative folds that caught the light of the candles. He looked, for the first time, like he belonged in the fabric.
Behind him, Perpetua followed, looking impossibly refreshed for a man who had spent his night playing tailor. He caught sight of Secondo’s eyes, a brief, lightning fast glance, and offered a slow, feline blink.
Secondo was standing by the altar, his jaw tight enough to snap a bone. He looked at Copia’s collar, then at his sleeves, searching for the crime he knew had been committed. He could see the way the fabric hung, it was too perfect. It was too… intentional.
As they took their places, the family stood in a rigid line.
Secondo leaned down towards Copia. “You were late to the vestry this morning, Cardinal. I assume you found the window easier to manage than the door?” His voice was a barely audible hiss over the chanting.
He didn’t flinch. Instead he reached into his sleeve, his fingers brushing the hidden velvet pocket where a single, smuggled biscotti lay waiting for later. He felt the silver feather against his neck, a cold secret anchor.
“The morning air was simply too beautiful to miss, Brother. And the robes… They fit much better today. Don’t you think?”
Secondo’s gaze dropped to Copia’s neck. He couldn’t see the charm, but he saw the way Copia held his head, high, defiant and strangely calm.
Perpetua was on Copia’s other side, he grinned, it was all teeth. “It’s all in the lining, Secondo. Some things are just weighted differently than others.” He whispered.
“Silence.” Came their Mother’s icy voice from the pew behind them.
As the chanting swelled, Secondo turned back to the altar, fuming. He knew he’d been beaten, even if he couldn’t prove how. He had the keys, he had the law, and he had the fear, but the twins had the shadows, and apparently, a better tailor.
Copia closed his eyes, the hidden silver feather a tiny, secret tickle against his skin. For the first time, the loud red of the Cardinal didn’t feel like a cage. It felt like a disguise.