The monks kept asking Logar to show them how his powers worked.

I was starting to believe he didn't have any.

This young man, charming and handsome, with weird clothes and the defensive behaviour of someone who's just crawled out of a gutter, they wanted to make him the Messiah. 

They were going to eat him alive.

It was Christmas Eve. I'd spent the day wondering if the Power of Sight celebrated Christmas, and asked the Supreme. He told me that it was a Christian holiday, and our religion was the Vision. He told me if Logar Iris developed his powers on Christmas, then, yes, we would celebrate it.

I didn't have anything else to do, so I watched the Supreme and his men trying to get the Visionary to use his powers.

"Take off your robe," the Supreme told Logar. I diverted my eyes. He was naked underneath.

Logar was shivering, but he held his head up high and showed no sign of weakness. The Supreme took a whip, and I heard a cracking sound.

Before I had the chance to fully realize it, Logar Iris had been whipped, in front of me.

On Christmas. 

I couldn't let it happen.

I walked down the aisle, suddenly unashamed and uncaring that there was a naked man in front of me. Standing up for him was more important, and I was sure he would have agreed.

"Stop right there, anonymous recruit," the Supreme told me. "His powers need to manifest before it's too late. This is the right way to bring them out."

"Oh, why don't we ask The Anti?" Logar opened his arms, in frustration. He was totally shameless in regard of his naked body. "Let's ask him if he's been whipped, or hurt, or if some naughty monk stripped him to his underwear. I know I look like a little kid, but I'm not. I hope you're thouroughly disappointed with what you've just seen."

"Well," the Supreme avoided any implication. "I can't say the sight brings me any pleasure."

I made a choking sound. There was an awkward agreement between Logar and I -- he knew what it was, but he let me keep up pretenses.

"Please understand, recruit, that this is nothing personal. It's just because of the protocol we were given by the Prophet Michaim. The Visionary needs to manifest his powers, and fear and submission was one of the things that, according to the protocol, would bring out the best in him."

"His powers," I snarled. "Are not what's best in him!" 

I took a swing, and punched the Supreme right on the nose. It was a terrible blow, with blood spraying all around. I knew I would have been sent back home to my mother for that. A mother whom I hadn't seen in years. I didn't even know if she was still alive.

"Anonymous recruit, you are really walking a thin line..." the Supreme started saying, a hand cupped on his nose.

"His name," Logar snarled. "Is Jonath Cincinnati!"

He was about to punch the Supreme too, but the man took his fist in his hand and started gripping tight, as if to break his fingers. Logar was shaking, and looking almost like he was about to have a seizure.

"His powers," one of the monks said. "They're manifesting! Grip tighter!"

Logar's powers didn't look like they were about to manifest, to me. But he was naked, shivering and his fingers were about to be broken, so he played pretend he was having a full seizure.

"I... I see what's the next step!" he said, his eyes glassy and with a far-away expression. "Sveta. Of course. She's the Grenade, the heart of the team. Today is Christmas, an important holiday. We need to ask Sveta what we should do, as a team for Christmas!"

The Supreme looked surprised that Logar's powers had hatched just in time to plan some holiday fun, but thankfully he let go of his hand.

"Ask Sveta what to do for Christmas?" the monk repeated. "You mean that, after the heist, you're ready to go out again? And for the holidays, nonetheless?"

Logar nodded vigorously. "And Jonath Cincinnati must come with," he said. "The vision told me so."

I could already look through him. I understood he hadn't really had a vision, and was starting to feel afraid for our Messiah and everything the future would bring.

Still, I couldn't help but feel hurt that he'd decided to unmask me in public.

Half an hour later, we wore our holiday clothes. Of course, The Anti was there too. After the amnesia, I didn't like it very much when he was there.

"My little eyes of the future," he said, in his usual manic way. "I have decided silk clothes with fur coats for you, and I have accepted Sveta's proposition. You can choose to go to a charity event of your choosing."

I was beaming at him, and I recognized it must have looked as if he was my freaking father or something.

But I had the look in her eyes, I realized, Logar had when he talked to me about his father. It seemed the relationship between the two of them had been rough, but now that his father was dead, the Visionary was choosing to remember all the good things about him. I could understand that.

"I must admit that, at first, I thought it strange a group of rebels wanted to give a charity party," The Anti added. "But then Sveta explained very kindly to me that, to seem approachable to the people, you have to show all of your sides. The extraordinary ones, and the human ones."

"Of course," he chuckled. "She didn't explain it that well -- poor girl, she barely went to school. I merely summarized it for you."

I blushed. Both Percie and Logar looked angry. Ane, instead, looked a little puzzled.

On the van, I asked Logar countless times whether it was true that Logar's vision showed that Jonathan would have to come along. I spaced out the other conversations because they were about politics. Something about how the charity event was at the President's house, to show that we had nothing against him, even after the heist. I wondered how it worked, and why we even bothered. Wouldn't The Anti just make us do whatever he told us to?

At some point, Logar said, "Have you ever asked yourself what it was like before? And I mean, I don't know, twenty, thirty years ago. We don't get taught that at school. Have you ever asked one of your parents?"

That caught my attention. I suddenly became curious. "My mother was not one to talk," I replied. "And I never knew my father."

"I tried to ask The Anti countless questions as to how he became what he is, but the truth is, he never replied," Ane said. "My mother didn't like talking about before. Almost as if there wasn't a before."

For some reason, it sounded fishy, like someone was hiding something. Logar felt it too. "Percie," he finally drawled. "I can't believe mama's little boy has never asked her how life was before."

Percie wasn't too bothered. "The thought never crossed my mind," he shrugged. "And how come, you, Logar, have never bothered your parents with those questions? Or you bother only us? You used to have a mother and father until not too long ago."

"Great choice of words," I muttered sarcastically.

Logar looked at the floor, out of words. Then, he simply gulped, and tried to find something to say.

It is one of the things I admire the most about him.

"My mother died when I was young, and a little too naive," he simply said. "She was often ill. It's the reason she ultimately died." He grimaced. "You might not know what it's like to look after a parent who doesn't feel well, be it physically or emotionally. I couldn't ask her anything that could have bothered her. Whatever happened before, it must have been traumatic because, like Ane's mother, she never bothered to say. When I asked father, he refused to say, and smacked me in the head. He said, 'naughty lad, always bothering with things you shouldn't care about. Now's good, and apparently it's nae good enough for you?' -- he was Scottish."

Logar was trying not to appear upset, with not a lot of effort. He apparently found it somewhat funny too, but none of us agreed. He had tears in his eyes, and laughed it off, but we were all looking at him weirdly.

"So," Logar wiped his eyes and sniffled. "There is an answer to my question."

"Yes," I agreed. "Something major must have happened before The Anti took over."

I admired my friends for having the guts to act like nothing happened, at the charity. I was too scared to come out as Sveta, so at first I joined them as Jonath. I was humbled to find out some photographers liked to take pictures of me, too, with my newly bleached blond hair (courtesy of Logar) and vintage Aspesi pink coat.

"Of course," Logar exclaimed at some point, tugging on my arm. "We already attract enough attention as it is, without you doing it for us too." He sounded bitter. Maybe jealous?

Easy for him to say, not so easy for me to do. There were photographers and journalists everywhere.

For later in the evening, I had my silk robe in a pale pink colour, and a white fur coat. I decided that maybe I could borrow it for Jonath's wardrobe too.

There were all the various branches of the White family tree, second cousins famous for their scandals included.

Yes, when I had to crash for weeks at the Monastery, I read gossip magazines for pleasure.

"When you're Jonath," Logar whispered in my ear. "You don't look like a robber."

"If robbers looked like robbers," I replied cheekily. "No one would be robbed anymore."

"Well," Logar pointed out, deaf to my explanation. "Some wear balaclavas."

"True, but I never did."

"Terribly sorry," someone said, and practically spilled his beer on Logar's clothes. I found it weird how he would excuse himself before committing an act that was clearly premeditated.

It was one of the White's cousins. I knew his name was Cornelius. The White family not only kept their surnames, they also decided not to change their names.

I beamed at the idea that maybe none of them would think Jonath was a stupid name. They didn't know enough about what the peasants did to care about our names.

Cornelius had blond hair and one of those freckled face that appear a bit over the top. He said, very slowly as if I was dumb, "Would you introduce me to your friend?"

I thought about the Power Of Sight, and which one of us was more likely to attract people like this young man.

"If you're referring to Sveta, she's busy," I replied.

"Oh no," Cornelius said. "I'm not into the shes." He pointed over at Logar, who had his black kimono on and his fur coat was brown. I had tried avoiding looking at him too long -- everyone knows black and brown clash.

"Him," Cornelius enunciated. "He's pretty handsome, isn't he? In a gorgeous kind of way. Too bad for the way he's dressed. Do you think I can get him to take off what he's wearing?"

I felt immediately pissed off. No one got to say those things about my friends. Ever since Logar had told me I could chaperone him, I also realized he was asking me something else, deep down and along the lines.

To be his bodyguard. I am good at reading other people, and I wouldn't let him down.

Logar approached us. 

"Care to take off your coat, cutie?" Cornelius asked him.

Out of all the well-dressed and healthy people at the Christmas charity event, one of the 'royals' had to fall for my mousy, horribly dressed friend toerag friend. I found it astounding.

"Why?" Logar asked. "Because of the ensemble? I know it hurts your normal eyes. I'm colourblind, I don't see it like you see it."

"So, you did this on purpose?" Cornelius was amazed. And a little bit horrified.

"Yep, I want to put the 'blind' in colourblind," Logar winked. "And also to make other people think, with the way I dress."

"I can't literally think when I see black and brown together," I fessed up. "My brain just stops."

"Pardon, my sexy bodyguard thinks he knows something about fashion," Logar told Cornelius, taking off his coat.

I'd seen Logar Iris naked, unwillingly, many times before, but I felt the temperature in the room drop of a few thousand degrees when he took off his fur coat.

In that moment, Cornelius turned around, "Terribly sorry, cutie," he said. "I have to help my cousin."

"I know his cousin, we met him at the heist," Logar explained to me. "Just a child, but a very weird kid if I say so myself. Poor lad. He doesn't know how to flaunt it."

When I came back from the toilets, Logar looked like he was choking on some grapes. I wondered if someone had poisoned him.

But no -- nobody would do that. Or at least, I hoped. Since I fancied myself as more of his friend than Percie was, though it was hard to tell whether he trusted me, I came over and tried to help.

"Are you gagging because the grape is not not the right size, or texture, or something?" I asked quite naively. I wondered how Logar was going to take it.

"No, of course not," he replied. "Even if food is not the texture you imagined it to be, it's fine, by the way. Not upsetting at all. Everyone knows you don't look in the mouth of a gifted horse or something along those lines. No, it's just... I think I had a panic attack."

He whispered this last part but I was listening very attentively, so I heard it.

I widened my eyes. "I get those too," I said matter-of-factly. "But why the food...?"

"I don't know," Logar shrugged. He tried to give me a little smile, but it was a bit creepy. "I guess that I started feeling like I was missing air, and then asked myself whether the grape was poisoned, and then felt as if I really didn't have enough air."

He was saying it as if it happened to him, well, not often, but kind of. He was saying it as if it was perfectly plausible and understandable. I wasn't sure I exactly understood, but I'd had my share of problems.

Then, I decided to say something to cheer him up even though I felt like a snitch for the rest of the evening. "Ane has eating problems too."

Logar paled all over. "I don't have eating problems," he said much more loudly. "I just have problems in general."

I groaned and turned around, to find Ane and Percie talking to a journalist. Logar and I decided to join them.

"Your Grenade has been missing for the first part of the evening," the journalist, a dark-skinned woman who was a famous presenter, said. "Rumours already said she might have found a boyfriend, and that it's someone from the White family. Can we give it up for the hot, rich bachelors everywhere?"

Logar grabbed the microphone and gave an evil look at the journalist. "We'd rather not, everyone always gives it up for the hot rich bachelors everywhere."

He prounounced it in a way that made it clear he wasn't thinking that people were cheering for the bachelors.

In fact, he smirked and winced, and said, "It's how all of us were born."

"Are your families rich?" the journalist asked.

"Just Ane's," Logar replied. "I'm not sure The Anti would marry a poor woman. But no, my story was more along the lines of Ma giving it up for the hot but poor Scottish bachelor. What can I say, I didn't get the looks."

The journalist looked at him as if she was about to faint, because people everywhere always said Logar was handsome. Everyone knew, except for him. 

Which was fair, because if I had his washed out face, lanky body, yellow hair and acne scars, I might have thought too of my face as an acquired taste. But apparently many people would have been in line to acquire it.

It was the kind of slightly androgynous, but still manly, beauty that made people like Cornelius go, 'Man, I've always wanted one of those'. It made my blood boil.

"Why are you here?" the journalist asked. "To ruin Christmas? What's your next move?"

Percie took the microphone this time. "We're not here to ruin Christmas," he said. "We're here to celebrate. We organized this event, and the money will go to the orphanages. Our Grenade, Sveta, decided that, because she'd spent time in an orphanage when she was little."

I didn't know if I wanted the public to hear that. Apparently, I wasn't the only snitch. None of us was good at keeping the other's secrets. I wondered whether Logar was going to tell the audience I was Cincinnati.

"I already miss Sveta so much," Logar sighed. "Even when she's here, it looks as if she isn't, you know? Love changed her into a completely different person. She would have taken off her clothes, or made some kind of scene, she would have flipped the bird at the photographers. I know I didn't use to say it, but she was fun. Alas, I won't be able to tell her anymore. She will elope tomorrow with the strapping adopted son of President White's third uncle..."

"Asshole!" I called him out.

I couldn't remember the last time it had been Christmas, and I'd been happy.

After that last question, Logar left the group and drank spiced wine with me.

Then, The Anti arrived.

"I have a Christmas gift for you guys," he told us.

"I'd never had a gift before," my eyes were shining. I thought other could relate to those words, Logar at the very least. However, the joy in my eyes was mine alone. No one else trusted The Anti as far as they could throw him.

And it wasn't very easy to throw someone who became famous for saying he didn't believe in gravity, nor was it easy to trust him.

"The gift," Michaim proclaimed. "Is one of my famous flying machines!"