This was an excellent portrait of this conflicted, confused Connor. His muddle of messed up memories was well captured.

This paragraph really sang: He lived like a monk now. Worse, if his history teacher could be believed. Apparently monks were the rocks stars of the early Church. Connor lie silently on his mat, contemplating a life where the Pope got more play than he did. A life where he was a virgin who’d fathered an Anti-Christ. Shit, could he be any more Angelus’ son? Lying there with a hard-on thinking about a dead woman and the Catholic Church. That last line is wonderful.