The Phantom of the Catacombs

by J. B. Michaels

  The Phantom of the Catacombs

  Chronicles of the Order

  JB Michaels

  Harrison and James Publishing

  “From the opening pages to the final sentence, you are treated to a rollercoaster of fun and frights.”- DT Chantel

  SEE THE BACK OF THE BOOK FOR MORE!

  For Uncle Tim The Godfather, thank you for the laughs and the support. Always.

  For Grandma Joan, the most prolific reader I know.

  The Phantom of the Catacombs

  By JB Michaels

  Chapter One

  The creak followed by the whine of the gate’s ancient hinges sounded the signal. Pulled by a powerful force, she moved swiftly from the comfort of her former life to the discomfort of a new role, a role she’d prepared for. A job. A mission. A calling that she didn’t know would come. The smile on her face showed her relief that she could answer it.

  The peace that had lasted for centuries finally crumbled and gave way to the clamors of the warmongers. The old foes missed each other. She would do her best to stop their reunion. Her immediate goal was to relieve pressure.

  His name was Clemenza. Poor man wouldn’t know what hit him.

  She waited for dusk to fall and hid behind the right pillar of one of the many arches that could hold the weight of 50,000 bloodthirsty Roman spectators.

  Clemenza wiped the sweat from his brow, and with his other hand, he held a yellow helmet. He pulled his gloves off.

  He stayed later than the rest of the crew because he took a longer afternoon break than the others. She knew why. That reason would lead to his death.

  Clemenza sighed then walked to the exit. He rubbed his rather rotund belly. She could hear the rumbling in his stomach from her position three meters away. He dragged his feet when he walked. The fine stones of the pathway grinded against each other, creating an obnoxious noise that echoed in the archways.

  He reached her position. She didn’t hesitate.

  The rope would have to do.

  Chapter Two

  The sickness continued unabated. Ivy Zheng’s transition to vampirism had not been a smooth one. Her stomach lurched, tumbled, and flopped around incessantly. Water only temporarily sated her thirst. She knew only one liquid would cure her intensely dry mouth. She couldn’t bear to even consider drinking blood; perhaps it was that very thought that unsettled her belly.

  The sun didn’t seem to bother her…yet. She’d never been bitten by a vampire before so she didn’t know how much longer her body could take daylight. Right now, everything had been normal except for the thirst. Luckily for her, Bud’s recently recovered and revamped teleportation tech had brought her to a dorm on Chicago Metro University’s campus in no time at all. From the grounds of a Scottish castle to sweet home Chicago, antacid for her stomach was now within reach.

  She opened her medicine cabinet, popped the cap off a bottle and chewed three tablets at the same time. Hopefully, this would help quell the physical torment, but there was another layer to the storm inside. Her father. She needed to get to him. That last phone conversation to confirm his and Bela Oxford’s relationship bothered her. Her father had never used the words ‘I love you’ as he ended their conversations over the years. Never.

  Ivy would teleport to his house in a few minutes. Ivy sat on her desk chair and rubbed her stomach then reached for her back. The back that had sprouted wings just a few moments before. The discomfort in her bowels subsided. Still, her need for rest would be delayed yet again. Time to go home.

  She thought of a small front lawn in a quiet suburb of Chicago and then activated her teleportation wristband. Ivy arrived at her father’s house. The single car garage and tan siding of her home greeted her. Her father must have repainted the porch recently. The aroma of latex paint was strong. She climbed the steps of the porch and reached for the door handle. Anxiety riddled Ivy, and a chill ran down her back.

  The foyer was dark. The curtains were closed. She flipped the light switch to the left of the doorframe. The frame of his glasses were mangled. The lenses crushed and remnants spread across the floor. Next to the broken spectacles lay her father facedown at the top of the steps to the ground floor of the tri-level home.

  “Dad!” Ivy fell to her knees. She crawled the short distance to her father.

  He didn’t respond to her call. She put her hand on his back to feel his breath. She was afraid to move him.

  Ivy put her ear next to his nose and mouth. There was very shallow breathing. He still lived. She examined his body, and his left leg looked as though it was broken. It was twisted. The ankle turned the wrong way. The gore proved too much to bear. Had he passed out from the pain? Was he drugged and injured it on the way up the stairs? She hadn’t any idea how long he’d been in this state.

  She called for an ambulance. Her upset stomach roared back. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Love you, Dad. Everything will be okay. I promise.” Ivy rubbed her unconscious father’s back as she waited next to him.

  Chapter Three

  Bert monitored the FBI and all law enforcement communications from the office he was abducted from just days ago inside Bud’s late grandfather’s house on the Southside of Chicago. Bud Hutchins’s android assistant had been reduced to just a head as the rest of his body had been recovered by the FBI after Bud stopped Bert from a malfunctioning rampage through downtown.

  Bert’s exposed metallic head spouted a sound. He looked scarier than he actually was. “No chatter that you are back, Bud. All seems to be clear. I even set a great deal of my resources to hack this Agent Jordan you speak of. No one knows you are back in town. Of course, the FBI are still observing your parents’ home.”

  “Very well, Bert. Send the messages to my parents. Have them meet us here. The news is most tragic of course. We will alert them of Grandpa’s body then make our escape.” Bud looked back to the living room where the body of his grandfather lay.

  “Sending messages to parents now,” Bert said.

  Bud stared at his grandfather. The toil within consistently churned and caused tears to well and fall down his young, scruffy face. All this time he’d wondered why had he gone? Bud never thought he would find him in Castle McDougall enslaved by an evil vampire hellbent on killing The Order of St. Michael. There were so many more questions left to answer. Still, even Bud’s unending curiosity and search for truth took a back seat to the flood of memories that filled his mind.

  His grandfather’s nurturing words when Bud was bullied: “You are a great kid, Bud. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Keep that head up.” There were so many moments. So many wise words, lessons taught, life lived, memories made. Bud had missed him dearly the past couple years, and that desperate feeling would continue and grow even stronger and more painful. Bud had never experienced grief in such a poignant, powerful fashion before. Maeve stepped in front of him and embraced him. She rubbed his back. Bud’s shoulders shrugged, shook, and he wrapped his arms around her. Bud let emotion overcome him. He wept. He shook but Maeve still held him.

  “Oh God, Maeve. I miss him so much!” Bud yelled in between deep breaths, more tears, and powerful sobs.

  “I know, Bud. He is safe now. He was on his way to heaven when I saw him. I promise, Bud. He will always watch over you. He is safe now.” Maeve tightened her hug around him.

  The flood of his emotion’s mighty torrent dwindled. Bud took a deep breath.

  “Thank you, Maeve. Oh dear, I am a mess.” Bud gently pushed away from Maeve and covered his nose with his hand. “I shall procure a tissue for the disaster that is my face.”

  “Bud, you may want to hurry. Your parents responded and are on their way,” Bert said.

 
; “Very well, Bert. Thank you.” Bud walked into the powder room and grabbed for some toilet paper. He looked into the mirror. His bloodshot eyes and overall depressed look about him couldn’t be helped. At least he was able to put on a fresh set of clothes. A hellacious night fighting shapeshifters and vampires had put him through the ringer. Bud’s young body ached with sore muscles, a severely bruised shoulder, and now the weight of grief weakened his heart.

  He wiped his nose and stared into the mirror a few more seconds. He sighed. He heard the front door open. His parents had arrived.

  Chapter Four

  Ronald and Marie Hutchins walked through the front door of Ronald’s father’s house that his son, Bud Hutchins, had taken up residence in and consistently sabotaged the sale of. Ronald was tall, muscular, and athletic. Bud’s mother, Marie, was also physically fit and rarely seen wearing anything but running gear. She gasped at the sight of her father-in-law’s dead body on the floor in the family room just to the right of the doorway.

  “I found him.” Bud rubbed his eyes then dropped his hands to his hips.

  “Jesus, Bud. Where did you find him?” Ronald walked into the family room.

  His mother followed. No hugs, pleasantries, or even greetings were exchanged. Bud shook his head that even in such extreme circumstance, their coldness persisted.

  “He was in Scotland. I traced him to there.”

  “Scotland? How did you get his body back here?” Ronald asked.

  “Ronald, there is much I cannot tell you due to the length of explanation. Know that he died honorably. You must make the arrangements. I have to leave here. You have been followed by the FBI, and upon your exit, they will be after me. I assure you I have done nothing criminal in nature.”

  “Why do you have to talk like that, Buddy? Just speak…ah, whatever.” Ronald shook his head.

  Marie shed a tear. “Oh, Bud. I am so sorry. I know how much he meant to you.” Miraculously, his mother walked over to her son and hugged him.

  Bud didn’t quite know how to react. His mother hadn’t embraced him in years. His hands remained at his sides for a few seconds before he reciprocated. The first genuinely loving moment he’d shared with one of his parents in a long, long time.

  “The FBI! What the hell did you do now?!” Ronald yelled.

  “Ron. Not now.” Marie turned around while still holding Bud’s arm.

  “No, Marie. I will ask my son whatever I want, whenever I want. My dad is dead, and he knows what happened!” Ron stepped toward them.

  “I must take my leave.” Bud pulled away from his mother and father and walked down the hallway to the kitchen then the office to procure Bert’s head in a knapsack.

  His father stomped towards him. “Who are you? Who is she, Bud?” Ron pointed at Maeve who waited in the kitchen to allow the family privacy.

  “I am Maeve, Bud’s friend. Your dad died honorably as Bud said. I promise your son would tell you what happened if he had the time to.” Maeve put her hand up to stop Ron’s fast walk to Bud.

  “Get out of my way.”

  Marie approached Ron from behind and pulled him away from Maeve. “Ron! Enough. Let them be. Trust your son!”

  With Bert secured in his bag, Bud grabbed his walking stick/crossbow and strode into the living room to his grandfather’s body.

  He knelt down next to him. He kissed his forehead.

  “Thank you, Grandpa.” Bud winced, fighting back even more tears, and took a deep breath.

  “Bud! Don’t you leave here!” Ron burst into the room.

  “Maeve, you ready?” Bud stood up. His teleportation wristband lit up.

  “Ready, Bud!” Maeve answered from the kitchen.

  The young couple disappeared from Bud’s grandfather’s home.

  Chapter Five

  Clemenza’s heft didn’t make things easy on her. Still, she managed. The rig she’d set up worked to perfection. The problem wasn’t the final location; it was transferring the body to the permanent spot from the surface. She knew that as time wore on, this problem would need correction.

  Upon her inspection of his body, she confirmed the mark. The mark of war, of bloodshed, of abhorrent decimation of life that she sought to preserve and protect. Clemenza’s attribution proved minimally startling since she’d never dispatched of anyone with the mark before. Her emotion, no matter how minor, must be suppressed. This type of engagement didn’t reward weakness. Empathy for the marked was forbidden.

  Empathy, as a whole, must be ignored when dispatching your enemy. Even if the enemy was really just the innocent physical vessel of a sinister, invisible force whose soul had been conquered, forced from the body, and replaced with impurity and malevolence.

  Still, she wondered why Clemenza? Upon her research of the man, he seemed a decent one. Entirely harmless. He couldn’t be the only marked one. More would show themselves. Perhaps then she would begin to see a pattern, a reason for the mark.

  Chapter Six

  Ivy sat next to her father who lay in the hospital bed at Good Samaritan Hospital, still unconscious. The doctors said he should not be asleep for much longer. Li Zheng suffered a broken leg and ankle during a nasty fall, and they were still waiting on blood tests to explain why he had fallen down. There were no signs of head trauma severe enough to cause him to fall out of consciousness. The toxicology report would show more and give Ivy and the doctor a clearer picture of what had happened to her father.

  Ivy did know that Bela supposedly was an old friend of her father’s. As soon as her father regained consciousness, she would ask him about Bela. The events of the past few days had to be connected to a possible attack on her father. Ivy’s father had been in relatively good health his whole life. Rarely did he go to the doctor or hospital. He took care of himself.

  Ivy suspected that the trouble she’d been in had to have bled over to her father.

  “I will be back soon, Dad.” Ivy pushed the button on her teleportation wristband.

  The house could hold some clues as to what had really happened to her father. She arrived on the lawn once again, climbed the steps, and entered the house. Ivy smacked her lips together then licked them. Her mouth grew dry. Her throat burned.

  “What the hell?” Ivy walked down the stairs to the ground level and into the kitchen and grabbed for a glass. She turned the tap on, filled the glass to the brim, and gulped as much water as she could. Ivy rubbed her neck. She kept the water running. She filled the glass again. Gulped again. Her thirst subsided only slightly.

  Suddenly, she heard a faint thumping sound like a heartbeat. She turned around. She scanned the dining room, the living room. Clear. Ivy put down her glass of water and walked towards a set of glass doors that opened to the patio on the other side of the house. The intense bass-driven rhythm pulled her to the outside. She opened the doors, exited the house, and put her hands and ear to the siding of the home next to her father’s. The beat came from within the wall.

  Ivy’s mouth became exceedingly dry once more. She then began to scratch the wooden siding of the house. Something or someone was home and very much alive in this house. Just on the other side of this wall was the sating property of blood. Her thirst drove her nails deep into the siding. Shavings of wood curled under her fingers then fell to the patio ground.

  A car sped down the street.

  Ivy stopped scratching the siding and looked to the street then to her hands. “What the hell am I doing?”

  The thirst controlled her. Pushed her to ruin the siding of her father’s next-door neighbor’s house. She turned to walk back into her house. A shooting pain spiked in her abdomen then traveled to her throat then her teeth. Ivy fell to the patio. She grabbed her mouth with both hands. Her gums spurted blood. Her canines grew into fangs, ready to puncture and feast upon prey, whose veins carried fresh blood.

  The heartbeat grew louder. The sinus rhythm of a healthy human beckoned Ivy to drink.

  Chapter Seven

  Bud’s tears had barely dried on
his face when he and Maeve arrived in Vatican City, a small sovereign state next to Rome, Italy. Bert’s modification to Bud’s teleportation tech no longer required a destination marker to guide the instant traveler to a place. Of course, Bud still chose a pinned location on the maps application on his phone for general safety reasons. St. Peter’s Square seemed appropriate since Bud sought answers from, he assumed, the Vatican.

  Dawn’s light hit St. Peter’s Basilica. Jet lag didn’t exist within the power of Bud’s tech. Still, it was eleven p.m. in Chicago, and now the sun rose over Rome. Bud hoped to nap.

  “Maeve, where do we traverse next? Through the basilica?”

  “Bud, can’t you stop and just take this in? We are in St. Peter’s Square! We are standing next to the Vatican Obelisk! This is incredible.”

  “It is actually Egyptian in origin, Maeve. Not Roman,” Bud informed.

  “That is actually correct, Maeve,” Bert’s voice said from Bud’s knapsack.

  Maeve shook her head. “Whatever. Whatever… I am allowed to feel what I am feeling right now. This place is intense, and it’s the first time I have been here. I am human for Christ’s sake!”

  “I am not human.” Bert’s muffled voice sounded again.

  “I know, Bert!” Maeve stepped away from Bud.

  Bud followed her. “Isn’t taking the Lord’s name in vain a sin, Maeve?”

  Maeve turned and glared at him. “So is murder, Bud. So is murder.”

  “Very well, then. Shall we venture into the Basilica?” Bud passed Maeve, oblivious to her threat. He looked back then waited for her.