I wiped my hand down my face and shook my head. “To buy La Gilda some time, maybe. I’m hoping the Chanson doesn’t accidentally find Nusku’s lamp, because if they put it out, the magical wave that’s going to hit here will be catastrophic.”
Kai traced over the path I’d drawn. “Could the jinn be a red herring of sorts?” Kai didn’t seem to be trying to lead me anywhere with that statement, and I felt oddly reassured that he was as perplexed as I was.
“I wish, but I don’t think so.” I rubbed my temples. Both the lamp of Nusku and Jinn came from the geographical area of the Byzantine Empire. The bigger problem was going to be the politics of the whole mess. Peter had half-freed a jinn that someone in the Guild was using; I could only guess who that person was. The weak magic was starting to affect me again, and I suppressed a yawn.
Kai raised an eyebrow, a forkful of potatoes halfway to his mouth. “You’re going to want to tango with the worms again before you go anywhere.”
“Tango?”
He nodded. “Recharging sounds so boring, and this is one time when you don’t want to be magically compromised.”
When Kai went in to take a shower, I got dressed, still working out a few details by talking things over with Basir and Ka’Tehm. I braided my hair and looked down at my work uniform of black cargo pants and a soft pink t-shirt that I thought took the edge off the outfit. My boots were military-style, great for running, and they made me look way more prepared than I felt.
Kai emerged wearing a black t-shirt with a coyote silhouette against a full moon and white text that announced: I’M A HOWL OF A GOOD TIME, well-worn jeans that fit him perfectly, and new black and olive canvas sneakers that looked more expensive than any pair of shoes I ever owned.
“Those shoes cost more than everything else you own combined, didn’t they?” I asked.
He laughed. “I had some time while you were busy, and I like shoes.” He sounded a bit defensive.
“I’m not judging,” I replied, holding up my hands in mock innocence. “Much.”
“Your face is judging plenty.” He countered, pecking me on the cheek.
“You think I’m right, right?”
He shrugged. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.” He admired his shoes.
“No, I mean about this whole situation.”
“There’s only one way we’re going to find out.”
I flopped back on the bed and threw my hand over my eyes. “What if I’m wrong?” I peeked at him from between my fingers.
Kai crossed his arms over his chest. “If I knew you were wrong, I’d tell you. You’re an archaeologist, going up against the Chanson’s archaeologists in a city where the ruling families of magic lovingly preserve their ruins but purposefully keep their power in deplorable condition. You tell me: what are the odds that you’re wrong?”
I shook my head. “But there might be consequences.”
“My little witch, have I taught you nothing? There are always consequences, but there are always fantastic possibilities, too. It’s all about balancing those two things.”
I opened my mouth but changed my mind and closed it again. He’d given me everything he could without crossing any lines; the rest was up to me.
I watched Kai disappear around the corner. The backpack slung over his shoulder was the last glimpse I had as he headed toward the service exit. I counted to one hundred before I walked out the front doors, hoping the amulet I’d repaired was juiced up enough that it would get me to my destination without anyone recognizing me. As I passed by the shop windows, I glimpsed Peter Picenzia’s reflection gazing back at me, so the amulet was working so far.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out, reading the message from Majeedah. I had four hours before the meeting I’d requested with Paolina Serafini. Majeedah had set it up, and I planned to make good use of my time before I met the blond woman from the catacombs again. After my early morning research, we had a lot more to discuss than the serpent rock used to summon jinn.
I walked through the back gate of the Vatican, nodding to the Swiss Guard with the whiskey-colored eyes. He said something to me as he pretended to check my identification. I lifted my eyes to him and mumbled through the first phrase in Italian that came to mind.
“Sono un archeologo, non un linguista.” I’m an archaeologist, not a linguist. He smiled and waved me through. I headed into the heart of Vatican City, hoping I could find my way to the archives and eventually sneak down into the vaults and tunnels beneath the city. I had a theory about where I might find someone to help Sidaffri, but the only way I could think of to get there was to go in through the tunnels beneath the Vatican since my research didn’t turn up any better ways to access the deepest recesses of the vaults.
It shouldn’t be too hard to slip into the underground passageways dressed as a non-descript cardinal who looked like about thirty other cardinals I passed in the plaza and corridors. Whoever planted Peter in the Vatican had chosen wisely for the most part. I blended in, but I was lost and had to ask a few other clergymen for directions in halting Italian. They were so helpful that I was beginning to wonder about Vatican security.
That was a bit premature.
Outside the entrance to the archives, two Swiss Guards stood at attention. I was about to walk right past them instead of trying to get into the archives when my favorite Swiss Guard strode up to them, still looking quite dashing in the uniform, and winked at me.
“Monsignor O’Flynn,” Kai said, steering me toward the archives. “I see you found it.” He looked at the other guards and said something in German that made them nod. I looked bewildered. He ushered me inside and returned to speak with the two other men, buying me time to slip away unseen. I walked through the stacks and took a left, heading for a small door which led to the lower levels beneath the structure. It was a hunch, but there was just enough evidence in the records that I thought I had a decent chance of getting to my destination using that route. I defeated the lock on the third try and ducked through the door.
The tunnels beneath Vatican City cut through the plaza in front of Saint Peter’s Basilica. From there, they branched off to various other locations inside the walled complex. One tunnel leads all the way to Castel Sant'Angelo, the former mausoleum of Emperor Hadrian.
The final resting place of Hadrian was co-opted and later converted to a military fortress, a castle, and a prison where occultists were kept for practicing sorcery. It also happened to be the place where some valuable (and potentially magical) artifacts were kept after they were confiscated from the occultists. The irony of Rome strikes again and again. I wasn’t interested in the castle part of the structure but rather in the maze of tunnels beneath the fortress where the old vaults used to be.
I walked down the dark corridors with a small tactical flashlight lighting my path, and Ka’Tehm strapped to my back in his nylon pack. The walls surrounding me were smooth, and the bricks had been laid with such precision that they were almost seamless. I laid my hand on them out of curiosity; to see if there was any trace of magic. There were practically no vibrations that emanated from them, much like the rest of Rome.
I checked my compass, hoping I was following the route that would take me from the Vatican archives to the lowest level of Castel Sant’Angelo. The longer I looked at the research I’d done, the more confident I was that I was on the right track, both with my directions and theories, but there were still many missing pieces. The only sound in the subterranean world was a faint dripping noise, like water seeping through the bricks far away in the distant tunnels.
Ka’Tehm’s cool presence gave me a little more confidence as we wound our way through the darkness. The passageways sloped downward before leveling off just as the walls narrowed.
The chill in the air carried a hint of mustiness, and I kept my eyes on the slope of the ceiling above me. If my theory was correct, the ceiling should hold some indication of the ramp that spiraled toward the top of the structure. I heard dripping water comi
ng from down the left corridor, so I turned right. I hadn’t walked very far at all when I noticed the ceiling over my head had begun to slope upward.
“Perfect,” I whispered into the darkness, feeling pretty proud of myself.
“What is?” The darkness whispered back.
I nearly leaped out of my skin, and I whirled around to look for the owner of the voice. The corridor was deserted, but that whispered reply had been clear as a bell.
“The ramp,” I whispered and pointed above me.
“Hm. I never really noticed it until you mentioned it, but I wouldn’t have gone with ‘perfect.’ It’s not his best work.” The voice whispered back in a conspiratorial way.
I had two choices: speak to the disembodied voice or run like hell. I probably wouldn’t make it back outside before I was caught, so I took a deep breath and hoped my theory was correct.
“The arches support an entire castle wall, and the ramp is big enough so a horse and carriage can haul a cannon to the ramparts. That’s not common at all. It’s brilliant engineering.” I said.
“Did you come here to marvel at the engineering?” The voice purred.
I looked around, but the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. Somehow it felt like it was sniffing at me, and I held very still while my heartbeat hammered in my ears.
“I find ancient engineering interesting,” I said, trying to sound easygoing while I was desperately seeking a current of energy I could use for a bit of defensive magic just in case. Just like the rest of my visit, I came up nearly empty, and I didn’t want to blow through the reserves I’d pulled from the polestar or through the arsenal of spells in the bulging pockets of my cargo pants.
The darkness pulsed a little with each word the voice spoke. “Well, here’s a little history you might enjoy: the man who built the ramp above us was also the one that put the wall up where I believe some of your ancestors lived. That is if you’re what I think you are.” The voice continued, sounding a little smug. The cadence of his speech was mesmerizing and leading. His sing-song delivery dripped with pretense as if every sentence ended with a comma instead of a period.
“Yes, Hadrian did like to build things, didn’t he?” I chuckled as if I weren’t intimidated at all and strolled further into the tunnel. I was going to ignore the subtle probe about my identity as long as I could.
“But you’re no longer inside something Hadrian built. You’re inside something I built: my home. Which you entered without asking permission.” The voice was a little less friendly.
“In my defense, I didn’t realize anyone lived here, so I couldn’t ask permission. Did you build anything else I might be familiar with?” I asked, taking a few more steps.
“Oh, you already know the answer to that. You’ve been through a few of my tunnels already. I’m sure you appreciated them fully since you’re so fascinated by engineering. Do you have a favorite, witch?”
Okay, so the voice was really pretentious, but I went with it, walking further into the darkness. As long as the voice was talking, it wasn’t trying to kill me, so I kept my tone conversational.
“Was the quarry still active when you were building? It must have been hard keeping your tunnels hidden when there were so many laborers beneath the city.” I noticed the tunnel before me branched into many directions. “Did you build other tunnels in other places? I hear Mesopotamia had some great tunnels.”
He chuckled. “Clever, but you’re not as correct as you think you are. An answer for an answer, witch. What do you say?”
“You already know I’m a witch, and my ancestors are from Brittania. That means you owe me two facts already.” I said, continuing my walk since the voice hadn’t tried to stop me.
“Oh, I know much more about you than just those two little things, but you mentioned Mesopotamia and my engineering skills. That makes us even, but I’ll give you another clue because you’ve earned it.” He fell silent for a moment, and then a roar whipped through the tunnel, shaking dust and mortar from the ceiling. I dropped into a crouched position, covering my ears with my upper arms to protect my head against the tunnel collapsing and my eardrums from being blown by the volume of the noise.
When the last of the dust stopped raining down on my head, I stood up on shaky legs and the darkness whispered a laugh. “Any guesses?” He asked, sounding pretty pleased with himself.
I turned in a slow circle, relieved to find the tunnel intact. “You’re crazy enough to risk bringing down this tunnel, so I’m guessing you’re immortal.” My voice didn’t shake. Obviously, I was crazy enough to smart-mouth something I only had a hunch about.
“That’s the easy way out. Here’s another clue.” I felt phantom claws rake down my arm and I pulled away.
“No touching,” I warned. “I thought only demons had shadow claws.”
The voice scoffed. “Wrong...on both counts. Ifrit are most unwelcome around here, in case you didn’t know, and the claws are so much more than shadow.” The tone managed to be both offended and smug, but with a hint of a more playful tone. I heard something sharp scrape along the stone with a screech that made me remember the old slate chalkboard in my elementary school.
“I was just checking to see if you knew what I was implying.” I whispered, once my teeth stopped hurting from the noise. I felt a slight thrill of satisfaction at the mention of Ifrit. The term was used for rebellious jinn and demons - that narrowed down the possibilities in the darkness.
“Guess again.” The darkness whispered and rumbled softly.
I leaned against the wall and folded my arms across my chest. The lean was so my trembling knees didn’t give out, the arm-cross was to hide my shaking hands. “I bet I’ve seen your picture a thousand times.”
“There’s a very good chance of that.” He sounded smug.
“You’re popular on family crests and I think there are a few statues around Rome of you.” I always found the poses of the creature to be somewhat staged, and I was starting to think that might have been more than just the artist’s interpretation.
“Maybe.” Smug had changed to suspicious with my one sentence, as if the creature was trying to determine if I was telling the truth about how many representations were really out there.
“If you haven’t seen them, you really should. It must get lonely down here.”
“Yes.” The tone changed to weary.
“That would be hard. You should get out; see the sun, spread your wings.” I suggested.
“That would make things interesting.” He drawled before catching himself. “You’re supposed to be guessing.”
“You’re furred and feathered, aren’t you?”
The silence ticked by and I could hear a faint clicking, like he was drumming his claws against the stone. I waited, looking around the gloom and my eyes settled on an area of darkness that seemed to stalk closer to where I was still valiantly trying to look casual while not letting my nerves get the best of me.
I held my breath, waiting for the shadows to dissipate.
“May I have a little light?” The voice prompted.
I pressed my lips together, but I pointed my small flashlight at the deepest part of the darkness. The shadows intensified as if a giant piece of black velvet were draped across the tunnel. The darkness grew so thick it swallowed the beam of my flashlight. I moved the light a little to the right and the shadows scrambled after it, keeping the beam centered in the deepest patch of darkness.
“There.” The voice said.
I stopped moving the light and I heard soft rustling inside behind the curtain of black smoke.
Chapter 20
Silently, I counted to four, holding the light steady, when suddenly the darkness vanished in what could only be called a big reveal.
He was magnificent.
A crest of dark feathers sat atop his head, surrounded by a golden mane of hair that spilled around his face in the same honeyed shade as the fur that covered his massive body. His chest was spotted like a
leopard, the spots a dark sable color. His front legs were covered in short fur, seamlessly transitioning to longer hair before it morphed into downy golden feathers above his taloned black feet. He was posed in mid-stalk with one foot forward and his head lowered. He’d turned his body slightly, so I had the full view down his flank, and his front talon was lifted ever so slightly off the ground.
His back feet were enormous paws with glittery claws that poked out from soft furry toes. From his velvety shoulders rose what I thought were probably giant wings judging by the long feathers in shades of honeyed gold that darkened to chocolate brown and extended past his rump. Unfortunately, he had to tuck his wings in due to space constraints. He shook them just a bit to fluff the feathers out, and they made a slight rustling noise and sent a soft breeze toward my face.
His face was beautiful, with high furry cheekbones beneath fine feathers that formed gently arched eyebrows over surprisingly human and oddly unsettling amber eyes. A large hooked beak replaced his nose and mouth.
“Wow,” I whispered. If I weren’t stunned by the beautiful blends of honey and chocolate plus fur and feathers, the sheer size of him would have taken my breath away.
His eyes narrowed in a disappointed look. “The best you can do is wow?”
“I’ve never met a griffin, so, wow.” I waved my hand to indicate all of him
“And I’ve never met a witch who didn’t tremble in my presence.” He said, sitting on his haunches and sweeping a massive tail that ended in a tassel of fur behind him. “You should tremble.” He looked at me expectantly.
“Trust me; I’m trembling on the inside. But the wow factor is kind of getting in the way.” The look of awe on my face must have mollified him because he smiled in an oddly feline way, puffing his cheeks out just a little. I grinned back, “I was hoping you’d be down here, Idral.”
“How do you know my name?” He rumbled. I couldn’t tell if it was surprise or anger.
“Sidaffri told me, and I came here to find you,” I said, holding my hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. I even took two slow steps backward before realizing the look on his face wasn’t angry at all.
Resistant Magic (Relic Hunter Book 5) Page 18
