The Roman

by Sylvain Reynard

Raven inhaled sharply. “What about my sister?”

  “If your sister learns that you are alive, your enemies will learn that too. And they will come for you.”

  “I can’t even say goodbye?”

  “I’m afraid not.” The woman gave her a sympathetic look. “If you choose to do this, we end your old life. Your family will believe you’re dead.”

  Raven fell silent.

  The woman looked at her watch. “It’s your decision, but you must choose quickly. Your presence puts me and many others at risk.”

  Raven’s mind moved slowly from scenario to scenario. She knew she was still feeling the after-effects of the sedative, so her ability to feel strong emotions was somewhat depressed. Even so, she found it difficult to choose an action that would cause more pain to Cara.

  “It isn’t my place to persuade you,” the woman interjected. “But you should know that your current identity poses a risk to your family.”

  Raven lifted her eyes to meet the woman’s. “Someone wants to kill me?”

  “Someone wants revenge that will probably end with your death,” the woman corrected her.

  “Who?”

  The woman smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt. “There are at least two creatures of the underworld who bear a lot of anger toward someone who was close to you. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Raven caught her meaning immediately. “I could return to the Jesuit house and escape the creatures, but Father Kavanaugh will take away my memories.”

  “You should also consider your family. Unless someone is willing to protect you and your family for the rest of your life, all of you are vulnerable.”

  Understanding washed over her. Raven nodded.

  “Time’s up.” Sarah stood. “If you’re prepared to do this, we must get ready now.”

  Raven closed her eyes. She thought of her sister. She thought of her mother. She thought of her sister once again.

  So much pain. So much death. Even if the Curia decided to send her back to Florida, the Roman might send someone to hunt her, just for spite. Without her memories of William and his world, she wouldn’t know how to protect herself. And she wouldn’t entrust her safety and the safety of her sister to the Curia.

  “I’m ready.”

  The woman led Raven down the hall and into a back room.

  Less than an hour later, Raven climbed into a black Mercedes M Class. Her long black hair had been cut to her shoulders and dyed a dark red; her green eyes had been covered with blue contact lenses.

  The male driver placed her luggage and her new wheelchair in the back of the vehicle while the mysterious woman handed her a very expensive handbag. “Your passport for your escape from Italy is inside. You’re Portuguese, from Braga.”

  “I don’t speak Portuguese.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re staying within the European Union, so no one will check your passport at the border. You will be given your new identity before you reach your final destination.” The woman handed her a piece of paper. “Memorize this number. If you see someone from your old life, telephone this number and ask for Matthew. If you are threatened or your identity is compromised, travel to Geneva and report to the Trivium Bank.”

  “A bank? What can they do?”

  “Wear this at all times.” The woman looped a gold necklace over Raven’s head and pointed to the two items suspended from it. “The vial contains a small but powerful relic. Don’t take it off.

  “The gold charm has a number stamped on it. Present the number at the Trivium Bank, and they will assist you.”

  A few minutes later two young women entered the vehicle. One sat in the front and one in the back next to Raven.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Sarah, who still stood next to Raven’s open door.

  “It’s safer to travel in a group than to travel alone. Don’t engage in conversation with them. Your driver has instructions about what to do in case of emergency.” The woman extended her hand and Raven shook it. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  The emotion of the moment caught Raven unaware. She blinked back tears.

  Sarah closed the door, and the driver started the car.

  They exited the hidden garage at the back of the building and drove through the streets of Florence until they reached the highway, heading north.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  IN THE SPACE BETWEEN THREE WORLDS, two beings argued over a man’s soul.

  “There’s nothing for you here,” the dark angel said, his voice like the scraping of fingernails against a chalkboard. “This soul belongs below.”

  “It is not for you to determine the place a soul belongs after death,” the saint rebuked.

  “This soul is ours.” The dark angel reached out his hand.

  The saint blocked the demon, standing over the soul that lay prostrate between them.

  The dark angel roared. “His soul is damned!”

  “He repented at the end.”

  “Repented?” The dark angel sneered. “He fully embraced the deadly sins. He abandoned hope and allowed Despair to own him!”

  “The demon did not own him. The transformation was incomplete because he prayed for help.”

  “That’s sophistry. Your brother priests dispatched his soul to hell.”

  “Yet here we stand.”

  The demon craned his neck to look around the saint and view the soul. The man’s chest lifted and fell, slow and steady, with human breath.

  The saint smiled at the sight.

  If the dark angel could have pushed the saint aside, he would have. He examined the soul more closely, leaning over him.

  “You cheated,” he hissed. “The man was dead.”

  “It is not for me to give life. But I have prayed for him for many years, that grace would take root in his soul.” The saint pointed down. “Go back from whence you came. There is nothing for you here.”

  As soon as the command left the saint’s lips, the dark angel vanished, snarling and cursing as he departed.

  The saint bent down and made the sign of the cross on his student’s forehead. He prayed in Latin, as was his custom, beseeching mercy and grace and thanking God for the man’s deliverance.

  When he had finished, the student—who had been half-asleep during the encounter—fell into a peaceful slumber.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  THE SHOCK HADN’T WORN OFF.

  Raven sat at an outdoor table at Café Mozart in the old town square of Prague, drinking coffee on a Saturday morning, still feeling numb.

  She’d been a resident of Prague for two months.

  She’d traveled from Florence to Austria with the young women and their driver. Once they’d entered Innsbruck, the driver had dropped off the other women at an opulent residence. Then he and Raven had switched vehicles at what appeared to be a safe house. They’d been met by a woman who changed Raven’s hair from red to a sandy brown with blond streaks, and cut the already-shortened strands into a bob. Raven switched the blue contact lenses for brown and exchanged her Portuguese passport for a Canadian one.

  The driver had then taken her to Prague, to an apartment building behind the National Theatre, near the Vitava River. She’d been given the keys to a furnished one-bedroom apartment, an envelope filled with various currencies, and a set of instructions relating to her backstory and the job that had been secured for her at St. Vitus Cathedral.

  Raven was now Cassandra MacDonald, who had a B.A. in English from Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario, and was interested in history.

  Her job at the cathedral wasn’t in art restoration. Presumably, showing her ability in that area would be too conspicuous. Instead, she had a position in an office, writing and editing materials in English.

  The cathedral was incredibly majestic, as was St. Wenceslas Chapel, which wa
s housed inside the cathedral and featured priceless frescoes of the passion of Christ and the life of St. Wenceslas.

  The chapel was home to several relics. But Raven continued to wear the relic Sarah had given her. She touched it absently as she stared at the astronomical clock on the tower opposite, waiting for it to strike and display figures of the twelve apostles.

  Her pain over the loss of William was acute, but she had been able to push it aside as she tried to adjust to her new life. And that was how she knew she was still in shock.

  She told herself the shock would wear off. When she wasn’t distracted by so many new things, she would be able to grieve properly. For now, she had difficulty fathoming the fact that William was gone. Forever.

  Losing him was like breaking her leg. It took time for her to accept that she would never run or dance again, apart from the wondrous days after William had healed her. It would take time to accept that the Curia had murdered him, and she would never again be held in his arms.

  She sipped her coffee, noticing a man skirting the crowd that had gathered to watch the clock’s display. The man was dressed all in black, his hair pale in the sun.

  She placed her coffee cup on the table with shaking fingers. The figure looked so like William.

  She left cash for the coffee and the untouched pastry and grabbed the brace she’d been using instead of a cane.

  The figure was still visible, walking away from the crowd.

  She moved as quickly as she could into the square, following him. She didn’t dare shout his name.

  The clock’s bell began to ring and the man stopped.

  Raven hastened her pace, ignoring the pain that shot up her injured leg.

  The man turned around.

  Raven shaded her hand against the sun in order to make out his features.

  He was very handsome; it was true. But he wasn’t William.

  She stopped in the square and watched as the man in black was joined by a group of friends.

  As the clock finished striking, she wondered how she could know that William was dead and still be convinced she’d seen him in a square in Prague.

  That evening, Raven lay awake, watching the light and shadows play across the ceiling and walls of her bedroom.

  “You were the shadow on my wall,” she whispered, a sharp pain piercing her chest.

  The shadows didn’t reply.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  A WEEK LATER, Raven was returning to her apartment late at night.

  She’d indulged in an evening at the opera, losing herself in the magic of Verdi. Her building was only a short walk from the National Theatre, where the opera was performed. She took her time walking home, her heart and mind filled with music.

  As she turned onto her quiet street, she felt a prickle at the back of her neck.

  She looked over her shoulder. The street was empty.

  She hastened her steps, leaning hard on the brace. Her mind began to play tricks on her, as memories of walking home after Gina’s party flashed before her eyes.

  She ignored the pain in her leg as she moved as fast as she could. A sudden gust of wind blew past.

  Some distance away a figure stood in the shadows of the building across the street.

  Raven reached her front door, fumbling in her pocket for her keys.

  “Stop,” a voice commanded in Italian.

  Raven pretended she didn’t understand, as she’d been cautioned by Sarah.

  “You are in danger.” The voice came closer.

  Raven found her key and put it in the lock, struggling to open the door.

  “Wait!” The voice switched to English. “You’re wearing a relic. You know I can’t harm you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raven replied in English.

  “I come to pay a debt. The Prince would have executed me. You stayed his hand.”

  Raven turned to see the figure move out of the shadows and into the light shining from one of the windows next door.

  She opened the door and held it, preparing to flee inside. “What do you want?”

  Borek lifted his hands, showing he was unarmed. “It’s dangerous for me to be here. The presence of the Cu—our enemies—in Prague is small, but exists nonetheless. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I’m here.”

  Raven scowled. “You’ve put me in danger. Now they’ll hunt me.”

  “They’re hunting you already.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Borek surveyed the area quickly. He lifted his noise and sniffed.

  “A body was found matching your description, but it was cremated before anyone could examine it. Aoibhe and our enemies are curious.”

  Raven leaned against the front door. “Aoibhe? I thought she fled with Ibarra.”

  “The black robes put in place a puppet prince. Aoibhe returned two weeks ago. She killed Gregor and seized the principality. Now she wants revenge.”

  “Won’t the black robes depose her?”

  “They have found another enemy nearer home.”

  “What about Ibarra?”

  Borek shrugged. “He never returned.”

  “The Roman betrayed us,” Raven couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “He promised William his support but withdrew it.”

  “Cato has too much influence. An old one’s madness has finally caught up with our king.”

  “You think he’s mad?”

  Borek nodded. “When we were in Rome, I heard a few things from the guards. Cato had all the old ones in the principality slain because they were a threat to him. He mediates everything, controlling the information the Roman receives. But the Roman is paranoid and uses the guards as spies. Even so, his memory is unreliable. He’ll give an order and when a guard carries it out, he’ll punish the guard for acting without approval. The palace is in a constant state of terror.

  “The Prince was the only credible threat to Cato. So he manipulated the Roman into having the Curia destroy him.”

  Raven rubbed at her eyes. “How did you find me?”

  “Aoibhe sent me to track you, but we thought you were in Geneva. When I didn’t find you, I continued the hunt on my own. Budapest and Prague were obvious choices. Both cities have been cleared of vampyres for years, so our enemies feel little need to police them. I was hesitant to return here because of my history. I went to Budapest first.”

  “You’re here to kill me.”

  Borek didn’t blink. “That is my mission.”

  “You’ve failed. I’m wearing a relic and I won’t take it off.” Raven entered the building and prepared to shut the door.

  “Wait!” Borek stretched out his hand, still maintaining his distance. “If I can find you, so can she. You have to leave. Tonight.”

  “So you can track me to my new destination? I don’t think so.”

  “Aoibhe may have sent others. She may have sent Ibarra and he’s far more powerful than me.”

  Raven examined Borek’s face. “At any time, I can call my priest and tell him where I am. He’ll send agents to rescue me.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Borek gave her a knowing look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The black robes may come, but it won’t be to rescue you. Aoibhe told me there was a report your priest had quit the black robes and returned to America.”

  “I doubt that. He only just arrived in Rome.”

  “Perhaps he acquired a conscience.” Borek’s tone was sarcastic. “Clearly I’m wasting my time here.” He turned to go.

  “Wait,” Raven called. “If I could, I’d start a war between the Curia and the Roman and watch them destroy each other. They murdered my William.” Her voice broke. “I hate them all.”

  “Finally, something we agree on.” Borek faced her once
again.

  “Will you help me?”

  “Help you do what?”

  “Start a war.”

  Borek laughed. “That’s madness. You’d never get near Rome; Aoibhe has too many spies.”

  “Help me. We have common enemies.”

  Borek paused, almost as if he were tempted. “I’m not committing suicide for a human’s revenge.”

  He stood very tall and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve paid my debt. May fortune smile on you.”

  “What will you tell Aoibhe?” Raven asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

  “Nothing. She’s a tyrant. I won’t live under her yoke.

  “Much as I had reason to dislike the Prince, he gave his life to save Florence when the Roman betrayed us. The Prince died for all of us.” The expression on Borek’s face shifted, as if the realization haunted him. “The entire principality is in his debt. It pleases me to honor his sacrifice. And yours.

  “Farewell, Lady Raven.” With a ceremonial bow, Borek melted into the shadows.

  Chapter Sixty

  WHEN RAVEN ENTERED HER APARTMENT, she didn’t bother calling the number she’d memorized. Instead, she reached for the guidebook Sarah had given her, which provided her with instructions and advice, along with a list of safe houses scattered around the world. Raven didn’t know how wide Sarah’s network was or who precisely it was for, but she knew all its resources were at her disposal, ostensibly because William had paid Sarah for a comprehensive relocation plan.

  Raven made note of the guidebook’s instructions on how to escape by train and packed a small carry-on bag. She took the SIM card out of her cell phone, as instructed, and flushed it down the toilet, replacing it with a new, unused SIM card. She left behind most of her clothes but took her passport and all the cash she’d been hiding in a container in her freezer. Once the sun had risen above the horizon, she took a taxi to the central train station.

  Using cash, she booked a ticket on the first train to Moscow and sat in one of the busy waiting areas in the station, staying alert to her surroundings.