by Tal Bauer
“Lucifer’s noumenon, the closest thing demonic forces and angelic beings have to a soul. The true essence of their identity, regardless of their physical body. That which is them, wholly and purely.” The vampire’s yellow eyes fixed to Cristoph’s.
Silence stole the air from the Holy Father’s apartment, full and complete. Wind twitched against the curtains, silk shifting on silk, and a shard of glass tumbled from its shattered fracture, tinkling to the carpet. Cristoph could feel his heart pounding, and he thought he could hear Luca’s raging heartbeat, too.
“Lucifer?” Cristoph breathed. “The Lucifer? The Devil? Evil incarnate?”
“The fallen prince of Elohim,” the vampire corrected. “Leader of the rebellion. Murderer. Destroyer of the universe.”
“How do you know all of this?” Clemente stepped forward, his shoes crunching on broken glass. He stood tall before the grotesque vampire, staring into his gaze.
“I have been a vampire for hundreds of years now,” he rumbled. “I have heard tales from the darkness and whispers across the Veil. Stories and legends of old, from millennia far before me. And…” He dropped to one knee before Clemente and bowed his head. “I was once a knight, though never a chosen knight to carry the noumenon. I fell defending my Holy Father’s life and was turned on May 6, 1527.”
Cristoph and Luca started, sharing a long look. Swiss Guard history came droning back, Luca’s voice lecturing the recruits about their unbroken history and their heraldry. Their greatest sacrifice, long ago.
“May 6, 1527, is the date of the Stand of Swiss Guard, when one hundred and forty-seven guards gave their life to protect the Holy Father’s flight from the Vatican when invaders sacked Rome. The commander, Kaspar Röist, died in the battle, passing leadership to Hercules Göldi who led the Holy Father to safety in the fortress of Castel Sant’Angelo.”
“My name is Linhart Claus.” The vampire looked into Clemente’s eyes. “I was one of the original Swiss Guard to journey to the Vatican. I died defending my captain, Kaspar, and his second, Hercules, as Kaspar passed on the noumenon to Hercules. I died watching Hercules rush the Holy Father away. I bled out on the steps of St. Peter’s.”
Cristoph couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t react in any way. His gaze darted back to Luca. Luca wasn’t any better, pale and staring at the vampire with broken eyes and a dropped jaw.
“How did you turn, my son?” Clemente cupped Linhart’s cheek as gently as he had Luca’s.
Linhart exhaled, a breathy whimper, and turned his face into Clemente’s palm. “Dark creatures always find their way into war, into battle, and into despair. Into sickness and tragedy.” He licked his pale, cracked lips. “A vampire crawled over me. It’s the last thing I saw, before—”
Clemente’s thumb stroking across the harsh line of Linhart’s jutting cheekbone, down the sigils on his cheek. Linhart closed his eyes, a rapturous expression crossing his face.
“You can help us, my son?” Clemente said softly. “You can guide us to our people? And help us stop these demons?”
Linhart swallowed, and Cristoph watched him gather himself together and rise. “Yes, I can take you to them. I tracked their teleport across Rome. I can help you rescue my knight brother.” He turned to Cristoph, a tiny smile stretched across his lips. “I can see how much you care for him in your soul. We will find him. I swear it.”
He shouldn’t have taken comfort in the vow of a vampire, but he clung to anything he could, anything in this crazed world that promised he’d see Alain again. He nodded. “What do we do? Where do we go?”
“We need weapons. The knights’ weapons. Where is their armory?”
That, at least, he could answer. “Alain’s kitchen. I can get what we need. Silver, iron, salt?”
“Bring everything.” Linhart turned to Luca. “Retrieve the halberds and pikes from the Swiss Guard armory. They have silver cores. We can use those weapons as well.”
Luca nodded. His fingers tightened on Alain’s blade.
Linhart noticed. “And keep that blade close. It’s a knight’s blade. You seem to know how to hold it and the blade is comfortable in your grasp.”
Cristoph frowned. He wanted to take Alain’s blade back. He didn’t want Luca to keep it.
“We also need transportation.” Linhart scowled between Luca and Cristoph. “I cannot carry both of you across Rome—”
“I am coming with you.” Clemente spoke slowly, but there was the weight of authority in his voice, the heaviness of a man who wasn’t argued with. Ever.
“Holy Father…” Luca tried. “You can’t. This is too dangerous, Your Holiness.”
Clemente arched his eyebrows at Luca. “My son, this is a battle against the darkness. Where else am I supposed to be?”
Cristoph shrugged when Luca tossed a harried glance his way. What could they say to that? Luca shook his head and closed his eyes, but the fight had gone out of him.
“Lotario has a car. He keeps it parked by the barracks.”
“That rusted-out yellow monstrosity?” Luca snorted. “It runs on faith alone.”
“That is all we need.” Clemente smiled at Luca, and Luca’s sneer fell instantly. “Cristoph, go get what you need. Luca, you and I will get the car. Linhart, meet us there. I trust you know how to stay hidden?”
Linhart nodded. “One more thing, Holy Father. Do not, for any reason, trust anyone in the Vatican. This place is full of darkness. Evil has corrupted men’s hearts. There is no trust here. Not anymore. Stick close to only those you know.”
“Wise words.” Clemente crossed himself. “Go. We’ll meet back up in the courtyard in five minutes.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cristoph burst through Alain’s broken front door, knocking it out of place from where Alain had propped it after Luca had kicked it in. He bounced off the wall, skittered down the hallway, and slid into the kitchen.
He grabbed everything he could. Knives, daggers, swords, shotguns, pistols. He kicked open the chest with the toe of his boot and grabbed all the bags of herbs he could find, shoving them into his pockets and down his shirt when he ran out of space. He didn’t know exactly what he was grabbing, but hell if he was leaving anything behind.
Whirling, he started to leave.
And stopped.
On the kitchen counter, right where they had shared breakfast, was the blade Alain had given to him, resting gently in a navy box atop a sea of black velvet.
The blade Luca has. It must be from the other knight.
A slip of paper was tucked under the box.
Cristoph,
This blade belongs to you now.
Dizziness stole through Cristoph, followed by the sinking weight of dread. He really had given it up, given to him wholly and completely.
As if he knew he wasn’t going to get the chance to give it to him in the future. As if he knew he wasn’t coming back.
He grabbed the blade and took off.
No matter what, he was bringing Alain back. No matter what.
* * *
The gendarmerie was towing Lotario’s rusted-out Bug when Luca arrived at the Swiss Guard courtyard next to St. Anne’s Gate.
Twirling red lights and the warning claxon of the tow truck blared. Lotario’s Bug was being loaded onto a flatbed outside the blasted-out garrison. Gendarmerie officers and members of the Vatican fire brigade were still picking through the smoldering wreckage, working with headlamps and flashlights instead of floodlights to keep away the gawkers and news helicopters.
Luca pressed Clemente against a column alongside the barracks, hiding him from sight. The Holy Father had traded his cassock for a pair of soft track pants and a sweatshirt, and instead of his zucchetto, a Juventus football beanie sat low on his head, pulled down over his eyebrows.
Luca stormed across the courtyard. An exchange of harsh words, and then one hundred Euros from Luca’s wallet, and the rusted Bug was dropped in place, the tow truck departing.
Captain Ewe
appeared, his filthy face stained with dirt and blood, haggard and weary from the day’s tragedies. “Commandant Bader,” he said. “We’ve secured the garrison and removed all the wounded. We’ve set up a triage facility in the canteen, and the most critically injured have been taken to hospital. No fatalities, thank the Lord, but there are some badly wounded halberdiers. Broken bones and such. The halberdiers who are still able to stand guard have been placed around the Vatican, and we have an extra squad clearing St. Peter’s Square. I’ve enacted emergency protocol for the night.” He waited, watching Luca. “Commandant? What are your orders?”
Luca shook his head. He couldn’t think straight, and a haze had settled through him. Disparate urges tore him apart. He should return to his men, to the Swiss Guard, and stay with them through the night. Be the leader they deserved, that they needed. Especially now.
But His Holy Father and Cristoph were about to battle dark and evil forces and try to save Alain, all with the help of a vampire, a vampire that was one of their own from centuries past.
He didn’t know what was real anymore. Maybe he was really unconscious, laid up in hospital, and this was all some farcical fantasy.
He could only hope.
“Captain, excellent work. Continue through the night. I have to attend to duties with His Holiness.”
“The Holy Father? Shall I pull a squadron of guards for you?”
“No! No, what you’ve done here is remarkable.” He couldn’t put any more men in danger, not after so many had been hurt already. Not when none of them had been trained for any of this, and even Cristoph, Alain’s recruit, had only just barely begun his own training. Whatever that meant. “Carry on, Captain.”
Captain Ewe jogged off. Luca waited until he was alone, achingly alone, before heading back to Lotario’s Bug.
Clemente had already climbed into the driver’s seat. Luca passed the Bug by and headed for the armory, grabbing pikes and halberds by the armful. He eyed the silver breastplates and then grabbed two, hauling the heavy armor back to the Bug.
When he got there, he shoved the pikes and halberds in as far as they would go, silver tips down and buried in Lotario’s trash heap of cigarette packs and fast food wrappers. He shimmied into one of the breastplates, hurriedly tying the leather straps beneath his arms, and then clambered into the back of the Bug.
From the front, Clemente and Linhart turned as one, the Holy Father smiling at Luca as Linhart appraised his armor with the critical eye of a Swiss Guard captain inspecting a junior soldier. With a start, Luca realized that he was wearing armor that Linhart would have worn, wearing armor, in fact, that one of the survivors of that battle Linhart had given his life in had worn.
His eyes darted between the Holy Father and the vampire. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.
“Language, my son.” Clemente’s eyes narrowed, and he shared a quick look with Linhart, who had pulled back his lips and bared his fangs at Luca’s curse.
What happened to the world? What happened to my sanity? Luca’s eyes slipped closed.
He found the hilt of the blade he’d tucked into his belt, fingers squeezing around it. Out of everything that had happened in the past hour, the blade in his hand felt the most real. It felt right to hold it close. He hadn’t known what he was doing when he brandished the blade at Linhart, but he’d moved as if he did, the sword slashing through the air like an extension of his arm. Like an extension of him.
His eyes slitted open, staring at the back of Linhart’s dark, messy head. Matted hair twisted into locks gave the vampire a crazed, dangerous air. Linhart made his bones scream and his skin crawl, made him feel like he was about to jump out of his body. He wanted to run, to get as far away from the vampire as he could, and take His Holiness with him.
But another part of him, something deeper, wanted to slide close to Linhart. Wanted to bare his throat and sink to his knees, offer himself up. Dark words, hoarse and indistinct, echoed deep in his mind, a low chant that he couldn’t make out.
Finally, Cristoph arrived, dropping a heaping pile of weapons into Luca’s lap before clambering into the Bug. “Let’s go!” he said, slapping at the back of Clemente’s seat.
“Do you have the keys?” Clemente, seemingly ever calm, even crammed in a car with a vampire and more weapons than were legal to possess in Italy, smiled faintly over his shoulder.
Luca groaned. He slammed his head back against the seat.
“Uhh—” Cristoph bit his lip A flush crawled up his neck. “I can— Here, let me—” He crawled forward, sliding between the two front seats and laying his body across Clemente’s lap.
Luca watched him pull out a blade identical to the one he’d grabbed after Alain had vanished and slice into the wiring beneath the Bug’s steering column.
Silence resounded as Cristoph hot-wired the car in front of the Holy Father and a vampire. The engine sputtered to life, choking as it turned over.
“Excellent,” Clemente said with a smile. He turned to Linhart. “Where to?”
“The Santa Maria del Priorato church, in the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta. It was an old Knights Templar castle in Rome before they were disbanded. The demons want to channel the power from the knights’ history there.”
Clemente shifted into gear. They slid past the Swiss Guards at St. Anne’s Gate, their flashlights shining briefly over their faces before waving the car through.
* * *
Cristoph tugged his cell phone out and dialed the number for the Italian polizia after he tied on the breastplate Luca tossed on his lap.
“I need to speak to Angelo, please. He’s an officer working on special assignment with the Vatican. It’s urgent.” He tapped his foot against the floorboards, through Lotario’s trash, as he waited for the operator on the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, heavy Italian accenting her words. “There is no officer who works in the polizia on special assignment with the Vatican.”
“No, I know he exists. I know he works there. I know he’s on some kind of special ultra-top-secret assignment to the Vatican.” His voice rose. “I know he’s there. Put him on the line! Connect me to him!”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you.”
“Dammit, connect me to him! I need his help!”
The operator disconnected the line, leaving Cristoph in silence.
“Dammit…”
Luca watched him, the streetlights illuminating his face for a half second at a time. “We’re on our own,” Luca breathed.
Cristoph nodded. He watched out the front window as Clemente drove across Rome. They passed the Coliseum, and the Bug belched and stuttered, the engine knocking out black smoke as Clemente shifted gears. The Ponte Sublicio took them across the Tiber, toward a park and a bus station and a stand of restaurants. Italians walked in the street, laughing in the warm summer evening, ignorant of the rusted-out Bug and their mission.
Clemente turned up the Lungotevere and then turned again, winding up Aventine Hill toward the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta, the courtyard of the monastery and church dedicated to the Knights of Malta after the fall of the Knights Templar. It had been the Templar’s home in the heart of Rome, once, on a hill across the river from the Vatican.
Darkness enveloped Rome, night falling across the bustling city. A black moon hung low in the sky. Linhart seemed to fade into shadow in the front of the Bug. Everyone stayed silent as the car lurched and rattled up the hill.
Ahead, the tower of the monastery gleamed. Clemente rocked the Bug to a stop in the center of the piazza. Night, at least, took the tourists away.
The monastery and church were secured behind a steel-reinforced wooden gate. It was the only entrance in an unbroken fence, taller than two men, that encircled the grounds.
Cristoph opened his mouth, about to offer to boost Luca up over the fence, when Luca pulled out one of Alain’s shotguns.
“Stand back,” he growled.
Luca blasted the center of the gate
, blowing away the lock. Wood splintered, and one side of the gate slipped open, hinges creaking.
Linhart had curled around Clemente, shielding him as Luca fired. Cristoph watched Linhart quickly check over Clemente before they rushed the gate.
“We don’t know what’s in there,” Cristoph said, striding to the front of the group. He held Alain’s blade in one hand and a pistol loaded with silver- and iron-tipped bullets in the other. Luca walked beside him, shotgun and blade in his hands. Linhart held two halberds and guarded Clemente.
“We just need to get out alive with Alain and Lotario.” Cristoph met Luca’s gaze. He raised his blade. Luca crossed his blade with his own, a sidelong salute.
“I will distract the demons,” Linhart growled. “You both retrieve our brethren.”
“Your Holiness,” Luca pleaded. “You can stay outside. You can stay safe.”
“I will be with you, my children. I will fight the way I know how. With prayer.”
The monastery and church were supposed to be dark, shuttered for the night. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone within. But the windows were illuminated with a shimmering light, wreathing the church. As they neared, the air grew colder and their breath misted before their faces.
Alain, I’m coming. Just hold on. Hold on. We’re here. I’m here.
* * *
Alain came back to consciousness slowly, his vision fading in and out. Shapes and shadows moved around him, flickering in and out of darkness. Smoke tickled his nose, and the wet, warm taste of blood coated his tongue and the back of his throat.
He tried to move.
He couldn’t.
Awareness returned in a flash. Charging forward after seeing a demon holding Luca. The clap of a demon’s teleportation. They’d grabbed him, clinging to his soul as he was hurtled through space.
Where was he? What had happened? Where was Cristoph? Hopefully far away, someplace safe, someplace protected. Lotario would see to that. He’d make sure Cristoph stayed safe.
