by Graham Brown
“Glad to hear you helped yourself to one of my checkbooks,” he said.
“It was the least I could do,” she said. “Now what if Drake goes to your apartment? Do you want me to go back and shred everything?”
“Do you have the journal?”
“I do.”
“Nothing else matters.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he said. “Don’t, under any circumstances, go back there. I’m going to arm the system, and if Drake or his minions show up, you’ll hear about it because the whole place will blow sky high.”
“What do you mean, sky high?”
“The whole building is rigged with explosives. Don’t worry, I had a demolitions expert put them in. The building will pancake on itself. Nothing but a pile of rubble.”
“What about the other people who live there?” Ida asked.
“No one else lives there,” he said. “I own the whole building.”
“Of course you do,” she said. “You might have told me the place was booby trapped. I’ve been poking into your stuff for days.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It wasn’t armed. But you might want to stop being nosy. Now, what have you got? Your text sounded a lot better than mine. Any idea where I can find this Dark Star? Or if it’s even real?”
“Afraid not,” she said, “But I’ve found something even more interesting.”
Faust was standing a few feet away, nervously shifting his weight from one side to the other. The announcer was calling their train. Christian turned his attention back to the phone. “I’m not interested in story time right now, Ida.”
She replied in her best school teacher tone. “Just listen for a minute, will you? Remember the inscription at the end of the journal? The one Simon wrote directly to you?”
“Of course I do.” You are not alone, my midnight son.
“I think I know what it means,” she replied. “I think his note is a reference to a Nosferatu named Jocasta of Crete. Have you ever heard of him?”
“Jocasta was a Greek trader,” Christian said. “Drake turned him about fifteen hundred years ago. He was part of the early version of Drake’s Brethren. At some point they had a falling out and Drake killed him. What does that have to do with me?”
According to the notes from the year 1054, Jocasta was the vampire who gave the prophecy of the angel to the church in the first place. It says, he was given the prophecy because he swore off the blood lust. A messenger was sent to him, an angel delivering to him the word of God, that he shall be released and that all who were willing to wait for it would be shown mercy and be forgiven for their sins.”
“Jocasta,” Christian said. “You're kidding me? I guess that explains why Drake killed him.”
“Except he survived,” Ida said. “At least at first. According to the journal, Jocasta survived Drake’s fury and escaped, though he was badly wounded. He managed to make contact with one of the head masters of the Ignis Purgata—I believe you know who they are. The leader heard Jocasta’s story and supposedly helped him find a place where he and others like him could go and wait for the coming of the angel. Jocasta went there and was never heard from again, not even unto this day. The church believes that Drake later found and killed him, and the idea of helping any demons find a sanctuary was labeled as heresy and the matter closed–except that the prophecy itself was left on the table.”
“So if the church believes this prophecy why are they killing us?”
“They’re still debating it,” she said. “They seem to be mostly against it, from what I’ve read, but haven’t strictly ruled it out yet. And here’s one reason why. Over time, even after Jocasta disappeared, there are repeated instances of known vampires disappearing from the map without the hunters acting. Rumors of a gatherer, who comes and finds them. Some of the Ignis Purgata felt it was Jocasta continuing to act.”
Christian had heard a similar tale from a dying bottom feeder who insisted he was going to be saved. It never happened. “Sounds like a Santa Claus story to me,” Christian said. “Trust me, vampires go missing for many reasons.”
“And yet a note from Simon, three weeks before he dies, references a dream about Jocasta the Gatherer, who leads the Fallen to the Land of Blinding Light.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “But wherever this Land of Blinding Light is, Jocasta was tasked to gather the souls of all who would be willing to wait with him. All the souls who were cursed, but did not turn evil, did not turn to the blood lust or somehow found the strength to turn away from it. There they would pass the time and wait for the coming of the Angel of Forgiveness.”
“Utopia,” he muttered, “for demons. It sounds absurd.”
“I think Simon was trying to tell you it exists,” she said. “But he did it like this to keep the truth from Henrick, in case Henrick got the Journal instead of you. You are not alone, my midnight son.—Remember?”
“Then why not just tell me outright, in person?”
“At the time, you were going to face Drake in the swamps. What if you lost to Drake?”
“He would learn everything from me before he killed me,” Christian said, half guessing but fairly certain. “And any who were hiding would be in danger.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Hence the secrecy.”
Could it be? Christian wondered. “Does it say where this place is?”
“Not in anything I could find,” she said. “But it seems likely that the head of the order would know about it.”
For a minute Christian considered the information, but then he put it out of his mind. It was useless to him at the moment.
“If it’s true,” Ida said, “there might be hundreds, maybe thousands just like you out there somewhere. Lost souls waiting for deliverance. If you find them you don’t have to live this nomadic life anymore.”
“Good work,” he said. “And thanks for telling me, but it doesn’t matter at this point.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “It does matter. Three seconds ago you were alone in the world now you have a tribe, now you have a pathway. It gives you a point in the future to go after; it gives you meaning to a meaningless existence.”
“I have meaning,” he said. “The destruction of Drake is my meaning. Preventing him from finding this weapon is my purpose.”
“You need more,” she said. “I know you do.”
Overhead, the PA system had begun to insist that the train would be leaving imminently. Christian nodded to Faust. “Stay put Ida. I have to go.”
“I will,” she said.
He hung up and slipped the phone in his pocket.
“Guess we won’t need this,” Faust said. He held the third ticket out for Christian who shook his head.
Faust ripped it in half, tossed it in the garbage, and the two of them hustled for the platform.
* * *
The compartment on the TGV line normally held eight passengers, but Christian had sprung for the entire cabin and he and Faust were alone as the train traced south at 175 miles per hour.
“Sure you want to go through with this?” Christian asked.
Faust cleared his throat. “You mean sneak into the Vatican on the suggestion of a demon, steal information only a few people in this world even know exists and risk being hunted down by Drake or the church for it?”
“Yeah, all that,” Christian said. “You can bail at any moment.”
“Really?”
“Did you think I was taking you hostage?”
“No,” Faust admitted. “I thought you needed me.”
“I do,” Christian said. “You don’t seem to be afraid.”
“Not true,” Faust insisted. “I’m afraid of everything. But for some reason, I feel safer with you than anywhere.”
Faust pulled out a pipe and lit it.
“I didn’t know you smoked?” Christian said. “How very professorish of you.”
“I’ve just recently
taken it up,” Faust said. “After our first meeting.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Christian said, staring out the window.
It didn’t take long for the heavy aroma of pipe tobacco to fill the cabin.
“What do you know about the Dark Star?” Christian asked.
“Only that it’s a myth,” Faust said.
“Myths all come from somewhere, Doctor. Somewhere far enough back, there is truth.”
“Yes, six thousand years ago, well before your kind even existed.”
“So you do know something,” Christian said.
“The Dark Star is supposed to be, as legend has it, the stone that Jacob had when he wrestled with God or with the angel of God. Do you know the scripture?”
“And Jacob was left alone,” Christian said, quoting Genesis. “And a man wrestled with him until the break of the day. When the man saw that he couldn’t prevail against Jacob, he touched Jacob’s hip, and Jacob's hip was dislocated. Then the man said, ‘Let me go, for the day is near’. I have to tell you – that last verse is one I’ve always felt a certain understanding for.”
Faust laughed. “Well, you would. Wouldn’t you?”
Christian nodded and then Faust finished. “Jacob said, ‘I won’t release you unless you bless me. And the man said unto him, ‘Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.’”
“Yes,” Christian said, “But if you notice, the verses say a man fought with Jacob.”
“True,” Faust said, waving the pipe around, “but classical interpretation is that the man was at least a messenger from God, thus an angel.”
“Perhaps,” Christian said. “But nowhere is there mention of a stone or rock or weapon.”
“No,” Faust said. “But there are fragments of papyrus in the Vatican that tell the story differently.”
“So you’ve seen them.”
“Heard of them is more accurate.”
Christian was skeptical. “Even if the fragments are genuine, that doesn’t mean the stone exists.”
“No,” Faust said. “But if it did, it supposedly disappeared soon after Jacob’s death. Those who’d seen its power, hid it or destroyed it. Or so the legend says.”
“Do you think the Vatican knows where it is?”
“I think,” Faust began cautiously, “that no living human has thought of it in hundreds of years.”
Christian wondered.
“Truthfully,” Faust said, “if such a thing does exist, the world is better off not knowing where it hides.”
“We don’t have the luxury of hoping it stays hidden,” Christian replied. “You have to find out what the archives say. And if it’s real, we have to get to that stone before Drake does.”
Chapter 29
Rome, Italy
The Rome Termini was bright, spacious, and modern. Its architecture was more like an airport than a train station from the old world. The straight lines, the metal and glass weaved to create beauty, it was something to behold. Shops and cafes littered the inside as passengers moved about.
Christian and Faust stepped off the train, and immediately both of them felt the tension in the air. Christian hadn’t been to Rome in fifteen hundred years. Not since the power of the Church had nested in the Holy See and Vatican City. Nor was he alone. Very little vampirism, occurred in this city. There were too many churches, too many eyes, too many members of the Ignis Purgata about.
That Rome had once been Christian’s home was part of the exile, he guessed. Ironically, it had also been Drake’s ancestral home before he’d traveled with Pilate to Jerusalem. Drake wanted it back. Part of his master plan was to rule from high atop the Vatican, to return and crush his enemies like an emperor claiming his rightful kingdom. He wanted to destroy the Church, to make them pay for refusing him absolution; after all, he was a son of Rome and they crush their enemies. They bow to no one.
As far as Christian knew, Drake had yet to cross the Rubicon as Caesar had. But if he put his hands on the weapon he sought, that day would not wait for long.
They walked through the terminal, stopping at a café. Faust had a cappuccino, which he lifted to his mouth with shaking hands.
“Something wrong Doc?”
“I’m worried. Am I making the right choice? Maybe we should tell the church about Drake. Tell them what he’s after. The new head of the Ignis Purgata is a very zealous man. They say he’s gone into strongholds of various clans and come out victorious. They say he’s created new weapons. Perhaps these weapons would be useful against Drake. Perhaps they could reach this Dark Star faster and easier than we can. Maybe they already know where it is.”
A smirk of disgust crossed Christian’s face. “The new head of the so called Righteous Fire is the last person on earth you want to confide in. Trust me.”
“He swears an oath,” Faust replied. “When he became the leader he-“
“He only became the leader by murdering Simon Lathatch,” Christian said sharply.
Faust went silent, then spoke. “A demon murdered Simon.”
“That’s right,” Christian said, “And that demon’s name was Henrick Vanderwall.”
“I know that you’re enemies but-“
“I could show you,” Christian offered. “I could replay it from my own memory. You’ll see everything.”
Faust looked at his coffee. “No thanks. Not necessary.”
Christian realized this new conversation had just made Faust more nervous, not less. “Maybe we should spike that coffee with a shot of whiskey.”
Faust smiled. “I prefer cognac. The older the better.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “And be careful. If they get onto you, pretend I hypnotized you. They’ll believe that.”
“You want me to lie in the Vatican?”
“No,” Christian said. “I want you to avoid getting caught. If you have to lie, wait till they drag you out of the building.”
He pulled out a map of Vatican City and pointed to an intersection. “I’ll pick you up here. I don’t want to get too close, so you’ll have to walk a bit.”
“Pick me up in what?” Faust asked. “We don’t have a car.”
“I’ll find something to drive,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll know it’s me when you see it.”
Faust took a sip of his cappuccino. “I’ll need some time. It’s not going to be a simple—how do you say it—smash-and-grab job. Just getting to the vault will take some time. To go through the vast amounts of documents and find the ones we’re looking for will take hours, possibly days.”
“If you’re not out of there by dawn, I’ll assume you’re in their custody. But how long can they hold you?”
“Days. Weeks. Who knows? They call it being a guest, but you can’t leave.”
Christian tried to calculate their chances of success. Part of him didn’t want Faust trying this. It felt like he was using the little man. Part of him wanted to cast off all allies. Certainly none of them seemed to fare well. But he had little choice at the moment.
He sat back, deciding a man with a dangerous task ahead was more likely to succeed if he had confidence. “I have faith in you Dr. Faust. And I’ll be waiting with the best bottle of cognac you’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Faust smiled, but his eyes suggested he was filled with doubt.
Chapter 30
Henrick Vanderwall moved through the Vatican, marveling at the power he felt. All the glory, splendor and beauty caught his eye. The spoils of war taken from other lands, things that told him conquest was indeed part of the Church’s mission.
“Every time I enter this grand house of God I can’t help but feel the authority flowing through it,” he said. “And it’s ours to command. That is our duty.”
He and two of his lieutenants were making their way up a grand spiral staircase and into the administrative center of the Vatican where they would meet Bishop Messini and gain their just rewards. As he wa
lked, Henrick wondered what Bishop Messini would bestow upon him when he announced the success of his new weapons and the revelation of Aldo—the oracle.
Not willing to wait, he walked past Messini’s secretary and burst into the Bishop’s office.
“I have glorious news, Bishop. For we have now built the army that will defeat the Fallen once and for all.”
By chance Messini was on the phone, in mid-sentence. He shot Henrick a look of annoyance and then politely ended his phone call and returned the receiver to its proper resting place. At that same moment, his secretary came rushing in. She appeared visibly upset at the fact that Henrick had barged right past her.
Before she could speak, Messini raised a hand. “Not to worry, Maria. Finish up and head home. It appears I have some business with Mr. Vanderwall.”
She gave Henrick a snide look, one that brought to Henrick’s mind a yappy little dog upset that a bigger animal had just taken its bed. He almost laughed. Who did she think she was?
As she shut the door, Bishop Messini took a last look at the screen of his laptop and folded his hands. “So, Henrick, what is it that you wish to tell me?”
* * *
In a different part of the Vatican, Dr. Faust was entering through a small gate protected by minimal security. Only staff and those who had business with the Vatican could use this entrance. There was only one other person in line with him, a tall brunette in her twenties. She looked like she was the administrative type, all dressed up to the nines.
Upon entering the room his eyes darted from left to right; he was nervous and doing a poor job of not showing it. Three big security guards, a metal detector, and cameras everywhere - all these things stood in the way of accomplishing his goal. Sweat ran down his forehead as he waited for the security to clear the woman; he dabbed it away with his handkerchief.
Don’t look at the cameras, he told himself, as he was doing just that.
Don’t count the guards.
Don’t act weird.
It was probably too late for that last part, he thought. Fortunately he was known as an eccentric. For once his reputation might help.
