[Dominion 01.0] Dominion

by S. E. Lund

  "The witness is in the main office," Terri says and makes a face. "He's pretty crazy. I don't think you'll get much useful information out of him. Oh, and I advise you to stay back," she says and plugs her nose.

  Ed nods. "You get what you get. The guy left witnesses," Ed says to me as he opens the door to the main office. "He wasn't very clean in his kill. Guess he's not so smart after all. This is his first slip-up and so we may be close to finding him."

  The old man has an air of madness about him. It shows in his wide rheumy eyes, and the filthy hair that hangs in long mats from his head. His smell is so intense that Ed refuses to interview him in one of the small interrogation rooms. Instead, he sits in the middle of the office, alone on a chair, as far away from anyone in particular as possible.

  A light rain has fallen all night long and the man is soaked to his skin. As he sits and waits for Ed's questions, water puddles beneath his chair. In the warmth of the room, steam rises off his worn clothing as if the man is burning up like the ember of his cigarette.

  Police found him crouched against the wall that circled the cathedral just a few dozen feet from where the murder took place. He'd run to the cathedral priory and reported the murder and then slipped away in the confusion. Now, while Ed tells him who I am, I fear that his testimony will be like Terri said. Useless.

  I cross the room to the window and open one pane to let in some fresh air. The streets are deserted, as they should be at this time of night. Only the incessant drip of rain breaks the silence.

  I turn at the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor and watch as Ed perches on it across from the witness.

  "Tell me, Antonio, what did you see?"

  "I see them everyday," he says with a thick Italian accent. "The priests. I know them well, each by face and name. I knew this one, Julien de Cernay. When he came close and gave me a coin, I knew it was him. I saw his aura." Antonio's voice comes to me as if we're under water – muted, dull. He sits back as if satisfied that he's delivered the most important part of his message.

  "His aura?" My voice is distant and my throat feels choked.

  "Vampyr. They exist in two planes, one of spirit and one of flesh. I see their spirit."

  I sit at the desk against the wall and flip open the case file while Ed questions Antonio about his place of residence. Ed's hand-written notes are barely legible, but they confirm what I already know and provide more information on Michel's brother.

  Julien de Cernay, age thirty-five when he was turned in 1224. Lives at the monastery outside of Boston although he owns property in the city along the waterfront. He assists a priest in the Diocese with services on occasion. Why is he out so late dressed in full clerics? It seems as if the brothers have switched roles, with Michel acting as the warrior and Julien as the priest.

  "Did he say anything to you?"

  "No." Antonio shrugs as if he wishes he had more to offer. "He merely dropped a few coins in my hand and mumbled a blessing. He seemed in haste to get to his destination. I watched him walk through trees towards the main buildings and then disappear around a corner. I thought it odd for him to be out so late at night. Something was up," he says and nods as if in agreement with his own assessment. "I arrived at the edge of the cathedral gardens but it was dark and I could see very little. After a few moments, I saw him, or rather, them. Julien and another taller man. I couldn't tell who had joined him, but when Julien knelt before the man, I moved closer, careful to remain silent. Who knew what they were doing?"

  I frown. He only claimed that he saw the body. What's he doing?

  "Wait a minute," Ed said. "You didn't say you saw the murder. You said you found the body."

  "I was upset," Antonio said, waving Ed's protest away with a flick of his hand. "I have just only now remembered."

  "Only now?" Ed turns to me and rolls his eyes.

  "Yes. The fright must have clouded my memory. But I remember now. They appeared to be praying. The larger man was also dressed in clerics and had pale skin and fair hair. He laid a hand on Julien's head as if offering a blessing. Another priest killed him." Antonio says plainly.

  A knock at the door tears my attention away from Antonio. A tech pops his head inside and looks at Ed.

  "Someone in Arlington wants to speak to you."

  Ed rises and glances at me.

  "I'll be right back." He turns to Antonio and points. "You – keep quiet until I return."

  A sense of dread fills me that I can't explain. I do not want to be alone with the witness. When Ed leaves the room and closes the door, that familiar feeling of time standing still washes over me and I brace myself. The air feels as if it's been sucked out of my lungs. Yet, Antonio speaks, as if he's in the same time frame as I am. His voice is soft, conspiratorial.

  "I waited to reveal what I saw to someone who mattered. I knew as soon as I saw you that I could trust you."

  "Why me?"

  "You're special."

  "How am I special?" I say but he ignores me.

  "I saw them together, and before my eyes, he changed. I shook my head as if to clear it and blinked away the mist, but the apparition persisted. Darkness spread out behind them and then I could see him – his great black wings unfolded so that they blocked out the light from the cathedral."

  That sends a wave of shock through me, my blood like ice in my veins as I remember Soren in Montana.

  "You're supposed to wait until Agent O'Neil comes back." I close my eyes and rub my forehead. I don't want to think about him mentioning black wings. "Besides, I thought you said he was a vampire."

  "Julien, yes. But the other one. He was Strigoi."

  "A demon?"

  "Yes. An Ancient with great dark wings. All my life I've read about such beings." Now Antonio seems to warm to his subject and leans forward, his face almost beatific. "I am a true believer but still, to see a Fallen so close . . ." He slips a hand into some fold of his filthy clothing, retrieving a rough wooden crucifix on a leather strap. "I delivered the exorcism to chase the demon off. In the Name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord," he says, his voice wavering at first, then growing louder, "strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary . . ."

  I glance at the door, wishing it would open. "Are you a priest as well?"

  "No, never ordained. Merely an Exorcist. But I'm trained. Now it's my duty to watch over the flock, protect them from Him."

  This is clearly so absurd that I might as well stop the tape and shoo him out of the SCU but I play along.

  "What happened next?"

  "I stepped even closer, delivering the prayer of exorcism even though my knees were shaking, and my voice was barely a whisper. Mother of God," he says, his eyes wide. "Mother of the Blessed Michael the Archangel, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul and all the Saints, and powerful in the holy authority of our ministry. . ."

  A drip of spittle falls from his lips as he stares off into space as if watching the scene in his mind's eye.

  "The demon raised his eyes to me, baring his teeth, but I persisted." He holds up his wooden crucifix. "We confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil."

  "Then," the old man says, his face crumpling. "Julien pulled free of the demon's embrace and turned towards me. "'You can't have him,'" I shouted. Then the demon held me down as if by some invisible power. I could do nothing but watch as the monster staked Julien like so," he says and mimics the action. "He picked Julien up and threw him across the clearing towards me as if he were nothing more than a bundle of rags." Antonio bends down over his knees and weeps, his face in his filthy hands.

  "I no longer cared for my own life." Antonio looks up at me, his face wet with tears. "I dragged myself to him and felt for a pulse but there was nothing. I knew what I must do. I whispered the last rites into his ear even though I am not a priest, but I know God will forgive me. Into thy hands, Lord, I commend my spirit." The old man makes the sign of the cross. "Mary Mother of grace, Mother of mercy, do thou prot
ect me from the enemy and receive me at the hour of my death."

  I hand him a tissue and he wipes his eyes.

  "When I looked up, the demon was gone."

  I shake my head. He appears so crazy for he completely believes the story he just recounted.

  "You must stop him. You and Michel."

  "Me?" How does he know about Michel?

  Then the door opens and the moment passes as if a gust of wind has blown it away. The clock begins to tick loudly once again as time returns to normal, and the coffee pot hisses as an errant drop of moisture falls on the exposed burner. Ed apologizes to us and takes his seat across from Antonio. I examine the tape recorder on the table but I know that when we play it back, neither Antonio's words or mine will have been recorded.

  "So," O'Neil says, "when I left, you claimed to have seen the murder itself. Please, describe what you saw."

  "It was dark." Antonio shrugs, now seemingly unwilling to recount his story.

  "But you saw the murder? You saw the murderer?"

  "I saw two shapes in the darkness, heard hushed voices. I couldn't see anything clearly. But I heard a scream and ran like the Devil himself was after me." He glances at me and winks.

  "That's everything? You left the park and ran to the cathedral?"

  "Yes." The old man nods and with a furtive hand, tucks the crucifix away in a pocket.

  "You never told the rector that you saw the murder."

  "Eh," he says and shrugs. "I had a lot to drink."

  Ed turns to me and rolls his eyes. I get the sense Antonio is trying to appear insane, but that only makes me more anxious. We're being played. The question is, by whom?

  I sigh. Once we find Michel, we'll have to tell him of his sibling's death. My heart goes out to him. He's somewhere right now, ignorant of what's happened. To be told in the early hours of a rainy morning that your brother has been staked on church grounds is cruel.

  I doubt if anything can make such news less painful.

  Chapter 17

  "Love is my religion - I could die for it."

  John Keats

  Dawn is still a few hours away when we take the interstate, going directly to Michel's home outside Cambridge, an historic property, and it's then I realize that Michel has money. From the looks of the property, lots of it. But of course, his forefathers were Vicomtes back in the day.

  Ed drives up to the security gate and waits for his car to be waved through. Finally the gate opens and Ed drives up the semicircular drive and parks in front of the door. The old mansion is a colonial with stately columns and lush landscaping. I can't begin to imagine how old or how expensive it is nor can I imagine Michel living here.

  We get out of the car and I glance around. There are security cameras everywhere and a guard greets us at the front door. He's wearing a suit and has an earpiece like I've seen on Secret Service personnel. This place has a lot of security.

  Ed speaks with the guard and the guard goes back inside, leaving us on the front driveway. Finally, the guard returns and waves us in. I enter the house and can't help but be curious, but at the same time, I'm afraid of how Michel will react to the news.

  "He's in the library. Follow me," the guard says and points to a set of double glass doors. He leads the way and we pass through into a huge room with wall to ceiling bookshelves. There are thousands of books and the shelves are so high, there is a ladder on rollers for access. The room is grand and a huge fireplace is a focal point to the room.

  Michel's sitting in a wing chair, reading. He's dressed in black jeans and a black sweater and the darkness of the fabric contrasts with his white skin and dark hair. He glances at me briefly, but his face is unreadable.

  "My Lord," the guard says. "Agents O'Neil and Hayden to see you."

  My Lord?

  "What's the matter?" Michel says, closing the book. "You wouldn't come to my home unless this was important. Do we have a suspect?"

  "Why the fuck haven't you been answering your phone?" Ed says. "Regs stipulate that you must be in phone contact 24/7."

  "I left you a note about a personal trip I had to make and that I'd be out of phone contact for twenty-four hours at least," Michel says, his voice clipped, impatient.

  "Where were you? The dark side of the moon? There's no reason for you to be out of phone contact."

  "I sent a note, Ed. Surely you can do without me for one day."

  "I didn't get any note. We've been trying to get in touch with you all night."

  Michel's jaw tenses. "What's so important?"

  "Well, first, Eve was snooping around in Terri's files. The personnel files and she found her own."

  Michel turns to look at me, and instead of mild disinterest, he appears concerned.

  "How much did you read?"

  I shake my head. "That's not important." I turn to Ed. "Tell him."

  "Tell me what?"

  Ed sits on the couch across from Michel, who grips onto the arm of the sofa and his book slips out of his hand onto the floor. "Julien?"

  Ed nods and stares at Michel.

  "Staked. We found him just after midnight. He's intact, but he's dead."

  I watch Michel and his eyes close, his nostrils flaring as he absorbs the news. He covers his eyes with a hand and my heart clenches for him.

  Ed clears his throat. "He wasn't working on some clandestine operation we didn't know about?"

  "Not that I know of," Michel says, his voice barely audible. "We've only recently begun speaking again."

  "You'll have to find someone to revive him."

  "Of course," Michel says, and bends to pick up his book. I reach down for him, glancing at the title. Aquinas, Summa Theologica. I hand it to him and our fingers touch for a second. A surge of sadness fills me from him and I want to take his hand and feel more, but he quickly pulls his hand away from mine as if avoiding my touch. He glances at his watch.

  "I'll have to make arrangements..."

  "I'm sorry about this Michel," Ed says, his earlier anger gone, replaced by patience. "We should go to the morgue," Ed says, standing. "You need to identify him. Take possession."

  Michel slips the book onto the table and follows him. I take up the rear and walk behind Michel. He's being amazingly calm, considering but I can tell he's very upset by the stiffness to his body and his movements, as if he's holding himself in, desperately trying to control his emotions. I want so much to comfort him, but know there is nothing I could do or say. We stop in the entry and Michel speaks to a servant, who brings him his cassock-coat, helping him with it. I note the way all the staff treat him with deference, keeping their eyes downcast.

  Michel speaks with the guard who greeted us, and when we drive away from the grounds, I notice there's a car tailing us.

  We drive to the morgue in silence. Michel is seated beside me in the back of the sedan. I glance at him and he's looking down at his hands, which are in fists, his hair partially covering his face. I want so badly just to lean over and put my arms around him.

  "You met with him before Montana and once we were there," he says quietly. "Did he say anything?"

  "You already know what we spoke about."

  "I have no idea what you spoke about," Michel says, turning to me, frowning. "I was away on personal business."

  "I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I thought I saw a vampire in the alley behind the café. I thought it was you."

  "Spying on you? I was busy all that night until I saw you."

  "Michel," I say, leaning in closer, taking his hand, squeezing, needing to touch him. "He has that tattoo – the same as the other victims of the River Man. The Lorraine Cross."

  He frowns and turns to me, squeezing my hand back, his grief barely held at bay.

  "He does? I haven't seen it but we've been estranged for decades…"

  I remember the thick scarf Julien wore the night he showed up. I wonder if he hasn't been hiding it for it was only because Julien's scarf fell open when we had coffee that I saw it.

  M
ichel lets me hold his hand, but I get nothing from him of where he's been or what he was doing. He's just a wall of raw emotion.

  "There's a video camera so you can identify him at a distance," Ed says from the front seat.

  Michel shakes his head. "I want to see him."

  "Michel," I say and pull his hand closer. "When I was with Soren, I read him. He's the one killing Adepts. He's the River Man."

  Michel turns to me and shakes his head.

  "He can't be. He has an alibi for every murder."

  I look at him. Can't he see that Soren can compel anyone to give him an alibi?

  "I know what I felt."

  "What did you see?"

  "I didn't see anything, but if he's more powerful than a vampire, he might be able to block my telepathy. But I know I felt him and he's the River Man."

  We arrive at the SCU. Michel and I walk hand in hand to the storage area and we wait while an attendant retrieves the body. After a nod from Ed, the attendant pulls the draping back to reveal Julien's white face. The attendant keeps the shroud just above the shoulders, covering the stake.

  "Why haven't they removed the stake?"

  "It has to stay in," Ed says. "So they can do the rite."

  I reach out to touch it and see if there are any memory traces but Ed reaches out to stop me.

  "Let me check it," I say.

  He shakes his head. "It's obvious this is the work of the same killer."

  "But it's my job…"

  Michel squeezes my hand to stop me. "Eve," he says, his voice choked. "This is not your fight."

  I frown. Michel lets go of my hand and stands next to the table. I glance from one brother to the other. Identical except for Julien's hair and scar.

  "He was older by four minutes," Michel says, his voice choking. "The first to do everything – to walk, to speak, to kiss a girl..."

  The first to die… I think, completing his thought.

  I wonder about the legendary bond that exists between identical twins. It's impossible to explain in purely scientific terms so one has to resort to paranormal phenomena to account for it, but I'm a scientist. I cling to the belief that everything has a material basis – even telepathy.