Joselina turned back. “Qual è il problema, stregone?”
Julian tossed an ugly look. “Okay,” his guest said. “You say you aren’t a wizard. Still, what’s the problem?”
“What do you mean,” Julian answered and tried to smile. “There’s nothing wrong.”
The madam looked at Julian, made a face and shook her head slowly. She returned and sat on his bed. “Wizard or whatever, I deal with whores and men who need such services. I deal in lost souls for a living and you sit there and tell me, nothing is wrong? What, you think I do not know better?”
Julian looked at the Jesuit Book. He ran his hand lightly over the cover and felt the coolness of the leather. He could nearly feel the words inside. Julian looked at and into Joselina. What he saw left him with a smile. Not everything he needed to know came from books.
“You are right, signorina. I am neck deep in trouble. In some cases, I know what to do. In others, I am lost. In some areas, it is not yet time to act. In other cases, well…” Julian left the sentence unfinished, his face reflecting his frustration and confusion.
“You must be fun at parties. Jesus, if I let you go around depressed like this, you will ruin my business. This is the House of Joy, remember?” She smiled and winked and Julian chuckled.
“I’m busy and don’t have time to solve all your little problems. Give me one and I’ll see what I can do,” the woman said.
Julian looked at his guest. “Well if you think you are capable, I suppose I could give you a tiny problem to work on.”
“If I weren’t tired, I would come over there and show you capable, idiota,” she sneered.
“Alright, calm down. Remember, you told me you are in frail health.” Julian smiled at the thought and continued. “I have this friend, a doctor we met in Ireland,” Julian began.
“She came to Rome and is missing. Several days have passed. I need to find her and do it quickly,” Julian finished and sat back in his chair.
Joselina looked thoughtful as deep lines scored her forehead. “So, your Irish lover,” she began.
“Friend,” Julian corrected.
“Yeah, whatever you say. Why don’t you try niece? That never works either. Anyway, she came to Rome to get happy with you. This is a thing I do not understand. Maybe Irish girls are that desperate, eh?
“No matter, I have heard something of all this. My Bella told me some when she dropped you off, but I have heard other noises on the street. Not so much noises as whispers, so you know powerful people are involved. I will look into this for you. For a price. Business is business. For wizard business I only charge double.” Her smile was slight and it triggered a smile from Julian.
***
A scream cut the air. Concern notched lines into Joselina’s face. She moved for the door as it flew open. “Momma, come quick!” A young woman stood in Julian’s doorway and, her hands folded in prayer, addressed her boss.
“It’s Rosa. I think the devil’s got her!” The woman ran off without another word.
Joselina was through the door and down the hall at a demanding pace. Julian grabbed the Jesuit Book and followed.
The madam pushed her way through a knot of her employees blocking the door to Rosa’s room.
A young woman in her mid 20’s lay on the floor. Her muscles alternately contracted violently and relaxed only to spasm again. Her head lolled with each contraction. Julian pushed his way into the room, knelt beside the woman and in a quiet voice told Joselina to clear the room. She did it with a look which sent everyone elsewhere. Quickly.
He felt the words from the Jesuit Book as clearly as if they were spoken, “You know what is needed. It is time.”
Julian looked at Rosa’s face as her head jerked from side to side. Compassion took possession of his body as he began to rub his hands together. Julian could feel it. Rosa’s mind was alive with activity as electrical impulses threatened to swamp her. The root of the loose energy running through her body was centered in her brain.
“Won’t she swallow her tongue or something?” Joselina ventured as she knelt opposite Julian, but Julian didn’t answer. “Right, shut up Joselina,” she said a moment later.
Julian didn’t hear her, couldn’t hear her.
Rosa’s convulsions were now more rhythmic and more violent. He could feel her, not her distress, but her. He took her face in his hands and closed his eyes. Julian began to exhale. He could feel the energy build, then travel down his arms, gaining momentum as it went. Once he had tapped into it, the energy seemed to gather its force from everywhere and everything.
He looked down at Rosa and his lips drew into a hard straight line as the power surged to his hands, then into the woman. Her body went rigid as Joselina gasped. Rosa’s back arched, then she began to go limp. She took a stuttering breath as her mouth fell open. She stopped breathing and her face went slack.
Julian’s right hand moved from Rosa’s face and hovered over her chest. He drew a slow, practiced breath. The world went white. He stiffened as energy coursed from him into the young woman. He stiffened and the muscles in his arms contracted violently. He gritted his teeth as he tried to hold his hands in place.
Rose arched off the floor again. She drew a ragged breath and then another.
Julian took his hands away with infinite slowness and care.
The young woman’s head rolled to the side and she looked at her employer through heavy lidded eyes. The words were a whisper, a prayer, “I’m sorry, Momma.” Joselina bit hard into her lower lip, but her eyes betrayed her as first one tear, then another, coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with irritation.
Julian sat back on his heels, each breath he took, an effort. ‘So this is what Moira and Bridget felt when they touched me, healed me in Ireland,’ he thought.
His body felt heavy and slow as he took Rosa into his arms. It felt to him as though she weighed almost nothing. His own weight was incalculable. Gently, slowly he laid the woman on her bed. He reached out with his mind and drew Joselina to his side.
The older woman was a patchwork of thoughts and emotions. Julian felt bits and pieces of each and then thought, “Please, sit with her for awhile. She will be confused and tired. Have a doctor come and look at her. Without treatment this will happen again. Epilepsy, maybe? I don’t know. The doctor will know and will know what to do.”
Joselina drew back as her mind was invaded, even as she gathered Rosa into her arms.
Julian whispered with aching slowness, each word an effort, “I think I’ll rest for a bit. I feel so tired.” He smiled slightly and moved toward the door, the Jesuit Book in hand.
He touched the door knob and then thought, “Joselina, you will, I know, but be gentle with her. She won’t be up to working for a while.” He smiled and added, “By the way, you’re right, you do need an assistant. Rosa would be good at that. Don’t worry, I can’t read your mind. One of the ladies told me.” He turned the knob, left and shut the door quietly behind him.
Joselina’s face softened as she looked at the young girl in her arms. She looked to the closed door and the older woman’s face softened further. A tear for Julian joined the others.
Chapter Fourteen
Cardinal Manning sat at his desk, chair rocked back, hands clasped behind his head. “Come,” he said in answer to a light knock, but otherwise he didn’t change his posture.
The Director General of the bank entered and stood before the cardinal. “Another loss?” the cardinal asked.
“Yes, Eminence,” the man answered in a voice as subdued as his dark suit.
“A large loss?”
“One hundred thousand more than the last theft,” he said.
“Thank you. Keep me advised,” the cardinal said. The Director General left.
Cardinal Manning sat forward in his chair, placed his hands on the desk and looked at the telephone.
He thought of the man at the other end of the phone - the Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apo
stles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God.
The Pope.
He drew a breath, smiled, then reached for the telephone.
***
Julian used the telephone in Fr. Soski’s office. “Sokolov, you left a message for me.”
“Blessing,” Bogdan Sokolov said into the telephone. “I want see you.”
“I want a pony, but that really doesn’t mean I’m going to get one,” Julian answered and smiled. He could feel, nearly see, Sokolov become rabid. “By the way, it’s‘I want to see you,’ not, ‘I want see you.’ It makes you sound like an simpleton otherwise,” Julian added.
“I will send car for you,” the Russian said.
“‘I will send a car for you,’ but never mind that. Here is a better suggestion. You can meet me at the fountain in front of the Spanish Steps in an hour. Do I have to tell you to come alone or would you rather suffer if you don’t? By the way, this is a better suggestion because it is the only way it is going to happen.” Julian smiled and hung up.
***
Julian sat on the steps of Trinità dei Monti, the church atop the Spanish steps. At first, it was difficult for him to filter out all the signatures he felt when in a crowded place. With time, patience, and practice, he could separate the background noise. He practiced now.
Feeling Bogdan Sokolov was a piece of cake. The man’s hatred of everyone, and distain for everything, made his signature impossible to miss. Even tourists without Julian’s talent for reading people, found themselves repelled by the Russian. They felt it at a fundamental, visceral level. It was a reminder to Julian of how everyone had access to a larger reality and greater truths.
Pickpockets approached what they believed was an easy mark, only to reverse direction when they came within fifteen feet of Sokolov. Carriage horses’ nostrils flared. Street venders selling trinkets always liked to see a nice fat tourist. Even these men of street-level commerce looked the other way and kicked themselves for not going into the restaurant business like the family wanted.
The Steps weren’t crowded and Julian could detect only one other significant presence in the area. He stepped into a shaded area, relaxed and closed his eyes. He stepped out of time and walked down the steps at a leisurely pace, taking up a position ten feet in front of the mobster. Julian closed his eyes again and reentered linear time, much to the anger of Sokolov.
The man’s eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into an ugly slash across a face deformed by a lifetime of hatred. Julian looked pleasant and could feel the Russian’s rage deepen.
“Bogdan, my friend. Why don’t we sit here on the fountain? No worries. I’ve got your back. I’ll know long before anyone sneaks up on you. Maybe. Maybe not,” Julian said and smiled.
“I will kill you someday, Blessing, and I will enjoy it,” Sokolov snarled.
“You can certainly try, Bogdan. Now, what do you want? I don’t have a lot of time for you today, so make it quick.” Julian was enjoying enraging the man entirely too much, but not so much that he didn’t feel the other signature on the square. Inspector Belladonna Saviano was seated in a horse drawn carriage further down the piazza. Watching and waiting.
Tourists sat down next to Julian and Sokolov, then decided they had made an obvious and potentially dangerous mistake in their seating choice. Julian smiled and the tourists moved along with a pace that set cameras clanking against their owner’s chests.
Julian looked expectant.
Killing Julian, for Sokolov, was pleasure but he was here on business. “You are doing business with Vatican Bank.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Julian responded lightly.
“I have business to do with Vatican Bank,” Sokolov said. His accent was thick and guttural and was not, Julian decided, going to be helped by the use of good grammar.
“Oh my, I’m really not the person to talk to about opening up an account,” Julian began.
“Blessing! Do not fuck with me!” Sokolov growled. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth and everyone sitting around the Fountain of the Old Boat, at the foot of the steps in , decided to go sightseeing. Elsewhere.
“Well, Bogdan, you certainly have a way with people,” Julian said, watching the tourists run away. “Tell me what you want and I’ll tell you what I will do.”
“I want to get someone inside the bank. I want you to make it happen. Remember, I have what you want.”
“I understand you say you have what I want. As yet, I’ve seen no evidence of that. Return what I have lost and I will think about helping you. If not, not.” There was a smile on Julian’s face, but it never reached above the corners of his mouth. His gray eyes communicated raw malice. Sokolov noticed and imperceptibly leaned away.
“So, I get you your woman and you get Bogdan what he wants? That is deal?” the Russian asked as his eyes went small and cunning.
Julian studied the big Russian. A minute passed as he looked into the man, looked into the cesspit of a soul that was the foundation of Bogdan Sokolov. What Julian saw sickened him more than it had before, but he continued to look. He wanted to hate this man with good reason. After a full minute, Julian had all the reason he needed to obliterate the Russian without remorse if the time came.
Julian nodded his head. “That is the deal,” he said.
Julian’s thought struck the Russian as an ominous whisper. “Pay attention Sokolov. You have twenty-four hours. I would make returning what I have lost a high priority of yours or I will make you a high priority of mine.”
Julian stood and walked away.
***
As he drew level with the inspector’s carriage and horse, Julian patted the horse’s neck and crest and, without looking away from the horse, said, “Why don’t you join me at Babington’s Tea Rooms. They say Babington’s has chocolate cookies people dream about for years after tasting.”
The inspector narrowed her eyes and made the sign of the horns at Julian’s back.
“Tisk, tisk, inspector. A modern woman like you? Such superstitions will do you no good at all.” Julian laughed and turned toward the faded terracotta colored and completely nondescript tearoom with the finest cookies in the world.
The inspector’s nostrils flared, she crossed herself, stuck out her tongue for good measure, and made the sign of the horns again. With both hands.
***
“So, wizard, you are out consorting with a man who is a known mobster and money launderer and murderer and degenerate, who wants to kill you and may have kidnapped the doctor, and who also is under constant police surveillance.
“I’m so glad you are taking advantage of everything Rome has to offer.” Venom dripped from her voice.
“Want a chocolate cookie?”
“Are you trying to annoy me? And yes I do. And tea. The expensive stuff, not what the tourists drink.”
Julian ordered for them both.
“So,” he said, “were the documents I gave you of any interest to your bosses?”
“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to. As much pain as it causes me, they probably saved me from the secretarial pool.”
“I’m glad. You wouldn’t make a very good secretary. Much too cranky. So what do we do next?”
“What is it about you and this ‘we’ you keep talking about? We are not going to do anything next or ever. You have done too much for everyone’s good. What did Sokolov and you talk about?” she demanded.
“Oh, nothing much. I told him he had twenty-four hours to return the doctor. In exchange, I would get him a mole in the Vatican Bank. You know, just chit chat,” Julian smiled and continued.
“Oh I wanted to ask, what do you think about that whole assassinate-the-Pope thing? I’m sure the good sergeant told you.”
“He told me. He also told me, the cardinal said no such thing. Luciano spoke in generalities that could have applied to anyone or no one. It could hav
e been a test to see what you would do,” the inspector explained. “Cardinals are funny that way. They are forever saying a great deal without saying anything. In that way, they are a lot like you.” Her smile was one of her nastiest so far.
“It doesn’t really matter. I’m not going to do it, of course. As for Sokolov, the mole will probably be the head of bank security or something,” Julian answered. He looked unconcerned, but felt anything but.
“Blessing, I keep telling you, the list of coincidences just gets longer every day. I have lived here all my life. No one close to me has ever been kidnapped. I’ve never been abducted and taken to clandestine meetings. I’ve never been called to conferences with one of the most powerful moneymen in Italy. No one in organized crime has ever asked me for a favor. I’ve never stolen important documents from mobsters and, this will strike you as very odd, never has anyone ever asked me to kill the Pope.”
“Not bad for a tourist, eh? No wonder you need my help.” Julian figured payback for destroying his hotel room was in order.
“You’ve been here not quite a week. Just think what you can accomplish if you stayed a month. You lived in New York. It is a wonder to me the place doesn’t look like our Forum!” The inspector’s hands shook with pent up frustration.
“You seem unhappy, Inspector,” Julian said looking as concerned as watery solicitude would allow.
She hung her head and her hair hid her face. “Enrico said to me just this morning, ‘Bella,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we just arrest the wizard and have done with him?’ I asked on what basis we could do such a thing. He said we could charge you with being an unlicensed prostitute.
“That would get my friend Joselina in trouble, so I told him no,” the inspector said. “I am rethinking that.”
The waitress arrived with their order, “Cookie?” Julian asked.
The inspector looked up, scowled and took her cookie.
***
“Well, this should be interesting,” Fr. Soski chuckled as he and Julian walked down a narrow street.
“To you, Marek, everything is interesting. Why is this especially so? What does your friend know or what will he tell us?” Julian asked.
Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) Page 15
