by Ilana Waters
Still, I had to admit the Hassler wasn’t a half-bad place to recuperate. With Pompeian red and ocher furnishings and ubiquitous gold detailing, it was a welcome respite from the filthy, morbid underground we’d just escaped. It also overlooked the famous Spanish Steps of Rome, right next to the exclusive shopping district known as the Via dei Condotti.
My mother, lounging on one of the suite’s many couches, had already benefitted from the district’s proximity: she’d managed to find what might be Rome’s only bohemian clothing store. A long, flowing dress with a dark floral pattern was accompanied by the small mountain of costume jewelry she’d procured. I smiled. After being kidnapped and rendered unconscious, she deserved a shopping spree.
In comparison to Abigail’s hippie tendencies, Titus’s were slightly more sophisticated. Like every other night, my father wore his uniform of black button-down shirt, black trousers, and black dress shoes (Italian, of course). I, too, was back in my usual attire. It was the slightly scuffed-up look my father didn’t care for: black suit, white button-down shirt, and loafers. Compared to Titus with his muscular build, I looked like an emaciated undertaker.
I sat at a table with Arthur, who was taking notes. We both looked up as Titus walked in, Arthur peering over his reading glasses.
“Evening, Aurelius.” Arthur nodded to my father, who nodded back. Titus wasn’t thrilled with the idea of a mortal knowing who we all were, much less accepting his help. But he’d begrudgingly agreed when Arthur proved himself instrumental in rescuing Abigail. He was also the foremost historical expert on my father.
“Do you think he followed us? Ferox, I mean?” Arthur asked, continuing the conversation we’d been having before Titus walked in.
“Doubtful,” Titus replied, placing his room key on a side table and adjusting his collar in the mirror above it. “He may not even have known we were down there.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, looking over some of Arthur’s notes. “If not, then what was all that screaming about?”
Titus joined my mother on the couch. “If you woke up to learn you’d been imprisoned in a tomb for millennia, you’d be rather vexed, wouldn’t you?”
Arthur shook his head and smiled. “Bet you’d never thought you’d be running from one of your old enemies like that, eh? Not the great Titus Aurelius.”
My father gave Arthur a death glare. As someone who formerly commanded legions of men, he’d never been one to back down from a fight. I nudged Arthur sharply with my elbow, and he glanced up.
“It doesn’t pay to walk into battles you know you can’t win,” Titus said. “Sometimes, the best one can do is live to fight another day. If one lives.” He stared meaningfully at Arthur, who abruptly stopped smiling and started jotting down notes even faster.
Abigail pursed her lips. “Well, we’re all still alive, so that’s something to be grateful for. Titus, be a wonderful husband and pour your wife a drink, would you?” She motioned to the crystal decanter and glasses on the end table next to my father. He sighed, stood up, and opened the decanter. Inhaling sharply, he frowned and used telekinesis to retrieve a different one from the opposite side of the room.
“This is a better year,” he said, pouring my mother a glass and floating it to her. I suppose a vampire’s keen sense of smell, among other things, occasionally comes in handy.
Abigail kissed Titus’s cheek as he sat back down, cross-legged on the couch. She tucked her own legs underneath her, and for a moment, she looked like a young girl again. Of course, witch-bloods can make ourselves stop aging, as my mother and I had. That’s why Abigail looks to be in her forties, despite being a few years older. I look like I’m in my mid-twenties, despite being a full decade older.
And although my parents are immortal, I may not be. You see, Abigail was not what we call a natural-born witch. She was mortal when she had me. It is unknown if I will eventually age despite my best efforts not to do so. Being a mage makes becoming a full-fledged witch impossible. Yes, all of them are referred to as witches, regardless of gender. Sorry, but you won’t find any warlocks or wizards here. Or wands, for that matter.
But there is magic, like the crystal Abigail gave me both for safekeeping and as a family heirloom. I don’t think even she knows where it originally came from. It has powers that, among other things, allow energy to pass between worlds. Abigail’s possession of it partly explains how I was born, since normally, vampires like my father cannot have children.
“Indeed, I am grateful to be alive,” Arthur said. “But it’s a shame about the crossbow,” he sighed.
“Yes, sorry about that,” I said. “Couldn’t be helped. How’s the report going?”
As a PIA member, it was part of Arthur’s duties to write up whatever supernatural occurrences he became aware of. And during a nasty bit of business where I’d locked him in a jail cell (it’s a long story, plus he escaped), my cover as a member had been blown. Now, I was not only banned from returning to the PIA, but an active subject of investigation. How this would affect the rest of my life was anyone’s guess, but if that was the price for saving my mother, I’d gladly pay it again.
“Not bad,” Arthur replied, taking a fresh sheet of paper. Writing things longhand seemed a bit tedious to me, but I think the PIA only had a cursory relationship with computers. “Though naturally, I have to be careful to keep my own role out of our recent adventure. I told everyone I was sick. That way, my cuts and bruises will heal before anyone can question them.”
“Good idea,” I said. It was vital that Arthur’s role remain a secret. No member of the PIA is allowed to have supernatural powers, or to consort with those who do. If the PIA finds out, the member could be expelled at best, or killed at worst. The latter was a real possibility if the PIA considered the member dangerous to the organization. The PIA doesn’t care if supernatural creatures are a danger to each other, mind you, compassionate lot that they are. No wonder their motto is “Close, but not too close.” All this meant that Arthur was taking on a great risk by helping us.
“But we have to be prepared for whatever comes next,” I continued. “Ferox made it very difficult to get out of the underground alive, what with all that shaking he caused. It stands to reason that he may be coming after us.” Or just random innocent people, I wanted to add.
“I doubt Ferox did anything of the kind,” my father said. He took the remnants of my mother’s drink and swirled them around in the glass, his eyes following the moving liquid. “The end of the spell must have set off some kind of vibration.”
I frowned. “So that earthquake thing we felt wasn’t Ferox himself?”
“No. But the screaming certainly was. Actually, the screaming may have caused some vibration.” Titus set my mother’s glass back down on the table beside him. “Vampire screams aren’t like mortal ones.”
“Don’t remind me.” Arthur grimaced and rubbed his ears. He took out a book from the satchel next to him with the title Tales of the Undead: Volume II, and began looking through it.
“But I’m sure most of it was the spell,” Titus finished.
“Why didn’t everything shake when I woke up from my sleeping spell?” Abigail asked. “After all, it was similar to Ferox’s.”
Titus shrugged. “Because you weren’t put under for two thousand years. Stronger spell, stronger vibrations.”
“So he wasn’t placed in any kind of prison, then?” I said. “I thought for sure the screams were partly because he was having a devil of a time getting out of there.”
“Doesn’t say anything here about a physical prison.” Arthur shook his head and traced a gnarled finger down a block of text. “Just the spell. Likely whoever arranged things thought it would be enough to contain him. That and several feet of solid rock on all sides.”
“Just proves the high witches were just as arrogant centuries ago as they are today,” Titus grumbled. “They overestimated their own abilities while underestimating Ferox’s, and now we’re paying the price.”
; “Calm down, Titus,” said Abigail, placing one hand on his shoulder. “No one’s paid any horrible price yet.”
“True, but it’s only a matter of time,” Titus said. “Now that Ferox has risen, no doubt he’ll start making plans to conquer the world as he failed to do centuries ago.”
Abigail removed her hand. “Why must you always be so negative?” she demanded.
“Why do you always have to be right?” Titus countered.
“It’s not that I always have to be right,” Abigail said. “It’s that I always am right. There’s a difference.” I was once again reminded of why my parents elected not to live together. But something on the television soon diverted my attention from them.
“I think Father may have a point,” I said to Abigail as I gestured at the screen and increased the volume with my mind. “Look.” We all turned and watched a pretty female newscaster begin to speak.
“. . . confirm that the seismic disturbance earlier this week was indeed a minor earthquake just outside of Rome. Fortunately, no deaths or injuries have been reported. However, several farmers claim to have lost cattle during the quake. The farmers say the cattle either went missing, or turned up later, their bodies mutilated by what appeared to be wild animals. It’s believed that the quake may have driven some of these animals out of hiding. Warning: the following footage is graphic.” I waved my hand in the direction of the television, and it shut off. No one spoke for a long moment.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Abigail said, fiddling with a string of beads around her neck. “It doesn’t mean he’s making plans to take over the world. We don’t even know if that . . . cattle thing was him.”
“Oh, for Fate’s sake, Abigail,” my father cried, rising from the couch. “Of course it was! He was clearly starving after thousands of years of sleep, and fed on cattle because that’s the first thing he came across. Or do you really believe that nonsense about ‘wild animals?’ ”
“Yes, and how long before he moves on to humans?” Arthur swallowed hard and put his hand to his throat.
“If he hasn’t done so already,” I said, “it may mean he realized he was attracting too much attention.”
“Do you really think he cares?” Arthur asked. “I mean, when one tries to take over the world, doesn’t one usually expect attention?”
“No, Joshua’s right.” Titus rubbed his chin and paced back and forth across the room. “Ferox is likely still just as ambitious as before—and just as clever. Once his appetite was sated, he might have discreetly gone back underground to mull over his strategy. Probably after making a few more of his kind to serve him, or calling descendants of those he already made to his side.”
“How on earth could you know all that?” Arthur asked.
Titus stopped pacing. “Because it’s exactly what I would do.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. He looked like he was about to say something, but he never got the chance. There was a buzzing at the elevator, indicating someone wanted to come up.
We all looked at one another, confused. “Anyone expecting a visitor?” Titus asked. Everyone shook their heads. “Well, I certainly didn’t order room service,” he said, walking towards the door.
“And we all ate hours ago.” I motioned to Abigail, Arthur, and myself. “So who on earth could it be?”
Titus peered at the security camera next to the elevator, then hit a button. When the elevator opened, a bellboy stood on the other side.
“Mi scusi? Signore Aurelius?” He raised his eyebrows, holding out a silver tray with an envelope on it. “Message come just now for you.” He squinted at my father in confusion, eyes searching his face. Damn. He was one of those mortals who noticed that there was something amiss about Titus. The shiny eyes, the flawless skin, the light blue veins like marble.
It was fortunate Titus had fed earlier; otherwise, he’d be much paler. His upper and lower eyelids would be an even darker shade of tan, his otherworldliness more obvious. And no, his eyeteeth don’t protrude; they’re just slightly elongated. It’s not something you’d really notice unless you were looking for it. My father does get odd stares when he smiles too wide, or laughs with his mouth open, though he rarely does either.
Wordlessly, my father took the envelope and handed the bellboy an obscene number of euros from his pocket. Waving away the profuse “Grazie, grazie,” he guided him into the elevator and pushed the button to close the door. Already opening the envelope as he turned around, he stared at the contents for several seconds, not saying anything.
“Titus, for heaven’s sake, what is it?” Abigail asked. She got up and walked over to him.
“It’s Ferox,” he finally said. “It seems he wants to meet.”
Chapter 3
A few hours later, all of us except Arthur (whom we insisted stay in Rome) stood beside a pickup truck in the middle of a field on the outskirts of the city. The field felt very familiar, and for good reason: it was close to the one I’d made a hole in the bottom of only a few days before. I could still sense remnants of the magic I’d used, not far off. Ferox’s message had said for Titus to come to this location tonight. Of course, the unspoken question was whether he would make it back safely—or at all.
Everything was eerily quiet and still as we slowly got out of the truck, the noise of slamming doors magnified. I twirled a few leaves upwards from the grass, air being my primary element and all. But I couldn’t procrastinate forever, and soon we were all standing silently, looking at each other.
“Are you two sure you want to do this?” Titus finally asked.
“If you’re going, we’re going,” Abigail said firmly. “Although Joshua doesn’t have to go,” she added quickly.
“Mom, please, don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Of course I’m going.” Normally, her overprotective tendencies moved my heart. But I hadn’t nearly lost both parents to an immortal maniac only to abandon them now.
I glanced around the field. A bright moon shone above, and the enormous hole I’d made last time we were here was nowhere to be found. Mercifully, neither were the dead cattle we’d seen on the news. But we couldn’t be sure we wouldn’t soon join them.
Never one to risk appearing the coward, Titus had insisted on meeting Ferox directly upon receiving the message. No sooner had he crumpled it to dust than my mother’s face went pale with outrage . . . and fear.
“Over my dead body!” she cried. “Titus, that is suicide.”
“Yes, Father, how can you even consider it?” I asked.
“Ferox very likely just wants to kill you, Aurelius.” Arthur removed his glasses, his brow furrowed. “It has to be a trap.”
“Nonsense,” Titus replied to all of us. “I know Ferox and you don’t. If he wanted me dead, he’d have sent someone to do it for him. Or come himself, though perhaps his courage isn’t what it used to be. There’d be no point in standing on pretense and asking for a meeting. No, if he wants to see me, it’s because he wants something from me. I must go, if only to find out what that something is.”
This resulted in us standing around and arguing for another good half hour. After that, we were all reminded of where the phrase “stubborn as a mule” came from. Surely some ancient Roman must have been describing my father. He refused to budge when it came to meeting Ferox. Finally, exasperated, we insisted on accompanying him.
It was Abigail’s idea to steal a pickup truck and take it to Ferox’s, although “steal” wasn’t the word she used. “We’re just borrowing it,” she said. “Temporarily. Without asking.”
“Of course, my dear,” Titus replied, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I must say, I’m quite stirred by this foray into criminal activity. I never thought you were one for such illicit dealings. It’s almost . . . sexy.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Don’t get used to it. It’s only because taking a fancy car—which I know you want to—would attract too much attention. What if something happens to us, and we don’t make it back? Think of where Ferox said to meet�
�it’s near the same location of the mysterious earthquake and mutilated cattle. A limo or something else left lying around there could be traced back to us. And that would definitely be suspicious. They might think someone engineered the entire thing.”
“Like who?” I asked. “Aliens?”
“We can’t have mortals finding out about Ferox,” she continued. “Right now they think what happened was a mere natural phenomenon, and it needs to stay that way.”
“Unfortunately, she’s right,” Titus agreed. “A limo or sports car in a rural area is uncommon. A beaten-up truck isn’t. Trust your mother to always think of mortals’ safety,” he grumbled.
“But it won’t just be left ‘lying around there,’ because we’re coming back,” I said.
“Of course,” she answered quickly. And so we found a truck whose owner was occupied in one of Rome’s many pubs. Titus was all for magically hot-wiring the vehicle, but it turned out to be easier to offer the man three times what it was worth instead. Of course, he happily accepted. Abigail had just walked to the driver’s side and placed her fingers on the door handle when my father stopped her.
“I’ll drive,” he said, guiding her to the passenger side. I sat in the middle, the lone mage in a supernatural sandwich. Abigail just rolled her eyes again as we sped off towards Ferox.
“He doesn’t always have to drive, you know,” I said. “Isn’t that an affront to your capabilities or feminism or something?”
Abigail shrugged. “If he wants to drive, let him. I don’t care for driving anyway.”
“That’s because you don’t know how to drive properly,” Titus said. He pushed harder on the gas pedal, which was only marginally effective.
“If by ‘properly’ you mean barreling down the highway at one hundred twenty miles an hour, then no,” Abigail said. “I prefer to arrive at my destination alive.”
