He was studying the hole the girl had made. “Shroud her. That should get the demon out and we can take her back topside.”
Liam fiddled in his backpack for the shroud, but the girl stopped writhing and watched the hole with interest. “It’s done. So hungry,” she whispered. The shroud landed over the girl’s head, and she went limp in Grace’s arm.
Grace shoved the girl at Liam and went to look at the hole the creature had made. Sal joined her.
“What the hell was that?” Sal asked Menchú.
“I don’t know,” he said, as if lost in thought. He didn’t look her.
Sal shook her head. “Huh-uh. You knew who we were following the whole time. And she knew you. And you haven’t told us. Why?”
“Demons know things about us all the time,” he snapped, and stepped back from the hole, which had begun to bleed like the statues’ eyes in the museums above. When the blood hit the floor, it pooled, and then inflated like a bag. Grace leapt forward and swung the ancient knife at it, but it slid off the membrane. She tried her own blades and was unable to cut through.
It continued to grow. They took a step back. “That’s fucking disgusting.” Liam said. “Grace, toss the shroud here!”
Menchú shook his head. “Protect the girl with the shroud in case that thing comes back. Sal, Grace, get ready.”
They flanked him, weapons out, as the red bubble inflated and listed from side to side as if something fought to get out. “She said something about a midwife,” Sal said.
“Yeah, and I think we’re about to see the birth,” Grace said grimly.
The membrane swelled once more, and split with a deafening bang. They were instantly drenched in ichor and blood. Grace had thought to shield her eyes, and ran forward, the band around her eyes the only light spot in her otherwise gore-covered head. She was ready to kill whatever nightmare baby lay inside, but she found nothing.
She looked around. It seemed to have birthed a great deal of mess and defiled the tomb of Saint Peter, but otherwise the effects were largely anticlimactic.
(Although Grace did think Church officials would have a different opinion on the importance of the state of the sacred tomb.)
“There!” cried Liam, and they all looked.
Something small with many legs skittered through the gore. It was about the size of a kitten, a premature kitten, even, and ran like a roach, trying to avoid the humans rather than attack. It ran toward the darkness of the catacombs.
A small, pale hand reached out and snatched it, moving so fast only Grace saw her move. The little girl was there again, tossing the shroud away as if it were nothing more than a scarf.
“I’ll handle this,” she said, and raised it to her mouth. Grace thought she was going to bite the thing’s head off, but she just closed the small lips over the head and sucked.
The thing squealed and writhed, but its agony ended quickly as it went limp and diminished in her hands. She smiled, satisfied, and threw the desiccated carcass aside. Then the little girl’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she crumpled. Grace was by her side to catch her before she hit the ground.
“She said it would be hungry, didn’t she?” Sal said.
“She didn’t say what would be hungry,” Grace said. She examined the girl, who was pale but seemed fine, if unconscious.
She raised her eyes to Menchú. “Where did she go? She’s no longer trying to hurt us. That’s new to me.”
“She got what she wanted,” Menchú said grimly. “Whatever it was.” He sighed, as if defeated. “There’s nothing we can do but keep an eye out. Watch the Orb.”
Together they trudged to the stairs, the girl in Grace’s arms.
Liam broke the silence. “Is that it? Did we sort of win?”
“The demon ran. The critter is dead,” Sal said. “I think it’s a draw.”
“We don’t get that lucky,” Menchú said. He walked as if the whole weight of the Vatican were actually on top of him, not just over him.
Grace watched Menchú with concern, wishing she could remove some of the weight. But there clearly was weight there he hadn’t told her about.
Sal poked her in the back. She was smiling. “Vibrating through that force field? Slick trick.”
“It’s possible I have skills yet untested,” Grace said, smiling back.
Before they left the catacombs, Menchú murmured a prayer and made the sign of the cross in front of the wreckage befouling this most holy shrine.
Sal doubted it would be nearly enough.
• • •
Sal’s family, even Perry, had been instrumental in helping evacuate the café. They had been among the last people out of the museums, making sure that whatever the hell was going on, no civilians would die under their watch. They waited for her outside the gates of the Vatican, where they weren’t permitted to re-enter; the museums were closed until further notice.
While Grace was dressing her injuries, Sal texted her parents to meet her at her apartment and said she would be there with dinner soon.
“Are you all right?” Jennifer said, rushing over to Sal when she got home. Sal had changed into one of the T-shirts she’d left in her gym bag outside the room where she sparred with Liam and Grace. It smelled, but at least it wasn’t soaked in blood.
Sal opened her mouth to lie, but her mother’s steely eyes bored into her. She sighed. “Bump on the head. Scratched-up back. But otherwise, yes, I’m fine.”
Her mother dragged her into the kitchen and checked her eyes for concussion, then probed the bump on her forehead. Sal winced. Then Jennifer commanded her to raise her shirt and show her back. She did so. Jennifer tested the edges of the bandages Grace had applied and made approving noises.
“Good. Now, tell me you brought wine,” she said, rooting in Sal’s kitchen for a bottle opener. Sal raised her eyebrows. Jennifer sighed. “We talked to Perry. He says he can handle it. And I don’t think your father and I can continue this evening without wine.”
Sal wordlessly found her corkscrew and handed it to Jennifer. Her mother attacked the wine bottle with the ease of a waiter and Sal found glasses. The silence was killing her. “Are you guys okay?” she finally asked.
“Never better,” Jennifer said, pouring three glasses. She got a glass of water for Perry.
They joined Bradley and Perry, who were quietly talking in the living room. They stopped when Sal and Jennifer entered. “Is she all right?” Bradley asked.
Jennifer nodded.
“I’m right here, guys,” Sal said, irritated. She handed her father a glass of wine and sat down, gingerly, on the couch beside Perry. Her father occupied the easy chair, and her mother stood beside him stiffly.
“Are you sure we should be drinking, what with the ‘hallucinogenic gas’ we inhaled today?” Bradley asked, winking.
“Don’t worry, Sal, I told them everything,” Perry said.
Sal opened her mouth and then closed it. She could feel her face grow cool as all the blood drained out of it. Everything?
“And you really should have just told us in the beginning,” Jennifer said. “Of all the people in the world who would understand a classified job, it’s us! Honey, we respect your gag order. Lord knows we’ve both had them in our lives.”
Gag order. Perry had told them Sal had a classified job she couldn’t talk about. Why hadn’t she ever thought about that lie, the simplest of them all?
Her father was nodding. “You looked like you knew what you were doing in the museum, and I’m betting you took care of whatever it was that was going wrong.”
She cleared her throat. “More or less.”
Bradley laughed. “Good answer. Listen. All we want to know is whether our kids are safe and happy. And if not, then we need to know what we can do to help.”
Sal looked from her parents to her brother. “It’s been tough,” she said. “I’m not alone. I’ve made some friends with people I work with. They’re probably the people I’m closest to.” She smiled slightly. “
I wish you could meet them. They keep me centered. They’ve saved my life more than once.”
“And you’ve got Perry,” Jennifer interjected.
“Yeah. Perry too,” Sal said, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice. “But you want to know if I’m safe? Not really. Sorry, it’s the nature of the beast. The work we do, I mean. Am I happy? I don’t think about it much. I guess I’m not brooding and miserable. That’s something.”
“I remember the roughest days at work,” Jennifer said, nodding. “I can relate.”
Bradley turned to Perry. “That’s Sal, but what about you?”
Perry shrugged, looking very much like his old self. “I’m all right. I’ve had my own problems. Beyond addiction, I actually had a bad time a while back.” He glanced at his sister. “Sal helped get me back to myself. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She gave up a lot for me. But I’ve been clean for several months, and take it one day at a time, like my sponsor says.”
Sponsor. Nice touch. Sal wondered what kind of twelve-step program Aaron would submit himself to.
“Thanks for understanding,” Sal said. “I didn’t think just telling you that I couldn’t tell you anything would be enough.”
“So you lied and avoided our calls?” Jennifer frowned. “Sal, Perry, we taught you that the truth is the straightest path. You can’t heal if you keep lying about everything. What was this bad time? Are you all right?”
“I am now,” he said, and he looked so earnest even Sal believed him.
“The truth is great, in a perfect world,” Sal said. At the look on her mother’s face, she hastily added, “But I’m sorry.”
They sipped their wine and water in silence for a bit. Perry finally spoke. “Where are you going sightseeing tomorrow?”
Their parents laughed. “Somewhere a little less exciting,” Jennifer said. “Perhaps we’ll stay away from the Vatican. Maybe Rome altogether.”
Perry nodded. “Always a good idea.”
They made plans for dinner the following night, kisses and (gentle) hugs were exchanged, and then Sal and Perry were left alone.
Perry pointed to the wine. “Got any more of that?”
Sal thought about protesting, but then gave up. “Sure.” She poured him a glass and then sat back down on the couch.
“All right. Tell me everything,” Sal said.
Perry blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Where do you go? How do you know when to show up, how do you know when I need you? Are you a mind reader? And how did you manage to keep our parents fooled all fucking day?”
“I can’t read minds,” he said seriously. Now he was more Aaron than Perry, his face losing the easy humanity all people took for granted until it was gone from a face. “I’m both Perry and Aaron. And I’m neither. Sometimes I’m more one than the other, like today with our parents.”
“That’s informative, great, thanks,” she said.
He spread his hands as if searching for the words. “I have a connection with you because Perry does. It’s his love for you. He just loves you, but I can take that bond and make it tangible.”
“Then why don’t you come when I miss him?” Sal asked in a soft voice.
“Because you don’t need him then,” Perry said. “You needed him today, to be with your parents.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “Just when I thought you understood emotions. All right, so I can call you on the Perry phone, but only when I really need you. Why do you even care?”
“I care partly because Perry cares, and partly because I have a vested interest in your actions, and this experiment.”
“Which actions? Team Three? And what do you mean ‘experiment’?”
He nodded. “Yes, your team. And as for the experiment, I probably have said too much already.”
“You’re infuriating,” Sal said, rubbing her face. She wanted to probe but she was too tired, and frankly thought it would be a waste of time. “But why do you connect to me? Why not Menchú?”
“Father Menchú has caught the attention of another of my kind,” he said, pouring wine. “He is out of my reach.”
“That girl today,” Sal whispered. “He knew her. She called him by name.”
“She? All right. We can call it that.” Perry nodded. “It’s as good a pronoun as any. It’s a shame you didn’t stop her.”
Sal went cold. “What are you talking about? We stopped her from killing that girl, and she killed that thing that came out of the tomb, so it’s not going to hurt anyone else.”
“The girl was a distraction,” he said. “The ‘thing,’ as you’re calling it, has been entombed in the Circus of Nero for thousands of years. It was built before the tomb of Peter.”
“So it’s just been in there waiting?” Sal asked. “For what?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He looked utterly unconcerned.
Sal ground her teeth. “Is there anything you do know?”
“Not much more than that,” he said, reaching for the wine bottle. Sal put her hand on his.
“Perry. If you have a vested interest in helping us stop whatever’s happening, you have to tell me. What could she have wanted from the circus?”
“The circus was a place of Christian slaughter, among other things. People were crucified, set upon by beasts, you know. The Romans also had chariot races there.”
His blasé attitude made her want to hit him. “And? What’s in there? It’s had a church on top of it for the past many hundreds of years.”
He waved his hand as if that was no amount of time at all. “There were some dormant beings within. It’s possible she awakened one.”
“A tiny one,” Sal said.
“From what you’ve seen, you really think something tiny isn’t powerful? I thought you’d learned more than that.”
“But she killed it,” Sal said. “She sucked the life out of it.”
“And now she has the life force of something that lived among the ghosts of a Roman circus for thousands of years. Does that seem safe to you?”
Sal had left her phone in the kitchen. She ran to get it and call Menchú. It was ringing when she went back into the living room. Perry was gone.
“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered.
“What is it, Sal?” Menchú sounded like she’d woken him up.
“It looks like our mission wasn’t successful at all,” she said, and told him what she’d been able to pull out of Perry.
Menchú stayed quiet on the phone after Sal finished talking. “Are you there?” Sal asked.
“Yes. And thank you for the information. I’d already come to that conclusion, but external validation helps.”
“You knew? I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on. Menchú, this girl obviously knows you. Are you going to tell us how?” Sal asked.
“When it’s time,” he said, and hung up.
Bookburners
Season 3, Episode 6
Oracle Bones
Max Gladstone
1.
“I think we’re lost,” Arturo Menchú said.
Mist gathered close, and the dirt road wound higher into the hills. The car had been a slick and shining black when it picked them up at the airport in Chengdu, but a long climb on the dusty road had glazed it a faint yellow. Menchú was speaking French; their driver spoke English, and the new language offered at least an impression of privacy.
Grace, beside him, did not look up from chapter four of Bleak House. “We’re not lost. We have a driver.”
“He might be lost.”
She turned a page. “He is not lost.”
Menchú crossed his arms, and looked out the window into the mist. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know he isn’t lost?”
“You just want to drive.”
“If I were driving, they would have to tell me where we were going.”
“You’ve never been to China befor
e,” she observed. “Even if you knew where to go, would you know what it meant?”
“It would be better than not knowing.”
Grace declined to comment. The car jerked over rough earth—trenches left by larger tires. Menchú pondered time and distance. He wished they could have brought Sal or Liam—for expertise, but also to fill the silence. He even missed Asanti, in spite of everything. Grace kept to herself, she always did, ever since they’d first met in that rusted shipping container in Guatemala, back when Menchú was a young priest and a recent Society recruit, and Grace was, more or less, the same woman she was today. Grace felt the world deeply, in both senses of the word: She felt the world profoundly, and she felt it in subterranean chambers of her heart where no light fell, and invited others inside reluctantly, if at all. Grace came to you when she was ready. They trusted one another.
Or, they had. Before Grace left the team. He hadn’t told her about Hannah, about the monsters of his past rising up again; he hadn’t told any of them, but he should have told her. And she should have told him about her reasons for leaving. He knew better than to force the conversation. Grace felt hurt by the Society’s failure to cure her curse, and by Menchú himself, who had been a part of that, and who had betrayed Asanti. Healing those wounds required time, and prayer, and loving human effort—and there was only so much one could accomplish on a shuddering drive up a dirt road in China.
He prayed in silence.
“I miss the others,” he said, “but being on the road again, together, reminds me of old times. You remember Berlin? Córdoba? Delhi?” Car wheels. “Not that I could outrun that snake these days. Then again, at this age, I would know better than to touch that idol in the first place.”
Her lips approached a smile, but backed away as they neared it—that momentary amusement more likely a product of her reading than of his words. Then again, though he had never read Bleak House—he’d tried Dickens in translation as a young man and found him infuriating and counterrevolutionary—the title didn’t promise much humor.
Dickens didn’t matter. The smile might. If he had not imagined it.
Asanti, in a rare unguarded moment, once described to him the experience of growing old with a lover, how time chiseled and wore so slowly one could not hope to spot the difference between one day and the next, until a familiar look in an old eye, the angle at which she held her head gazing at a flower rolled back years to the blush of youth, and crushed you with the weight of intervening time. Menchú and Grace were friends, always, but her smile felt crueler even than that—thirty years together, and she looked so much the same.
Bookburners Page 19
