The Vatican Children (World of Shadows Book 2)

by Lincoln Cole

  He picked a blur at random and fired, releasing a dart at what he hoped was the bishop.

  He couldn’t tell if his dart hit or not, but it looked like something slumped to the ground. His relief came short-lived, however, when something whizzed past his head with a puff of air. An echoing gunshot followed this, and quickly, he stepped back into the room and out of their sightline.

  By now, his eyes had adjusted somewhat, and he could see the area around him better. His vision remained blurry, but he didn’t have any time to spare.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said, swinging the door open once more and stepping into the opening.

  He trusted his reflexes and hoped he proved faster than his opponent. Arthur picked the other blur and fired, but not before the enemy returned fire as well. A bullet landed. However, since it hit him on the move, the shot only grazed his arm, but it still felt quite painful.

  His dart hit, and he let out a hiss of excitement, but nothing happened. He’d hit the man squarely in the chest, but the guy gave no reaction. The guard raised his gun to fire again. Arthur closed his eyes and braced himself against the return shots, fully expecting to die here.

  He heard firing but felt nothing.

  Maybe his body just became slow to react, but seconds passed, and he still felt no pain or impact. Finally, he opened his eyes once more and stepped into the hallway. Everything had fallen silent.

  Off to his right, down the hall, more gunshots sounded. Arthur assumed someone continued to fight over there. He neither knew nor cared what happened or whoever else had become involved. To his left, running footsteps indicated someone headed away.

  Once his eyes had adjusted to the bright light fully, he saw that he had dropped a guard. Naomi slumped against the wall, eyes open, and holding her arm.

  “Hey, Arthur,” she murmured through the pain. On her lap lay a pistol, and the barrel still smoked. “You’re welcome.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “It’s nice to see you too.”

  Around her on the floor lay two dead guards. One of them, riddled with bullet holes, leaned against the wall. Another lay on the floor with what looked like a shotgun blast to the chest. The first man had one of Arthur’s darts sticking out of his chest.

  “Dart gun?” Naomi asked.

  “Tranquilizers,” Arthur said.

  “You brought party drugs to a demon fight?”

  He shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t know if they would work or not.”

  “Then, let’s settle that debate. They don’t. Next time, bring sparklers and you might have more luck.”

  “Where did the bishop go?” Niccolo asked.

  “Left,” Naomi said, pointing down the hallway. “He has his car waiting out there.”

  “Stay here,” Arthur said, sprinting off into the darkness after the bishop.

  GARFIELD MADE IT UP the ladder and back into the treatment plant just as the patrol guard he’d seen earlier came back into the building. The guy looked surprised to see him, which gave Garfield the upper hand. He raised his pistol and fired off two quick shots.

  The first hit the man in the shoulder, and the second thudded into his stomach. He collapsed to the ground with a groan but, immediately, picked himself up again.

  “More demons?” Garfield said, disgusted. “This hardly seems fair.”

  The demon fired off return shots and rushed out of sight behind some old pipes to get cover. Garfield cursed at him and lowered his gun. He turned back to the ladder and aimed into the hole. Then he waited for someone to appear in his sightline, grinning.

  “Want some of this?” he shouted. “I’ve got the high ground!”

  A second later, something came soaring at him out of the hole. It looked like a little dark orb, and even though he couldn’t recognize it in the dim lighting, he felt certain he knew what it was.

  He tried to swat at it, a sinking feeling in his stomach, but it remained just out of his reach.

  “Uh oh.”

  He dove behind a huge concrete pillar right before the grenade went off, and the impact hit hard enough to make it feel like a small earthquake had struck in the area beneath him.

  Tiny shards of metal tore into the cement wall behind which he hid. Luckily, the huge pillar stood solid, and even though the metal edges chipped away at it, they didn’t prove enough to pierce through all the way.

  He stood up again, disoriented from the blast, and stumbled away from the access hatch toward the far exit of the building. The guard would be climbing the ladder right now, which meant that Garfield had to get away from it until he could clear the cobwebs from his brain.

  To that end, Garfield rushed toward the door leading outside, the one the guard had used earlier. This one stood locked up, unlike the other one, so he fired a few shots into the chain and busted it open.

  Garfield stepped out into the cool night air just as the belowground guard made it out of the access hatch and shot at him. The patrol guard he’d hit in the stomach also caught up, and now he had two after him. Both of them, he estimated, were possessed and would prove tough to take down.

  He ducked around the side of the building, shaking his head to clear it from the grenade blast. A ringing sound buzzed in his head, and he slammed his palm against his temple to try and clear it.

  No dice.

  With a curse, he stumbled forward along the building, trying to create some distance from his pursuers, but already, they had rounded the first corner behind him. He aimed over his shoulder and fired.

  The shots forced them to duck out of the way. Though he didn’t land any hits, Garfield did manage to buy himself a little time.

  The gun stopped recoiling, though he couldn’t hear the clicking sound of it running empty over the ringing in his ears. He ejected the clip, slid another out of his pocket, and jammed it in with one fluid motion. Then he chambered another round.

  Not a moment too soon, either. The two guards had just come around the corner again. Another few shots sent them ducking for cover, and Garfield reached the other end of the building. He ducked around the corner, still trying to clear his head.

  ARTHUR RUSHED DOWN the hallway, which inclined slightly upward as it went. Finally, he came to an outside doorway that he realized exited above ground. It became significantly brighter here, just reaching dusk, and he squinted against the sudden glare of moonlight.

  A huge metal door hung open, and it led out into the graveyard of enormous pipes he had seen earlier. Some of them climbed several stories into the air and ran vertically into the buildings surrounding them. Many of them had rusted, and some had holes through them. All of it abandoned and forgotten by the original builders of this facility.

  He kept squinting, looking for movement amidst the pipes. The setting sun put most of it in shade, but regardless, he could still see only blurs of motion. To his left, the bishop wove through the maze, dodging around pipes and heading for the other end. Arthur raised his gun, sighted in, and pulled the trigger.

  The dart missed the bishop by a few inches, pinging off an exposed pipe like a bell and disappearing into the maze.

  Arthur growled in frustration. That had spent the last shot in his gun, but luckily, he had a backup. He tucked his tranquilizer gun away and drew out Niccolo’s. Three more chances.

  He lost sight of Bishop Glasser in the pipes, but at least now his eyes had adjusted further. Still blurry, but not as bad. He held the tranquilizer gun ready and moved through the area, listening for any sounds from his target.

  A flash of movement to the left. Arthur shifted his weight, leaned forward around a pipe, and fired. The dart whistled in and hit the bishop’s robes but didn’t pierce his skin.

  “That was a close one!” the bishop said, and then laughed from up ahead. “You nearly got me.”

  Arthur ignored the taunt and kept walking, weaving through the pipes and trying to get a clear view of the bishop. Footsteps resounded when the man kept moving forward. Many of the pipes ran together i
n bunches, some of them big enough around that he could have crawled through them.

  “Come now, Arthur. Don’t be a sourpuss. We’re having fun.”

  “I’ve got Naomi. Your plan is exposed. It’s over.”

  “You think she knows it? She knows nothing. She’s of no consequence.”

  “She knows what you’ve been up to.”

  “She knows the logistics, but she doesn’t know my purpose.”

  “What purpose is that?”

  “Tsk tsk. You expect me to give away my entire plan?”

  “I had hoped.”

  Arthur ducked under a pipe, and then quick-stepped to the side, trying to catch a view of the bishop. No such luck, though. Just more pipes.

  “How about we play a game where you guess what my plan is, and I tell you if you’re hot or cold.”

  “How about you turn yourself in, instead.”

  “That sounds considerably less fun.”

  The bishop’s voice echoed off the metal and came at him from different sides, making it impossible for Arthur to tell how far away he stood. The pipes confused him, like walking through a field of corn, and he had lost his sense of direction entirely.

  Frustrated, Arthur blew out a breath, stepping around another pipe with his gun ready.

  “You worked with Naomi,” Arthur said. “Niccolo told me about her and what she does for the Church.”

  “And what is that?”

  It would bring a risk mentioning the Vatican Children. If Niccolo had it correct, and the bishop didn’t know about them, then Arthur could give away important secrets.

  Arthur didn’t share that theory, however, and he believed that those children were exactly what the bishop had gone after. The only thing he didn’t know was why?

  This offered his best chance to get information from the bishop about his plan for the Vatican Children. He would need to take the risk.

  “He told me about the Vatican Children.”

  “Interesting. You don’t disappoint, Arthur. Not in Everett, and not now. How is Desiree? Tell her I haven’t forgotten about her. Tell her I will come for her.” The words oozed with implied meaning. The playful voice had gone, leaving behind only anger.

  “You hope to corrupt the children and have them serve your purpose, don’t you?”

  “Excellent theory. What purpose is that?”

  “You want to use them to bring down the Church.”

  “Oh, I certainly intend to use them against the Church,” Bishop Glasser said, “but, I don’t want to bring it down. Not that. Never that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Church has stood for Millennia, Arthur, and it has long provided a beacon of hope in an otherwise dark world. I intend to restore it to the light.”

  “You’ve made deals with demons.”

  “I’ve enslaved demons,” the bishop said. “There is an important distinction. And if you think the Church has never done questionable things to serve the greater good, then perhaps you need a lesson in history.”

  “What purpose do these children serve?”

  “They offer our future,” the bishop said. “Long ago, they became our leaders and our weapons. We cultivated them and utilized their gifts to improve the world.”

  “You made them murderers?”

  “Among other things. There remained so few that men cherished each one. Now, though, the population has exploded, and we can reach them all over the world. This gift from God can help us right the wrongs of the world. So, what does the Church do? We track down the children and then ignore them. We let them live unfulfilled lives never even knowing the gift that God has given them. I don’t intend to squander their gifts anymore. With them, we can rise again.”

  “Rise? It seems to me that you are a bottom feeder. Nothing more than a petty murderer. You slaughtered my family,” Arthur said. “You are a monster.”

  “Maybe, but I needed allies. Your family was convenient.”

  “And so what, your influence had run out? Was that why you planned to murder Aram’s family in Everett?”

  “Oh, no,” the bishop said. “That situation was quite different.”

  Arthur stepped around another pipe, but still found no sign of the bishop. He figured that by now they must have neared the far end of the maze, and then nowhere would remain for the bishop to hide.

  “Different how?”

  “I had no intention of killing both of Aram’s children. One, yes. The sister had no value. Haatim, on the other hand ... I would never harm a hair on his head.”

  A chill ran up Arthur’s spine. “What?”

  “He’s special,” the bishop said. “He is the one for whom I’ve searched. Since I began this project, he’s the strongest child I’ve seen.”

  The sound of a car starting came from up ahead. Arthur cursed and rushed forward, dodging through the pipes as fast as he could.

  “Ah, my ride!” the bishop shouted. “I’ve had fun chatting with you, Arthur, but I must get on my way.”

  Arthur stepped out of the pipes and onto an access road just as the bishop climbed into the back of a black car. Arthur raised Niccolo’s tranquilizer gun and fired—but too late. The dart went into the car at an angle and tore into the passenger seat, and then the door closed all the way.

  The car sped off.

  Arthur considered firing his last shot. Could he break the windshield with it? No point in wasting the dart, though. The metal tips didn’t have much strength, and even if he did break the glass, he wouldn’t have any shots left with which to hit the bishop.

  The taillights disappeared down the road. Arthur cursed, and then headed back toward the graveyard of pipes. Off in the distance, more gunshots sounded. Whoever had helped bust him out of the underground trap, it seemed like they could use some assistance.

  He took off at a sprint around the building, heading toward those gunshots.

  GARFIELD RAN LOW ON rounds, and his mind remained disoriented and fuzzy. These mercenaries worked efficiently, and with demons along for the ride, it made them more formidable still. The two guards behind him hadn’t slowed at all, and he struggled just to stay far enough ahead to make a difficult target for them.

  He wouldn’t manage to keep running like this for long. Hopefully, the pursuit wouldn’t land a lucky shot, but the more chances they had, the more likely one would hit its target.

  Winded, Garfield rounded another corner of the building and found an old wooden barrel behind which to duck. He steadied his breathing, held his pistol ready, and waited.

  Before long, the guards came charging around the corner. They hadn’t expected him to stop, which gave him a chance to ambush them. He sighted down on one of them, aiming for the man’s vitals.

  Then he pulled the trigger, dropping one of the guards with three shots to the chest and head, but the other one reacted at speed and dove behind the corner and out of his sightline. Garfield fired at him, hoping to land a shot.

  And then a click sounded when his gun ran dry. The fact that his hearing had returned brought small consolation against the realization that he had run out of bullets and hadn’t brought any more clips with him. His knife became all he had left, which would do little good against the assault rifle his opponent carried.

  He had wounded this one in the stomach, which meant it remained possible he would bleed out eventually, but that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

  With a groan, Garfield ducked back behind the barrel, dropping the pistol and drawing the knife. He would need to wait for his opponent to get close before attacking, but it would bring an extreme risk.

  Eyes closed, he steadied his breathing and listened for approaching footsteps. His blood pumped in his ears, and that faint ringing sound still buzzed from the earlier explosion. Apart from that, he could hear little else.

  Knife held ready, he strained to hear and held his breath, but nothing happened. A few seconds passed, and those turned into a minute. Cautiously, he raised himself up over the barrel t
o look. The mercenary lay on the ground.

  Near him and watching Garfield with a bemused expression on his face, stood Arthur Vangeest. He held what looked like a modified pistol.

  Garfield stood and slipped his knife away, ignoring the fact that his hand trembled ever so slightly.

  “Hey, Garfield. Long time, no see.”

  “Same, Arthur. Never thought I would say this,” he said, “but, boy, am I glad to see you.”

  Chapter 12

  Arthur knelt to pick up the dart from the mercenary who he’d just shot in the neck. It came as a relief that this dart had worked, unlike the last one, and he attributed it to the fact that the man had received wounds already.

  The darts cost a lot, and it proved a heck of a lot cheaper to refill one than to keep buying new ones. He lamented all the lost darts he’d fired into the graveyard of pipes, but they didn’t have time to go searching in there.

  In his pocket, he had two more full darts, so he took a moment to reload them into the chamber of his tranquilizer gun just in case. Garfield watched him, a smirk on his face. It made a tedious and cumbersome process to slide the darts in perfectly. He felt almost sure he wouldn’t need them since the bishop had gone already, but he didn’t know if any more surprises waited for him.

  Part of him—a large part, if he were honest—wanted to grab the rifle from the downed guard and carry that instead. He didn’t, though. Arthur had committed to his promise to himself not to kill anymore.

  “You brought a dart gun out here?”

  “Tranquilizer,” Arthur said. “Top-of-the-line model.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Garfield muttered, rising to a full standing posture from behind the barrel.

  He looked exhausted and disheveled and as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, which wouldn’t bring anything new where Garfield was concerned. He drank too much and acted anti-social, but he also made a damned good Hunter.

  “Saved your ass, didn’t it?” Arthur said.

  “Does that thing even work on demons?”

  “Worked this time, didn’t it?”