by John Conroe
“This is gonna be a clusterfuck, isn’t it?” Mack asked Declan quietly.
Before the tall, young witch could answer, the dragon rumbled.
“Trygon says that you are most likely correct. However, it is highly unlikely to play out the way the elves envision,” Ashley said.
The boys exchanged a look but when they turned back, they found the massive head right in front of them, the huge eye regarding them both before it turned its full focus on Declan. A moment later, it lifted away and the dragon began to settle itself on the ground.
“Alright, let’s get loaded aboard Air Dragon. This is gonna take a few moments, so follow me,” Ashley said, grabbing Jetta by the hand and pulling her toward the monster.
Mack, Declan, and Stacia all exchanged a glance before turning to follow the little Speaker to the Dragons.
Chapter 4
Chris
Earth
The Vatican was hiding a young man in its basement. As I stood looking at him through the wire-glass window of the cell door, a half-dozen jokes slipped through my mind, one after another like gleeful delinquents trooping to the school office.
I kept them to myself. Father Adolfo, Cardinal Biskup, Captain Rochat, and the twelve heavily armed Swiss Guards didn’t look like they would appreciate Pope jokes. Barbiel might, but playing to just one person in a crowd is the mark of a bad performer. Plus, only I knew he was with us. After his little display at the crypts, we’d been rushed right back to the Vatican and were now standing below Saint Peter’s Basilica.
The man in the cell was in his twenties, already balding, wearing a pair of torn custodial coveralls and staring straight at us with cold black eyes. A really large rat crouched on the small table next to him, also staring at us.
“Why does he have an evil rat with him?” I asked, directing my question at the cardinal.
Father Adolfo exchanged a glance with the Slovakian cardinal and explained.
“We put it in as an experiment,” he said. “But maybe I should explain the sequence of events that led to this moment.”
Putting his arms behind his back, Adolfo began to lecture, keeping his voice low.
“Vatican City covers more than one hundred acres. You may not know this, but St. Peters was built atop the pagan cemetery where Saint Peter was actually buried. We’ve excavated much of those ruins, but like Rome itself, there is always more to be found.
"The young man you see inside was named Stefano Verdino. Until two weeks ago, he worked on one of our digging teams, exploring a section in the northeast corner of the necropolis. A guard on an evening security sweep found him still there long after the workday ended. Following protocol, thank the Father, he called it in to his team leader before approaching Mr. Verdino. When he failed to respond to his sergeant’s status queries, the leader investigated, bringing the rest of his men with him. They found Mr. Verdino standing over the body of the dead guard, whose head had been twisted almost completely off. When they swarmed him, he killed two more with single blows before the sergeant shot him six times with a nine millimeter pistol,” Adolfo said.
“He looks pretty good for getting shot six times,” I said mildly.
Adolfo gave me a level stare. “None of the rounds to the body had any visible impact. It was the two rounds to the head that put him down, and even then he was still visibly alive. Oh, and he didn’t bleed. The sergeant had the presence of mind to have the remainder of his team drag the man to this reinforced cell and lock him in before doing anything else.”
I studied the man again. He stood rock still, black eyes locked on us through the window. I reached with my aura and found… nothing. No demonic essence, no feeling of supernatural dread, no vampiric energy, just nothing.
There were no scars on his head and the holes in his coverall were not stained in any way.
“Let me guess… his eyes weren’t black before?” I asked. “He’s not demonic, though.”
“His identification card says they were blue, and our best exorcists concur about possession,” Adolfo said. “We think he was infected.”
“Back to the rat?” I asked.
“The body of the first guard shows odd signs. Signs of tissue repair on an otherwise dead body. Mr. Verdin’s wounds all healed within twenty minutes. The attending medical examiner was one of our clergy, and he feared possession or contamination, so he ordered the remains cremated and the area cleansed. All of his samples were burned as well,” the father said.
“Too bad,” I said.
“No, Mr. Gordon. His insight was Heaven sent. We introduced the rat to the room, discovering that Mr. Verdino has much greater speed as well as strength. We almost didn’t get the cell door reclosed. The rat screeched and fled into the corners of the room but Mr. Verdino caught it within seconds and shoved his finger into its mouth. The rat bit him and within a half hour became as you see it now,” Adolfo said.
“What was in the section where he was working?” I asked.
“We’ll look at that next,” Adolfo said.
“Infection, you say?” I asked, but looked at Barbiel instead of Adolfo.
“Hmm, doesn’t your military mess around with dangerous infections? Use them as weapons?” Barbiel asked, trying to be nonchalant.
“It would seem to be biological, but beyond anything we’ve heard of,” Adolfo said, unaware of the angel’s comments.
“A weapon?” I asked, glancing at both the good father and the mischievous angel.
“Nobody said that,” Adolfo said, looking at the cardinal, confused.
“Sorry Father. I’m having two conversations here,” I said. My pocket vibrated. I pulled my phone.
“That won’t work down here,” Adolfo said as I read the screen.
I have reviewed all of the Vatican data and camera footage. The subject in the room would appear to be infected with a biologic agent that causes increased strength, speed, and complete healing. The healing is beyond that of V-squared or LV and there appears to be a complete overwrite of the subject’s personality. The creature before you appears to pursue a single goal—spreading the infection to every living form that it can. Hence the rat. Based upon the cleanup operations the Church conducted, fire and sufficiently powerful acidic and alkaline agents will destroy the tissues.
“Correction, three conversations. Would V-squared protect me from this agent?” I asked my phone.
Insufficient data, was Omega’s message while Barbiel nodded, trying to act sly. Luckily, for an agent of God who wasn’t supposed to take sides, he was taking sides.
“Well of course you can’t go…” Father Adolfo got out as I Moved, snapping the padlock, opening the door, and sliding into the room before anyone else could react.
Stefano, the black-eyed man, and his pet rat reacted, though. Pretty fast, too. Both came straight at me as I entered the room, moving like a young vampire or werewolf. But young supernaturals are clueless. Come straight at you, arms out and teeth gnashing.
Stefano-who-was-no-longer-Stefano came at me without expression, but used the same stupid arms-out approach. The rat also lacked expression but leapt with open jaws.
They arrived together. I sidestepped Stefano, backhanded the rat with my right hand while grabbing the back of the man-thing’s head with my left, pulling toward the door while sweeping his legs with my left foot. The rat crashed into the wall with a splat, body flattened with the crunch of many bones. Stefano went face first into the hard stone floor, also with a splat, as I had used a significant amount of strength.
The rat slid to the floor, twitching, no blood. Stefano popped back upright, nose, forehead, and chin somewhat crushed and flattened. No blood.
Still exhibiting no expression beyond a flattened face, Stefano turned until his eyes locked onto the rat, which was jerking and jumping a bit more. With a respectable leap, he cleared the room and grabbed the rat, standing with his back to me. His head tilted back and he held the rat over his mouth before dropping it in.
I swea
r it looked like the damned rat tried to squirm itself right down his throat and the dude must have had jaws like a python because that rodent had to weigh a good twelve pounds. Somehow it disappeared down his throat. Lydia would have had a fit trying to figure out which sexual joke to crack.
His head lowered and he stood, back to me for a moment while his body shifted and shuddered. Couldn’t blame him for that. Twelve pounds of broken rat has gotta take some serious swallowing to power down. Not to mention a whole lot of Metamucil to flush it out.
Then he turned back around and his face was fixed, his body seemed bigger, and his neck looked wider. Interesting.
He came at me again and this time, I let him grab me. He was strong. Very strong. But not strong enough. And no technique, just grab and pull and push, like he was trying to rip my arms off. Good luck with that. I threw him across the room. He came right back, no expression, no hesitation. A duck, a weave, and a quick left hook to the side of his head, crushing it. He dropped, but the body still moved and the broken side of his head shifted and firmed.
I left the room.
In the guards’ anteroom, the others gave me a lot of space, all of them now looking at me with fear.
There was a sink in the corner, so I went to it and began washing my hands. “I want to bring our doctor down here tonight and get his opinion, maybe have him take a sample,” I said.
“That was incredibly foolish,” Cardinal Biskup said to me with a heavy Slavic accent.
“I had assurances that I was immune to the infection, Cardinal,” I said.
“What if he had overpowered you?” the cardinal asked, not at all mollified.
“Has he been able to break through your door?” I asked.
“No, that cell was created to hold a demonically possessed individual or a supernatural,” Captain Rochat said.
“Hold some supernaturals, maybe. It wouldn’t slow down an old vampire, a very strong were or… me. That thing in there has no fighting technique, just strength and speed. But it seems impervious to injury and did you see it absorb the rat and use the added mass to enhance itself?” I asked.
My phone buzzed.
The entity demonstrated enormous adaptability and rapid learning. The degree of cellular control exhibited is incredible. The rat was assimilated into the body of the subject in mere seconds. The camera resolution was not satisfactory. I should like you to bring along some of our better recording units when you return with the doctor. If I am correct, the subject acts more like a collection of coordinated subunits than an individual organism. Your weapon theory is gaining credence, the supercomputer wrote on my screen.
“How are you receiving texts down here?” the captain asked, suspicious.
“My phone is enhanced and the sender has much greater power than standard transmitters,” I said.
“Ah, the supercomputer shows itself,” Father Adolfo said.
Keeping my expression bland, I asked the next most important question. “Where was he working?”
The father looked at the cardinal, who, in turn, looked at Captain Rochat, who said something in German to his men, which started a procession out of the jail area and back into the catacombs.
It took almost fifteen minutes to wind through the halls, down the stairs, around the corners, and into the ruins. Everything in the Vatican is old, but there are degrees of oldness. This section was ancient. Rochat and his men led us through the excavations till we came to a corner of the diggings that showed signs of very recent work.
“Here,” Rochat said, addressing the cardinal and Father Adolfo, his eyes sliding away from me. That happened a lot. Before I went into the cell, he was curt and professional. After seeing me with the infected man, he was afraid of me and angry about it.
Ignoring the soldiers, I let my senses take in the area. Along the way, there were numerous arches and tunnels of Roman-era brick, eroded by time to look like common rock. Faded murals and paintings had been painstakingly excavated, most depicting soldiers and a few female forms. I had seen Roman columns in the outer rooms but here, things looked more primitive. The floors of the ruins were mostly brick and cobbles, but in this room, they were just seamless stone. The walls were also rock, clearly hewn by man’s hand. The spot where Rochat was pointing was directly in front of a flat mural space, the arch chiseled instead of bricked.
The air smelled different here, less dusty but more musty. Moldy even. Yet all was dry and arid. I opened my Sight to observe and almost yelled out loud. The chiseled arch glowed with an orange hue, the light rising and ebbing like an elephant breathing.
My pocket buzzed. “Camera please,” a tiny, just-on-the-edge-of-supernatural-hearing voice said from my phone. I pulled it out and the camera came on as I lined it up with the wall, moving it around to get a view of the entire area. The screen lit up with words.
Picking up unusual radiation in the wall. I suspect another portal.
Trying to get past the fact that my phone was suddenly capable of detecting radiation, I focused on the portal part of the message.
“This area should be quarantined and guarded,” I said to the others. Captain Rochat raised both eyebrows and turned to look at the armed soldiers who had been standing there when we arrived.
“I mean to say, it should have more guards, and they should be protected from infec…” I trailed off as I realized the standing guards were wearing a type of hazmat suit. In my defense, it was made of a very dark color that sorta matched their regular battle dress. Right, less speaking, more observing.
“Why?” Cardinal Biskup asked, saving me.
“That arch is most likely a type of portal. I detect an unfamiliar energy behind it and my phone is picking up radiation,” I said.
“Your phone detects radiation?” Father Adolfo asked.
“As I said, it’s enhanced. But the possibility exists that whatever infected Stefano came through that arch,” I said.
The cardinal looked at the father, both wearing mysterious expressions. Adolfo turned to the captain. “Have them bring it out,” he said.
Captain Rochat said something in German and two of his men left the tunnel. Forty-three seconds later they were back, carrying a heavy metal box between them.
The box looked serious, with dull grey metal and a thick, reinforced glass window inset in the cover and various electronic doo-dads festooned about it along with those international biohazard symbols. Like something out of a sci-fi movie. The men set it down in front of us and the cardinal waved his hand invitingly at it. Leaning forward, I looked in, remembering to hold the phone so that Omega could get a glimpse as well.
Inside, a fat caterpillar shape squirmed and rolled.
“I’m guessing you found this thing here?” I asked.
“Yes. The captain’s men are extremely well trained. Biohazard procedures are part and parcel of the Vatican’s emergency plans,” Adolfo said. “The question is… what is it?”
“That, gentlemen, I suspect, is an alien hand grenade,” I said.
Chapter 5
Fairie
Mack thought riding a dragon was cool—for about five minutes. Then it became cold, noisy, and mildly terrifying. Okay—maybe more than mildly.
All six of them plus the dog were centered above Trygon’s shoulders, where leather straps held them, across the thighs, in two rows. Ashley, Ian, and Jetta were in the first row, with Ian holding Charm tightly. Somehow, the little pit bull remained calm and unmoving, no matter how many sharp wingovers or banks the mighty reptile made.
