A man jerked the child up by her arm and she writhed in his grip, trying to tear herself out of his hands. The intensity of Catarina’s magic was overwhelming. So was the smell of burning flesh.
Enraged, Lucian shouted and the man turned. The creature had no face. Threads loosened and slashed the air where eyes should have been. A tiny round hole existed in place of the mouth. The creature’s breath whistled as it gasped for air. Lucian’s horror drained the strength from his limbs.
“Lucian!” Lindsay hacked at the fiend’s wrist with her knife. Her blade sliced through the cords, which split and waved through the air like snakes. In the gaps, Lucian saw muscle and tendon, and he realized the monster had once been human. A malicious spell invigorated the threads and caused them to eat into the man’s flesh like acid.
The creature whined.
Lindsay screamed. The resonance of her magic mingled with Catarina’s, and Lucian’s pack flew through the air. He ducked and the bag hit the wall where his head had been. The wardrobe vibrated against the wall. Behind him, the kitchen drawers rattled, struggling to open.
Lucian’s blood pounded in his ears so loud it almost drowned the child’s cries. He advanced, looking for an opening. “Lindsay! Get down!”
She threw her weight backwards and dropped to the floor like she was sitting. The creature didn’t release her. It didn’t matter; Lucian had the opening he needed. He slashed at the creature’s neck, but his strike went low to slit the fiend’s narrow chest.
It howled and struck out. Lucian’s shoulder burned when the creature’s hand hit him. He staggered backward against the wardrobe and his cane flew from his grasp. He kept his grip on his sword, but his knee betrayed him and he went down.
Lucian searched for his cane and spotted it two feet away. He crawled toward the stick. The fiend kicked out at the cane and missed. Lucian stretched and extended his sword to snag the cane. He rolled it toward him and managed to lumber to his feet. Sweat rolled into his eyes and he staggered from pain and exhaustion.
A deep gash crossed the creature’s chest. Threads wiggled and the blood slowed to ooze over them as the wound closed. Lucian realized he could hack at the creature all night, and the fiend would heal itself. Despair rose in his breast; he couldn’t win. His sister’s magic had grown too strong.
God’s power is greater. Matthew’s voice broke Lucian’s stupor. God’s power comes from love.
Lucian’s hand trembled. Love. He looked at the quivering girl. All the feats he’d accomplished these last days had been achieved through courage born of his love for Lindsay. God had answered his call to open the Hell Gate and his magic was returning to him. Surely if he opened his heart to God and allowed the Spirit to flow through his limbs, God would help him save her again. The words he thought he had forgotten surfaced in his mind and Lucian Negru remembered what it meant to be Katharos.
The monster dragged Lindsay to the bedroom door. Her panicked eyes met Lucian’s, and he knew if he didn’t act, he was going to lose her forever.
Lucian’s voice rolled through the small room, loud as thunder. “Release this child, Lindsay Richardson, I command you through the holy name Iehova!” He felt the power of God surge from within him to pass into his sword arm. The blade of Matthew’s sword brightened to burn white-gold in the dark room.
The monster yowled and flung Lindsay away so it could cover its face. Lucian drove the sword deep into the creature’s shoulder. Lurching backwards, the fiend peeled itself off the blade and ran. Lucian followed it into the study. The monster bumped its injured shoulder against the doorjamb of the outside door and fell to the stoop. Lucian was upon it before it could recover.
A long thread protruded from the monster’s back and disappeared into a moonbeam. Catarina had drawn from the legends of their Walachian youth for her creation. Lucian remembered the tales their grandmother had told them of vampires riding the moon. The old wise woman had told them the secret of killing one too.
The creature howled with fresh agony when Lucian slashed the cord rising to the moonbeam. He thrust the blade deep between the Simulacrum’s shoulder blades. The monster pitched forward into the muddy alley, almost jerking the blade from Lucian’s hand.
Lucian hooked his arm around one of the posts. Splinters bit into the crook of his arm as he slid from the stoop to the ground. The creature made it to its knees; Lucian brought his blade down on its neck, severing the head. The torso wavered then fell forward.
The frigid night air burned Lucian’s throat as he leaned on his cane. The creature at his feet didn’t move. The threads fell away from the mangled body to reveal a man’s flayed corpse. Lucian crossed himself and muttered a prayer for the man’s soul.
The light within Matthew’s sword shimmered then faded to leave the blade cold and blue in the moonlight. Catarina’s magic died with the monster; she had sent nothing else. Silence filled the night.
He needed to get back to Lindsay, the latest in Catarina’s long line of damaged souls. His twin made his life a curse and any who got near him were injured in his wake. It would be safer for all of them if Rachael simply cut his throat when she arrived.
Although he knew it was dead, Lucian backed away from the creature. He almost slid on the thin film of ice covering the wooden steps. He hooked his wrist around the porch’s banister and stopped his fall.
Once inside, he slammed the door shut and shoved the desk in front of the door. Lindsay’s terrified sobs reached him as he returned to the bedroom. He saw the sheath in the kitchen where he’d dropped it, but he didn’t have the energy to retrieve it. He tossed the naked blade on the bed. “Lindsay?”
The contents of his pack were scattered across the floor. The wardrobe and kitchen drawers were still. His blood raged from the fight, and he had to calm himself before approaching the child or he’d do her more harm than good. Her anxiety would make her extremely sensitive to his mood.
If he was angry, she might mistakenly perceive him as the enemy and attack. An injured Katharos could be more dangerous than the Fallen, especially when their powers were developing and their control was minimal.
He summoned his soul-light and the shadows departed. “Lindsay, answer me.”
Her ragged sobs were her only response. She huddled in the corner between the wardrobe and the kitchen door, holding her injured arm in front of her like an offering. Her sweater hung in smoking tatters up to her elbow. Fat blisters formed in clusters all along her forearm and wrist where the creature had grasped her.
The image of Rachael’s injured arm flashed through his mind. He’d watched from his cell as John lifted the blanket covering Rachael. The Seraph had spoken to her, his words drowned by the inhuman keening rising from beneath the blanket. The sight of Rachael’s bloodied hand accompanied by her unearthly moans tormented his memories.
“Lindsay?” He held out his hand. She didn’t acknowledge him. “Let me see.” He moved into her line of vision and she blinked.
Her breath rose and fell in short, rapid bursts. “Lucian?” She pushed her injured arm up for him to see. “I panicked again. I’m sorry. I don’t want to die.”
“Hush now.” He took her hand and she let him help her rise. “You’re not going to die.”
A bruise darkened on her forehead; when the creature flung her, she must have hit her head. He probed the wound and though she winced, she didn’t pull away from him.
He led her to the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He drew her onto his lap so he could cradle her in his arms. She didn’t deserve this pain.
Lindsay stared up at him, her sobs dying to hiccups. “Hey, Lucian?”
“Yes?”
“Will you call my mom?”
He frowned down at her. She wasn’t as lucid as he’d first surmised. Perhaps she’d taken a harder hit to the head than he realized. “Of course.” He rocked her and passed his palm over her eyes. “Sleep now.” He touched her panicked mind with calm thoughts, easily penetrating her defenses to elim
inate her pain and lull her into sleep.
“My phone,” she whispered.
“I will call her.”
“Pete too.”
“Of course.” Taking her injured arm in his hand, he closed his eyes and hummed a wordless lullaby he remembered from his youth. She wanted her mother and brother, not her Elder, and that was his fault too. Rather than give the child the comfort she needed, he’d been more concerned for his own welfare, and Lucian saw he was wrong to want to keep her at a distance.
He’d almost lost her tonight; almost lost her without truly knowing her soul the way an Elder should know his foundling. He shouldn’t cheat either of them of that special bond, even if it was only meant to be for a short time. Lucian’s lullaby shifted to become the soft chant of a healing Psalm.
A shadow moved along one wall, and he faltered, releasing the child to touch the hilt of the sword beside him. The shade lifted his open palms to the ceiling, and Lucian recognized Matthew’s spirit. The old priest nodded as Lucian took Lindsay’s arm again and resumed his chant.
There was nothing to fear, even in this dark hour, for divine light surrounded them. God had answered his call. Lucian reached beyond himself to the core of his soul where God’s love burned within him. He passed this grace to Lindsay’s frightened spirit, healing her body, soothing her soul, uniting them as father and child with a tenderness Lucian had forgotten he possessed. And as he allowed her into his heart, sometime in the night, the precise hour unknown, Lucian’s heart of stone transformed to a heart of flesh.
CHAPTER TEN
the citadel
John Shea’s footsteps echoed softly on the worn stone steps that led him deeper into the catacombs beneath the Citadel. His soul-light illuminated his path through the dank corridor, driving the black rats from his path. The darkness behind him matched his mood. The message to meet beyond the crypts had come from the Lord High General of the Citadel’s armies, Xavier Sarr. These midnight meetings never brought good tidings, and John had enough concerns without Xavier’s bad news.
The Rabbinate’s Inquisitor Adam Zimmer had left this morning after spending a few days at the Citadel. Zimmer had diplomatically suggested that John might need the Rabbinate’s help in bringing Lucian to justice. The Rabbinate didn’t want to see the situation get out of control; they felt an earlier intercession by neighboring bastions would have prevented the Zoroastrian schism. John’s fingers twitched.
The only thing that prevented him from sending Zimmer on his way prematurely was his respect for the Rabbinate’s Seraph. Ephraim Cohen and John had served together in Woerld as Inquisitors then Seraphs for over fifty years. They loved each other like brothers, and John knew that if this situation had involved any of his Katharoi other than Lucian, Ephraim never would have sent Zimmer. Yet it was Lucian, and had their positions been reversed, John would have seen fit to send his Inquisitor to make sure the situation was firmly in hand. Although he understood Ephraim’s reasoning, he didn’t like the insinuation that he couldn’t control his Katharoi.
At the bottom of the stairs, John veered left down a long tunnel until he reached a wooden door held together with rusting iron bands. This set of corridors branched away from the Semah River, and though the air was drier, dampness still seeped down the walls. John found his key, and the oiled hinges allowed the door to open without a sound. Xavier’s spies kept these routes immaculate.
It had taken John years to fully develop his network of agents, and longer years before he was satisfied with who could be trusted. After Lucian’s betrayal, John swore he’d not be caught off guard again. He would not tolerate another Lucian. Ephraim had nothing to worry about.
He rounded a bend in the tunnel and saw Xavier’s dark form illuminated by his own soul-light. The General dwarfed the two guards that flanked him; he looked like a great black lion with his dreadlocks framing his face. Like John, he’d forsaken his formal robes of office for a shirt and heavy pants to ward off the tunnel’s chill.
The guards snapped to attention and Xavier bowed.
John waved their deference aside. Xavier gestured to the guards and they split up. The woman went to the right, the man to the left. They moved several yards away to watch the branches in the corridors to make certain no one stumbled on the meeting.
Xavier stepped aside so John could approach the cell. He opened the metal door that covered a small barred window. Through the opening, John saw a rough wooden table with a bench on either side. Torches blackened the walls of the windowless room with acrid smoke.
On one bench, a young man sat with his wrists chained to the table. The youth stared at the opposite wall with red-rimmed eyes. His olive skin gleamed with perspiration. He sat perfectly still, his breathing shallow.
Victor Ramos. The youth was around fourteen years old, just the age to get into trouble without firm supervision. What had the boy gotten himself into while Aldridge was gone? John clasped his hands behind his back.
A shadow moved in the far corner of the cell. John caught the faintest sheen of coal black hair and recognized Gayane Balian, the Citadel’s Chief Intelligence Officer. If she was here, the news was dire.
John stifled his anxiety. Xavier and Gayane were veteran warriors, and they would sense his disquiet. John’s Elder, Miriam, had instilled in him the same code that she lived by as Seraph. The first rule was never let the members see their Seraph doubt himself. Regardless of his inner turmoil, he must always show a calm facade. John stilled his soul and closed the metal door that covered the window. He turned to Xavier. “What’s going on?”
“That is Victor Ramos,” Xavier said. “Caleb Aldridge is his Elder.”
“I know who he is.”
“He’s one of Gayane’s cryptologists. He came to her this morning with this.” He produced a piece of yellowed silk from his pocket.
John took the swath and unfolded it. He gazed at the incomprehensible sigils splayed across the page long enough to recognize an encrypted message. “What does it say?”
“It’s a report from one of our spies in Hadra.”
That was a rare spot of good news. “So, our people in the northern provinces aren’t dead?” He handed the cloth back to Xavier.
“No. This one is only a few weeks old.” Xavier leaned close and lowered his voice. “I’ve suspected for some time that our messages were being intercepted. I thought the messengers weren’t making it out of Hadra, but it seems I was wrong.”
“How so?”
“This one was found in Constable Aldridge’s satchel. Victor brought it to Gayane this morning. I’ll let her tell you what happened.” Xavier opened the door and stepped aside so John could go in first.
What was Caleb Aldridge doing with an encrypted message? John couldn’t staunch the dread rising in his chest. Rachael had all she could handle with the Wyrm. What if he’d misjudged Caleb?
Victor turned his panicked gaze on John and went so white that John feared the boy’s heart had burst. A tear leaked from one eye and Victor reached up, but the chains stopped his hand just short of his face. He had the wild look of a trapped animal.
Unbidden, John recalled seeing the same terrified look on Lucian’s face when he’d been arrested. John’s pity rose for the boy, but he’d show Victor Ramos no more mercy than he’d shown his own foundling.
Gayane stepped forward and bowed. In spite of the ragged scar that crossed her proud nose to fall across her cheek, she was a beautiful woman. She was also a killing machine with a cunning mind. John trusted her and Xavier with his life.
“Your Eminence,” she said.
Xavier closed the door and took his place at the head of the table, his stance relaxed.
John acknowledged Gayane then sat on the bench. He looked into Victor’s eyes but spoke to Gayane. “Tell me what you’ve found, Commander.”
Her soft voice was barely audible beneath the sound of the torch flames. “Victor came to me this morning with a message from one of our spies in Hadra. He said he found it in
his Elder’s satchel. Victor, tell the Seraph what you told me.”
Victor blanched like he’d been struck.
John knew from experience it was better to come off tough at the beginning. “Well?”
“I stole the missive,” Victor whispered. “I took it from Master Caleb’s satchel.”
“When?”
“The morning the Hell Gate opened. When Master Caleb got your summons for the directive, he left his satchel in his office. He usually locks the bag in his desk, but I think he forgot about it in the excitement. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was curious. I looked inside.” He absently pushed at the chains’ cuffs as if he could slide them off. “There were several missives there. I took the one on top.”
John glanced at Gayane.
She said, “Victor is learning the more complex codes. He told me he wanted to practice deciphering the message. He initially thought he had a ciphered message from one constable to another. He put it in a drawer in his room and forgot about it until a few days later. He started working on it. He correctly deduced the message was from one of our spies.”
Xavier spoke up. “Not the kind of information Caleb Aldridge would be privy to.”
Gayane nodded. “When Victor realized what it was he came to me.”
John’s trepidation grew. “And you think the other missives in the satchel were also from our spies?”
“That’s my theory,” Gayane said.
“Where is the satchel now?” John asked. And those missing reports.
“It seems to have disappeared, your Eminence.” Xavier glared at Victor, who refused to meet the General’s eyes.
Gayane took over the narrative again. “Victor attended Peter Richardson’s funeral with everyone else. I’ll vouch for his presence there; he stood next to me. He didn’t go back to the apartments he shares with his Elder until the evening of the funeral. That’s when he noticed the satchel was gone.”
Miserere: An Autumn Tale Page 16
