Midnight in St. Petersburg: A Novel of the Invisible War

by Barbara J. Webb

  * * *

  Mike was sick and tired of the fucking vampires. “You going to stand there and tell me your kind have stopped hunting the streets? When I saw the truth just a minute ago?” He fed more power through the rosary, enjoying Nazeem’s flinch.

  “Stop it, Mike.” Rose’s voice was still distant, flat. He wished he had time to sit her down and help her through dealing with her first fight—her first kill—but none of them could afford to let this attack go unchallenged.

  Nazeem said nothing, did nothing. He didn’t retreat any further than Mike’s power forced him to, nor did he make any aggressive motions towards Mike. He simply stood there, patient, calm, and Mike hated him all the more for it. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  With obvious effort, Nazeem lifted his eyes to stare through the light at Mike’s face. “You’ve made it clear from the beginning you have no interest in anything I have to say.”

  Something in Nazeem’s statement dragged Rose’s attention to the here and now. She stepped between Mike and Nazeem, glaring at both of them. “Quit it, okay? Both of you. This isn’t helping anyone. Mike, you’re angry. Fine, I get that. But so is he.” She waved her hand at Nazeem. “Remember, he can’t lie about that. Not to me. So maybe if you’d back off for just a minute, we can all figure out we’re working together on this.”

  The cross burned in Mike’s hand, radiant. Nazeem stood defiant before him, like so many creatures of darkness had before. How many evils had asked him to listen? How many times had Mike answered—had God answered—with a power that left no room for argument?

  Mike yearned to release that power. First Nazeem, then the rest of them. Wentworth, Anastasia and their lackeys. They were the ones who had broken the peace. By attacking those kids, they had lost any right to sanctuary.

  Father above grant me strength. God was with him. God would help him send these abominations to Hell.

  Cold, bitter reason snaked through his mind. Orders. Obedience. The church had told him to make peace—even with the vampires. It twisted his insides, what it meant to obey those commands, but he let his hand fall and his focus waver. The glow around his crucifix faded.

  Ian came out of the bar and jogged over to the group as they all stood silently glaring at each other. “Svetlana’s looking after those two, but everyone inside is pretty worked up.”

  “Maybe we should go in there and try to calm things down,” Rose suggested, still looking between Mike and Nazeem with obvious suspicion.

  “I should not,” Nazeem said softly.

  Ian’s expression was grim. “I realize I’m not the expert in vampire-voider politics here, but isn’t this the sort of thing we were hired to put a stop to?”

  Nazeem answered, “This sort of thing should not happen. Ever.”

  Mike was getting tired of hearing that. “But it did happen. And Ian’s right.” Mike didn’t brandish his cross, but he took a step towards Nazeem and the vampire’s gaze flickered down to the rosary, then up to Mike’s face. “We’re going to the palace. I intend to make sure everyone there understands the consequences of attacks on voiders—hell, attacks on anyone while it’s my job to keep the peace in this town. You’re welcome,” Mike sneered out the word, “to come along, but damned if I’m going to let you go off and have secret vampire meetings on your own.”

  Nazeem held Mike’s gaze a moment longer, then looked away and shrugged. “Very well. I cannot stop you. But I will urge you to caution—Anastasia will not take well to being threatened.”

  “Neither do I.” Mike started walking up the street, towards the lot where they’d left the car, hardly caring whether anyone else followed.

  * * *

  The guards at the palace let them in without comment. Mike led the way along the lower hall; none of his anger had faded on the drive over here. Ian and Rose had both been uncharacteristically quiet. Nazeem had spent the drive staring out the window, his expression, as ever, unreadable.

  Wentworth waited for them on the grand stairway, his immaculate black suit a sober contrast to the gilded white hall. Tonight, he wasn’t smiling. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough?”

  The stairs were far too wide for Wentworth to be able to block their path. Mike kept walking. “We’re here to see Anastasia.”

  “You bloody fool. The mood she’s in, she’ll have your head.”

  Before Mike could answer—before he’d decided if he was even going to answer—Nazeem spoke in a voice cold and flat — the voice of the killer Mike had known him to be all along. “You lied to me, Carter. You let this happen.”

  If Mike hadn’t already been pissed, the implications of Nazeem’s statement—that he’d already been having secret vampire meetings—would have driven him to it. Once again, the temptation to simply pull out his cross and put an end to all the sneaking, deceitful politics, was almost overwhelming. He turned on the two vampires. “You have about thirty seconds to explain that.”

  It was Rose who stepped in. “Last night. While you and Ian were watching the doorway. Nazeem asked Wentworth about vampire attacks.” She leveled her own cold glare on Wentworth. “And he told us they weren’t happening.”

  “I didn’t want you involved.” Wentworth fiddled his tie straight, the only break in his icy demeanor. “For exactly this reason. You killed one of her pets; now it’s only going to escalate.”

  “What is going to escalate?” Mike wondered if Rose realized she was yelling. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Nazeem answered. His eyes never left Wentworth as he spoke. “Anastasia sent those vampires to kill the voiders. Didn’t she?”

  “It’s not what you think. She has her reasons.” Wentworth glanced over his shoulder, another nervous gesture if Mike had ever seen one. “I know the laws. Nazeem, you know I support the laws. But Anastasia—she’s…a challenge.”

  “What reasons?” Mike demanded. “What can you think justifies attacking a couple kids in the street?”

  Wentworth stepped in closer, dropped his voice. “She didn’t want anyone talking about it—didn’t want you to know—thought it would make her look weak. But there have been…disappearances. Vampires up and gone. We think they’re being hunted.”

  Rose looked at Mike, opened her mouth to speak, and Mike quickly shook his head. He knew what she was going to say—his first thought had also been that the murderer they were hunting might be branching out—but he wasn’t ready to share information with Wentworth. And after Svetlana’s reaction to Nazeem, Mike couldn’t be certain her voiders weren’t responsible either. “So, what, Anastasia’s trying to get even?”

  Nazeem spoke before Wentworth. “She’s trying to build her strength.”

  Wentworth nodded. “Voider blood—the way you people soak yourselves in magic—it’s potent. She thought—”

  “That’s enough, Carter.”

  At the sound of Anastasia’s voice, everyone looked up to the balcony at the top of the staircase. Wentworth dropped to a knee, murmured out a stream of Russian in a tone so obsequious it could only be an apology. Anastasia ignored him to focus her hateful gaze on Mike. “You come to my city. You dine at my table. You stand in my house!” As Anastasia’s voice twisted into a shriek, Mike reached for his rosary. “What gives you the right to kill my children?”

  “Your children took blood that was not offered.” Nazeem’s soft, neutral tone had returned. “When we asked them to stop, your children attacked us.”

  Mike clutched his rosary tight, the beads dug painfully into his palm. He could end this sick game right now. Wentworth had admitted they were sending vampires out to hunt voiders in the street. And it probably wouldn’t take much provocation to make Anastasia attack him. Who could argue with self defense?

  Except—years of experience meant he couldn’t avoid taking in the scene with a cool tactical eye. Rose stood within arm’s reach of Wentworth. Ian stared up at Anastasia only a few steps below the vampire. If Mike provoked a fight, they’d be r
ight in the middle of it, and they’d barely survived an exchange with a couple baby vamps. Anastasia was…Mike didn’t have to be a sensitive to recognize she was…something else. More dangerous than any vampire he’d ever faced. The observation cooled Mike’s rage, forced rational thought back through his brain.

  Rules. Obedience. Mike was here to do what he was told, but what had Nazeem and Wentworth been saying? Maybe there was a better approach, one that wouldn’t put the children directly in harm’s way. “Your children broke the law.” Mike glared up at Anastasia, tried to look like he knew what he was talking about, not repeating empty words he’d only halfway been listening to in the first place.

  It seemed to work. At least, it got Anastasia’s attention. “You think that cross you cling to gives you the right to speak to me so? You think I should be intimidated by your faith and your God?”

  Mike could feel her power gathering, a pressing weight against his mind. The wrong word now, the wrong move, and it would come to fighting. Temptation dragged at him, as strong a force as Anastasia. But Mike knew what the better angels demanded of him at this moment. He relaxed his grip, let go of the rosary, and slowly pulled his empty hand from his pocket then held it out to Anastasia.

  Her eyes narrowed; the rustle of her gold and crimson gown the only sound in a hall that had fallen utterly silent. “Oh, very brave, priest.”

  “We’re sorry,” Ian said and even Mike could hear the honest sincerity in his voice. Ian dropped to his knees and bowed his head low. “No one should have died. Help us to make certain such a misunderstanding doesn’t happen again.”

  Ian had made himself vulnerable and Mike itched to reach for his crucifix. Nazeem stood tense and still, only a few feet away, but no one would be able to stop Anastasia before she ripped Ian’s throat out, should she so choose.

  Anastasia watched Ian. Her fingers tapped against her skirt as she considered.

  “Very well,” she finally said in a low, deadly voice. She snapped her fingers at Wentworth, who managed a dignified grace as he rose to his feet in response to the undignified command. “Come along, Carter. We are finished with these people.”

  As he climbed the stairs, Anastasia smiled at all of them. “If you wish to name yourselves police, then be my guest. If you wish to take upon yourselves the protection of those who live in this city, be my guests. However, understand I am going to hold you to that responsibility.

  “If another of my vampires die….” Anastasia left the threat hanging as she turned and left the balcony.

  * * *

  Mike winced as Rose broke the silence. That girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut for anything. “What just happened there?”

  Nazeem climbed a couple steps higher to where he had a clear view of the upper hall. “I believe Anastasia has given us charge of the welfare of vampires in St. Petersburg.”

  Ian shook his head, as though trying to wake up. “She said something about disappearances? I guess it’s too much to hope for that a bunch of vampires just decided to run away.”

  “Yes, it is too much to hope.“ Nazeem turned to Mike. “Do you think any of the local voiders could be responsible for the disappearances?”

  Mike bit back a snippy response and forced himself to give an honest answer. “Possibly. Svetlana seemed hostile enough.”

  “And let’s not forget Andrei.” Rose unzipped her coat and sat down on the wide stone step. “Not to mention everybody’s favorite glowing psychopath.”

  Who, after tonight’s interruption, they were no closer to finding. “None of these are good options.”

  “I would have thought you’d be in favor of someone killing vampires,” Rose muttered, just loud enough Mike knew she meant for him to hear.

  “Rose.” From Nazeem, a gentle rebuke.

  “What? It’s true.” Rose ran her hand over depressions in the stone caused by countless feet over countless years. “Just cause I can’t read his insides doesn’t mean his face hasn’t been giving him away all night.” She looked up, met Mike’s eyes. “Vampires aren’t the only ones in this city out for blood.”

  After thirty years fighting to keep people like Rose safe, Mike didn’t owe her an apology or an explanation. “When I want to kill someone, you’ll know it. Because they’ll be dead.”

  “Wow, what a brilliant approach to diplomacy.”

  “Shut up, Rose.” Mike was done with holding his temper for the night. “You don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about. These creatures are killers. Nazeem there’s got a great act for being human, but he’s not. None of them are. They only live because of the blood they take from people like you. They’re unholy abominations, and not one of them can pretend to be otherwise. All my life I’ve been cleaning up the bodies they left behind, so you’re just going to have to excuse the fact I’m not thrilled with being here, forced to make nice.”

  Rose jumped to her feet. It didn’t take a sensitive to see her hostility, but before she could speak, Nazeem was at her side, hand on her shoulder. “Forgive Father Mike. He speaks from experience. What he doesn’t understand is that his information is somewhat out of date.”

  “Oh really?” Mike resisted the urge to touch his cross. “Do you still drink blood?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Nazeem answered in a low voice, “Yes.”

  “And you’re still rejected by God.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Nazeem answered anyway. “As you say.”

  “Well there you go.” The question was settled, as far as Mike was concerned.

  Rose, of course, couldn’t let it go. “But they don’t kill people anymore! Nazeem said—“

  “Oh spare me.” Mike was getting sick and tired of what Nazeem said. “You’re going to tell me all the vampires got together for a slumber party one night, roasted some marshmallows and decided they didn’t want to be predators anymore?”

  “There were no marshmallows.” Wentworth had returned, standing at the top of the stairs. Behind Mike, but Mike could still clearly see the vampire in the garish mirrors that covered the walls. “Only the fear of extinction. A fear you should consider if you insist on slandering our species in continued earshot of her Imperial Majesty. Might I suggest you continue your discussion of whether or not vampires deserve to live from a different location?”

  How Mike hated to be in a position where he agreed with Wentworth. “Come on. He’s right. We shouldn’t be talking here.”

  Rose looked like she had questions and, honestly, so did Mike, but he grabbed her coat and pulled her along when she seemed like she was going to stand there and ask. Mike had been remiss to let them stay here this long. Blame short sleep and adrenaline and frustration, but any way you looked at it, it was sloppy.

  Walking didn’t stop Rose from talking; she only re-directed her questions to Nazeem. “Is that true—what he said?”

  “That we shouldn’t talk here? Yes.”

  Rose rolled her eyes, but—call it a miracle—she stopped talking.

  No one spoke on the short ride back to the hotel. As they piled out of the car at the entrance to the Astoria, Mike preemptively cut Rose off. “I know it’s not that late, but it’s been a busy night. I’m going to bed, and I suggest all of you do the same. We can continue this tomorrow.”

  “I agree,” Nazeem said, and Mike didn’t miss the disappointed slump of Rose’s shoulders at that. But she didn’t argue, and Mike took that as a sign of how much tonight’s action had worn her out. Worn them all out.

  Caught up in his own exhaustion, Mike almost didn’t notice the little light blinking on his desk phone. A very demanding part of himself wanted to ignore it—at least till morning. After being up all last night, his afternoon nap wasn’t near enough to get him through another sleepless night, if this turned out to be an emergency.

  But if it was an emergency, if he didn’t answer, who would? He picked up the receiver and pressed the button to play the message.

  “Father Michael Sullivan, this is Poulov Kar
chenko.” Mike reached for the a pen and the pad of notepaper on the desk, ready to take notes, but the message turned out to be brief and memorable. “Come to Revelations tomorrow at noon. I know about the Saturday night murders. I know why the voiders are being killed.”

  * * *

  Rose didn’t expect she’d be able to sleep, but as soon as she lay down, her eyes became too heavy to keep open. She blinked them once, twice, then found herself standing in St. Isaac’s.

  Another dream-vision, despite Ian’s magic circle. This time, she couldn’t see what had drawn her here. Unlike before, the cathedral was empty, quiet and….

  A wave of despair washed over Rose, so powerful her legs gave out and she fell to her hands and knees on the cold marble floor. Loss, longing, loneliness drove against her with a physical force. She was drowning, couldn’t breathe, choking on the force of the emotional energies.

  A dream. This was a dream. Rose repeated the words over and over in her mind, fighting for control, for distance. This sadness was not her own; she would not let it suffocate her. Bit by desperate bit, she drove the foreign emotions back until she could gasp air back into her lungs.

  Around her, the colorful marble turned black. A writhing, oozing black that reached out for her with smoky tentacles. The darkness of St. Isaac’s in physical form, reaching for her, trying to drag her down. With the assurance of dream-logic, Rose knew she had to get away from it.

  She ran for the doors, but they were locked against her. The windows were already covered in such a thick, boiling mass of the ick Rose didn’t dare try to go through them. Rose cast about, running from column to column, afraid to stop moving long enough for the grasping tendrils of foaming darkness to wrap around her.

  She found a stairway going up and took the steps two at a time. Several flights led her up to the roof, where she burst out onto a walkway that ran around the golden dome. Above her, the stars were bright and clear, perfect diamonds in a pitch-black sky.