Cheating Death

by April White

  Tom switched places with Ringo to reach down into the hole to grab Bas’ outstretched hands, while Ringo held Tom’s legs. Between the two of them they yanked the other Vampire up fairly easily, and they were all at my side as I finished the fourth spiral.

  “Hang on to me,” I said as I concentrated on the image in my mind. “I’m taking us back to the Tower of the Winds.” I was dimly aware of hands at my waist and Tom’s voice speaking to Bas.

  “You don’t touch her. Here … take my arm.”

  And then we were Clocking, and there were more people with me, so it was harder and it hurt more. The tile floor of the stairwell leading up to the Tower of the Winds was cool under my hands, and I pressed my cheek to it to steady myself while the dizziness passed. When I could sit up again, I found I could see by the flashlight still clutched in Ringo’s hand. Tom and Bas were apart from us by a foot or two, and when I saw them, I recoiled with a start.

  Bas held Tom’s arm to his mouth, and he was sucking greedily at a vein. “Stop!” I cried out reflexively, but Tom’s grim face turned to mine.

  “I’ve got this, Saira.”

  He had this. I shifted my startled gaze away from Tom and Bas and busied myself crawling up the stairs to the painted room. I crossed to the window shutters and cracked one open to look out at the night sky.

  Tom brought Bas up the stairs, then murmured something under his breath to him. A few minutes later, Tom came to stand beside me at the window. The view from the Tower of the Winds looked out on a long, straight tiled roof that connected to another complex of buildings at the upper end of the rectangular gardens.

  I turned to study his face as he looked out the window. “Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

  “No, but blood-loss isn’t my issue,” he answered.

  I looked behind me. Bas sat on the floor near the door, his head in his hands and his back heaving with each breath. He was so painfully thin, but his skin was less ash-colored, and his cheeks had a slight flush to them.

  I returned my gaze to the view outside and asked Tom, “So, what next?”

  “I kill Wilder,” he said simply.

  “Again?” My voice was tired. I was tired.

  Ringo stepped up behind us, and I knew he’d been listening. “Ye’ll just splinter time again if ye do,” he said.

  Tom closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “Why is he even here?”

  “That’s a good question. Why would an English bishop of the Anglican Church who has a reputation for being the man who punishes the ‘eretics be ‘ere at the Vatican?”

  “He’s a trusted advisor to the pope, and he’s a Catholic bishop, not Anglican.” Bas’ voice was stronger than it had been in the dungeon, and he certainly had no problem with his hearing.

  Ringo met my eyes and then strode over to Bas. He sat across from him, just out of arm’s reach, but at his level. “What do ye know of ‘im?”

  Bas’ gaze sharpened on Ringo. “What, specifically, do you want to know?”

  “We’re ‘ere to find a ring. Blood-red stone set in gold – belonged to the popes until it disappeared in 1842.”

  “I’ve seen the ring.”

  Tom swiveled around and glared. “Where?”

  “Encased in stone,” said Bas.

  Bas struggled to stand, and Ringo reached out to steady him. I caught my breath, but there was no aggressiveness in Bas at all. Tom’s blood must have satisfied enough of his hunger that he could control himself.

  He shuffled to join us at the window, and Tom made room for him to fit in next to me. I snaked my arm around Bas impulsively and gave him a quick squeeze. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through,” I said.

  He held himself stiffly for a brief moment, then exhaled, and squeezed back. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve survived.” He disentangled himself from my arm, and I realized he’d hesitated so he could test his reaction to me. Apparently his control was still a little shaky.

  Bas held onto the window frame and looked out at the view. He closed his eyes and took a deep, satisfied breath. “Thank you,” he said to no one in particular. “I’ve missed this.”

  “How long were you down there?” I asked.

  Bas opened his eyes to meet mine. “I came here to argue for the rights of the Jews in the ghetto of Rome. They live behind walls, can’t own property, die of disease and starvation from flooding, and have been treated as less than human by the Vatican for hundreds of years. My mistake was attempting to use a theological argument. The pope isn’t overly fond of being enlightened on his ignorance of biblical canon. That was six months ago.”

  I stared at him in horror. “Six months?”

  He smiled. “It was much worse to be a Moor in Lisbon during the Crusades, believe me.”

  “Tell us about the ring,” said Tom quietly.

  Bas nodded and pointed out the window to the right side of the big building at the end of the complex. “That is the Cortile del Belvedere. Gregory XVI often conducts business there because the Bramante Staircase allows him to take a carriage all the way up to his offices – he has become lazy in his power. When I challenged Gregory on his understanding of canon, he went to a stone sarcophagus set back near the wall and gestured for guards to remove the heavy lid. Then he reached into it and removed the red-stoned ring, which he slipped onto his finger. He then proceeded to tell me all the ways I was going to humiliate myself in front of his cardinals and bishops, with orders for self-mutilation, self-condemnation, and sheer self-effacing nonsense. When I calmly told him I would do none of those things, he called me a heretic and had me removed to the dungeons immediately. It was there that your Bishop Wilder followed me and had me subdued by several of his guards armed with halberds. Crossed at one’s throat, halberds can be remarkable deterrents to sudden movement. It was thus that I found myself bound in chains, drained of my blood, and unceremoniously left to die in the pit in which you found me.”

  Tom’s breath came a little faster as he looked at me. “That’s definitely the Monger ring.”

  I included Ringo and Bas in my gaze. “When Wilder saw that the ring didn’t work on Bas, he must have wanted his blood.”

  “But why? Clearly you know a great deal about this bishop,” Bas said.

  Tom spoke grimly. “The Bishop Wilder we knew from 1888 had a penchant for genetic testing …” He must have seen confusion on Bas’ face because he sighed and tried to explain so a man of learning in the 1840s could understand. “Testing the components in blood to figure out bloodlines – particularly Descendant bloodlines. He collected samples from all the Families, especially those with remarkable skills.”

  I answered Bas’ next question before he could ask it. “We think he figured out that Vampires assimilate some of the gifts of the Descendants from whom they drink. At least that’s how he became able to Clock through time – he kidnapped and drained my mother in 1888, nearly killing her in the process.”

  “It sounds like ye both assume ‘e’s already a Vampire.” Ringo said, his gaze shifting between me and Tom.

  Bas answered before either of us could. “He’s not.”

  “What?” Tom shouted as I squeaked. “He’s not? How do you know?”

  “He was too careful with me. He wore leather gloves at all times and would never touch me with his bare skin. Instead of leeches or cutting a vein, he used goose quills sharpened to a fine point to draw the blood away cleanly.”

  Tom had paled. “He did the same to me, so he could keep me alive without infecting me.”

  Bas looked sharply at Tom. “This bishop is the one who turned you?”

  Tom looked away, and then finally nodded.

  “When?”

  Tom finally met his eyes again. “A long time ago to you. A lifetime to me.”

  Bas turned to me. “This is because of the skills of your Family?”

  “Yes, but he should be dead. We killed Bishop Wilder in 1429. Not drained and thrown in a pit to regenerate – killed with decapitation and fir
e.” I shuddered at the memory. “He had Clocked there from 1554. And he had Clocked there from 1888, which was when we first met him. He was the man responsible for turning Archer.” My voice faded out at Archer’s name. Bas would want to know about Archer, but I didn’t want to talk about him yet.

  “Do you believe 1888 is within Bishop Wilder’s natural lifetime?” Bas asked.

  It was a very good question, and clearly Ringo thought so too. “‘E only got Clocker skills after ‘e bled Saira’s mother in 1888. ‘E was already a Vampire by then, and there were records for ‘is education at Oxford in the 1840s.”

  “Records can be falsified. I’ve been doing it for centuries. This is the 1840s, and he’s clearly not a student at Oxford now, is he?”

  No, he clearly was not.

  “Does he look the same now as he did when you first knew him?” Bas asked

  “Yes, he does. So, he must already be a Vampire,” I said.

  “Or he’s been alive for fifty or so years and will be infected soon enough that he retains the same appearance. He will then falsify his records later to accommodate his agelessness.”

  Bas sighed. “There is something else, something far less tangible, which is why I hesitate to even raise it.” He leaned back against the window shutter and crossed his arms over his desperately bony chest. He was still shirtless, and the sight of him was uncomfortably close to pictures I’d seen of war refugees.

  He spoke to Tom. “I was a Shifter before I was attacked, and though I can no longer assume my Eagle form, I still have his senses. I knew my Vampire attacker was a predator before I ever stepped into that alley, because my Eagle sensed him.”

  Bas continued. “When the Bishop followed me to the dungeons, I got no sense of predator from him. I sensed the Monger in him, but more as a wish for dominance rather than a predatory nature. That is the true reason I don’t believe he is a Vampire.”

  We were silent for a moment, digesting the information. Tom looked out the window. “Six months ago he may not have been, but he has handled your blood since then, and it’s possible that things have changed.”

  “Ye attackin’ ‘im with blood on yer ‘and could do it too,” murmured Ringo.

  Tom clenched his jaw tightly, and I knew he’d heard him. That kind of thinking could cause an existential crisis of epic proportions, and now was not the time.

  “Guys? Focus. Bas knows where the ring is kept. I say we go get it and then get the hell out of here. Worrying about Wilder and whether or not he’s already infected is not our problem. In real time, he’s dead. We just have to keep reminding ourselves of that, got it?”

  “‘E may be dead, but ‘e can still kill us in this time,” grumbled Ringo.

  “That’s not helpful, and you can just take your pessimistic self away from here if that’s all you’ve got.” My hands went to my hips, and I glared for all I was worth.

  Apparently I was funny, because Ringo and Tom looked at each other, Ringo cocked an eyebrow, and they both did a very poor job of hiding their smirks. So I ignored them and focused on Bas.

  “How do we get there from here – the place where the ring is kept?”

  “The way is full of Swiss Guard and locked doors. If you were a cat, you’d cross the rooftops …” That was all he needed to say. I was out of the window and crouched on the ledge before anyone but Ringo realized what happened. Ringo knew because he was right on my heels.

  “What are you doing?” Bas looked horrified.

  I grinned back at him. “Wouldn’t you know, I am a Cat.” And then I dropped out of sight.

  Archer – Present Day

  He came to gloat.

  Seth Walters and his men remained outside our cell when they opened the door, guns drawn and aimed into the darkness. The light from the main cavern behind them was dim enough that they couldn’t immediately see into the corners where Tam and I had arranged ourselves, and I was able to catch a glimpse of ceiling support columns and brick arches.

  Finally, after some fumbling by one of the men, they shone a torch at us, which effectively burned our vision into uselessness.

  “I suppose the question one should ask is how much longer do I need to keep your food alive before you indulge, Devereux?” Walters sneered as he shone the light on Tam.

  “That was a rhetorical question, I suppose.” I was very glad that Tam and I had spent our waking moments in conversation so my voice was steady and strong.

  “Oh no, not at all.” Walters said. “I had hoped my son would come to me willingly, but he made a tactical error, and now I’m afraid I’ll need to motivate him into compliance.”

  “I fail to see my place in your plans, Walters, just as I fail to recognize your right to include me in them,” I said, marshalling as much arrogance as I could into my voice. The memory of the way my father had spoken to underlings occasionally came in handy.

  My superior attitude had done what I’d hoped – it had made him angry. Angry people made mistakes, in my experience, and given my current physical condition, I was going to need him to make several.

  “Oh, I have the right, Devereux. The ring gives me the right. You could try every bit of your aristocratic charm on the men with me, but they’ll never go against my orders. Not them, and not the thirty-one thousand London constables I control. This city needs some cleaning up, and I’m the man who will see it done properly. So, yes, I definitely have plans.”

  It took a herculean effort on my part to say nothing. I’d gotten a piece of the information I needed, but not nearly all of it, and I hoped that my silence might goad him into speaking further. I still couldn’t see, and I was tired of having the torch light shone in my eyes. Regardless of how I felt, Walters knew nothing of the cure, and therefore couldn’t help but believe I was a Vampire, and I saw no point in disabusing him of that notion. I gathered every ounce of my will and forced myself to stand. My motion was slow, but it was controlled and smooth, and I heard Tam inhale quietly.

  One of the torch-holding men took a step back, and I blinked to clear the blinding glare from my eyes. “The power to compel is not the same thing as leadership, and one does not inspire the other. You are not a leader, Walters, you are a bully and a coward of the worst kind. The fear you believe you inspire is merely the fear in which you constantly live, and it undermines the very leadership you profess to have. Strip a bully of his pulpit and he becomes a cowering, quivering thing. Strip you of your ring, and you, too, will cower. You will never lose the fear because it defines you, and the very things you seek to annihilate will be those which ultimately destroy you.”

  I held myself up by sheer willpower, and I fully expected to be smashed in the face with the butt of a gun. I felt Tam tense beside me. I didn’t know if his instinct would be to jump in to help me or jump to the side to avoid the blows that were surely coming. I didn’t want him in the line of fire, so I took a step forward. The torch-holder stepped back even farther, and finally, Walters spoke.

  “You have no idea who you’re talking to. Your arrogance has just signed a Wolf’s death warrant. I had toyed with the idea of dangling its life in front of you as inducement for good behavior, but I think now I’ll just kill it to make the point that you are not in control here. I am.”

  Walters stepped backward and slammed the door shut. The darkness was absolute, and my legs gave way as I crumpled to the floor.

  “Look, Connor’s a Wolf. He has better survival instincts than all of us put together,” Tam said as he moved to help me sit upright against the wall.

  “I really hope you’re right. You and he are part of a select group – people I consider my friends – and I’m very afraid that group is becoming ever more limited as time goes on.”

  “You’re bleeding again,” he said quietly. I could see nothing, so I assumed blood had seeped through my shirt again under his hands. This constant state of pain in which I was living had become quite boring and I said as much to the young man who had kept me alive in the days after the tunnel col
lapse.

  He laughed at the idea that anyone could find pain boring. “You’re kind of a badass, you know?”

  “No, that’s my wife. She’s definitely the badass of the family.” The thought stoked a different kind of pain.

  “Have you had any more of those weird, implanted memories of her from after 1944?” he asked.

  I swallowed with difficulty. “I haven’t, and Ava hasn’t heard from her either, I take it?”

  “Not since the last time you asked, which was what – an hour ago?”

  A sort of dread had begun to take up residency in my abdomen, and another leaf of it unfurled. “I’m very afraid that something significant happened when I pushed them through the portal.”

  “You don’t remember anything else from that moment? Just a flash, and that’s it?” Tam settled back against his own wall. They were positions to which we’d become accustomed through long conversations while we’d been prisoners together. Among other topics of discussion, I had given Tam a thorough recounting of the various adventures that had brought me to the Underground to search for him and the rest of the mixed-blood captives, including the new memories of the time I had spent with Saira in 1944.

  “That is indeed it,” I answered. “And then my memories revert back to the ones I’ve always had, but in an odd way – as though Saira had never been there at all.”

  Tam was silent a moment. “What do you think it means?”

  I exhaled, and hated to put words to the private fear I’d harbored like a suppurating wound. “That time has split yet again.”

  “But Tink’s cousin came back … I mean forward from then.”

  “He was sent through the portal several seconds before the bomb exploded.”

  Tam was silent as he worked it out in his head. “But you were there for the explosion, and yet you’re here now. So, could that mean there’s a time stream on which you’re dead?”

  I couldn’t imagine having left Saira alone on any time stream, nor would I ever allow myself to think of her as injured or dead, so I reverted to humor to cover that which didn’t bear consideration. “Until just recently, I was considered a walking corpse on this one too.”