by Misty Evans
I had been haunted by my past as Maria’s weapon, encumbered by my present as a demon bent on saving humans, and filled with false hope for a future now threatened by the coming apocalypse.
The sum total of my life wasn’t worth much, but it provided enough to accept my fate.
As Cole, Sal and I left Castello di Guerriero Feroce by the light of the quarter moon at three minutes past midnight, my head swam with the messages Damon had delivered, both verbally and mentally. The European Bridge Council was not our ally. No surprise there.
They were, in fact, out to destabilize the international Bridge community and resurrect demon leadership over all supernaturals. While vexing, this only mildly surprised me.
Damon suspected they wouldn’t stop there. Humans would be subjugated, turned into sex slaves, blood sacrifices and meals-ready-to-devour. Evil—always close to the surface of every demon—had infiltrated our organization and was preparing its ultimate downfall.
Now I was well and truly pissed.
Emasculating Damon was one thing. His position, temperament and ancient, all-powerful magic, was nothing to mess with, but Marco and Valentina had been secretly plotting to overthrow him for years—probably since the early days when Val had confessed her love for him.
Emasculating me, the Bridge Council’s enforcer who was also an original vice blessed by the hand of Jesus, was another.
Add the Master vampire blood in my veins and my position as Queen of the Central United States Undead population, and I was nearly indestructible with an army of supernaturals at my disposal. Marco and Val had refused to believe the reports coming out of Chicago and needed, according to Damon, to see firsthand what I could do.
Ah ha. There was the rub.
I’d done what he needed. Knowing why didn’t mean I liked it any better than before. Damon had always taught me to downplay the extent of my abilities in order to surprise my enemies. Right now, my enemies knew everything about me.
“You all right?” Cole asked. He’d hot-wired one of the SUVs and we were speeding down a narrow, gravel and grass road away from the castle. Sal was in the back seat, reviewing the maps JR had sent me and rubbing his peach fuzz.
“Of course,” I lied. Checking my weapons, I allowed my fingers to linger on the silver, steel and leather. They comforted me in a way nothing else could. “According to JR’s calculations, we can reach the catacombs under Vatican City via a bookstore called Libreria Madonna Belle Strada off Via della Conciliazione. It’s owned by a Jesuit priest whom Damon says will help us. He lives over the bookstore and has access to a tunnel underneath the building that runs parallel to the catacombs.”
Salmad’s head came up. “Father Reese?”
“You know him?”
He nodded. “A human priest is helping us? Why?”
My exact response when Damon had told me about him. “His mother was raped by a Swiss Guard servicing the Vatican when she was thirteen. That guard was half demon. Reese’s mother was forced to marry an older, human male to cover her unintended pregnancy and gave birth to him several months later. The trauma affected her mental health and she committed suicide when he was five. His step-father put him in a Jesuit boys’ home where he grew up to embrace the life. He has no love of demons, but he also has little love for the Swiss Guard and has evidence about some pretty big Vatican cover-ups, so no love lost there either. He’s been using his bookstore as an underground railroad for religious martyrs and supernatural prisoners to escape from Rome for the past fifty years. Damon claims he’s running his own miniature Bridge Institute.”
Cole whistled under his breath. “So Damon knows all about our little heist tonight?”
“We had dinner. Talked. I convinced him this was the best plan of attack. No spectacle, no show, just get in, grab the journals and get out as quietly as possible. The Pope won’t even know we’re in town.”
“Why didn’t he come with us?”
How to answer? Marco and Valentina are the tip of the iceberg, Damon had told me, but they are the head of the beast. If I can cut the head off, the rest of the beast and their mission to take over the Bridge Institute, will fail. “He has important matters to attend to with Marco and Valentina.” I played with a string trailing from the hem of my cape. “Matters that should be wrapped up by the time we’re done in Rome.”
Neither male was satisfied with the revelation, but Cole didn’t ask anything else, and Sal went back to his paper map, pointing a bony finger at it. “The bookstore is here. The Secret Archives are…here. That’s probably less than half a mile.”
“The tunnels under Vatican City follow a circuitous route, and not a very good one at that. The catacombs we’ll be trekking through are not ones the Church recognizes so they’re not public, and therefore, not in good condition from what JR says. Our route will probably be closer to a mile in distance and may take longer than usual on foot.”
“The catacombs are sacred ground,” Cole interjected. “I can’t go in.”
The Italian countryside gave way to suburbia, then to urban sprawl. All around us rose modern high-rises and ancient architecture. Street lights glistened off the wet streets as the windshield wipers worked overtime. Traffic was sparse but the cars that passed us seemed to be running from the devil, they went by so fast. St. Peter’s Square beckoned ahead.
Rome. How long has it been, dear city?
Dark magic skittered over my skin in response. The tiny hairs on my arms sat up and took notice. Certain buildings we passed, especially the ancient churches, seemed to loom over me, their blessed energy pushing me away. “Salmad and I will be fine. You be ready when we reemerge to drive us away. Hopefully we can get in and out without detection, but in case we come out hot, we’ll need a good driver to get us out of Rome.”
Cole hated to miss out on the action. A muscle in his jaw pulsed, but he knew I was right. Casting a glance out his window, he shook his head. “Things sure look different than the last time I was here.”
My birth city had changed. Even the street leading us into Vatican City and the bookstore was new thanks to Mussolini and some other industrial sorts. The path to St. Peter’s Square and onto VC had been reconstructed into a straight line in the past century. Too bad I couldn’t follow that straight line to the Secret Archives.
Sal was giving Cole directions when my cell rang, the familiar ringtone telling me it was Maddy. How had she gotten through? Even JR’s texts had stopped right before my fight in the arena. “Maddy? Is everything all right?”
“If you call a dead enforcer and a missing werewolf all right.” Her voice sounded very far away, but it was the best sound I’d heard in the past twenty-four hours. “Ranulf killed Chi and took off. We don’t know why or where Ranulf went. Kirill and Yasmin are bringing charges against him and the shifters are in an uproar. Dru wants me to hunt down Ranulf and Arman’s telling me not to, that there has to be something going on we don’t understand with the pack leader. I don’t know what to do. When are you coming home?”
Home. Rome called to me because of my past, but Chicago was my future.
If I could save it.
“Don’t do anything yet. Have Arman put out feelers for Ranulf. Do some detective work and find out if the werewolf’s been acting odd or has been sick. Arman’s right, this doesn’t add up, and the Council and Dru may make matters worse by going after him. By all means, do not engage the shifter. Wait for me. I’ll be home by this time tomorrow.” I hoped. “Did Rad have any luck with Lake Michigan and the Red Tide?”
The line went fuzzy and then she came back on. “…not working and Parker’s getting in the way. Where are you anyway? Rad’s threatening to hunt you down.”
Parker. That bitch. “What is Parker doing?”
“She showed up at your house and told Rad you were as good as dead.”
“My house?”
Cole glanced my way and Salmad looked up.
“She was also downtown at Chloe’s trying to buy blood.”
&n
bsp; A cold chill tickled my spine. “What kind of blood?”
“The kind a certain vengeance demon stores there for her blood slaves. Chloe turned her away, of course. Told Parker she didn’t handle your blood.”
Porca miseria. “What does she want my blood for?”
“What else?” Even across two continents, Maddy exuded annoyance. “She wants super powers too.”
“She’s human.”
“So is Victoria. Look what your blood cocktail—even before the addition of Dru’s powers—did for her.”
Victoria, a witch who’d raised Lilith from hell, was rotting at that moment in the Chicago Bridge Institute’s underground prison. “I’m certain she has throwback demon blood in her heritage. That’s the only reason my blood gave her power. It only increased what she already possessed.”
“Maybe Parker, baby, has throwback blood too.”
That thought made me slightly dizzy. Mostly because it rang true. Her skills were off the charts for a human, but if she had demon blood in her system, it was nominal. My supernatural radar would have gone off otherwise. “Have you run that theory by Rad?”
A terse chuckle. “Rad is a jackass right now because you’re gone. He mumbled something about you didn’t have time for a vacation with him but you could take off with Damon, yada, yada, yada. And he’s caught up in all his rock star stuff. Got nominated for a new award and has all kinds of interviews and performances lined up. He’s busy. God, if I hear that one more time…”
The vacation statement made it all clear. “He thinks I’m on vacation?”
“Since none of us know where you are or why you left, that’s as good a guess as any. Kali,” she lowered her voice, “Rad caused a blizzard with hundred mile-an-hour winds when he found out you left with Damon. We lost power for four hours. The only reason the storm stopped was because he had to get on a plane to Hollywood for that awards show.”
Damn it to hell. So much for Damon explaining my absence.
But this was the part of my life that others didn’t understand, even those closest to me. I belonged to the Council. My life was not my own. I worked weird hours, weird cases and sometimes I had to leave in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Up until Rad came back into my life, it hadn’t been a problem. I had few friends, no family, and no lover to worry about. This new relationship with him was a wrinkle in my world, as was becoming a stand-in mother for Maddy, and accepting my responsibilities as queen of Chicago’s Undead. Even the other vitiums looked to me to lead them.
Times like this, I felt pulled in too many directions. Everyone wanted something from me.
Right now, I seemed to be letting all of them down.
“Don’t worry about Rad. I’ll be home and straighten things out as soon as I can. Meanwhile, steer clear of Parker. She’s up to no good.”
“Ya think? That bitch is as bad as Victoria.”
Not quite, but close. “As long as neither of them raises the queen of hell again, we’ll be okay.”
There was a pause. “I’m not so sure about that, Kali. Things are bad here. Like bad bad. Have you seen the news? All the wackos coming out and talking about the end of the world? They’re siting things like the red water in Lake Michigan and all the cooties going around. Rad’s freak blizzard added to the mayhem they’re stirring up.”
The good news kept coming.
False reassurances weren’t my style, and I was positive I could stop the Horsemen. The libreria sign appeared on the next block. “Hang in there. I’m on the trail of something that’s going to help us out. Something my father knew about. Once I get hold of that, I’ll stop the apocalypse and you and I will take care of Parker and Ranulf. ’K?”
A heavy sigh. “Yeah, whatever. But just so you know. If Parker baby shows up at the church again, I’m going evil vampire on her ass.”
“Not a good idea, Maddy. Wait for me to get back. Please.”
“What? You’re breaking up…” She made interference noises. “Hurry home!”
The line went dead.
Brat.
Cole parked across the street from Belle Strada, a narrow, three-story high structure connected on both sides with similar buildings made of artificially aged stone to make them look older than they were. A few soft security lights illuminated the inside, but the street and the shops were locked up tight.
I was already armed to the teeth. Cole and Sal raided the Maserati’s trunk for items we’d stolen from the weapons room at the castle. Once they were satisfied with their haul, we ducked our heads from the rain, bypassing the front entrance and heading for the small courtyard at the back.
A lion’s head door knocker hung centered on the red wooden door. Above the door, an inscription was written in bold italics: Verba volant, scripta manent. Words fly away, writings remain.
Italians. A famous quote from an ancient Roman ruler used as an apt motto for a religious bookstore. Even in the simplest of things, my people could find a way to incorporate art, politics and religion in an ordinary four-word quote.
A minuscule camera tracked our movements. I lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall twice in quick succession. In the distance, a dog barked. Far away, I heard the sound of a siren.
Cole stood with his back to me, a gun in each hand as he watched my six. One gun was equipped with holy water bullets, the other with silver. To my right, Sal kept his hands hidden inside the bell sleeves of his robe. He’d covered his head with his hood, like I’d done, to keep the rain off and conceal his identity.
Above our heads, a light came on. A disembodied voice spoke to us from a speaker hidden inside the cursive motto over the door frame. “Cosa vuoi?”
I’d believed Reese was Italian, but the accent accompanying what do you want sounded British. And young. I’d had the impression Reese was in his fifties.
“We’re looking for a book.” I said in English. I gave him the code word title Damon had shared with me to make sure Reese knew not to shoot first and ask questions later. “Angeli e Demoni di Dan Brown.”
There was a rustling noise, a soft buzz and the click of a latch. Above those sounds, I heard the kid mutter, “Che è inutile.”
Worthless.
Us or the book? I opened the door and stepped in, palming Volante’s handle and ready to find out.
A young man in a threadbare white T-shirt and low slung flannel pajama pants met us in the hall. He scratched his head, making his brown hair stand on end. A beard sprouted here and there along his jawline as though he’d forgotten to shave yesterday. He looked us over with bored, sleepy eyes—a college intern perhaps studying all night for finals?
His assessment of us slowed only once—when his attention fell on Cole. A slight tension entered his aura even though his nonverbal body reaction was too muted for most to pick up on. “This way, mates.”
British? Check. Young? Check. Not Reese. Double check.
Definitely not human either. At least not entirely.
My supe radar buzzed as I walked behind him. I sniffed the air and let my new heightened senses take over.
He gave off plenty of human odors but also those of metal, fresh blood and calculated precision.
A Mercenary demon? This kid?
A visual scan of his body revealed no obvious weapons, but my nose didn’t lie. I’d faced enough Merc demons in my time to know how they smelled.
I shot a look over my shoulder at Cole and arched an eyebrow. He gave me a sharp nod, his attention swinging all over the place as he watched for potential attacks. Mercenary demon, check. But not one Cole was worried about.
I relaxed a little. The kid led us up a flight of stairs, bypassing the main library and into a small kitchen. From the other side of the room, an older man, wearing a pair of small, round Harry Potter-like spectacles, entered.
Upon seeing us, he stopped in mid-step, adjusted the glasses and seemed to pull himself up a notch. After a pause, he motioned at the kid to get lost.
The Merc demon seemed hap
py to comply and disappeared the way we’d entered.
Reese touched the cross hanging from his neck. “Kali Sweet, si presume.”
I nodded, introduced Cole and Salmad. No one shook hands, but the two priests sized each other up and apparently found each other acceptable.
“You know why we’re here,” I said.
He switched to English as he grabbed a tea kettle and filled it with water. “You will not find what you’re looking for in the Secret Archives.”
Cole and I exchanged a look. We came all this way for nothing? “How do you know?”
Setting the kettle on the hot plate, he dug into a cabinet, pulled out mugs and teabags. He brought his haul to the kitchen table and held out a chair for me. “I have been in the archives many times. The documents you seek are not there.”
When I refused the chair, Sal sat and folded his hands on top of the table. “You’ve been in the archives? What are they like?”
Reese’s eyes were a washed out hazel color that up until now had blended in with his olive skin and plain brown hair. He drew a breath, held it, and smiled, staring off into the mid-distance. “Bellissimo! The art, the industry, the imagination! God-inspired artifacts that man cannot begin to appreciate.”
His eyes closed and he swayed as if listening to a Beethoven sonata. He even hummed several bars of something close. “It is like hearing the anthem of the angels, mio fratello. Nothing on earth compares to the riches inside the archives.”
I had no doubt the archives could fascinate me and many others for hours. Days and weeks, probably, there was so much history there. “But my father’s journals don’t exist?”
Reese’s eyes popped open and he held up his pointer finger. “Not in the archives. Your father’s texts still exist, as do your mother’s oracles, but they are hidden in a very special place inside Vatican City. A place where no one other than the Pope has access.”
“Oracles?” Adrenaline made my pulse race. “Are you saying my mother was a prophetess?”
