Crispin cleared his throat. “You are to be escorted from now on,” he said.
“Why?” Roland demanded, taking a threatening step forward without even realizing it.
Crispin didn’t flinch. “Conclave orders. I do as I’m told.” But he did look somewhat annoyed by the statement, as if he wasn’t in agreement with it. Despite his personal opinion, he would do as commanded.
“Like a good little boy,” I said without thinking, face devoid of any emotion.
Crispin lost all signs of sympathy for our situation at those five words. He glared at me, but Roland cleared his throat in warning. Then Crispin reconsidered me with an appraising glance, seeming to remember how easily I had dispatched Fabrizio. He backed down.
“Things are crazy lately,” Fabrizio said in a neutral, peaceful tone, sensing the tension. “And everyone is on edge. We’re just trying to keep everyone safe. No one wants another murder.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but clamped his mouth shut at a look from Crispin.
I frowned at them in confusion. “I was just offered a job and now I’m under escort? Change your mind much?” I spat incredulously.
“We’re just doing our jobs, Callie…” Crispin finally admitted, slowly reverting back to his original sympathy, forgiving my snide comment. He didn’t look happy at this turn of events. In fact, he looked downright pissed off. But Roland had told me how loyal Crispin was. He would do his duty. Right now, that sense of duty was conflicted. Trusted friend or Conclave?
I was also aware that neither of them seemed surprised to hear I had been offered a job. Potentially. Was that the reason for their meeting with the other Conclave members? To perhaps quiz them on me? Get their opinion? And maybe that was why Roland hadn’t been invited, since he was my mentor and would be biased. Perhaps he would have his own meeting with them about me. Maybe I could convince him to tell them how terrible I was.
Regardless, secrets were bubbling to the surface in the House of Truth.
“Fine,” I eventually said, folding my arms. They nodded tersely, and motioned for us to join them on a retreat from the scene of our break-in. Soon, we were silently walking back down the path. We didn’t have time for silence, and I wanted to offer an explanation since we had been caught red-handed. I chose my words carefully, phrased in terms they would subconsciously agree with.
“Tell us about the suspects,” I said to Crispin. “Did they exhibit any signs of stress before the murder? Anger? Depression? Fear? Instability? Anything to hint at murder?”
Crispin shook his head, looking troubled. Not bothered by my questions, but as if he had asked himself the same things a million times already and wasn’t pleased by the answers. “No. They had everything they could have wanted. Like I said, Constantine took them out often and treated them like his own daughters. They were excelling at an incredible pace.”
I nodded. “What about the two witnesses?”
Fabrizio piped up this time. “They are under observation.”
“Why?” I asked, frowning.
“In case they were turned.”
“Did they have any scratches or bite marks?” I asked. Fabrizio shook his head. I frowned again, wanting to throttle someone. “Then why are you concerned with them turning into werewolves?” His face grew stony, not appreciating my tone.
“Maybe because the wolves are murderers and attacked Constantine,” Crispin said in a low tone of warning. “Covering our bases.”
I turned to him. “What real evidence do you have that the wolves killed Constantine? Because I know homicide detectives. Good ones. And they have three things they always look for,” I said, holding up a finger with each word, “Means, motive, and opportunity.”
Roland grunted his agreement. “If they’re guilty, I’ll be the first to line up as executioner,” he said, with a resolved stare. They looked relieved to see him finally agreeing with them. Then he held up a finger. “But all I’ve heard is that they loved Constantine, liked their new home, never hurt anyone, and were beaten up at the scene of the crime where Constantine’s throat was slashed. Did it look like Constantine used magic on them to defend himself? Burned skin? Anything?” Their faces grew harder, as if making up for their momentary relief in finding him on their side. “And these witnesses… Were they attacked? Where were they in relation to Constantine’s body? What did they see? Are they aware of magic? Werewolves?” The silence was deafening. “What is so compelling that you can ignore all these inconsistencies?” he asked in a softer tone, as if begging to understand. He didn’t shout, didn’t sound angry, and he didn’t sound condescending. Basically, it was the most professional statement he could have made.
“Yeah,” I argued, folding my arms across my chest to back him up like a good minion.
Roland let out a sigh of frustration, clearly wishing I had kept my trap shut.
“We’re just trying to help,” I said. “We don’t like this anymore than you do. Consider the fact that the victim was his mentor,” I said, pointing a thumb at Roland, “and that he brought the wolves here in the first place,” I added. “We feel a measure of responsibility in this.”
Crispin latched onto that like a shark. “Exactly.”
Roland frowned, as did I.
Fabrizio glanced back at us. “He means that Roland is biased. Not objective.”
I blinked incredulously at the large man. “You’re saying that we’re not objective… but we just asked every objective question available. And you can’t seem to answer them—”
Crispin waved a hand, cutting me off. “Enough of this. It is not your concern.”
“If we could just speak with the witnesses. These surviv—”
Crispin rounded on me, apparently losing his patience. “You will not speak to the witnesses. None of us will. They are not aware of magic, or werewolves, or anything. Letting them see that could put the Vatican in a very awkward position. They saw a murder. Were banged up as they fled, and that’s that.”
“How were they banged—”
“Enough!” Fabrizio shouted, losing his temper as we pressed his boss. I met his eyes, breathing heavily, not backing down. “You are not a Shepherd, Callie. Not yet. But even if you were,” he said, glancing meaningfully at Roland, “it is not your position to question, only to obey. We scanned the witnesses, tested them. They are entirely Regular. The scene only had traces of wizard and werewolf. Nothing else. That is why we removed them from the suspect pool.” He began ticking off fingers as he continued. “No Regular could have gotten close enough to knock out two wolves and slice Constantine’s throat. And before you ask, we questioned them for hours, dug up full dossiers on them. No military training. No martial arts. No secrets. One is a baker and one is a waiter. They live in cheap homes, no family, no mysterious savings account with surprising balances. Literally,” he said, drawing the word out, “nothing suspicious.”
I let the silence stretch for a few moments. “A good assassin is always set up in a similar way. False backgrounds, no loose ends in his history, modest life, nothing suspicious. They could still be highly trained killers. Even if they’re only Regulars,” I said in a last-ditch effort.
Fabrizio turned to me with a patronizing smile. “I walked into the interrogation room and tossed a bloody sword onto the table, wiping off my hands before I told him I was here to ask him questions about the murder. He pissed himself. On the spot. The other one passed out when Windsor tried to hardball him in a similar fashion.”
Roland muttered darkly.
I swore.
Chapter 35
That would be a level of commitment and skill that most successful assassins might not manage. They were typically arrogant. Sure, they could act innocent when necessary, but to pass out and piss yourself? Maybe the Shepherds were right.
But that didn’t mean the wolves were guilty.
We had seen the goddamned video.
“What were they wearing?” I asked. At Fabrizio’s growl, I held up a hand. “Last question an
d then I’ll drop it. I promise.”
He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, and I saw Crispin smirking out of the corner of his mouth. Not at the topic, but amused by his fellow Shepherd’s exasperation.
“Khakis and a blue windbreaker over a white tee. The other had light gray slacks and a white dress shirt, his attire for the restaurant he works at.”
I nodded, but inside I wanted to curse. The killer had been wearing uniform dark clothing. Sure, they could have changed clothes, any successful killer would have, but there was always the chance they could have overlooked it and worn black. The problem was that we were looking for proof of something unexplainable, and questions of what if couldn’t enter the equation yet. Those came later when you were trying to wrap up loose ends on your prime suspects’ actions.
Which meant Roland and I needed to focus on the wolves. Find something – anything – that revealed it was impossible for them to have done it. And just our luck, the Shepherds were now very aware of our interest – not that it had been a secret before – because Roland was tied to it whether he wanted to be or not. He’d brought the alleged killers here.
But now we had been caught snooping, and had managed to impart a suspicion of incompetence on Roland’s brothers, which wasn’t going to make our job easier. The conversation had needed to happen eventually, though.
“Thank you. We just… don’t understand how it can be possible. If we had any suspicions they were a threat, we wouldn’t have brought them here. And Constantine was experienced, so it seemed unlikely he would overlook them as a threat since he spent so much time with them.”
“I want to appease my conscience. Or find the mistake in judgment I made,” Roland said.
The two Shepherds nodded in understanding, their anger slowly defrosting. “We understand, Roland,” Crispin said, placing an arm on his shoulder. “This hurt all of us. But have a little faith. We didn’t blindly suspect them because they were wolves. Fabrizio checked the surrounding buildings for surveillance and found nothing. We worked with the police. This was our ultimate conclusion, even though I’ll admit it isn’t foolproof. Still, the world needs to see us act decisively. And in unison,” he added.
“Even if it’s the wrong suspect, the world needs to see that the Shepherds will respond,” Roland growled unhappily, fully aware of both sides of the situation.
Instead of arguing, since I had promised I was finished pestering them, I nodded sadly. “Where to next, Roland?”
Just then, Crispin glanced down as his phone chirped. He read it, let out an annoyed sigh, and then placed a call. He turned away from us as he spoke, and I felt anxiety building up in my shoulders. Why hide his phone call? He hung up and pulled Fabrizio aside to speak in a low tone. I arched a brow at Roland, wondering if he had enhanced vampire hearing yet, but he grunted to tell me he didn’t. They turned back to us and Crispin sighed. “Duty calls. Windsor will replace me and then you four can be on your way. Wherever that is,” he added. Which was interesting. Crispin was First Shepherd, so likely had dozens of other jobs to perform, not considering his new task as our babysitter. But more interesting was the fact that we had the freedom to go where we pleased… under supervision. Like house arrest.
Windsor finally jogged into view, nodded at Crispin, and then stepped up beside Fabrizio. Crispin left, and the two Shepherds waited, holding out their hands to let us know we could lead and they would follow. Their smiles were polite, fixed, and I could tell that something big was definitely going on behind the scenes.
I shrugged and started walking, Roland joining me. With our guards, we could no longer talk freely. And we were about to have a helluva a time finding evidence to prove that the wolves were innocent.
We had walked the grounds for about thirty minutes, Roland pointing out various buildings, statues, and other familiar places to him from his childhood. I even caught Fabrizio and Windsor loosening up, smiling at their own memories of the places Roland pointed out, but they didn’t speak. It was comforting to see the happiness in Roland’s eyes. To see him as a younger man, not the hard-ass Shepherd of Kansas City.
Roland had casually asked Crispin and Windsor about our new supervision requirement, not sounding annoyed, but thoughtful. “Is it because we searched Constantine’s office?”
“Everyone is being guarded at present,” Windsor said in an official tone.
Roland frowned at that, because these two obviously weren’t being guarded. Windsor had replaced Crispin, and neither of them had guards accompanying them as they did.
“Why do we need a guard but not you guys?” I asked Windsor. I pointed a thumb at Roland. “It can’t be because you’re Shepherds… or this conversation is going to get very uncomfortable.”
Windsor wouldn’t meet Roland’s eyes. “He brought the wolves to the Vatican…”
“Ah, I get it,” I said, letting my flat tone speak volumes.
Roland didn’t immediately comment. He just shook his head in disappointment – at the truth of Windsor’s comment and the guilt of knowing as much as it hurt to not have their trust, he technically didn’t deserve it because he was hiding a set of new fangs from them.
“I’m going to go get some rest,” he finally said. “I’ll talk to you soon. All this searching for knives in my back is exhausting…” he added before turning to a building backed up against the Holy Shed. Now I knew where our rooms were! Windsor looked both hurt and angry, but didn’t reply. Fabrizio nodded at Windsor and then followed Roland like a good guard dog.
I looked at Windsor, waiting for a reaction. He looked torn as he watched Fabrizio jog up to Roland. Both frustrated and angry, but determined. What the hell was going on here? When he turned back to me, those emotions were gone.
“With friends like these…” I said sweetly.
He held out a hand and I sighed. We were near the Holy Shed, so I decided to do a little more walking, rather than follow Roland to our rooms. Considering Windsor and I were all alone, and that he might be the killer, I chose to take my walk indoors instead. As I neared the entrance, I saw that the two buildings did in fact look connected.
I walked inside the Holy Shed, the same entrance where I had first met Fabrizio and Crispin. The familiar hall stretched before me and I took my time, studying the various religious paintings, decorations and artifacts as I walked, thinking over the afternoon’s events.
I didn’t walk to the door where I had met the Conclave, but down a side hall instead. Reaching the end of the hall, I decided I was ready to head back to my room and change clothes or talk with Roland or something. Strategize or just take a nap. I rounded another hallway, guessing that it led to the other building, and almost bumped into an older man. A younger, blond-haired man shadowing him suddenly looked much more alert, as if I had attempted to attack the octogenarian. The younger man was dressed in a suit, and looked like he knew what he was doing, maybe only a few years older than me. But he looked hard, as if those extra years had been the equivalent of a decade of war.
I quickly stepped back, sensing the lethal grace of a fighter. He studied me with a harsh face, not angry, but that alert quality found in competent bodyguards.
Windsor cleared his throat. “Easy. There is no danger, here,” he said to the guard, who seemed much less concerned than he should have been at the presence of a Shepherd. He recognized a fellow fighter, but didn’t look particularly impressed.
I turned back to the older man. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” I admitted.
He chuckled softly, waving a hand to dismiss my apology. He wore traditional robes with a wide collar, not unlike the other bishops, cardinals, and priests I had seen. But instead of a vibrant color, his were cream. He was a short, squat man, probably in his early sixties, although I wasn’t that great of a judge once someone got past their fifties. He looked healthy and somewhat fit, with sparkling blue eyes and a thin dusting of white hair. He didn’t look familiar, and his darker skin tone made me think he was Hispanic.
“I sure hope not,” I said with a tired sigh. I just wanted to sit down for a minute. In private.
He smiled in amusement, chuckling lightly.
“You okay?” I asked, noticing he was still rubbing his arm lightly and didn’t intend to leave.
He looked suddenly embarrassed, lowering his arm. “Old men get scratches and can’t recall how,” he admitted with a resigned shrug. “But enough about me. I meant that you dress… differently from most women I’ve seen here. Like a visiting celebrity on a private tour,” he added, inspecting Windsor, who was dressed in his sleek black outfit.
I laughed at that. I glanced at Windsor and was satisfied to see him flinch. His face tightened, no doubt imagining what I would say, and knowing he wouldn’t be happy about it. I took it as a warning not to mention we were part of the Conclave – that this old man knew nothing about us.
“Must keep the womenfolk safe,” I said, reaching back to pat Windsor’s shoulders like a good little bodyguard. His eyes threatened murder but his face remained neutral. Payback was a bitch. Treat me like a duty and get treated like a detail. “You know how much trouble we can get into when left unsupervised.” He flashed a grin, amused at the comment but smart enough not to answer. I eyed his own guard, and my smile faltered at a sudden realization.
Windsor’s warning look. This man had a bodyguard. “Wait, you’re the…” I didn’t quite know what to officially call him.
He was smiling, interested in hearing me finish the comment, but I clamped my lips shut. I was in enough trouble as it was, and realized I had just walked into a civil war.
He finally shrugged. “My name is Anthony Gregory Gutierrez.” He didn’t give a title, and I could tell it bothered him. He was the man who stood against the current pope. The one who thought he was the one true Pope. The Antipope. Shit. Shit. Shit. Maybe he saw a kindred spirit in me, a person not tied to the cookie cutter version of the church. But that being said, wasn’t he against the Vatican because he thought they were too lax? Wouldn’t that make me an abomination?
Whispers: Feathers and Fire Book 3 Page 18
