“The… Antipope,” he clarified, watching me with a humorless smile.
I winced, not quite sure how to respond to that. Oh, I’ve heard all about you! probably wouldn’t fly. And what the hell was he doing just walking around the Conclave? Had he slipped through because Roland and I were keeping the Shepherds busy with personal guard duty?
“Callie Penrose,” I said, extending my hand lamely. Windsor groaned behind me. Too late, I realized Anthony was just staring at my hand. What the hell? Was I supposed to fucking curtsy or something? I realized I had reached the point in the day when a girl only wants one thing…
To just fuck off to somewhere else. Anywhere but where I was. It happened to all of us.
Anthony smiled up at me. “A breath of fresh air… Walk with me,” he said, after accepting my hand in a limp shake, as if unfamiliar with the motion. He glanced at Windsor and then his own guard. “I’m sure our guards can give us some privacy…”
The two nodded at us, then at each other, before politely walking a dozen paces away down the hall, the best place to keep their eyes on us and any approaching threats. After scanning the hall, they finally turned to each other, speaking softly. Neither looked happy, but they at least attempted small talk.
I turned back to Anthony. This was going to be interesting.
Chapter 36
Anthony had started off conversationally, speaking of the weather, the historic buildings, and the surprising number of polite people he had encountered on his visit, but I had felt him angling the conversation to the most important topic on his mind – his faith. I had let him, listening to him vent about the numerous disagreements he had with Vatican City.
At first, it felt nice to sort of have an ally, at least someone who shared my current feelings – even though his were seeded in fertile ground with ancient, stubborn roots and mine were only weeds rooted in recent frustrations and a murder mystery. I couldn’t have cared less about theological debates concerning which practices were considered sinful and which were not. I wasn’t very familiar with the traditional arm of the Catholic church anyway, so had no idea what they told the masses. I was one of the enforcers. Whether or not the Pope denounced gay marriage didn’t really change the fact that monsters needed to be killed.
To put it simply, did I have an opinion on social issues? Yep. Sure as hell did.
Was that opinion more important than the fact that monsters attacked innocent people every day and that my focus was better spent on saving lives? Nope. Sure as hell wasn’t.
Personally, morality arguments usually lit my fuse quickly. It was one reason I wasn’t a fan of organized groups, and why I would make a terrible Shepherd. I had no tolerance for historical biases and no patience for blind zealotry. If a proclamation had a caveat, I disregarded it.
If you condone – insert activity – then you are going to Hell. Caveat? Bye, Felicia.
It was a very simple philosophy.
Also, if I noticed guilt used as a weapon to sway opinion, I disregarded the argument.
Roland had called me a venomous cynic, but he had smiled as he said it. Then he had spent a long time explaining to me that Shepherds served a higher purpose, and that we didn’t have to believe everything the Vatican preached.
Granted, most Shepherds were advocates for the Church, and did believe everything the Vatican stood for, but it was by no means a requirement.
My eyes had begun to glaze over as Anthony vomited his version of the Holy Spirit all over my cherub-like cheeks. He didn’t like the direction the Vatican was heading, and thought it needed a reset button. Him. Because blah, blah, blaaaaahhhh… I had almost fallen asleep on my feet when he said something that revived me.
“Christians have lost their way,” he said with a tired sigh.
I almost shouted Amen, but didn’t want to put another quarter in the anti-Vatican machine.
My lack of interest must have shown on my face because he sighed. “My apologies. It’s hard being here, but we must attempt to work together at times. Even if it is in debate,” Anthony said. Then he waved a hand. “What brings you here, Miss Penrose?”
I blinked, not having really envisioned what to say if I run into the Antipope. “Visiting a friend,” I finally said.
Anthony nodded, eyes casually checking on our guards. Then he shook his head with a frown. “I have heard troubling news, but no one seems inclined to speak of it. To need guards inside a House of God…” he muttered, sounding offended. He must have thought I had provided my own guard, or had been provided one. Either way meant the Pope was incompetent in his opinion.
“Just trying to keep everyone safe, I guess.”
Anthony pondered that. “I have heard a man of the cloth was recently murdered. Who would do such a thing? And why does no one say anything? All I see is… duck lips everywhere.”
I almost snorted. “I think you mean tight-lipped,” I said, trying not to embarrass him. He was too busy considering that to notice my sudden anxiety. If he hadn’t caught me off guard with his mistaken selfie reference, I might have instantly grabbed him by the shoulders to demand where he had heard about Constantine. It hadn’t happened on Vatican soil, so how had he connected that to the church?
He finally grumbled indelicately. “Not enough transparency these days. We need to open our ledgers and get back to basics. God is not a business. He is all. We’re becoming too political.” He studied me thoughtfully. “Is it like that where you are from?”
I blinked at him, and then realized he was referring to my American accent. “Missouri is awesome,” I said, remembering that funny YouTube video poking fun at my state.
“I’ve heard disturbing things about St. Louis and Kansas City in recent months.”
Well, wasn’t Anthony just the gossip queen of Rome? Where the hell had he heard that? But I shrugged offhandedly. “Big cities have big problems.”
He grunted affirmatively. “I’ve considered opening a church in St. Louis… How well do you know a Master Nate Temple? I hear he is also visiting the Vatican today.” I almost flinched. For the love of god, how did I get out of here? I could tell how hungry Anthony was for information – or possibly Temple’s donation check, if his sources were as good as they sounded. With his level of knowledge, he had to be getting information from somewhere he really shouldn’t be digging, only confirming my beliefs that something was wrong in the Vatican. Was he aware of the Conclave? Monsters? But I didn’t want to lie, either. He was the freaking junior pope.
“He left earlier. I actually had lunch with him before he got on his plane. We’ve only met a few times, though. I actually didn’t know he was going to be here today,” I admitted. All facts.
Anthony sighed, realizing my well of information was dry. He opened his mouth to speak when a flash of movement caught my eye. Two Cardinals slowed to a stop at the other end of the hall, spotting Anthony. As if they had been searching for him. The Antipope turned at my attention and saw them. His bodyguard gave him a slow nod, and Anthony growled, sounding annoyed. “It seems I have been summoned…” he said in a dark tone, not sounding pleased about it. “That’s the problem with being treated like a criminal rather than a guest.”
I grunted. I knew exactly what he was talking about. “Nice meeting you,” I said instead. And then he left. Windsor peeled away to make his way back to me, looking as if he wanted to demand a full synopsis of our conversation. Loud boot steps made me turn away from him.
Roland entered the hall just as Anthony, his guard, and the two Cardinals left behind me. He came from the area I had assumed led to our rooms. He looked mildly relieved to see me. Like one rock had been removed from the mountain of rocks still pressing down onto his shoulders. Probably because Fabrizio was hot on his heels, chubby cheeks flushed.
I was very relieved to see Roland, guards or not. No more lone walks for me. Maybe I really did need a guard, because my luck was obviously gone. Running into the freaking Antipope…
Roland read my face, se
nsing something was wrong, and likely realizing that it had something to do with the group of Cardinals who had just left, but not wanting to ask about it in front of the Shepherds. I heard Windsor picking up his pace behind me, likely sensing Roland’s mood.
“There you are, Callie,” Roland said, striding closer. He ignored Windsor and Fabrizio entirely, as if they didn’t exist, stopping beside me. “I have something to discuss with you.” Then, he leaned in close to whisper in my ear, wrapping an arm around me as if pulling me in for a hug to mask his words. “That bishop from Constantine’s office had a clerk drop off a file in my room. All the evidence they have. I need your eyes.” Then he pulled back, assessing me. “You look like you’ve run into a ghost,” he said.
Rolling with his deceit, I shrugged. “I met his Holiness, the Antipope. Fun times. I probably need a guard or something.” As one, we both turned to deliver blank stares at Windsor and Fabrizio. They returned the look without comment.
“Let’s head back to our rooms. I need a drink… to pray,” I amended, rolling my eyes.
Fabrizio’s lip quirked up instinctively, but he quickly killed it. What was wrong with everyone? Why were things so different than they had been only a few hours ago?
The moment things had changed was either during the meeting with the Conclave and the Shepherds, or when they had caught us snooping.
I was very curious about Roland’s whispered message, though. He looked both excited and wary. Why had Bishop Stork changed his mind? He had been furious with us. Or had it all been a show? Maybe he really did know something and had just been scared to share it. He’d used a clerk to deliver the file, which meant he didn’t want to be seen with us. And after shouting at us, he had the perfect alibi. The clerk had seemed terrified when I last saw him.
“Let’s do it.”
Roland turned to lead me back to our rooms. Fabrizio and Windsor followed behind us in silence. Well, Fabrizio walked with heavy strides, but they didn’t speak. Not even to each other, although I was confident that Windsor would tell him all about my conversation with Anthony.
As we walked, another thing hit me. Even though I was under guard, Windsor hadn’t tried to stop me from speaking with Anthony. Was that because I wasn’t personally in trouble, or that he hadn’t wanted Anthony to get suspicious about what really went down in the Holy Shed?
I’d have to ask Roland.
We were making our way upstairs when Crispin spotted us, entering the building from a front door. He looked physically and mentally drained, as if he had just survived something too terrible to share. Roland’s utter lack of sympathy upon seeing his plight even gave me pause. This didn’t deter Crispin as he jogged past Fabrizio and Windsor to catch up to me.
His face was flushed from his short run as he strode at my hip. “The Conclave has requested your presence in two hours.”
I nodded, remembering Daniel telling me that they had moved up my hearing. Roland was just ahead of us, opening one of a dozen doors lining the hallway on either side of us. “Thanks, Crispin. We’ll just be in Roland’s room. Pick me up when ready?”
Crispin didn’t miss a beat. “I’m afraid I was told to wait here for you. And I have updates to pass on to Fabrizio and Windsor.” His voice was clipped and he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Roland motioned me inside. “Well, have fun watching the door.”
I followed Roland into the room, and smiled as he slammed it in their faces behind me.
Chapter 37
I yawned, stretching out my back. Roland had made a pot of coffee from a dated unit found in his rooms. Surprisingly, Roland, the man who usually avoided excess in all things, did some serious damage on the black tar caffeine. I studied him as he paced back and forth. His skin looked pale and I could tell he was more agitated than normal. Was he frustrated at all the secrecy, or was he thirsty for more blood?
We had read the delivered file front to back several times over, and it was almost time for me to head out for my meeting with the Conclave. “Someone here knows something,” Roland muttered for the fifth time. “Why are they suddenly treating us like criminals? Something must have happened in that meeting. It’s like everyone is under duress and won’t talk to outsiders.”
I shrugged. We’d had this talk a few times already. I’d told him that the three Conclave members I met with had been surprisingly pleasant after puffing their chests for a few minutes.
No matter how obscurely we manipulated the file, we hadn’t found a smoking gun. No active cases Constantine was working on. Nothing we didn’t already know about the murder. It seemed Constantine had devoted his entire time to the wolves’ training. We found circumstantial evidence that implied the wolves could have done it, but nothing that solidly incriminated them. A lot of potentially, possibly, could be, and other suggestive language.
“And you burned the note from Bishop Vincente, right?” The first page of the file had been a hastily scrawled note from the stork-like bishop stating that he didn’t want to get involved, but that he wanted to help in any way he could, out of his love for Father Constantine. “I’d hate for him to get in trouble for helping us. I wonder who he’s scared of…” Roland nodded absently.
I knew he didn’t want Bishop Vincente to take the fall, but he was too wrapped up in the big picture. This had hit him on a deeply personal level. He considered this place home, and the people here his family. This was the ultimate betrayal. To know that one of the people he trusted – a person walking around as a man of God – was purposely framing the girls for the murder he had committed. Or that the Conclave was just picking someone to take the fall rather than leave it as a cold case – for political reasons. The world needed to see action. Someone needed to pay, or it would be open season on Shepherds.
It was possible that the murder hadn’t been committed by an insider – which just meant the Conclave was incompetent to solve it and had decided to find a scapegoat instead. Sacrificing two innocent wolves to save face with the supernatural world.
Whichever way the cookie crumbled, something was very wrong in Vatican City – the Conclave was broken. We needed to get to the bottom of it to save two innocent lives – no matter who stood in our way. Before Roland turned into—
“I just drank the last of the bags,” he whispered, as if reading my thoughts.
I shivered. That wasn’t good. “What have you been doing with the empties?” I whispered back, aware of the Shepherds outside our door, keeping guard. I knew he had more stashed at the apartment, but we would have to leave the Vatican to get those.
He pointed at the juncture between wall and floor. I stared where he had indicated but could see nothing amiss. He must have pried back the trim. Clever. “I feel full, but I don’t know how much longer I have—”
Someone knocked on the door and we both jumped. “Time for your meeting, Callie,” Crispin’s voice called through the door. Roland rushed to hide the file under the covers of his bed, using the pillows to hide any telltale bulge, and straightening the sheets. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I reached out to slowly open the door. All three Shepherds waited before me, and they looked as if they were ready for a funeral. I seriously reconsidered that something was wrong with the air or the food, because everyone seemed to be worse the longer they were here.
I hadn’t eaten here, but I had sipped wine with the Shepherds. Roland had pretty much been on his liquid diet of blood, so it was entirely possible that my bizarre hypothesis was right.
Fabrizio was discreetly trying to look over my shoulder to see what we had been up to, but at that moment, Roland walked out of the bathroom adjusting his belt as if he had just finished using the toilet. Then a different idea hit me, making me blush. Maybe Roland and I had just finished a very private Black Mass.
Roland strolled up to the door beside me and stared down the three Shepherds. “I want to visit the crime scene,” he said. “Either you can take me there, or you can chase me there,” he said casually. He leaned closer to Windsor,
as if to kiss him on the neck, and my sense of alarm immediately jumped through the roof. Was he going to fucking bite him? Sweet baby Jesus.
“Unless I’m under arrest?” he whispered. My sense of alarm dropped, but my heart was still hammering wildly against my ribcage. Windsor leaned away, obviously uncomfortable.
Crispin didn’t seem to care at all. “Suit yourself.”
I spun on Roland. “You’re not going with me?” I asked, skin pebbling. He hadn’t told me that I would face the Conclave alone.
“Hearings are for you, the Conclave, and Shepherd escorts,” Roland said, as if quoting a passage. I snapped my fingers as if to nominate him, but he cut me off. “Mentors are not permitted. They will question me separately if necessary.” Windsor nodded succinctly, as if he had just compared the answer with the Shepherd Manifesto and found no errors.
Roland leaned towards Windsor again, his voice a low purr. “And it is a hearing, not a trial, correct? I’d like to be razor-sharp on that point,” he added, grinning like a shark as he met the eyes of each Shepherd – daring them to challenge him. His mixed metaphor hit home, judging by their grim nods. I was feeling decidedly less optimistic about this meeting for some reason.
Windsor made a cross over his heart. “In the Lord’s name, I swear.” They each did the same, and whatever Roland saw in their eyes was good enough to grant them a reprieve from violence.
He turned to me with a pleased grin. “Good news. They can’t kill you. Or else I can slaughter them in disgustingly creative ways before sending their souls to Hell,” he laughed cheerfully.
The Shepherds shifted uncertainly, as if not quite sure what to make of this new Roland, and reconsidering how loose a leash they had given him so far. He must have been fairly close on the consequences for failure, because they didn’t correct him.
Whispers: Feathers and Fire Book 3 Page 19
