by Erik Lynd
Mort told him what had happened to Father Delentante under the city. Silas feigned disinterest and even kept from interrupting him, until he got to the writing on the wall.
“What was that? What was on the wall?” Silas asked.
Mort sighed, “I really wish you would pay attention. The monster wakes was written in Lenape on the wall.”
“It couldn’t have been written in Lenape. They had no written language.”
Mort raised a surprised eyebrow.
Silas waved his hand. “I possessed Meriwether Lewis for a while back in the early 1800s.”
“I see. Well it wasn’t technically the Lenape language; it was a phonetic spelling of the spoken words.”
“So whoever wrote it knew enough about Lenape culture, but was desperate enough to bypass the normal oral tradition route to get a warning out.”
“Or he couldn’t tell anybody personally because he doesn’t want to expose himself.”
“Then why write it where it was unlikely to see the light of day? I mean, why not write it somewhere it would be easily found?”
“I don’t know,” Mort said.
“Let me see the words.”
Mort spun the laptop so he could see.
“Huh,” Silas said.
Mort waited a moment then said, “That was very profound Silas, but would you mind letting me in on the revelation?”
“No,” Silas shook his head. “Look, this seems a little complicated. Don’t you have something I could just kill? That’s more my speed.”
Mort spun the computer back and nodded. “I agree and so does the head office. Straight from the Vatican itself. You’re getting a partner.”
“A partner? You mean besides you?”
“Well Silas, I am flattered that you have raised me to the level of partner, it is so much better than my previous status of lowlife human piece of shit, but yes someone besides me.”
Silas was stunned. In all his years of service he had never had a partner. It had never even been suggested. Other agents worked in pairs, he had heard, but not him. He would get a partner killed. Hell, Silas would probably kill them himself. He worked alone.
“No way Mort. You can tell the Vatican to shove it up his Holiness’ anointed fat ass.”
“This came directly from Morales himself.”
Silas slammed his fist down on the table. A crack formed down the middle and the shot glasses bounced. Just then the waitress reappeared with a new round of drinks. She frowned at the table and overturned glasses.
“Don’t worry honey, I didn’t spill a drop. All the booze was gone,” Silas said, glaring at Mort.
“Silas what the hell, why’d you go and break the table?” the waitress asked.
“I just got some shit news.”
“What like your mom dying or something?”
“Yeah, or something.”
His eyes never left Mort’s. Was that sympathy he saw in the human’s eyes? If so, was it for him or this new ‘partner’.
“Just give me the booze and go away. I’ll pay for any damages.”
She set the drinks on the table quickly.
“Screw you Silas. Mark’s gonna be pissed. I bet he fires you.”
As Silas turned his attention to her he did not have to call for the demonic fury inside. She stared into his eyes and words caught in her throat. He let a little of what he was poke through his human facade. Then he spoke in a deep rumble.
“I said go away.”
She dropped the serving tray and the glasses it held. They crashed to the floor with a loud bang. She brought her hands up to her throat as the blood drained from her face. He broke eye contact so she could leave. When he turned those fiery eyes from her, she ran. Not back to the bar, not to the back rooms; she ran to the door and out into the night. Silas was pretty sure she would never be back.
“Silas, that wasn’t necessary. She was just an innocent girl. You didn’t have to traumatize her.”
“So who is this partner? Let me guess, an ex-Navy Seal or Green Beret yahoo who thinks he’s the biggest baddest mother fucker in the…”
“She,” Mort said and Silas could have sworn he was holding back a smile.
“Come again?”
“She, Silas. Your new partner is a she.”
Now Silas was sure Mort was fighting a smile. Smug bastard was enjoying this.
“You can’t be serious? They want me to babysit some chick? Oh wait, am I supposed to use her as bait or something?”
“No you can’t use her as bait Silas.”
“Then what good will a woman be? I already have to deal with you. She’ll just get in the way, and I am sure as hell not going to protect her. At least an ex-seal or special forces might tell some good dirty jokes before he gets killed.”
“She’s not just anybody, Silas. She’s a Saint.”
Now that was a surprise. Silas sat back in his chair and swallowed the contents of a shot glass. A Saint. He had never worked with one before. He had heard of them, of course, and knew of their nature, but they were rare. Most agents of the Inquisition are mortal, albeit with special knowledge and skills. Only a few were supernatural like him. These Saints were another. They weren’t the traditional saints of the Catholic faith, the ones painted on walls and carved into figures. The term Saint was just a name for these beings.
A Saint was once a human, normally a kind and just person--your basic goody two shoes-- who died. What happens next is a little like guess work. That person passes on to heaven, but stays around the fringe of the great kingdom until a gateway is opened by rituals known only to the Inquisition. It is a one-way gate through which only the Saint can pass. But they must want to, that is the key. To come back as a Saint you had to have unfinished business, such as vengeance or a desire to protect someone. So while a Saint will help the Inquisition out of goodness and nobility, they also have their own agenda. This can make them a little tricky.
“Which one?” he asked, but thought he already knew the answer.
“Saint Abigail,” Mort said and looked quickly down.
“Oh shit, Mort. What the Hell is Morales thinking?”
“Yes, the former Miss Abigail Lee.”
“He knows her record I assume? Christ, Mort. I killed her back in… back in…”
“1863, but it was by accident, at least that is what her record says. I assume the report is not wrong?”
“Well no, it’s not, but that doesn’t change the fact that I killed her and her whole family.”
“She was never told that of course. Saints are never told about their past in the living world. If they were busy righting perceived wrongs from when they were living…”
“Like vengeance on the guy who killed her and her family?” Silas interrupted.
“…they would virtually be of no use to the Inquisition,” Mort finished, ignoring Silas. “And their memories from the time before are hazy at best.”
“When does this partner get here?”
“She is already here,” Mort said.
Silas sat up and looked around.
“Not here in the bar Silas, I meant in the city. She is already in the city.”
“Oh, well yeah,” Silas said trying to looked relaxed. “When am I supposed to meet this slut?”
“Saint.”
“Saint, that’s what I meant. When do we meet?”
Now it was Mort’s turn to look a little nervous.
“I am not really sure,” he said. “Saints kind of make their own schedule. Then again Silas, you should know a lot about that. It’s not like you are known to play by the rules.”
“Maybe, but there’s only room for one rebel in this organization. They want me to have a partner, so they give me one who might want to kill me and say she will show up in her own good time.”
“Yep, that’s about right.”
“Business as usual for the Vatican. So we’ll move ahead and her royal highness can show up when she is ready to grace us with her presence.”
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“I assume you are going to go talk to the priest who was attacked? His address is 359 west—”
“Not now Mort,” Silas said and stood. “I have a set to finish, and rock ‘n roll is one mean bitch when you deny her.”
Silas ran and jumped up on stage, grabbing the microphone just as the drummer hit the first beat. The rhythm of the guitar burned through his head. Yeah, it was good to be him.
5
Silas hated the sun. He stared up at it through his darkly tinted sunglass. In his experience, which was significant, nothing fun ever happened during the daylight hours. Case in point, here he sat on his motorcycle outside the Dominican Friars monastery.
The building was out of place, a Gothic throwback wedged between two typical New York buildings. It was five stories tall and topped with soaring steeples. The facade gleamed a decaying green color in the bright sun.
This is where the priest that had been attacked was recovering. Silas assumed Mort had meant spiritually, although this place had a reputation as a poor man’s hospital. Rest and recuperation--basically a priest’s Club Med.
He lowered the kickstand of his bike and swung off it. The large wooden doors atop a set of brick steps towered over him and gave him a moment of nostalgia as he remembered the time he had possessed a Crusades-era knight during the breaking of a siege. Surging past that broken gate as they had torn into a city ripe for pillaging had been a good time, even in sunlight.
He rang the bell. Moments later a young monk opened the door.
“Yes?” asked the monk, thick glasses dominating his face. A vow of chastity was no stretch for this one.
“I need to speak with one of your guests.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“Not yet,” Silas said.
“Can you please return in a few hours? It is currently quiet time here and we don’t want to disturb the peace. If you could come back in about three hours I could take you to Brother Talbot and see if we…”
“Quiet time huh?” Silas interrupted him. “That’s a shame, because I’m pretty loud.”
He pushed open the heavy door and stepped past the stunned monk.
The young monk sputtered. “Look sir you can’t just barge in here, we are monks, but we can call the police like anybody else. I don’t know what you think…”
Silas put his arm around the monk and pulled him close, steering him down a hallway. “Look kid, I ain’t here to play games and I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I will if that’s what it takes. Now I need you to take me to Father Delentante.”
The young monk paused. “You’re Silas, aren’t you?”
“Why yes. It seems my fame precedes me.”
“Brother Talbot said you would be coming.”
“And who is this Brother Talbot?”
“Secretary to the Abbot,” he said as though that should impress Silas.
Mort must have contacted Brother Talbot about him.
“Good. Now that you know who I am and we are all buddy buddy, take me to Father Delentante,” Silas said.
“I can’t. But I can take you to Brother Talbot.”
Silas thought for a moment then nodded. The quicker he saw this brother, the quicker he could see Delentante.
“Lead on oh, bespectacled one,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Harold. I’m Brother Harold,”
“Oh, your parents must have hated you,” Silas said.
Brother Harold shrugged off his arm and led him down a hallway. The interior of the monastery was a mixture of old and new. Well-maintained woodwork resided next to chipping plaster. They passed several side hallways. As they passed the last, Silas caught a flash of movement. When he turned to look down the dark hallway there was nothing.
He had seen something, however. He hooked Brother Harold’s arm to stop him and turned him toward the hall. At the same time he enhanced his human senses and the dark hallway opened up to him. Nothing.
“What’s down this hall?” Silas asked. The young monk tried to pull away from the painful grip, but Silas would not loosen.
“Nothing, just storage,” he answered.
“I saw movement,” Silas growled.
”I suppose a brother could be down there, but it is unlikely. This place is old and dark; I am sure it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.”
Silas looked at Brother Harold and let a little of his demonic fury through. “My mind does not play tricks on me. Take me to this Brother Talbot.” He released Brother Harold.
The young monk stumbled back against the wall, his face draining of color. He crossed himself and then hurried off down the hall. Silas allowed himself a smile before following him.
They arrived at a non-descript door and after a quick knock the young monk ducked in.
The room beyond was strikingly different from the hallway outside, well maintained, almost luxurious. The office furniture looked impressive. A large desk dominated the room and behind it sat a large man. This must be Brother Talbot.
He was older, but broad shouldered and barrel-chested. He looked as if he could hold his own in a barroom brawl. Silas liked him already. The young monk was talking to him.
“This is Silas; he has come to see Father Delentante,” the priest mumbled.
Brother Talbot’s eyes darted to Silas. Silas had the distinct impression he was being sized up like livestock.
“So this is the great Silas Robb. The Inquisition’s special agent.” Brother Talbot stood; he was almost as tall as Silas.
Brother Harold stepped back against the wall as though he was trying to disappear. His face still pale.
“Why Silas, whatever did you do to the boy?” The words, spoken in a heavy southern accent came from behind him.
Silas turned to see a woman against the back wall; the door had hidden her when he came in. She was tall also, more than six feet and slim. Blond hair fell past her shoulders. She wore jeans and a tight fitting vest. Curves in all the right places. She was stunning and glowed with an inner strength. She annoyed him already.
“Abigail,” Silas said quietly.
“Yes. Silas Robb meet Saint Abigail,” Brother Talbot said.
Two stilettos crossed at her belt--long, slender and deadly. Just like the Saint herself. Her lips were red, as if she had been drinking blood. She stepped forward, coming into the full light of the room.
“Just call me Abigail.”
“Whatever you say, Toots,” said Silas and turned back to Brother Talbot. “Now if you could take me to Father Delentante…”
He was interrupted by a scream, followed by the quick rapport of gunfire.
“God damn it!” yelled Brother Talbot. He reached under the desk with his right hand and the cabinet along the wall near Brother Harold popped open, revealing several large assault rifles as well as a handful of smaller fire arms. “Don’t they know it’s quiet time?”
Brother Talbot grabbed a rifle and threw one to Silas, who caught it out of reflex. Brother Harold quickly chose one himself. St. Abigail had her stilettos in her hands.
“Templars?” Silas asked, although he already knew the answer. Brother Talbot nodded.
The Templars were the special military unit of the Inquisition Project, taking their name from the famous order of knights. They were the Green Berets of the Vatican; however, they worked exclusively for the Inquisition reporting to Father Morales.
“Why didn’t anybody tell me there was a Templar unit in the city?” Silas asked
“It should have been in the city dossier they gave you when you were assigned here.” Brother Harold said as he threw a belt containing ammo cartridges over his shoulder.
“Another report? Can’t anybody just tell me these things?” Silas asked.
Another crack of gun fire rang out, followed by a loud crash.
“It sounds as though it’s coming from east wing,” Brother Harold said.
“Let me guess, that’s where Father Delentante is,” Silas said.
The
y looked at him eyes wide.
“Dammit,” Brother Talbot said again. A burst of static came from under his robe and he pulled out a small radio.
Silas didn’t wait for him. He dropped the rifle--it wasn’t his style--and ran out into the hall. St. Abigail slipped up behind him.
“Do you think they are after the Father?” She said, her southern belle accent out of place with the evil looking stilettos in her hands.
“Don’t know, don’t care except that I need to get to Father Delentante before they do.”
Behind him he could hear Brother Talbot speaking into the radio.
“Central, this is Talbot. What is going on?”
“Sir, this is Central. Sir we don’t know exactly. We detected intruders and spotted them on surveillance, then almost immediately our systems went down.”
“So you didn’t see how they got in?”
“Sir, they were already in when we spotted them. And sir, they’re not human.”
“How many are there?”
“We don’t know. Two were spotted before the system went down. Alpha and Epsilon unit have both ceased communication. We believe they are on the second floor of the east wing and they appear unarmed. Except for natural weapons.”
“Natural weapons?”
“Yes sir, claws and big teeth. They are more monster than man.”
That was all Silas needed to hear.
“Talbot, which way to Father Delentante’s room?”
“That way,” Brother Talbot nodded down a large hall.
Silas took the lead running down the passage. A door to his right burst open and a creature sprang at him. All teeth and claws, it was man-shaped, but green, plate-like scales covered half its face and shoulder. Oddly out-of-place sunglasses sat awkwardly on its face. The glasses were twisted and stretched to fit over its huge head. It was almost as tall as Silas and heavily muscled. Claws flashed toward his face. Silas dodged to the side, grasped its extended arm and heaved against its chest letting its momentum add to his as he slammed it against the far wall. Bits of plaster and chunks of the ceiling fell as it hit.
Shots rang out from the Templar’s rifles, but the thing was already moving with preternatural speed. The bullets scored the wall where the creature had been moments before. The monster was fast, but so was Silas. He had his hands up just as the creature was on him again. He managed to get his hands under the creature’s jaw and around its neck to hold back its snapping jaws, but its arms were long and he could feel its claws sinking into his shoulders.
