The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales (15 page)

“All I’m saying,” Titus continued, “is that one would think you could . . . andle . . . imple . . . vestigation . . .”

“What’s wrong with your phone?” I asked. I tapped the side of mine, but all I heard were crackling noises. “You’re breaking up. And you sound hollow, like you’re far away.”

“Look out your hotel room window again,” my father said, his voice clearer this time. “Down at the sidewalk.”

A deep feeling of dread filled my stomach as I drew back the curtain and saw Titus Aurelius standing twenty feet below me.

Chapter 13

For a few seconds, I leaned my head against the glass window, with my mouth hanging open. Then I forced myself to go down to Titus.

“You already knew about Arthur and Philip!” I said as soon as I stepped outside. “About them coming to Rome. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

Titus took a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen him smoke. “Is that any way to greet your father?” he asked. “And of course I knew. I’ve been keeping tabs on you since you were at the PIA’s London branch.”

“You were spying on the
spy
?” I said in disbelief. “How’d you even do that?” But I knew better than to expect an answer. There are a hundred ways witches can look through mirrors, computer monitors, and all sorts of other devices over a distance. “Never mind,” I said. “Don’t you have stacks of cash to count? Or at least mustard seeds to arrange before dawn?”

My father glowered at me and blew a puff of smoke out his mouth. “I have assistants to do those sorts of thing for me,” he said. “Besides, I thought I might help in your investigation.”

“Why?” I asked. “I’m here to do the things you are unable to in daylight. And won’t your precious casino shrivel up and die in the Nevada heat? Whatever will it do without you there to feed and water it?”

Titus heaved a sigh. “I’ve left it in the hands of some very capable associates. Clearly, my efforts are better expended here, where people are far less competent.” He looked me up and down. “The Council—and now members of the PIA—are essentially trailing you. It’s time I stepped in.”

I shook my head. “You’re completely overreacting. I have everything under control.”

“So you’re closer to finding the crystal than you were before?” he asked, taking a drag on the cigarette.

Fitting he would mention the crystal first and not Abigail
. I hated to think of it, but why
would
Father be so keen on finding her anyway? As far as I could see, all they ever did was argue. What if the Council’s hints were true? That he saw her only as a means to an end, the way he did so many others?

“Not exactly,” I said. “I’ve . . . I’ve decided the investigation needs to go in a new direction.”
Like towards a despotic two-thousand-year-old vampire—who for once is not my father
.

“All the more reason you need my help,” Titus replied. “It’s a good thing I came to Rome when I did. Though I must admit it’s not . . .” He paused and continued smoking, then looked around him as if seeing a different planet. “It’s not quite what I expected.”

I hung my head, then picked it back up. I could no more convince my father to return to Las Vegas than I could stop the sun from rising tomorrow. “Well, in that case,” I spread out my arms, “welcome home, Father.”

The look on Titus’s face said he felt anything but welcome. For the first time, I glanced at his hand—the one not holding the cigarette. It was empty.

“Where’s your suitcase?” I asked suspiciously.

“Already inside with a bellboy.” Titus took a last drag on the cigarette, then dropped it on the sidewalk and ground it under his heel. He smiled at me. “You spoke so highly of the Hassler, I thought I’d join you here.”

I nearly choked on the lingering tobacco fumes. My father went on about how he’d already booked the penthouse suite. Typical. I supposed I should be grateful he hadn’t asked to room with me.

After Titus settled in, we met in his room to discuss strategy. Obviously, he couldn’t approach the PIA directly the same way I had. That path was fraught with peril for me as it was. But there was the possibility he could help in another way—one related to his old friend, Callix Ferox.

“I’ve run out of avenues as far as researching the crystal,” I said. I was seated on one of the many couches in his suite, gazing out windows that overlooked practically all of Rome. “But I think that finding Callix Ferox’s tomb,” I continued, “or whatever it’s called, might be the next best thing. If whoever took Abigail wanted the crystal for Ferox, they’d have to be close by. I was hoping you might provide some insight about the situation.”

“Me?” Titus was standing by the windows, staring out them the same as me. His eyes were scanning the lights and rooftops of the city; he’d barely registered what I said.

“Yes, you,” I repeated, louder this time. “Do you happen to know Ferox’s old stomping grounds? Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“Perhaps,” my father said, rubbing his chin. “Though it might hard to tell with all these other inane buildings on top of them. Besides, just because Ferox frequented certain places doesn’t mean the witches of old buried him there. But I suppose we could start with the Pantheon. He’d often go there to pay homage to the gods, the lying hypocrite.”

“Do you think you’d be able to—I don’t know—sense his presence or something?” I asked. “Using your vampire powers, or your witch magic?”

“I make no promises, but it’s worth a try, as the modern saying goes,” Titus replied, glancing around the room. “We’ll start tomorrow night.”

“Fine. See you then.” I got off the couch and went back to my own room. I didn’t even know if Titus realized I’d left. I heaved a sigh. Maybe if I curled up and died, this would all just go away.

***

After finishing up at the PIA the next evening, I walked to the restaurant where my father and I had agreed to meet. Italians have dinner quite late by American standards, which meant I could dine with my father. You can only imagine my joy.

“Why are you still in that ridiculous outfit?” Titus asked when he saw me. “When are you changing back into your normal clothing?”

I suppose I should’ve been offended. Aside from the waistcoat, glasses, and polished shoes, this
was
my normal clothing.

“I can’t. This is my disguise for the PIA,” I explained, removing the glasses at least. “I still technically have a job there, you know.”

“Disguise.” My father shook his head. “Do at least try to blend in with the Italians, Joshua. They are stylish in their dress, after all.”

“I have my own sense of style,” I replied as we walked into the restaurant.

“Disheveled is not a fashion statement,” he said. “You’re a Roman, son. Always remember that. You have a lot to be proud of.”

“Ah yes,” I remarked. “Plundering, fascism, persecution of Christians . . .” I tapped my foot as we waited for our seats. But what Titus said was true: clothing is important in Italy, at least in the cities. The maître d’ had already noticed how well dressed Titus was, compared to me, and adjusted the caliber of his smile accordingly. I suppose even in the best of times, I was always a little rumpled.

We sat down at the table and ordered our food. As for my father’s true dietary needs, I could tell they’d already been met the instant I saw his face. His complexion was distinctly ruddier, closer to a mortal’s. Vampires his age usually feed every few days, and sometimes even less frequently than that. It was a part of him that disgusted and fascinated me. I often wondered what it would be like to become a vampire. The craving for blood, the hypnotic power over mortals. The thoughts made me feel deliciously alive, yet shudder at the same time.

Regardless of my feelings on the matter, it was a part of my father I had to accept. It helped to remind myself that being a vampire was not my father’s choice; it was something forced on him, although he refused to discuss the experience in depth. He kept the feeding mostly out of my sight, but every once in a while, I think he brought it up just to needle me. I believe he usually killed criminals, but I doubt this was out of any sense of morality or justice. Members of the underworld were simply easier to dispatch, and there was less likelihood of anyone coming to look for them. For Titus, feeding was about convenience, not compassion.

After our meal—that is, my meal—we left the restaurant and started towards the Pantheon. No sooner had my father stepped onto the cobblestone street than his vampire reflexes barely prevented him from being run over by a Vespa.

“Bloody idiot,” he shouted, shaking his fist and narrowing his eyes at the Vespa as it zoomed down the block. I really hoped he wasn’t placing a hex on it.

A few children were kicking around a soccer ball several doors down; one struck it so that it nearly landed at my feet. I bumped it up with my foot, then made it spin around on my finger and grinned at the kids. They laughed and clapped their hands when I kicked it back to them. Titus glared at the children. Instantly, they stopped smiling, then turned and fled along with their ball.

“Really, Joshua,” Titus said, turning to me. “You ought to be more careful.”

“What? Spinning the ball?” I shrugged. “It’s nothing that a mortal basketball player couldn’t have done.” We started walking down the street in the direction of the Pantheon.

“You never know,” Titus said. “You don’t want to give mortals a reason to remember your face—what on earth are you doing now?”

I confess, dear reader, I had stopped to pet a stray tabby that was sitting on a stoop. You will often find such cats in Rome, usually cared for by elderly women. Still, there are far too many felines who never get enough to eat, or adequate shelter.

“You’re so softhearted, you’re practically a woman,” Titus grumbled. “Look around for a taxi stand, will you?”

I didn’t counter that being softhearted had nothing to do with gender. But I did notice that Titus reached down and petted the animal when he thought I wasn’t looking. All cats are sacred to witches, after all.

There were no taxi stands in the immediate vicinity, and unlike most cities, you can’t simply hail a taxi in Rome. The weather wasn’t bad, so we decided to walk. Tourists kept thinking I was a local and asking me for directions. This had been a common occurrence since I arrived. Perhaps it was my dark hair (a stereotype often foisted on Italians), or perhaps they sensed something about my ancestry. Regardless, I felt it my duty to put them on the right path, which is easy to do when one has studied a city all one’s life.

“Joshua, will you please stop being so helpful?” my father asked after a Swedish couple thanked me profusely for pointing them towards their hotel. “We have work to do.” “Sorry,” I said. “I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”

“Get a new nature,” Titus snapped. “We don’t have time to waste.”

I turned to him and folded my arms. “Then why did it take you so long to come to Rome in the first place?” I demanded. “You didn’t seem concerned about wasting time before.”

“My reasons are my own,” Titus said. “And I don’t have to explain myself to the likes of you. Now, let’s get going.”

We walked in silence to the Pantheon. It was closed at that hour, but it didn’t matter. It was enough for my father to stand outside it and try to sense Ferox’s presence. I stared up at the towering structure, the front of which was a marble triangle supported by eight Corinthian columns. Meanwhile, my father closed his eyes and breathed deeply in and out. I waited.

“Anything?” I finally asked.

Titus opened his eyes and shook his head. “Nothing.”

“All right, then,” I said, disappointed. “Let’s move on.”

And so we did. We went to the Temple of Hadrian, the Mausoleum of Augustus, the Coliseum, Palatine Hill. We visited monuments, triumphal arches, and ancient ruins. Finally, when we came to the Fountain of the Four Rivers, I’d just about had enough. My feet were aching from walking all over the city, and we had no better a sense of where Ferox was than when we started.

“Dammit, this is ridiculous,” I said, kicking the fountain’s stone base.

“Have a care!” Titus said, walking behind me. “That’s over three hundred years old.”

“It’s made of stone, Father,” I said over my shoulder. “It doesn’t have feelings.”
Rather like you in that regard
. I looked up at the heartless figures of the Danube, the Ganges, and the Nile as if they could tell me where my mother was.

“We’ve been over every inch of Rome to no avail,” I continued. “We’re not getting anywhere walking this way and that, standing, pausing, then walking again.” I ran both hands through my hair. “We’re so close, and yet we’re
no
closer to finding Mo—er, Abigail.”

“Gods, but the young are impatient these days,” Titus said, shaking his head.

Easy for you to say
, I thought bitterly.
The search seems to mean nothing to you
.

“And we certainly haven’t been over every inch of the city,” he said. “The sun will rise soon; let’s try again tomorrow.”

Scowling, I had no choice but to head back to the Hassler with my father. Just before I turned in, I stood on my tiny balcony and watched Titus surveying the city from his private terrace. Taking in the panoramic view, he stared into the distance, thinking God knows what.