Of Saints and Shadows (1994) (39 page)

“Get out, all of you,” he said calmly, then turned to walk away, perturbed by their intrusion. “Robert,” he said to his butler, “escort them out.”

“He can try,” Sheng said gravely, standing from his perch on the couch.

Hannibal stopped with his back to them, shook his head, and turned to them. “Von Reinman’s pups were ever the riffraff of our kind. With him gone, the remains of his litter are no exception.”

He left, and though Robert made a motion to usher them toward the foyer, none of them moved. Their wail was brief.

“Robert, where the hell is the girl?”

Though Peter had been all too happy to allow Robert and the few other daytime servants to put in order what little his friends had disturbed in their search for Hannibal, he had known that it would not be long before the elder Defiant One discovered that his “date” for carnival had gone missing.

“Master,” Robert began, gibbering, “I . . . I tried to stop them, I told them you would be displeased.”

“
Displeased!”
Hannibal yelled as he stormed back into the room. “Displeased is hardly the word I would use. Are you telling me that these . . . insects, marched in here and freed the girl?”

“And gave her my jacket to wear as well,” Robert said quietly.

“Oh, did they?” Hannibal said, and stomped furiously to where Peter now stood, his smile replaced with a more serious look. “How dare you—” he began.

“Shut up,” Peter said, and couldn’t help a Hash of self-satisfaction at the look on the elder’s face.

“You would—” and again Peter interrupted him.

“Are we all, we Defiant Ones, as stupid as I’m beginning to think we are? Do we all have incredible trouble noticing the most obvious things? Do we all need humans to point out what is right . . . in . . .
our . . .
faces?”

As Peter spoke, his voice became louder and he moved closer to Hannibal until he was almost yelling in the old one’s face.

“Octavian,” Hannibal said quietly, his calm forcing Peter back several steps, “do you really think I am foolish enough not to realize that you all came here during the day, in sunlight? What you take me for I’ll never know. Let me tell you that your presence here, though distasteful, is no surprise. I have been aware of your movements for quite some time. I am also not surprised at the presence of Miss Gallagher, though she is somewhat more attractive than I had been told.”

Then it was Hannibal’s turn to smile, and take a dramatic pause. Though Sheng and Alex knew he had a network of operatives out there who had been keeping track of them all, the apparent depth of his knowledge troubled even them. To Peter, it came as quite a shock. But it was a shock that didn’t last.

“So you’ve been watching,” Peter said. “But what do you really know? Do you know how it is that we’re able to walk in the sunlight? Do you really know why I’m here?”

“As to the sun, not really. But I’m quite sure you’ll tell me. As to why you’re here, well, it has something to do with that book, does it not? The book which Von Reinman so badly desired from our friends at the church?”

That did it. At Peter’s request, Meaghan had held her tongue, curbing her normally uncontrollable temper in such circumstances, and in the face of such arrogance as she found in Hannibal. But no longer.

“I was told to keep quiet,” she began.

“With good reason,” Hannibal commented, never taking his eyes from Peter.

“Obviously not. Seems to me this group has a hard time coming to the point.”

“Which is?”

“Which is, you pompous ass, that Peter is here to save your hide. That sometime within the next twenty-four hours the Roman Catholic Church is going to descend on Venice for a good old-fashioned vampire hunt, and you’re invited.”

Hannibal finally registered some surprise, raising his eyebrows. “They wouldn’t,” he said.

“We’ve been through this,” Peter cut in. “They would and you know it. You may have thought this had something to do with our coven, but you’re wrong. It’s all coincidence. They killed Von Reinman for the book. And you were wrong about Monte Carlo, too. They
were
after you and not Cody. But they’re done fucking around. They’re coming here, now, for the final battle. We’ve got to warn everybody and try to make them understand why
we
can survive the sun. I came here because I thought you might want to help us. After all, it wouldn’t be terribly good for your reputation if this happened at a party
you
were hosting.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal agreed, then sat on the sofa between Jasmine and Ellen, who were quite surprised. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and raised a hand to stroke his chin. “I don’t suppose,” he began with a smile as he turned his face up to Peter’s, “you would consider replacing the young lady you
stole
from me with this one?”

The room was quiet, but Rolf, who was always silent, moved ever so slightly between Hannibal and Meaghan.

“Ahhh,” Hannibal continued, “I thought not.” He ran a hand through his white hair and leaned back, sliding deeper into the couch.

“All right, Octavian. Let’s talk.”

Tracey had left messages for Jim at every number she could think of, but she couldn’t find him. Finally, she had reached his sister, who informed her that Jim had been on vacation and was flying home as they spoke.

Vacation! Tracey couldn’t imagine.

She left her message again—it was Terry Shaughnessy calling and it was an emergency. She left her number, though she was certain Jim would get her messages at home before he talked to his sister. He’d know what was up.

But she couldn’t wait around. It was already past dark and she knew they’d be out after dark. She didn’t know if they’d come after her or even if Hannibal would know where to find her, but she was not looking forward to having to go out. If only she’d had a choice. She had to find out if CNN had a team there for carnival. Or if not them, anybody. And she knew where they’d stay if they
had
come.

Though dark, it was still early, there were people around, and her destination was only a few blocks away. On the corner of Calle dc Canonica and Merceria de Orologio, overlooking St. Mark’s Square, was a stone building that housed the Hotel Venezia. Though in the densest traffic area of the city, and one of the most expensive, the hotel had not been kept up as well as it might have. Eight years earlier, Tracey had been to Venice to cover the city’s film festival, a small story to be certain, and she’d stayed at the Venezia. Back then it had been where all the media stayed when they came to town. She had purposely not stayed there in order to avoid the possibility of being recognized.

Now she hoped that it was still the hotel of choice for the media. She was counting on it. She needed a cameraman. It didn’t really matter if that person worked for CNN or not; she had to find one. Words meant nothing in the modern world unless they were accompanied by pictures.

And she would need pictures. Legend had it that these creatures couldn’t be photographed, but they seemed solid enough to her. Once the world saw them for what they were, in glorious color on a live television feed . . . well, they would be hunted down like the rabid animals they obviously were.

But they let you go, she thought, and then brushed it away. These were the creatures that had haunted the nightmares of humanity for centuries, their legend enduring when so many others had fallen by the wayside—and no wonder! No matter how powerful the fear of them, or how powerful the manipulators who protected them, or professed to protect the human race, by keeping their existence secret, it wouldn’t matter, once the cameras were on.

A
picture is worth a thousand words.

It would be several hours before Venice personnel arrived at the assigned meeting place, a large warehouse next to the Scalzi Church in the Cannaregio section of the city. In that time the Roman group would be organized, prepped, and armed. When the Venetians arrived, they would only need to be armed and assigned to one of the five squads before setting out.

Isaac and Thomas Montesi were responsible for the preparations, and all of their attention was given to these tasks. Robert, on the other hand, who did not mix well with the troops they had gathered, stayed back in the shadows of the warehouse, simply observing. He and Mulkerrin had barely shared a glance since their discussion on the train, but Robert was alert to every breath, every movement of his target, the Cardinal Giancarlo Garbarino.

And when that target slipped out the backdoor of the warehouse, Robert followed, certain not to be spotted. Garbarino was not without his talents, but Robert knew the man felt safe, secure in his position as the official leader of this expedition, and had not erected any magical or psychic defenses. A foolish man, Robert thought, and their mission had no room for fools—God had no time for them. He didn’t even need his magic to keep from being detected. When Garbarino entered the Scalzi Church, Robert dropped all efforts to hide himself and entered after him.

The church called itself Sant Maria di Nazareth and Robert admired its Baroque construction and extraordinary artwork. Garbarino walked straight up the center of the church toward the altar, genuflected, then slid into the first pew on the right. Robert sat directly behind him, and only then did Garbarino notice him.

“Ah, Montesi,” he said, “I see you also have come to pray for the victorious outcome of our holy mission. I had thought you would be preocccupied with the battle ahead.”

“Too busy for the Lord? I think not.”

Garbarino looked at him, searching his face for some sign of his intentions. Finding nothing but an obvious annoyance, he attempted to be affable. After all, the young Montesi had a reputation as something of a lunatic.

“Brother Robert, let me assure you I meant no affront. You do God’s work, and he certainly understands if such glorious endeavors do not allow one time to worship in a formal fashion.”

He turned back then, pleased with himself. Certainly the man could take no offense at his words, but must rather be pleased with such confident praise. He was a cardinal, after all.

A smile of self-satisfaction crossed his lips just as his peripheral vision registered a whisper of movement. Then the garrote was slicing cleanly through flesh and blood vessels and struggling through bone. In the two seconds before blackness took him forever, he looked up and saw, or imagined he saw, Montesi’s madly grinning face looming over his own torso, spouting blood from its severed neck.

“God’s work,” Montesi said, and then there was nothing.

Robert thought he might have seen some glimmer of understanding in the cardinal’s eyes as his head thumped to the floor, and then the light went out of them. He grinned at the head, thinking again what a pompous fool the man had been. Robert hadn’t needed a single spell to kill him, though it shouldn’t have been that easy.

“What in the name of God!”

Robert turned to see that a priest, likely the pastor of Sant Maria di Nazareth, had entered the church on his left, in clear view of the severed head and its former resting place. Robert was disturbed. He had meant to leave without cleanup of any kind. By morning all hell would have broken loose and the police wouldn’t think twice about one decapitated corpse. But now, well, it was a slight annoyance, this distraction.

“Are you blind, Father?” he said to the priest, who had ceased his approach, and now took careful steps backward, toward the door through which he had entered. “Clearly this is
murder
in the name of God, as your death shall be.”

The priest turned to run, but Brother Robert Montesi made no effort to follow. Rather he lifted his right hand and pointed his index finger at the retreating man.

“
Dothiel ah-nul spethu
,” he said, and rocked back slightly on his heels as the power left his hand and flew, invisible, across the church, striking the priest and hurling him face-first into a beautiful fresco of Christ praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. It was said that Christ cried tears of blood in the garden, and now this aspect of the work was all too realistically illustrated.

He felt guilty for having used his magic on such a lazy spell—Mulkerrin had asked them to conserve their energy, but it had been reflex. And Robert Montesi was a magician, after all. Not a sorcerer like his superior, but he would be one day soon. Magic was the combination of spells of power and total control over the powers of one’s mind. Only when he had added the ability to completely control the creatures of darkness, demons and other supernatural beings, would he be able to call himself sorcerer.

He longed for that day. The rest of this was but a prelude.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Robert walked over to the fallen priest, but the man did not move. His head was leaning against the wall, his body crumpled. The neck was turned at an awkward angle, forehead to the wall, and Robert thought it might be broken.

Best to be sure, though. He put his right foot on the back of the man’s neck, then lifted his left and stomped down with both feet and all his weight. A satisfying crack told him that the neck hadn’t been broken, and he was glad he’d taken the time to check. Not that anything the man might have said could have interfered with their plan, but Mulkerrin had taught him well. He didn’t like to leave any job unfinished.