The Shades of Time (35 page)

Andreas took a
proffered laser pointer and flicked it quickly over Florence, then
the Iberian Peninsula. He knew Tonio pursued his younger brother
and the Sisterhood operative. He also surmised Tonio would employ
his doppelganger brother Nicolo in whatever scheme they'd devise to
secure the woman and return her to Cosimo. Reasonably sure of the
outcome of that confrontation, he'd predicted that all but Nicolo
would return to Florence where he could reengage with Veluria,
using her to run point while he figured out how to neutralize the
key: Antonio de' Medici.

Salvatore
nodded his agreement and said, "And under normal circumstances you
would have been correct. However," he tapped the desk with
irritation, "apparently your Sisterhood operative managed to join
her powers with the Demon de' Medici." He paused at a hiss from one
of The Three and nodded agreement, "And, no, none of us believed
that to be even remotely possible."

Andreas
exchanged a glance with Matteo. Even living a daily existence with
the impossible did not preclude having a few surprises thrown into
the mix. He hadn't been wrong. For once he'd have preferred it
otherwise.

He listened
with interest, and increasing dismay, while the stocky prelate
related the reconstruction of events, ending with the death of the
Demon. While they could never know exactly what had transpired, the
one thing they knew for a certainty was that the man they'd all
regarded as 'the key' was no longer a player on history's
stage.

Removing the
zucchetto, Matteo slapped the cap against his cassock. "We have two
possibilities, gentlemen. One, Antonio de' Medici was the key and
his death sets off a series of events that have yet to occur. Or
two, we were wrong and he is not the key."

One of The
Three interjected, "If that man wasn't the key, then who the hell
is?"

Salvatore
offered, "Cosimo? He has the gift. He is, and always has been, the
kingmaker."

Matteo shook
his head vigorously against that assessment. "The man has never
once taken the direct path. His is the power behind…"

Andreas
interrupted, his brain doing the rapid calculations. He could
almost taste the potential. "It will take place at the Habsburg
court. Friedrich stands to become a member of the Reichstag,
bringing as he does the goodwill of Florence—and undoubtedly
Venice—along with a guaranteed Papàl blessing. Leo owes his
position to his cousin. He'd consecrate a union with the devil
himself if it fit Cosimo de' Medici's purposes."

Picking up the
thread, Matteo continued, "I agree. My gut tells me that whatever
the precipitating factor, it has yet to happen. We still have time.
Cosimo will not risk his house with a personal visit to Friedrich's
duchy. He's sent his son to act as his eyes and ears."

"So this boy is
the key?" A disembodied voice from the far end of the dais quavered
with age but the prelate's eyes had a hard, bold look.

Both Andreas
and Matteo answered as one, "No!"

Andreas ducked
his head quickly and murmured, "…Your Holiness." He'd almost
forgotten himself, a fact his lover had reminded him of with a
quick pinch to his butt. The pinch became a caress before Matteo
moved away to address The Three in the center.

"We have two
possibilities. We have validated that the Sisterhood's operative,
this woman called Veluria, joined her powers with the Demon. It's
possible she may have taken on some of the Medici's gifts. While
our geneticists assure us that such transference is not only
unlikely but close to the realm of unthinkable, I for one am not
willing to forego any potential consequences of such a bonding. On
the other hand, we do have some compelling evidence to indicate
that Nicolo may have assumed his brother's fate based on field
observations." He indicated Andreas should continue.

"I followed the
man I thought to be Antonio de' Medici to the docks and watched him
board the ship that would take him back to Iberia. His signature
energy, the way he moved and carried himself—everything spoke to me
of the Demon. There was no one more vexed than I to discover that
it was his brother, Nicolo. No one, including myself, had believed
the rumors to be true. But I assure you, I do not make mistakes."
He stared at each of The Three in turn. "Not about this."

Salvatore spoke
quietly, "Do you have a way forward, young man?"

"Yes, Holiness.
I need to know what Cosimo knows. All information passes through
his house. I can use my contact with the Monsignor to pave the way.
Between him and the elder Medici I will have the excuse I need to
enter Friedrich's court legitimately. And from there, I will await
developments."

Matteo agreed,
"This is a reasonable plan and well within mission parameters. I
suggest we move on this immediately." He turned to Andreas and
spoke softly, "Go to the chapel and begin your meditations. I will
join you shortly."

As Andreas
proceeded down the aisle toward the rear door, he heard one of The
Three say, "I hope to hell you know what you're doing, Matt."

"So do I, Tom.
But right now we've got three sets of guns to our collective heads.
Whatever we do isn't likely to make matters any worse than they
already are."

Andreas slipped
into the hall and padded silently to the chapel. After carefully
locking the outer door he knelt at the altar and began his prayers,
readying mind and body for the difficult journey ahead. The only
thing that made traversing dimensions tolerable was knowing what
awaited on the other side.

That, and the
man approaching from the secluded sacristy to his left. He smiled
when a rough hand stroked his neck and whispered, "Come back to me
in one piece, Andy, or by God…" Matteo lifted him up and led him to
the small room where vestments and sacred vessels had once been
stored but now contained only a narrow cot and bedside table.

Andreas sank
onto the mattress and sighed with contentment. He would leave the
clacking beads and monotonous repetitions of meaningless words to
the true believers. Unlike them, Matteo understood his needs.

Slipping his
woolen robe, he murmured his passion as his lover prepared his body
to ease through the gateway on a sigh of pleasure.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Veluria paced
uncertainly about the small cabin. Movement had been ill-advised
for hours as she lay prostrate, braced against the violent yawing
of the vessel as they raced on a downhill slide toward Roma. Nico
had used his considerable resources to secure a craft, compensating
the captain for lack of cargo at usurious rates. The thought of
another ship, another time and place, had her quaking in her boots
but she'd numbly acquiesced, knowing full well they had few
options.

Time seemed
irrelevant now. She had little memory of its passage, only that
they flew at a punishing pace to the coast, her mind blank to all
but her grief. She was not the only one to retreat into a shell.
Nico rarely spoke and when he did it was to address Paulo, commands
issued tersely and always just out of range of her hearing.

His man had
tended to her needs, little as they were. Now he was gone, tasked
to safeguard his commander's position at Carlos' court, to offer
the explanations and assurances that might forestall the inevitable
questions and opportunism of men tuned to the misfortune of
others.

Each retreating
behind their barricades, they avoided close contact though she was
ever aware of the man's presence as he moved about the vessel,
joining the crew in the mundane tasks of piloting a ship through
shallow, dangerous waters. It was a phantom presence, unsatisfying
in ways she could never explain, as if they'd been conjoined twins,
now severed, the parts diminished and so much less than the
whole.

The larger
questions of who and what they'd become seemed irrelevant. It was
the trivial iotas of living she missed now. She no longer recalled
the flavors and odors of food, eating mechanically, if at all. She
missed taking a bath, soaking in steaming hot water, relaxing away
the cares of the day. Would she ever again know that exquisite
pleasure of feeling clean, scrubbed free of doubt and
self-recrimination? Would she never again know her true purpose,
the fulfillment of her fate, her service to the greater good?

I have lost my
way, Reverend Mother.

It is the
ennui, child. The beginning of the Little Death.

Then bring me
home.

It is not yet
time.

I grieve. Why
do I suffer so?

Who is it you
grieve for, child?

I … don't
know.

The light
tapping on the cabin door broke her reverie. She wanted to ignore
it, preferring to stay cocooned in her despair, out of sight of the
man fate had dictated as the savior or destroyer of them all. With
Tonio she'd been convinced of the rightness of that choice—that his
destiny and hers would unite to do what Reverend Mother decreed:
salvage enough to save both worlds.

The man who
waited outside the door was both a stranger and a collaborator, a
man she feared like no other.

"Madam?" Nico's
voice was tight, insistent. Waves of displeasure, anger, confusion
assaulted her senses. Pummeling her with power.

Dear Holy
Mother, what manner of demon had they unleashed that night?

Veluria backed
against the bunk, calling out, "I wish to be alone," yet her voice
quavered, broadcasting her fears. She sat heavily on the cot,
curling reflexively in a ball, the rough clothing stretched across
raw open wounds as the willow stick flicked with precision. Air
curdling with a sensuous whoosh, time slowed, skin stretched taut
to receive the offering. Edge brittle and slick with blood, slicing
like a sword tip, stripping each layer to reveal the woman beneath
the mask. Enduring. Her gifts perverted. Powerless.

She opened her
mouth in silent supplication.

For me,
Reverend Mother, I grieve for me…

****

Nico rubbed his
scalp with frustration. He understood the woman's need to be alone,
he shared that, as he shared far too many things with her. But he
had questions and they would soon be home, with Cosimo, bearing
news no father should ever hear. Only this woman could help him
make sense of the images and thoughts that consumed his being now.
It was a waking nightmare, his head filled with Tonio and the
woman's combined knowledge, dangerous and inexplicable. He'd been
led down the path of madness his brother followed, with regret to
be sure, yet that seemed of little consequence given the threats to
their worlds.

Worlds.

How was he to
wrap his mind around such a heretical thought? He'd been raised on
two realities: heaven and hell. This life, this shadow existence,
was a mere stepping stone to another, authentic reality. Realities
bartered, bought and sold on the whims of men whose concerns had
little to do with the hereafter, and everything to do with securing
advantage in the now.

That he believed in neither mattered little. That he could
believe in a reality that mirrored his own, with a life force, a
history, inextricably linked to events in the here and now …
that
defied his
understanding, yet he accepted it as truth. What truly troubled him
was why he cared about either future.

And the one
person with whom he could explore the hidden messages buried in the
confusion lay dead in a shallow grave, dead by his own hand. What
he'd done was out of love, not mercy, for he had none in his soul.
If he were to employ his skills in the service of history, mercy
would play no part.

He would do
what he must and if that meant selling his soul to a devil he did
not acknowledge, then it was a small price to pay to exact revenge.
And to save the one thing he and his brother should never have
shared, the one thing he'd foresworn he'd never do again … give his
heart to a woman.

Feeling ten
kinds of foolish, he approached the cabin door and tapped softly,
hoping against hope she'd be asleep and would not answer.

Dammit, I can't
continue on this way. I need to see her. Now.

"Madam." The
single word came out harsher than he intended, the formality
feeling strange on his tongue. Before he could soften his tone and
try again she confirmed what he already knew and he quailed at the
distress he heard. She suffered as did he, yet he needed to know
why and how it was so.

She said she
could
love his brother. He needed to know what that meant, for
reasons that he would surely regret. He felt her grief like a
living thing, felt his own need and hers, felt a kernel of hope
blossom when it had no place in his soul.

The silent
scream split his skull, reverberating and echoing, a long drawn-out
susurration that left him staggering. He bolted through the door
only to stop abruptly when his eyes found the source of the mental
din. Waves of pain and terror boiled and bubbled around the tiny
figure curled on the bunk, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped
about her head. She lay still, deathly still, eyes squeezed shut
and mouth open in an 'O' but no sound emerged. It was as if she'd
turned to stone, forever damned to an eternity of denial and
fortitude, yet all about her the air danced in fevered
vortices.

In that instant
he understood who and what she was, and he cursed the Order who'd
taken such a thing of beauty and corrupted it into a vessel to use
as they pleased. They'd filled her with purpose and convinced her
of its moral rightness. They'd taught her love, then denied her the
means, convincing her that the divide between could and would was
unfathomable, with no promise of a hereafter to console and sooth
the harsh reality. At least in his world, men of faith offered lies
and empty promises. His world was cruel, ruthless … but hers? It
spoke to a brutality he failed to comprehend.