The Shades of Time (9 page)

Like a
bloodhound on a scent, he snapped his head around and sighed, "Ah,
there." Adjusting the link, he allowed the energy to flow through
and around him, accentuating the signal. "And the Demon de' Medici.
Interesting."

With the
Council suspecting the Medicis being at the nexus of the historical
perturbations, having all the players in one spot would serve his
purpose better than divide and conquer. The Demon would secure his
quarry soon enough so he need do nothing more than wait.

Veluria had no
idea how deep his hooks went into her psyche. Everything she did,
everyone she touched would be an open book to him.

And when the
time came, he would finally have his heart's desire…

Chapter
Seven

"No, Papà, I do
not know where Tonio has gone."

Stefano hung
his head in misery. He ached in places no man should bear, far
beyond the physical discomfort his enraged brother had inflicted,
justifiably so. It was shame, a deep abiding black hole that ate at
his soul, not in small nibbles but with ravenous bites, tearing,
ripping and shredding until he could barely stand against the
assault on what he once considered his greatest strength—purity of
spirit.

Tonio had
tried, so very hard had he fought for him, but time and
circumstances, and this vexing miasma of intrigue and unknowable
confluence of fate had finally broken the walls of protection his
possessed sibling had erected. Protected no longer, Stefano could
not help but feel abandoned. He blamed Antonio, for that was the
easy way and he was always about ease of passage.

'
Tonight could be different. Tonight
could be when you become the man you were meant to be.'
Antonio's deep voice husked softly in his mind, as
ever, his spirit-guide.

"… and I assume
you took care of your little problem?" Cosimo de' Medici glared at
his youngest son, everyone's court favorite, the handsomest of the
three he'd sired legitimately.

Stefano gulped
audibly, having paid little attention to the incessant tirade about
his shortcomings on this matter. "Yes sir. The Guards took care of
the … matter."

Cosimo huffed,
"Well, then. Come, my boy, let us sit. I have much to discuss about
your prospects."

"Prospects?"

Stefano's gut
clenched, knowing full well what his father had in mind, none of it
good for his future wants or desires. He would be auctioned off
like a prize stallion to the highest bidder, likely to one of the
hideous Habsburg bitches, of which dozens seemed to come out the
narrow parapets so favored by the Duchys and their prideful
inhabitants.

He whispered,
"I wish you had cut it off, Brother. You would have saved me from a
lifetime of agony."

"What?"

"Nothing,
Papà."

Cosimo, short
and deceptively stout, guided his taller son to a small alcove off
his main meeting room. A fire burned cozily against the far wall,
driving away the ever-present damp and chill, even in the heat of
high summer. Plump cushions, burgundy velvet and tasseled at the
corners, lay close at hand. A flagon of red wine and a plate of
cured meats and cheeses sat invitingly between the cushions.

With a sigh,
Cosimo sank onto the nearest pillow. Stefano followed, lowering
himself slowly as the brush of cloth against his cock opened and
irritated the small knicks and cuts. Phantom pain, and a strange
remembered pleasure from his public coupling with the whore, left
him feeling twisted and oddly curious about his unexpected arousal
and feelings of satisfaction as the men had goaded and cheered him
on. They'd chided, then commiserated, when he could not perform a
second time, the blood and angry marks a testament to his brother's
well-deserved reputation as a cruel and violent man, one to be
feared and respected.

What threatened
to consume Stefano's soul was the knowledge that he had wanted it,
desperately, the pain, then the slick, smooth feel as he commanded
her body and drove his own relentlessly to explode with a roar, an
ecstasy of release even his beloved Veluria had only begun to
awaken in him. He recognized it for what it was, a perversion, and
he desperately wanted to embrace it, own it, to call it up at his
every whim. The stray wisps of memories set his blood boiling and
his cock aching with need.

In the deepest recesses of his mind he pleaded,
Antonio, help me before I am
lost
.

Cosimo chewed
idly on a piece of meat and observed the play of emotions on the
young man's face. Tonio's man, Eduardo, had apprised the capo della
famiglia of events as he had observed them, leaving no detail,
however small, unmentioned.

"
Hai fatto bene, figlio
mio
."

"
Gracie,
Papà." Stefano mumbled. In another time, another place, such
praise, a simple 'you did well,' would have burst his heart with
pride. Now a cauldron of doubt and shame and desire threatened to
bury him in darkness from which there was no escape. A darkness
Antonio knew all too well. He did not wish to join his brother in
the living hell he dwelt in every day of his tortured
life.

Stefano bent close to his father, concentrating hard on the
old man's intonation of events unfolding on the continent. Carlos
had inherited
Burgundy and Castile-León
and stood next in line to inherit Aragon from the ailing Ferdinand,
placing the young man in the enviable position as effective ruler
of all of the area known as Spagna.

"You understand what this means, do you not?" Cosimo queried
his son.

"I think so,
Papà. When Carlos'
father, Phillip, died ten years ago…" Cosimo nodded encouragingly,
"…that left Maximillian with no direct heirs other than
Carlos."

Stefano sat up
straighter and rubbed his left hand over his brow, the implications
now clear. No wonder his father worked so diligently to secure the
favor of the man who would rule Spagna, and eventually most of the
continent.

Cosimo
continued, "Carlos has indicated a certain … willingness to
consider my, and Leo's, proposal in exchange for our support when
the time is right."

"But the
French…"

"Will not be a
factor, of this I am assured from a trusted source." Cosimo grinned
and patted his son's knee. "You, my boy, will have an integral part
to play, never fear."

Stefano cringed inwardly. That was
exactly
what he feared.

Cosimo
interpreted his son's discomfort to the injuries his increasingly
out-of-control older brother had inflicted. He opted not to pursue
the matter of the woman, Veluria, as he was assured by Eduardo that
Antonio was 'on the hunt' and Cosimo knew exactly what that meant.
The woman would be in their custody soon enough. They could make
the proper determinations and proceed as planned whatever the
outcome of his interrogation.

"Rest, my boy.
We will talk more on this later."

"
Gracie
, Papà,
sleep well."

Stefano lunged
to his feet, willing the pain away. With mincing steps he hastened
from the small room and made for the stairs to his quarters. Once
in the safety of his private chambers, he stripped quickly and
gazed with horror at the purplish bruising and oozing cuts on his
cock. He wished for nothing more than a soft pillow and the pliant
flesh of his beloved, his Veluria.

Where was she?
Why could he no longer feel her tender presence?

In silent
supplication, he began his evening prayers for salvation of his
soul.

****

Andreas allowed
his shadow-self to mold onto the stained gray stones. Distracted by
the powerful energies channeling through his aura, he failed to
triangulate the respective locations of the woman and her pursuer.
The sound of footfalls striding relentlessly toward him startled
him into breaking the connection. As he pressed against the solid
foundation, bits of loose mortar shifted and rolled with annoying
clarity. Andreas willed the sounds to mute, masking their
inexorable path to the cobbled street with his aura.

The entrance to
the tunnel lay off to the south. He'd taken shelter in a narrow
alleyway leading to the canal. The overarching structures leaned
inwards, blocking the night sky, leaving all in utter blackness.
He'd adjusted his shadow self to allow for the implants to work at
full power. He offered a small prayer of thanks to his Order for
their foresight.

The woman had
been close, her confusion and distress masking her location. He
could only surmise that she'd been consumed with the need to avoid
her pursuer. He was unconcerned. Her location was of little
consequence. What mattered was that the Demon find her. Once
together, he could manipulate circumstances, and them, so that the
answers he sought would be revealed.

Bemused, he
listened as the now familiar stride announced the approach of the
Dark One.

"Antonio de'
Medici," he murmured with derision, "on the hunt."

Andreas locked
onto Antonio's essence, the unique energy signature that made this
one man, above all others, the most dangerous entity in the known
universe. The key to all their survivals … or their
destruction.

He waited a
moment for the tall figure to pass, then peeled his shadow-self
from the rough stones, rounded the corner and carefully pursued his
quarry. The Dark One's stride took him toward the Piazzali Roma, a
section of the city housing the highborn and court favorites.
Following the scent. He murmured, "Curious that she would head that
way."

Furtively
Andreas ghosted behind his quarry, intent only on the wavering
energies. He stumbled on the uneven footing, wrenching his leg and
bringing him to a halt, gasping with pain.

"
Porca miseria!
" he swore. The last thing he needed was to reawaken old
injuries. He had no wish to repeat the months of rehabilitation
after this very same ankle had suffered a debilitating injury when
a Gateway had shifted and collapsed unexpectedly on his leg,
leaving the left ankle almost beyond repair. Until then no one knew
the passageways capable of inflicting so much damage on corporeal
forms.

He hesitated to
expend his resources in restructuring his neural pathways, as time
and circumstance continued to erode his options. The Demon advanced
too quickly and would soon be out of his range. Andreas slipped
past the entrance to the tunnel. He paused for a moment, satisfied
by the mingling energy signatures.

"
Dammi la forza
," he intoned, as he would require strength as well as
cunning. He would need to find another vessel, and soon. The whore
had been too spent to be of much use. He smiled at the remembered
pleasure as his essence bled and blended, shadow on shadow, just
out of range of the Demon.

Antonio hurtled
through the darkened streets, obviously familiar with the area.
Though still narrow, the road now passed by elegant domiciles with
ornately carved finials over imposing entryways. The Demon suddenly
ceased his headlong rush, backed up a pace and swiveled his head
left and right as if listening for something. Fingering his
cinquedea, he turned to his left. Without knocking, he pushed the
solid door open and entered into a furious din of many voices
raised in anger.

Andreas
followed Antonio, but before the link was swallowed in a well of
competing energies, he felt the Dark One's tide of assurance, the
swell of smug disdain for his quarry, then a strange tickling of
anxiety, perhaps even fear.

Andreas knew
and understood this fear, felt it in his groin, in that deep space
he'd reserved for himself alone. Like an invading army, she'd
commandeered all of them to her will.

"
La mia puttana, puttana la nostra ...
siamo tutti persi
," he moaned to the night.
Lost to the whore, all of them.

"You poor
fuck," he spat, though whether he meant himself or the Medici
puppets was unclear.

****

"Idiota! "Your
cousin bleeds us dry with his commissions and his fucking
extravagance!"

Cardinal Guilio
de' Medici smiled sagely at the man going nose-to-nose with him,
his arrogance and intensity masking a small stature and portly
frame. Voices erupted about the cluttered space, appalled that one
as powerful as the Cardinal should suffer the deprecations of a
lowly mathematician.

Several men
advanced menacingly toward the peacock preening and preaching a
message of fiscal restraint. Not a few fingered cinquedeas,
prepared to defend the good Cardinal's honor, if not his unique
position as the cousin of the current Pope. Favor could be bought,
or it could be won at the pricking end of a stiletto. The Cardinal
was no stranger to either approach.

His Eminence
held up a hand to stay the advance of his would-be rescuers.

"Benedetto, you
task me as always." He smoothed his rich Cardinal's robes, making
sure his own weapons remained within easy reach. He believed in the
power of prayer, backed with the instruments of the Lord and the
position of his family. His distant cousin huffed a refrain of
responsibility that the good Cardinal understood in principal, if
not in practice. He stood convinced that the glory of his God, his
Church and his Family would be writ in the sanctity and beauty of
the towering edifices for which he and his cousin Leo actively
commissioned, not only for the Vatican, but for their home city of
Florence.