Angel Souls and Devil Hearts (3 page)

Will looked at Allison, who nodded.

“We’ll be there,” he confirmed.

Courage continued on his way, and Allison and Will left their hotel, the Goldener Hirsch, behind. They walked along Getreidergasse, window-shopping the whole way, chattering about the wonders of
the Old City, as that part of Salzburg was called. They had arrived late the night before, and that day had explored the right bank of the Salzach River, the Makartplatz, Mirabell Gardens and the
shops along the winding cobblestones of Linzer Gasse. Tonight, though, they wanted to stroll, not explore. On their map, they found the location of Peterskeller, the restaurant John Courage had
suggested, and now they turned their feet in that direction.

In Residenzplatz, they passed the archbishop’s palace and the Salzburg Cathedral with little more than an appreciative glance. Music played somewhere in the background, Mozart, to be
sure—the city was, after all, the composer’s birthplace. The carillon bells of the Glockenspiel sounded out the harmony of 8
P.M.
just as they reached
Peterskeller but all of that was for tomorrow, for the day. Now that Cody could experience both, he set the daylight hours aside for the trivia of life. Nighttime was for actual living.

The restaurant was as wonderful as Courage had described it. Will and Allison had a chuckle over the shadow’s name, and she threatened to call him “Bud Weiser” next time they
met. Arm in arm, the couple passed through a courtyard with vaults cut right out of the mountainside, then ate in a brick cellar with extraordinary chandeliers. Allison was delighted with the
flavor of the dumplings she had ordered, and she even convinced Will to try some of her cheese soup.

Later, as they made their way to the Urbanikeller to catch John Courage’s ten o’clock set, Allison’s eyes returned to the fortress, which towered still above their heads, above
the city. She had been constantly aware of the huge castle, which could be seen from nearly any point in the city, ever present, ever vigilant.

“Even at night,” she said to Will as they reached the club. “Even at night it watches.”

“Maybe it’s standing guard,” Will suggested, grabbing her hand and squeezing as he opened the door to the place.

“Maybe,” she answered.

But that’s not how it feels.

Salzburg, Austria, European Union.
Tuesday, June 6, 2000, 11:42 A.M.:

Will and Allison sat down for a late breakfast in the hotel restaurant, though it was a lot closer to lunch. John Courage had played two sets the night before, and he was good
enough that they stayed through the second. Between sets, Courage joined them for a drink, and they both found him refreshingly offbeat, even for a shadow. His self-deprecating humor was equally
balanced by an often caustic wit, and he seemed to know everything there was to know about his adopted city. They returned quite late, and Allison slept in the next morning. Cody had found himself
a bit tired as well.

After brunch, the couple wasted no time making their way to the base of the
festung
, the fortress of Hohen-salzburg. There was a small tram that carried visitors to the top, but after one
too many pancakes, Allison insisted they walk. Halfway up, she regretted it, but there was no going back. Through the trees, as they made their way up the incredible incline, they could see the
sides of the fortress. The sheer wall of the structure met almost precisely with the edge of the cliff; taken together, they formed a several-hundred-foot drop.

It was times like this when Allison felt her humanity most. Though she worked out regularly, she had to rest a couple of times on the walk up, and Will stood patiently by, understanding but not
sharing her discomfort. As they finally approached the massive gates, they got their first real idea of the size of the place. Inside the fortress, yet still walking up an incline, they found
alleys and paths that were almost streets, an open courtyard and a warren of hallways and rooms which must have housed the many soldiers stationed there over the centuries. Medieval art and arms
were on display in several rooms, but Will and Allison found they had a common interest in the structure itself.

Battlements and watchtowers loomed above the city, offering clear views of the Alps. Cannon bastions peppered the walls, and the wind, even on a warm summer day, whickered through them with
cold, grasping breath. The foundation of the fortress was begun in 1077, and the different areas of the castle completed over five centuries. It was this feat, this achievement, existing in the
structure itself, that impressed them. Allison’s creepy feelings about the fortress were gone, replaced with an emotion somewhat akin to awe. Even Will, who had been around much longer than
she, was astonished by the immensity, the strength of the place.

“How much of this are we not getting to see?” Allison said, pulling on an iron grate which blocked their progress down a particular hall.

Will looked down at his feet, wondering whether there were rooms beneath them. Certainly the locked iron door kept them from exploring certain sections, maybe huge areas of the castle. It could
be unsafe beyond that gate he thought. Then again, the people who arranged these things weren’t used to shadow tourists.

“Let’s find out,” he said, and reached for the lock.

Salzburg, Austria, European Union.
Tuesday, June 6, 2000, 2:07
P.M.
:

Matt and Tammy Monahan had left their baby son home for the first time. Even though he was with Tammy’s mom, they were still worried. Nevertheless, they were determined
to enjoy themselves. Along for the ride were Tammy’s brother, George Esper, and Jack Rice, a family friend. The group split up soon after entering the fortress, Matt and Tammy wandering off
to see the art on display and Jack and George finding their way up to a windswept watchtower.

“Watchtower,” George said. “Like Dylan.”

He started to hum the song and strum air guitar, but George wasn’t your usual air guitarist. He actually played.

“The Hendrix version is better,” Jack said with certainty. “Dylan sucks.”

“Bullshit” was George’s only reply. He’d grown used to such statements from Jack, but he’d never been able to figure out if the guy was serious, or just busting his
balls.

The two of them glanced furtively around and saw that they were alone, save for a decidedly non-American couple several feet away. George pulled out a joint and lit it, taking a long puff before
passing it to Jack.

“It would really suck if we got bagged up here,” Jack said. “I mean, what’s the local law?”

“Don’t know,” George said. “Just be cool. Don’t attract attention.”

They didn’t.

“Hey, you know what I almost forgot?” Jack said. “Norm’s got this rock collection thing going, pieces of stuff. The Berlin Wall, the Pyramids. He wanted me to get a piece
of something, and this thing is fuckin’ old.”

George helped him look around, noticing that the stone walls and battlements, especially near the edge, were supplemented here and there with modern concrete. Chunks of the cement had fallen to
the ground, and it was a simple task to find a big one.

“How ’bout this?” he asked.

“No, man,” Jack said, as he continued his search. “It’s gotta be somethin’ from the oldest part, none of this cement shit.”

Their search took them to an open doorway off to the left, and the floor within. Its surface was rough stone and dolomite chunks, and Jack knew they’d found what they were looking for. Now
they just had to work a piece loose. He took a drag off the joint and handed it back to George, then kicked at several large pieces of rock that jutted slightly from the floor. After a few tries,
he found a chunk a couple of inches wide that moved.

With his heel, Jack kicked the thing again and again, and it moved more and more. But it didn’t come out. Apparently it was bigger than it looked. He had to stop for a couple of minutes as
the couple on the watchtower came closer to them and then finally left. George tried kicking a bit, and then Jack took over again, going farther into the hall to lean against the wall and kick.

It happened on the fourth swing of his foot. One minute Jack’s back was firmly against the wall, and the next, as George watched, he disappeared through it.

“Jack! What the hell . . .?” George moved toward the wall, but not too close. One of Jack’s hands came back through, and George noticed for the first time that the wall had
changed. Its color was almost silver, and its surface too flat, rippling like a pool of water where the hand broke through. George didn’t want to have anything to do with this weird shit, but
he and Jack went way back. George grabbed Jack’s hand, scrabbling for a hold on the rough, stone floor. Bracing his feet, and holding that hand with both of his own, George pulled.

Jack moved forward, just barely, then stopped. To George it seemed as though the silver pool in the wall, whatever it was,
and I don’t want to fucking think about that right now
,
were jelly, or quicksand. Some kind of suction held Jack—wherever he was. And then, beyond that reflective surface, in which George could see his own face, beyond the quicksilver sand that
held Jack in place, something tugged.

George was jerked roughly forward. He almost let go of his friend’s hand as his boots slid over the stone, but instead his grip tightened. No way was he letting go. George slid farther,
closer to the opening, and then noticed something that saved him from being pulled in right behind Jack. The opening in the wall was only so big, and on either side of it, the wall was still solid
stone. Or at least it looked solid.

In an instant, George’s feet were up, gripping Jack’s hand and being pulled along, his ass cut and scraped by stone as he lifted his legs and planted his boots on either side of the
opening. The muscles in his neck and back, in his arms and shoulders, strained for a few seconds, and then the opposing force, the one pulling Jack in, let up. It still wasn’t easy, pulling
him out of there, and George wasn’t about to let go in case his tug-of-war opponent was giving him a false rest, but with a grunting effort, he did it. Slowly, once his head and upper torso
had emerged, Jack crawled out of the wall, over the struggling form of his friend, and lay still on the stone by his side. They both rose, slowly, panting, moving away from the wall. George looked
up.

“My God, Jack, what the hell—” And then George stopped. Because the man he’d pulled out of the wall wasn’t Jack at all.

Sure, he looked like Jack. Same killer baby blues, dirty blond hair and beard. Same clothes, same smile. But this was an older Jack, a haggard, hard-looking man with something lurking in the
shadows of his face that Jack had never had.

“What’s wrong with you?” George asked him.

“Not a blessed thing,” not-Jack said in a voice that George had never heard before, a voice that scared him.

“In fact,” he said as he moved around to put George between himself and the wall, “I’ve never felt better in my life. I feel
perfect
.”

Matt and Tammy came around the corner.

“What are you guys doing . . .,” Matt began, but he shut up when Jack turned to look at them.

Tammy saw it before any of them, even Jack, and she screamed. A huge hand shot out of the hole in the wall, clutching George like a child’s doll, talons impaling his face, stomach and
side. Tammy’s was the only scream as her brother disappeared through the hole in an instant. Matt stared, mouth open wide, and Jack just smiled.

“Jack!” Matt finally said. “
Jack
! Do something!”

Matt ran to the wall, but by the time he reached it, it was only stone again, and he pounded his fists against it. When he turned, Jack was standing out on the watchtower with Tammy in his arms.
She was sobbing loudly with her eyes closed. But Jack was staring directly at him, and as Matt started to move into the open, Tammy’s crying began again. Jack lifted her, with incredible
strength, and hurled her, wailing, out over the edge of the tower. From there, it was a straight drop to the trees five hundred feet below, and Tammy screamed all the way down.

Matt was on Jack in a moment, the two scrabbling on the stone floor of the tower. Matt was on top, and his hands locked around Jack’s throat, choking him, but Jack stopped fighting back.
Instead, he touched the bare skin of Matt’s arm with one hand and the stone floor with the other hand and mumbled one word through his choking gasps.

Matt Monahan turned to stone, a statue, made from the same rock as the fortress itself, almost growing out of it. It was simple for not-Jack to pry himself loose from the statue’s grip,
breaking several stone fingers in the process. The statue looked quite alone. And somehow, too new

“Well, this is an old castle,” not-Jack said in his not-Jack voice. “And you, boy, have got to
look
old.”

A hard roundhouse kick and the statue’s head, a head which had once belonged to Matt Monahan, flew into the air and tumbled down the mountainside to join the corpse of his wife, broken and
twisted at the bottom of the cliff, an offering to the fortress itself

Above, the laughter began.

Salzburg, Austria, European Union.
Tuesday, June 6, 2000, 2:16
P.M.
:

Just below the watchtower, in a crumbling hallway with large, open windows, an area off-limits for visitors to Festung Hohensalzburg, Allison Vigeant and Will Cody heard the
screaming begin. As Cody searched for the fastest way out and up, Allison gasped and called for him to come back to the window. Only seconds had passed, but Tammy Monahan’s body had already
fallen too far for Will to rescue her, whatever form he took.

“Stay here,” Will said to her, and Allison winced.

“I’ll find my way up and meet you topside,” she said.

Will bit his lip.

“Please,” he asked. “Stay here?”

“Five minutes,” she said, and looked at her watch.

In seconds, a large raven flapped out of that window and took to the sky, circling above the fortress, the only bird in the sky. As he dipped among the wind currents at that height, Will Cody
watched as the man who had been Jack Rice turned Matt Monahan to stone, then smashed the head from the statue’s neck and sent it flying over the edge.