Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) (25 page)

Several members nodded. Two muttered something unflattering. Paolo paid
little attention. He focused on Praetor Artemis as he completed his statement.
“What happened next was a lapse in judgment, something you are all aware has
happened to me before.”

The room fell silent. Paolo knew no one could argue with the logic of his
statement. “It was my error that I became too obviously curious about her
studies. But, in the course of the conversation, I learned she had found this
book, which claimed to have been written by a British explorer who studied
early vampire legends. He traveled throughout India and wrote a book about the
Temples of the Vampires in the Sind, dating back to a few hundred years after
the death of Christ. She found references to a joining, an apex of races. I
believe he may have discovered the book, or information about the origins of
our species.”

“This is blasphemy!” the member who had slammed his fist on the table.
“There is no such history. There is no apex.”

“Oh, but there is,” a voice behind them said smugly Paolo and Marcus
turned to see Dag Nielsen standing just inside the doors. He was the first dark
coven leader to ever be allowed entrance into the Council chamber.

Dag sauntered to the front of the room, and began pacing in front of the
dais. Paolo wanted to wipe the smirk off his face, but he struggled to tamp
down his emotions so as not to give the dark leader something else to gloat
about.

Marcus appeared to be in shock. Praetor was searching the table from side
to side. “Who gave this man entry?”

“I did,” the angry council member responded sweetly. “It seems we’ve been
blinded by the legendary Monteleone family and their secrets. I call it a fatal
case of hero worship.” The robed member leaned back in his chair, studying the
brothers, then abruptly turned and addressed Praetor. “And since you are friend
to these two, I call for a vote of no confidence. I believe your judgment has
been colored by your affection for this family.”

“Nonsense. No dark coven leader has ever been granted admission to our
halls. Never in thousands of years.”

“But , with all due respect, you’ve never faced the extinction of your
race,” Dag inserted himself. Several on the Council gasped. Groups of two or
three members whispered and muttered amongst themselves.

Paolo swallowed hard. His light-hearted thought about this being the last
day of his freedom came back to haunt him, turning his stomach into a pit of
oily black rage.

“As I see it, we have two items on the floor,” one member spoke up from
the opposite side of the table. “First we have a vote of no confidence which
has been leveled at Praetor Artemis, a man I have found to be exceedingly fair
and just in all the years I have known him. But it is Capuro’s right to request
a vote. The timing is what I find unclear.”

Artemis leaned forward. “And since I am not yet the unseated Council
member, the other item on this floor is the admittance of a dark coven leader
to our halls. And for that, I do not give my permission at this time.”

Capuro leaned back and stared at the ceiling, extending his hands out to
the sides as if he’d tried his best and was giving up. Dag began to turn beet
red at the attempt to muzzle him. Before he could spew out something venomous,
Paolo stepped toward the dark leader and grabbed him by the elbow.

“This man is a traitor—not only to himself and his own family, but
to the entire race of dark vampires. He is amassing an army. He is killing the
Goldens’ mortal children. I now formally accuse him of also planning the
destruction of this great body.
 
He
is not your ally nor your friend. He does not seek peace. He cannot be trusted.
He is dangerous, and he is my sworn enemy. As well as yours. If he remains
here, then this body, this Council, will no longer speak for me.”

The collective gasp that erupted from the dais surprised even Paolo. He
continued to hold Dag by the elbow, taking care to make sure the dark leader
remained in a small amount of pain.

“You would listen to the man who has ordered the killing of young Rory
Monteleone and his younger brother, who was only a boy of ten?” Paolo shouted
over the commotion.

Artemis stood. “And I have knowledge of three other children of this
house who have perished at the hands of a dark guard. They were not accidents.
There is a systematic attack going on, consuming the lives of some of our
youngest and brightest children. This has never happened while I have been a
member of this Council.”

No one said a word. Dag had inhaled to shout something, but Paolo twisted
his arm up at an angle and thought perhaps he felt a small bone break. The pain
set Dag off, just as Paolo knew it would.

“You! You and your stuffed hedonistic bodies and your sanctimonious
attitudes.” Dag jerked himself free and swore as his arm hung at an unnatural
angle. “Who are you to tell any of the dark covens they are not your equals?
Just because you have the privilege of walking in daylight, doesn’t mean you
have the right to claim dominion over everyone and everything else. I’ll
personally watch each one of you burn in the fires of Hell. And I’ll do it
while fucking your wives, your girlfriends and your daughters. I will spread my
seed and spawn throughout the Golden vampire race and will create a lineage
that will last forever, the lineage originally denied me. I claim dominion!
Mark my words. I will prevail.”

Marcus and Paolo glanced at each other.

Guards traced to surround Dag as he struggled to free himself from their
confinement. As quickly as it had begun, it was all over. Dag had traced
himself away to a safe location.

Paolo cursed to himself, wishing he’d grabbed the man and traveled to the
middle of the sun-baked deserts of Death Valley. He wanted to smell the burning
flesh of this animal and watch until he had withered to nothing.

The guards were looking around for signs Dag was still in the room.

“You. You are a traitor,” Artemis pointed to Capuro. “You allowed him
entry without Council permission, nearly costing all of us our lives.” Artemis
gave the order and guards took the former Council member away in silver chains.

The whispering amongst Council members subsided. Praetor Artemis sat back
down and straightened his red robe. He was not smiling. He showed Paolo and
Marcus no friendship, no mercy. “This changes little. All the facts are still the
same. The book must be found and if you can’t do it, then we will and you will
be stripped of your holdings, you will be denied the protection of the Council,
and you will be left to your own devices.”

Paolo and Marcus both bowed. He hadn’t given them a time limit, which was
good, Paolo thought.

“One more thing,” Artemis said as he stood up. “You have twenty-four
hours to produce the book. And bring the girl here.”

“Cara? Here?” Paolo asked. “Why—“

“You wish to argue with my lenient proposal? In twenty-four hours the
fates of everyone in this room will be sealed. If I thought I could do this any
faster, I’d have you in chains and would go about it myself. But if you test
me, if you fail, everyone you care about will pay dearly. Some with their
lives.” He sat down. Looking from side to side he came upon a sea of nodding
heads and one who had fallen asleep in his wheelchair and was snoring.

Artemis leaned forward on one elbow, braced his chin on his arched
fingers, and said with icy clarity, “I suggest you get going right away. You
now have less than twenty-four hours left.”

Marcus and Paolo didn’t bother to take the time to bow. They looked into
each other’s faces and traced away. They had both been thinking about home, the
villa in Imprunetta. That’s where they went.

Lucius was giggling in the yard outside the tall metal and glass doors to
the kitchen. The kitchen smelled of freshly baking pies, which was a custom in
the Monteleone household, since Lucius still ate as a mortal child. His
favorite was blackberry.

Laurel was gathering flowers in the garden. Paolo sighed as he looked at
them both. Marcus capped his shoulder with his palm. “They will be safe.
Somehow, we’ve got to make this work.”

“Brother, I—“

“Nonsense, Paolo. Your instincts were perfect. You assessed the situation
far better than I could, and your actions probably saved our lives, possibly
the life of Artemis as well. I’m beginning to believe in divine intervention.
Your meeting her has turned out to be a godsend. Just think what would have happened
if we’d had no warning? Lucky for us, we have her safely stowed away at the
villa in California. Otherwise, I’d be willing to bet we’d be thoroughly
screwed.”

Paolo wanted to trace to California to see her again, but the urgency of
the mission to learn more about the bookseller in Prague eclipsed his desire.
At least he felt it was desire that prompted his need to see her, and he was
learning how to do the right thing, rather than the first thing that came into
his head.

When he arrived in Prague, he was greeted by
 
an early afternoon sun that warmed his otherwise cold flesh.
He walked down the designated street and stopped in front of the bookstore, troubled
to see that it was boarded up.

He looked at the slip of paper Marcus had given him and dialed the
number. He was rewarded with the sound of a phone ringing inside the store. No
one answered. He redialed and again got no response.

He tried calling the bookstore once more. This time an answering machine answered
with a message in a heavily accented, guttural man’s voice. He decided against
leaving a message, and against calling the local police.
 

He scanned the area around the little shop, looking for someone on guard,
and saw none. He stepped closer to the once hand-lettered windows of the
bookstore and peered between the shards of broken glass and pieces of metal and
scrap wood keeping out the public. He saw that some books remained, and that
someone had been packing them into crates. He needed to investigate further.
Checking to make sure there was a clear spot inside the store, he stepped into
the alleyway and traced to inside without being noticed.

He was immediately assaulted by the smell of death and decay.

Saturated by the distinct iron smell of blood, he walked carefully around
the concrete floor, which was littered with papers and remnants of books torn
asunder. When he accidentally stepped into a nearly dry pool of blood, his
boots almost stuck to the floor.

Paolo knew the police wouldn’t be investigating this scene. There was no
evidence on the outside that a crime had even been committed here. That was
both good and bad. Good that he would be allowed to rummage through the
contents of the store without being disturbed. Bad that he had little time in
which to do it, and since he was alone, it would use up precious minutes they could
ill afford to lose.

Where to begin?

He walked over to the crates. They were all being shipped to a bookstore
in San Francisco. It was clearly Dag’s handiwork . Paolo sniffed the air. No
trace of the dark vamp remained, if he’d even done this himself. Probably Dag
had assigned the executioner and the other dark guards he used to do his
bidding.

Paolo’s boots made crackling noises as he stepped on more broken glass. Protective
bookcase doors had been shattered. Even reading lamps and tables had been
upended. A cash register, the old fashioned kind without a digital anything,
was yawning open. Its vacant drawer hung down like the tongue of an old
prospector.

Towards the back of the store was a narrow stairway leading up. Paolo
stepped quietly, but the boards underfoot groaned anyway due to his size. He
wasn’t sure what he’d find there, so, although he needed the element of
surprise, his need for safety was primary, so he did not trace.

A few precious moments later, he found a young, pregnant woman lying
dead, next to the bodies of a pudgy little boy and his dog. It was an execution
killing, done several days ago, and the stench consumed the room. No trace of
the bookseller, but from the size of the pool of dried blood below, Paolo
didn’t doubt he was dead as well.

He was sure the perpetrator had wanted information and didn’t shrink from
using innocents to obtain it. However, if they had found the information they
sought, the place wouldn’t have been ransacked. Cara’s office had been similarly
ransacked.

Holy God of vampires. They don’t
yet have the book!

Was it too much to hope?

He glanced around the little family living space. He was looking for the
phone, so dialed the number again. It rang next to a bed that had been ripped
apart, and the mattress stuffing strewn all over the room. Drawers were ripped
from the dressers and their meager contents dumped on the floor. Under the
phone sat a square device with a blinking light. Paolo pushed the red button
and heard the familiar voice of the women he now knew he loved.

He listened to Cara’s message. “You also said you were receiving another
shipment. I would be most interested in what you found.”

Another shipment?

Paolo was about to go downstairs when he heard the end of Cara’s message,
and another one left after it.

The man was speaking in broken English. Paolo could barely make out that
the man was from a trucking company, and was asking for instructions for
delivery of a crate of books from overseas. Paolo was ecstatic.

He ran back to the machine and replayed it again, jotting down the phone
number and address. He hesitated, but then decided to erase the tape, just in
case he was being followed.

Once outside the shop, he ran through several alleyways until he came to
the dirty riverfront. He could see the name of the warehouse across a delicate
metal span bridge. He ran across the metal planks on the walkway as little cars
buzzed past him.

At the office of A. Novak & Company he spoke softly to the shipping
clerk who sat behind metal bars, sending some glamour her way. Her eyes
fluttered, crossed, and then she promptly fainted, her plump legs resting on
the swivel chair cushion she had been sitting on.

Damn it.

He took a chance and traced into the little office. In the back he heard
the sound of workers and machinery, including forklifts. He decided she would
make a good front for him to gain entry.

“Scusi,” he said, using his practiced pigeon English/Italian dialect.
“The signora has fainted. Please. Come. You must help me. She is too heavy for
me to carry.” He pretended to nearly drop her and several workmen came running
over to give him a hand.

A clerk with a clipboard and without a hard hat addressed him. “You see
what happened?”

“I was jes talking to her. She fell over. I think she hit her head,
maybe? I don’t know. So sorry.”

The man looked Paolo over carefully, ending with laser focus on his
shoes. It occurred to Paolo he might recognize his $1000 leather pumps. “My
brother-in-love is a shoemaker in Napoli. He gets me the very finest at a good
price.”

That seemed to satisfy the man.

“Scusi, but I am sent here to pick up a crate for a mister—"
Paolo dug the slip of paper from his pocket. “Tomas Novotny.” He showed
Marcus’s note to the man. “I was to be here yesterday, and I am so sorry. I
have car trouble.”

The man frowned. “Hope you have something bigger than a car. This crate
is full of books.”

“Perhaps I will find a truck for taking crate back to Napoli.”

“Thought you said it was for Tomas Novotny.”

“Yes, yes, it is. But I am to sell for him in Napoli at the book
festival. You’ve heard of it perhaps?”

“All right. You can come this way.”

Paolo walked behind the man just as he heard the woman beginning to talk.
He was glad she had not been hurt by the fall.

The crate for Tomas Novotny was about four feet cubed.

“You want to inspect it?”

“Sure, sure. Yes, I can do that.”

The workman pried open the top with a crowbar. He removed some shredded
pine packing material to reveal several antique book covers.

“Ah! Molto bello. I can look for a moment or two?” Paolo asked.

“Fine.”

“I
 
also call my friend and
see if he has right truck.”

The man walked away without saying a word.

Paolo took out his cell phone and dialed Marcus.

“I think I’ve found what they were looking for,” he said.

“You found the book?”

“I found a crate that was destined for Novotny’s bookstore. I don’t think
anyone else knows about it.”

“You know what you’re looking for?”

“Help me out a little bit, brother. Or, do you want to send a big truck
and we’ll take them all?”

“That would take too much time. It will be pretty damaged, probably
flaking. I’m trying to remember what color the rest of the books were.”

“You saw them?”

“Yes, when I was little. This was part of Grandfather’s set, and he
showed me the books before the war. I wish I’d paid more attention then. God,
if only they were still alive.”

“We are the old ones now, brother. Would you recognize the book if you
saw it? Why don’t you trace here and help me look?” Though Paolo was
whispering, he felt his voice was carrying too loudly throughout the warehouse.
Several of the men surrounding the woman had turned to look at him. And she was
pointing right at him. “Um, I’m afraid I’ve run out of time. You best not do
that—“

Marcus appeared right next to him and cleared his throat. Paolo darted a
quick glance at the crowd of onlookers and several of them crossed themselves.
Well, if they were afraid, that could give the brothers a few extra minutes.
He’d have felt much better if they had one of the Jett brothers to help out.
Marcus was doing a stare-down with the man Paolo thought was the foreman.

“Don’t look at them. Let’s get to work,” Paolo said to his brother.

Incredibly, under the second layer of books was a light greenish-brown
book that had been covered in green plastic archival wrap. There was no title
on the outside, which Paolo thought was odd.

Marcus untaped the wrap and opened the interior of the book. There were
diagrams and charts, sketches and celestial maps for navigating the oceans. A
hole had been carved into the pages of the book without damaging the text.
Inside the hollowed-out pages was a tiny skeleton key.

“What’s this? Did grandfather ever speak of this?” Paolo asked.

“No. Never.” Marcus put the key in his pocket and re-wrapped the book in
the green plastic. The group of men began to descend upon them, but by the time
they were close, Marcus and Paolo had traced back to the family villa in
Imprunetta, taking the sacred text and the key with them.