Nightbringer (6 page)

“
My place is here,” Melanchthon muttered, and his mouth forged itself in the darkest frown. “My first … My last.”

There was doom in the tone, and Stephen sighed.
“All right. Tell me exactly what you think this danger is. And if you convince me—evidence or no evidence—I give you my word that I will achieve some means of evacuating the monastery.”

“
Why have you not offered such a thing before?”

“
Because there has never been any evidence to substantiate your claims. And I cannot—for the sake of my sanity—chase ghosts every day of the year.”

“
Then I will not persuade you,” Melanchthon said, bitter. “Because I can say nothing to you now that I have not said before.”

Stephen pursed his lips.
“Brother, if you want me to initiate actions to evacuate the abbey, then you must speak of more than mere feelings or vague premonitions.” He grimaced. “Melanchthon, you are mystical, but you are not out of touch with reality. You understand the seriousness of an evacuation. Even if I use the excuse of this snowstorm there are those who would be alarmed. There are priceless treasures here. I can’t just leave them unguarded.”

Melanchthon held the moment as a man holds a sword that he has fought with for an entire day—as if his hand is frozen to the hilt so that he cannot let it go.

“Very well,” he began, “but it is difficult.”

“
But try, please.”

The huge monk waited. Then,
“I have had dreams of a creature that walks these halls. It is … old. For its years are not like the years of a man. It knows … evil. And it has done much evil. It is powerful. It does not fear us. And now it shall reveal itself, for whatever game it had played has come to an end.”

Stephen crested his fingers.
“And when it reveals itself?”

“
It will kill us all,” Melanchthon said somberly. “And then it will slip away and hide again among men.”

Stephen registered a hint of anger.
“I know the legends, Melanchthon, because the Nephilim are legend.” He rose with a curse from his chair. “Brother, sometimes I believe your mystical inclinations are too vivid for your own good.”

“
I wish it were so,” Melanchthon answered. “But it is not so, and so I must do what I can to insure that what has been … will never be again.”

“
The Nephilim are dead, brother.”

“
Are they?”

Father Stephen leaned upon his table.
“Why in the name of God do you continue like this? No one has seen one of these creatures in three thousand years! The Church has even forgotten them! They are only overlooked passages in a book no one reads anymore!”

After releasing a slow breath, Melanchthon raised his face. He blinked softly, as if watching the wind, detecting a scent, listening to a ghost. He gazed at a corner of the ceiling as a man who cautiously watches the approach of a lion.

“Something this way comes,” he murmured, utterly motionless. “Something that has waited long for this hour.” His beard tilted as he nodded. “Yes, it will not wait much longer.”

For a moment, as if Melanc
hthon’s utter certitude was contagious, Father Stephen bit his lip. “But … but if this creature is so perfectly hidden, why would it reveal itself at all?”

“
Because someone has come that even
it fears
. So it will emerge from hiding … and soon.”

Stephen was considerate or confused.
“Brother, a mere feeling, without any logical reason, is not enough to justify calling up helicopters through the storm.”

“
It is no natural storm.”

Stephen rolled his eyes.
“There is no winning this discussion with you! You will believe as you will believe! But the simple fact is that I cannot evacuate the abbey on a feeling! The snowstorm has closed all roads, so we cannot use the buses. The nearest village is six miles away across mountains that have killed more men here than all the wars combined, so we cannot leave on foot. We would have to notify the Alpine Rescue Team and the repercussions would be enormous if we could not present a logical, physical reason for their intervention.”

He shook his head passionately, as if to convince the older monk of his logic.
“Listen to me, Melanchthon. We are trapped here until the roads are cleared. And I can no more change that than I can make the sun retreat down ten steps of this abbey.”

“
It is already too late to flee,” Melanchthon said and bowed his head. “I only pray that the Lord will intervene. Because what is coming will kill … until there is nothing left to kill.”

Killing monsters left and right, Josh enhanced the drama of his handheld video game with growls, explosions, pleas for mercy and then a dramatic long-drawn death cry that ended in a low mumble, swearing vengeance. It reminded Gina of something out of
a kids’ cartoon show – only better.

She threw him a T-shirt.
“Game’s up! Time for a shower. Then brush your teeth and gargle.”

Rachel, lying flat on the bed beside him, remarked dryly,
“Unlike last night, dog-breath.”

“
I was busy last night.”

“
Doing what?”

“
Killing monsters.”

“
Game geek.”

“
No names,” Gina said sweetly. “Josh, get on it. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

With a meaningful drone Josh clicked the video game.
“Man, I was just about to slaughter a plesiosaur.” He set the handheld game on the night table and slouched toward the bathroom, closing the door. Rachel reached over and picked up the game.

In a few minutes Gina heard the shower. Laughing, she removed clothes from the suitcase and began laying them out for the next day. When she was finished, she reached in and removed a matte-black SIG Sauer P
-226 semiautomatic pistol.

She ejected the clip and locked the slide, ensuring the chamber was empty. She tapped the clip on the soft edge of the suitcase and slid it back into the handle. Then she placed it beneath her clothes and became aware that Rachel was watching.
Then Rachel muttered, “”I thought you weren’t going to be an FBI agent again until we got to Rome.”

With a smile Gina walked back to the bed and relaxed beside her daughter.
“I’m not.”

“
Uh-huh. So why the gun?”

“
Regulations, babe.”

“
You even have to carry a gun here?”

Gina nodded.
“Want the short version?”

“
No.”

“’
In any country where there’s an FBI field office and an FBI special agent will be working with such office at the end of personal time, that agent must be fully prepared to assume duty at the end of said personal time or at any other time be it at the discretion of the Assistant Special Agent in Charge.’”

“
And after this we’ll be in Rome for four months!” Rachel stuck a finger into her throat and leaned forward. “Gack.”

Moving beneath a halo of steam, Josh walked out of the bathroom, rubbing his head with a towel. He looked at Rachel, then at his video game. His eyes narrowed.
“What did you do?”

“
Nothing! I was just looking at your—“

Josh snatched up the yellow computer and quickly ran a diagnostic check or something. He released a deep sigh.
“You are sooooo luuucky,” he sang, “that my game wasn't eeeraaased."

"Okay, guys," Gina chimed, "it's time for sleep." She kissed them both and they lay side by side beneath the covers. "No more talking until I wake up in the morning. And do not drag me out of bed before I'm reeaaaady."

Josh had the last note.

"Oh, please, Mom, no siiinging
..."

* * *

Chapter Six

Night...

Although the shadows that cloaked the Great Hall would have been depthless to human eyes, it moved through them without effort. Although the night outside—a night without a moon or even a star in the storm-clouded sky—was a solid
dome of black to other creatures, it could see every wrinkle of stone, every stir of dust, as if darkness were only a lesser form of day.

But it had known true darkness before.

Yes, it had known true darkness in Egypt—so long ago, now—when darkness struck the land so completely that even he could not see through the blackness of it. And yet, still, the hated slaves had enjoyed the light that streaked down in interlocking crescents that flooded and followed every Hebrew home—a child playing in a muddy field, an old woman walking in the open street.

He had always hunted in the night—had feasted upon the slaves—but during those three nights he had not hunted. No, he had not dared violate the light for fear that—while life to the slaves—it would be his doom.

Long he had lived, and the empires that he had once ruled were still unknown to these ... humans—as if human knowledge were enough, in itself, to measure. But he could, indeed, remember the kings who had come against him, the warriors he had torn into dead shreds of meat and bone. He remembered battles of sprawling hundreds of thousands—battles he had commanded and always won. Yes, that he had always won until the Hebrew dog rose and took the throne of Israel.

But he had escaped the wrath of mighty David—he that slew his tens of thousands on tens of thousands. Yes, had escaped the fierce, bearded Hebrew and joined his own might with the expendable Persians, the effete Greeks and, finally, Jerusalem itself.

He laughed.

Yes, always the Hebrews invited their own destruction. They were like fools returning to folly, dogs returning to vomit. For just as one generation was led by their king to honor their God, the next generation would dishonor Him. And then they would not trust their God to deliver them but
would put their faith in the strength of their own right arm, devices of deception, engines of destruction. And the land would be taken from them once again.

But it was not truly their land. It had never been their land. No, for when the Hebrews arrived, Palestine was already inhabited by mighty nations that had stood for a thousand years. Nor were they quick to recognize the bold boast of a wandering tribe of Egyptian slaves. But war had decided the right to claim what could be claimed, and Israel had won in the end.

Yet he had almost undone it all when he led Tiberius' endless legions beneath the secret tunnels of the southern wall. For even Tiberius, upon seeing the great walls of Jerusalem, admitted that the City of the King would never fall unless it was betrayed from within. And so he had orchestrated the betrayal—nor had it been difficult, playing those who believed the Nazarene was the Messiah against those who so violently refused to believe—and such was the fall of it that not one stone stood upon another when the day was done.

He smiled, remembering how—

Sound
...

He froze before the statue of the centurion. But the sound did not come again and he bent his head. His breathing ceased and his heart slowed
and slowed more until it barely beat beneath the huge twin shields of muscle mantling his massive chest. Hairs along his head and neck and forearms bristled.

Nothing
…

What had made the sound had not moved again.

White lips separating to reveal fangs thickly set and saber-like, he turned in the direction of the noise. He gazed over the honeycomb of corridors that led upstairs to the rooms of the guests. Yes, the man was inside the corridors. But he was not moving, was not emerging from behind the walls.

So, you've come at last.

He laughed silently.

I always knew you would
....

With three monstrous strides—there was no cause for deceit if he was certain of the identity of his foe—he selected a passageway at random, expecting to hear the faintest step in another direction. He moved
with increasing speed, hoping to catch the warrior unaware for even the warrior could not hear as a wolf could hear—as
he
could hear. He walked in and out and across and across again and still he did not find his foe. Then he froze in place, head bent, listening. But there was nothing.

He snarled.

Fool ... do you truly think you can escape me?

He moved faster through the corridors, poised to catch the faintest sound in the gray shadows—a glimpse of a silhouette.
Nor did he expect more than a glimpse, for the man was the purest warrior and possessed all the greatness of a hunter— patience, purpose, knowledge, skill, strength, and will. He would make few, if any, mistakes.

He listened as he moved, eyes roaming.

Nothing, nothing, nothing...

Nothing
!

Fangs exposed, he bent and listened long, and longer, waiting with inhuman patience—with a millennium of patience. He waited until the Hall outside the corridors seemed to retreat before the first frantic light of dawn. Waited until the light was dangerously bright, though the humans who stirred long before sunrise were still far in coming. But to remain here any longer was a risk and, somehow, he knew
...

The man was gone.

Long had he exercised strict discipline and patience in the kill and so he did not expect the tendrils of anger that bled slowly, inexorably, from the dark abyss of its center. But the anger did bleed until his taloned hands clenched and unclenched in murderous, frustrated rhythm.

Fang sharpened fang and it struggled to contain the volcanic rage, to not lift its head for a single, challenging roar—a roar that would have been understood by only one other creature within these walls.

But it did not roar.

The time was not yet right.

No, it would not roar, for to roar and unleash its hate would signal the barest bone of weakness. So its fangs clamped like a vise, shutting down the release of rage. And with a snarl it glared once more into the empty corridors.

The man was gone!

No, no, no, no …

NO
!

It roared.

***

Josh and Rachel sat upright at the same moment, staring at the stone wall before them.

One second later
Gina hit her feet and was moving and one second after that her hand closed on the grip of her pistol. She instantly spun and raised a hand to the kids as they opened their mouths but she was too late to prevent the triple series of screams and then they were scrambling across the bed into her arms.

"
What was that
!" cried Josh.

Gina said nothing as voices and heavy footsteps in the corridor beyond approached and then a fist was pounding on the door. A chorus of shouts and commands erupted and Gina quickly pushed the kids behind her.

She snatched open the door and leaped back, the SIG leveled directly into the door as it crashed open.

It took one heartbeat for those entering to see her crouching ten feet away in a shooting stance and then Gina saw a host of bodies—the monsignor, Molke, Father Stephen—as they backed up in surprise before trying to enter the room, colliding and shoving one another to be first. At the last, it was Monsignor DeMarco—wearing an old-fashioned sleeping robe—who hurled the hulking German aside to beat him through the narrow entryway.

"It's all right!" he gasped.

Gina lowered the SIG. "W
as that an animal?"

Holding his hand over his chest, dressed similarly to the monsignor, Father Stephen caught a breath. "We don't know! I was concerned for your safety!" He cautiously pointed at the SIG. "Is
that a gun?"

"I'm an FBI agent."

Together they stared.

Gina added, "On vacation."

"Yes, of course." Father Stephen turned to rushing feet. "Melanchthon! Barnabas! What are you doing here?"

"The guests!" pronounced Melanchthon. He lifted the torch high, gazing upon Gina. Then he looked past her and saw the children
and Gina was actually moved when the gloom-and-doom monk visibly released a sigh of relief.

"Barnabas!" Father Stephen clutched the old man's shoulder. "You've been at the abbey the longest! What was that sound?"

Barnabas squinted angrily. His frown deepened. Then he turned sharply, stepped into the hall, and lifted a Roman sword from the wall. His voice was indifferent. "I will go see what it was."

Gina stepped forward. "Whoa! Hang on a minute!" She held up a hand for patience. "I
really hate to say this but if there's a wild animal loose in this place, I'm the only one qualified to deal with it."

"Why do you say that?" asked Stephen.

"Because I'm trained in building searches and field survival techniques. Not just anyone—and I don't mean to imply anything at all—can do this safely. Plus, I have to insure the welfare of my children. And last, I'm the only one with a gun."

"Well give the gun to Barnabas!"

Gina blinked. "
I don't
think
so
!"

Michael waded into the room. He had obviously dressed hastily. He focused on Stephen. "You guys ever heard that before?"

No one replied.

With a quick nod, Michael stepped into the hall and lifted another Roman sword from the wall and looked at Barnabas. "Let's go, friend."

With the sudden shouts that seemed to come from one man— "Of course!"—the monsignor and Melanchthon and Molke and Father Stephen enthusiastically snatched Roman swords and spears from the walls of the corridor. Then they encircled Gina, who held the high-capacity semiautomatic at her hip.

Grinning widely, Josh and Rachel were completely ready for this hunt!

Gina hesitated, as if debating whether to allow them to accompany her, and then seemed to realize their strength in numbers. For a moment she hefted the SIG, as if weighing whether she could trust this group to completely insure that the abbey would remain safe or that they'd even come back. Then she sighed, smiled tightly over her children.

"Okay, kids. Let's go."

***

The search through the abbey was electrifying for the host of primitively armed men who had surrounded Gina. But with the SIG tucked in her belt, she followed
calmly and closely. Yet, after the first ten or eleven hair-raising reactions to false alarms Gina decided it was much safer to move her kids—and herself—out of reach of spear and sword.

They found nine doors that led to the outside slightly ajar and unlocked "as usual" with tracks leading in or out. Bending low, Gina could only determine that something had come—or gone—this way. It seemed to move in and out, in and out
and in-again-out-again
-make-up-your-mind
...

It was confused
or deliberately mulling the tracks. But no animal would have the presence of mind to deliberately mull its tracks.

To Father Stephen and the rest, a building search was a truly thrilling experience. To Gina it was about as thrilling as a bus driver going for a bus ride. She saw no signs of violence,
no sign of forced entry—not that force would have been necessary. The shock that had struck in the wake of the scream faded until she reasoned that it might even have been the wind from the storm raging outside. And by the time they arrived at the Great Hall she was spending far more time appreciating the vast artifacts of the museum than searching shadows.

When Michael turned to gaze back, Gina had one hand hiked akimbo on her hip. She smiled.
"Tired yet?"

Michael smirked. "You know, Gina, it might have
actually been something. These mountains have snow leopards, bears – even wolves."

"Michael, what are the
odds of some rogue bear rampaging through an abbey? I mean—really!'

Michael glanced casually at the dispersing monks. "Million to one, I guess."

Gina walked forward. "You know, I actually like you. You're terribly, terribly strange, but you're gallant in an odd, medieval sort of way." Her tone was no longer teasing. "Just where are you from, anyway? You don't seem like the kind of guy who would join a tourist group."

"Actually," he answered pleasantly, "I'm headed for Rome."

"What about that! So are we."

Gina had expected some faint thought that they would be with each other for at least another three or four days to cross his face. But if it did, she couldn't catch it. "So," she
continued, "you’re on business?"

Michael's gaze held some kind of sad resignation. "Yeah." He gazed over the Hall, glancing at all the monks who had
joined in the search, then called Jaqual closer. The porcelain monk had not yet surrendered his shield. "Have you seen Dominic or Basil?"

"No," he answered. "I
did not even think of them. Dominic can't leave his room without assistance and Basil is usually close by him in case Dominic needs help. Do you think I should check on them?"