Of Saints and Shadows (1994) (42 page)

“The time is at hand, the Blessed Event is today, only hours from now. The world as we know it, as our predecessors have shaped it, hangs in the balance, based upon your actions today. You know your positions and your units. Departures will begin in thirty minutes and will move according to schedule until thirty minutes before dawn.

“I bless you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. You are the Sword of God and, as such, can never be defeated. Amen.”

They were ready. The Montesi brothers stood by Father Mulkerrin during his speech and swelled with sinful pride at his words. They were honored with having had a greater hand in the Blessed Event than any but Mulkerrin himself. And soon it was to begin.

The arrival of the Venice group had been handled swiftly, daggers and swords of silver given to each man and woman—the Roman Catholic Church had hoarded riches for two thousand years and there was little that money could not buy. Recently there had been problems acquiring funding, due to the necessity of keeping the pope in the dark, but the expensive stockpile of silver weaponry had been built up over centuries. As for such recent additions as flamethrowers, carried only by those both strong and agile, perhaps one in five, Garbarino had found a way. Now both problem and solution had been eliminated.

Sister Mary Magdalene undressed down to her waist without a care for those around her. None would dare to look at her or to question her actions except perhaps Father Mulkerrin, and he would see her faith clearly. She unsheathed her dagger and, pressing hard, drew a deep gash across her left breast. She did not cry out, but heard several others gasp despite their training as the blood ran down her chest to the waistband of her pants. Without any other covering, she pulled her shirt, sweater, and jacket on again.

The pain would keep her awake, the scent of blood would act as a magnet, drawing them toward
her
rather than one of the others. She intended to get more than her fair share. A warmth spread between her legs as she thought of it, and there was a tingling in her ruined and empty eye socket.

Isaac and Thomas went over the instructions a final time with the second in command of each unit. Each unit also had a Venetian guide handpicked from those troops only lately arrived, as well as a tracker—a novice whose studies had concentrated only on the use of magic to locate Defiant Ones, even specific creatures.

“Unit One will proceed directly to San Marco under command of Father Mulkerrin,” Thomas Montesi began. “Unit Two will handle those few Defiant Ones expected to be found in Castello and then move immediately to San Marco. Unit Three will move on San Polo and Four and Five will take Dorsoduro and Cannaregio, respectively, and then move on to San Polo. Thereafter all units will converge with Unit One in San Marco, where cleanup and crowd control will be primary objectives.”

“However,” Isaac continued, “if there are complications, you will obviously be instructed on site by your commander or supervisor. Please note that the duration of this operation is intended to be four hours, beginning at noon exactly. Should complications arise, we must be certain to have nearly completed all exterminations by five
P.M.
at the latest, for obvious reasons.”

“Finally,” Thomas concluded, “let me say that there is a possibility that some of your targets may be aware of our plans and may have taken precautions. Be extra careful when approaching resting places and watch for human conspirators.”

As the brothers were speaking, their youngest sibling had Joined them. Robert listened as he polished their father’s sword one final time. He wore two swords, one for battle and his father’s, which was not to be drawn except to destroy the Montesi patriarch’s own murderer. He smiled as he polished it, and many of the troops could not help but glance at him, the same way they could not tear their eyes from Sister Mary Magdalene’s self-mutilation. Noticing he had their attention, Robert picked up where Thomas left off:

“This is a search-and-destroy mission. Chances are there will be
some
complications. In any war, some civilian casualties are expected, accepted within reasonable limits. You are doing God’s work. If a civilian who is unaware of this threatens, purposely or accidentally, to interfere with this work, you must not shirk. You must eliminate that person or those persons. Time is of the essence. Our duty must be carried out.

“In the name of God,” Robert said.

“In the name of God,” the chorus came back to him.

“Form up,” Sister Mary shouted as she and Father Mulkerrin approached the Montesis, and the troops moved into their units.

“We will disperse in groups of ten, units then forming up at the preassigned meeting places. I trust you all understand the instructions the Brothers Montesi have given you. When the operation is concluded, you shall return here singly and in pairs. Avoid contact with law enforcement or military officials, what few may then remain, and rendezvous here for further instructions.

“Now go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

“Jesus, Tracey, don’t shoot!” Sandro shouted.

“He’s one of them, dammit,” she growled, not taking her eyes off Cody for a moment.

“Let’s call the police,” Sandro suggested.

“Cops can’t do anything to this guy, Sandro.”

Cody was amused, really. He’d only come back with the guns a short time earlier, and Peter had left him to watch Meaghan until the meeting had gotten well under way, hoping it would then be safe for him to show up there. At that point, Peter would send someone to relieve him.

It had never been Cody’s way to stay back, safe and sound, in the shadows. But he remembered the old saying discretion is the belter part of valor—and this one time he went with it. Besides, he’d had enough of leading as a scout and the owner of the Wild West Show. He remembered much more fondly his days with the Pony Express, buffalo hunting, and commandeering beer trains with Jim Hickok, old Wild Bill, whom he sorely missed. Nope, when he tried to be boss, he got screwed by the system. Now he preferred to work alone. He’d come to like being a rebel.

So he had only been there a short time when he decided to wash the grime of his black-market jaunt from his body. From the shower, he’d heard the woman scream downstairs and finished washing up, then left the water running and came down to see what was going on. Of course, he’d always had a soft spot for the ladies. This one looked mighty confused, trying to decide whether or not to shoot him. He didn’t want to give her the chance. He hated to waste bullets and, though only for a moment, getting shot would hurt. As far as the camera was concerned, well, Cody had always enjoyed the spotlight. He was going to get a royal reaming from Peter and the gang, but what the hell. If a guy couldn’t have some fun . . .

“Now, ma’am,” he began, and Tracey flinched at his voice. “Why don’t we discuss this? I’ve been aware of your presence since you got here, so why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?”

Tracey didn’t know what to say. Among the things she had expected, this wasn’t one. If the guy was one of them, he probably wouldn’t be afraid of a gun, especially his own gun. But . . .

“Sandro, roll tape . . . okay, friend, who are you?”

“Colonel William F. Cody, at your service,” he said, and saluted. He figured he might as well humor the woman. She was awful pretty and he’d hate to have to harm her.

“Colonel of what?” she asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“And this woman?”

“Meaghan Gallagher, a friend of mine.”

“But you killed her?”

“No, ma’am I did not. And the fact of the matter is, she’s not quite dead.”

“She looks pretty dead to us,” Tracey said, and Sandro swung the camera to take in the body.

Cody switched on the overhead light and Tracey almost shot him in surprise.

“Sorry. Thought it would be easier. Do you mind if I put some clothes on, darlin’? It’s a mite embarrassin’ giving an interview in my birthday suit.”

“Just move real slow,” Tracey said, backing off and steadying her aim, only the tiniest bit put off guard by his casualness.

“Now, what I meant to say is, that there girl is maybe technically dead, but not for long.”

“So you’re admitting it!” Tracey almost yelled.

“Admitting what?” Cody asked, almost innocently.

“That you’re a
vampire
!”

Sandro cringed. He didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. If you’d wanted to know that, you should’ve just asked. And Meaghan’s going to become one in a short time. Seems she was so in love with her boyfriend—that’s Peter—that she asked him to do it. Kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

“Prove it!” Sandro snapped.

“What?” Tracey said.

“I want him to prove it,” he repeated.

“What exactly did you have in mind, friend?” Cody asked, and then he moved.

One minute he’d been standing in the middle of the room in socks and Jeans, and the next he was behind Tracey with the gun in his hand. She barely felt it being ripped from her grip and then turned to face him, waiting for the shot to come. It didn’t.

“How’s that?” he asked, but neither of them spoke.

“Okay, I see this calls for something more drastic, how ’bout . . .”

His face changed. Over the space of several seconds it elongated. Hair sprouted and he drew back his lips to show terrible fangs. And then he was back to normal.

“I’d do the whole thing for you, but the process really is uncomfortable,” he said, smiling.

“Why are you doing this?” Traccy asked, when she could finally speak. Sandro was still struck dumb.

“Doing what?”

“You’re toying with us, aren’t you? Are you going to kill us? Are we going to end up in that basement room the same way all those others did?”

Cody looked at her like she was crazy. Then it hit him.

“Hell no, I consented to this interview, didn’t I? No, I’m going to give both of you what you truly deserve for having the gall to walk into this house and nose around like you did. It’s gonna get me in deep shit, but that’s no place I haven’t been before.

“Forget this interview crap, I’m gonna give you a real story.”

Standing before the crowd, Peter could not help but feel the confusion roiling among them. Here he stood, on the stage of the Venice Theater, with Sheng, Alex, Jazz, Ellen, and Rolf seated behind him, with Hannibal standing up next to him. Those who knew him at all knew he’d been a disappointment to Von Reinman and were none too happy with his actions themselves. Those who were politically aware knew too well how little Hannibal had thought of Karl and, therefore, his coven.

And yet there they were. Had Peter stood there alone, nobody would have listened. But Hannibal was the host of the Venice carnival—had been for several centuries—and they were all obligated to come. Even the great Genghis was there, in the first row, with several members of their race who were even older, many of whom Peter had never met. Hannibal had told him that as far as he knew, the oldest present was the Defiant One who called himself Lazarus, though he certainly was not the Lazarus of biblical legend.

Hannibal introduced Peter, with no attempt to hide his distaste, but in fairness, with an endorsement as to the truth of his statements. Any enmity between them would have to wait.

Peter began.

“My blood father, Karl Von Reinman, who also sired those you see behind us, is dead. Barbarossa is dead. Catherine is dead. Dozens of the eldest of our kind have been murdered. Each of you likely has a story of your own. Hannibal himself was the target of assassination, and eluded his would-be assassins by guiding them to Cody October in Monte Carlo.”

There was a round of grumbling throughout the room. Of the hundreds of Defiant Ones in the room, few held any love in their hearts for Cody.

“Cody himself escaped, and has been instrumental in my efforts on behalf of all of us. What you probably are not aware of is that Marcus Aurelius is also dead, killed on the same day that Hannibal was targeted, though none of us were aware of this until several minutes ago.”

The room was an uproar. Aurelius had ever been one of the most respected and feared of their kind.

“Why? That is the question on all of your lips. Second only to who. I have the answers to both questions.”

The theater grew silent as Peter detailed Karl Von Reinman’s interest in
The Gospel of Shadows
, familiar to many of them, as well as his own involvement beginning in Boston and leading to his retrieval of the book in Rome. When he told them he had gone into the Vatican, the place erupted.

“Impossible,” Genghis yelled, coming to his feel, and Peter was stunned to see the elder so overwrought.

Others were yelling at him as well, and he looked to Hannibal for support.

“Genghis!” Hannibal broke in, just in time as far as Peter was concerned. “All of you. With all due respect, the Byzantine is telling the truth.”

Silence reigned. They could not but believe Hannibal, and they were stunned. Finally, it was the one called Lazarus who spoke.

“Mr. Octavian,” he said, surprising the room further, “why don’t you tell us what is in this
Gospel of Shadows
, as you call it. That may clear things up for us, don’t you think?”