Soul to Shepherd (9 page)

“Whichever location you choose, make sure it is safe and impenetrable.” He paused for a moment as if to deliberate something. “If all else fails, you can bring him to my office.”

“Thank you.” I was pleasantly surprised at Tartuf’s willingness to risk disapproval of the other Shepherds for helping Quinn and me. Thankfully for him, I already had a place to stash Quinn safely away, and I began to wonder if Plan B would be easier than Plan A—maybe I should just stick with hiding Quinn before the Summer Moon.

“And how long would you need to hide him?” Tartuf asked as if reading my mind. “One day before the Summer Moon? One week? The entire month? Surely any lengthy disappearance on his part would draw much unwanted attention, which would more than likely spur a full-scale search for your hiding place from
all
interested parties. And I don’t think that would be very wise. Do you? Take my advice and do not raise any red flags unless you must. Stick with Plan A and make sure you
succeed
.

“Which leads me to another question,” he continued. “I realize you are not averse to engaging in combat with a Servant, but what are your colleague’s feelings on the matter? Now that Dylan is Mr. Harrison’s Shepherd, he will likely tangle with one or more of these demons.”

“You don’t have to worry about Dylan.” I smirked. “He’s crazy enough to actually
want
to brawl with them. And he’s one hell of a fighter,” I threw in for good measure.

“Good. So, then let us talk about Plan C,” Tartuf suggested.

“‘Plan
C’
?”

“Yes, how to keep
yourself
safe from the Servants.”

“Oh, I—I’m not really worried about me. I can protect myself.”

“So I’ve heard.” A huge smile spread across Tartuf’s face; it was the most animated expression I’d seen on him during our entire conversation. “Given the right weapons, one, perhaps even two, Servants might not be a match for you.” The expression on his face twisted from one of amusement and curiosity to one of concern. “But what if three or four Servants come at you at once—or a dozen?”

“A dozen Servants?” I swallowed hard.

“At least. Twelve is the minimum requisite number of Servants required to complete the conversion. Mathius, the head of the clan, is the Master of Ceremonies, charged with leading the ritual. Then there is the Alchemist, a maven of potions, spells and dark magic, who prepares and handles the blood. The Extractor destroys all traces of humanity in the victim. There are also four Servants to represent the four seasons, and four Servants to represent the basic elements—earth, wind, fire, and water.”

“That makes eleven. I thought you said there had to be twelve to perform the ritual.”

“Twelve Servants are required to
complete
the ceremony—a small, but not trivial, distinction.”

“So, who’s the twelfth Servant?”

“The unfortunate mortal to be converted. When the ritual is performed and the human crosses over into immortality as a Servant, he or she must complete the ceremony in order to
remain
a Servant for eternity. The demon must prove its allegiance to the Master of Ceremonies and the rest of the clan. Once that final step is completed, the ceremony is concluded.”

“What happens during the ceremony?”

Tartuf sighed heavily. His grey eyes grew much darker and his face turned hard as stone.

“Look,” I continued in the wake of his silence, “if I’m going to protect Quinn, then I not only need to know the best outcome, but I also need to know the worst. That’s the only way I can mentally prepare for this, the only way I can be completely focused. Like it or not, I need a Plan D in case all hell breaks loose.”

“A Plan D for desperation.” Tartuf sighed heavily. “Very well, have a seat.” He walked over to the chair closest to me and removed the pile books and journals before clearing off the other chair and pulling it around to my side of the table.

“The conversion ritual is one of the oldest performed by Servants,” he began as we both sat down. “It is the only way a mortal can become a Servant. In fact, aside from twelve original members of the clan, Mathius being one of them, conversion is the only way a Servant can be created. The Servants’ numbers have grown over time, more so recently, although their exact number I do not know.”

“So, what happens during the ritual?” I asked.

Tartuf lowered his head and shook it slightly. “I am aware you have very strong feelings for this mortal.”

“That’s why I
have
to know,” I urged.

He looked into my pleading eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Through conversion, Servants steal all that is humane from the mortals they have chosen to join their ranks. The demons rob their victims of their decency, compassion, and morality, only to fill the void with unbridled, merciless depravity.”

“How?” I asked warily.

“As I already mentioned, some of the mortal’s blood is taken months in advance of the conversion and is mixed with that of the Master of Ceremonies. It takes three lunar cycles for the demon blood to bond with and mutate the mortal’s blood, but once the process is complete, the contaminated blood has a rather short shelf life and must be injected back into the chosen mortal on the eve of the following full moon.

“In order for the mortal body to accept the blood, however, the victim must also be prepared.” Tartuf paused and looked at me, and I nodded anxiously for him to continue.

“The human must be drained of most of his blood and his spirit broken. He will be beaten within inches of death, at which time the Extractor will tear the soul out of the mortal’s body while a chant is performed. The soul is shredded, destroying every ounce of humanity the mortal ever possessed along with it.”

I blinked back my tears and held my breath, afraid Tartuf would stop talking if he saw how painful it was for me to listen to the torture he was describing.

“Once the soul has been decimated,” he continued, “a second chant is performed while the mutated blood is re-introduced to the victim’s body. The blood spreads through the human’s veins, replicating itself along the way, eventually taking over the host, at which point the body is no longer human. The
being
is no longer human. It is now immortal—a Servant. And so it will remain for eternity if it completes its act of allegiance.” Tartuf paused again.

“What act of allegiance?” I prodded.

“It must murder another in cold blood in the name of the Master and the clan it now serves.”

I couldn’t help but gasp—at all of it. I closed my eyes to try erase the images Tartuf had just painted, but it only seemed to make them all the more horrifyingly vivid.

“Eve?” Tartuf asked softly. I opened my eyes, aware of the tears glistening within them. He sighed. “I’d be worried if you weren’t affected by what I just told you. When I first heard of the ritual, it lingered in my head for days. But when I saw it—” He exhaled loudly. “Well, I am just glad I can no longer have nightmares.”

Holy crap!
Tartuf had witnessed the ritual before.

“Eve, if the conversion is successful, if Mr. Harrison becomes a Servant, there is no other ‘worst outcome’ imaginable. I have never heard more tortured screams, never witnessed more pain, and—” He paused. “I have never seen more evil, corruption, and hatred in a creature’s eyes than in the moment the transformation is complete. It is not a fate I would wish upon my worst enemy.” Tartuf shuddered slightly, and his eyes darkened.

“So,” he continued, clearing his throat as he snapped out of whatever memory was haunting him, “you must be prepared to do
anything
to prevent this from happening to your former charge.
That
is your Plan D. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded, feeling completely shocked and dismayed by what he was suggesting.

“Well,” he stood up and tugged on the hems of his cardigan, straightening it. “I believe I’ve fulfilled my babbling quota for one day,” he quipped. “Contact Jaegar. If anyone can retrieve the blood, he can.”

“I will—immediately.”

“Good.”

“Tartuf, what if they can’t help me? What if Plans A and B fail? What do I do then?”

“It is virtually impossible to sabotage the ritual—there are too many unknown variables. It can take place at any time during the full moon, and the locations of these ceremonies can change. Not to mention, you could be dealing with twelve Servants, twenty, or significantly more.”

My mind began to wander, thinking of ways to make the unknown known. There had to be a way to find out when and where the ritual would take place. I needed more help—more Shepherds on my side who were prepared to fight. We needed better, faster weapons. We needed armor—something that would protect us from the Servants’ bites.

“
Those are all good ideas,”
Tartuf noted telepathically.
“And trust me, they have been tried and tested, but even combined, the strategies have never been enough.”

I hadn’t realized I’d slipped and let my mental barrier down, but I didn’t even care if Tartuf could read my thoughts. All my energy was focused on figuring out how to save Quinn.

“I have to find a way to stop the ritual if it comes down to that,” I announced.

“Your conviction is admirable; I, too, have experienced it once. But, unfortunately, things do not always work out the way we wish.” A crestfallen expression appeared on his face as he pulled up his pant leg. His calf bore a scar identical to the ones on my back. My hand automatically sought out one of the scars on my right shoulder blade. I met Tartuf’s gaze with a shared understanding. His expression shifted, like he was reluctant to say whatever it was on his mind.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Dealing with Moon Mercenaries is not for the faint of heart either, Eve,” he forewarned. “Everything has a price, and theirs will be quite high. You will have to barter with them. In return for their services, you’ll be expected to trade something of great value to you—something only a Shepherd can offer.”

Tartuf didn’t have to say another word. I knew exactly what I was going to have to sacrifice. “They want my blood,” I muttered. Shepherd’s blood, “liquid life” for immortals, commanded a pretty hefty price tag on the black market for its immortal healing and invincibility powers. Peter once told me Moon Mercenaries were amongst some of the best black market dealers.

“Eve, should you accept their terms, tell no one about it—not even me.”

“Because I’ll be breaking every Rule in the book, won’t I?”

“Some Rules are meant to be broken when the greater good is at stake.”

I nodded in acknowledgement.

“One more thing. Follow me.” I did as directed as Tartuf stood up and walked around to the front of his desk. He took a key from of his pocket and held it up for me to examine. “Run your fingers along the underside of the desk.”

I did, stopping when I felt a linear edge in the surface of the unfinished wood. I crouched down and saw a small rectangular panel cut into the wood with two hinges installed along the back edge. The panel appeared to be secured by a small lock opposite of the hinges. The lock was the same dingy color as the key Tartuf plucked from his pocket—the key he was now holding out for me to take.

“Go ahead. Open it,” he said, dropping the key in my hand.

My first attempt was unsuccessful, so I flipped the key and tried again. The latch turned and the hinged panel door dropped down, followed by a tattered, brown leather-bound journal that fell to the floor with a thud. Curious, I looked up at Tartuf, who simply nodded.

I picked up the journal, unraveled the twine that bound it together, and opened it. On the first page was the title, “Journal of the History of Servants.” It was written in Old Latin, but that was of no consequence to me since Shepherds were fluent in every language, ancient or modern. I quickly flipped though the pages and realized it was full of handwritten information about the clan.

“Most of the literature we possess about demons is found here in my private collection, but this Journal should be of particular interest to you,” he noted. “The Journal is one of a kind, and not many know of its existence. I ask that you keep it that way. Please do not remove it from my office, and keep it under lock and key in my desk whenever you are not using it. You can use this space to do your research whenever I’m not here—and since I never am of late, I guess that means you can come and go as you please.”

“Thanks for trusting me with this,” I said, stunned. “I can’t wait to start reading it.” I suddenly had an incredible urge to hug Tartuf, so I did.

“Yes, well,” he replied, awkwardly returning my embrace by patting me on the back. “It is for the greater good.” He took the Journal from my hand, quickly re-bound it with the twine, and locked it away. “You can find the key here.” He placed the key in a small wooden box tucked back on the very top of the shelves close to the office door. The box was so plain and unassuming it could easily be overlooked.

“Now, then, let us get you back so you can discuss your strategies with Dylan, hmm?”

As Tartuf teleported me back to the Archives library, he allowed me limited access to his thoughts so I could find my way back to his office. He also let it “slip” that he had, indeed, been a Council member but elected to step down due to his indefinitely long “sabbatical.”

Hmm, deep down, Tartuf is a softy after all,
I said to myself.

“
True, but don’t tell anyone,”
he said telepathically and winked at me.

“Thank you again—for everything,” I said aloud and smiled at him warmly. “I really appreciate it.”

“Good luck, Eve.” Tartuf turned to leave but stopped himself. To my surprise, he turned around and embraced me. I hugged him right back.

“Be careful,” he whispered in my ear.

Before returning to the Falls, I stopped at the roof of Quinn’s old summer apartment building in Chicago to call the number Tartuf had given me. It was six o’clock in the morning. I hoped Moon Mercenaries didn’t need their beauty sleep.