The Phantom of the Catacombs

by J. B. Michaels

  “I say we hang out near the Colosseum until something spikes again. Maybe we can get a better idea of what we are dealing with.”

  “Wait minute. S.I.S. is picking up supernatural activity right beneath us?” Sam’s eyes opened wider.

  “Sure it’s not the gate? Or me. I may have some funky reading on that thing.”

  “No, it is not you. I already registered you. This is different. Over there!” Sam ran out of the Arch of Janus to a stone wall with more arches lining the bottom of the wall. The archways were covered by high grass. Sam pushed through the grass.

  “Come on, Maeve,” Sam’s voice echoed.

  “This better not be a sewer, Sam. Seriously, gross.”

  “No, no, come in. The reading is close. Very close.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Maeve entered a tunnel which she thought was a sewer but only a small trickle of water ran between her feet. Perhaps not. It felt old. Unsafe. Dark. She could see the light of Sam’s phone screen. That wasn’t enough. She pulled her gladius from its sheath in her backpack. The sword’s yellow glow would help illuminate their path.

  “Where are we, and where are we going, Sam?”

  “I think this is the Cloaca Maxima…used to be a sewer—”

  “A damn sewer! Sam! What did I say?” Maeve shot him a nasty look.

  “—then it was converted to an aqueduct…I think. No worry.” Sam pushed ahead.

  They walked deeper and deeper into the tunnels underneath Rome. Maeve breathed in the cool air of the tunnels. The smell of dirty water would dissipate then return in intervals. Then she realized that Sam didn’t smell very good either. His sweat penetrated his robes. Her first sojourn through an ancient waterway didn’t impress, just as the Arch of Janus hadn’t either. She wanted to return to Vatican City. A small sliver of her did miss Bud. She didn’t know how resourceful Sam would be in a fight versus whatever monster might lay ahead.

  Still, Bud had taken off like an ass. She trusted her dear friend Sam. That was enough to keep her going.

  “Stop,” Sam whispered. He put his hand up.

  They came to a split in the tunnel where one could go left or right.

  “Which way do we go?” Maeve asked, matching his volume.

  “Put the sword away. It’s coming this way.”

  “How are we supposed to see it without any light?”

  “Listen,” Sam said.

  The sound of small wheels, like roller skates, emanated from the right tunnel. The sound grew louder and louder. The wheels hit slight variations in the ground and made a clacking noise, then smooth rolling, then clacking and so on and so forth.

  “Put the sword away and we can get the drop on it,” Sam said.

  “All right. I get it. Ambush the skater.” Maeve put the sword away.

  They were now covered in complete darkness. The sound of wheels skipping and rolling over the ground kept their senses sharp. Maeve took a deep breath. The ever higher volume of the wheels caused her rejuvenated heart to beat faster and harder. She took another deep breath.

  The wheels drew closer.

  Louder.

  Maeve gripped the hilt of her sheathed sword tight.

  Sam stood next to her. She felt his warmth and could smell him.

  The wheels were but a few feet away.

  “Ah…choo bleah.” Sam attempted to suppress a sneeze. It wound up sounding more ridiculous than had he just let it out.

  PLUNK! He dropped his phone. It lit up. The screen showed the supernatural blip overtake their location.

  Sam grabbed his phone and held it to his chest to block the light.

  The sound of rolling wheels stopped.

  Maeve really did miss Bud. That jerk.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Silence disturbed Maeve more than the impending doom of the approaching wheels. Still, her steely determination and grace under pressure aided her in battles with the mysterious and maniacal. She was ready.

  “Sorry,” Sam whispered.

  Maeve didn’t care about the element of surprise anymore. She unsheathed the gladius because its yellow glow would show the supernatural threat. She moved from the main tunnel and turned right.

  “I know you are there. Come closer. You can use your skateboard. I don’t mind.” Maeve waved her sword as she took a few more steps down the tunnel.

  The small trickle of water continued to flow toward her between her legs. The concrete walls helped amplify the sounds of her walk. She didn’t care.

  A blast of fire heated Maeve’s face. The sound of the rolling wheels boomed once more. Their speed increased. A flaming cart imitated the luge at the Winter World Games and darted toward Maeve.

  “Sam, stay in that tunnel. Do not come this way!” Maeve gauged the ever-shortening distance between her and the ball of fire barreling toward her. She dove over the careening cart and landed on her elbows but then leapt up to her feet and gave chase. The pain didn’t stop her. Her black leather jacket shielded the inevitable scrapes.

  Whoever lit that fire and sent it like a bat out of hell toward her had clearly engaged in cardiovascular exercise. The sound of footfalls tapped and echoed off the Cloaca Maxima’s walls. Maeve figured whoever it was, he or she didn’t wear rubber-soled shoes. The tapping annoyed her. Was this person wearing heels? How could they run so damn fast in heels? She’d tried some on once before a high school dance she never went to. She hated them.

  The sword bounced in and out of Maeve’s vision as she pushed to run harder. The tapping shoes were close. The gap closed quickly. Weak light filled the tunnel. The end nigh. A black outline of a person filled her view.

  “Tired?” Maeve moved the sword to her side, not ready to raise it should the person try to run again. The only contrast in the stark outline of the assailant was a strange white mask that covered the person’s eyes and only half of the face.

  “Who are you?” Maeve asked.

  A black gate dropped in front of Maeve, eliminating any subsequent chase down the ancient sewer system. The white mask floated in front of her before smoke billowed at the phantom’s feet. Maeve coughed, then the tapping footfalls resumed. Their failing volume denoted ever-increasing distance. The supernatural menace had escaped.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bud, Bert, and Ivy teleported to the bridge outside the Castel Sant’Angelo, the headquarters to the Order of St. Michael. The sun shined brightly on the ancient and medieval fortress. Tourists visiting the area started praying as three figures, one of which looked like a killer robot, appeared before them.

  “Here we are, Ivy. The headquarters to the clandestine Order!” Bud said.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t announce that so loudly given your description of the Order, Bud,” Bert informed. His steely frame reflected the sunlight. “We really ought to pick places to teleport to that aren’t filled with people, Bud. I told you, you should have let me teleport us,” Bert said and put his hands up to calm the tourists.

  The praying people then scattered and screamed upon Bert’s ability to speak.

  “You are correct. Into the basement we go. We can make it right? It is your fault for rendering the destination markers obsolete. Now we can go literally wherever we please.” Bud readied his wristband.

  “Bud, just get us inside…” Ivy fell to the stone ground of the bridge.

  “Oh dear. Sun poisoning is most likely the cause, Bud. Her transition is underway and in the advanced stages.”

  “I know! Bert! Must you be so endlessly loquacious? Pick her up and get her inside! To the basement!”

  “You created me, sir.” Bert cradled Ivy in his arms like a baby.

  “That really is your default argument every time I am annoyed by you, isn’t it?” Bud opened the doors to the Castel. The trio moved to the right then down the steps to the holographic entrance.

  “What is the bloody point of this entrance? I really don’t see the point.” Bud walked through the illusionary statue of St. Michael. He walked
right into the wall then stumbled backwards. He bonked his head rather hard.

  “There are still doors that slide open, Bud. Remember?” Bert shook his head. He still held Ivy. Her mouth opened, revealing fangs.

  “Ouch! Well, how do we get in?! Oh dear God, look at Ivy’s canines!” Bud rubbed his head then covered his jugular.

  The door beyond the holographic statue slid open. “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain, Hutchins.” Cardinal Riggio held the door open and welcomed them in.

  “Thank you for the entry, Your Excellency,” Bert said.

  Bud rolled his eyes.

  “It is imperative you get her to the medical corridor. I am afraid the Order has dealt with this affliction many times over the years. It is beyond the golden cross and to the right then four doors down. It is a bit of a walk, I am afraid. These corridors are long and narrow.”

  “Thank you. I shall bring her immediately. All will be well, my dear Ivy.” Bert began to rock Ivy as he brought her down the hall.

  Bud couldn’t believe how much more annoyingly human Bert had become. His robotic friend was downright compassionate. Emotional. Tender.

  “I trust the affliction you speak of is vampirism. How does the Order treat an innocent hero such as Ivy for vampirism? A holy stake through the heart as I just did to Vincentas?” Bud asked.

  “Follow me to the Compendium, and you can examine the Vampyr scrolls yourself.” Cardinal Riggio led Bud past the golden cross and to the left down a long torch-lit corridor basked in orange light. “You are a cynical, pragmatic young man, Bud. One can see you still struggle with forces you both forge alliances with and fight against. Your grandfather struggled as well, but he never lost his faith. He truly believed the Order of St. Michael is the true keeper of peace for the world. Ivy’s affliction can be managed if she follows a regimen we have perfected over centuries. She will need to read the scrolls to understand what her new life will be like.”

  “Please don’t speak of my grandfather… Too soon. Too soon. I am sure I can engineer a better care plan for Ivy than the Vatican.” Bud hated being near the man he blamed for sending his grandfather to his death in a distant, dank dungeon.

  Cardinal Riggio sighed as he opened a large door but struggled with its weight. Bud chose not to aid the elderly man. The heavy door finally gave way to the holy man’s push. The room was not as grand as Bud had anticipated. Dust caked the room. Yet for at least three hundred meters, bookcases filled with scrolls, papers, and books lined the long room. Near the entryway was a singular monk next to desktop computer and scanner tasked with digitizing the contents of the ancient library.

  “I suppose scanning is better than the quill-wielding copywriting of yesteryear, huh, Cardinal?”

  “Timothy, please gather the Vampyr scrolls for this young man,” Cardinal Riggio commanded.

  The monk was startled and dropped a book on the floor. Dust dotted the air at his robed ankles. “Oh my, you startled me, Cardinal. Right away you shall have them. Just a moment.”

  “It was good of you to bring her here, Bud,” Cardinal Riggio said.

  “I didn’t anticipate her taking ill so quickly. We did want more info on vampirism, but now that we are here…the Compendium doesn’t have any research on shapeshifting, does it?” Bud asked.

  The cardinal sat down on Timothy’s swivel chair. A concerned, serious look adorned his face. “Oh dear. Why?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “My reluctance to share information with you will be paused for now. For Ivy’s sake.” Bud said with his hands on his hips. “We have reason to believe that Ivy’s father was attacked by a shapeshifter under the employ of Vincentas. This same shapeshifter nearly killed Maeve and me in a Scottish lake. Maeve managed to hurt it with her gladius as it was recovering in the same room as Ivy. I assume you already know vampires gain temporarily enhanced vision after they consume blood. The scrolls say that?”

  “Here they are.” Timothy dropped four huge scrolls still rolled up and secure on the desk behind the cardinal.

  “Thank you, Timothy. Please fetch anything we have on shapeshifting,” Cardinal Riggio said.

  “Oh my. Yes.” Timothy wiped sweat from his brow and disappeared down the long rows of bookcases.

  “The scrolls do describe enhancements for vampires. During and after they drink blood, their senses are heightened as both a safety measure and self-defense.” Cardinal Riggio rubbed his forehead, turned around, and thumbed through the scrolls.

  Bud perked up. He enjoyed learning. “One would think that a vampire would be vulnerable during feeding. Their face flush against a neck or whatever artery they choose to pierce. Makes biological sense to be sure that you won’t be killed during such a key part of your existence.”

  “Yes, that is one application of the enhancements. As Bram Stoker wrote in his famous tome, Dracula was a warrior who killed many on the battlefield. Considerable power is gained from drinking the liquid that gives, preserves, and fuels life. Make no mistake, Ivy will be a powerful force who originated in darkness. The same darkness that shapeshifting spawns from. Forgive my reaction, but we haven’t dealt with a shapeshifter in many years.”

  “To our advantage, our newly empowered Ivy can track the shifting creature with her blood vision. We know that the creature came to Rome with my teleportation tech. The creature is possibly the reason for the spikes in supernatural activity that Sam and Maeve are investigating. Let’s get Ivy on the case.”

  “Ivy is in no shape to do much of anything, I am afraid. We can’t let her leave the Castel,” Cardinal Riggio said, trying to assert his authority.

  “If she can help, why obstruct?” Bud stared into the cardinal’s tired eyes.

  “She is unstable and dangerous.” The Cardinal’s voice rose slightly and cracked.

  “Here is what we have on shifters.” Timothy carried three books to them. His presence interrupted their tense conversation.

  Maeve entered the Compendium. “We have a phantom killer on the loose in the sewers, everyone! Things are looking up!”

  Sam followed her, wheeling in a charred dead body on a cart. Sam wore only his undergarments.

  The Cardinal and Bud looked at the dead body. Shocked.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bud put his hand over his nose. “What has come over you, Maeve? Why bring that awful smelling corpse into this stagnant library?”

  “I thought we could use it to find clues to find the phantom. He literally dropped a steel cage in front of me then disappeared with a smoke bomb.” Maeve walked closer to Bud and Riggio.

  “You have the power of teleportation at your disposal. You could have continued to chase.” Bud coughed.

  “You don’t think I thought of that, hotshot? Your band didn’t have a signal in the sewer I was in. Now get over here and let’s see what we can find.” Maeve folded her arms across her chest and nodded toward the carted corpse.

  “I really don’t want to examine the corpse. Have your love interest in his undies do it.”

  “I thought you were a world-class detective. The day we met, I saw you huddled over my uncle’s dead body. A person has been murdered, and you are a monk of the Order. Get your ass over here, and Sam is my friend! Not lover!” Maeve turned around in apparent embarrassment.

  Sam’s face turned red.

  Cardinal Riggio stood up. “Everyone, relax. I empathize with your frustration with Bud, Maeve. Bud, for the Order’s sake, please examine the body. Sam, put some clothes on.”

  “Wonderful. Evidently taking orders from the cardinal does us Hutchins men good. Fine, Maeve, for you, I will cooperate.” Bud walked over.

  The body was covered by Sam’s brown robes, who’d just left the room in search for more robes. Bud uncovered the tall, crispy corpse. The head and neck were clear of major burns.

  Maeve crossed to stand next to Bud. “Sam was able to douse the fire with his robes before it damaged too much of the body. Hopefully that will help.”
/>   “The phantom… Why the bloody hell are you calling the presumptive murderer that?” Bud looked at the corpse’s torso.

  “The murderer wore a white mask similar to the Phantom of the Opera. That is why.”

  “Oh, excellent, a theatrical killer. Ever interesting, I do say. Well, this phantom killed this man with a rather poignant sharp knife thrust through the neck. Then haphazardly lit the corpse alight using lighter fluid from the look and smell of it from the chest down, making this poor fellow a weapon in a successful move to escape the clutches of the Order of St. Michael.” Bud lifted his head from his examination pose then pinched his nose.

  Bert entered the Compendium. “Ivy is resting comfortably, all.”

  “Oh, excellent. Bert, can you handle this amateur autopsy? Search this man’s burnt pockets for identification. Anything that can be of use.” Bud waved his free hand over the corpse.

  “Sure, Bud. Oh dear. This poor fellow. What happened?” Bert put his hands on his head.

  “For the love of…ugh…just do it, Bert!” Bud yelled.

  Bert walked up to the dead man with his steel frame and head still exposed. His optics glowed green. He scanned the body for any materials that may be of use in the investigation.

  “I fear his cell phone is rendered useless. It succumbed to the heat and blew up. However, there is a thick wallet that may be of use.” Bert pulled a wallet from the charred pants. He opened the wallet to look for identification. There were many plastic cards, some melted together. Some of the plastic deeper into the wallet had survived. Bert pulled those out and scanned them.

  “Anything?”

  “There appears to be a work ID card with a barcode on it.” Bert’s green eyes kept busy.

  “Where does the fellow work?” Bud asked.

  “From what I have searched, Leo Tessio works for Montalbano Construction.”

  Cardinal Riggio sat back down. “Montalbano Construction is the company that won the contract for the restoration of the Colosseum for the World Games opening ceremony, despite the Vatican’s best efforts, to keep that sinful place of death closed.”