The Man From Rome

by Dylan James Quarles

  “What is it?” Cato asked, turning to look. “What’s wrong—”

  A woman emerged onto the landing, and Cato’s jaw dropped. Like an earth-bound seraph, she shown with visible radiance. Tumbling down in a wave of loose curls, her rich-brown hair framed a face more supple than moonlight. Wrapped in silk and silver, she wore a dress that clung to every curve of her body.

  “Holy shit,” Cato heard himself say.

  The other diners had frozen. Derailed by the woman’s divine luminosity, they sat with their wine glasses poised, and their faces halted mid-conversation.

  “It’s time for you to go,” said the Man. “Go to the bar, Cato. Have a drink—you will find willing company.”

  “W—what?” Cato stuttered.

  “I said leave,” the Man repeated. “Get up and leave the table. Now.”

  The woman’s glittering green eyes turned their way. As if the break in reality had been smoothed over, the restaurant suddenly came back to life, and everyone resumed their revelry undisturbed.

  “Go, Cato,” the Man said again. “Quickly.”

  “But—” Cato protested. “Who is that? She’s coming over…”

  “I will handle her,” replied the Man. “I want you to handle that.”

  He directed Cato’s attention to the bar. A familiar face hid behind a tumbler of whiskey.

  “Officer Bifona?” Cato frowned. “What’s going on here?”

  “A trap,” the Man said. “She is not Bifona—she is called, Louisa.”

  “But—” Cato tried again, turning back to the woman. “But who is she?”

  “Go,” ordered the Man. “The further you are from this table, the better, my son. Take the map with you, don’t let her see it.”

  Bewildered, Cato got up just as the woman in white arrived.

  “Hello,” she said, touching a hand to his cheek. “And who might you be?”

  A powerful current flowed from the woman’s fingertips, making Cato’s heart hammer and his vision glass over.

  “He’s leaving,” answered the Man.

  “That’s a pity,” the woman smiled. “I think he’s cute—in a sad sort of way.”

  The Man rose from his chair.

  “Boy, go.”

  Gazing at Cato confidentially, the woman removed her hand from his cheek and the spell was broken.

  “I’m sorry, Cato,” she said. “He’s a brute. I hope I see you again some day.”

  …

  From the bar, Louisa watched in utter disbelief as a strange woman entered the restaurant and disrupted time itself. The air grew still, and all sound died away. With some difficulty, Louisa pried her eyes from the woman and peered around. Empty gazes and blank stares filled the dining room.

  “I guess I get to buy you that drink after all,” came a familiar voice.

  Louisa jumped with surprise and looked up. There was a rush of laughter and movement as time resumed its normal flow.

  “Agent Fin,” she said. “How unexpected!”

  “Unexpected,” he returned. “Yeah right.”

  Louisa dropped her smile.

  “I take it you’ve spoken to your Greek, then?”

  “What?” Said Cato, settling into a chair across from her. “No—listen, you lied to me earlier. Your name isn’t Bifona.”

  Masking her confusion, Louisa waved a hand.

  “Your lies are far greater than mine. You don’t work for the US government do you, Cato the Younger—if that truly is your name?”

  Cato ignored the question and came back with one of his own.

  “What are you doing here, Louisa?”

  Uncomfortably, Louisa glanced at the corner table.

  “Did he tell you my real name?”

  Nodding, Cato leaned forward so that his jacket fell open. Hidden inside, the butt of a pistol gleamed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  Louisa saw the gun and narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m here for the truth, Cato Fin,” she said. “I’m here because you and your friend over there stole a body from the morgue today. I want to know why. If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me. But you better kill me with the first bullet.”

  Cato laughed and smoothed his jacket shut.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not a murderer,” he stated. “And I also want the truth.”

  …

  The Man from Rome watched his new escort through the dancing flame of a red candle. All about their table, the air crackled with unseen, elemental currents.

  “Are you surprised?” She spoke, breaking the silence. “You look somewhat surprised.”

  The Man smiled politely and took out his cigarettes.

  “Nothing you do surprises me, Diana,” he said. “You are as predictable as melting snow.”

  The woman hissed with annoyance.

  “Why do you insist on calling me that?” She asked. “You know how I despise it.”

  Flicking a light, the Man bent to the flame, and inhaled.

  “Diana is a name that invokes elegance and sophistication. Artemis, on the other hand, leaves a provincial taste in my mouth that I don’t particularly enjoy.”

  The woman did her best to smile, but sharp veins began to spread beneath the surface of her skin. Shuttering in their frames, the windows warped.

  “Now, now, my dear,” the Man warned. “You’re in public. Don’t disturb the ambiance.”

  Relaxing her jaw, Artemis smiled in earnest.

  “I am in public, aren’t I?” She said. “How unconscious I’ve grown in my old age. I often catch myself forgetting that other people are really, real—do you know the feeling? These humans have such ephemeral lives. They’re like dreams to me—come and gone before I even think to care.”

  Nearby, several wine glasses abruptly broke, spilling their contents all over the people holding them.

  “Is that your way of saying you’d like a drink?” Sighed the Man.

  “That would be lovely,” Artemis bowed.

  Turning his eyes on a bow-tied waiter, the Man held up two fingers. Jolted into action, the boy walked to a large dinner party and took the most expensive bottle of wine from their table. Coming over, he added a measured amount to the Man’s glass, and waited for him to taste it. When the Man nodded, the boy filled both glasses and left without uttering a word.

  “Nice trick,” said Artemis. “But it’s a bit cheap, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not flashy,” the Man replied. “You know this about me.”

  “Shall we have a toast then?”

  “A toast to what exactly?”

  “Why, to us of course,” Artemis smiled. “To Diana, and to…”

  She trailed off.

  “Excuse me,” she said with mock embarrassment. “I forget your aversion to names. I suppose we’ll just have to drink to me then.”

  She clinked her glass against the Man’s and drained it in a single gulp.

  …

  “Who are they?” Louisa asked, watching the corner table.

  Cato squinted at her and thoughtfully.

  “You really don’t know?”

  Louisa shook her head, but kept her gaze on the golden-eyed Man and the sensuous woman in white. Together they were almost ridiculously beautiful. And yet, there was an energy about them, a volatility that made her nervous.

  “Look,” said Cato, speaking in a low voice. “Whatever Cosimo Bruno is paying you, it isn’t worth it, you hear me? These aren’t, like—normal people. You need to get out of here.”

  Frowning, Louisa glanced at Cato.

  “What do you mean? Who is Cosimo Bruno?”

  Cato looked annoyed with himself.

  “I can’t talk to you,” he muttered. “You’re a cop and the cops are in on this.”

  Louisa turned her full attention back.

  “Actually,” she said. “I’m not a cop any more—not really. Il Comandante, the big boss, he fired me a few days ago—well basically fired me. When I met you at the morg
ue, I was acting alone—working for no one. That’s why I gave you a fake name.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Asked Cato.

  “What about you?” Louisa parried. “For all I know, you and your golden-eyed friend over there killed that poor girl and dumped her in the river!”

  “Hey,” Cato protested. “I just said I’m not a murderer. And besides, I flew in yesterday—got a fresh stamp in my passport and everything. As for him—”

  Cato looked to the golden-eyed Man.

  “Believe it or not—that girl was like a daughter to him. He didn’t kill her either.”

  “Then we’re at an impasse,” said Louisa. “And the only way forward is to start trusting one another, no?”

  “Not good enough,” Cato sighed, making to stand.

  “Wait,” urged Louisa. “You say the polizia are in on it—in on what? Don’t you get it? I don’t know anything! If I was part of this, why would I be asking you for answers?”

  Cato hesitated.

  “Maybe,” he spoke. “But maybe you’re just trying to twist me up.”

  “You seem twisted up enough already,” said Louisa. “Who are those people Mr. Fin? What is going on here?”

  Slow to answer, Cato seemed torn between wariness and genuine uncertainty.

  “Do you believe in the possibility of God?” He said after a pause.

  Louisa faltered.

  “I—don’t know.”

  “Well you’d better figure that out if you’re going to keep pulling this thread.”

  …

  “I wonder what you’re thinking,” said Artemis. “I wonder, I wonder.”

  The Man blew out a thin stream of smoke, which caught and twisted in the turbulent air.

  “You’re probably wondering if I’m going to kill you tonight, yes? Or am I just having a bit of fun before the big day?”

  Again the Man responded only by smoking.

  “Have you lost the ability to feel fear?” Artemis sneered. “Has it rotted away like every other part of your humanity? You’re a ghost, you know. You may as well be.”

  Although the hackles on the nape of his neck were prickling dangerously, the Man remained silent.

  “Yes,” Artemis went on. “You are a ghost, and I am the one who has killed you. Sound like fantasy? Just wait.”

  The Man kept his eyes on Artemis and refilled their glasses. Behind him, the windows cracked loudly, yet he paid them no mind.

  “What right have you to be so calm?” Demanded Artemis. “Do you think yourself immune to consequences? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, Ancient. You might be old, but the machinery of existence is far older.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Artemis caused the air to shudder.

  “Your reckoning is at hand,” she said. “I am the reaction—the consequence to your actions. I have come to do what time could not.”

  “You may try,” the Man spoke at last. “But never forget that it was you who started this, not me.”

  “You killed the Sun!” Artemis snapped with barely-suppressed rage.

  All across the room, more wine glasses shattered, and people became faintly aware that something was not right in their world.

  “No,” the Man corrected. “The Sun—center of our solar system, still shines brightly. What I killed was a man.”

  “Damn you,” said Artemis. “He was no mere man—you know it as well as I. The world could have known a second reign of heroes—think how differently things could have been. But you—you denied us. You killed him.”

  “And so here we are again,” the Man smiled. “How will it all end this time, Diana?”

  Artemis grimaced.

  “Badly,” she answered. “It will end badly—for you.”

  “Are you sure of that? Last time, you came with an army. Tonight, I see only you.”

  “Oh I have my army,” Artemis assured him. “And you will meet them soon enough. I only hope that you have chosen your allies wisely. Your boy Cato is about as threatening as a wet cat.”

  The Man glanced at Cato and smiled.

  “Thank you for your concern,” he said. “But I will take my chances.”

  “Very well,” spoke Artemis. “Then all that’s left is to begin.”

  “Whenever you are ready, Diana,” said the Man, snubbing out his cigarette. “Whenever you are ready.”

  XIX

  The explosion hammered the still night air with a cannonade of echoing blasts. Erupting like furnace vents, every window of La Spada Spezzata blew out in a kaleidoscopic deluge of shattered glass.

  Launched free of the cloud, the Man was thrown across the street and through the thick window of a bookstore. Obliterating three rows of shelves and the cash register, he finally came to a stop near the back wall. Buried under a pile of splintered wood and first edition books, he lay for a moment and collected his thoughts.

  With some effort, he rose from the rubble, shedding it like rainwater. Trickling from his nose and ears, warm Ichor—blood of the Immortals, stained his skin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, and picked glass from his shredded lapels. Stiffly walking to the gaping bookstore window, he let his gazed drift along the street. Here and there, victims of the blast lay in heaps upon the pavement.

  Glancing up, the Man stared at the restaurant—a softly smoking carcass. The fire alarm ran shrilly, echoing up and down the block. He stepped from the bookstore and used his handkerchief to clean last of the Ichor from his upper lip. Avoiding the spreading pools of blood on the pavement, he walked across to the restaurant’s entrance and pulled the damaged door from its remaining hinges.

  …

  Half-conscious, it took Louisa’s mind a long time to realize that something very traumatic had just happened to her. When it did, she snapped her eyes open and gasped. Untangling herself from the wreckage around her, Louisa struggled to her feet. Blasted out in a radial pattern, the entire restaurant had been transformed into an apocalypse of ash and carnage. Strewn amidst the pointed silhouettes, bodies lay motionless. Louisa peered at them and blinked, too dazed to register her own horror. Nearby, someone sat up.

  “My God!” Louisa exclaimed. “Cato!”

  Clearly just as stunned as her, Cato rubbed the ash from his eyes and gaped.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She pulled Cato to his feet and looked him over. Like her, he too seemed to have escaped intact.

  “Are you alright?”

  Cato made a face and waved to his ears.

  “There’s a ringing—can you hear it?”

  “It’s the fire alarm,” Louisa said. “Look around.”

  She pointed to the cored-out dinning room, a crater of warped floorboards and crumbling brick.

  “Damn,” said Cato lamely.

  About to echo her agreement, Louisa was interrupted by a sudden blur of movement. Cutting through the rubble, something charged at her with the speed of a nightmare. In the next instant, she was yanked from the ground by a pair of powerful hands.

  “Where is Artemis?” Snarled the golden-eyed Man. “Where is your Domina, girl?”

  His hands encircled her throat, squeezing down. Instinctively, Louisa clawed at his face, but it was like marble.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Or die.”

  He pumped her neck for emphases.

  “Hey!” Yelled Cato, trying to intervene. “Stop! You’re wrong about her—she isn’t working for Bruno!”

  Unresponsive, the Man continued to choke Louisa, hoisting her higher still.

  “Stop it!” Cato screamed. “You’re going to kill her!”

  The Man glanced down, his eyes like embers of coal in the sockets of his skull.

  “Be still, boy.”

  Kicking her legs, Louisa pummeled the Man’s chest. Akin to striking an oak tree, the assault had no effect.

  “Listen to me,” Cato pressed. “Please, I think this is a mistake. She doesn’t even know who Bruno is!�
��

  The Man gave Louisa a shake, causing her legs to flail.

  “She sees me, Cato,” he said. “She is initiated. The woman who attacked us tonight, the one who killed your sister Orphanus—she has the power to bestow such sight.”

  Pulling Louisa toward him, the Man stopped when their faces were mere inches apart.

  “Tell me where she is, girl,” he growled. “Where is Artemis? Where is your Domina?”

  World starting to fade, Louisa choked feebly.

  “No Domina—no Domina…”

  The Man sighed.

  “Have it your way, Louisa. Arrivederci.”

  He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss. Though on the brink of infinity, a bright flashed danced through Louisa’s mind. The Man, drew back and frowned.

  “Who are you?” He asked. “From what house do you hail—what line?”

  “A—A—Anastasi,” Louisa mouthed.

  The Man released her immediately and Louisa buckled to the ground at his feet.

  “Anastasi?” He repeated.

  Louisa coughed and sputtered.

  “Please forgive me,” he said. “I had no idea. I see the resemblance now—I’m ashamed I missed it before.”

  Rising in the distance, the sound of police sirens clashed against the wail of the fire alarm.

  “Come, Cato” said the Man. “We need to leave.”

  “But—” Cato balked. “But what about her? You just choked the shit of her! We can’t leave her here.”

  The Man glanced down at Louisa, and beamed a knowing smile.

  “She is Anastasi, my boy—she needs no help from us. Her line is strong—be thankful it has crossed with yours.”

  Turning away, he pulled Cato toward the kitchen, leaving Louisa to suck in painful, rasping breaths. From the street outside, red and blue lights began to strobe through the ashy air. Regaining some of her strength, Louisa struggled up, and started after the Man. Voices sounded in the stairwell, forcing her to break into a clumsy run. Casting a look over her shoulder, she pushed through the kitchen door and slammed it shut behind her.