by Ilana Waters
Several Council members cried out in alarm, and many backed away. But Ashdown and Cronin waved their hands at the fire, which died down and finally sizzled out. Tendrils of smoke rose into the air, giving it an acrid smell. Meanwhile, the strung-up lights flickered and sputtered along the wall, and a few even burst. From the far end of the room they crackled, the noise and sparks coming closer to me. While the Council was making sure the last of the flames were extinguished, I used the magic in the lights’ wires to slice through Blackline’s binding spell.
What? All good magic involves sleight of hand, after all.
I dropped to my knees and threw a shield over myself before the Council could make another move. Slowly, I stood up, and the Council members regained their composure. We stood glaring at each other for several long moments. Finally, Ashdown spoke.
“Using the fire to distract us . . . not bad, I’ll grant you that. Not bad at all.”
For a half-breed. I could all but hear him say it. I rubbed my wrists, which had thick, burning lines of red wrapped around them. My entire body felt like it had been squeezed by a trash compactor. At least there were several stray scars on Ashdown’s face, and a few loose hairs in Cronin’s updo. Blackline, on the other hand, was no worse for wear—which made me want to pound him till he bled.
“Enough of this,” I said. “Tell me the truth. It was you who ripped out the missing page from that book about the crystal, wasn’t it?”
“We may keep our ears to the ground when it comes to the supernatural world,” Blackline replied, “but surely you can’t expect us to keep track of every dime-store novel you read about crystals.”
“Oh, shut up,” I snapped. “I can tell you this: if that crystal is the only thing that will lead me to my mother, you’re not getting your hands on it.” There was a pause, and some of the Council members gave amused smiles.
“Why would we want to do that?” asked Ashdown, folding his arms.
“Yes, we don’t want the crystal,” said Cronin. She patted her stray hairs back into place, looking as flawless as before.
I blinked several times. “You don’t?”
“Of course not,” said Blackline. “We just don’t want you to have it.”
“Rather spiteful of you, isn’t it?” I remarked.
Blackline shook his head. “No, it isn’t. That crystal has been passed along and caused no trouble for centuries.”
“Well, no trouble to witches,” said Ashdown. “It was responsible for several wars and plagues among mortals.”
“What?” Wars? Plagues? What kind of hell-stone was this?
“But we know the real reason you want it,” Ashdown continued.
“You . . . you do?” I asked. Do they know why the vampires are after the crystal, or what makes it so special?
“Of course,” he replied. “It’s obvious. Trying to pretend otherwise is futile.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “Fine,” I said. “Look, if you have any information about why this particular crystal is so import—”
“But you will never bring back Callix Ferox, do you hear?” Ashdown’s voice was louder now, practically a shout. “Not after everything our people did to keep him where he is!”
I was speechless. “You think I want the crystal to resurrect Callix Ferox?”
“Oh, stop playing, will you?” cried Cronin. “Why else would you want it?”
“If you’d been listening to me,” I said, “then you’d already know it may be the key to finding my missing mother. You said as much yourself; that you knew about it, about her.”
“Oh, come now.” Blackline rolled his eyes. “You can’t expect us to believe you’re doing this for a single woman.”
“Depends on the woman,” I retorted. Then again, this looked like a lot who’d trample their own mothers for a nickel.
“And you really believe Titus is doing it for the same reason?” asked Ashdown.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I wasn’t sure which was the right answer.
Ashdown nodded. “Just as we thought,” he said.
“Wait—let me make sure I understand you correctly,” I said, rubbing my forehead. God, I was going to have a splitting migraine tomorrow. “According to you, Callix Ferox is either still alive or able to be brought back in some sense.” And hopefully here in Rome, since you wouldn’t have tried to stop my investigation unless you thought I was getting close.
“At the time of his departure, witches’ magic was more disseminated,” Cronin said. “Killing him outright would have proved too difficult for even the most powerful of our kind. Not to mention the fact that Ferox was a significant political figure—surrounded and protected by numerous other immortals.”
“Ah, so they bound or silenced him somehow.” I pressed my hands together. “Now it all makes sense. But why would you think the crystal could resurrect him?” The alley vampire hadn’t thought so. For some reason, I was more inclined to believe him than the witches standing before me. True, he’d been a filthy creature, but he had no reason to lie. Unlike my brethren here, who were being so cagey that getting answers was like pulling teeth.
“Who knows what a stone of that magnitude could do?” Blackline said. “All we know is that we cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands. Your hands,” he sneered. “Knowing Ferox’s past ambitions, he will surely be a threat to the power of witches. As something of a magical being, you should be able to appreciate that.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re not afraid he’ll try to take over the world and cause untold suffering?” I asked.
“As my colleague said,” Ashdown sighed with impatience, “that concern pales in comparison to the threat he poses to witches. He could usurp us. The fate of mortals is secondary.”
I snorted. “How very humanist of you. And am I to assume you know the location of his tomb, or whatever it’s called?”
“Of course we do,” Cronin said.
I looked from one Council member to the other. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“And make it easier for you to find your master?” Cronin looked at me in disbelief. “Why on earth would we do that?”
“Because he’s not my bloody master!” I shouted, my words echoing off the stone walls. “Just because my father is a vampire doesn’t mean I have some bizarre loyalty to the entire race. Besides, Ferox and my father hated each other.”
“Just because two people don’t get on doesn’t mean they won’t come together for a common goal,” said Ashdown. “Rather like the way you and Titus have been working with one another in your search.” He looked me up and down. “Intelligent. Cunning. You remind me of your father.”
“Please don’t say that,” I replied in a heavy voice.
“Indeed,” Cronin said quietly. She turned to Ashdown. “Perhaps we should be careful. He is Titus’s son, after all.”
Every once in a while, this sort of thing happened: knowledge of my lineage protected me. Those who might be inclined to tangle with a mere mage would avoid doing so . . . if it risked invoking the wrath of a two-thousand-year-old vampire. Of course, they couldn’t know my father might not care if I was harmed or killed.
“Ahem.” I raised a hand. “I’m standing right here. No need to talk about me as if I’m not in the room.”
“Perhaps we should be going,” Blackline said to Ashdown and Cronin. “There is the small matter of that other problem . . .”
“What problem?” I asked.
Blackline glared at me. “Our problem,” he said. “Not yours.”
“If she really is—” Cronin started.
“Enough,” said Ashdown, cutting Cronin off with a look. She pursed her lips and took a step back. My eyes scanned the Council, but not to read their thoughts. I’d learned that lesson all too well. This was to determine if anything in their faces might provide a clue to what they were talking about. But their expressions gave nothing away; the entire group was clammed up
tight.
Ashdown looked at me and shook his head. “You’re a smart lad, Joshua. With enough time and effort, you might make your mark. But going through Callix Ferox isn’t the way to do it. You have to start out slowly, to pay your dues in this life.”
“Really? That’s odd,” I said dryly. “I don’t remember racking up a debt in utero.” And I’ve given up trying to convince you I’m not in league with Ferox.
“We will leave you alone, Joshua,” Cronin said. “For now. But we must warn you, if you or Titus insists on pursuing this, we’ll be forced to take more drastic measures.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Trust me—it’ll be nothing compared to what I’ll do if you try to stop me from finding Abigail.”
“As you wish,” Ashdown said with an air of finality. “We’ll give you some time to think about it.”
“And if I ever do run into this Ferox,” I replied, “I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello.”
Chapter 12
In my nightmare, I am digging through a pile of ancient rubble somewhere in Rome. A broken-down monument, a long-forgotten archeological site . . . I don’t know where. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding her.
The stones I try to move are heavy, and the skin on my fingers is torn and bleeding. But I keep digging, digging. I’m on my knees, dust and debris all over me. I hear her screaming the way she did the night she disappeared. I swear it’s coming from underneath the pile of rubble. The screams grow louder and more frantic, and I dig faster, sweat pouring down my forehead, arms and shoulders aching. I finally reach the bottom of the pile as one last, agonizing scream rips through the air.
There is nothing underneath the rubble but a cold stone floor.
***
After my friendly meeting with the Council, my first order of business was getting glasses to replace the broken ones. It would have seemed odd to the PIA if my purported vision problems vanished overnight. I stayed away the next day procuring a new fake pair. That turned out to be a wise idea, as the PIA building ran into a few maintenance issues. Some kind of trouble with the pipes.
Truth be told, I was glad not to return immediately; the confrontation had left me exhausted. As predicted, I had a migraine from their retaliation against my mind-reading attempt. The wounds around my wrists meant I had to be careful not to push up my sleeves, lest someone start asking questions about my injuries. The front of my body hurt from being smashed into the ceiling, and the back of it ached from being dropped on the floor. It was very tempting to stay in bed in my hotel room for several days, but I couldn’t. I had a mission to accomplish.
The reason the skirmish hadn’t gone worse was probably for fear of invoking Titus’s wrath. But it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be future incidents—some of which might not turn out so well for me. You can imagine how unhappy my father was when I called with the news.
“For the love of Fate, can you do nothing right?” Titus groaned. I could hear the sound of girlish giggles and coos all around him.
“And I suppose it’s my fault that half the Council ambushed me?” I asked, indignant. “Really—I may be a mage, but fortune-telling is not one of my talents. There was no way I could have predicted this.”
There was a long pause, during which I heard the sound of more women laughing, and then splashing water. “C’mon!” a female voice called. “Come join us!”
“Yes, join us!” called another. “What’s so important you have to be on the phone all the time?”
“Just try to continue the investigation without any more incidents, all right?” Titus sighed. “I have to go.” And the line went dead.
“I’ll bet you do.” I squeezed the receiver and placed it back in its cradle. “Money to make, women to seduce. Never mind that the most important person in your life was kidnapped, and is possibly dead.
“A follower of the Old Ways never would have treated women like this,” I grumbled as I rearranged my investigation notes on the hotel’s stationery. “Bouncing around with a bunch of floozies instead of trying to find a missing wife.” The Old Ways held that women should be treated as equals—sacred, even. Titus probably viewed women as pleasurable objects at best, and distractions at worst. At least he did until he met Abigail Silver.
I think, for a brief time, she actually changed his views on the subject. Abigail was the only person I knew who wasn’t afraid of my father. She certainly wouldn’t take any crap from him. And I knew he admired her bravery and loyalty. Though you may be wondering why she—as moral a person as one could hope for—was attracted to him, a power-hungry opportunist. It’s a rather interesting story, but one that will have to wait for another time.
I likened the relationship of my parents to that of the Jesuits and the Catholic Church. The Jesuits were basically free to do what they wanted, but when the Church called on them, they were there. It was a dance of mutual respect, wariness, and antagonism. But now that Abigail was gone, Titus seemed to have gone back to his former ways. Of course, I had no proof of that besides a few giggles, but still . . . so much for his valuing loyalty.
Having exhausted all avenues of research regarding the crystal, I concentrated on trying to find Ferox’s tomb instead. My conversation with the Council led me to believe that if someone wanted to use the crystal to help Ferox, then naturally, they had to know where he was. Find Ferox, find my mother. Easy.
The morning after I called Titus, I walked through the doors of the PIA tired and bruised, but ready to begin the investigation again—this time centering it on Ferox. No sooner had I crossed the threshold than I heard the laugh of the receptionist and a familiar voice. I walked towards the front desk and saw Arthur and Philip standing before it.
Oh bloody, bloody hell.
“Ah, Signore Alderman!” The receptionist, Marcello, waved to me, for once smiling and roused from his apathetic stupor. I suppose Arthur’s good nature had that effect on people. “Buongiorno. I was just telling Signore Hartwood that you would arrive any moment.”
“Ah, yes.” I forced myself to smile. It wasn’t that I disliked seeing Arthur again, but his presence could be a hindrance to my research. I also had no idea what he was doing here. Could he have gotten wind of the true nature of my inquiries? I couldn’t imagine how. Then there was Philip, whom I could barely stomach at all, and certainly not this early in the morning.
“Hello, hello!” Arthur said, shaking my hand as warmly as when we’d first met. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see me again so soon. And, erm, Philip as well.” I thought I detected a hint of apology in his voice.
“Surprised?” Philip asked with a smile. He looked like he’d already caught me in some illicit act.
“Ah, yes!” I said. “Quite surprised—pleasantly so, of course.” Rather like spontaneously having ice cubes dropped down the back of one’s shirt.
“We just got in and came straightaway from our hotel,” said Arthur. “So where are you staying?” he asked me.
“Oh, ah, at a little place a few blocks down.” I coughed.
“The Hassler,” Marcello piped up. “Mr. Alderman had me send files there a few days ago.”
“The Hassler?” repeated Arthur, his eyes bulging.
Philip’s smile vanished. “Well, aren’t we the swanky one?” he remarked in a sour voice.
If Arthur noticed Philip’s tone, he said nothing about it. Instead, he clapped me on the arm. “Good on you, lad! I hear it’s awfully nice. Philip and I aren’t staying at quite as posh a place as all that, but I daresay it’s fair enough.”
“But what brings you to Rome?” I asked. “I was under the impression you were both staying in London for the time being.” In fact, I was counting on it.
“We got an anonymous tip that there was heightened paranormal activity in the area,” Philip said, raising his chin slightly and looking at me. “Since everyone else was already occupied with other assignments, we were chosen to go.”
“I daresay the London
branch can manage itself for a short while till I get back,” Arthur agreed.
“ ‘Heightened paranormal activity?’ ” I repeated, furrowing my brow. “Sounds rather vague. And an anonymous tip? That sounds suspicious. I mean, most people aren’t supposed to know the PIA exists. Don’t you have any way to trace the call?”
Philip rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a police procedural drama. The caller ID said it came from somewhere inside the Palace of Westminster. You know, where Parliament meets? It could have just come from a former member who doesn’t wish to reveal his identity. We’ve had several minor government officials as PIA members over the years. So there’s plenty of reason to believe the tip is genuine, and that’s good enough for us.”
Parliament . . . Lord Ashdown. I gritted my teeth. I just knew the Council was behind this. When confronting me didn’t work, they decided to give the PIA a ring under false pretenses.
“Well, you never know,” I said. “It could always be a prank. Does it really pay to go running all over on the basis of one phone call?”
“Oh, it will be wonderful!” said Marcello, as if it were the best idea in the world. “Signore Hartwood hasn’t been to Rome in ages, yes? Signore Alderman would be happy to show him around.”
“Fantastic!” Arthur said, then turned to Philip and me. “What do you boys say to a spot of sightseeing?”
“I don’t know,” I started. “I still haven’t finished translating those records on, er . . .”“And I want to start looking into whatever paranormal activity might be occurring,” said Philip. “Is the equipment in the same place it used to be?” he asked Marcello.
“Oh, come now!” Arthur protested. He turned to me. “I’ve heard glowing reports that you show up early every morning and work late into the night. Surely you’ve earned a little break, eh? And you, Philip—your investigations can wait a few hours. What’s the point of having a job that allows for travel if you don’t take advantage of it?”
“I will get maps and things for you,” said Marcello, and disappeared to look for them.