by Ilana Waters
“Yeees,” Titus said slowly.
“Well, he sort of found out about me,” I confessed. “Who I am. And you. About the whole thing, really.”
I quickly explained what happened, including the Council’s additional attempt to discourage our investigation. This was followed by a nuclear reaction on the other end of the call. Really—Titus was so furious, I’m surprised the phone didn’t melt into a useless puddle of metal and plastic in my hand. Oddly enough, he seemed more upset that my true identity had been revealed than by anything else.
“I’m certain it won’t be a problem,” I assured Titus when he’d calmed down. I was still trying to make myself heard over Arthur’s hollers. “I mean, knowledge like this rarely goes beyond the PIA, right? And we already have all the information we need, so we likely won’t find it necessary to call on their organization again.”
“Are you a complete fool?” Titus shouted. I winced, holding the phone away from my ear. “Do you know how many immortals come to the PIA looking for word on others of their kind? How dangerous it is that the organization can confirm who you really are? They know what you look like. Arthur knows your hotel. Others who wish to extract information could find you easily. Could find us easily.”
“Others?” I swallowed. Titus’s words were beginning to sink in. “As in other vampires? Possibly ones who might want to protect Ferox?”
“Precisely,” Titus said.
Oh dear. I admit, I hadn’t considered that. I thought the PIA knowing who and what I was would be a nuisance—nothing more. Something that would complicate the search for my mother. And even though the PIA was no longer vital to that search, I realized what Titus said was true. I’d put myself—and possibly my family—in even greater danger.
“If you hurry and take care of the problem,” Titus said firmly, “we might be able to find Ferox before the Council gets to him.”
“By ‘take care of the problem,’ you mean . . .”
“Look, if you don’t have the stomach to handle it,” Titus began, “I’ll come there and—”
“NO!” I cried. “I mean, that’s not necessary. I’ll take care of it.” Arthur had gone awfully quiet, and I was fairly certain he was listening to our conversation.
“I don’t know, Joshua.” Titus sounded like he was ready to march over and do what needed to be done. “You’ve never been one to—”
“I said, I’ll deal with things here.” I made sure my tone was firmer this time. “Just . . . just stay put until I get to the Temple of Aradia. Don’t go anywhere, all right?” I hung up, closed my eyes, and leaned against the closet door. Titus’s yelling had given me a monstrous headache.
Dammit. I couldn’t have Arthur tell anyone what he’d seen and heard. I had to keep him quiet somehow. I racked my brain for solutions, but I kept coming back to only one thing. The one thing I desperately didn’t want to do.
I opened the door to find Arthur seated on an overturned pail. The mettle that had him banging on the door moments ago seemed to have faded. Now he looked at me with fear in his eyes.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said. My heart felt so heavy, I was surprised it stayed in my chest. Of course, I imagined Arthur was feeling much worse, or was about to.
“Where . . . where are we going?” Arthur said with a tremor in his voice. God, I couldn’t believe I was about to do this to an innocent old man. My father would probably say it was a weakness, but frankly, I didn’t give a damn what he thought right now.
“We’re going to the basement, Arthur,” I replied, my voice like lead.
***
“Why should I do anything you say?” Arthur asked nervously. Despite his objections, he was taking small steps down the hall as I followed. “It’s not like you have a gun or a knife or anything. You don’t, do you?”
“I don’t need weapons, Arthur.” I held up my palm, making sure Arthur could see the magic crackle and swirl above it. “I am the weapon. Now, come on.” I motioned for him to move faster.
Reluctantly, Arthur sped up, and we started walking downstairs. I held the magic tight in my hand, lest he try to fight me or run—again.
“You don’t have to do this,” Arthur protested as we descended the steps to the lobby. “There must be some other way.”
“None that I can see,” I replied sadly. The pain in my head was getting worse, and I desperately wished I could lie down in some cool, dark room.
“Please, Joshua—” Arthur begged.
“I said no!” The ball of magic flamed out with the force of my words, sending a shot of pain through my skull as well. Arthur hung his head, and we kept walking. Couldn’t he see how hard this was for me? It wasn’t like I wanted to do it.
“I still don’t see how Titus Aurelius has a son,” Arthur muttered as I opened the basement door. “As I said, he’s a vampire; they can’t have children.”
“Well, this one had a mage, so it seems anything is possible,” I replied as we descended.
“A mage . . .” Arthur repeated. “Isn’t that more than a human, less than a witch?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I don’t understand.” Arthur shook his head. “Why would followers of Callix Ferox be holding your mother captive? Wasn’t Ferox the ancient vampire who went so insanely violent, witches put him under some kind of long-term spell? I didn’t even know he still had followers. Is your mother a vampire too?”
“No, she’s a witch. At least, she was mostly when she had me. Look, I’ve already told you too much.” I clenched my jaw, which only aggravated the pain in my head. Why did Arthur keep asking all these questions?
“Maybe this is all the heightened paranormal activity Philip was sensing in Rome,” Arthur remarked. I changed the ball of magic to one of light so we could find our way, but Arthur kept staring at the ball as if it would attack him.
“Arthur,” I said, “I think you and I both know Philip couldn’t find his own arse in the dark with both hands, let alone any sort of paranormal activity.”
“Well, he did think you were odd,” Arthur said. “And it turns out he was right.”
“The only things he sensed in my presence were his own feelings of inadequacy, none of which were my fault, or make me odd!” I snapped. God, this evening could not get any worse.“It figures Titus Aurelius is here,” Arthur said, more to himself than to me. “He’d be naturally inclined to make Rome his permanent headquarters.”
“Actually, he lives in the States.” Why was I telling Arthur this? Probably because I felt very guilty about what I was about to do to him. We passed the boxes, file cabinets, and the boiler room I’d seen on my first visit. It was just as cold as before; I was glad Arthur was wearing a sweater vest.
“The States—really?” Arthur said. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know . . . in Rome, there are ruins everywhere, tourists gawking at decaying monuments. Would you want to be surrounded by constant physical reminders of how your world crumbled to dust?” I asked. Suddenly, I realized that was why my father had been avoiding Rome all along. I couldn’t believe I didn’t see it before.
“Well, when you put it that way, I’d probably say no to dusty memories,” Arthur admitted. We went through the tiny arch to the hidden part of the basement, and soon came to the jail cell.
“How’d you know this was even here?” Arthur asked, looking around nervously. “Most PIA members never go in the basement.”
“Let’s just say I took a little detour down here not too long ago,” I replied grimly. “But tell me, why does the PIA even have this?” I motioned to the cell.
“Every PIA branch has a small jail to detain members—or interlopers—temporarily if needed,” Arthur explained. “Not one of our nicer sides, I’ll grant you.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say that for the moment, Arthur, you fit the ‘interloper’ description. C’mon, get in,” I said reluctantly. Arthur hesitated, and I raised my eyebrows as I thrust the
ball of light towards him. He went inside quickly, and the metal doors clanged shut as I closed them. To my surprise, the rusty old lock held.
Arthur stared at me in disbelief, his hands grasping the bars. “You’re just leaving me here?”
“Hopefully not for more than a few hours,” I said. I didn’t know what I was going to do with Arthur afterwards—if I survived—but I’d figure it out later. “There’s a bucket there if you need to . . . um, ah . . .”
Arthur just glared. “I suppose I should be grateful this is all you’re doing to me.”
I sighed and momentarily closed my eyes. My head was really and truly throbbing now, and felt like it would explode. Why couldn’t Philip have been the one who caught me? I thought. I’d almost enjoy throwing him in jail.
“I’ll keep this here for now, so you can see.” I moved the ball of light into his cell. “It should last awhile.” I saw Arthur’s body tense. “Relax—it’s not going to hurt you. See you soon . . . I hope.” Then I turned to leave.
Arthur shook his head. “Cold and conniving,” he said. “You’re just like your father.”
My jaw dropped, and I felt like I’d been punched in the gut—again. How could he say that? I mean, I could’ve left him alone in the dark, but I didn’t. And he was right when he said I could’ve done worse than just leave him. Titus certainly would have. I felt my face grow hot as anger flared up inside me. Whirling around to face Arthur, I put my nose two inches from the old man’s and hissed:
“I am nothing like my father!” Then I spun around and stormed out of the basement.
Chapter 18
The Temple of Aradia wasn’t hard to find. Most of the world’s witches know where it is, even if they don’t frequent it. It’s a small, unobtrusive building, tucked away down a Roman side street where no one would ever think to look. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less important to witches, or that the magic therein is less powerful. And it’s always open; the doors are never locked. You’d think this would make it easy prey for thieves or vandals, but somehow, evildoers seem to stay away from it. Perhaps mortals sense its enchantment, or perhaps Aradia herself truly does protect it.
“What took you so long?” Titus whispered when I arrived. “It’s a miracle the entire High Council isn’t here by now.” Then, in an even lower voice: “Did you deal with the problem?”
“I told you I would, and I did,” I said. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.” Mercifully, my headache had subsided to a dull throbbing, and my stomach was only slightly sore where Arthur had punched me. I took off my fake glasses, put them in my pocket, and rubbed my eyes. Then we went into the temple.
I felt a little uneasy as we crossed the threshold. It could have just been apprehension about what lay ahead. Then again, the overall atmosphere was quite severe. Rows of lit candles on the altar made shadows dance on the walls, and a dark-haired woman—presumably Aradia—gazed down at us from a large painting. I looked around, but there was no one else in the temple; the long rows of wooden benches were empty.
“Seems like we’re the only ones here at the moment,” I said. “We’d better hurry; you never know when another witch might come along.”
But Titus wasn’t listening. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling and nodding.
“Ah, yes; I feel it now,” he said. “I didn’t when I was here before. Perhaps I was concentrating too hard on something else. Ferox passed this way at one point for certain.”
“When you were here before?” I frowned. “Have you been to the temple previously?”
Titus looked startled. “Ah, no.” He shook his head. “Not for thousands of years. I meant before . . . in Rome, when we were searching all over for the tomb.” He paused. “Joshua, about what Blackline said . . . don’t let it get to you. About us not being welcome here and such. Witchcraft is an important part of our heritage.”
“Like being Roman?” I asked.
My father looked sideways at me. “Yes, but even more important, if that’s possible. This goes beyond nationality. Being a witch, understanding magic . . . it’s part of one’s very own soul. If such a thing exists, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. It was unlike my father to be so philosophical, at least with me. And although I admit Blackline’s words stung, I tried not to take them to heart. Magic—and magical places—had indeed never made me feel unwelcome. On the contrary—magic seemed to take me in when nothing else would. It kicked my ass sometimes, but at least it was above the petty boundaries that separated people. Magic is neutral that way.
“Well, best get on with it then, yes?” I said. “Where do we find Ferox?”
Slowly, Titus walked the perimeter of the temple, holding his palms in front of him. I was growing a little restless, but when he came to a door at the back corner of the temple, he stopped. Opening the door revealed a set of steps that I could see led to a regular basement.
“That’s it?” I asked, peering down. A single overhead lightbulb illuminated the space, but didn’t reveal anything useful. “I can’t imagine we’re going to find Callix Ferox among maintenance supplies and extra paint cans.”
“One moment.” Titus put his palms on the left side of the basement wall. “Notice anything odd?” he asked.
I examined the wall until I could see lines along the top and side of it—they were in the shape of a rectangle. To anyone familiar with magic, they glinted like snowflakes in the dim light.
“Another door,” I realized.
“Exactly,” Titus said. He gently pushed it open to reveal a second set of steps leading downward. These were much older than the steps of the temple’s mundane basement. They were made of stone, caked in layers of dust. Dust that had recently been disturbed.
“Look.” I grabbed the sleeve of Titus’s jacket and jutted my chin at the ground.
“Footprints,” he murmured. Indeed, it looked like several sets of prints led down the stairs. “Could be from Ferox’s lackeys or other witches,” he said. “There’s no telling exactly when they were left.”
“Best be careful, then,” I said. Titus nodded, and made some light so we could see going forward. We descended the stairs cautiously, going down so far I was reminded of Jules Verne’s novel Journey to the Center of the Earth. It was very chilly; we were venturing even farther underground than the PIA’s basement. Much farther. Huge stone walls rose around us as we went deeper and deeper, the narrow staircase growing wider. Finally, the stairs ended in a large room made of stones similar to the steps, with several passageways in a ring along the wall.
“I don’t understand—where’s Ferox?” I looked all around, but didn’t see anything that looked like an ancient vampire’s tomb. I certainly didn’t see any sign of Abigail. “I thought he was supposed to be buried here.”
Titus clucked his tongue. “You don’t think the witches who put Ferox here would make it easy to stumble upon him, do you? All someone would have to do is knock down a wall or two after a hundred years, and there he’d be. No, this must just be the entrance. Ferox is probably buried a good distance within. Looks like we have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”
I groaned. “This is going to take forever!”
My father looked at me and shook his head. “Again with young people and their impatient ways. You’re the one who wanted to find Abigail so badly. What difference does it make if it takes a bit longer?”
It might make all the difference to her, I thought. She might be hurt, tortured, almost dead . . . and shouldn’t you want to find her as well? Was Titus failing to express concern to shield his pride, or because he genuinely didn’t care? It was anyone’s guess, and regardless, there was nothing to do but press on.
Titus selected a passageway, and we started going down it. He snapped his fingers, and torches on the walls that hadn’t been lit for centuries were suddenly ablaze. I suppose I could’ve done the same thing with a little more effort, but we already had magic for light. No doubt he was trying to imp
ress me, though he’d never admit as much.
Most mortals don’t realize it, but many Roman ruins can be reached by stepping beneath existing monuments—often houses of worship. Some of these ruins are even available to tourists. However, they represent only a fraction of the unexplored vastness that is the world beneath Rome. Certain parts are accessible only to those who know they exist.
What we ventured into was truly a city beneath a city. Titus and I passed ancient apartment buildings, public squares, baths, and theaters. Mosaics, friezes, and frescoes lined the walls. One wall was covered with a giant gilded mirror. Part of its face was marbled with dark cracks, though the glass itself seemed unbroken.
Dirt, debris, and fragments of pottery surrounded us, and we had to step carefully. There was even some Roman graffiti—a few naughty rhymes. No, you may not know what they said. In the background was the constant sound of flowing water from original Roman pipes. At one point, we stepped through a small arch to reveal a much larger vaulted ceiling of what used to be a temple. At least, that was my guess.
There were no wall torches in this section, so Titus expanded our magic light. It filled the room, and we gazed around us for a few moments. It was easy to see how magnificent everything was, even after all these years. I studied my father’s face for any sign of a reaction. After all, we were returning to the world he’d known two thousand years ago. But his face was as impassive as the stone around us.
Every few minutes, my father would stop and close his eyes, trying to get a feel for the ancient vampire, Ferox. Then he would nod sharply and chose a direction, and we would walk on. As we did so, I wondered how Arthur was faring. I was feeling very badly about what I’d done to him, but I didn’t have a choice. I wished I could tell someone else where Arthur was. In the off chance that something happened to me tonight, I wouldn’t get another opportunity. Not that anything will happen, I assured myself. After all, I was a capable mage, in the company of an old and powerful vampire witch.