by Craig Zerf
Both Siegfried and Kit bowed low. ‘Our pleasure, Omega who is not Omega,’ said Siegfried.
‘Hey, one thing,’ said Tag. ‘What’s this Potestatum item look like?’
Kit shrugged. ‘Don’t know. It’s in a box. Can’t be that big because the box is no bigger than a cigarette case.’
‘So the box is locked?’ Asked Tag.
‘No,’ said Kit.
‘And you were never tempted to look?’
Both of the wereWolves shook their heads.
‘Weird,’ said Tag. ‘I would have looked.’
The group filed through the door and started their long upwards trek.
Hours later they arrived at the top. Sylvian consulted his watch before he asked Troy to open the door.
‘It’s not quite night time,’ said the Bloodborn. ‘Could you check and see if the sun is yet down?’
Troy cracked the door open and looked outside.
‘Not long,’ he said. ‘I reckon ten or twenty minutes.’
‘Good,’ said Sylvian. We’ll wait and then make our way back to my house for sustenance and a rest. Tomorrow we head for Rome.’
Chapter 16
The doctor pulled the last stitch tight and cut off the remaining thread. Then he covered his work with a sterile bandage that he stuck tight with micropore tape.
The deep cut ran from under Otto’s left arm down to his hip. It looked as though it had been cut with a surgical scalpel and had taken twenty-three stitches to close it. Otto had told the doctor that it was a knife wound. No reason to add mental instability to physical harm and try to explain that it was actually a Vampire’s talon that had done it.
‘There,’ the doctor said, his voice hinting at the pride that he felt at doing a good job. ‘Now no more knife fights for a while mister…?’
‘Mario Rossi,’ mumbled Otto.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. Mario Rossi was the Italian equivalent of calling yourself John Doe. ‘I see. Well, no physical exercise for at last three weeks. And take these,’ he handed Otto a box of antibiotics. ‘Just in case there is some infection present.’
Strictly speaking the doctor would normally have to report Otto’s injury to the police but Muller had handed him a suitably large wad of cash that had resulted in an instant case of amnesia regarding his late night patient.
Otto lumbered out of the surgery to find Muller in the reception area. He was talking on his mobile and he gave Otto a questioning look. Otto held up one thumb and Muller answered with a nod.
They both headed for the door as Muller finished his conversation.
‘How many stitches?’ Asked Muller as they both climbed into the car, Muller in the driving seat.
‘Lost count.’
‘You were lucky. What the hell were you thinking? You do not hesitate like that. You shoot them full of holes and then chop their heads off.’
Otto didn’t reply as he settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Pain and adrenalin had taken their toll and all that he wanted to do was sleep.
They had been heading north when Muller had gotten a call from one of his remaining informants regarding a Vampire living in a small village that was almost directly in line with the route that they were taking and Muller had decided that it would be worth taking a quick stop to dispatch the creature.
When they had got to its residence and let themselves in they had discovered that the Vamp was a young girl. She appeared to be around sixteen or seventeen years old. Notwithstanding the fact that she was actually over a hundred human years old but had obviously been turned when she was still a young teenager.
As a result, Otto just couldn’t bring himself to shoot her and had simply stood, frozen to the spot, when she had attacked him. At the last moment he had reacted but by then it was too late. She had punched him across the room, blackening both his eyes and loosening his front teeth. Then she had kicked him in the ribs, cracking at least two of them and finally, as he got to his feet again, she had slashed him open like a filet of fish.
Then her head had exploded as Muller opened up with his Heckler & Koch MP7, the 4.6mm hardened steel penetrator armor piercing rounds reducing her cranium to a red mist.
They had left the house as it was and Muller had searched out the local doctor and choked his curiosity with a combination of cash and less than subtle threats.
And now they were on the road again.
Otto watched the road signs go by through slatted eyes; barely awake but still aware enough to realize that they were no longer driving the same way that they were before their encounter.
‘What gives?’ He asked. ‘We aren’t heading north anymore.’
‘Oh, you’re awake.’
‘Was resting my eyes. Not asleep.’
‘That call that I got at the doctors,’ said Muller. ‘One of my top sources of information. Young man, his father was a priest.’
‘Roman Catholic priests can’t have sons,’ pointed out Otto. ‘The whole celibacy thing gets in the way.’
‘Yeah,’ quipped Muller. ‘Sure. Whatever. His dad was a priest, did a lot of work with the Knights. Got killed by a Vamp. Kid hates bloodsuckers so he keeps an eye out for me. Anything suspicious or worthy of note he gives me a call.’
‘So what did he have to say?’
‘Group of people flew into a small airfield outside of Rome. Night flight. They got picked up by a chauffer company. Limo with pitch dark windows, privacy screens. Drove to a private residence with underground parking. He watched the house for a day, all the shutters remained closed. No sunlight. He’s still there and I think that we should pay this group a visit.’
‘So? Could be rock stars. Or Hollywood types.’
‘He took some photos of them when they deplaned. Ran it through Google images as well as a few facial recognition programs that he has access to. They weren’t singers or actors.’
‘What the hell was he doing watching the airport anyway?’ Asked Otto.
‘Kids got connections. Someone phoned him from Paris. Told him about a strange group of individuals that had booked a private plane, insisted on a night flight. He and his associates are always on the lookout for that sort of thing.’
‘So you reckon they could be Vamps?’
Muller nodded.
‘Maybe just a bunch of people with that light allergy thing…what’s it called?’
‘Porphyria,’ answered Muller.
‘Yeah. Maybe they got Porphyria and that’s why they avoid the sun.’
‘There have only been ten cases of extreme Porphyria ever reported,’ countered Muller.
‘Still,’ insisted Otto. ‘Maybe they all got it.’
‘Or they’re Vampires.’
‘Or that,’ admitted Otto. ‘Wake me up when we get closer.’
Muller nodded and put his foot down.
Chapter 17
Once again the group was dropped off in an underground parking with direct access to the house above. The house was situated in the upmarket Parioli district of Rome.
They had flown to Italy via private airplane and then had been driven from the airfield in a darkened limousine.
‘Another one of your houses?’ Asked Tag.
Sylvian shook his head. ‘A friend. I haven’t actually seen him for a while but I have an open invitation.’
The door at the top of the parking access was opened by an old woman. Her gray hair pulled back into a severe bun, small round spectacles and a black dress that buttoned to her neck and flowed to the floor.
Sylvian greeted her in Italian and she bowed low to him before turning her gaze onto the rest of the group. Her expression was one of unveiled contempt for both Troy and Tag. But when her eyes fell on Emily the look changed to barely controlled fear.
Sylvian said something to her, his voice sounded soothing. Comforting. Like an adult telling a child that the monsters under the bed weren’t real.
The woman mumbled in return and then left the room.
&
nbsp; ‘Is that your friend?’ Asked Troy.
‘No,’ replied Sylvian. ‘She’s the caretaker. I’ve known her since she was a little girl.’
‘Not very friendly,’ noted Emily.
‘No,’ agreed the Bloodborn. ‘But she’s loyal and knows how to keep a secret. Dinner is almost ready, follow me.’
The group walked after Sylvian, following him to a large ornate dining room. Just before they got there Tag frowned and checked the door next to the one they were heading for. Inside was a sitting room, the shutters were closed and a small fire burned in the fireplace.
‘I think that Em and I will just pop in here for a short while,’ he said, his face drawn.
Sylvian nodded and he and Tag went into the dining room and sat down. Seconds later they heard the sound of Tag grunting in pain. And then his body hitting the floor followed by a gasping death rattle.
The two men avoided looking at each other.
Ten minutes later the old lady wheeled a trolley into the dining room. She removed a steel cloche and banged down huge plates of pasta with clams in front of Troy and Sylvian. Then she placed another plateful at one of the empty seats. She pointedly did not have a fourth plate. Finally she laid out garlic bread, green salad, cutlery, wine glasses and a couple of bottles of Chianti.
Bowing to Sylvian she left the room, pushing the squeaking trolley before her.
Moments after she left Tag entered. His jacket was disheveled and there was a smear of blood on the collar of his shirt. His hands shook slightly as he sat down.
Emily wasn’t with him and no one asked after her whereabouts.
They ate and drank in silence.
Afterwards Troy took out a pack of cigarettes and gestured towards Sylvian. The Bloodborn nodded his permission and Troy lit up. Dragged. Stared at the ceiling.
In the background a clock ticked. Slicing away little increments of the now as it counted its way into the future.
Finally Troy spoke. ‘We’ll find the Potestatum soon, big man,’ he addressed Tag.
Tag grunted.
Sylvian leaned over and grasped the big man’s shoulder. ‘Hang in there, my friend,’ he said. ‘Hang in there.’
Chapter 18
It was night time and the group had taken a cab through Rome to one of the seedier districts. Hookers stood on street corners, drug dealers plied their trade and users blatantly took advantage of their offers. There was no police presence to be seen.
The cab driver had dropped them off outside a bar. Above the door a flickering neon light named the establishment as Il Buio, Sylvian told them that the name translated as “The Darkness”. There were two doormen at the entrance. Both made Tag look small. They took one look at Sylvian and nodded the group through. Tag stared at them aggressively as they walked past.
The interior of the bar was ill lit, smoky and smelled oddly of damp earth with overtones of something feral. As they followed the Bloodborn through to the rear of the establishment the patrons became more and more obviously less human until, at the back, sat a large, squat, hair covered ape-like creature with bulbous staring eyes and hands the size of pillows. It was sipping a multicolored cocktail through a bendy straw. Sylvian nodded a greeting.
‘Hans.’
The creature nodded. ‘Duc,’ it rasped. ‘Long time no see. What gives?’
Sylvian shrugged. ‘Just passing through, no real reason.’
The thing laughed loudly, exposing two rows of yellow, rotting teeth. ‘Liar. The Duc never does anything for no reason.’
Sylvian tossed the creature a gold piece. It caught it and secreted it away with such speed that it was impossible to follow.
‘Get yourself a few drinks on me, Hans,’ said Sylvian.
‘Thanks, Duc. I owe you.’
‘You do,’ agreed the Bloodborn as he walked past and led the others to a door. He pushed a button, stood back and waited. Seconds later there was a subtle chime and the door slid open to reveal the interior of an elevator. Mirrored walls, a single button marked, Romeen.
A piano version of some Barry Manilow song tinkled softly inside.
‘An elevator,’ said Tag disbelievingly. ‘Seriously. They have an elevator?’
‘The council put it in when the Metro underground train system was being built. Back in nineteen fifty-five. Before then it was all spiral stairways just like Pareen.’
They stepped inside and Sylvian pushed the button. Their stomachs fell away as the elevator rocketed downwards.
‘And you don’t get normals stumbling on the entrance by mistake?’ Asked Troy.
Sylvian grinned. ‘You’ve just seen the bar, what do you think?’
Troy nodded. ‘True. I don’t suppose that it gets much patronage just walking in off the street.’
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal the hidden city of Romeen.
Nobody spoke for a while.
Finally Tag let out a long whistle. ‘Man,’ he said. ‘This just might be the most beautiful thing that I ever did see.’
Like Pareen the city of Romeen was situated in an underground grotto. And, like the city under Paris, the roof of the cavern was covered with stalactites. And in between the stalactites wandered and bounced the same blue-white balls of magical light.
But unlike Pareen these stalactites were made of the purest crystal. Every structure that hung from the roof refracted and reflected the light in a thousand different ways. An orgy of rainbows flooded the air and the buildings were picked out in a multihued palette of colors, like life as seen through a stain glassed window. The result was beyond breathtaking.
Like the city of Pareen the streets thronged with cats, undulating, purring and prowling in their thousands.
‘You got a place here?’ Asked Tag.
Sylvian shook his head. ‘Truth be told – I’m not that popular here. A few minor indiscretions sometime last century but the council have long memories. Em, light blue, calm, positive energy. Tag, watch the aggression. Troy, stay close to Em. Right, follow me.’
‘Where are all of the merchants?’ Asked Troy. ‘The people. Inhabitants, whatever. Pareen was packed.’
Romeen is laid out differently,’ answered Sylvian. ‘This is the residential level. Below is the economic district and below that, entertainment.’
‘So where are we heading?’ Enquired Tag. ‘Another contact? A bar perhaps? I nice cold beer would be acceptable.’
Sylvian shook his head. ‘I’m taking a bit of a long shot. Strictly speaking you aren’t meant to live in entertainment but there’s an area on the edge of it that hosts a particular creature that no one really wants in the residential area at any rate so the council turns a blind eye.’
‘So?’ said Tag. ‘How can they help us?’
‘They are Cynocephali’s. Basically human body, dogs head. They can speak although hard to understand. Quite basic. Meat eaters, tend to shun outsiders.’
‘And?’
Sylvian grinned. ‘And they can’t stand cats. Mortal enemies. But they aren’t Vamps and they aren’t Wolves so they aren’t banned from Romeen. The hidden city of Pareen invoked some sort of bylaw that prevents them settling there but here, in Romeen, they simply let them live on the outskirts of the entertainment area. I’d give reasonable odds that the Wolves are close to them.’
Troy nodded. ‘I concur. Good thought.’
The group walked through the residential area, following Sylvian to a massive sweeping stairway that curved down to the next level. The hubbub and general noise of commerce could be heard at the top of the stairway and, as they proceeded down, the vista opened up to them. Again the ceiling was covered with crystal stalagmites creating a festive of color. Unlike the Pareen markets, these were more structured. Stone cubicles and shops, solid signage as opposed to banners. Less food vendors and more purveyors of fine glassware, cloth and sundry items that none of them except Sylvian could identify.
As they walked through the throngs Troy noticed a shop that seemed to be a
small supermarket containing normal everyday human goods like tins of chili, soup and pop tarts. He pointed it out to Sylvian with an enquiring expression.
‘Everybody likes pop tarts,’ said the Bloodborn. ‘And some of the inhabitants of the unseen cities cannot proceed above to shop. Hence the normal human goods.’
‘Surprised that there isn’t a McDonald,’ quipped Tag.
‘There is,’ countered Sylvian. ‘Except that is in the entertainment section. Come on, we turn here, take those steps down another level.’
Again the noise increased as they went down. But this was different. Not the drone and babble of commerce. Music, Shouting. Singing. Groups of people all talking at top volume. Everything louder than everything else. You had to raise your voice to simply talk to the person right next to you.
Tag started to chuckle.
‘What?’ Asked Troy.
‘Check it out,’ said the big man. ‘She’s not wearing any clothes and she’s got three…’
‘No staring,’ interrupted Sylvian. ‘And keep well away from her. She is a Lilin-demon. A type of succubus. The Fae can bed her but if a human did you would die.’
‘Seriously?’ Asked Tag. ‘How?’
‘You would expire from the pleasure.’
Both Troy and the big man chortled. ‘Way to go,’ said Tag under his breath.
Sylvian turned to him. ‘Be serious,’ he said. ‘Death is no joke and if you get too close to her you will not be able to resist her call. So stop looking at her, stop thinking about her and carry on walking.’
Tag looked chastened. ‘Sorry, Sylvian,’ he said. ‘Just having a laugh.’
‘Well don’t. Until I say that you can.’
After almost an hour of walking the crowds started to thin out, becoming less human. Darker. As if they were entering a zone of eternal night. Buildings became smaller, less windows, the doors had more locks on and many had large creatures standing guard outside. Mainly trolls.
And then there were no more cats.
‘We are in the Cynocephalic sector,’ informed Sylvian. ‘But Em, don’t let go just yet, not sure how the dog-people will react to a Vamp and a Wolf. I’m guessing not well.’