‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Michele yanked Malachi’s elbow, forcing him to sit back down. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Not tonight.’
Malachi didn’t take his eyes off me for a full five minutes. Jörð, what’s his problem? I thought. Surely he’s not jealous? While Malachi was giving me the evil eye, Menelaus filled Lorenzo in about his discovery. ‘How do we get Jenny out?’ Lorenzo asked.
Somehow, I wasn’t convinced that Menelaus was ready for Plan B. ‘Menelaus and I will discuss it with Toby and my father,’ I said. ‘We’ll go tomorrow.’
‘I won’t risk my son,’ Michele said.
‘No offence,’ Menelaus snapped, ‘but Julian is my father. He raised me. Now I’m a man and I make my own decisions. I have lived and worked in the Praetoriani my whole life. If an element has gone rogue, I’m not going to sit back and do nothing. That’s not who I am. Which you would know, if you had ever bothered to check.’
Michele twirled his wine glass. ‘I had a daughter once,’ he said. ‘Before I was reborn. A human daughter.’ He beckoned a servant forward, and the lad refilled it. ‘She was very beautiful; her hair was the same colour as yours. You have my colouring.’ He sipped his wine and set it aside. ‘Religious, like most in those days. She stood up for those who had no defence other than the one fortune provided.’
‘What happened?’ Menelaus asked.
‘When the Inquisition came – and the centuries prove that it always comes – she refused to stay silent. It cost her life.’ He made a cross over his chest, a reflex almost, a reverie. ‘I chose this existence. I chose vengeance. It has taken so much sacrifice and work and now I am reaching the pinnacle of my career. Menelaus, the “rogue element” is the Praetoriani – it’s rotten, beating heart. It has orchestrated the majority of massacres in the last several thousand years, under different guises. Always, there is one head. We cut it off and it keeps growing back. I can’t allow you to be caught between its teeth.’
‘Akhen,’ said Menelaus, ‘that’s who you mean, isn’t it?’
‘He believes Ragnarök is a mere stepping-stone to where he wants to be,’ I said. ‘Or, I suppose, where he wants to rule.’
Michele appraised me. ‘How did you learn of this, Clemensen?’
I tapped my head. ‘I’m an organic encyclopaedia.’
‘What is his full name?’
The question caught me off guard. In my childhood, the Imperi Ducis of the Praefecti was a personage veiled in mystery. ‘The founder of the Praefecti was an Egyptian pharaoh,’ I said, feeling out the answer, ‘and the Imperi Ducis always takes his name as a title. But you’re saying he’s the same man, so his full name must be Akhenaten, ruler of the Eighteenth Dynasty.’ The long, dull lessons in Father’s study were filtering back through. How irrelevant it had all seemed. ‘But why would a pharaoh concern himself with Pneuma, and how did a man become immortal?’
Two tall glasses of tiramisu arrived from the kitchen, placed before myself and Menelaus. Michele watched his son intently as he dipped in the long spoon and scooped the first layer. ‘Delicious,’ said Menelaus.
‘Good.’ The vampire retuned his attention to topic. ‘From the fragments my family have uncovered, Akhen was plagued by visions – fits – during childhood. There’s evidence that his true mother was a creature born from the blood of the Nile. It was her blood, some say, that poisoned the boy.
‘As he grew, so did his hatred of the old gods. He embraced Aten, a manifestation of the sun, as the one true divinity. Aten, he believes, is the only thing capable of scorching away the deformed legacy inherited by men from the warring gods.
‘Pneuma – god spawn is his preferred nomenclature – anchor Midgard to the other Eight Realms of the rotting tree. He thinks he’s the catalyst that will purge Yggdrasil and usher in a new age where he and his queen will rule over the worthy.’
‘His queen?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I’m getting to that,’ he said. By this point I was scraping the last remains of coffee-sponge goodness. Menelaus lagged behind, listening carefully. ‘Together with His Great Royal Wife, Queen Nefertiti, they built a city where they planned to rule as heads of the new religion. But the people weren’t enthusiastic, nor were the priests he disbanded, burning down their temples. Then something happened. We do not know what, only that it happened on the Nile. He disappeared, presumed dead.’
‘Then what?’ I asked, confused and impatient.
‘We believe his body was taken by the Midgard Serpent in exchange for a deal. As a pharaoh, he’d required his people to worship him as the only intermediary between them and Aten, the one true god. The Midgard Serpent completes the trinity. The God, the Man, and the Flowing Spirit.’
‘Like the Holy Trinity in Christianity,’ said Menelaus, on his last mouthful. The servants placed expresso cups on the table and poured out the coffee. I added several lumps of sugar to mine, prompting a scowl from Michele.
‘Indeed, some believe Moses, found on the Nile, was one of the pharaoh’s priests who fled after his master’s death, to preach monotheism to the wider world.’ He sipped the coffee. ‘When Akhen resurfaced, his beloved wife had already died and his religious reforms and legacy destroyed. He scoured the Nine Realms for Nefertiti but couldn’t find her. His visions informed him that she will return to rule by his side after Ragnarök, when the old gods are deposed.’
He’s possessed like I am, I realised, only I’m the Gatekeeper, protector of Midgard, and he’s the destroyer, the Serpent. ‘Then why do most Pneuma believe the Praefecti is there to protect us?’
I looked to Michele, but it was Menelaus who replied. ‘Because a silent war cannot have a resistance,’ he said, glancing at Lorenzo. ‘Something Toby said.’
Michele continued: ‘We are taught to believe we need protecting from each other, and that sapiens need protecting from us, despite the fact that they have proved as deadly to our kind as to their own. Even in the beginning, when Akhen built his new temples, his followers were forced to worship in sunlight, excluding the vampires from religious life.’
The vein on Michele’s forehead throbbed. ‘We’ve co-existed without the Praefecti, yet he chose to persecute Pneuma through the ages, destroying bloodlines, stealing our powers,’ he continued. ‘He blamed the fall of the Roman Empire on our race, justifying the creation of the modern Praefecti and its spin-off, the Praetoriani, convincing our own people to curtail our power and suppress uprisings.’
Menelaus hid his face; he was a Guardian, after all. ‘I don’t blame you, my son,’ Michele said, ‘we have all been tricked.’ He stood up and walked round the table. ‘Julian brought you into it.’
‘He’s not your enemy,’ Menelaus said, and I wished I could tell him that I suspected his adoptive father of ordering my torture, though I couldn’t be certain. ‘His mother, my grandmother, she drowned in the Nile after giving Akhen information.’
Michele halted behind Menelaus, placing his hands on his shoulders. I wasn’t sure if Menelaus was too happy about the familiar gesture, as if the right of acceptance had been taken away from him. Beside me, Malachi set his jaw, fixed on father and son. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I never knew her. What information is this? It could be important.’
I started; Menelaus’s foot pressed into my knee. ‘It was something she found in the archives, where she worked,’ he said. That sounded evasive even to me. Michele leant into his shoulders slightly then released him, deciding not to push it. He hadn’t been forgiven yet.
We drank for a while, questions bounding around the table. Menelaus spoke a little in grey terms about his childhood. I sensed the loneliness in the stories he left out, the feeling of not belonging. Our early years had been very different, and yet the themes remained the same. Michele in turn clarified that Malachi was the heir to the De Laurentis estate, covering large parts of Tuscany and bases around the world.
‘Does this mean if I kill Malachi I’m rich?’ asked Lorenzo, clearly drunk.
‘Try it, baby fangs. Hel is always short of guts to spin.’
‘Enough, children,’ Michele barked. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d emptied the wine cellar all by himself. When he stood up, his legs rooted, treelike, into the ground. My Guardian, I noticed, had drunk very little. I was faintly glad after last night.
‘I’ve think it’s time to call it a night,’ Menelaus said, ‘some of us still have circadian rhythms.’ He shot me a casual smile. ‘Theo, you said you had something to show me?’
‘I did?’ I said, brain sluggish from alcohol. ‘I did! Yes, come with me to the attic.’ I tapped Lorenzo on the arm. ‘You too, buddy. Guardian-ward meeting, upstairs.’ Nothing good happened whenever I left Lorenzo in Malachi’s presence.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ said Menelaus, shaking his father’s hand. Pain flashed across his face when Malachi gripped it next, but he hid it quickly. ‘Pleased to meet you. I guess we’re almost brothers.’
‘Uncle Menelaus, don’t forget me!’ said Lorenzo, catching the back of his chair as he stumbled forward. ‘What?’ he said, when we stared at him. ‘Everyone else’s family is growing by the day.’
‘Come on,’ I said, rolling my eyes. They followed me into the hall. A moment later Fenrir shot out of the dining room, bumping into my leg. ‘First, this guy wants his scraps.’
Ten minutes later, after closing the hatch in the attic, Menelaus said, ‘We have a problem.’
‘Another one?’ I asked, heart sinking.
‘’Fraid so.’ He glanced at the floor. ‘They can’t hear me?’ I shook my head. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘I didn’t want to discuss Raphael with them in case they’re after him, too.’
Lorenzo snapped to attention. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.
‘I witnessed someone being tortured.’ He shuddered. ‘I finally know what Raphael is. But so do the Praetoriani. At least, if they already knew what he was, they now know how to trap him.’ He hesitated, as if not sure where to start. ‘Theo, I’m guessing you’ve heard of a landvættir?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘land-sprites.’ I turned to Lorenzo. ‘The same creatures my father entombed in the statues to alert us to intruders.’
‘Yeah, the ones that made my eyes bleed,’ he said.
‘Theo, that’s completely against the Code—’
‘Really?’ I threw up my hands. ‘After everything we discussed downstairs?’
‘Fine. Anyway… You’ve heard about the Dawn of Light?’ I nodded. ‘Sometime after that the gods created the Elders, the first landvættirs. Over time, they faded into the earth, becoming its protectors. But one Elder stayed distinct and adopted corporeal form, able to imitate the elements at will. Sound familiar?’
Lorenzo and I gaped at each other. ‘Raphael!’ we said together.
‘The theory explains why animals love him so much,’ Menelaus continued, ‘and the Praetoriani think he remained distinct to guard the Syphon.’ Lorenzo gave me that sideways look and folded his arms. ‘But there’s more. The man they interrogated explained how he’d managed to catch landvættirs using uncut diamonds.’
He went on to explain the method the prisoner described, using trapped sprites to create a special cage for Raphael. ‘The question is what they intend to do with him when they catch him.’
‘They won’t,’ said Lorenzo, hard as ice.
‘I know why they want him,’ I said, like an idiot – damn that Tuscan wine, I was anyone’s after a drink. ‘But I can’t say, without endangering you. I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me. It’s in everyone’s best interest to keep Raphael out of that cage.’
Lorenzo scuffed his shoe against the floorboards. ‘Why don’t you trust us first?’
‘I do!’ I said, only half fibbing. ‘But I can’t unsay it, and you’re both too under the microscope. If we survive this, whatever happens, I’ll tell you, okay? That’s the best I can do.’ I wanted to change the subject. ‘Raphael is safe as long as he stays where we put him. I’d worry about yourself, Menelaus.’ I explained the backfired petition to Frigg, playing down the drama, but emphasising the prophecy.
He took it well. Either that, or he was good at masking his fear.
‘Thank you for the warning,’ he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
‘Yeah well, for what it’s worth, I hope I’m wrong. Oh, and you’ll want to see these.’
I retrieved the extracts of Mum’s diary from the chest, handing the ordered pile to Menelaus. ‘It’s how I found out about you,’ I said. ‘Someone sent me letters.’
‘It was Julian,’ he said, without blinking, ‘he was in love with my mother but she chose Michele.’
‘How—’
‘Julian told me before you showed up for the meeting. He took the diaries after Isobel…died. So one day he could prove to us what we are to each other. So that I would protect you, and…well, you wouldn’t kill me.’
I didn’t like manipulation – or being at the butt of it. However, Julian’s letters had worked. ‘What I don’t understand is how you keep receiving them, Lorenzo.’
‘Neither do I. I wake up and there they are, hidden inside my clothing. Not creepy at all.’
‘Does Julian have powers?’ I asked.
‘Telekinesis,’ Menelaus said, glancing up from the page, ‘though he rarely uses it. It makes him too lazy.’
‘I get that. Sometimes I’m tempted to teleport across the room.’
I watched him closely as he absorbed the entries. It hurt just to hold them, let alone read it. Mum’s optimism in the beginning, the excitement of leaving home. The discovery of our secret… I snatched the letters back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘So what’s so important about your family that your parents refused to help Elspeth?’
Sweat beaded on my neck. ‘Jörð, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?’
No one answered, though steam did seem to be rising from Menelaus’s ears. I sighed. ‘Refer to my earlier statement,’ I said, ‘about keeping you both safe.’
‘Didn’t keep me safe when I was abandoned,’ he said, ‘or prevent my mother from taking her own life.’
His anger, twisted round and thrown back at me, proved our connection beyond doubt; we both had our mothers’ Scottish fire. He straightened, the attic rescaling around him. ‘It didn’t work out so good for her sister, either,’ I said, with more venom than I’d intended.
‘I’m done apologising,’ he said, and his broad torso and long legs melted into the air, his burning eyes ebbing out of sight last. Lorenzo stepped out of the way as the wispy yet solid Guardian barged past and let down the attic stairs. I didn’t follow him; he had a right to be mad. Father hadn’t once accepted my anger at his lies and secrets, hadn’t once shown understanding. Whatever had warped his perception had happened long ago, leaving a permanent dent in his compassion. I still had some.
‘And you, Lorenzo,’ I said, pointing at the window, ‘are you off too?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I have training; Fletch wants to teach me to change the barrels and do the heavy lifting as I’m supernaturally capable. Then I’ll return to Raphael.’
‘Okay, be careful; the coven is moving supplies to the church crypts. I’ve spelled the tower door but go in via the roof.’ He nodded, which meant he knew about the crypts, as well. ‘How’d you get into them?’
‘The confessional booth in the corner. It’s a relic – and also a lift.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘of course.’
This time Lorenzo left by the stairs rather than the window – I was vaguely disappointed.
28
Leap of Death
I skipped out on breakfast; after a spur of the moment phone call, I met Ava at her house and we took a taxi to the Old Town.
As it was Sunday, the cobbled streets were cluttered with food and flower stalls. Indian spices infused the cool summer morning, blending harmoniously with the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon pastries, two of which I’d just purchased for me and Ava. ‘Buttery goodness,’
I said, biting into the flaky crust.
Ava smiled. ‘You love food more than I do,’ she said, crunching through an itinerant pecan, ‘and that’s saying something.’
‘See, we have so much in common.’
‘Theo, you don’t have to try so hard.’
I eyed the flower stall. ‘I thought I wasn’t trying hard enough.’
She linked her arm through mine, nibbling away at her pastry with her free hand. ‘You’re a big teddy bear, aren’t you?’
My heart tightened. ‘Mum used to call me that – Teddy.’ The memory perforated like a needle. If I’m your teddy bear, mummy, does that mean I can sleep in your bed?
You’re a big boy now, honey.
But you just said I’m a teddy!
Cue petulant sulk.
Ava walked me through the sedate crowd, oblivious of my admiration while she paused to inspect various delicacies. The Mother of Gatekeepers. I’d felt so sure, announcing that to Frigg, when in reality I feared Ava would tire of me, or yearn for a simpler life. Meanwhile, my soppy romantic heart had already made its mind up.
All those years without her, wasted.
‘You’re doing it again,’ she said, brushing the crumbs off her blouse. ‘Giving me those big, sad eyes.’
I leant down and kissed her on the nose. What an adorable nose. ‘I blame you entirely. I’m spellbound.’
She rolled her eyes and pointed at the buskers across the street. I started. ‘Is that Grace? Playing the cello? Who’s that guy on the violin?’
‘Shy Stuart, as we know him. He’s been in love with Grace since Fresher’s week but she hasn’t noticed yet.’ Stuart missed a few notes while admiring Grace’s bow-handling skills. ‘Lorenzo’s got competition.’ Ava laughed.
‘Don’t think he’s bothered,’ I said, ‘he’s besotted with Raphael.’
Ava’s full mouth parted in surprise. ‘When did that happen?’
‘Who knows? I can hardly keep up with my own romantic endeavours.’ I winked at her. ‘He just up and crossed to the other side of the playing field. Or maybe he’s a mid-fielder. It seems rude to ask.’
Norns of Fate: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Descendants of Thor Trilogy Book Two) Page 23