“Are you asking me to become an acolyte of the Apollo Ring?”
“Temporarily, yes.”
Damned, often desolate, vampires regarded the world with imperturbable stares no mortal could hold for long. Marcus had conquered the emotional and psychological hurdles posed by extreme longevity. Looking into his eyes was like receiving smooth waves of controlled energy. I could feel one thing very clearly: he trusted me.
“What do you need me to do?”
Whistles and a smattering of applause.
“First, we want you to join the other acolytes in that fortified room and try on the ring.”
“To hell with that,” I said.
A phantom smile creased Marcus’s face as the crowd roared. “According to Darius, Morgan wore the Apollo Ring regularly and she suffered no ill effects.”
I thought about the agony the Head Priest had suffered during Carmen’s execution. “Did it hurt her to wear it?”
“No, though part of that has to do with the ring being from her dimension. It is not radioactive there.”
“Then it could harm me where it did not harm Morgan.”
“Yes, it’s possible. In fact, likely.”
“Is the box housing the ring lined to prevent radiation leakage?”
“Yes, with gold from Atlantis.” Hamilton and I exchanged a glance. I knew he too was remembering Preston’s analysis of Spellman’s iconic jewelry. “Darius also fashioned a container slightly larger than the ring,” Marcus continued, “so it’s possible to safely keep it on your person at all times.”
“I still don’t see why I must try on the ring to protect it.”
“It has four powers of which we are aware. Morgan reputedly knows seven, but Darius didn’t know how to activate the others—didn’t even know what they were. One of the powers we do know how to activate is a shield.”
“What kind of shield?”
“A spherical field of energy, with the wearer at the center. A field so powerful not even a ghost can penetrate it.”
“But it only works if someone is wearing the ring,” I surmised.
“Yes.”
“And while I’m inside this shield, Morgan can’t take the ring from me.”
He nodded.
“Is there any other reason I should risk my hide to save this damned thing?”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “The killing beam of the Apollo Ring is the only force we know capable of destroying the Ghosts of Atlantis.”
Chapter 47
Sunday, February 15, 1:26 a.m.
I wondered if Marcus expected me to kill the ghost inside Aliena—simultaneously destroying my fiancée. No, he knew how to read people, and would know I could not obliterate my love.
“Detective Hamilton must wait out here,” Marcus said. “Prolonged exposure to the hard radiation of the ring could endanger his health.”
The head priest’s face appeared at the thick glass window of the cement pillbox.
“What’s this boxing about?” Hamilton asked. “I boxed in college.”
The small crowd gave a delighted roar which filled the building. I fixed Marcus with a severe stare.
“The man volunteered,” he said.
Rachella still held Hamilton’s arm, and now she bared her teeth at several women who had edged near the detective.
He caught my eye, winked. The inebriated idiot.
“Who’s first?” he shouted.
The crowd cheered. Marcus smiled briefly for the second time in seventy-three years. When I saw the adoring look on Rachella’s face, I was almost jealous.
Hamilton climbed into the ring.
I turned to the cement block. The door to the small chamber swung open. I stepped inside the room with the guardians of the Apollo Ring, turned back.
“In the blue corner,” shouted the little black emcee with the tall crown of forever-graying hair, “fighting for the City of Angels, is Steven “Scarface” Hamilton!”
Hamilton tossed his coat to a woman, pulled off shirt and tie, and began shadow boxing to catcalls and whistles.
“My god,” I said.
A lovely café-au-lait-skinned vampire wearing a scrap of white leather floated into the opposite corner. Rachella, eyes burning, flew gracefully over the ropes and joined her.
“And tag-teaming in the red corner are a pair of—”
The shouts of 49 died as the head priest slammed the door shut.
Chapter 48
Sunday, February 15, 1:40 am
The inherent danger of standing in a closed brick room with four hostile vampires removed any concerns about wearing the Apollo Ring. No matter how painful the ring might be, it wouldn’t kill me. When Henry fixed me with a malevolent stare, my pulse tripped along like a snare drum playing Bolero.
The scabbed, scarred skin of the acolytes’ faces and hands leant them a decidedly sinister appearance. Henry, Charlie and the other monk wore their brown robes with the hoods pushed back. Only the red-cloaked head priest kept his hood up, his face hidden within its folds.
Though they knew I was here to help them, they still probably wanted to rip out my throat and drain me to the last drop. As one might expect, this opposition made working together more than awkward.
Resting on an ivory pedestal, the case containing the Apollo Ring gleamed, polished gold with silver scrollwork. Stamped on each of the four sides was a depiction of a star, with curling licks of flame extending from its circumference. A conical top encrusted with emeralds crowned the gilded chest. At the apex a massive, purple-red ruby formed the very tip.
“Marcus requested I assist you in the protection of the ring,” I said in the direction of the head priest. “What would you like me to do?”
“We’d like you to put the Apollo Ring on your finger,” he replied in a soft voice.
“Why now?”
“So we can determine your ability to handle it.”
Did handle mean control the ring, or withstand its pain?
In silence, I grasped the large ruby and lifted the weighty top, revealing the gold-lined interior. I set the lid on a curved holder to the left of the case.
The ring rested on a sapphire cloth. Its white diamond stone glittered like an icy fire. Though I could feel nothing, I knew the object emitted waves of gamma radiation, passing high speed photons through my body, heating and destroying my cells, spreading cancer.
That presented no problem for me. I could regenerate entire body parts, even those damaged by radiation exposure. On my own, I never would have tested that ability. I worked for a group in the ‘30’s that accidentally exposed eleven of us to a lethal dose of hard radiation. Only I survived. No malice prompted the event, only bad luck. That, however, is another story.
Normally, gamma radiation had no effect on vampires, as well. I wondered why the priests couldn’t recover from their wounds.
My whole being centered on the object in front of me. After what I had seen in the Malibu forest, I knew the blinding energy of the central jewel. No doubt existed in my mind that the Apollo Ring would burn my body to ashes if ever I was exposed to its Gorgon eye.
Stretching my hand as if toward a cobra about to strike, I reached out and pressed a finger against the gold. The metal felt cool. I plucked the ring out of the box and held it on the palm of my hand.
The bauble had the familiar heft of thick yellow gold, the enormous stone no doubt contributing to its weight. A Latin inscription etched on the inside of the band read, “The Heart of Eternity is a Star.”
“What are you waiting for?” Charlie taunted.
Turning to face the four of them, I slid the Apollo Ring on my finger.
As soon as the edge of the gold crossed the tip of my fingernail, the nail flared with heat. The inside of the ring radiated the sensation of white-hot metal. My breath hissed between my lips. I shoved the ornament quickly to the knuckle. Skin blistered along its path, drawing an exclamation of pain from me.
Once in place, the band glowed and the diamond
lit up. The hot pain this caused nearly drew a scream of agony from me. A sub-aural vibration filled the small cavity in which we stood. The ring remained a scorching disk, and I couldn’t stop another grunt of pain. With clenched teeth, I waited to see if it would continue to sear me. The length of my finger, burned by the Ring’s passage, healed more slowly than usual. I fought the urge to shake my hand and rip the thing off.
The monks watched in silence.
A light sweat coated my brow, the acid scorch of the ring a misery. Turning my hand over, I could see my finger had been blistered top, bottom, and sides. For some reason, seeing that made the pain worse. My hand twitched, trying to clench.
The ring suddenly cooled.
“Mare de Déu, that feels better,” I panted, the itch of healing skin hardly noticeable.
According to Darius’s journal entry, only he and the head priest had the privilege of wearing the Apollo Ring. He also said he wore the thing and activated some sort of spherical barrier that the head priest bumped into. I suppose Darius had special privileges to wear it since he brought the powerful object to the vampires. His journal entries had said nothing about pain, though.
The monks appeared fascinated by my reactions, their eyes riveted on everything I did.
“Has the ring stopped burning you?” the Head Priest asked.
“Yes.”
A short, muffled cough. “Well done.”
“Your skin has healed already,” Charlie said.
My finger shone pink, covered with smooth, unmarked skin.
“I noticed your wounds don’t heal. Why not?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” Charlie said. “We believe it’s because the ring comes from a different—world.”
“I noticed Darius’s skin wasn’t suffering from the effects of radiation exposure.”
No one spoke. Might they have hated Darius for his difference?
“His skin could repair itself,” the head priest said. “The way yours did.”
Was he insinuating a connection? “Do you think it was because he came from the same dimension as the ring?”
The silence of the little room acquired a tangible texture.
“You seem to know everything, Mr. Montero,” came from the crimson folds.
“Not how to save a vampire who has been impregnated with a ghost from Atlantis.” My voice rang with an accusatory tone, causing a malign stir in the monks. I knew Aliena’s peril was not the fault of the acolytes who protected the property Morgan desired. Darius was the only one to blame, if blame could be placed, and he was dead. He was also a guardian of the ring, so I couldn’t help transferring my frustration to the others.
“You know what to do about that,” Henry said in a low voice. “Burn your girlfriend with the ring’s solar beam as soon as you find her. You’ll be doing her a favor. If you wait, the ghost could escape, burn you to dust, and re-inhabit Aliena.”
Mortified by the unbidden picture those words created, I backed half a step from the vampires, shaking my head, holding out a supplicating hand.
“You know what to do,” said the head priest.
Chapter 49
Sunday, February 15, 2:01 a.m.
The monks only shared two of the incantations: the shield and the killing blast. I couldn’t tell them I already knew four. Darius clearly wanted to keep his electronic journal secret from the others. Or perhaps one specific person?
With the radioactive jewel tucked safely into a small gold-lined container, I slid it into my pocket before emerging from the pillbox. I looked up to see how Hamilton was doing.
Vampires crowded the edges of the ring, some hanging in the air, blocking my view. Rachella had promised to watch after Hamilton, but the fool was taking an awful chance tempting them en masse here in 49.
The audience certainly found the action entertaining. Shouts and cat-calls filled the cavernous room. I ran toward the ring, jumped up on the edge, began pushing forward. The vampires let me shove past with good-natured malice, purposely making their shoulders and arms marble to shock my joints. Finally, I stood at the ropes.
Rachella and the stunning dark-skinned beauty had been joined by two other women, one of whom must have been the sister of the guards at the door. She stood six foot seven at least, with a thick, plaited platinum ponytail that hung to her buttocks.
The four women circled him while he feinted left and right. Just as Rachella had done to me, they flashed at Hamilton, blurs, turning him on his heel. After each pass, he would touch his chest, or wrist, as if he had felt a nip. Small cuts covered his chest and abs. I wondered why the man looked so giddy, and why he had stuffed the Statue of Liberty down his trousers.
Rachella slowed in front of him. Hamilton’s fist shot out and he grabbed her hair, pulled her mouth to his, gave her a very intimate caress. In a blink, Rachella had gone and the luscious dark woman filled his arms, their mouths locked, his hands clutching the round flesh protruding beneath her tiny skirt.
As if on cue, all four women stopped and pressed against him, hands roving slowly. Hamilton’s head nearly disappeared inside the valley of the amazon’s breasts.
I risked a quick glance at the men around me. They all had dull coal eyes focused on Hamilton. By joining him in the ring, these women had tacitly endorsed the detective, providing him with protection. Most of the men here probably wanted to drain him to death, but I doubted any would touch him now.
I had been worried the vampires might attack Hamilton if he came with me to 49. He had increased the risk by deciding to box, not knowing the human opponent always played the sacrificial lamb at 49. I had half-expected to see him in Rachella’s arms, limp from blood loss. Instead, the intoxicated policeman had impressed them enough to earn immunity from vampiric assault—an unheard-of feat for a mortal.
A yell of good-natured jealousy came from a pack of women to my right. Hamilton, pressed against the ropes by the platinum-haired Amazon, grabbed her ponytail and pulled her mouth to his shoulder. She bit him softly and took a short drink, careful not to damage him too much.
A tremor went through the women near me. Hamilton’s open wounds fired the air, kindling ancient hungers. Two stunning African girls wearing matching schoolgirl outfits appeared on either side of me.
One loosened my tie and unbuttoned my shirt, the other smoothed her hand over my chest, both whispering, singing, filling my ears with promiscuous promises. I slid my arms around their waists, swamped by their lust, the mood of the ladies infectious, a carnal fever. Hands flitted across my thighs, between them. The two sensual smiles morphed into lupine leers. I tilted my chin up, ecstatic to have them bite me, wanting the rip of flesh. They leaned eagerly toward my throat.
“Stop!” Marcus’s voice boomed to the rafters.
The men rescued me, pulling the women away despite my determined efforts to hold onto them. With a shuddering sigh, I snapped out of the trance and gripped the heavy rope to steady myself until the vertigo passed.
Marcus stood in the center of the ring. Rachella held Hamilton in her arms. The other three women stood close, with the amazon blonde positioned behind him.
“We mustn’t take advantage of Detective Hamilton’s good nature,” Marcus continued, “not after he has so graciously provided us with the evening’s entertainment.”
A few people booed, bringing a smattering of laughter, breaking the tense mood. The women dressed Hamilton in a flash. The cocoa beauty spent several long moments zipping him up. The amazon held his coat. Rachella’s eyes flattened like a feline’s as she watched him shrug it on. The blonde goddess brushed off Hamilton’s shoulders, leaned down to kiss him.
Marcus stepped toward me and blurred, appearing at my side instantly. “Remarkable,” he said, watching the girls escort Hamilton out of the ring. “Detective Hamilton has a great deal of exercise in his future.” His phone buzzed. “Yes?”
I don’t have hearing nearly as sensitive as a vampire’s, but this came plainly over Marcus’s speaker:
; “A GHOST! THEY’RE HERE! WE…” This was followed by a narrow, high-pitched scream. Then a tremendous buzzing sound, like a billion gigantic enraged bees, filled the transmission. The call cut off.
Marcus hadn’t moved, hadn’t even changed expression. He glanced at me. “The men I sent to Ron’s to collect Aliena.”
The vampires had closed around us.
“Who was that?” asked a man I didn’t know.
“Aidan. Felipe was with him.”
“If he saw a ghost, what did he mean by “they”?”
“There’s no way to be sure, but the ghost was probably accompanied by Morgan.”
“And Aliena,” I added grimly.
“Yes.”
“What should we do?”
“Visit Ron’s place.”
Angry growling to my right made me jump. I jerked around, prepared for an attack, my hand straying to the pocket holding the ring.
Faces turned away from me, toward the doors.
Even before the screams began, an unpleasant buzz pressed my eardrums with a heavy bass note. Brilliant yellow-orange flashes lit up the ceiling and walls, accompanied by a wave of static electricity that lifted the hair from my scalp.
The vampires shrank back, parting in front of me as I leaped to the floor. I froze, trying to take in what I was seeing.
Heaped near the doors lay the partially charred hulks of the giant guards. Another vampire was down, ten meters from the ring, legs cinders. A spitting, glowing entity was attacking him, and now the thing encompassed his torso and head. In the wake of its passage only irregularly connected mounds of dark dust remained.
The spherical object zoomed to a woman wearing a silver glove. She held her shining hand up as if waving to someone. The dazzling orb alighted on the tip of her index finger and shrunk to golf-ball size.
“Morgan,” Emilio muttered. He and Marcus appeared in front of me, partially blocking my view. I saw enough to emit a strangled sound.
Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3) Page 27