“Are you quite certain, Grady?” asked the chief, but he looked relieved.
“There’s no question as to whether I should do it,” Grady replied. “It’s only a matter of how quickly I can be prepared. What time is it?”
“Quarter past eleven,” replied Linwood. His face was taut and his mouth flat. Clearly he was remembering his own encounter with the undead.
Any fear Grady might have burbling inside him had to be ignored. He focused his thoughts on what must be done instead of what could happen.
“Right, then. I’ll need several things.” Grady began to list off his requirements, sending Donahue and Barnett off to different destinations in police cars screaming with sirens.
Then he turned to Linwood, but before he could speak, his uncle took him by the arm and pulled him away from the others. “I have no intention of trying to talk you out of this because you know I’d be doing the same thing in your position.”
“I know.” Grady smiled and gave the older man’s shoulder a squeeze.
“But…just in case…” His words became thick, as if his throat closed up, and he gave his head a little shake as if to clear it. When he looked up, his pale gray eyes glistened. “Damn it, Grady, I can’t lose you too. So you’d best be damned careful and do everything they say in there. You and I know better than anyone here what you’re going to face inside that school.”
“And what those girls are already facing,” Grady added quietly.
“I’d give anything to be the one to go in there and drive a damned stake—”
“Shhh,” Grady said, glancing around to make certain no one could hear. People were terrified enough—if they thought there were supernatural forces at work, if they knew they were dealing with beings as close to the devil as could be, there’d be no telling how they’d react. A wild, panicked mob would not help the situation.
“Right. I know. He might have those girls in there, but we’ve got…well, hell, we’ve got sunshine on our side. They don’t like that, do they? Maybe there’s a way to blow the damned roof off the place. Let the devils fry in their seats.”
Grady choked off a laugh. “That is an excellent point, Linwood. Why don’t you work on that tactic—it’s a good one.”
His uncle was trying to smile, but wasn’t nearly as successful. “And this. Take this.” He’d been digging inside his pocket, and he pulled out a rosary. Each bead was made from wood, as was the cross at the end. They were strung together on waxed and knotted string. “It was your aunt’s, and her mother’s before her. I take it to work every day.”
“I know,” Grady said, his throat suddenly closing up. “Thank you. They might not allow me in even with this, but I’ll try.”
Linwood looked at the prayer beads for a moment, then, determination on his face, he snapped off the wooden cross at the end and offered it to Grady. It was half the length of his pinkie finger. “You’re a student of Houdini—surely you can hide this somewhere.”
“That I can. Thank you, uncle. And I suppose I must give you these.” He pulled out the silver cross he wore around his neck tucked beneath his shirt, and pulled it over his head to relinquish. Then he began to work the silver ring off his finger, and dropped that into his uncle’s open hand as well.
“I’ve been meaning to ask—where did you get this?” Linwood was referring to the ring. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”
“It was given to me,” Grady replied. “Speaking of Houdini, I hope Donahue can find what I sent him for. I can go in without my hollow-heeled shoes—damn, I knew I should have worn them today, but they were wet from being polished and shined. There are useful things secreted inside them.”
“Grady.” Linwood’s voice dropped low and serious, and his eyes were intense as he took his nephew’s arm. “If…if something happens, and you don’t— Well, is there anything you want me to do? Anyone you’ll want me to…um, send word to? Give a message to?”
Grady shook his head. “You’re my only family left, Linny…there’s no one else to tell. I can only assume my boss will hear if things don’t work out,” he added drily. “As will my friends from the paper. And I suspect Father Cork will know in plenty of time for the funeral.”
“No one? No…no special woman friend, perhaps, or…anyone?” Linwood asked.
“No.”
Grady looked toward the school, and his insides tightened as he thought of what awaited him: both what he expected, and what he could have no idea about. What he might find inside—those poor, innocent girls—but even more worrisome: what the vampires wanted.
What did they want that they were willing to risk exposing themselves to the city at large?
At that moment, Donahue ran up, carrying a satchel with the items Grady had requested. As Grady pulled out a large bottle of holy water and began to drink from it, Barnett approached from a different direction. He was carrying several copies of the Tribune to prove that Grady met the qualifications set forth in the girl’s message. Barnett was followed by Colonel McCormick, the Trib’s much-admired editor, who rushed up to his ace reporter to wish him well—and, of course, hope for a scoop.
But mostly to wish him well.
By the time Grady was prepared to go in for the meeting, it was ten minutes before noon. Early, but he was ready.
He embraced his uncle, then turned and started toward the tall iron gate. He’d left his hat behind, and carried nothing but the newspapers. In his coat pockets were pencils and a pad of paper. Each of the policemen clustered about the entrance patted him on the shoulder, arm, or back as he passed by—and Grady saw a mixture of admiration, relief, and disappointment in their eyes.
The walk across the lawn from gate to entrance was both too brief and stretched too long, but at last he was climbing up the steps to the school.
The door opened by some unseen hand and Grady stepped inside. As he did so, his first impression was one of pressing silence, followed by cold. He subdued a shiver. Evil pervaded the space. He could fairly smell its dank, pungent essence.
No sooner had he passed through the entrance than the door closed behind him and he found himself facing two people: a man and a woman. He assumed they were undead, but he said nothing, merely stood there as he was searched none too gently.
He’d tucked the small wooden cross inside his mouth, and would palm it out as soon as the search was completed.
“The master will see you now,” said the woman once they’d finished patting him down thoroughly. As he’d intended, the most dangerous object they found was a thick pencil and pad of paper.
“How is your master called?” Grady asked, though he suspected he already knew.
“Nicholas Iscariot.”
A sharp, cold stab of fear penetrated him, but he gave no indication and made no hesitation. Nevertheless, he’d be lying if he said his knees weren’t weak as he walked down the corridor to face the most powerful vampire in the world—according to Max Denton.
Speaking of Max…Grady hoped Savina had received the message he’d sent to her via a boy on a bicycle, since he didn’t know how else to contact Denton at this time. Grady had directed the courier to start at the Chicago Library, and if Savina wasn’t there, to leave it at Grady’s own house. He suspected the Venator of all Venators would want to know about this situation as soon as possible.
Grady focused, counting the number of guards—presumably all vampires—he passed or glimpsed as they walked. At least ten, including five in the room where Nicholas Iscariot waited. Surely there were more, watching the other exits and entrances.
“Not even noon, and here you are—darkening my doorway,” said Iscariot as they paused on the threshold. “Couldn’t wait to get your story, could you, Mr. Grady?”
Grady stepped through the wide entrance and discovered that Linwood was correct: the vampire had set up his command central in the large, high-ceilinged dining room. Hmm. Perhaps his uncle’s idea of blowing off the roof wasn’t such a bad one after all. The four tall windows tha
t lined one side of the rectangular space had been covered with what appeared to be bedsheets, presumably to keep out the sunshine lethal to vampires.
Despite the powerful creature sitting on a large chair on one end of the room, and his cronies scattered around, Grady ignored the undead at first and turned his attention to the hostages.
The girls were huddled together in a far corner. What struck him was how quiet they were. It was eerie—the taut silence, without even the sounds of sobbing or sniffling. Yet they all seemed aware and awake—for many pairs of wide, frightened eyes followed him. But no one made even the quietest sound.
Next Grady turned his attention to the vampire lord. The man was slender and very pale, dressed in dark clothing that made his skin look even whiter. He wore something like a pendant in the center of his vest, and it glowed a soft, nauseating green.
What Grady could see of Iscariot’s facial features, for he was half in shadow, were just as slender and delicate as his frame. The vampire had sleek black hair, which was so thick that when it was combed back it rose high off his forehead. His eyes were, at the moment, dark and not glowing, and Grady took care to keep himself from looking directly into the vampire’s gaze—or to even skim close to it.
“I saw no reason to delay. And you already know my name—I find that a little surprising.” Grady gestured with the newspapers he still held; his undead escorts hadn’t had the chance to inform their master of his identity.
Iscariot’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “How could you think you’d escaped my notice? But why do you think I arranged all of this? You are the perfect messenger, and I was certain you would be the one to take on the task. The rest of it”—he gestured to the mass of huddled girls—“is just—what do they say?—ah yes, icing on the cake, no?”
“You arranged this in order to speak to me?” Grady thought he’d been as prepared as possible, but this took him off guard.
“Not merely to speak to you, no—but it’s another benefit of the situation. I need something, and you are going to be instrumental in me obtaining it.”
“Right, then…your demands. I’m here to learn what they are, and to do my best to help you get what you want—but perhaps, as an act of good faith, you’d release the hostages. I’ll take their place.” Grady didn’t figure the vampire would go for it, but it was worth a try.
Iscariot began to giggle, low and dark. “An act of good faith. You’ll take their place. Release the hostages. You sound as if you think you are the one in control here.” He shook his head. “The only way I’ll release any of them—alive, anyway—is when I am in possession of two things: Rekk’s Pyramid and your lover, Macey Gardella.”
“My lover? And a pyramid?” Grady shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re referring to—in either case. Not that I don’t want to help,” he added quickly, holding up his hands.
Iscariot’s eyes began to burn red, and his fangs protruded from beneath his upper lip. He swept to his feet and stalked toward Grady. “Don’t play coy with me, mortal,” he snapped, stopping in front of him. A chill in the air, along with the faintest scent of something foul, accompanied his movements. “I’ve seen you with Macey Gardella.”
Now that Iscariot had come from the shadowy side of the room, his face was in full view, and Grady saw the crooked scar of a cross that marred one side of it. The vampire must have noticed his attention settling there, for his face twisted into fury.
“Yes, your beloved marked me thus,” Iscariot said, his eyes now burning dazzling red, their irises ringed with brilliant blue. “And for that, I will destroy her…but first I’ll kill everyone she loves. Though perhaps I might spare…one…person. If he were to be helpful.”
Grady’s heart was in his throat, but he forced his mind to remain clear and strong. His hands were still up in the air, and he allowed them to tremble slightly—enough for the vampire to see. At the same time, he felt a wave of…something…emanating from the creature whose eyes glowed with unadulterated evil. A little tug. A coaxing sensation.
It made him feel murky. And slow. And…
He collected his cascading thoughts with difficulty, suddenly remembering to slide his hand into the right pocket. The smooth strength of the wooden cross therein was an immediate comfort, and he managed to speak.
“Who? I don’t know— My beloved?” Grady had to force the words from his lips. The allure was stronger now. “I don’t know…and I know nothing…of a pyramid. I…”
“Macey Gardella will pay,” hissed Iscariot, very close to him…so very close… The green pendant nearly touched Grady’s chest. “She will pay dearly for this.” His fangs were fully protruding now, and Grady could smell the rusty scent of blood on his breath.
Someone squeaked fearfully in the corner, and through his soupy mind, he heard the soft rustling of the girls…as if they were packing themselves closer together and deeper into their corner.
Iscariot’s eyes, so very close, beckoned to him…those twin spots of burning light…and they moved in, filling his vision with a dark red gleam that seemed to swallow him up, drawing him deeper and deeper unto a smothering, warm blanket.
From a distance, he heard Iscariot’s words, twining around him like a serpent. “Macey Gardella…you love her…you’d do anything for her…and she’ll do anything to save you…oh, yessss you will…”
“No,” breathed Grady, concentrating desperately on what he had to say, fighting the nausea and terror that rolled over him, over and over, pulling him under… “I don’t…know…Macey…Gardella… You have…the wrong…person. I…can’t…help…”
From a distance, Grady heard that slithering voice, sleek and hissing and soft: “Come now…release yourself…come to me, and tell me all of her secrets…Macey Gardella has the pyramid. Where will she keep it?”
“I…don’t”—he could hardly force the words, but he had to…he must fight this…for the girls—“know…”
“Very well, then,” continued that insistent voice, filtering through the cloying haze of smoky red, “I have other ways of getting the information I need.”
The vampire must have moved back, for the smothering pull eased—but then in the next moment, strong hands were pulling at Grady, grabbing his arms and binding them together tightly. His legs were next, lashed at the ankles with rough, inhumanly strong hands. He blinked, trying to pull himself from the thrall, fighting to clear his mind and prepare himself for whatever was coming…
Everything became a blur of pain and darkness, of burning red eyes and the ugly green glow. He felt himself being lifted off the ground, his body stretched and long as he was suspended from above. The undead were rough in their work: their nails scored his skin, tore his clothing…the ropes stretched him so his muscles screamed…broad fists punched him.
“Tell me,” came a voice, “where is Macey Gardella?”
“I…don’t…know…her,” Grady said, panting the words, his body vibrating with pain. “I…don’t.”
“Very well, then,” whispered the oily voice, very close to his ear. “Now I shall have to get serious.”
Fangs plunged into his skin, and Grady managed to smother a cry. His last coherent thought was a lament that the holy water he’d drunk hadn’t had time to permeate his blood.
Then he spiraled into a realm of fiery pain, and then…darkness.
THIRTEEN
~ Above the Fold ~
By noon on Monday, there’d been no further messages from Iscariot, and no other hint of what he had planned.
“There must be a safer place to put the pyramid than here in the pub,” said Max, looking disgruntled as he set his crossbow and a quiver of bolts on a table. He also looked as if he hadn’t had more than an hour or two of sleep, even after being provided a bed at four o’clock in the morning.
“We have the Rings of Jubai, as well as the stake and rosary that belonged to Giulia Pesaro—in the sacristy at St. Patrick’s Church,” Macey told him. “We could put it with them.”
&
nbsp; Max nodded. “That’s the place it all happened, then? With Sebastian? Yes, I think we should remove the pyramid to that safer location.”
Just then, Chas, who’d taken the last shift overnight, came into the pub. He looked only slightly less worn out than he had when Macey saw him last. She couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, looked as bad as her two male counterparts did.
“I’ve figured it out,” Chas said, but he didn’t sound pleased. “Your ‘tongue of the ruby-eyed skull,’” he added, looking at Temple.
“It’s not mine, but lay it on us, brother,” she replied. “What is it and how can we get it?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know that we can. I hope there’s another solution.”
“Tell us what you’ve figured out,” Max said.
“I went to sleep last night thinking about a—a conversation Macey and I had. She’d mentioned photographs of Paris, and the catacombs under the city, and it reminded me of the time I was there. In the catacombs. I was helping Narcise escape from her brother Cezar Moldavi, and the way we got out from his underground hideaway was through a lesser-known tunnel through the catacombs.”
“That makes some sense—and so one of the skulls in the wall had ruby eyes?” asked Macey. “But surely it wouldn’t still be there—and what did it mean by its tongue?” Her spark of hope disintegrated.
Chas shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The skull wasn’t in the catacombs, anyway. Before Narcise and I managed to escape, I was an unwelcome guest of Cezar’s for several days. It was not at all pleasant, being the recipient of his so-called hospitality.”
His expression hardened and his eyes became haunted. Macey wasn’t certain whether it was due to the memories of being—what? tortured? fed on?—by Cezar, or merely the reminder of Narcise, whom he’d loved and apparently lost.
“I was in one of Cezar’s private chambers, and I found I needed to…well, to have something to focus on in order to, uh, block out the long, burning needles and skewers he was sliding into my body in exchange for information he required.” He tried for a smile, but it came out weak. Macey subdued a shudder.
Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) Page 15