Falcon's Angel

by Danita Minnis

  There was a snicker in the crowd, and then another … and Baldoni’s victorious laughter rang out.

  “You seek to turn my people against me? You fail, Tarcisio.”

  And so it began. It was a murmur at first, an urging from members who perhaps had lived too long in the ways of il Dragone and feared change.

  The rumbling grew, whipping through the crowd. ‘Not worthy.’

  Carlo wondered what the outcome would have been if even one person had raised their voice in hope to Tarcisio’s plea. Would it have helped turn the tide? Would the night have ended with the saving of souls? But there was strength in numbers. No one here spoke out against il Dragone. Member after member repeated the damning words until it was a vociferous cry. ‘Not worthy!’

  “Do you see? We are stronger than words, Tarcisio.” Baldoni’s beady eyes traveled over his congregation in approval. He sighed. “Yes, much stronger.”

  Baldoni turned to Carlo, whom he now addressed for the first time. His next words were spoken low, conversationally, and solely for him. “You seek to hold counsel against us, but you are lost. Dagio Regiotto was taken this eve.” Baldoni motioned, and two guards brought out the subdued caretaker.

  There was something not right about Dagio’s features. They were slack, and his throat worked convulsively.

  Is he drugged?

  Carlo heard Tarcisio’s sharp intake of breath. Tarcisio reached out to Dagio, but two brown robes held him back.

  Dagio opened his mouth and gurgled.

  Dear God, they have cut out his tongue!

  Baldoni’s stare never wavered from Carlo as he continued. “He was captured outside the gates of Forlì. Your father will never find you, Marchese Falco. Dagio can no longer confess our secrets, and tonight you die.”

  The cult members smelled blood. The clamor in the cavern was deafening.

  Icy fingers of dread crawled up Carlo’s spine. They clawed at his chest and grabbed hold of his heart, chilling his soul.

  Tarcisio turned to him. His face resembled the yellowed cloth map of the death tunnels.

  Dagio was to have met Carlo’s father and King Vittorio’s Guard at the city gates and guide them to the catacombs by way of Paolo Ignacio’s fields.

  Now that Baldoni’s men had captured Dagio and so cruelly silenced him, the King’s army would have no guide into the catacombs.

  Carlo looked to the stone archway through which they had come. A grave-faced Brother Conti stood sentinel by the entrance.

  The King’s Guard would now have to enter through the inn above and then search for the hidden door that led into the catacombs below. If by some chance they managed to find the door in the painting of the Ascension, they would have no less than six portals from which to choose. All of the portals led to tunnels that spread out in spider web formation in different directions underneath the town of Forlì.

  They would be dead before his father and the King’s Guard found the blazing ceremonial pit.

  With no trace of them or any proof of wrongdoing, the accusations against La Verità would be just that, baseless allegations. The veil of secrecy would come down over the town of Forlì once again to protect the damned. To protect Rosa Bareschi.

  The ground shook. The brown robed members screamed louder.

  Shadows lengthened on the cavern walls. The shadows expanded and became darker, staining the walls.

  Baldoni smiled at him as a thunderous roar came from below. “I will remember your courage. A pity. You would have made a great assassin.” He motioned to the brown robe. “Lead our guests forward.”

  The two brown robes dragged Carlo to the edge of the platform. The crowd below cheered even as they backed away from the fire that was already starting to root upwards.

  This was their final hour.

  Carlo raised his chin. We will not die alone. I will take these two devils with me.

  “Brothers in Christ,” Baldoni gloated. “Where is your Savior now?”

  Tarcisio stopped mid-prayer to stare at Baldoni. “Waiting for us with open arms as the devil waits for you.” Gone was the fear from Tarcisio’s eyes. He was at peace now with his hands clasped in front of him. He resumed his silent prayers.

  Tears streamed down poor Dagio’s dirt-smudged face. Dagio had a young wife and baby.

  Carlo began to pray, not for himself but for the family Dagio would leave behind.

  The fire dragon came roaring out of the flames. The red eyes looked directly at Carlo. The dragon towered above them now, its breath searing Carlo’s face. Flames licked the edge of the platform as the dragon’s massive head came closer.

  Carlo turned and took a step back, but a brown robe was behind him.

  “You must go. Now!” A familiar voice echoed through the cavern, shaking the walls.

  Carlo turned back to the dragon. As he watched, the red eyes turned yellow gold.

  I must be in shock.

  Margaux’s beautiful eyes bore into his. He wanted to believe in this last soothing vision.

  I will be with you soon, my love.

  “Who speaks?” Baldoni looked up to the cavern ceiling and then back at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  The brown robes dropped his arms as Margaux screamed, the dragon roared, and they were one.

  * * * *

  Fire consumed him, as in the dreams.

  This time, Margaux was not running away from him, down the open pathway on weathered cobblestones. She was soothing him.

  He should be burning, but Margaux’s arms were wrapped around him, and he felt only love.

  “Remember,” Margaux said.

  Carlo lifted his head from her chest. “No, I am going with you. I can’t live after … this.” He looked around them at the flames. Beyond them, Baldoni’s lips curled in rage, his words lost in the crackling inferno that rose to the cavern ceiling.

  “The fire dragon will not harm you now.”

  He turned back to Margaux. She touched his lips with her fingertip. “You will be unharmed by il Dragone.” Her lips repeated the caress, punctuating each word. “Unscarred. Perfect. Until we both remember.”

  His eyes had closed with her sensual touch, but her last words intrigued him. Made him hope that her witch’s magic would not fail them as this life had. He opened his eyes. “Remember what?”

  With her satisfied smile, she was his mischievous Margaux again, and he knew she would not tell him. She glanced behind him, and her smile faltered. “They will remember, my love, because of who they serve. You must remember.”

  That last word turned into a roar that blasted him with burning flames. The fire dragon had taken over.

  Margaux let go of him, and he fell into the flames.

  Chapter Nine

  Down, through the flames, screaming, he fell.

  Carlo landed on his back, not in the fiery pit, but on the ledge. He stopped screaming and jumped up.

  His hands were red … no, they were glowing.

  “He has taken the demon’s power!” someone shouted. The words coursed through the crowd in waves.

  The brown robes that had once held him prisoner, backed away.

  Baldoni came forward.

  Carlo could only imagine what his face must look like as Baldoni stared in silent rage. Carlo’s hands tingled, and he lifted them.

  Baldoni took a step closer as Carlo’s golden hands turned darker and darker still until they were a familiar sun-warmed olive.

  Baldoni’s eyes wandered from his hair to his boots. “What has she done to you?”

  Carlo did not know, never wanted to know. He forced his fear down and summoned contempt in its place. “More than your fire dragon ever will.”

  Baldoni looked past him over the ledge. The fire was just a fire now, and the only shadows were that of the flickering flames. Margaux was gone.

  “Enough!”

  Carlo jerked his head up. His father’s features transformed in outrage as he advanced towards the pit of fire with no regard for the worshipper
s he brushed past.

  There must have been one hundred members of King Vittorio’s Guard filing into the ceremonial hall behind his father. One guard stood tall and immovable behind a stone-faced Brother Conti by the entrance to the cavern.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His father stopped in front of the flames, before the silent menace of il Dragone, glaring at anyone bold enough to meet his eyes.

  Several of the guards hurried to surround the duke as he stared at the sacrificial chamber, the brown robes and the golden idol.

  The worshippers fell silent.

  Disbelief mingled with the flames reflecting in his father’s eyes. He looked up in disgust at Baldoni on the platform. “You have lost your soul.”

  Carlo would forever remember that moment as the moment he began to live again.

  “How did you get in here?” Baldoni’s lips tightened in disapproval. He was not intimidated by the duke’s presence or the silent threat of the guards in this secret cavern. He was truly mad.

  “When we did not meet Dagio Regiotto at the appointed hour, we went to the Villa Merona.” Carlo’s father looked at him.

  Carlo looked down at his hands, and slumped with relief. Still bronze.

  “Signorina Livia guided us through the tunnels,” his father said, eyes still on him.

  The wall of guards parted.

  The pretty, dark-skinned girl with the generous hips came to stand in front of them. Her hair was not braided as it had been this morning, but fell in a dark waterfall over her shoulders as it had the night Luciano carried her home to the Villa Merona.

  The smile that broke over Carlo’s face felt foreign. He hadn’t attempted such a genuine smile in a year. But Signorina Livia had saved their lives, and now he knew what a precious gift life was.

  Signorina Livia turned warily towards the crowd as one of the brown robes started running towards her.

  Members of il Dragone roared encouragement as the man grabbed her by the neck, dragging her to the ground.

  Guards grabbed the brown robe, her father, the innkeeper.

  The cavern erupted into a melee of swords and fists.

  Carlo ran toward the alcove. Luciano plowed into him with a guttural snarl, pushing him to the edge of the platform.

  He dropped down and went for Luciano’s legs. Luciano thrashed about to strike him and lost his balance. He grabbed Carlo’s leg as he fell over the side of the platform towards the fiery pit.

  Carlo grabbed at the rough edge of the limestone in his descent. His hands found grooves in the stone on the platform and he held on, but couldn’t drag himself up. The heavier Luciano was pulling him down.

  Luciano screamed up at him, his smashed nose making him look like the devil’s spawn as they hovered over the heat and flames.

  Carlo couldn’t hear what Luciano was screaming, fear took his hearing. The man’s fleshy lips curled back in crazed horror. He concentrated on keeping his grip on the stone.

  Luciano’s hand slipped down his leg.

  Carlo stared as Luciano’s grip loosened, unable to push himself up or shake the brown robe off.

  Luciano howled and Carlo looked down to see flames licking up the poor man’s legs. And over his own ankle.

  The flames travelled higher over Luciano as if he were an oiled wick and still Carlo felt nothing but the man’s hand slipping down on his ankle. Then he felt nothing as Luciano flailed his arms and fell into the fiery pit.

  Carlo clung to the stones as the flames reared up and over his legs. Still, no pain, just a warm breath over his legs. With his burden gone, he struggled to climb up onto platform.

  Above the din of the crowd below, he heard his father’s shouts.

  Carlo had managed to hook an arm over the ledge when he saw brown robes move forward with their two captives. They were going to throw Tarcisio and Dagio into the flames.

  He cursed fluently. “Fight!” But he knew they wouldn’t.

  Tarcisio’s eyes flickered with a farewell.

  What had Dagio been given to subdue him so? The brown robes wouldn’t have to push Dagio. He walked leadenly towards the platform, not even looking where his steps fell.

  “I will see you in Hell, Marchese Falco!” Above him, Baldoni dug a booted heel into the back of his hand.

  Carlo’s grip on the ledge slipped. “You bastard!” With his hand pinned under Baldoni’s foot, he swung his other hand up and caught hold of Baldoni’s long, brown robe.

  With Baldoni’s boot putting pressure on his hand, Carlo used the man’s robe to leverage himself up. He pulled the lunatic over further, and off balance.

  Baldoni screamed as he toppled over the side, freefalling into the inferno below.

  Hands were pulling Carlo up from the edge of Hell, dragging him onto the platform and everything went black…

  Someone had thrown a cloak over him. Hands pounded over his body, stamping out flames.

  When they lifted the cloak, Carlo lay there panting heavily.

  Carlo’s father produced a blade and cut up one leg of his breeches. He pulled and ripped, then started on the other leg, and finally stopped.

  Carlo knew what he should tell them, but he could not find his voice. He was not burned.

  He was, as Margaux had promised, unscarred. Perfect.

  By the guarded look on his father’s face, those impossible words were not necessary.

  Instead, Carlo leaned up on his elbows.

  Swords and fists were a doomed match. The guards battled methodically and cut down the frenzied mob.

  Dagio was against the wall with his eyes closed while a guard examined him. The caretaker gurgled and Tarcisio moved towards him.

  Carlo slumped back down against the stone platform. They are safe.

  “Your legs.” His father’s words trailed off.

  Carlo lifted his head. They stared at each other and in that moment, Carlo understood one thing clearly. His father did love him. Would protect him and the family. Protect this secret, whatever it was.

  In keeping with the miracles of the last few days, a weight fell from Carlo’s shoulders so that he slumped again. His father’s arms steadied him before his head hit the platform.

  “Margaux was here,” he said.

  His father nodded as if he spoke of a living person. A night such as this would do that to a man whose world was precise, rational.

  Carlo remembered why he’d tried to leave the platform. “Signorina Livia?”

  His father smiled down at him. “What of Signorina Livia?”

  He held his father’s gaze. “Her family holds no titles. You want a match with the Queen’s niece.”

  “Signorina Livia risked her life for a man she does not know. She has a pure heart and refuses to live in fear anymore. What will you do?”

  “I will make her a good husband.”

  His father nodded. “You are ready to live again.”

  Margaux’s name hung in the air between them, but this time, Carlo felt no guilt. He felt only that he must have the life he should have lived with her while he waited for her return.

  “I will honor the vows. I will open my heart to Livia, and love will come in time.”

  Part III

  Return to Me

  Falcon and Angelina

  Chapter One

  Naples Present Day

  Margaux, it is time…

  Falcon’s thought woke him. He noticed the light first. Even through his closed eyelids, the unnatural brightness gave him a headache.

  He frowned. The inn is unusually bright today.

  He squeezed his eyes shut but it hurt to do that, so he relaxed and kept his eyes closed. He heard a reassuring voice, but it was not Signor Tarcisio’s soft timbre.

  “It sounded like he said something.” It was Granger, talking in a low tone to someone about a concussion.

  But Falcon didn’t have a concussion. He was fine when he shouldn’t be. He opened his eyes now and started to sit up to tell Granger that.

  “Hey budd
y, good morning.” Granger, looking like a civilian in jeans, a polo shirt and a cocky smile, followed the doctor to the bedside.

  The doctor and nurse each caught one of Falcon’s arms before he fell back against the bed.

  Maybe I do have a concussion.

  But he had to go after Angelina. He tried to sit up again because he was no longer in the Inn of San Mercuriale with its soft glow of candelabra. Signor Tarcisio had been dead now for over two hundred years. Angelina was Margaux, and Marchese Falco had found his love again.

  It never occurred to his analytical mind to doubt the fantasies a healing brain could conjure. What he’d experienced was real and he was armed with essential pieces of a puzzle he could never have solved without the help of the past.

  Carlo was all too aware of the time he’d wasted lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

  The nurse placed a pillow at his back, giving him a firm push into it.

  “Easy now, what have I ever done to you?” He gave her a look. She smiled.

  “I am Dr. Colacarro, young man, and you are in the Ospedale Santobono. Can you tell me your name?”

  “His name is Tony,” Granger said. When the doctor glanced in Granger’s direction, he looked away.

  “My name is Antonio Russo,” Falcon said to the doctor. Granger nodded his encouragement.

  “Good. Where do you live, Tony?” Dr. Colacarro shot Granger a look that kept him quiet.

  Falcon suppressed a sudden urge to jump out of bed and get moving. He resigned himself to supplying the physician with answers to all his questions.

  “That is an impressive laceration you have, young man. You have twelve stitches to show for it. The wound is healing remarkably well.” Dr. Colacarro frowned.

  “Oh, he’s always been that way,” Granger nodded sagely.

  “Yes. Yes, I have.” Falcon touched the back of his head and winced. “But how long will that last?” he murmured to himself.

  Until we both remember…

  “What did you say?” Dr. Colacarro’s frown turned into a condescending smile.

  He probably thinks I’m delusional… Falcon couldn’t tell the doctor how the black fog had surrounded him when he had lain on the street. It had entered his throat, trying to choke him to death. Instead, he had gone back in time.