Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1)

by Barbara J. Webb

  Rose continued to glare at him until a yawn forced its way past her lips.

  “Go to bed, get some sleep,” Mike said, his narrowed eyes daring her to argue.

  Rose hated that he was right, and hated even more the shiver she couldn’t repress. “I don’t know if I can get back to sleep.”

  Ian said, “I may be able to help.”

  Rose arched her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”

  He grinned. “A warding circle—around your bed—to keep anything from touching your dreams.”

  Rose didn’t miss Mike’s surprised, then speculative expression. Did Ian have some tricks the old padre didn’t? Old man didn’t know everything after all. “Sure. That sounds great.”

  “Just let me get some stuff from my room.” Rose followed Ian. Screw Mike and Nazeem both. They could think what they wanted—Rose could look after herself.

  * * *

  Six AM. Cross-legged on the king-sized bed, Mike meditated.

  When he’d been young, he’d surrounded himself in circles and arcane symbols, lit candles, arranged crystals. Crutches, every one. The only key to power was power. It took a long time to understand that. Some voiders never did.

  Will was the only thing that mattered. Faith in your own power. In the beginning, it was easier to believe in the circles and symbols, but the true masters of the art, at some point in their career, experienced that ABC-Saturday-morning-special moment and discovered the magic had been inside them all along. Mike hated when he came up against voiders like that. The others, you just had to take their toys away and they were helpless. Those guys, you had to fight.

  Mike was pretty sure things would come to fighting here in St. Petersburg. Some psycho was out there; Rose had made herself a target. Stubborn, idiot child, determined to put herself in danger, and in the hidden corners of his heart, Mike knew he would have done the same at her age. Now he was old enough to know better. Well, probably.

  Would he honestly have packed up and left if he weren’t under orders? Could he have walked away? Something very bad was happening in St. Petersburg—could he turn his back on that?

  Mike didn’t know the answer to those questions. Didn’t want to know the answer to those questions.

  Too damn old. Maybe fifty-one was nothing out in the normal world, but when over thirty of those years had been spent fighting demons, you felt the weight of every minute. The invisible war had a high body count. Not just because it was dangerous, but because, over time, you got tired.

  Mike was very, very tired, and that was usually when they got you.

  Mike closed his eyes and reached out with his awareness. He wasn’t a sensitive—no voider was. The act of opening yourself to the other side cut out some vital part of a person and disconnected you from the real world. But where Rose could feel the living, breathing essence of every creature in her presence, Mike was in tune with something much more elemental.

  Power hummed all around him. The complex grid of the hotel’s electrical system, a wood-fire in the kitchen, tiny floating sparks of cell-phones and laptops. Mike saw it all and frowned. There was no way he could make this place secure. If those rogue voiders came after Rose again….

  Once upon a time, Mike’s duty would have been clear. When Mike had first joined the Templar order, the Church had offered up no compromise. The supernatural presented a danger to the world, one the Church was there to stop. Mike had hunted voiders like the ones who attacked Rose. Mike had hunted vampires. A dinner like last night’s would never have happened; neither Rutledge nor Nazeem would have dared sit in a room with him.

  In those days, the attack on Rose would have justified him calling in a whole team of battle-hardened priests like himself to go through the city and purge the dangerous elements. Now Mike knew better than to ask. The Church’s stance had softened. Even if the resources were available, Rome wouldn’t interfere in what they would call “a local matter.” These days, they brought out the big guns for demons and nothing less.

  Mike sank into the power grid and traced through line after line, but there were simply too many ins and outs to build a proper security ward. Not unless he wanted to melt the electrical system entirely. Much as he hated trusting to luck and more vampire ex machina, he didn’t have an immediate better solution. It had been years since he’d been in the field with anyone who wasn’t a fellow voider, years since he’d had to protect a civilian.

  The best protection he could offer was to learn the territory fast. If Mike had to stay, and if Rose was determined to do the same, ignorance was their worst enemy.

  With that in mind, he opened his eyes and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand next to his bed.

  Rutledge answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Mike had to give the kid props for sounding awake and alert at this time of morning.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Mike? Is that you?” The sound of sheets rustling. Rutledge must still be in bed. “Does this mean you’re taking the job?”

  “I think we both know I never had a choice.”

  A brief silence spoke volumes, and Mike wondered just how much Rutledge knew—about everything. When Rutledge spoke again, his smooth southern voice was cautious. “How about breakfast? The hotel restaurant is amazing. And we’ve still got a few hours till sunrise.”

  If Mike was going to be in this game, he was going to use every advantage he had. “I don’t want to wake Rose up too early. She had a rough night. Let’s say ten o’clock, and we can catch the vampire up later.”

  “Sure, that’s no problem.” Rutledge, it seemed, knew when to pick his battles. “Did you need anything else?”

  Mike took another stab to see just how much information Rutledge had. “Tell me about the murder that happened in St. Isaac’s.”

  Rutledge paused for a long moment. Then, “We’ll talk at breakfast.” A click and he was gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Later Sunday

  Rose awoke disoriented with a pounding head. It took her a minute to remember where she was and why the side of her face felt like someone had beat her repeatedly with a solid object.

  Because, oh yeah, someone had.

  She slid out of bed, took a couple steps forward, and got knocked over the head by something even worse than the lingering effects of last night’s adventure. The city—oh god, the city.

  Rose staggered back and the weight fell away. She stepped forward again; St. Petersburg’s dark energy hit her full force. Ian’s circle—it had to be, protecting her somehow. Not just from dreams, but from the waking nightmares St. Petersburg offered. A welcome relief when she was inside, but the sudden awareness when she crossed it was shocking.

  Yesterday, arriving on the plane, the change had been gradual. She’d sunk into the city’s aura, aware of the darkness, but able to adjust. Like the oft-cited frog in the boiling water, only when she went directly from safety to a full sense of the city did she recognize the horror.

  Rose pulled her curtains open, welcoming the dazzling brightness. Across the square, the gold dome of St. Isaac’s glowed beneath the brilliant morning sun with disingenuous beauty. No amount of light could burn away the sorrow and wretchedness that poisoned the air around the cathedral. How many generations of desperation, of despair? How long had it taken for black pain to soak into the stones so deep Rose could hardly see through it?

  How many people had died there?

  St. Isaac’s was concentrated horror, but Rose felt nothing from the cathedral that wasn’t echoed in the rest of the city. Desolation and fear and wretchedness and a despair so black and bitter it left a metallic taste on Rose’s tongue. Forget sensitives—how did normal people get through their day without noticing?

  Last night, in the haze of pain and exhaustion, Rose had grumbled and whined through all the work of pulling her bed and the rug beneath it aside so Ian could paint the floor directly. Now, as she looked back at the replaced furniture that held no hint of the magic that lay beneath them, Rose was glad of
the work they’d done. Considering the refuge it offered, Rose didn’t mind letting the circle stay hidden as long as its magic would last.

  Magic. Ian and Mike talked about it—did it with such casual ease. Even Nazeem hadn’t reacted with any sort of alarm when the voiders last night had tried to use their magic against him. Rose might technically be part of this invisible war Mike talked about, but she’d spent all her life in the normal world surrounded by normal people. The idea that her teammates treated all this supernatural shit as commonplace was going to take some getting used to.

  And Mike, the asshole, would probably hold that against her. The last thing she wanted to give him was more ammunition for the idea she was too young, too inexperienced for this job. She’d just have to do what she always did: watch, listen, wait. She’d figure it out.

  She had to figure it out. Rose had spent too much of her life already as the odd-girl outsider, trying to hide her gifts, masking her reactions to the information her othersense brought her. To be around people who not only knew what she was and what she could do, but valued it—how could she walk away from that?

  Rose dreaded her first look in the mirror, but couldn’t avoid it forever. Her face was a mess, but not as bad as she’d feared. The worst of the bruising was under her hair, ugly purple blotches visible when she lifted it, but hidden well enough once she’d combed the dark unruly mess into a semblance of order. Her right cheek was more troublesome, the developing bruise a sickly yellow patch against her bronze skin, but some careful makeup minimized the effect. She didn’t think she’d draw too much attention out in the street.

  Rose finished dressing and headed down to the lobby. Once again, Vasily the concierge snagged her as soon as she stepped off the elevator, but this time he directed her towards the restaurant. Once again, Mike, Ian and Alec were already present, but this time the table was only set for four. With the bright sun streaming through the wall of glass that looked out towards St. Isaac’s, Rose took a wild guess that Nazeem wouldn’t be joining them.

  In full daylight, Mike looked even more dour in his black suit and collar. Alec was trying for suave, relaxed back in his chair with that plastic smile still pasted on his face, but Rose could see his hand clenched on one arm of his chair, the crinkles around his soft brown eyes. And Ian—Ian still radiated a blinding kaleidoscope of energy that threatened to overwhelm Rose’s ability to sense anything else. She wished she could ask him to stop. Her head hurt enough today.

  Rose snagged the empty chair and grabbed a buttery croissant out of the bread basket on the table. Alec and Ian both greeted her with cheerful good mornings, but Mike only frowned and studied her face. “It’s not too late to find a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.” Rose turned the ceramic cup at her place setting right-side up and and immediately the waiter was at her side with a pot of coffee.

  Ian also held out his cup. “Spasibo,” he said once the waiter had filled it.

  “You speak Russian?” Mike asked, making it sound like Ian’s understanding of the local tongue was some sort of personal attack.

  “He does,” Alec answered before Ian could. “Nazeem is fluent as well. As am I, of course. Communication with the locals shouldn’t be an issue.”

  Rose had studied French in school, in addition to being fluent in her mother’s Spanish and conversationally capable in her dad’s Italian. She’d never expected to be anyplace one of those wouldn’t serve. “Don’t people speak English here?”

  Alec offered her the little tray of cream and sugar. “This isn’t like most of Western Europe. I wouldn’t recommend wandering outside the touristy areas without a translator along.”

  The waiter brought over several platters of eggs, bacon, and little pancakes with pots of jam. Rose helped herself, ravenous.

  After the waiter had departed, Alec’s smile fell away, replaced by a look of serious concern. “So what happened last night?”

  Once again, Rose told her story. Not only did Alec not act surprised, he actually nodded along when she talked about the guy getting his hand chopped off.

  Mike waited till she was done to turn his accusations on Alec. “You knew about this.”

  “About the murders, yes. I had no reason to expect what happened to Rose.”

  “Murders?” Ian called out the plural before Rose could.

  Alec stayed silent as the waiter returned with another basket of bread. Then, “One of the reasons my employers chose St. Petersburg is because it already has a population of supernaturals. Resources and structures are already in place—the sort that help people like us operate without drawing undue attention. Safe gathering spots, relationships with the authorities, bribes where they’re needed. The sort of arrangements I’m sure all y’all understand.”

  Rose didn’t, but Ian and Mike gave similar impatient nods.

  “But the locals bring problems along with the perks. There’s no out-and-out war. Not exactly. But there’ve been plenty of hostilities and hurt feelings over the years. These murders are the most recent—and maybe the worst—outbreak of violence.”

  Alec pushed at the remains of his eggs with a fork, but seemed to have lost his appetite. “To be honest, this situation is high priority on the list of things my employers want you to look into.”

  Mike flashed a twisted grin. “Your shadowy masters scared they might be next?”

  Alec ignored Mike’s question. He took a deep breath, then looked up at Rose. “It won’t be in the paper. Whoever this killer is, he’s cleaning up after himself. Before now, we didn’t know where the murders were happening. Still don’t, I guess, if he moves around from kill to kill. But sometime today, if the pattern holds, the body will wash up along the banks of the Neva, one hand missing. This will make the fourth Sunday in a row.”

  Rose’s stomach went tight. She’d lost her interest in breakfast. “He’s making a habit of this.”

  “Seems that way,” Alec answered.

  “So we’re talking about a serial killer?” Ian sounded calm. Felt calm. He probably dealt with serial killers all the time.

  Alec nodded. “The city authorities are still searching for a connection between the victims. They don’t know what we know, that all the dead men have been voiders. We don’t know who or what he is, or why he’s hunting the voiders of the city. Rose’s dream is the most solid information we’ve gathered so far.”

  “Speaks volumes about the quality of your investigators,” Mike said.

  Alec’s smile was serene. “And that’s why you’re here. Isn’t hunting men like that right down the middle of the Templar job description?”

  For no reason Rose could fathom, Alec’s question earned him a surly glare from the padre. Alec took that opportunity to reach under the table and retrieve four manila folders out of his bag. “I brought y’all these to look at.” He handed the folders around, offering the extra to Rose. Each one contained three bundles of paper stapled together, individually labeled Vampires, Monks, and Miscellaneous.

  “These are the supernatural folks in the city that we know about.”

  Rose didn’t miss the equivocation. Neither did Mike. “That you know about?”

  “People come and go a lot. These dossiers cover the primary residents, but I can’t speak for visitors or anyone who might be in hiding or new to the city.”

  Mike flipped through his papers, too fast to be reading. “There’s a lot of names here. Lot of supernaturals in St. Petersburg.”

  “Any big city—“ Alec began.

  Ian cut him off. “No, Mike’s right. I don’t know about the vampires, but even in New York, we don’t have near this many voiders running around.”

  “How would you know?” Mike grumbled. The fact Ian was agreeing with him didn’t improve Mike’s temper.

  Ian’s smile lit up his impossibly blue eyes. “You Templars aren’t the only people who keep an eye on their surroundings.”

  And Rose had never met a voider, vampire, or whatever-the-hell-Ian-was before she’d come
here, and it wasn’t like they could hide from her. Which meant they had to be thin on the ground. “So what’s up with that?”

  Alec raised his hand and the waiter arrived seconds later with the check. Alec scrawled his name on the line. “All right, yes, St. Petersburg seems to attract people like us. There’s a higher concentration of supernaturals walking these streets than anywhere else in the world, as far as my employers can tell. As for the reason why…”

  Alec closed his bag and stood up, smiling around the table at each of them in turn. “That’s the other thing my employers are hoping you’ll figure out.”

  * * *

  Rose slipped the folder under Nazeem’s door, but before she had taken two steps away, the door opened to reveal Nazeem standing there. He wore what looked to be a cotton shirt than hung all the way down to his ankles. The folder was in his hand.

  “What is this?”

  “Alec brought them for us.” Rose held up her own folder. “They’re information about the people in the city we’re going to have to deal with. We had breakfast together.” Was it rude to talk about the breakfast Nazeem couldn’t have come to? “I haven’t read mine yet.”

  Nazeem nodded. “Thank you.” He started to close his door.

  “Wait, don’t vampires sleep during the day?”

  Nazeem’s handsome face was a mask, and the churning energies within him might as well be some foreign language. She couldn’t even read his tone as he answered, “We cannot be out in the sunlight, but we don’t have to sleep, no. I do not sleep.”

  “Not ever?” Rose took a curious step forward, trying to see into his room. “What do you do all day?”

  He had already made the room his. Shelves along the close wall had been emptied of the hotel-supplied decor and filled with books, a strange mix of old, leather-bound volumes and newer paperbacks. In the new books, Nazeem’s taste ran to thrillers, and the cracked spines shown they’d all been well-read. All the words Rose could see on the older books were in Arabic, indecipherable.