Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1)

by Barbara J. Webb

  Various knick-knacks decorated tables and counter-tops. A porcelain figurine of a small child with a flower. A jade dragon. A turquoise and silver ornament quite obviously from the American southwest. Other trinkets—souvenirs of his travels?

  The heavy top-curtains hung down over every window in the room.

  Nazeem stepped back. That gesture was clear enough: keeping his distance as he pointedly answered, “Today what I will be doing is studying this information Mr. Rutledge has provided.”

  His face was more than just a mask. Some active force made Rose’s eyes slide away so she couldn’t focus on his features at all, couldn’t watch for those delicate cues that told her as much about people as any supernatural gift. Every time she tried, something distracted her, caught her eye, dragged her attention away. “Are you…doing something to me right now?”

  “What would I be doing?” What little Rose could glean from his eyes was all honest confusion.

  Down the hall, the elevator dinged. Some other hotel patron, returning to his room. This wasn’t a conversation they should be having in public. “Can I come in?”

  Nazeem hesitated, then stepped aside. Rose shut the door behind her. “You’re strange to me,” she confessed. “Mike, Ian, Alec—I can read them just fine.”

  Nazeem stood only a foot away from her; he hadn’t moved a step further into the room than she had. “I thought your…abilities didn’t work on people like Mike and Alec.”

  “They don’t, but I can still read their faces. People—they have no idea all the little twitches they make that betray everything they’re thinking. But you—I can’t see any of that. It’s like I can’t even look at you properly.”

  “Ah.” His emotions buzzed and swirled as his face remained impassive. “Yes. I am aware of that. It’s a defense. Part of being what I am. It’s not something I have any control over. But it’s one of the reasons a surveillance society is so dangerous to my kind. External marks of what we are—the human eye slides past; the camera does not.”

  “Do I make you uncomfortable?” If Rose could start cataloging the alien impressions she got from the vampire…

  “Yes.” He got points for honesty. “I am unaccustomed to invasions of my private space.”

  Rose had trouble believing that. His dissonant insides might be off-putting, but only to a sensitive. His outsides were handsome enough, what she could focus on. On the other hand, the careful way he spoke, his cool demeanor… “What kind of social lives do vampires have?”

  Nazeem crossed his arms, but just like last night, Rose detected a note of what might have been amusement leaking through. “Will there ever be an end to these questions?”

  “Probably not until you tell me to stop,” Rose admitted.

  His lips twitched, halfway to a smile. “You should go read the information our employers have been kind enough to provide. We will have other opportunities to talk.”

  Belatedly it occurred to Rose the reason why he seemed so eerily still. Except when he spoke, he never took a breath. His shoulders, his chest, they lacked that one basic movement that made people look real. “Okay, I’ll go. But I’ll be back.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  It was Rose’s turn to smile.

  * * *

  Mike saw Rose go into the vampire’s room. That was a development he was going to have to keep an eye on. God only knew what lunatic notions kids had these days. All the silly, romantic vampire stories out there—those writers should all be indicted for reckless endangerment.

  Rose was in no immediate danger. Mike hadn’t gone so far around the bend he thought Nazeem would attack her the minute everyone’s back was turned. But Mike hadn’t figured out Nazeem’s game yet, and that had Mike on edge.

  Tomorrow’s problem.

  Mike retreated to his suite and settled at the desk with Rutledge’s dossiers. Two read-throughs later, a plan was taking shape. He dialed Ian’s room.

  Five minutes later, he and Ian met in the lobby. “You sure you don’t want Rose along?” Ian asked, shouldering into his duster.

  “Very sure.” If Mike hadn’t been worried about people not speaking English, he wouldn’t even have invited Ian.

  Ian didn’t press the issue, which Mike appreciated. Kid or not, Ian seemed to understand the truths of their situation. He waved down a cab as Mike pulled on his gloves, then gave the driver instructions after they’d both gotten into the vehicle.

  “Where’d you learn to speak Russian?” Mike asked once they were underway. “Or, I guess, why?”

  Ian shook his head, watching out the window as they drove through the heart of the city. “That’s a long story. One that demands alcohol.”

  In Mike’s experience, long story was always code for a tragic love or a tragic death. Given Ian’s youth and charm, Mike guessed the first. “Some girl break your heart?”

  “Not a girl.” Ian’s smile was wistful. “My dad.”

  Tragic death, then. You’d think by now Mike would know what to say to that. Thankfully, Ian changed the subject. “I read through the monk packet. You expect they’ll talk to us?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Confidence was one of the first emotions Mike had learned to feign. “We’re all men of God. There’s got to be a connection there. Besides, it’s been years since there’s been any open warfare between the Templars and the Orthodox Heresy.”

  Ian grinned and pulled out his wallet as the cab parked next to a wide set of wrought-iron gates. “I know this isn’t my area of expertise, but things might go smoother if you don’t call them heretics to their face.”

  Mike ignored the jab. “Make sure you get a receipt.”

  The Alexander Nevsky Monastery was a complex of buildings, including a cathedral, two smaller churches, dormitories for the monks, and an elaborate cemetery. A woman at the gates took money from scattered tourists for admission onto the grounds, but with a glance to Mike’s collar, she let him and Ian pass without comment.

  The cathedral itself was brightly lit and ornately appointed. Marble surfaces in pink and pastel blue and green were ornamented by crystal and malachite and gold. As ostentatious as anything Rome had to offer. No more appealing here than in his own church.

  “Now what?” Ian asked, running his hand down the smooth surface of a column more than twice his width.

  “Give it a minute.” Mike knew how to get their attention. He pulled power into himself, let it fill his body, an energizing radiance, a blinding flare to any voider nearby.

  Ian didn’t notice. Hunters like him had their own power, but it came from a different place. Operated on a different wavelength. Mike didn’t understand how or why they were different, but since the creatures Ian’s people hunted were perfectly vulnerable to Mike’s form of magic, he’d never bothered asking a lot of questions.

  A man emerged from a hallway at the front of the cathedral—a man Mike recognized from his photo. Tall and solid, wearing a dour expression above his Abbot’s robe. Father Andrei. The dossier hadn’t included much information about Andrei outside the warning he could be dangerous.

  Andrei’s ice-blue eyes locked on Mike. Andrei stood where he was, waiting. Mike considered making a contest of it, but since this was Andrei’s house, Mike could give him the first round. A gesture of peace and all that. He crossed the room with Ian trailing behind.

  “So,” Andrei began without preamble, speaking in English without being asked. “You are the ones they brought to St. Petersburg.” One corner of his lips curled up into a sneer. “An ornamental boy and a tired old man. And I am to be intimidated, da?”

  Not starting out on the best foot. “We’re not here to intimidate anyone.” Although he couldn’t resist flaring his power. Andrei would be able to feel it. It wasn’t a threat, exactly. More a polite display to warn you were armed, like pulling aside your jacket to show you were carrying a gun. Mike just happened to carry a big one.

  Ian stepped up gracefully, made his own attempt. “We’re here as a courtesy, Fa
ther Abbot. To introduce ourselves. Since you doubtless know the city, we thought—“

  “I know what you are here for,” Andrei interrupted, his voice as cold as his eyes. “You think this city will be so easy to claim for your own?”

  Mike didn’t need Rose’s special skills to evaluate Andrei. This man was an asshole.

  Mike wasn’t a complete idiot. He could be diplomatic. He knew he should apologize for their invasion of Andrei’s territory, reassure the man they wanted to work with him, not against him, maybe even ask for his help and stroke his ego a little. Trouble was, Mike couldn’t bring himself to do any of that. Not with Andrei’s challenging stare locked against his own. “Look, is there something we’ve done to piss you off, or is this just your usual Sunday face?”

  Ian shot Mike a look of surprise before he reclaimed his diplomatic smile. “What Father Mike means—“

  Mike cut that right off. “I don’t need you to speak for me, Irish. The Father Abbot knows exactly what I mean.”

  “Indeed.” Andrei’s lips twisted up into a thin smile. “I would expect no better manners from a Templar.”

  So much for this bright idea. Mike wasn’t going to find an ally in Andrei. “Come on, Ian. We don’t want to waste any more of the Father Abbot’s time.”

  Outside the cathedral doors, Mike stopped and pulled out a cigarette. “Hold up.”

  “You know, smoking’s bad for you,” Ian said.

  “So’s fighting the supernatural.” Mike lit up, took a long drag. “Which one you think kills you faster?”

  As they’d turned away from Andrei, Mike had just caught a glimpse of a shadow retreating into the hallway Andrei had emerged from. Andrei wasn’t the only voider here, and maybe not everyone shared his views.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later, an acolyte emerged from one of the side doors. He said nothing, but held a folded slip of paper out to Mike. Ian thanked the boy in Russian while Mike opened the note. Written inside, in English in a strong, clear hand:

  Come back after dark. I would meet with you and your companions. Andrei does not speak for all of us.

  * * *

  Rose read through her packet, but the information within raised more questions than it answered. How much of it made sense to the others? How long was she going to be playing catch-up?

  Neither Ian nor Mike answered their phones, and Rose didn’t want to pester Nazeem too much in one morning, but she had to get out of her room. Surely they had coffee shops in Russia, right? She packed up her laptop and set out in search of one.

  Even better, as she got off the elevator, she spotted Alec in the lobby, chatting with one of the front desk clerks. The clerk liked Alec. Rose felt that clear as a bell. Everybody liked Alec. The clerk saw Rose and pointed, prompting Alec to turn and wave.

  “What are you up to?” he asked as Rose came over to join him.

  Rose shrugged. “I’m kind of at loose ends. Although if you’ve got some time, I’d love to pick your brain on,” she glanced at the clerk, unsure how much she should say in front of people, “on some job-related stuff.”

  “No trouble at all. There’s a teahouse just a short walk away. They make fabulous biscuits, and it’s a nice quiet place—great for talking.”

  The morning air wasn’t as bitterly cold as last night had been, but even the short walk to the teahouse had Rose shivering and burying her gloved hands as far as they would go in her coat pockets. The climate was going to take some adjusting to. November in Phoenix meant you turned off the air conditioning. Well, some days.

  Cute was the only word to describe the teahouse. Nestled in a shadowy nook alongside one of the canals, it had lacy curtains over little square windows and fringed tablecloths on the tables. And a smiling, little old lady who welcomed Rose and Alec with genuine warmth.

  “Everyone seems to know you here,” Rose said once she and Alec were seated.

  “I’ve been in St. Petersburg for years. It’s given me a chance to get to know people. It’s a great city. You’re absolutely going to love it here.”

  “But you’re not from here, obviously.”

  Alec’s smile flashed white against his dark skin. “Savannah Georgia, originally.” He waved at the pile of gloves and jacket and scarf and extra sweater Rose had peeled off and stacked in the chair next to her. “So take it from someone else who hails from a southern climate—you really will get used to it.”

  “I have zero clothes for this weather. I’ll need to go shopping at some point.”

  “Ah, that reminds me.” Alec reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “These are why I came back to the hotel. I wanted to make sure you were set up.” He handed it to Rose.

  Inside, a platinum Visa with Rose’s name on it sat atop a thick pile of paper currency—rubles. “What’s this for?”

  “Expenses. Whatever y’all need. Don’t hesitate to use the card. Dinners, clothes, entertainment—whatever.”

  Once again, Rose felt that tinge of unease that someone was willing to go through this much effort, lay out this much money for her. “Our employers are awfully generous.”

  Alec grinned. “Don’t be so suspicious. You’ve got a rare gift. Even more than Mike or Ian or Nazeem. It shouldn’t be a surprise people are willing to pay for it.”

  The proprietress brought over a tray with steaming cups of black tea and an assortment of both sweet and savory treats. The scones and cookies looked delicious; the array of pickled vegetables less so. Alongside a little pitcher of milk, instead of sugar, sat a pot of jam. Rose added liberal amounts to the strong, bitter tea.

  Alec snagged a cracker topped with cream cheese and salmon to nibble on. “So what were you wanting to ask me about?”

  “All of it.” After Alec’s reassurance of her value, Rose wasn’t afraid to admit to total ignorance. “Putting aside the serial killer for a sec, there’s all this other stuff. All this supernatural business. You keep saying things in our meetings, and the guys all nod like they know exactly what you’re talking about, and I’m lost.”

  “Well like what?” Alec’s tone was casual, unconcerned. It encouraged Rose.

  “Okay, so the supernatural community, or the invisible war, or whatever I’m supposed to call it—what’s it like? If St. Petersburg is the exception, what’s normal? And how do all these people find each other? And why did I never see any people like you before I came here?”

  Alec chuckled and handed Rose a scone. “You should try these. They’re amazing.

  “To answer your questions,” he continued, “easiest one first: you’re a sensitive, so you were born that way. The rest of us weren’t. Voiders and vampires are made by other voiders and vampires. Usually people with an agenda. And that’s how we get pulled in to the communities.

  “Naturally, there are groups and factions. Humans are social creatures and it’s not like that goes away once you start being able to throw some magic around. But there simply aren’t that many of us. Mike’s Templars have spent most of their history hunting anyone with magic who wasn’t part of the church.”

  “No surprise there,” Rose grumbled.

  “And they aren’t the only association of hunters in the world. It’s no accident Mike calls it the invisible war. So the numbers stayed small. Which meant that while people tend to cluster, there aren’t that many clusters in total. The largest cities in the world don’t have more than a handful of supernaturals wandering around in them. You take a place like New York, Beijing, Tokyo, cities that are magnitudes bigger than St. Petersburg and they probably don’t have half the supernatural population. Certainly not two different, competing groups of voiders and a cluster of vampires on top of that. People like us seem to be drawn here.”

  Funny. Rose felt just the opposite. “I don’t understand that. If this city’s putting off any vibes, they’re clearly of the stay away variety. Do you really feel like you were drawn?”

  “Nah.” Alec winked. “Like you, I was hired. But I’m here all the same. We all are.<
br />
  “And maybe there’s some critical mass.” Alec shrugged. “Some point at which, once enough supernaturals are in a place, they start pulling more in. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. And neither do our employers.”

  That gave Rose something to chew on. “So if we’re the hired guns—your boss’s Wyatt Earps—what’s your job? What is it really that you do?”

  “I organize. I liaise. Some folks, like the Nevsky monks, I’ve never been able to approach, but I’ve got friends among the local voider crowd, and the vampires know me.”

  Which reminded Rose. “Okay, speaking of vampires—I read through those files. I’ll admit none of it means a whole lot to me yet, but there was one thing I wanted to ask. In the file I saw—Anastasia Romanov? As in the Anastasia Romanov? Are you telling me the lost grand duchess became a vampire?”

  Alec’s words were careful, more careful than he’d been with any topic so far. “That’s her claim. No one knows—at least, no one I’ve ever talked to—whether she’s really Tsar Nicholas’s lost daughter. She looks the part, knows what to say. And none of the vampires here are about to argue with her. She and her ‘court’ carved out their own private space in the Winter Palace and the voiders in the city do their best to avoid it.”

  “Cute,” Rose said. “Museum by day, crazy vampire nest by night.”

  “Something like that.”

  Nothing about this job was going to be easy. It was scary. It was awesome.

  Rose couldn’t wait to get started.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sunday After Dark

  Mike tried to be patient as he waited outside the monastery gates, but it was hard not to think about the deadline they were under. Rose and Ian chattered softly to each other about the names in Rutledge’s folders, quizzing each other like this was some game, like they were on a scenic tour. Nazeem stood apart, quiet and watchful. Who could guess what went through the vampire’s head? All Mike knew was that they had six days before the next voider died.