Finally, a teenager in a cassock came out to meet them. He gave Mike a hesitant smile then unlocked the gates. “Hello. I am Brother Arkaday.” One of the voider-monks listed in the packet. His English was slow and careful. “This way please.”
As they walked through the park-like cemetery that covered the monastery grounds, Mike heard Rose and Ian whispering over the gravestones. Tchaikovsky, Dostoyevsky, and a number of other famous names. It bothered Mike. This was no time to play tourist. If being attacked the other night hadn’t drilled that into Rose, what would?
Some people never learned. In Mike’s experience, they were the ones with short careers in this business. Unfortunately, Nazeem seemed the only team member to grasp the seriousness of their situation. Nazeem, like Mike, was a veteran. That was clear enough in the vampire’s silent watchfulness, his focus, his warrior’s grace. Mike had hunted vampires like Nazeem, and recognized every bit of the danger that lurked behind his youthful looks, elegant clothes, and mild expression.
As they crossed the threshold, Mike kept a close eye on the vampire, but Nazeem didn’t hesitate as he stepped into the church. That answered one question. Some vampires couldn’t set foot on consecrated ground; others could. Mike had no idea what aspect of their nature affected that ability, but Nazeem’s ease wasn’t going to help Mike sleep better at night.
Arkaday led them through a side wing of the church and into a dormitory area, past a number of cell doors to a larger room at the end. Voices from ahead, echoed down the hallway. They spoke in Russian, so Mike couldn’t understand, but whatever was said made Arkaday blush. “Please, excuse me. I will go announce you.”
Nazeem was close to Mike. “What were they saying?” Mike asked in a low voice.
Nazeem answered, just as soft. “Two men, arguing about whether they can trust us.”
Arkaday returned to the hall. “Please, come in.”
The room had no windows and no electricity, as far as Mike could tell at a glance. Several oil lamps provided yellow, smoky light. A bed, a bench, a table and a desk were the only furniture. On the bench sat a stooped, withered old man. Beside him, a dark-haired monk around Mike’s age stood guard.
Arkaday went over and knelt before the ancient monk. “Father Dmitri, I have brought them.”
Dmitri laid his hand on the novice’s head. “I’m not blind; I can see them just fine.” The old monk’s English was easy and eloquent. “And what a fascinating sight.” Keen eyes swept over Mike and his group, lingering first on Nazeem, and then on Rose. Mike didn’t expect he got a lot of vampires or young girls visiting the monastery.
Mike offered up introductions. “I’m Father Michael Sullivan. This is Nazeem, Ian, Rose.”
The old man nodded. “I heard of your arrival in town, and then Arkaday reported you were here talking with Andrei. I am curious as to what brings such an unusual,” his gaze flickered back to Nazeem, “group of foreigners to St. Petersburg.”
His body might be old and frail, but there was steel in Dmitri’s voice and a wariness in his bearing. Mike would have reacted the same to a group of supernatural strangers moving into Chicago. “We’re not here to cause any trouble. We’re here as…” he fumbled for the right word.
“Consultants,” Ian supplied smoothly. “I imagine it’s going to take us a while to learn our way around. Any advice you could give us, we’d love to hear, sir.”
“Ah, a young man with manners. So rare these days.” The look Dmitri sent Arkaday’s way was pointed, but affectionate. “And I should remember my own. Vladimir, fetch some wine for our guests.”
Vladimir didn’t looked like he’d warmed to Mike’s team yet. He leaned over Dmitri, spoke softly in Russian.
Dmitri pushed him away irritably. “I’m fine, I’m fine. The sooner you go, the sooner you can be back to make sure I don’t go playing chase in the streets, or whatever it is you’re afraid they’re going to talk me into.”
Vladimir’s glare could have frozen a volcano, but he left. “He’s a good man,” Dmitri said, “but thinks I’m going to fall apart at any second. Arkaday, why don’t you go find chairs?”
Dmitri kept up a near constant chatter, asking how they liked St. Petersburg, had they adjusted to the cold, that this was nothing compared to when winter hit, and weren’t those pretty earrings the young lady was wearing? He barely paused to hear their answers. Eventually, chairs were arranged and wine was poured and Mike found himself charmed by the old man.
Once they were settled, the old monk grew serious. “I can only assume your conversation with Andrei didn’t go well.”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” Mike said. “And at least he met with us. That’s a start.”
Vladimir responded—so Dmitri’s guardian spoke English after all. “Father Andrei would keep his enemies close. He does not like your kind. Templars.”
Dmitri nodded. “Andrei doesn’t like the idea of anyone in his city who could threaten his power.”
“Is he dangerous?” Rose asked.
Dmitri, Vladimir, and Arkaday all nodded together. “But cautious,” Vladimir said. “I do not think he would do action against you until he knows how badly you could return the hurt.”
“Andrei is nervous,” Arkaday said, glancing at Dmitri for approval. “With the killings.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike caught Rose and Ian exchanging looks. Giving away too much. “Ah,” Dmitri said, “You know about those.”
“Yes,” Mike said firmly. One word, no more.
Dmitri nodded. “Good. You’re careful. You’ll need that.” His eyes met Mike’s. In them, Mike recognized a kindred spirit, a fellow veteran. Mike found himself at home in this shadowy room with these foreign monks. This could be one of the hundreds of war councils he’d sat through with fellow Templars. They might wear different robes, but these were men like him.
Rose wasn’t so careful. “The men who died, they were voiders. Did you know them?”
“Knew of them,” Dmitri corrected. “None of them were ours. But the community is small enough, we at least know the names of those who congregate at Revelations.”
“Revelations?” Rutledge’s dossier had mentioned a nightclub by that name, co-owned by a couple of the unaffiliated local voiders.
“I’ve never been, naturally.” Dmitri flashed a mad grin. “But I have had interactions with the woman who runs the place. Svetlana. You should really speak with her and her friend….?” Dmitri looked up at Vladimir.
“Poulov,” he supplied.
“Yes, Poulov. I don’t know him well, but he’s the sort of man who always seems to know a little about everything that’s going on around him.” Dmitri winked at Mike, but Mike didn’t have the first idea what Dmitri was trying to convey.
For the first time since they’d come into the room, Nazeem spoke. “What does Andrei know about the murders?”
A dark look flickered across Dmitri’s face. “Less than he should.”
“He does not care,” Arkaday said.
“What a bastard,” Rose said, then caught herself. “I mean—I’m sorry, sir.”
Dmitri reached out and patted her hand. “The sentiment is true enough, and I’ve heard the language before. Be at ease, child.” He started to laugh, but it turned into a cough.
Vladimir was on him at once with a glass of water from the desk and a heavier wrap. “Father abbot—”
Dmitri waved him away irritably. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Vladimir gave Mike a look that Mike could understand perfectly. “It is getting late. We should leave you.”
Dmitri glared up at his keeper, but Vladimir didn’t flinch. “Oh, very well then. Next time you’ll have to come earlier so we can talk more.”
“That would be great,” Rose said.
“God be with you, children.” Dmitri eyes shifted, just for a moment, to Nazeem. “All of you. And hurry back.”
* * *
As they made their way back outside, Rose took note of the monastery’s a
tmosphere. Most of the men who lived here weren’t voiders, and the sense she got from them was primarily unease. Life wasn’t any more tranquil in here than out on the streets.
“So what’s next?” Rose asked.
“We should check out the nightclub—Revelations,” Ian said. “Alec’s papers made it seem pretty central to the community, and it’s got to be some kind of popular if even the monks know about it.”
Mike shrugged, but didn’t offer up a better idea. Ian gave instructions to their driver, and they were off.
They rode into one of the communist rebuilt areas of the city. The plain, concrete slab highrises were a dramatic contrast to the colorful, elegant buildings of the downtown. The car pulled up in front of a blank, warehouse-looking structure from which poked a line that ran around the block. Away from the center of town, the St. Petersburg malaise had faded, and if this building had its own dark past, those energies had been driven away by the layers of excitement, lust, and desperation that surrounded any night club.
The music was loud enough Rose could feel it pounding against her chest before they’d made it to the door. The long line marked this place as popular, and Rose noted the youth of the crowd. The older people she’d seen out on the streets, as they’d driven through town, had all seemed in a hurry—they’d moved with a head-down, anxious purpose. Only the young people dared linger in the darkness.
Ian boldly cut through to the front of the line. He was calm, confident. Rose couldn’t imagine he’d ever once in his life been turned away from a club. The bouncer, a burly blonde man in a tailored suit, let him through without a fuss, but he stepped in front of Rose, Mike, and Nazeem.
“We’re here to see Svetlana.” Mike didn’t raise his voice, but it carried all the same over the pounding music bleeding out of the club.
The bouncer jerked his chin towards Nazeem. “You with him?” His thick accent made the words come out a growl.
“I don’t have to be.”
Rose pushed in front of Mike. “Yes, we’re with him.” She had to yell to be heard. “We’re also with Alec Rutledge. Do you know him?”
Recognition rippled through the bouncer. “I know Rutledge. You the new people he hired?”
Did everyone in town have a spy network? “We are. All of us.”
That seemed good enough. The bouncer let them through the door. As she passed by, Rose saw him reach for the phone on his belt.
Inside was no brighter than the street. The only lights along the wall were filtered red and pulsing in time with the music. As her eyes adjusted, Rose could make out the hellish murals that ran from floor to ceiling, depicting scenes of torture and debauchery in a flaming wasteland. Demons that might have looked cartoonish in a different setting became sinister and menacing in the dim, smoky light.
The floor was packed and people stood five deep around the bar. Dancers writhed in time to the throbbing heavy metal that radiated from the open mouths of gargoyle speakers. The room pulsed with lust and exhilaration, passion and mania. The sharp, tangy smells of bodies and cigarettes and alcohol gave weight to the overheated air.
Ian had waited just inside the door. The gentle smile on his face was a bland mask over the delight with which he glowed to Rose’s othersense. While Rose felt like she was going to drown under the assault to her senses, Ian was definitely at home here.
Nazeem was able to make it over to the bar, where he leaned in and exchanged a few words with one of the bartenders. He pointed across the room to a set of stairs Rose hadn’t noticed in the crimson gloom, then held up three fingers. Third floor, then. All they had to do was get over there through the thrashing wall of drunken revelers.
Nazeem made it look easy. He slipped between people, in and out of gaps before Rose’s mind had registered the openings. It was an oddly impressive display of reflexes and grace. But it was Ian that really snagged Rose’s attention. For Ian, the crowd parted.
Nothing too dramatic—not like Charlton Heston and the Red Sea—but as Ian moved through the room, the dancing faltered; people turned to notice him. They moved out of his way with appraising gazes and lustful thoughts. This was about more than just good looks—Ian’s presence burned as bright to the non-sensitives in the room as it did to her. Ian moved along the open path as though he was accustomed to it, as though he expected it. Another data point in the enigma of Ian.
Rose and Mike had to fight through the old-fashioned way. Rose didn’t bother apologizing when she resorted to pushing people out of her way. No one could have heard her over the music anyway.
She made it to the stairs and then stopped short when, halfway up, silence deafened her. Mike’s hand on her back kept her moving. “Magic,” he said in clipped explanation.
The second floor was a completely different experience. Trancy music and rolling fog gave Rose a floaty feeling. Brighter than the floor below, illumination from frosted globes along the wall diffused through the mist. This was much more Rose’s speed, but it wasn’t their destination.
As they came up on the third floor, the soothing sounds of a Tchaikovsky serenade wafted down. Up here, there were no dancers or even a dance floor, and two more burly guards flanked the doorway. Inside, white satin curtains separated alcoves of plush white chairs and dark wood tables. Only three people were currently making use of the space, taking drinks together around one of the tables. All three of them were voiders. All three, Rose recognized from Alec’s packet.
The statuesque, platinum blonde woman was Svetlana Ulyana, one of the owners of Revelations. Next to her, the older middle-aged gentleman who looked like he could give Mike some real competition in the surly department, had to be the other owner, Poulov Karchenko. And the burly black man on Svetlana’s other side would be Justin Andrews, an American expatriate, according to the files. Justin looked to be in his early thirties, a good twenty years younger than Svetlana or Poulov. He was also the only one of them who was visibly armed, with a holstered pistol clipped to his jeans.
“So, you are Alec’s friends.” Svetlana’s voice was deep and rich with the rounded, rolling Russian accent Rose associated with the movies. Her ice-blue eyes were as cold as her words. “There is nothing for you in St. Petersburg. You should leave now, while you still can.”
Nazeem’s soft, even voice broke the uncomfortable silence that followed Svetlana’s statement. “Do you mean to threaten us?”
“Do you feel threatened?” Svetana’s voice was just as low and just as cold.
“Hey.” Rose stepped between Nazeem and Svetlana. “Nobody’s here to threaten anybody.”
Now Rose had the whole of Svetlana’s chilly attention. “Little girl, you walk into my club with a vampire and a Templar at your back, and you think there is no threat?”
Justin reached out to rest his fingers on Svetlana’s forearm, a cautious, yet comforting touch. That single gesture told Rose a great deal about their relationship. “We should at least hear what they have to say.”
Ian flashed his charming smile. As far as Rose could tell, the Russian voiders were unaffected. “We’re here to investigate the murders,” he said.
“Which ones?” Svetalana asked. “St. Petersburg is dangerous.” Her gaze locked back on Nazeem. “People die in this city every day.”
“With their hands chopped off?” Rose couldn’t keep the sharp tone out of her voice. Was everyone in this city an asshole?
Justin winced and took a breath, as though to answer, but then he looked at Svetlana and his mouth tightened into a line and he stayed silent. Svetlana gave a hard, cold smile. “Our problems are our own. We need no help from outsiders.”
“Come on,” Mike said. “I think we’re done here.”
“We’re talking,” Rose insisted. If Mike wanted to give up that easy, that was his problem. No secret he didn’t want to be here in the first place.
“The Templar is correct.” Svetlana stood. “We are done.” With a final stony glare around the table at each of them, Svetlana pushed open the curtain be
hind her and disappeared through it.
Justin sighed and also stood. “Sorry,” was all he said before he followed her.
Poulov chuckled and smiled, as though they had all shared some private joke, then he too retreated through the curtains without ever having said a word.
“The warmth and hospitality of the people here is touching.” Ian’s inner amusement softened the edge of his sarcasm.
“She really seemed to have a problem with vampires.” Rose gave Nazeem a questioning look.
He shrugged. “The vampires of this city are no threat to Svetlana.”
“How would you know?” Mike demanded. “Have you met the vampires here? They friends of yours?”
“No.” Nazeem glanced over at the curtain through which the voiders had exited. “But there are laws.”
“Laws.” Mike snorted. “You have to admit, your kind has a long history of killing innocents.”
“As does yours,” Nazeem responded softly.
“Guys, please.” Like it wasn’t enough half the city hated them. “If we think there’s some issue going on, shouldn’t we go talk to the vampires next?”
Nazeem shook his head. “Better not to arrive unannounced. I would recommend we approach with more attention to formality. Perhaps have Alec arrange an appointment for us.”
“I’ll call him when we get back to the hotel,” Rose offered.
“Great.” Mike didn’t sound excited.
That was fine. Rose was excited enough for both of them.
CHAPTER SIX
Monday
Alec was happy to arrange for an invitation. When Rose talked to him, he echoed Nazeem’s caution. “Anastasia can be…sensitive. Especially if she feels like people aren’t giving her the respect due her station.”
“You’re saying we’d better treat her like she’s really a queen?” Rose asked.
“Yes,” Alec answered without irony.
Which was all the excuse Rose needed to go shopping. It wasn’t like she had any clothes fancy enough for the occasion, and Alec had said they were free to use the provided credit cards to cover expenses.
Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1) Page 6