Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1)

by Barbara J. Webb

  Only for a moment, though. Wentworth recovered himself quickly, staring directly into Nazeem’s eyes as he said, “I don’t know why that would be.”

  That unflinching eye-contact was the sign of a practiced liar. Mistaken by many as a sign of honesty. Did Nazeem see that too? Rose seethed against the handicap these vampires placed on her senses. “It seems a strange thing,” Nazeem said.

  Wentworth shrugged, his poise recovered. “Svetlana has been in this city a great many years. Long before the accords. Perhaps she sufferers nightmares about the past.” A very practiced liar.

  “It must be.” Nazeem laid a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Thank you for your time, Carter. We’ll leave you to the rest of your evening.”

  “Good to see you again, Carter.” Rose loved seeing the little twitch at his temple as she also presumed familiarity. Prissy people. Prissy vampires. And one more data point as Rose fought to understand their insides.

  * * *

  Outside, Nazeem was less amused by her behavior. “It’s not good to taunt him. Those dangers about which you asked? Carter Wentworth is one of them.”

  “He doesn’t seem so bad.” They’d left so quickly, Rose was still getting her coat and gloves adjusted for the walk back. “At least, not as scary as Anastasia.”

  “Don’t be naive.” Nazeem turned them towards the road that ran along the river. A different route back to their hotel. A splash, down in the water, made Rose jump and she pulled her mitten off to feel for the mushroom token around her neck. Still there, of course.

  Nazeem, if he’d heard it, showed no concern. But then, he hadn’t been there this morning; he hadn’t met the hungry rusalka, hadn’t heard their voices, hadn’t wanted so badly to join them. If those creatures were out and about, Rose wanted to be sure she would see them coming.

  She kept after Nazeem. “I’d take three of him over Anastasia any day. At least my brain works when I’m talking to him.” Wentworth had none of the overwhelming attraction, didn’t demand her attention the way Anastasia did.

  The way Nazeem did.

  “You’re speaking of things about which you have no understanding.”

  “No shit.” Rose planted her feet, crossed her arms. “And I’m getting tired of it.”

  Nazeem also stopped, turned to face her. She couldn’t see his face, but his silhouette was sharp against the lights of the Peter and Paul fortress across the river. The tension from earlier had left his stance, but she didn’t think he was anywhere near relaxed. “We shouldn’t linger outside.”

  “And if we go back, you’ll just shut yourself into your room again and I’ll be just as ignorant.”

  Nazeem’s head turned slowly back and forth. Not in denial. Watchful. “This is beyond foolish.” Rose stood firm, staring at him, almost certain he could see her just fine. His shoulders rose and fell as he drew in a breath and let it out in a sigh. “Very well. Quickly. What is it you must know?”

  “For starters, what were you doing back there?”

  The wasps inside Nazeem returned. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not that easy. You’re a vampire. Until a few days ago, I had no idea you even existed. Mike says all vampires are bad, and even if my instincts tell me he’s wrong, I still don’t know anything about you. If you really—if you were—” Rose broke off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Unsure how to talk about whether or not Nazeem really drank blood.

  “Ask your questions.” Nazeem’s voice was flat, but the wasps had grown angry.

  “Do you kill people?”

  “No,” he answered quickly and emphatically. He was silent a moment, then amended,“Not in that way, at least. You’ve seen me kill.”

  “So, what, then? Does Anastasia keep a blood bank?” Nazeem kept silent. Slowly, Rose’s brain put the pieces together. “Were there people in there? Are the vampires keeping people in there?”

  This time, Nazeem’s answer was more hesitant. “Yes.”

  Before she realized what she was doing, Rose had turned back towards the palace. Nazeem had a hand on her arm before she took a step. “Wait.” His voice was as calm as his grip was firm.

  Rose wasn’t even sure what she meant to do, but the thought that there had been people in there—living people, captives—the whole time she’d been taking tea with Wentworth, pantomiming dinner with Anastasia…. “Jesus, Mike was right about you people.”

  “Don’t be dramatic. It isn’t like that.”

  “So tell me what it is like.”

  Nazeem took her arm again, gentle, but insistent, and led her over to a bench beside the river. He pressed her to sit, then settled himself against the railing. His gaze locked over her head, watching across the road; he didn’t meet her eyes. “Do you know how people become vampires?”

  “I’ve seen Twilight and that Dracula with Keanu Reeves.”

  Nazeem’s lips tightened, but he still didn’t look at her. “There’s something in us. Call it a virus of the spirit. It spreads to people through…when we….” He trailed off, then recovered. “If we take enough to kill our…our prey, it’s probable they will come back as a vampire. If we only take a little blood, leave them healthy and whole, but they fall victim to some other accident soon after, it’s probable they will come back as a vampire.

  “We do not kill anymore. In this modern world, every new vampire—especially accidental births—raises the chance of our discovery. Those from whom we take blood, we do everything we can to protect. To prevent accidents.

  “It is not an unpleasant sensation, when we take…what we take. Many find they wish to repeat the experience. Those who wish that life are kept close. They’re cared for. They’re given every luxury….” Nazeem trailed off again, but this time did not continue.

  “You keep them as pets,” Rose said, her voice flat.

  Embarrassment. That’s what she was feeling from him, what she’d been picking up all night. Was Nazeem embarrassed about being a vampire? No, that wasn’t quite it. Close, but not right. Either way, he didn’t apologize. “Father Mike calls us monsters. Will you be so quick to disagree with him next time?”

  “Mike throws that word around a lot.” And what grounds did Rose have to argue? Just because Nazeem was quiet and polite? Rose knew better.

  But it seemed the vampires were no longer her only avenue to understanding. “Take me back to the palace.”

  Now it was Nazeem’s turn to ask, “Why?”

  “Because I want to see the truth. If I can’t figure you vampires out directly, maybe I can get a better idea from the people who live around you.”

  Nazeem spread his hands, a gesture of surrender. “Very well. But not tonight. We have already presumed overmuch on Anastasia’s hospitality this evening. I promise you will have your chance, but you must trust me on this, if nothing else. The vampires of the palace are protective of their guests. You must be patient.”

  “Okay.” Rose would be patient. For a while.

  Now the matter was settled, Rose realized she was shivering.

  Nazeem noticed as well. “It’s cold. We should return to the hotel.”

  More than ready, Rose stood up from the bench and froze when Nazeem’s head whipped around and his insides became chaos. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Come.” Nazeem pulled her into the park that ran along the river. Rose still couldn’t feel any presence but their own anywhere near, but this time, when she followed Nazeem’s gaze, Rose was able to pick out the shadows of men moving down the street they had only just vacated.

  Voiders. They had to be. “Where did they come from?”

  “They followed us to the palace.” Nazeem leaned against a tree, peeked around. “One of them, I recognize. He is one of the men who attacked you.”

  Rose tried to ignore a sudden jolt of fear. “What should we do?”

  Nazeem stood silent, still, for what seemed like forever. All around, the cold, the darkness, pressed against Rose until she was ready to scre
am.

  “We will return to the hotel,” Nazeem finally said. “I don’t know how many are out. To hunt them—” he turned to Rose and she could just make out his frown, “It would not be safe. We’ll go. Quietly.”

  Rose allowed herself to be led. The day had been too long and the night too cold to argue. Nazeem took a circuitous route through the park that came out only a block away from the hotel. Much as she hated to admit it, the warm yellow light of the Astoria’s lobby was a welcome sight.

  As they rode the elevator up, as the indoor heat soaked through her outer layers, more questions bubbled up in Rose’s head. “Nazeem—” A wide yawn interrupted her first inquiry.

  “Go to bed, Rose.” The command was gentle; Nazeem’s reserve had returned. “There will be other opportunities to talk.”

  Outmaneuvered for the night, Rose took his suggestion. She expected she’d have trouble winding down to sleep, but either the excitement of the day or the influence of Ian’s fairy circle sent her spiraling into unconsciousness as soon as she turned out the light.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wednesday Day

  Mike welcomed the dawn. He was too damn old to sit all night on the floor. Especially as long a night as this had been. The creatures of the night became a serious threat when night started before five in the afternoon and ended after nine in the morning. He and Ian had been sitting here for twelve solid hours, and that quite simply sucked.

  The death of the doorway was less dramatic than Mike expected. As the red glow turned to white, the first rays of sunlight sent fingers through the cracks in the walls and revealed the closet to be just a closet. The mushrooms around it crumbled to dust. Mike had tuned out the eerie summoning hours ago, but its sudden absence let him relax muscles in his neck and shoulders he hadn’t realized he’d been holding tight.

  Ian stood and stretched. Mike envied young bones and muscles that could still move so easily. “Well, that’s done with.”

  Their car and driver sat waiting on the street outside. Mike was glad Rose had thought to send it back—he hadn’t remembered to ask, and it would have been a long, exhausting walk back to the hotel.

  In the car, Ian yawned, the first outward sign he’d given of being tired. “I could sleep for a week. The tunnels always take it out of you.”

  Mike’s body wanted nothing but to collapse into bed, but his mind and heart weren’t ready. As their driver let them out in front of the Astoria, he waved Ian inside. “You go on in. I’m going to have a smoke.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you later.”

  Mike nodded, snapped open his lighter. He did want a cigarette, had wanted one most of the night, but the day he let his habits rule him in the field was the day he hung up his cross for real. But now, giving in made an easy excuse to ditch Ian.

  As a Templar, Mike had special dispensation from the Pope himself. While in the field, he wasn’t expected to attend services, and was only allowed to give confession to another Templar. No sense worrying the other priests with the idea not only was Hell a literal reality, but it was actively sending its warriors out against them.

  Meditation, prayer, these were the working Templar’s most direct ties to God, and Mike could do that anywhere. Still, he liked to be in a church when he could. Mike stared across the square at St. Isaac’s.

  Even with the doorway closed and the folk trapped on the other side of the curtain—even with the sun bright in the sky—the cathedral probably wasn’t safe. But if Mike were the sort of man to court safety, he would have become a parish priest in some quiet Illinois suburb. Mike wanted crosses and stained glass. Altars and angels. The physical tokens brought a sometimes necessary weight to his spiritual deliberations.

  He finished the cigarette and resisted the urge to smoke another. Instead, he crossed the square.

  This time of day, the tourists ruled the cathedral. Mike, in his collar and clerical shirt, garnered quite a few looks. Long ago, he’d perfected an expression with just the right level of disapproval to discourage people approaching him, and he used that now.

  A gate—as ornate and golden as anything else in this city—blocked tourists from entering one of the side chapels. No guards seemed to be paying any sort of real attention, however, and Mike ducked through its narrow gap. No one moved to stop him.

  The small chapel swam in muted colors as sunlight filtered through stained glass. Mike approached the altar and knelt, crossing himself.

  Magic and faith had come to Mike at the same time and were inexorably linked in his mind. As he’d moved beyond the ritual and objects in his magic, so had he become lax with the rituals of faith. He still knew the mass—well enough to lead it—could recite the prayers, the supplications, the catechisms. But when he was alone with God, he’d found the repetitions of formulas of words as unnecessary as when he called on his magic.

  “So here I am,” he said out loud, looking up at the cross. “Right where they told me to be.”

  Working with vampires. Acting friendly with vampires. “Is that really what You want? I’m having trouble believing it.”

  God’s stance on vampires seemed pretty damned clear. But the church, the church was run by men.

  Politics were such crap. “What reason—what could we possibly need from them? What do we gain by allying with….” Abominations. Creatures that belonged on the other side.

  Mike stood up, started to pace in front of the altar. “I follow orders. I’ve always followed the damned orders. Just once, I’d love it if someone told me why.”

  Did the church want something with St. Petersburg? Were they involved with Rutledge’s secret employers? “Everything’s wrong in this city. I know we’re supposed to figure out why, but I don’t know where to even start with that. Hunt the murderer—that seemed straightforward enough. Until Anastasia and Andrei and this whole other world.”

  Could voiders even breach the curtain the way Ian and the folk could? Mike had never heard of such a thing. He’d certainly never set foot in that in-between place before last night. But surely he wasn’t the first voider to cross. Surely the church knew. But then, why not teach people about it?

  Was the church trying to protect its Templars? “What I felt last night, the power of that place….” It had been obscene. And so desperately seductive. “Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil.”

  Mike thought he’d finished his battles with temptation, had come to terms with his his desires.

  “Insidious place. It gets inside you. Touches inside you.” He didn’t want to go back in.

  Mike stopped moving and bowed his head. “Grant me strength that I might serve You.” What choice did Mike have? He wasn’t Mother Teresa, leading through example. He wasn’t guiding a cute little parish, saving the people one soul at a time. This was his calling; this was his place. The Lord had called him into service, and this was what Mike had to offer.

  “Grant me the wisdom to know friend from foe.” In this nightmare city, who could he even trust?

  “May your wrath rain down on your enemies and your grace touch those in need.”

  “Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Now that he’d vented some, sleep was the next goal on his list. Unfortunately, as he stepped out from the chapel, a familiar figure caught his eye. Mike stalked out to the center of the nave, beneath the rotunda. “Excuse me.”

  Rose jumped at the sound of his voice, spun to face him. “Where did you come from?”

  Mike jerked his head in the direction of the chapel. “What are you doing here?”

  Rose planted her feet, defiant. “It’s daytime. I figured it was safe enough. And I wanted another chance to look around without the risk of fairies attacking.”

  “I don’t like you over here alone.”

  “So what are you doing here if it’s so unsafe?”

  “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Oh blow me. If you’re not even going to follow your own rules—” Rose turne
d to go. Not out of the cathedral, deeper in.

  Mike was exhausted and too old to think he could keep pushing his body forever. But there was obviously a problem here, one he couldn’t ignore and hope would go away on its own. “Wait. Rose, you want to go get some coffee?”

  Rose blinked at his question. “What?”

  “Coffee. Cof. Fee. You’ve heard of it.”

  “Why?”

  Holy Father, he was tired. “Do you have to fight with me about everything? I need some caffeine. I thought we might talk. That’s all.”

  She still looked sullen, but now with a tint of curious. “Okay, sure. There’s a little teahouse Alec took me to. It wasn’t far.”

  “Fine.” He put a hand on her shoulder, steered her towards the door. “Come on. I’m not getting any younger.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” she muttered, then grinned at him.

  Nice to know that if the politics didn’t drive him crazy, his teammates were giving their best shot.

  * * *

  The coffee wasn’t bad. Black and bitter, but anything smoother would have put Mike to sleep. Rose ordered tea, which was also black, but she added copious spoonfuls of the jelly that came with it.

  Mike let her finish fussing with her drink before he spoke. “So what’s your problem?” Let her see that he could be blunt too.

  Rose looked up at him, startled. “Problem?”

  “Ever since we got here, you’ve been fighting with me.”

  Rose balked, stared at her tea, wouldn’t look up. Mike preferred it when she yelled. At least then there was communication. Now he had to get her to talk, somehow. He knew he wasn’t any kind of diplomat. Especially when it came to coaching little girls out of whatever snit they’d gotten themselves into.

  “You Catholic?” he asked.

  “No.” Her denial was too vehement to be the whole truth.