In the end, Peter had carried the church sorcerer, Liam Mulkerrin, to the other side of that veil, leaving The Gospel of Shadows behind in his people’s safekeeping. Meaghan and Alexandra had kept it from the world’s governments, even from the United Nations, and fear prevented any of those powers from attempting to take it.
And what of Lazarus?
Within the pages of The Gospel of Shadows, a tainted pope spoke of five Defiant Ones who had been captured but whose minds were impossible to tamper with. They were to be executed, but then in a terrible battle they escaped.
“You’re one of the five,” Meaghan said now, as they settled onto the sofa in the living room of the brownstone she shared with Alexandra. Alex took a chair.
“Pardon me?” Lazarus said, eyebrow arched.
“You are one of the five who were never brainwashed,” she elaborated, knowing it was unnecessary. “Peter figured it out before he . . . died, and Alex and I did, not much later than that.”
The room was silent, and the smile returned to Lazarus’s lips. He looked at Meaghan, then to Alexandra, who stared at him in return with open hostility.
“Proceed,” he said.
“Cody searched the world for you,” Alex finally said. “We know you are one of the five. What we want to know is, who are the others? Where are they? Where were you in hiding? And how do you know about Mulkerrin’s return?”
Alex paused, her tough exterior momentarily revealing the concern beneath. “And what makes you say Cody has been captured?” she asked.
Lazarus smiled now, wide and friendly, almost like an excited child.
“Well done!” he said, and for a half second, Meaghan thought he would applaud.
“Actually, there were four of us, not five. Mary was killed during the escape. Martha is in Salzburg now, preparing to help however she can. Who is the other? Good question. I tend to think of him as ‘the Stranger,’ and for now, that should be good enough for you. We were in Greece when Cody came looking, and we knew where he was all along. He could not have found me because I didn’t want to be found. You three were doing quite all right on your own. As to how I know about Mulkerrin’s return and Cody’s capture, I cannot, or rather I will not, say. Know only that I wish to remedy both situations as expediently as do both of you. Which is why I am here, after all.”
Lazarus could see the questions ready to erupt from the lovers, and so he continued.
“Cody is, as far as we know, all right. I expect he is captive in the Hohensalzburg fortress at the south end of the city.”
“Well, what the hell are we waiting for?” Meaghan finally asked. All other questions could be put aside, but Mulkerrin must be destroyed and, if possible, Cody freed.
Lazarus stood, ran his hand through his shoulder-length brown hair and stepped away from the sofa. Meaghan watched him. His prominent nose gave his face an aquiline aspect, and the wrinkles of his olive-complexioned face and his brown eyes were quite expressive. She realized that he didn’t look exactly the same as he had during their previous meeting. He was different in subtle ways: the shape of his nose, the point of his chin, even the color of his hair.
Was this by choice, or did great age such as Lazarus had endured wear away the memory of oneself? Did such ancient shadows become just that, shadows of their former selves? How different, then, did he look from his true countenance? How long must one live to forget his or her appearance? Disturbing questions all. She had asked what they had waited for, and yet she was aware that time, for Lazarus, would be different than it was even for them.
And yet, Alexandra was not quite so understanding.
“While we suffer your silence,” she snarled at Lazarus, “my blood-brother awaits his death. Speak your mind, Lazarus, or we go, now.”
Alexandra looked at Meaghan then, and although it was clear who was the leader among them, Meaghan knew that this time, her lover would accept no argument, no instruction, no suggestion. Once, Alexandra had wanted her blood-brother, Will Cody, dead. Now he and Rolf Sechs were her only family, and she would not lose them.
Lazarus walked toward the restored masonry fireplace, and rested a hand on the mantel as he examined the room. Art surrounded him: what appeared to be a genuine Monet next to a framed, toilet-paper sketch by Andy Warhol. And yet it was here, by his right hand, where lay the one piece of art that mattered. Lazarus knew that the two women, each once a lover to Peter Octavian, had taken it and perhaps these others, from his abandoned apartment after the Jihad. The sculpture was a perfect likeness, a bust of Octavian himself, ponytail and lopsided smile intact.
“This,” Lazarus said sternly as he lifted the sculpture and turned it to them. “This is our weapon. Mulkerrin has returned from Hell, where Peter Octavian took him, far more powerful than before. He has achieved such a feat without even the so-called Gospel of Shadows to guide him. It makes one wonder, does it not? For if Mulkerrin has gathered such power to him, what might Octavian have accomplished beyond the veil? What powers has Hell given to him?”
Silence.
5
Salzburg, Austria, European Union.
Tuesday, June 6, 2000, 3:24 P.M.:
Allison Vigeant was being pulled, dragged really, across Makartsteg, a narrow bridge spanning the Salzach River. John Courage was trying not to be rough, but he would hear no argument. Not that he could have heard her over the screaming. Allison imagined that they must look like a swarm of insects from above, so many people clogged the bridge and the streets around it. Several times she had almost been separated from John, but he roughly shoved people out of the way if he had to.
Allison took an elbow in the chest then, and bent over to catch her breath while the rush of people flowed around and past her, as if she were a rock in the rapids. Then Courage was pulling insistently on her arm, and she was moving again, one hand clutched to her breasts. They reached the north side of the river, and headed east along its bank, but then she stopped again, even as the tide of panicked humanity started to thin out.
“Damn it, John,” she said, her anger turning into a panic for her lover, “we can’t just leave him back there!”
He wanted to ignore her, but could not.
“Look!” he said, sweeping his arm wide, forcing her to take in the hell that had sprung up around them. Back across the bridge, demons of all sizes roamed free, though she didn’t see Mulkerrin’s possessed soldiers anywhere. A splash made her look downriver, and Allison saw something impossibly huge, incredibly black, sliding up toward them. For the first time she noticed that the bridge they had crossed was the only one standing, that the other three in this part of town had been torn apart by the earthquake and that this thing was thrashing at their pilings, bringing even their remains down into the water. The bridge was still packed with people, and whatever was in the water would soon bring them all tumbling down.
“We’ve got to help them,” Allison said quietly, but she knew the reality of their situation. The police and army were already coming in, starting to evacuate people. A small force of soldiers ran by them even now and stood at the river’s edge, shooting at the black thing which splashed water up at them. No, Allison knew that she and Courage, and Will, of course, would have to find other ways to help. Mulkerrin had to be destroyed if any of these people were to survive.
Courage had a grip on her arm which never faltered, and he’d been pulling, hurrying her along. But now it was Allison who picked up the pace. They had not run into a single demon on the north side yet, among the frantic crowds, but she knew that was nothing more than luck.
“Where are we going?” she finally thought to ask.
“It’s close,” he said, “and I think we’ll be safe there for a while.”
Allison kept her mouth shut after that, concentrating on getting wherever this safe place was. They were rushing toward the plaza where Elisabethkai, the street they were on, met Linzer Gasse and several other narrow roads. The city which had seemed so vibrant to her before, smelling of chocolat
e and filled with the music of Mozart, was now a maze of danger. Blue skies which had reflected off cobblestones and golden domes had become black clouds hovering above shattered homes, churches and fountains. The stench of sulphur filled Allison’s nostrils.
They heard screams ahead, and a woman ran into the plaza, floral dress torn down the back, blood smeared and running down her calves. Dozens of other maddened civilians scattered as she shrieked like a lunatic, stumbling into their midst She tripped, nearly tumbling over crumbled masonry, and then stopped short at a huge fissure that separated her from the river side of the plaza. The woman was young and attractive, and terrified, her blond hair sweeping back as she spun to face her pursuers. Three small but ravenous-looking demons rushed toward her on all fours, the dark jackals stopping just short of her and snapping at her feet like wild dogs. More were behind them, and the scene became a near riot as people pushed one another aside in their attempts to get away.
Courage seemed about to move, to help, but it was too late. Even the jackals weren’t fast enough, as an enormous head with skin like steel poked out of the crack in the ground, and a great length of tongue lashed out, wrapped around the woman and dragged her into the creature’s gaping maw. Many of the city’s people would survive this nightmare, but those with them in the square were doomed. Allison had never felt so helpless.
“Damned beast!” Courage said, sincerely, obviously stunned.
Then the jackals turned toward them, and there was no time for conversation. Even though the things could not leap across the ravine in the middle of the street, their shrieking bark caught the attention of the demon inside the fissure, and the thing was rising a bit farther from the hole, its eyes on Allison and John.
After Venice, Allison Vigeant thought she had seen it all, but today she was learning how arrogant that assumption had been. The creature began to slide out of its hole, dragging itself by three-clawed hands, a dragon seemingly made of metal. Allison had to tear her eyes away to look at John Courage, and her mouth hung open. Not long before, she had seen him use his vampiric shapeshifting abilities in ways Cody had never suggested, taking forms she had never imagined them able to assume. Now he was doing it again. John grimaced in pain as huge wings sprang from his back.
“Let’s go,” he said, then grabbed her around the waist with both his arms—and they were flying. The dragon gave a terrible hiss and shot its tongue after them, but they were already out of range.
It was a moment before Allison realized that rather than flying away, they were simply going up. Up and up and up. Hundreds of feet in the air they flew, compounding her terror, and she hugged John tight and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was staring straight at the fortress, the spring from which Liam Mulkerrin’s evil now overran the city. And she thought of Will.
“Oh, God. Will.” And finally the tears came.
“He’s alive,” Courage said, and she looked up at him, not understanding.
“How can you . . .”
“Trust me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Actually, we’re here,” he said, and she looked away from the fortress and at the top of a cliff, so close at hand. In a moment, their feet touched ground and they were standing by a small, apparently ancient structure which looked as if a castle turret had sprouted from the hillside. Above them, forest stretched away as far as Allison could see, and below, the trees dropped off to nothing except the street far below and the river beyond.
“Let’s go,” John said, and started off a few paces before he realized Allison wasn’t following.
“You bastard,” she said, terrible knowledge dawning on her. Courage only tilted his head and raised an eyebrow in question.
“You asshole!” Allison said now, with more conviction. “You could have done that Icarus angel imitation back in front of my hotel, and Will Cody would be here, safe with us. What the hell’s the matter with you, John? Why did you let that happen?”
Courage bit his lip, and for all the toughness of his appearance, the military-style hair, the square jaw, he looked vulnerable at that moment. His whole manner, his voice, his eyes were penitent.
“I don’t have a good excuse,” he said sadly. “You’re right, I could have flown with you and we all could have escaped. But I wasn’t thinking about escape then, Allison. It happened so fast, all I was thinking about was battle. Retreat is foreign to me. I’m not used to having humans around, not used to being . . .”
“Vulnerable,” she finished for him, and it was not a question. John nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her gaze finally.
“We’re not done yet,” she told him. “I was in Venice, my lover is a vampire, but I’ve never seen a vampire do some of the things I’ve seen you do today. And I have no idea how you could know whether Will is alive or dead. What’s going on?”
The sadness disappeared from John Courage’s face, replaced by a barrier of determination, a fierce secrecy.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said, but there was no sarcasm in his voice. “I’ve been around awhile. All shadows have the same abilities, but they must learn to utilize them. In fact, the vampires you know are much more powerful than even they are aware.”
“So how old are you, and who are you really?” she asked.
“That,” John said and let out a breath, “that you’ll know soon enough. It’s why I was in Salzburg in the first place, why I found you and Cody. But the answers to those questions must be found to be believed. If I simply told you, you’d never buy it.”
Allison nodded, satisfied that, for the moment at least, that’s all she was getting from him. They walked at a good clip, ducking low branches along their rough path. She scanned around them, expecting at any moment to see giant demonic things lumbering toward them through the trees, or those small, vicious jackals snapping toward them up the path. Nothing happened except that they continued to move uphill, and Allison began to believe that she could feel a difference up here. As if, for the moment, they had escaped.
“You knew there wouldn’t be any demons up here,” she said.
“Call it a hunch.”
They slowed and Allison looked up the path. Ominous walls stood to the right, towering twenty-five or so feet above the path. As far as she could tell, there were no windows.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You didn’t come up here with Will?” John smiled at her finally. “Shame on you. Bad tourists! It’s a monastery. Capuchin monks, in cloister, as far as the locals know.”
They drew up toward huge double doors of wood and iron, and as John went forward to ring a bell hung next to them, Allison watched him closely, frowning, thinking. He backed off to wait, and looked toward her again.
“Before you ask, it was a monastery once. The older brothers died over time, and the younger ones we shipped to other locations.”
“We?”
“A couple of my friends and I. We own this place, now. Of course, not on paper.”
A bolt slid noisily back on the other side of the doors the left swung open slowly, and a short, portly but not unattractive woman stood there with a cross look on her face, like an angry mother.
“Next time, take your time, why don’t you?” she said, then turned to Allison with a friendly smile, the crankiness gone from her face. “And you are?”
“Allison Vigeant,” John said, “Martha. Martha, Allison.”
They stepped into a great courtyard, around which the stone building stood, almost a fortress in itself In the center, an enormous fountain lay dormant. Two slender young men appeared in a doorway on their right, came quickly forward and bowed their heads to John Courage. They were twins, and quite handsome as far as Allison was concerned, but how many vampires weren’t? Of course, Martha was a vampire as well, though certainly the least attractive Allison had seen. She had long since realized that with the control they could wield over their forms, the shadows honed their appearance, both consciously and
unconsciously, throughout their existence. She wondered why Martha did not practice that particular art.
“Allison, these are the sons of Lazarus: Jared and Isaac,” Martha said, and each man bowed as his name was said.
Lazarus! Her mind raced.
“You’re full of surprises,” she said, turning on Courage. He smiled at her, obviously enjoying the mystery.
“Come on, now. You’re a reporter. You’ll figure it out.” Martha bolted the door behind them, then joined John and Allison as they went inside the monastery. Behind them, Isaac and Jared took up positions on either side of the great door. Once inside, they sat at a long wooden table in a completely bare room, and Allison wondered whether Courage had removed anything, or simply not added anything after the monks had gone. She shook her head and brought herself back to the business at hand.
“Why aren’t there any demons up here?” she asked.
“Thin air?” Courage chuckled.
“Would you stop fucking around! The man I love may be dead, an incredibly powerful lunatic has apparently come back to life, demons are wrecking the city below us and ghosts are taking over the bodies of tourists. People are dying down there, John. Now what are you going to do about it?”
Courage wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right.”
“He was trying to make you feel better by distracting you,” Martha said, earning an angry glance from John.
“Distracted is the last thing I need to be,” she hissed. “Now, can we please get on with it? What’s going on?”
Courage sat up straight.
“There aren’t any demons up here because we’re protected,” he said.
“By what?”
“Magic.”
“Whose?”
Courage looked away.
“Mine,” he said, and Allison forgot to be angry.
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