Daniel roared. “How dare you attack an innocent man!” he shouted as Fabrizio lugged me to my feet. I was a breath away from using my Angelic magic, knowing they stood no chance if I tapped into the Whispers, as Angel had called them. My silver powers… “Lock her—”
“NO!” Crispin shouted, and the room went abruptly silent. I didn’t care. I had eyes only for the two so-called witnesses. They were plants. Their pals had tried to kill me last night, and almost succeeded. If I hadn’t decided to go against the Conclave’s wishes, we would have added two wolves to the list of the dead. But why did they want them dead last night rather than this morning? I cocked my head at the younger man, wondering if his hair would look shaggy if not slicked back. I was baring my teeth at him like a wild animal, and Fabrizio was cursing.
I ignored him.
They stared at me with perfect masks of horror, but their lying faces wouldn’t fool me. Crispin was standing between us, and I realized that he had frozen them in place with magic. They weren’t necessarily horrified at my attack. They were horrified because they couldn’t move and they didn’t understand why. Let alone the crazy white-haired bitch who had flung fire at them with her bare hands. Crispin stood against the full might of the Conclave, panting.
“Maybe we should ask why Callie suddenly decided to attack the witness with a Molotov Cocktail. She must have had a reason to suddenly lose her mind.” He glanced back at me, eyes uncertain, but hoping he hadn’t just traded his career to back up a laughing lunatic. I distantly approved of how he had cleverly described my magic as a homemade bomb.
I was more surprised by his support, snapping me out of my mania. I nodded woodenly, regaining control of my emotions, but unable to fully process my surprise that Crispin was vouching for me. Finally, an ally when it was too late to matter. I took a deep breath and jerked my arm free from Fabrizio who muttered a dark warning under his breath.
“I don’t want to kill you, but I will, Callie. Tread carefully,” he breathed, eyes regretful.
“Check his forearm,” I told Crispin, pointing at the witness. “I cut the assassin last—”
The door to the back of the room opened and two Shepherds walked in with Anthony the Antipope strutting behind him, and two of his guards wrapping up the procession. The Shepherds looked uncomfortable, as if they had been placed in an impossible situation. They couldn’t very well deny the Antipope. Hadn’t he left yesterday? Well, he was back now. Even though he didn’t know about magic and had no business here, the Shepherds had no reason to deny him, and it would look suspicious if they tried. But I was pretty sure they would be in trouble for letting him in here, especially with the near murder that had just happened. We were a wild bunch.
Everyone stared at the arrivals, dumbfounded. Then the Antipope smiled, clapping his hands delightedly. The sinister grins on his guards curdled my blood.
The Antipope cleared his throat dramatically. “You didn’t think I was aware of your dirty secret, did you?” He held up a phone, the volume on full blast. A second later, the phone blared with the agonized sounds of a man screaming, cursing, and threatening to rip throats out. It sounded familiar, but I was too stunned by their sudden arrival that all I could do was stare. “I showed this to your men outside and told them it would go live, if they didn’t let me enter,” Anthony said, pausing the video. He nodded at the two Shepherds. “Wise choice, boys.”
What was on that video that would permit the Shepherds to allow him entry? Torture?
“What is the meaning of this?” Crispin demanded, growling as he stormed up to him.
The Antipope held out the phone, which Crispin accepted.
I was close enough to see the video as he clicked play. I almost threw up. Roland sat chained to a chair, fangs out, shying from ultraviolet light that was sporadically blasted at him like a torturous strobe light. His necklace was gone. The UV light sizzled against his skin each time the beam hit him. No one in the room spoke, the screams echoed off the walls.
I slowly swiveled my head to check on the Conclave, to read their thoughts. Maybe their ancient, milky eyes couldn’t even see the video, but they had to recognize their own Shepherd’s voice. Which was when I noticed that the two witnesses looked like entirely different people. Physically the same, but their faces were smug. If Fabrizio and Windsor weren’t still blocking my magic, I would have burned every enemy to cinders. I briefly considered letting in the Whispers but hesitated. Would that only make matters worse? The Antipope’s next words made that a resounding yes.
“Don’t worry. I have other copies,” he said, motioning for a sick-looking Crispin to share the video with the Conclave, who were collectively leaning out of their seats, murmuring in agitation. Crispin handed over the phone, his hand shaking as he told them what they were hearing. Apparently, the Conclave couldn’t see that well.
“We found him snooping around our hotel last night,” Anthony’s voice echoed in the crowded courtroom. “Well, my security team did. And lucky I have them, or I’d be dead right now. He was quite adamant about that,” he added, punctuating Roland’s threats on the video that the Conclave was huddled over, even though they couldn’t see it.
But they sure heard it. Some weren’t even trying to look, merely turning an ear to the phone. They looked nauseated. I focused back on the witnesses and their victorious grins. Did that mean the assassins I had run into were part of the Antipope’s security detail? That didn’t make any sense. Why had they tried to infiltrate the prison? Well, they hadn’t had this video yet, but what did they have to gain by killing the wolves a night early?
The Antipope rubbed his arms excitedly as the video ended and the Conclave finally looked up at him with wild, white eyes. “He killed one of my flock and must answer for that. It’s very simple. You are going to ex-communicate these demons,” he sneered, indicating us magic users, “and your false Pope will endorse me as his immediate successor. I don’t care how it is done, but… thy will be done. Or this goes public. And if anything… unfortunate happens to me, this goes public. One of your own… Shepherds, assaulting me in the middle of the night and proven to be a monster on camera.” He leaned in, clicking his tongue. “For the second time, one of your monsters has killed, but you can’t cover this one up unless you meet my terms. What would the world say if they learned their Pope employed monsters?”
I considered his words. It would be the end of the world. Finding out monsters were real would cause a panic. But that the Vatican had known about it all along?
Armageddon.
“You will deliver these monsters to me and my men tomorrow morning, or else. I’ll send you the location one hour before. Oh, and I require Master Temple’s generous donation prior to my rise to the Papacy,” he said with a smile. “To continue God’s work during the transition.”
I could tell that he honestly believed he was doing the right thing. He wasn’t power hungry, he believed we were evil. He abhorred monsters, and it literally sickened him to learn of the Vatican’s dark underbelly. “I will cleanse this house of God,” he promised.
“Now, give me back my men,” he demanded, pointing at the two witnesses. After a jerky nod from the Conclave, Crispin obeyed, escorting the two arrogant fuckers to the Antipope. They smiled as they approached him, but Crispin’s face was as white as a sheet. His eyes locked onto the Antipope with as much hatred as I had ever seen one human give another. On their way by, the younger witness pointed his thumb at me. “She’s one of them, too.” This close, I recognized those cold blue eyes. One of my attackers from last night. The other witness was unfamiliar.
I bared my teeth at him and Fabrizio clamped a calloused palm on my shoulder.
Anthony’s lip curled up in disgust, forgetting all about our pleasant conversation yesterday. Well, darn. I’d really wanted him to like me. I guessed I would just have to kill him instead. “Then she will join the others when you deliver them to me tomorrow,” he promised.
Then the group left, and I fell into my
chair, mind reeling. It looked like I didn’t need to fear running from the Conclave tomorrow. Because they were about to have a new Pope and the entire club would be dissolved.
But Roland was still in danger, and I no longer had to worry about being a good girl. I just needed to somehow get the girls out of here before I went Kill Bill on the Antipope.
Windsor cramped my style by locking me up in the prison along with the wolves. And with seven unstable Shepherds and seven terrified Conclave wizards glaring me down, I decided to be a good girl and let them. The wolves were also used as leverage against me. One wrong move, and they died. Instantly.
I could always use the Whispers to get out of my prison cell, knowing that there was no way they had anything powerful enough to hold me. They would have no reason to lock up an Angel. It would go against everything they stood for.
Even the Conclave wasn’t that ignorant.
I had demanded to know why I was being treated like a criminal when it had been proven that I was at least partly right in judging the witnesses as liars.
“Because we know you would run at the first opportunity. Either because you had been told not to, or to go after Roland. The lying vampire!” Daniel spat before dismissing me.
Chapter 48
I paced the walls of my cell for the fiftieth time.
Turns out, the Conclave did have cells strong enough for an Angel. A Fallen Angel. It was also wizard-proof, which was the reason they had chosen it for me. It was just dumb luck that it also happened to block my Angelic blood. I hadn’t said anything, not wanting to draw attention to my rare gift. Even a broken Conclave got something right twice every hundred years.
The Whispers were silent to me, and for the first time, I missed them.
“Motherfuckingmilkeyedshitweasels,” I growled for the hundredth time, thinking of the Conclave. It was my new mantra – one that heralded new beginnings of peace and prosperity.
Over the bloated carcasses of the Conclave and the smoldering ashes of the Antipope.
I had been here for a long while, but since I had been patted down and relieved of anything electronic or non-fabric, I had no way to break out or wield the power of reading the time.
Windsor hadn’t found the scarf, which I had very neatly folded in my panties, fearing they would pat me down before the trial. I had chosen the better undergarment for my pointless ruse, because he had made me remove my bra. The wires inside could be used for all sorts of sneaky things when wielded by a hormone-infused, raging, psychopathic wizard with a vendetta. The scarf had been small enough that he hadn’t felt it, or had wisely chosen not to comment on a little extra cushion on a woman’s rear.
Turns out that Windsor, the emotionless sociopath, wasn’t all that dumb after all.
Seeing that scarf would have resulted in questions. The big one being, why had I purposely withheld evidence? I had studied the cross sewn into the ratty, ivory scarf in my rooms last night, dredging up what little I knew of it. It wasn’t the modern-day crucifix seen on churches, but an ornate, red plus sign – narrow at the joints and flaring out at the tips. The Cross Pattée. The symbol had been used numerous times throughout history, so it could have signified any number of organizations. Was it an old group or something the Antipope had adopted for his private security team?
Windsor had checked on me a few times, and even gave me a brief update a few hours ago.
Roland had been officially ex-communicated for failing in his duties as a Shepherd as well as hiding his cursed blood from the Conclave. Even though it was pointless to do so, since the Conclave and Shepherds were scheduled for disbandment and execution tomorrow. Sure, the Shepherds could storm the gates and kill Anthony – no matter the army the Antipope had at his disposal, nothing would stop fourteen furious wizards – but that wouldn’t stop the video from hitting the web. Which would destroy not only the Conclave, but the Vatican.
Windsor had delivered this news in an emotionless tone. Maybe he suffered from shock? Perhaps he realized that his unconditional support of the Conclave’s ignorance had brought his life screeching to a halt, resulting in this cold cruel world thunder-stomping his genitals.
Or did his calm presentation reveal a lack of concern – that maybe he was involved?
Because someone had fed Anthony a lot of classified information. The question was who?
I was obviously somewhat bitter about the whole thing, so I repeated my mantra again.
“Motherfuckingmilkeyedshitweasels … Ohhhhmmmmm…” There. I felt better already.
I suspected each Shepherd for different reasons. But I had found an equal number of reasons to trust them. I didn’t like any of the Conclave, but I trusted Roland’s research into their past. If he said he found nothing, that was that. But they were still supreme shit-stains, incompetent on a level I still struggled to fathom. Criminally incompetent, and worse, too proud to admit it.
The Conclave was in a quandary. The only way to preserve the Vatican was to cave to a tyrant with blackmail power. Not just submit, but elect him the Grand Poobah. The Pope-est with the Most-est.
I wasn’t anywhere near Tiffany and Jasmine – their cells were in the shifter section, which was far enough away to prevent girl talk. No one but us three were housed here, so I was basically in solitary confinement, left all alone in my own wizard-proof, Fallen Angel-proof cell.
When I had quizzed the robot known as Windsor on how long they expected to keep me locked up since we were all in the same boat, he had blinked at me and then walked away. I wondered if he considered me the catalyst to this whole thing and no longer saw me as a human.
I still couldn’t understand how they had gotten Roland, and how the witness had gotten his amulet. Was it just a trophy to him? How had a vanilla human bested Roland? And why was a piss-ant thug awarded such a prize? Was it because he had volunteered to be a witness against the girls? Or a tip for accidentally leading the vampire back to their lair?
I also had no idea how a witness had been one of the assassins I fought last night. Hadn’t they been kept under watch? This just led me in circles – to one of the three Shepherds. Or one of the Conclave. Then again, how would the Conclave explain keeping tabs on a citizen of Rome? Maybe they had kept an eye on him, but it wasn’t like they could have arrested him and held him in custody. Witnessing a murder wasn’t a crime. I frowned.
And since it had happened in the city, shouldn’t the Roman Police – the Carabinieri – have handled it? I paused, congratulating myself on pulling that name out of my ass. “Callie is an infinite source of wisdom,” I said out loud, pretending the echoes represented an adoring crowd.
Solitary confinement was not healthy for me.
Back to the police angle. There would have been all sorts of questions after a murder in an alley in the heart of Rome. Unless the Conclave used their Vatican pull to put pressure on the Carabinieri and they had caved. That made sense. I sighed, going back to the witnesses.
One was a waiter, and the other was a baker.
At least, that’s what everyone had been led to believe.
A twisted part of me hoped that the Conclave was going over each of these same questions, and realizing their fatal mistakes, but I doubted it. They probably had an excuse ready for each one, or at least someone else to blame.
I was getting pissed again. Mantra time.
“Motherfuckingmilkeyedshitweasels … Ohhhhmmmmm…”
“That seems like a highly inappropriate prayer on such holy ground,” a familiar voice murmured from outside the door.
I blinked, recognizing Fabrizio’s voice. Where had Windsor gone? “It’s soothing. You should really try it. You just think of the Conclave and free-speak whatever comes to mind. Kind of like speaking in Tongues. Then you just add Ohm to it to make it meditative. But I guess you could substitute Amen instead.”
I had given up on personally hating the three Shepherds. They were just doing their job.
Or one of them was behind it all. I didn’t reall
y care anymore. Not about the Conclave or the Shepherds, anyway. They could burn for all I cared. I just wanted to save the girls and Roland. That was enough for me.
Fabrizio coughed. “I’m only good at group meditations.”
I cocked my head, frowning. “You’re welcome to come on in. I’m not busy.” Why not try?
I was stunned to hear a key unlocking the door, but I kept my calm in case he had a dozen armed men behind him pointing rifles my way. Maybe he was the mastermind behind it all and had decided it was gloating time. I very subtly angled my toes, preparing to dart out of the cell.
So I could access my magic and flay everyone in the hall alive. If it cost me a few bullet wounds or a scorched patch of skin from wizard’s fire to save Roland and the girls, I would gladly pay it. The door swung open, revealing an empty hall. Freedom was only feet away.
I didn’t move.
“It stinks in there. Come on out and I’ll give your foul-mouthed mantra a try,” he called out, sounding as if he was standing a few feet back and to the side from the door. “I killed the cameras, by the way. Didn’t want anyone seeing me here.”
Fearing a trap, I slipped off one of my Darling and Dear boots, which had been blocked from magic while in the prison cell. I did this quickly and silently, hating myself. Then I kissed one of them lovingly, almost wanting to cry, as if tossing out my own flesh and blood. With supreme will, I threw it through the open door, ready to jump out after he used up his first attack.
The boot hit the ground unharmed. I almost gasped in relief. Das boot lives!
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