Whispers

by Shayne Silvers

  What had changed in Crispin? Why ally with a weakling Antipope?

  The stress was too much, and my wings abruptly vanished. I groaned, but managed not to pass out. Anthony gasped, but all I could do was stare through him as I struggled against the pain – the dissection of Roland’s fall. How pointless it all was.

  What kind of man could betray a brother so easily? Roland didn’t trust many, and Crispin had been one of the few he said he trusted with his life. Crispin had played Judas, betraying Roland with a kiss to deliver him to the Antipope. Manipulating Roland’s trust was the only way Crispin could have beaten him. Otherwise Roland would have killed him with either his magic or vampire abilities. Or both.

  Roland groaned, and a surge of adrenaline hit me. I was racing towards him when a flash of motion from the corner of the room launched towards me. The assailant almost hit me with a ball of fire, but I dove, rolling closer to Roland’s table as it splashed against the wall.

  Well, it looked like magic was fair play now.

  Chapter 52

  Crispin stepped into the light near Anthony, obviously frustrated at his near miss.

  The Antipope turned from the sudden flame to the new arrival, eyes wild. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of Crispin. “Kill her! She’s a Fallen Angel! A demon!”

  Crispin’s lips thinned with distaste at the lack of respect. Then he punched Anthony in the mouth, sending him crashing to the floor. He spat on his face as the Antipope stared up at him, whimpering in pain and confusion, begging and pleading through bloody lips.

  Well, maybe the two weren’t working together. This place was beyond fucked up.

  “You beat me to it,” I growled at the traitor. “Why did you kill Constantine?”

  He just laughed.

  “Are you working with Olin Fuentes? The Commander?” I tapped my scarf. I wanted at least some answers before I killed him. I slipped my hand behind my back, placing my fingers on Roland’s flesh. He flinched and I almost let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead yet.

  Crispin snorted. “Constantine was sniffing too close to my hobbies.” At my impatient look, his smile turned gloating. “He saw me meeting with the Sanguine Council.”

  I ran with that for all of two seconds before giving up. “You’re not a vampire…”

  This made him laugh harder. “Bingo.” He mimed shooting me with a finger gun.

  “Look,” I snarled from under the scarf, the fabric shifting at the expulsion of breath. “I’m really fucking tired. Exhausted. I had to cut my hair off. Break out of prison…” I trailed off, not hiding how weary I was. “Just get to the bragging already. Then I’ll do my bit.”

  He nodded, amused. “Hair looks nice, by the way.” I rolled my eyes. He pointed at my scarf. “I killed one of those bastards a few years ago, kept his scarf as a keepsake. I decided to wear it when I killed Constantine – an ironic disguise to kill a Shepherd.” His eyes were distantly pleased at the memory. “I’ll admit I was just as surprised as he was when he tried to blast me with fire and it failed. I had no idea the damned scarf nullified magic,” he chuckled. His eyes grew predatory, finished with the trip down memory lane as he jerked his chin at my scarf. “Too bad it won’t save you. I’d always intended to slice you to death the old-fashioned way.”

  I could only stare. The scarf blocked magic? What the hell kind of magic was that, and why hadn’t I heard of them before? “Why leave the wolves alive?” I asked instead, wanting to hide my surprise.

  “Perfect scapegoats. Mentally scarred, hated men, unstable monsters. Take your pick. But then you had to go and ruin everything.”

  “Why the Vampire Council?” I asked, the pieces of the puzzle rattling uselessly in my mind. He wasn’t a vampire, so why hadn’t Roland’s amulet zapped him? A sinking feeling developed in my stomach. “Do you know Haven?” I asked. Had Haven set this whole thing up?

  Crispin cocked his head. “Never heard of him.” He had no reason to lie. Not after what he had just admitted. “Immortality, of course. Taking down the Conclave will earn me a high position. You’ve seen how broken the Conclave is. The rest of my life is determined. To sit in a castle playing nice with monsters. We deserve more. I deserve more. Do you have any idea how much I’ve sacrificed?” He was shouting, panting. “To live like this for the sake of a group of doddering old men, too scared to step out of their precious fortress. Always forced to obey their command, when swift military strikes could solve the problem. No. If that is all that is left to me, to end up like Constantine, I choose the monsters. Better perks of the job.”

  He let out a breath, calming himself. I was floored. To hear such things from someone Roland had considered a brother… I knew Shepherds lived a long time, so it wasn’t the immortality candy that had attracted him. It was… the Conclave itself. Holding him back, not letting him do his job. He wanted fame. Recognition. He was throwing a… tantrum because he didn’t feel appreciated? It was almost laughable. He cleared his throat. “But to take down the Vatican, and the Conclave? Priceless.”

  “What did you steal from them?”

  He hesitated, looking momentarily startled. “I thought you two had done that,” he murmured thoughtfully. Then he shrugged it off, as if it wasn’t relevant. “It was just an old Bible. Nothing dangerous. That’s why I thought it was a misdirect for something else. No matter.”

  I shook my head. “How did you know about him?” I asked, pointing a thumb over my shoulder towards Roland.

  “I bugged him.” He grinned smugly. “Heard every conversation he had. But the best one was his talk with the Daywalker, admitting his curse.” He mimed finger quotes with the last word, his sneer pitiless. “Oh, and your raunchy night at the hotel was a close second. Even though you ruined the good part with a swim,” he chuckled. “To find out that the most stoic of us had taken what I wanted…” he growled, clenching his fists, “and had the nerve to bitch about it! Pushed me over the edge. I reached out to my contact with the Sanguines, of course. She promised me my eternal reward if I could use Roland to break the Conclave.”

  He took a calming breath. “Too bad you’re both going to die. I’m sure the Sanguines would have enjoyed two ex-Shepherds on their payroll, but I can’t have any loose ends.” He withdrew Roland’s amulet from beneath his shirt, smiling adoringly. “Thought I was made when this thing zapped Fabrizio and not me. Perks of killing Constantine, I guess. That, and working with the vampires so much recently must have tricked it into thinking me an ally.” He dropped it back under his shirt. “Looks better on me anyway,” he admitted.

  The Antipope was openly sobbing now, shaking his head in horror at the onslaught of information. Vampires. Werewolves. Crispin glanced down at him, pulling back his foot as Anthony reached for it. He laughed at the old man. “I even infected this poor bastard with werewolf saliva after he began asking too many questions. Almost exposed me. So I turned him into what he hated most in the world. Poetic justice.” He bent over the Antipope, smirking. “Spoiler alert. You’re a monster.” Anthony gasped, tugging back his sleeve, eyes wide.

  So, that was why he had been scratching at his arm… But why? Just for chaos?

  I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud.

  Crispin shrugged. “Fun. Chaos. Whatever.” He studied the scarf on my face with a greasy smirk. He pointed at it with one finger. “I had no idea your… assassins were in the game, let alone that they were working for him,” he said, kicking the Antipope without making eye contact. The old man wheezed in pain, not having anticipated it, too focused on the red welts on his forearm. “This bastard almost ruined everything I had worked so hard for, sending the assassins to take out the wolves before their proper trial. The witnesses were a surprise. Even I didn’t suspect them. But then I saw Roland leaning over you last night after their attack, sniffing that scarf. I was watching the whole time.” He took a step forward, grinning. “You should know that I almost killed you, but I didn’t want to risk Fabrizio or Windsor seeing anything.
Then Roland fled, still wearing my tracker – which had finally dried off. I partnered with him to hunt down the assassins, and then double-crossed him, sensing my opportunity to break the Conclave. Trust can get you killed.” He smiled down at Anthony. “The Antipope had no idea who he had gotten in bed with.” He bent over to slap his knees, laughing suddenly. “The Temp—”

  The stained glass cracked as a sniper round pierced it, whisking over Crispin’s shoulder and hammering into the podium in the center of the pulpit. Crispin had been saved by his own laugh. He was already running as another round struck him in the side, shattering the priceless window behind me, but then he disappeared into the shadows near the door he had first appeared from.

  I was covering Roland with my hands as the stained glass fell all around me, the larger shards biting into my neck and hands. When the sound stopped, I turned to see the light of the full moon shining through the gaping hole in the wall where the window had been…

  Shining down on Anthony. A full moon. “Shit,” I swore. His body began to spasm and twitch.

  The halls filled with gunfire as I yanked Roland from the table and out of the sniper’s line of sight. Wolves howled in the church, sounding as if a war was erupting along with the gunfight. But first, Roland.

  Or all of this had been for nothing.

  Chapter 53

  Roland groaned at his sudden movement, then hissed when his body crashed to the floor. I did my best to kick the glass out of my way as I dragged him behind me. Crispin was still nearby, we had a sniper on our ass, and the Antipope was about to turn into a werewolf.

  And that was just in this room.

  The bark of gunfire was more sporadic now, as if the wolves had escaped. With each new spate of bullets, a breath of relief escaped my lips. As long as I heard gunfire the wolves lived. I was pretty sure I knew who wore the scarves, now. Crispin had said Temp… before the bullet had interrupted him. My money was on Templar Knights. Templars, for crying out loud!

  I didn’t give a flying fuck if they were Shriners or Angels. If they shot at us, they died.

  I placed my hand on Roland, checking his status. He stirred, so I slapped him in the face. “Wakey, wakey.” His eyes shot wide open, irises entirely crimson. “You know me, Roland. Get the hell up, you lazy bastard. The Scooby Doo-ettes need us.” His fangs popped out at mention of the wolves. He shivered involuntarily, breath ragged as he slowly sat up, sniffing the air in my direction, sensing my bloody wounds. I slapped him again. Harder. “Friend, not food,” I scolded.

  “And I had such high hopes for you…” a new voice echoed in the room. I spun to see a tall silhouette of a man striding down the center aisle, his boots clicking like a drumbeat. I lifted my hands, ready for a fight as Roland struggled to overcome his injuries – all while fighting an inner battle against the monster inside him. The one that craved only blood.

  The situation was quite ridiculous if you thought about it. Here I was, sitting beside…

  My Shepherd-pire, Roland.

  Anthony the Antipope-wolf.

  Crispy McFangLover.

  And… this sum’bitch.

  I recognized the man from Anthony’s description. “Olin Fuentes. Templar,” I snarled as he stepped into the light of the full moon.

  His pale eyes took in the blood splatter from where the sniper round had almost killed Crispin, his lips thinning. “I’ll deal with him later. The bastard sabotaged our radios or I would have had him sooner. But you…” he said, finally looking at me, “could have been something truly special. Instead, you choose to aid a vampire.” He sounded disappointed, eyes flicking to Roland.

  He was handsome. He wore black military fatigues and boots. He had a rifle hanging over one shoulder, the hilt of a sword over the other, and big-ass pistols on each hip. Lucky for him, his hands were still empty. A similar scarf to mine hung around his neck like a bandana. I met his gaze, holding out a hand for Roland to stay back. “If you want to get to Heaven, you have to raise a little Hell.”

  He was silent for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. I hoped the gunfire still echoing in the distant wings of the church meant that the wolves were leading his men on a good chase.

  Or a game of hide-and-seek-and-die. One of my personal favorites.

  The Antipope was whimpering and groaning, but still not shifting. It was only a matter of time. Sometimes the first shift was fast, sometimes it wasn’t. I wondered if he was mentally fighting it, considering himself too holy to be tainted. Either way, it was a plus right now.

  “We both know you’re no Angel, Callie. I’ve watched you. You could be something great.”

  I grunted. “I don’t think I like you very much.” I deliberately studied him up and down. “Yep. I’m sure of it. You nauseate me.”

  “You stand against Templars with only two fledgling werewolves and a virgin vampire?” he asked, disappointed. “You don’t stand a chance. I’ve been killing this filth for centuries.”

  Centuries? At least he had confirmed it for me. “Templar, eh?” I shrugged. “Those old dudes who hold weekly meetings after the Alcoholics Anonymous crew clears out?” I smirked. “Cool, man. And you worked for this poor bastard, right?” I pointed my thumb at the Antipope who was still struggling against his first shift. “Good call, working for a werewolf. Except now you’re unemployed, I guess.” Olin’s forehead furrowed at my mockery. “Could you stay standing just like that for a few more seconds? I have a new trick I’ve been dying to try. I’ll introduce you to God. Briefly, before he casts you back down to hell.”

  “I work for God, impudent child.” He pointed at the Antipope. “He was a client, a means to an end. He’s not my only path to success. For fun, let’s pretend you’re right. A fledgling acolyte of the Vatican who shows up in Italy without any travel itinerary or documentation, found in an abandoned church with dead bodies everywhere.” I shivered to hear he knew I had no identification on me. How the hell had he found that out? “And the Antipope dead at her feet. Because you can’t leave him alive. I’m sure you know this. Not after what he’s seen.”

  I stared at him, not having thought about it in that light. But he was partially right. The Antipope might not have to die, but he would become one of the things he hated, a werewolf. Would he still want to tell the world, or would he have a sudden change of heart? I knew if he continued his threats the other Shepherds would take him down, but they would also give him the choice to flee and start a new life. I wasn’t holding out much hope of him taking that offer.

  Olin must have sensed my unease. “Your Shepherds are broken. They’ve gone soft. Gray. But the world is black and white. Us versus them. Children of God versus Monsters. That is my purpose. To hold the line or break it. The Templar Creed. To cleanse the world of the stain—”

  A blast of fire roared up from the shadows, interrupting him as it raced towards the both of us. My black fan materialized on instinct, absorbing the fire and quenching it with a hiss of steam.

  Roland hissed from behind me and a bar of red light as thick as my torso erupted from his palms, seeming to draw in shadows and darken the room. The air around it was distorted, the ground hissing underneath as it struck the far wall where the attack had originated. Crispin.

  Roland hadn’t heard about the scarf, but his blast winked out, the room brightening.

  Knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good, I flung out my hand at the same target, calling upon my wizard magic. Spears of razor sharp ice erupted over every surface like a mouth of teeth. I released it, panting. I didn’t play with ice very often but with an unseen target – and Roland already casting his own hellish fire – I had decided to give it a try. Maybe I would get lucky and cause Crispin to slip and fall on his ass as he tried to flee on a sudden skating rink.

  Roland let out a hunting scream, taking off after Crispin. “He has a key and your amulet, Roland!” I shouted, hoping he heard me. We would need that key to release the Shepherds from their bracelets. If Crispin had it on him. Rolan
d disappeared without acknowledging me. I glanced over to check on the struggling Antipope, who seemed unaware of the chaos. Then I turned to assess the crispy Templar. Instead, Olin wore his scarf over his mouth and was lowering his rifle in my direction. Damnit. Forgot he had a scarf, too.

  I spun my fan into place as his rifle coughed bullets at me. I crouched down low, not wanting him to hit my boots. Legs were important too, but the boots actually came to mind first for some reason. The feathers of my magical fan absorbed the onslaught, but he must have been using high caliber rounds, because the fan inched closer with each hit, forcing me to feed it more power.

  I imitated Roland’s spell as the Templar’s gun clicked empty, and I flung out a bar of solid light at him. He grunted as it struck him in the chest, slicing his gun in half, but not harming him at all. The beam blasted a hole through the wall behind him and I heard a brief scream. I released my power, stunned to see the scarf’s power in action. He should have sported a charred hole in his chest. He hadn’t been lying. But… the scarf hadn’t saved his men from my silver blades.

  The main door to the nave burst open behind Olin and a guard screamed from behind his scarf as he ran towards us. A wolf leapt from the shadows behind him to tackle him to the ground and rip off his head. I realized the gunfire had ceased.

  Olin grunted at his fallen soldier. Then he turned back to me, absently brushing at his chest as if to remove some crumbs. “Magic can’t touch us,” he said, indicating our matching accessories.

  “For fuck’s sake! Just die already,” I cursed. He tossed his rifle pieces to the ground and threw a dagger almost casually behind him, striking the wolf in the side. She yelped as the blade sunk into her ribcage, smoking. Silver. The bastard.

  He stalked my way, holding two more daggers, now.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” I taunted, striding closer in a fighting stance, the ends of my wrist bandages hanging loose. “Magic might not touch you, but I’m betting you’re not immune to an ice-cold bitch,” I said with a dry smile, my silver claws slowly extending from my knuckles.