This man was no stranger to danger. And as I looked closer, I saw the haunted look in his eyes. The look of a man who had lost a friend.
Still, I wasn’t comfortable with this development.
Someone had just conveniently found us after we snuck into the city. I was more upset that out of all the people I had profiled in the crowd as suspicious, he hadn’t been one of them. Was he that good, or was I simply off my game?
I realized he was staring at me, and that I was glaring at him. He smiled at me, eyes flicking to the knife under the table as if he could see it. “You were correct, Roland. She does look like a handful. In the best way possible, of course. You must be Callie Penrose,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Windsor Hart.”
Not recognizing the name, and not wanting to earn his suspicion, I glared at Roland, setting the knife down. “What the hell did you tell him about me? A handful?” I asked, folding my arms.
The man coughed, muffling his laughter, and Roland sagged his shoulders in defeat, flashing Windsor a desperate look.
I finally extended my hand and shook his professionally. “Windsor. A pleasure.” A Shepherd.
He smiled again, and I had to restrain myself from batting my eyelashes. He reminded me of an English aristocrat – genteel and sophisticated. I turned to Roland. “Any more of your old pals you’re planning to surprise me with?” I asked him, tapping my foot.
Roland looked thoughtful, turning to Windsor. “That’s actually a good point. We only just arrived. How did you find us so fast?” he asked, cocking his head curiously. I mimicked him, putting on a show for Windsor, acting as if the thought had just come to my attention.
“Wait, you just happened to find us? He didn’t tell you to surprise me? Because he knows I hate surprises, so I just thought he was pulling one over on me,” I said, frowning at Windsor.
His smile faded and he shrugged, glancing to make sure no one else was listening. “The city is warded. Any Gateways or significant magical surge produces a Flare on our systems. Then they send a Shepherd to investigate. Especially after…” he trailed off, shooting Roland a miserable look. I could tell that Windsor had also been close to Constantine. Either that, or he just felt terribly bad for Roland’s loss.
I waited. Had he sensed anything off about Roland’s magic? He didn’t appear concerned. Curious at our arrival, but nothing else. We were still safe.
Roland nodded at the answer to his question. “That’s new,” he said. Then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he acknowledged the reference to Constantine. “Terrible news,” he grumbled. “I still can’t believe the wolves were in on it. I never would have left them here if I had any suspicion they were a threat,” he said. “I would have kept them in Kansas City or warned you to keep an eye out. Did they show any signs of violence before…” he trailed off.
Windsor shook his head. “Nothing. Constantine couldn’t speak highly enough of their progression. He spent every minute he could with those girls, treating them like his own daughters. But I guess every monster is just waiting to lash out.” Roland didn’t even blink, but I sensed his breath stopping. Windsor didn’t notice. “But we’ve found no other explanation. His throat was slashed with claws about the same size as a wolf, and we found them all together, obviously after a fight. If there had been a third party, they wouldn’t have spared the wolves.”
His voice sounded angry, but reserved.
I nodded at his assessment. “Have you spoken to them?” I asked.
Windsor shook his head fiercely. “No one is allowed to talk to them. Except the Conclave.”
I frowned. “I presume they’re locked up, right? Not a danger to anyone from behind a cell. Why wouldn’t you question them? They saw everything!” I said hotly, not bothering to hide my anger. After all, they needed to be convinced that I was firmly embedded on their side, which meant I needed to show I could be coldly logical as well. It was a fine line, though. Because we didn’t want anyone thinking we were interested in the girls – only the situation. Outraged that one of our own had been murdered. I let out a breath, trying to look embarrassed at the hard set to his jaw. “I’m sorry. I just feel terrible that I helped catch them, and that it ultimately led to this. A confession might be in order.”
Windsor nodded, calming down. “We have time to discuss this later. For now, let’s talk of lighter things.” He winked at Roland. “I like her,” he said, elbowing his friend.
Roland grunted. “We’ll see about that. She’s like alcohol. Fun at first sip, but the longer you spend time around her, the worse your hangover will be.”
I glared at him, then at Windsor when he unsuccessfully tried to conceal his surprised laughter. Roland looked positively pleased. I had a lot of things I would have normally replied with, but since we were on Holy turf, and I didn’t know Windsor well, I didn’t want to step too far out of line. We might need a favor from him before long. Or he might be the killer. We just didn’t know. Still, Roland had described me as a handful, so I couldn’t appear meek.
“I am too refined to dignify that with a response, miscreant.” I leaned closer to Windsor, whispering conspiratorially, loud enough for Roland to hear. “But I am thinking of several.”
Windsor studied me curiously, as if trying to get a read on me. To categorize me. He seemed… different somehow. As if social interaction wasn’t necessarily his strong suit. He could manage it, but he wasn’t as quick on his toes in the wit department. More like an accountant. Again, I was reminded of the stereotypical stuffy Englishman. He quickly shifted back to business. “We expected you via the Doors,” he said, watching our response.
Roland shot him a guilty smile. “I was hoping to show her a bit of the city before we got immersed with Constantine’s murder and her hearing. I had hoped our arrival would be less… official. These American bumpkins know nothing of beauty or sophistication.”
I punched the sweet spot on his arm, not trying to hold back. He grunted, shaking it off. Then he arched a brow at Windsor as if I had just proven his point. We couldn’t afford them getting suspicious about our choice of travel. “I really don’t care, but the old man seemed intent to show off the city. I would have rather gone straight to the big house,” I admitted, pointing up at the top of St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance.
Windsor watched us like a science experiment before finally shrugging. “No rest for the wicked, I guess.” Then he smiled. “To be honest, I almost fell over when I realized the magic signature in the city was you. We never know what we’re walking into when we get a flare. I watched from a distance, just to be sure,” he admitted. Then he smiled. “Seems like the world does throw pleasant surprises every now and then. If you’re finished with your meal, I can drive you to the Vatican,” he said, extending a hand for my bag. I had to fight myself from recoiling.
“I can manage,” I said, smiling at his offer.
He shrugged, as if to say he was just doing his job.
Roland sighed as if disappointed that he had to forego his planned relaxation, but resolved to get to the work ahead. “We’re finished,” he said, glancing at the table with a shrug. “Embrace the suck, right Callie? Isn’t that your new mantra?”
I grinned delightedly. “You can teach an old dog new tricks!” I said, winking at Windsor. He was watching us as if not quite sure what to make of us. Stoic Roland and mouthy me. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with a less grumpy version of Roland. He looked amused that old-school Roland had been paired with his polar opposite for a student. He did discreetly study Roland’s hip suit, his curiosity obvious. If he knew Roland, he knew style was not part of his vocabulary. All in all, it was apparent to Windsor that I had changed the Roland he knew. Maybe that would work in our favor, attributing any changes in Roland to my influence.
Windsor had no idea how severe those changes were. The old dog had new tricks, alright.
And we were both hoping those new tricks wouldn’t end up biting us in the ass.
We
followed Windsor to his car, the two of them chatting idly as I studied the beauty of Rome. Roland shot a concerned look over his shoulder as if asking if I was ready.
“Embrace the suck,” I said determinedly, as if speaking to myself. Windsor glanced back, shaking his head in amusement.
Roland was very careful with his duffel bag as we climbed into a small car that resembled a toy in my opinion. Because anyone who realized his bag was full of IV bags might have to be dealt with before they could blab about it.
And we didn’t prefer to start off our trip to Rome by killing a vigilant Shepherd, security guard, or Priest.
But we would if we had to.
Chapter 24
I had asked Roland about the Vatican after he survived a bombing there a few months ago while trying to track down a mole. The mole had decided explodey exits were fun, and had tried to destroy all evidence of himself and anything he was working on. It had worked, for the most part. Except Roland had survived.
Regardless, that instance made me realize that although spending a lot of time with Roland, I hadn’t been familiar with exactly what went on in Rome. I had questions. How many Shepherds did they have stationed here in Vatican City? Shepherds were nomads, traveling the world as they saw fit, but the Conclave had to keep a few here on a permanent basis, right? How did their command structure work? Were all the Shepherds equal? Did they report to someone in particular, or just the Conclave?
How aware was the Conclave of the world at large? Did the Shepherds get to choose their missions as they saw fit or were they sent out with orders?
Roland hadn’t been very forthcoming, so since I had Windsor trapped behind the wheel, I interrogated him. Windsor frowned in the rearview mirror, glancing over at Roland thoughtfully, as if wondering why I didn’t already know the answers.
Roland sighed wearily. “I wanted her to focus her attention on more important things, saving the bureaucracy for her first visit here.” Then he closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat.
Windsor nodded, and then, like a nerd asked about his first Sci-Fi Convention, he got a case of explosive oral diarrhea, eager to answer everything I could ask. I sensed that he saw this as a way to not only impress me, but also Roland. It was obvious he looked up to the older Shepherd.
Apparently, once you became a Shepherd you were allowed to wander the world, but were expected to stay in regular communication with the Conclave – or at least a specific member within the Conclave. If they ever had need of a Shepherd they would reach out, find the nearest one, and send them out to investigate. Other than that, the current Shepherds were pretty seasoned, and didn’t need much guidance. On the other hand, if a Shepherd was new, they were kind of kept on a tighter leash, which made sense.
It was also encouraged for the Shepherds to find a student at some point, like Roland had with me. I had lucked out, though, because students were typically required to get a degree in theology or a related discipline. Either that or spend time working through the ranks of the Catholic Church, much like a priest. This took time. A decade or more of apprenticeship. They remained students until there was an opening for a replacement Shepherd or found a job working with the Office of the Conclave, helping with the behind-the-scenes work, fielding requests for assistance with exorcisms and monster sightings all over the world. It seemed I was the only student worth more than a casual grunt, and I was surprised to hear I had the most seniority.
Great.
Another fun tidbit was that after one mistake, the student could have their memories wiped to protect the Conclave’s secrets from getting out. I struggled not to panic at that.
To go through all that training and then have it wiped away? I had been horrified. But Windsor had reassured me that these individuals were placed into strong careers that more than made up for their forgotten memories, or that they typically were fast-tracked into the Catholic church hierarchy to become priests. No other students were currently at the Vatican, and Windsor hadn’t picked one yet, either.
Only four other Shepherds had made it in from out of town for the trial. When I’d asked how many Shepherds the Conclave kept in Rome, Windsor had simply smiled. “You’ll see.”
I sat in silence, fully understanding that I was a viable candidate for their memory wipe protocol. Roland had never told me. As I watched the buildings fly by, Windsor changed topics.
“It’s actually good that you showed up early. An acquaintance of yours has requested to address the Conclave.” He was smiling at me in the rearview mirror.
My blood chilled, but I kept my face neutral. “Oh?” I asked with a frown.
He nodded, eyes oddly animated at mention of this acquaintance. “Nate Temple from St. Louis. He said that he knew you personally, and that if we knew what was good for us, that we would let him speak to our…” his eyes flashed with amusement, “book club.”
I bit my tongue. “Did he now…” I mused, smirking enough to mirror Windsor’s amusement and nothing more. “I would hardly say we were close. I met him less than a year ago. But…” I locked eyes with Windsor, “it might be wise to give him a bit of excess rope, if you will. He’s a very powerful wizard, and you know how those billionaire trust-funders get if you don’t make them feel special.” I winked at him.
His smile cracked, and I realized I may have just offended him. Was he a trust-fund kid, too?
Roland actually went into a coughing fit, waking from his pretend nap. I slapped him on the back. “You hear that, Rollie? Your pal Nate is here. That should be fun,” I hooted, winking at Windsor’s curious look, letting him see my sarcasm.
He seemed to choose his next words carefully. “I think I’m going to like you, Callie. Anyone that can add that many gray hairs to Roland’s head is okay in my book.” I nodded as I turned back to the window, watching as the Vatican drew closer.
What the hell was Nate doing here? I thought he was relaxing, taking a break.
Not demanding an audience with the fucking Vatican. And dragging my name into it.
Chapter 25
The Swiss Guard manning one of the side entrances to the Vatican recognized both Roland and Windsor in the front seat of the car, but gave me very critical looks. They didn’t say anything outright, but their eyes warned me to watch my ass. I smiled at them, feigning innocence, but they recognized a fellow soldier when they saw one. Their eyes pierced the façade of my outfit, and they knew I was just as dangerous as the two men in front of the car, I was just in disguise.
I took this as a compliment.
Judging by the way they spoke to Windsor, I wasn’t sure if they were aware of his real duty as a Shepherd – that he was the guard against monsters while these two got to handle the simple things like guns and knives. They didn’t search our bags, thank God. Whoever they thought we were, we ranked high enough to avoid that.
When I asked about it, Windsor had smiled. “On paper, we are the Ministry of Outreach. We help developing nations learn about God.” Roland chuckled. “In all sorts of vague ways. We have wide powers and are granted our privacy, since working with other nations can become political. We also need guards, because strange lands can be dangerous…” He winked. I smiled back, nodding. That would explain why the Swiss Guards weren’t concerned about priests who walked like soldiers living in Vatican City.
I tried not to let my eyes fall out of my skull at the beautiful architecture and history surrounding me, but I wasn’t too reserved, because acting like the doe-eyed apprentice might give me a little more wiggle-room to sniff out the murderer.
So, I ogled everything. It’s hard to say this without being judged a cynic, but from a business standpoint, it was kind of incredible how effective the Christian marketing department had been throughout history. Stunning, as a matter of fact.
Starting as such a small force, and growing to one of the top belief systems on the planet in the blink of two-thousand years. Some might say this was proof of God, but from a purely historical standpoint, or even anthropol
ogical, it was hard to see it through the same lens. Christianity had swept into new countries like a flood, and as was often the case, adopted facets of the existing religions, washing them into their own system to drown out the competition.
When politicians did it, they called it spin.
Rather than enter one of the more iconic buildings typically advertised on postcards – and I’ll admit I couldn’t have guessed the names of even two out of ten of those – we approached a smaller, but still elaborate building separate from the rest. Not a storage shed, exactly, but relative to the other structures? A storage shed.
“Holy Shed!” I exclaimed, pointing at the wide two-story building surrounded by groomed shrubbery and bushes. It was artfully crafted with twin columns leading to a covered entrance. Ornate wrought iron grates decorated the windows on both floors, and carved stonework decorated the roof. Like I said, it was still beautiful. Just not a junior Sistine Chapel.
Windsor looked as if he had just seen me twist the Pope’s nipples, but Roland growled in a familiar manner. “We don’t curse here, Callie,” he reminded me.
“I didn’t curse. In comparison to the other buildings, this is a storage shed. A Holy Shed.”
Roland let out a very tired sigh and continued forward. “Welcome to the Conclave,” he said over his shoulder. Windsor stared at me for a long second, not quite knowing how to respond before turning to follow Roland. The crimson was fading from his cheeks, but it still stood out. I shrugged and followed. Uptight bunch. For the first time, I noticed two hard-looking men standing at the entrance, staring open-mouthed at Roland. They wore jeans and matching, dark gray pea coats. They had obviously expected us to arrive via the Doors, and hadn’t considered that Windsor’s response call to a Flare in the city would net him such a big fish.
I saw their shoulders subconsciously straighten, as if trying to show the older Shepherd how much they had grown since last Christmas. He hid it well, but I could sense the hesitation in his stride. He feared them sensing his new… gifts. I’d lived with him for over a decade, and knew all his tells. Probably better than anyone but his old mentor, Constantine – just like he knew mine. Sure, these Shepherds might know secrets that Roland would never share with me, but I knew the man. The human. The psyche of Roland Haviar, Shepherd for—
Whispers: Feathers and Fire Book 3 Page 12