Whispers: Feathers and Fire Book 3

by Shayne Silvers

  Double blades slowly formed in my fists as I followed their advice, pulling deep on my need for a stealthy weapon. What I now held in my fist was like a roll of quarters with blades poking out between my fingers, the sharp edges starting just beyond my knuckles. They extended a good six inches, thin enough to pierce armor, and strong enough to slice metal if I so chose. They weighed practically nothing.

  I focused again and they disappeared. How freaking cool was that?

  “I’m fucking Wolverine,” I whispered to myself. My long hair hung free like a white cape down my back, easy to notice. Unacceptable. Without hesitation, I called back my new blades and chopped it off at my jawline. I tucked what was left under my scarf. Tiffany watched my sacrifice, an eerie smile stretching across her cheeks. She gave me a slow, approving nod, sensing something significant – a call to war, perhaps. I tried not to think about my loss.

  Anything for Roland, I thought, my blades winking out of existence effortlessly.

  I glanced down at Fabrizio’s phone, saw no magic alert, and made sure it was on silent before pocketing it. The church ahead was old and obviously in neglect. I could tell that it had once been a sight to behold, but that had been a long time ago. It was just a skeleton now. A poor choice for the Antipope. Then again, if he was using it to hide a prisoner vampire, maybe this wasn’t his home spot. Just a convenient place to hide a prisoner. We faced the back of the church, and I counted three guards. They were alone, not working in pairs. They held assault rifles like they knew how to use them. Poor guys. Maybe I should offer them some company.

  “We’re a few miles outside of Rome,” Jasmine whispered, pointing at a distant hill behind us, the thin blanket of clouds in the sky not hindering our view. I grunted softly, not really caring exactly where we were. I’d just wanted to estimate how quick the response time would be. Then again, if Fabrizio had been lying, the Shepherds could always Shadow Walk to us once they sensed the magic flying. Or they were wearing those fancy bands Crispin had made them put on.

  With a thought, I urgently whipped Fabrizio’s phone out of my pocket and tossed it back through the Gateway before releasing it. I hadn’t considered that the Conclave might track Fabrizio’s missing phone after they found him in my cell.

  I realized the two wolves were staring at the departed Gateway in awe. “We’re really sorry for doubting you. We didn’t know you were there. Please forgive us,” Tiffany said.

  “And thank you for saving us, Callie,” Jasmine added.

  “Yes, thank you, Callie. We’re in your debt.”

  I leveled them with my game-face, which probably looked cool as hell with my scarf. “I want you to kill every sonofabitch in that building other than Roland. We don’t stop until every heart stops. Do that and we’re even.”

  In response, Tiffany took a sheepish step closer and readjusted the scarf on my face. “Sorry, it was bothering me,” she murmured. Then she assessed me again, nodded, and stepped back.

  In my head, I listed the cons of killing her. It was only one line, but it was a big one. Roland would be displeased. The two had given me plenty of pros, so I didn’t bother with that list.

  Luckily for them, they chose that moment to explode into werewolf form. I checked to make sure no guards had noticed before turning back to study them. They were different than the wolves from St. Louis. These were the Kansas City variety, a taller, longer, leaner version of wolf with a thick mane, barrel chest, and a much longer snout. They were both black as midnight, but thankfully Jasmine had shifted into a slightly shorter wolf. Their eyes had a crimson glow to them, which I had never seen before, definitely not from the wolves who had made them.

  In short, they looked like my own personal Hellhounds.

  And that was just fucking dandy for what I had in mind. Because I was going to deliver the Antipope and Crispin to Hell tonight. And I was much happier with my sidekicks unable to talk.

  I realized I was smiling, thirsty for blood. I told them my plan, and they nodded eagerly.

  I was beyond giving two shits about the Conclave’s pristine name. We were going to do this Kansas City style. Brutal, dirty, and memorable. A story to be whispered for years.

  “Whisper,” I chuckled to myself. “Let’s go hunt,” I murmured. Without a sound, they ghosted off on their own, just like I’d advised, and I picked the closest guard, slipping through the night like just another shadow.

  Chapter 51

  The body slipped to the ground at my feet, not making a noise as I cushioned his fall. That was my third kill, and I felt nothing about it. I had checked them for radios, but they all seemed to have malfunctioned. Idiots. They wouldn’t even know what hit them.

  I used my new blades to trick a side window open, and then risked a quick glance inside, seeing only a dark, empty hallway outside the main nave. The building was much larger than I had thought, stretching further with another wing to the right as I faced the back of the building.

  More places to hide. I climbed through the window without a sound, landing on the balls of my feet and crouching down in the shadows. I waited in silence, letting my night vision adjust. A lone guard peered into the hall, and seeing it was clear, began to walk my way. I ducked under a low table, lying flat on my back to hide my white hair as he approached. I held my breath and waited.

  His steady footsteps were almost silent, but I still tracked him. At the perfect moment, I curled up into a sitting position as he swept the area ahead of him with his rifle. I stood, stepped up behind him and released my breath in a whispered, “Sinner,” as I opened his throat, spraying blood everywhere. My other hand simultaneously struck his wrist, paralyzing it like Roland had taught me so he couldn’t pull the trigger. I guided his silent death to the ground as if concerned he might hurt himself.

  I had sliced deeply enough to sever his vocal cords, eliminating the chance of a sound. I shoved him under the table into the spot I had just warmed up for him.

  Four, I thought to myself. I had killed four men so far. I didn’t feel bad about it, which concerned me on a distant level. A very distant level, because this was all about saving Roland.

  My best friend. I may as well have been reaping weeds.

  These men had lost all rights to human decency. They were vermin. Stained. No mercy was owed. Just justice from my silver blades. Swift. Silent. Final. They were working with the Antipope, and had begun this whole thing. Constantine’s killer had worn one of these scarves on his face. The same one now on mine. The red cross.

  I could still smell the previous owner’s scent on the fabric covering my mouth, but I ignored it, knowing it was poetic justice to disguise myself as one of their own. I sliced off my victim’s scarf and wiped it in his blood before dropping it back onto his chest.

  Then I moved, circling the nave and trying to get a feel for the layout. I reached an intersection and came face to face with a guard. I sliced the tendons in the wrist holding his rifle while simultaneously upper-cutting my other twin blades into the soft palate under his chin, straight through his mouth. I felt no give, as if merely stabbing mashed potatoes. He gagged as the blades severed his tongue, staring at me in disbelief. “Sinner,” I whispered, letting his body softly fall to the floor.

  That had been close. I needed to be more careful or one of them was going to manage pulling the trigger and giving away our element of surprise. I stared past him down the hall and saw another guard thirty yards away, his back facing me as he watched the front of the church. I was about to sneak up behind him when a dark form flashed through the air, decapitating him in a silent fountain of blood. A second, smaller wolf padded up to the body and lapped up the blood. Her ears swiveled and she looked up at me. She sniffed the air, but I tugged down my scarf just in case.

  Her eyes flashed red in the darkness as I waited for recognition. Her blood-soaked tongue popped out of her mouth and she panted. A sign of relaxation. I took a slow step to a nearby door and glanced through. The nave, where mass would have taken place. I lo
oked back to the wolf to let her know where I was going, but she was gone.

  I snapped my scarf back into place. Six guards down, by my count. I was sure the wolves had taken down more, but to my knowledge at least six were dead. There couldn’t be that many left, and no alarm had been raised. I carefully pressed the handle, thankful it didn’t squeak. Then I ducked inside and crouched low in the shadows of a pew. The door hadn’t creaked. Was God giving me an assist?

  I quickly swept the scene before me for guards, but saw none. Only one man stood in the room, and he was at the pulpit, staring up at a massive, ornate stained-glass window, his back to me. The window stretched almost from floor to ceiling, several stories high, and depicted angels, saints, Jesus, and other religious icons – so that during Mass, the congregation would stare at the bishop as he preached, limned by beauty. I hadn’t noticed the window from outside, the building angled just enough to miss it. The man had no idea I was here. The Antipope.

  Then I realized he wasn’t staring at the window.

  A man hung from glowing chains shackled to each wrist. The chains reached up to either wall on unlit chandeliers, leaving him to dangle before the center of the stained-glass window twenty feet off the ground. Where a crucifix would ordinarily have hung, the center of attention.

  A display of triumph.

  Roland.

  My vision flashed silver as rage threatened to consume me, the Whispers urging me to burn the place to the foundation, snatch up Roland, and flee. With or without the wolves. I shoved their song away, taking a slow, measured breath so as not to reveal my presence.

  Several other doors lined the walls, all points of entry or exit, all cloaked in shadows. I might not be the only one hiding in wait. But none of the other guards had shown an interest in sneaking through the shadows, confident in their numbers and this secret location. A broken church in disrepair. The Conclave had no reason to come here. There were dozens or more churches just like this all over Rome.

  I stared up at Roland and his chains. What were they made of? Was he bait?

  He had been tortured, his chest a fan of blood, weakening the almost-vampire.

  Or maybe he was full vampire now.

  At the sight of his blood, my fury leapt back to life. Here was my mentor, the man who had given his life for the church. And now he had given up his soul to save two wolves – hiding the fact that he was a vampire so he could do one last act of justice – even when no one had seemed to welcome his aid. He had been tortured and strung up.

  My White Knight.

  I realized I was no longer hiding, but standing in the center aisle. I didn’t remember moving. I began to walk, feeling as if I was watching my body from above as it advanced. Pews crashed in my wake and my shoulders seared with lava as wings like dry ice abruptly flared out behind me. The already weakened wooden pews shattered as they slammed into the walls, hopefully blocking the doors. The ground smoked beneath my boots.

  Anthony spun, eyes wide at the sudden cacophony. He took an instinctive step back as he saw me, flinching. More pews crashed into the walls as I stormed closer in calm, deliberate steps. Roland lifted his head slightly, eyes entirely red as they locked onto me, but they fluttered closed and his head sagged back down. I flung out my hands, severing the chains in a shower of sparks, commanding the Whispers.

  They purred delightedly in my mind, eager to be of use.

  Roland began to fall, but I lifted my hand as if cupping water for a drink. A silver cloud appeared beneath him, swiping ornate candleholders and a gilded Bible from the table below him before gently catching him and settling him down. I released the power, never slowing my measured advance to the pulpit. I was now only ten feet away from my target. The source of my wrath. My redemption.

  “How…” Anthony stammered, “how did you do that?” he rasped, eyes flicking to my wings. “How did you find us? No one knows this place!” he whimpered.

  I smiled, taking a few more steps. He couldn’t see my icy grin behind my scarf. I didn’t care. His anxiety would soon cease. Roland groaned again.

  “Those chains were forged by Angels to stop vampires…” he rasped. He cast a look over his shoulder at Roland, not hiding his disgust. “Which I didn’t believe existed before last night.”

  I considered the chains. I wasn’t an Angel, but I was pretty sure I had Nephilim blood. Which meant I probably shouldn’t have been strong enough to break a Heaven-forged chain. But I just had. I did have a drop of Angel’s blood in my system. Maybe that was why. I spread my wings high above my back. I could feel the power required to maintain the wings draining me. I wasn’t strong enough to keep this up for very long. It was time to end this shit-show.

  Anthony collapsed to his knees, jaw hanging open in awe. “You… you’re an Angel?” he whispered in awe, finally recognizing me with my new hair style.

  “Where is the video, child?” I asked in an arctic air of command, not bothering to answer him. “I will not have the church sullied, but you shall have your just reward. As will the vampire.”

  Roland’s just reward was survival. The Antipope’s just reward was to die for his crimes.

  Anthony nodded numbly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a flash drive. “Slide it over,” I said. “Being too close to my celestial form will destroy your mortal body.” I glanced back at the shattered pews for emphasis. He slid it over to me hurriedly, not daring to deny an Angel. He began muttering a prayer.

  “Swear to God that this is the only copy. Angels can sense lies,” I warned, capitalizing on his assumption. He was sobbing as he nodded vehemently. His eyes were wondrous, as if seeing the Pearly Gates behind me. I slammed my boot onto the flash drive, obliterating it. Then I flicked my finger and a droplet of silver flew, igniting it in a ball of white flame, melting it in seconds.

  “Doing a service to God via a crime is unacceptable. Why did you murder the man in the alley, and what did you steal from the Vatican?”

  Anthony began desperately shaking his head, climbing to his feet. “I didn’t murder anyone, and definitely didn’t steal. The Ten Commandments forbids it.” he protested. “You may have a false impression of me from my threat to the Vatican. But this man,” he pointed, “is not a child of God. He is sired by Lucifer. What other explanation can there be? He feasts on the blood of others to survive!”

  “We can’t be blamed for our father’s mistakes. And in his case, he was infected. You have no idea the sacrifices he’s made. Why he became a vampire,” I seethed, panting. Roland had given up everything he valued to save two lives. His career, soul, and life goals. Giving up God was a requirement. “You couldn’t even begin to fill his boots. He is the most pious man I know.”

  The Antipope frowned, as if suddenly seeing me in a new light. “Is that so?” he asked, picking up a crucifix from the floor as he began walking closer to Roland, who hissed in pain.

  “Stop or die,” I warned, taking a step closer, wanting to give him the chance to see the error of his ways. Not that I was unwilling to kill him, but I wanted to test my ability to use reason over power. This man wasn’t a killer. Just misguided. He genuinely thought he was in the right.

  He lowered his crucifix to stare at me. “You, an Angel, would kill a man of the cloth to save demonspawn?” An epiphany flashed in his eyes, and I watched as a film of resolve came over his features. “You have Fallen…” he whispered in defeat, his dream becoming a nightmare. His shoulders sagged, likely realizing that a Fallen Angel wouldn’t hesitate in killing him, and that he didn’t stand a chance. He realized he was facing his end.

  I pressed my momentary advantage before he did something stupid. “Where are the rest of your guards? I know there are more.”

  “With their commander, Olin Fuentes.”

  “Describe him.” Maybe he was already consecrating this holy ground with his blood.

  He paused, eyes taking in my scarf. I could see the questions in his eyes. Why was I wearing it if I didn’t know who led them? And why was an Ange
l wearing it in the first place? “Tall, older man with short white hair. Spiked.” I hadn’t run into anyone by that description.

  “Where does Crispin fit into this?”

  His shoulders steadily straightened, as if coming to a conclusion he didn’t like. “He delivered the vampire to me.” I could tell there was more to reveal, but his face grew into a scowl as he found his backbone. “You’ve Fallen.” He spat it like a curse.

  I ignored his declaration, my arms suddenly cold at hearing confirmation of Crispin’s deceit.

  I could see it now. Roland hunting the assassins. Runs into Crispin and sees an ally, a way to finally prove that we had been right about the wolves. Crispin double-crosses him somehow and delivers him to the Antipope, likely killing one of the guards to make it look like Roland had murdered him. Roland wouldn’t have vamped out in front of Crispin unless he had to. Was it possible that Roland hadn’t yet drank blood? No wonder he looked so weak.

  He hadn’t had his first kill. He wasn’t a full-blown vampire yet.

  Much of it was still foggy, but I was confident in the fact that Crispin had used Roland’s trust as a dagger in the back. The question was why deliver him to the Antipope? Was it all to convince the Antipope to blackmail the Conclave? He’d had the amulet at the trial, though. Maybe he had done it to get the necklace for himself, knowing what it was. The amulet was only worth anything to vampires, and I knew Crispin wasn’t a vampire because Roland had told me that a vampire can always sense another vampire.

  The major hole in that hypothesis was that the amulet was fairly new to the equation.

  It didn’t answer why Constantine had been killed, the wolves framed, the file secretly delivered to us, or how the Antipope had entered the equation in the first place. Crispin fit for all of that, but what was his motive? He was First Shepherd. And Roland had vouched for him.