Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  “Juris?” the voice said.

  Agent Litner hung up and slipped the phone in his pocket, removing his hand from the blond man’s mouth. “So, your name is Juris.”

  He spat at Agent Litner.

  “Well, my polite friend,” Litner said, wiping the spittle off his jacket, “I believe that was your buddy Shepherd on the phone. It seems you were late checking in. It seems you are going to be very, very late checking in. Now, what do you say we go somewhere and talk?”

  Juris spat at him again. Litner looked up at Agent Rourke, who glared at Juris. Rourke wasn’t used to being tossed around by a man half his size. “Put him in the trunk,” Litner said. Rourke happily complied, lifting the shrieking Juris up and hoisting him over his shoulder. Copie backed away as Rourke carried the hysterical restrained man past him.

  Agent Litner looked at the priest. “Thanks Luigi. If you and the boy hadn’t helped out, we would have lost him.”

  Father Carbone nodded graciously. Copie looked at the priest. “Luigi? Your name is Luigi Carbone? Christ! Did you just fall off the garlic truck?”

  Carbone put an arm around Copie. “You’re staying with me, remember? If you don’t like garlic, I’m afraid you’re going to starve in my house.”

  “Great,” Copie said. “Patrick and Robin get to go off on missions, while I have to hang out with Father Cannoli over here.”

  “At least you’ll be safe,” Litner said. “Now let’s get in the car before another of those freaks comes crawling out of a trash heap.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Father Carbone’s apartment had a basement beneath that stretched underground where it connected to the church through a locked door. It was a long open space, full of dust and old furniture, with a few tiny windows set just above eye level. Old pews sat stacked against one wall. Time worn statues of the Virgin and the infant Christ were scattered here and there like wax phantoms in the shadows. Copie and Father Carbone covered the little windows with black construction paper as Agent Litner instructed, adding to the ominous darkness, leaving one measly overhead bulb.

  The prisoner, Juris, hadn’t uttered a word since their arrival. Agent Litner interrogated him for hours, but Juris simply stared at him with feral hatred in his otherwise lovely green eyes. Juris didn’t speak, but he did make noise. He hissed, he shrieked, and he spat. He refused all food. He sat in the dimly lit basement, cuffed and tied to a high back velvet chair that Father Carbone had dragged out of the corner. Whenever Juris caught Carbone staring at him, he’d laugh at him. It was a disturbing cackle, a maniacal sound.

  Agent Litner stopped by again the following afternoon and tried to make Juris speak. Copie had stayed upstairs and made tea while Carbone and Litner dealt with things in the basement. The prisoner unnerved him.

  Litner came stomping up the stairs and into the kitchen, with the priest right behind him. “He’s as tight-lipped as a snapping turtle,” Father Carbone said.

  “And equally pleasant,” Litner added. The agent looked angry and flushed. One side of his white hair was pushed up from running his hands through it, and he had a red blotch on his temple from slapping his pen against it.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Copie asked, hoping against all hope that Agent Litner planned to move Juris out of the church basement. Just knowing he was down there made Copie uneasy.

  “He’s going to have to stay here for the time being. Patrick and Robin are following Shep out to Pearl Chasm tomorrow. Then Patrick will be sent out to Forest Bluffs to get the crop samples, and we can wrap this up one way or another.”

  “So why can’t you hold Juris downtown or something?” Copie asked.

  Litner looked at him coldly. “That’s my business, Copie. Please don’t ask me any more questions.” He threw on his jacket. “I have to go prep Patrick and Robin for their trip. Try to get Juris to eat something. Unfortunately, he’s no good to us dead.”

  Father Carbone stepped up. “Will you tell Patrick and Robin about our new house guest?”

  “No. They don’t need distractions right now. We’ll tell them about Juris when they get back.” Father Carbone wrung his hands. Litner looked up from buttoning his jacket. “Is something bothering you?”

  “Well, they’ve surely realized that Juris is missing out at Forest Bluffs. What is the Shepherd going to do when he discovers he’s lost one of his sheep? Will he come looking for him?”

  The question made Copie’s eyes widen with new fear. Agent Litner headed for the door. “They won’t look here. They have no reason to. Both of you stop being so afraid. He’s just a man.”

  “So why did it take four of us to take him down?” Copie asked. “And how did he break the handcuffs?”

  “Adrenaline,” Litner snapped, slamming the door on his way out.

  Copie turned to Father Carbone. “Well. Your FBI pal is a tad more agitated than usual.”

  Carbone nodded. “He doesn’t like when he can’t figure things out. That’s what Litner does. He figures things out. But I think it’s fair to say we’re dealing with something highly irregular here.”

  “Man. If Litner is getting scared, then I might as well hang it up.”

  “I didn’t say he was scared. He’s just frustrated. This case is turning out to be…unusual.” The priest looked thoughtful for a moment, staring into his teacup. “I’m tired of tea. What do you say we get rip-roaring drunk? I for one think we’ve earned it.”

  Copie smiled widely. “That is the most enlightening thing I’ve heard you say, Father. Let’s turn some holy water into wine!”

  “That’s a little out of my league, but I do have some brandy in the cabinet under the sink.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shep stared at the phone, struggling to retain his mind lock on Juris. He caught the hazy image of a priest’s collar, then nothing. Juris’s energy was silent. “Fuck!” he tossed the phone across the room. It smashed on the wall. Allisto and Russell ran in. They looked at Shep, then at the shattered phone.

  “What’s wrong?” Russell asked.

  Shep ignored him. He walked to the bottom of the spiral staircase. “Margol! Get your ass down here.” The red-haired brother came stomping down the stairs and joined them in the kitchen. They all looked at Shep hesitantly. “Juris is missing,” he said.

  Allisto’s face fell. “What has happened to Juris?”

  “I’m not sure. I phoned him. He called my name once, but then there was nothing. I tried to home in on his mind. The only image I got was a priest’s collar. Wherever Juris is, there’s a priest involved.” He turned to Kelinda, who’d stepped cautiously into the room, looking curiously at the broken phone. “I find it coincidental that the last thing Kelinda did before she joined us was to visit a priest and go to confession. Now, oddly, there’s a priest involved in my brother’s abduction!”

  “I never told Father Bello anything, I swear,” Kelinda said. “If there is a priest involved, it’s not Father Bello! He’s just an old man. You leave him alone.”

  Shep smirked. “You protest too much, princess. Oh Margol?”

  “Yes, Shepherd.”

  “Do you remember that matter we discussed the other day? About the loose ends?”

  “Yes, Shepherd.”

  “Now is the time. Take care of it.”

  “Yes, Shepherd, but what about Pearl Chasm?”

  “You’ll be back in time to go. It should only take you a few hours to take care of Father Bello.”

  Kelinda ran from the room, sobbing. Shep watched her go, then turned back to Margol. “Now get going. Find Juris and bring him back. And make sure Father Bello’s holy voice is silenced. Permanently.”

  * * * *

  Father Bello hummed a hymn while he cleaned up the altar. He enjoyed the church when it was empty, after everyone had cleared out for the night, and it was just him and the scent of incense, the aesthetic light from the evening sun filtering through the stained-glass windows, the flickering glow from the candelabras
behind the altar, and the simple well-being that came from conducting a spirited mass. It felt like he was all alone with God in these moments, a truly peaceful time of day.

  There had been more children in church lately. He wasn’t fooling himself. He knew the children came to mass because he looked like Santa Claus in his red robe with his white beard. That was fine. Whatever brought the people in was good. They had no miracle apparitions like Father Carbone down at Saint Mary’s. All of the local churches had taken a hit after the image of the Virgin appeared down there.

  He placed no blame on Father Carbone, as some of the gossipy priests had done. Some of them were saying that Father Carbone staged the miracle himself to draw more people and money to his church. Father Bello didn’t share this opinion. He knew Carbone and found him to be an honest man. Besides, he’d heard through the grapevine that Luigi himself thought the apparition to be a hoax, and was addled by all of the attention his previously quiet church was receiving.

  Father Bello’s deep singing voice echoed acoustically through the empty church as he gathered the holy gifts on a tray and got ready to transport them. “We gather together to share The Lord’s blessing…” He stopped singing as he got the sense that someone was watching him. He spun about face, but the church was empty. Only painted angels and saints stared back at him. He gave his head a shake, then began to hum again.

  He stopped as he saw a dark shadow move quickly past the window outside. He stood motionless with the tray in his arms, staring at the stained glass, his voice caught in his throat. Had he seen someone pass by? Perhaps it was someone looking for confession. He put down the tray and walked to the back door, peering through the rectangular windows. He saw no one. He shrugged, and then headed back to the altar, retrieving the tray he’d left there.

  The tray slipped from his hands and smashed to the floor as Father Bello turned to walk off of the podium. He hadn’t heard the front doors open, but there was a man standing in front of the altar. “Oh heavens! I didn’t hear you come in. You gave me quite a startle! Look, I’ve dropped everything.”

  The beautiful young man stared up at him with no expression. He was so still that it was hard to tell if he was even breathing. His hair was parted down the middle and came to his chin in a wreath of fiery red curls. His eyes were like enormous shining emeralds against slightly sunburned skin. His nose was straight and strong, but his mouth was a tiny red kiss of childlike pout, yet the face held a handsome masculinity just the same. He was like an oversized doll, perfect in every way except for the stare. The look in those eyes made Father Bello’s hair stand on end. “May I help you? Would you like to give confession?”

  “You mean the way Kelinda Wade gave you confession?”

  Only the stranger’s lips moved. He stood with arms curled at his sides, head bowed so his eyes had to look upward to glare at the priest. It was unnerving.

  “Kelinda Wade? Do you know Kelinda?” Father Bello remembered his last meeting with Kelinda, when she’d run out of the confessional refusing to tell her sins to him. “How do you know Kelinda? What is this about?”

  “Where is my brother?” the red-haired stranger asked.

  “I’m sorry? Do I know your brother? Young man, if we’ve met before, I apologize, but I just don’t remember you.”

  “Where are you hiding Juris? I am very angry to not see him here. Where is he?”

  Father Bello felt a shiver of fear run through him. He took two steps back. “I assure you, I don’t know anyone by that name. What is your name, son?” Father Bello could see his phone, sitting with his wallet where he’d left them on the front pew bench. He took a slow, careful step to the side.

  “That is not important, but my name is Margol.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Margol. That’s an unusual name.”

  Margol tilted his head slightly, keeping the priest in his line of sight as he eased his way toward the pew. “I would not touch that phone, Father Bello. That would upset me. Tell me where my brother is.”

  Father Bello paused. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. “I swear I don’t know your brother. Now please, Margol, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  The red-haired stranger smiled. “You can ask.”

  Father Bello made a conscious effort to stay calm. He’d dealt with disturbed parishioners before. This was probably just a cry for help. A plea for comfort. If he could only get through to this young man... “What is it you really want, Margol? Why have you come here? You can tell me the truth, no matter what it is.”

  “I have come to find my brother. And to kill you.”

  So much for diplomacy. Father Bello sprinted for the phone. Margol turned only his head. The phone flew off the bench and smashed to the floor, as though an invisible hand had swatted it. Father Bello stopped in mid sprint, and stared in disbelief at the shattered pieces of his phone. He lifted his gaze to Margol. “How did you do that?” Father Bello quickly blessed himself. “What are you?”

  “I am the Elite Guard. As is my brother, Juris. He is not for you to hold prisoner. He is great. And you are small. Where is he?”

  This man was definitely insane. Sure, the trick with the phone was impressive, but what he claimed to be was just not possible. He was mentally ill. Father Bello thought it best to humor him. “Elite Guard, huh? Then you are tasked with protecting the byways between the realms.”

  Margol smiled. “Not anymore.” He dove through the air in a flying somersault.

  The priest ducked out of the way and ran past the altar and straight for the back door. The stranger chased him and caught his robe, pulling him to the floor. Father Bello cried out as he struggled to crawl, kicking at the strong hands that gripped his legs. “Help! Somebody help me!” Margol turned him over and squeezed the priest’s neck with both hands. Father Bello whimpered.

  “I ask you once more. Where is my brother?”

  “I swear! I don’t know your brother!” Father Bello squealed.

  Margol’s large eyes flicked back and forth, like he was examining the air around Father Bello’s head. His pretty features furrowed into a frown. “Your aura is clear. You are telling the truth. You really do not know where Juris is,” he said with an air of disappointment.

  “Yes! I am telling the truth! Please, let me go.”

  “I apologize for calling you a liar. But I still have to kill you. I have orders.”

  On a desperate whim, Father Bello reached back and pulled down the podium next to the door. The metal bowl clattered to the floor. Father Bello gasped as Margol applied pressure to his neck. The priest’s fingers found the metal bowl and smashed it into his assailant’s face, but it was a weak hit. Margol sputtered as the liquid from the bowl splashed his face. “I am not thirsty, priest!”

  So much for holy water having any power here.

  Stretching his arm back further, his fingers caught something else, and he tugged, pulling the standing candelabra to the floor. Thanking the heavens that most of the candles remained lit, he gripped the base and jammed the flames directly into his assailant’s face.

  Margol’s eyes widened. He let go of Father Bello’s neck and flailed, slapping the flames away and stumbling back, rubbing frantically at the side of his face where his smooth flesh now bloomed with rosy burns.

  An ear-piercing howl shrieked from Margol’s parted lips, an inhuman sound that rattled the windows and threatened to break Father Bello’s mind. He gave himself over to hysteria. “I baptize you!” he screamed. “Haha! I baptize you with fire, abomination! I baptize you, Margol!”

  Margol stared down at Father Bello, his face a mask of horror, pain, and something like fear. He lurched backward on unsteady feet, then turned and ran stumbling out of the church. The big wooden doors shut with an echoing bang.

  Father Bello collapsed onto the floor. Stricken and disheveled, he crawled toward the front pew. He picked up the plastic fragments from the shattered phone, and stared at them. “No.” A sob hiccupped out of him. “It’s
too much. God, please, what test is this? I know you’re with me so I’m not supposed to be frightened. But I am, Lord. Oh God, I am. So frightened.” Still clinging to the shards of plastic, he fell to the floor and wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Patrick studied Litner uneasily. The agent sat on Patrick’s couch, tapping his pen furiously against his temple. “So Robin and I scouted the location. Everything’s set to go,” he said. The agent looked up, nodded distractedly and went back to his temple thwacking. “Agent Litner, is something bothering you?”

  Litner stopped whacking his head. “Why don’t you come sit down, Patrick. There are some things I need to tell you before you take this trip.”

  Patrick sat on the other end of the couch. “What’s up?”

  “The mission I’m sending you on has not been approved by my superiors. In fact, they know nothing about it.”

  “Oh. Um, okay. Why?”

  “I’m on a very short leash with this investigation. I’m authorized to get the crop samples but beyond that, I’m on my own. Things have gotten more complex than I’d anticipated. I need to obtain convincing evidence, however, so we must push forward.”

  “Convincing? For who? Are you telling me your superiors really aren’t all that interested in Forest Bluffs?”

  “Not as interested as they should be in my opinion, and the opinion of my team. But I truly believe there is danger brewing in whatever your friends are doing out there at that beach house.”

  Patrick raised his finger. “Okay, but maybe your superiors are right, and it’s nothing. You kept asking me about terrorist plots when we first met, but Joey and Shep aren’t hijacking planes or storming the Capitol building. They’re growing plants.”

  “View it as you like, but you will not be under my protection tomorrow when you follow them to Pearl Chasm for this surveillance job, and that worries me. If you insist on surveying Shepherd yourself, you’re gonna be on your own. I’m giving you one more chance to back out and let my team handle this.”