by Diane Nelson
Cosimo continued, "Carlos has indicated a certain … willingness to consider my, and Leo's, proposal in exchange for our support when the time is right."
"But the French…"
"Will not be a factor, of this I am assured from a trusted source." Cosimo grinned and patted his son's knee. "You, my boy, will have an integral part to play, never fear."
Stefano cringed inwardly. That was exactly what he feared.
Cosimo interpreted his son's discomfort to the injuries his increasingly out-of-control older brother had inflicted. He opted not to pursue the matter of the woman, Veluria, as he was assured by Eduardo that Antonio was 'on the hunt' and Cosimo knew exactly what that meant. The woman would be in their custody soon enough. They could make the proper determinations and proceed as planned whatever the outcome of his interrogation.
"Rest, my boy. We will talk more on this later."
"Gracie, Papà, sleep well."
Stefano lunged to his feet, willing the pain away. With mincing steps he hastened from the small room and made for the stairs to his quarters. Once in the safety of his private chambers, he stripped quickly and gazed with horror at the purplish bruising and oozing cuts on his cock. He wished for nothing more than a soft pillow and the pliant flesh of his beloved, his Veluria.
Where was she? Why could he no longer feel her tender presence?
In silent supplication, he began his evening prayers for salvation of his soul.
****
Andreas allowed his shadow-self to mold onto the stained gray stones. Distracted by the powerful energies channeling through his aura, he failed to triangulate the respective locations of the woman and her pursuer. The sound of footfalls striding relentlessly toward him startled him into breaking the connection. As he pressed against the solid foundation, bits of loose mortar shifted and rolled with annoying clarity. Andreas willed the sounds to mute, masking their inexorable path to the cobbled street with his aura.
The entrance to the tunnel lay off to the south. He'd taken shelter in a narrow alleyway leading to the canal. The overarching structures leaned inwards, blocking the night sky, leaving all in utter blackness. He'd adjusted his shadow self to allow for the implants to work at full power. He offered a small prayer of thanks to his Order for their foresight.
The woman had been close, her confusion and distress masking her location. He could only surmise that she'd been consumed with the need to avoid her pursuer. He was unconcerned. Her location was of little consequence. What mattered was that the Demon find her. Once together, he could manipulate circumstances, and them, so that the answers he sought would be revealed.
Bemused, he listened as the now familiar stride announced the approach of the Dark One.
"Antonio de' Medici," he murmured with derision, "on the hunt."
Andreas locked onto Antonio's essence, the unique energy signature that made this one man, above all others, the most dangerous entity in the known universe. The key to all their survivals … or their destruction.
He waited a moment for the tall figure to pass, then peeled his shadow-self from the rough stones, rounded the corner and carefully pursued his quarry. The Dark One's stride took him toward the Piazzali Roma, a section of the city housing the highborn and court favorites. Following the scent. He murmured, "Curious that she would head that way."
Furtively Andreas ghosted behind his quarry, intent only on the wavering energies. He stumbled on the uneven footing, wrenching his leg and bringing him to a halt, gasping with pain.
"Porca miseria!" he swore. The last thing he needed was to reawaken old injuries. He had no wish to repeat the months of rehabilitation after this very same ankle had suffered a debilitating injury when a Gateway had shifted and collapsed unexpectedly on his leg, leaving the left ankle almost beyond repair. Until then no one knew the passageways capable of inflicting so much damage on corporeal forms.
He hesitated to expend his resources in restructuring his neural pathways, as time and circumstance continued to erode his options. The Demon advanced too quickly and would soon be out of his range. Andreas slipped past the entrance to the tunnel. He paused for a moment, satisfied by the mingling energy signatures.
"Dammi la forza," he intoned, as he would require strength as well as cunning. He would need to find another vessel, and soon. The whore had been too spent to be of much use. He smiled at the remembered pleasure as his essence bled and blended, shadow on shadow, just out of range of the Demon.
Antonio hurtled through the darkened streets, obviously familiar with the area. Though still narrow, the road now passed by elegant domiciles with ornately carved finials over imposing entryways. The Demon suddenly ceased his headlong rush, backed up a pace and swiveled his head left and right as if listening for something. Fingering his cinquedea, he turned to his left. Without knocking, he pushed the solid door open and entered into a furious din of many voices raised in anger.
Andreas followed Antonio, but before the link was swallowed in a well of competing energies, he felt the Dark One's tide of assurance, the swell of smug disdain for his quarry, then a strange tickling of anxiety, perhaps even fear.
Andreas knew and understood this fear, felt it in his groin, in that deep space he'd reserved for himself alone. Like an invading army, she'd commandeered all of them to her will.
"La mia puttana, puttana la nostra ... siamo tutti persi," he moaned to the night. Lost to the whore, all of them.
"You poor fuck," he spat, though whether he meant himself or the Medici puppets was unclear.
****
"Idiota! "Your cousin bleeds us dry with his commissions and his fucking extravagance!"
Cardinal Guilio de' Medici smiled sagely at the man going nose-to-nose with him, his arrogance and intensity masking a small stature and portly frame. Voices erupted about the cluttered space, appalled that one as powerful as the Cardinal should suffer the deprecations of a lowly mathematician.
Several men advanced menacingly toward the peacock preening and preaching a message of fiscal restraint. Not a few fingered cinquedeas, prepared to defend the good Cardinal's honor, if not his unique position as the cousin of the current Pope. Favor could be bought, or it could be won at the pricking end of a stiletto. The Cardinal was no stranger to either approach.
His Eminence held up a hand to stay the advance of his would-be rescuers.
"Benedetto, you task me as always." He smoothed his rich Cardinal's robes, making sure his own weapons remained within easy reach. He believed in the power of prayer, backed with the instruments of the Lord and the position of his family. His distant cousin huffed a refrain of responsibility that the good Cardinal understood in principal, if not in practice. He stood convinced that the glory of his God, his Church and his Family would be writ in the sanctity and beauty of the towering edifices for which he and his cousin Leo actively commissioned, not only for the Vatican, but for their home city of Florence.
His Eminence knew one's enemies must never forget that the family had access to almost limitless resources, when pressure was applied correctly. The Cardinal removed his hat and set it on the small table by his side. He waved to Benedetto to sit next to him. The small man thankfully slid onto the uncomfortable seat and continued his diatribe as if the interruption had not occurred.
Antonio stood quietly by the doorway, cataloguing and evaluating each guest, some of whom he did not recognize. His cousins, Guilio and Benedetto, and several of the managers of the various mills from his father's vast holdings in Florence and the nearby Duchy of Modena to the north and the Republic of Siena bordering the southern reaches, made up the bulk of the assemblage. He was uncomfortable that so many of his father's supporters should risk being in one spot without suitable protection, although he discerned the presence of several of the Papàl Guards stationed surreptitiously both inside and at several points behind the domicilio elegante. Protection from invasion by way of the canal seemed well in hand.
"It is good to see you, Brother," a deep v
oice whispered in his right ear. Antonio nodded his head once, his body vibrating with excitement. This was an unexpected pleasure.
"Nico," Tonio grunted roughly, "what the hell are you doing here? Didn't you get your fill of boot licking at Maximillian's court?"
Nico smiled and moved close to his taller brother. "It's not boots I'm licking these days, big brother. I am after bigger prey than that petty despot."
Antonio swung to embrace Nico, pounding him on the back with so much enthusiasm the smaller man grunted and pulled away.
"It's been too long, Nico. Are you staying with Father? When did you get in? And why…?" Tonio's questions exploded in a rush of affection. As much as he loved his younger brother, his middle brother, only five years his junior, had earned his undying respect and admiration. Like Stefano, the man was canny in the ways of the court, using the Medicis' gifts, and their own special shared lineage of powers, to ferret out intrigue with such astonishing clarity that their father has assigned him to permanent residence on both the Spanish and the Habsburg courts without the yoke of marriage to constrain his movement and shifting loyalties.
"I'm not staying, Tonio. In fact I must hie to the docks and pick up passage to Castile. I leave soonest." He drew his brother deep into the recesses of an alcove. "There is someone here of interest, Tonio. Be wary, for there is great power, power I do not understand."
Tonio looked sharply at his brother. "Where?"
Nico glanced to the ornately carved banister and the elegant stairway leading to the living quarters of the Courtesan whose house had been conscripted by the Cardinal and his retinue.
"Upstairs, Brother." Tonio tried to brush past his muscular sibling but Nico grabbed his arm and restrained him. "I am not joking, Tonio. Be careful."
"Sono sempre attento, fratello, you can trust me to take care."
"Then I must be off. Give Father my regards. I shall report when I have the details I need."
"Travel safely, Nico."
"Ciao. And Tonio?"
"Now what?"
"If you hurt him again, I will not tolerate it, do you understand?"
Antonio's face flamed with shame. He had hoped his brother would not get wind of his indiscretion but there had never been secrets between them. Their actions, feelings, intentions—all an open book, like a single mind sharing two different bodies.
"I promise on my life, Nico," Tonio murmured as his brother strode through the door. It was a vow he would keep, no matter what the cost.
In his heart he felt the faint stirrings of Stefano's dismay and something else … disturbing. To find his brother's sensitivities intruding unbidden was unusual and worrisome but he had no time to analyze that now. The woman he sought was close, though her energies dissipated in the cacophony of power blasting him: men of fervor, religious and otherwise, men of acumen and political savvy, men of corruption and men of violence. Too many men with too much power in too small a space. He felt claustrophobic and short of breath.
How did Stefano and Nico put up with it, the incessant din, the bickering and backstabbing?
Though counterintuitive, he deliberately sought the calm amidst the familiar discord, seeking to pinpoint Veluria's exact location, and to determine if she were alone. Backing into the wall, he lost himself in the shadows. Once more admiration colored his perception of the woman. It took a certain amount of insolenza to enter a known lair of Medici power and influence—an all-male one at that—without incurring curiosity and discussion. Apparently only Nico had noted and remarked her passage to the upper reaches of the house.
He squinted against the smoky haze, willing himself to focus. With a start he felt the familiar tingling in his groin, the unwarranted desire and quickening pulse. He tried to control his breathing but it came shallow and fast, making him lightheaded. The headache that had nearly disabled him early in the evening came back with a full-on rush of pain.
"Sì, vi sono ora, strega," he whispered. He had her now. But what he had he could not be sure. Was she a witch, a siren, or someone like him—an anomaly, a mistake? He would find out soon enough.
The hunter crept quietly up the marble stairs, cloaked in shadow, unremarked.
Chapter Eight
Andreas pressed against the stone wall. He grew weary of cold, damp stone and narrow alleys leading to water, always to water. The 'pearls' the poets waxed bucolic over were nothing more than stinking, fetid channels of refuse. He longed for his own time, though not what he knew would be a trying interrogation with the Council. He was not exactly keeping 'on message' as their scribe would say.
He'd also gone far beyond the Monsignor's simple exhortation to follow, observe and report, though probably not far enough in the Council's estimation with the timeline in jeopardy and the key poised to wreak havoc on all their futures.
He'd stolen the idea of 'the key' from Veluria's subconscious. The Council had suggested the presence of a magic totem, inadvertently discovered and its powers released with a cascade effect that impacted their own time and place. That reeked of an overactive imagination. He didn't believe in magic but he did believe in the power of greed and self-interest. Like Veluria he would keep his options open, and like her, he was betting that the key they both sought was a someone, not a something.
While he managed to redefine the parameters of his mission into terms that had logical consistency, he had yet to factor how to use the woman's powers. All he 'felt' was some congruence between the Demon de' Medici and this puzzle that was Veluria, and it tweaked a deep well of lust and longing in his groin.
He must seek out another vessel soon or risk losing himself to her allure. That fortuitous encounter with the whore had been like a small unsatisfying appetizer for a starving man. The main course lay just within reach, so close he could taste it, smell it, feel it. A tortured moan escaped his lips as he pictured her writhing under him until he lost himself in her pale flesh. His ears rang with the pounding of blood coursing through his system, gasping at the dank mist in choking pleas for surcease from the beast gnawing at his innards.
He could deal with the competing demands of the Church in this dimension, and the far more dangerous Council in his own time, but he paled at the insistent demands on his body, a body too eager to respond to whatever 'she' insinuated into his psyche.
Andreas came on a gurgled moan, humming her name, and pleading to his God, "What is she, my Lord? I need to know if I am to serve you well." Weak-limbed he crept out of the shadows and drew the stiletto from within the folds of the tunic. With irritation he drew the blade along the inside of his forearm, watching the rich red flow trickle past his wrist. As her hold on him grew stronger he feared what might be necessary to shock his system into severing the bond.
He knew that the real fear was that he would succumb to that bond and be corrupted, lost forever, the impossible made manifest … and strangely desirable.
"You are lost," he muttered, aware that this mantra rose unbidden to his lips with increasing frequency.
The slamming of a door to Andreas' left startled him into leaping back into the safety of the shadows. He risked peering around the corner of the building to confirm that the Demon, the Dark One, had exited the building in haste and was proceeding quickly in the direction of the city docks. His long strides soon carried him out of his line of sight.
Furious at the distractions wreaking havoc with his senses, he worked through the limited possibilities: either the woman was on the move and the Hunter grew bold enough to pursue her openly, or they had all been wrong about her location and Antonio had been forced to cast his net in a wider circle.
Andreas glanced at the slowly healing slice on his arm, mildly curious that it was taking longer than normal for the pink flesh to knit. His groin ached and his cock already felt the irritation of the rough wool, slick with his seed. He hated this place. If he didn't leave soon, he would never feel clean again. In any case, he was running out of options.
"Find her for me, you bastard," he growled.
Without thinking, Andreas pushed off on his damaged ankle and hissed at the shooting pain. Bracing a hand against the cold stone to keep himself steady, he waited impatiently for the ache to subside. He knew better than to blame fate, yet it did seem that his luck had taken a decided turn for the worse. If he lost Antonio, and by implication, Veluria, his chances of infiltrating the halls of power would be slim to none. The Monsignor simply did not have the political clout to ease his passage to the power mongers of the time.
Grumbling irritably, he followed the retreating figure as best he could.
****
"Hold your arms out, child. I do not wish to bind you overly tight. The talisman must remain accessible."
"Gracie, Marie. It was good of you to take the risk. But hurry. I feel him approaching."
"There, the Reverend Mother would approve." The tall woman spun Veluria in a small circle, the rich satins in a waterfall of palest blue, ballooning over the stays.
Veluria minced to the mirror over the vanity and leaned forward, adjusting the laced bodice to accentuate her small breasts. The small pearl on its black satin ribbon hung suspended above her cleavage. She inhaled softly, testing the limits of her corset, satisfied that Marie had left just enough slack so if she had to move quickly she would not be constricted by the insane fashions of this time. She would never again complain about her order's ceremonial habit.
She glanced at her cohort in the mirror and hissed, "You must go Marie. You, uh, stand out and he must not see you."
The woman chuckled. "What, shrimp? Just because I'm six-feet tall and…?"
"Marie, please, he is almost here. I must compose myself. This one is not easy."