by Diane Nelson
"Shit, can't the engineers…?"
Matteo shook his head 'no'. "They've tried everything. I fear we shall lose our pearl, Andy. Our world is sinking under the weight of its own folly." He sighed and rose to stand at the expanse of window overlooking the city. "Our future must be built on reinforced plasteel, like houses on stilts. Venice will never be the same."
Andreas intoned, "The Brotherhood will lead us from the sea of temptation to the light."
"From the Darkness shall we emerge," Matteo responded with a sneer, "but I fear growing gills more than I fear any darkness, my friend."
"What of the negotiations?"
"Negotiations? There are no more negotiations. All sides have retreated to their respective corners, locked and loaded. Fifty years of peace down the fucking tubes and all because something or someone altered the timeline." Matteo paced around the expansive room with long strides, fists clenching in anger. Reflexively he ran his hand over the small of his back.
"Still carrying concealed, Matt?" Andreas lifted an eyebrow. The Council would shit a collective blue brick if they knew their Head of Order flaunted one of their sacred vows.
One reason Andreas allied himself with the man was because he had a certain moral flexibility that resonated with Andreas' own beliefs.
Matteo pulled the Glock from the waistband of his jeans and set the weapon on the conference table.
"Busted." He sat at the table and tapped a manicured nail on the polished walnut surface. "So, let's review. You've got the Wicked Witch of the sisterhood sucking your dick, virtually speaking." He glared at Andreas. "It is virtual, yes?"
Andreas choked out a 'yes', the image too close for comfort.
"And you've managed to confirm what we've long suspected—that the Medicis have some genetic anomalies, Cosimo's clan in particular, that give them at least a modicum of psychic abilities." He ticked off the list, "Prescience for Cosimo, a certain mathematical precociousness for Nicolo, sexual deviancy for the pup, Stefano. And for this 'key' you've ID'd?"
"Antonio, the Demon de' Medici." Andreas huffed with a mix of disdain and admiration. "He's a cold, hard bastard. You'd like him. He's as close to your gifts as anybody we've run across. He can deep-drill and core truth out of the most determined victim. I suspect he can kill psychically, and may have without realizing he's done it."
"Compared to Cosimo?"
"More powerful by an order of magnitude, but it's like comparing apples and oranges." He hesitated to bring up his real concern. "There's something else…"
"Spill it, Andy. I'm getting sober and I won't be quite so accommodating then."
"He and the Sisterhood's operative may have combined powers."
"That's not possible."
Andreas agreed in principle but he'd seen, and felt, the reality of their powers when they danced and blended outside the strict genetic encoding imposed by the scientists and mathematicians. For all the Brotherhood had enlightened their world with carefully applied scientific dogma, they still fell short when it came to understanding human emotions.
"Possible or not, I felt it. Veluria is assuredly aware of the implications, the Demon … I doubt it." His heart ached with her betrayal of his sacred trust. He could still feel the phantom fingers of her energies wafting through his system, like a drug that gave him a perpetual high.
"So you think this coupling is the event that does … what exactly?"
"Matt, I wish the fuck I knew. All I do understand is that it's not normal, that she's fighting it." He carefully placed his leg on the floor and eased himself to a standing position. The pain wasn't nearly as bad. Limping to the table he spoke with such intensity that the prelate ceased breathing for a moment. "Whatever has caused the change in our reality, our hegemony over the peace process, is a direct result of something that will happen."
Irritated, Matteo growled, "But what?"
"I. Don't. Know." Andreas stared out the darkened glass with sightless eyes, hating to admit he had absolutely no clue what would be the final trigger to set their worlds askew.
"So let's think this through. She's run off with the youngest Medici but Antonio's in hot pursuit. Veluria's not the prize. The son is. He's the glue to cement Florence's position in the upcoming political transformation. They'll make sure the pup fulfills his destiny, leaving the Demon to return the woman to Cosimo."
"But why to him?" Andreas could barely contain the grip of despair clutching his heart. If they hurt her, they would answer to him, personally.
Matteo shrugged. "She's a curiosity if for no other reason. They'll recognize a kindred spirit. Cosimo's too smart to let an asset like that get away."
"But she can leave any time she wants," Andreas objected.
"Well, they don't know that, do they?"
Andreas felt suddenly very foolish. Here he was, a world removed, and the woman still commanded his heart … hell, she consumed his entire being. If Matteo ever guessed, a mind-wipe would be the least of his worries.
Matteo continued, his voice barely masking his concern, "Andy, we both know mucking with time has unintended consequences. Damn, just having two operatives in the same time-space might be the exact reason why all of our current efforts have disappeared down a giant political black hole."
"And if either Veluria or Antonio de' Medici somehow do something…?" He didn't bother finishing the thought. The probabilities ranged from n minus one to infinity with more solutions than even he could fathom.
"I don't think it's an 'either or' situation, son. My gut's telling me we're going to have to neutralize both of them."
"Then send me back. I know where they are. I'll take care of it."
"Not until you are at full capacity. You can barely think straight when you're in so much pain. How do you think you'll get around?" He smirked at the small man. "I didn't think you were fond of horses."
Andreas felt the whine build in his throat. He wanted to get back … to her. God, he longed for the promise of having her twist in ecstasy under him. With a start he realized Matteo had taken him by the arm and was guiding him toward the elevator.
"Patience, boy. With them in Spain, or whatever the fuck they call the peninsula, no one's going anywhere fast." He tapped at the button on the wall and squeezed Andreas' shoulder. "Remember, for once, time's on your side."
"Can I at least talk with the statisticians?"
"Later. Let's go to our quarters and get lunch. Saul promised to prepare your favorites."
Andreas wrapped his robes about his small frame and limped after his superior into the elevator. They rode to the living quarters' floor in companionable silence. Matteo led them to his suite and keyed in his code.
Andreas sighed with satisfaction. The smell of tomato sauce simmering on the stove filled the room with a fragrance he loved.
Matteo asked, "Are you hungry?"
"I can wait." A thrill of anticipation shimmied down his spine, hot blood flooding his loins.
"Good. I thought as much." Matteo slipped Andreas' robe off his shoulders and moved in close to nuzzle his neck. "God damn, I've missed you, boy."
Andreas whispered, "How much time do I have?"
"A month, my love. And I plan to make every minute worthwhile."
Matteo lowered his head to plunder Andreas' mouth, commanding every fiber of his being.
Andreas pulled away and gazed coyly at the older man. "When shall I tell you about … you know. Before or after?"
Matteo laughed out loud. "You tease. You know I can't wait." He led Andreas into the bedroom and roughly shoved him on top of the feather quilt. "All right. I want details. Now."
Andreas grinned and launched into his tale, "She was a filthy piece, almost made me gag, but…"
Chapter Nineteen
Tonio stretched and scratched at his tousled mop of hair absently. The air in the room was stuffy, thick with humidity, leaving his skin clammy and prickly with unease. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there.
I can't re
member my own name. Goddamn that hurt.
His scalp felt bruised, like he'd been whaled on by a squad of corsairs wielding battering rams. Prodding at the multiple lumps, his fingers came away sticky with blood.
I can't have been in here long if it's still fresh. Where the hell am I?
Pushing himself off the dirt floor he staggered to the heavy wooden door and listened carefully. Distant voices echoed as down a cavern but he couldn't quite make out the words. The shuffling of boots alerted him to his captor's approach.
Backing toward the far wall, he realized with dismay that he was completely naked. And he ached for good reason. Whoever held him captive had pleasured themselves with fists and who knew what devices. Not a stretch of skin lacked ugly greenish yellow bruises, the dull hues indicating he'd been subjected to such punishment over days, not hours, the colors showing healing. Only his weeping scalp indicated recent activity.
Why can't I remember?
He sank to the floor and waited as his captors, and it seemed an invading army's worth, jostled about outside the dank cell. What light entered came from a narrow slit situated high on the wall against which he braced himself. Even with his imposing stature, the window was too high to see out.
That left out dungeons, a small comfort.
Three swarthy men crowded into the narrow space effectively blocking his exit. Bracing, he rocked on his haunches, thighs screaming in agony as his sore muscles protested.
The man to his left smirked and said, "So the demon is finally awake." The other two tittered appreciatively.
Antonio watched the three through slitted eyes, waiting for one of them to make a wrong move, but in truth he doubted he could move fast enough to overpower them, even if given the chance. Ribs ground in protest as he attempted to snatch a breath and stabbing shards of pain rent through his gut. The small movements were a symphony of agony leaving him light headed and disoriented. Parched lips and thick tongue spoke to days without water or sustenance.
What do they want with me?
The leader growled, "Bring him," and backed away so his burley cohorts could advance toward the crouching figure. As Tonio's muscles twitched with the effort to hold himself steady, the man said, "Don't try it, senyor."
The man relayed rapid instructions to his men who quickly bound and blindfolded Antonio before he could react. The accent seemed familiar, tantalizingly so.
Roughly his captors shoved and pulled him through what seemed an interminably long corridor—he knew this from his frequent collisions against the rough stone walls—until releasing him to fall in a heap on a smooth stone floor that felt blessed cool against his fevered, battered body.
He took what small measure of comfort he could from the sweet contact, knowing the surcease from pain would not last long.
To his right, a high-pitched voice giggled with glee. "Suspend him. Let's see if his memory improves when we start to peel layers off his back."
Two, maybe three, men jerked him off the floor and attached manacles to his wrists—not for the first time judging from how his flesh screamed in protest as the burred metal scrapped and tore through scabs and lacerations.
With a howl of pain, he twisted violently against the inexorable pull on his shoulders, yanking the joints to within their breaking point.
With the first bite of the lash, he moaned, "Why…?" then bit down on his tongue, the words choked back until only agony and blood and the first thrill of fear consumed him.
The last thing he remembered was a faint voice admonishing him, "Tell us what your brother plans at court … and we will end this."
****
Veluria hissed in dismay as Antonio slid bonelessly to the floor, a silly smile on his face, as he dragged her with him.
With a slur he murmured, "You love me?"
She'd regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, knowing she'd condemned them both, but the truth of it was undeniable. The giant had flung himself across the room, pinning her against the door.
That had been his undoing, the migraine and wine finally taking their toll. She wanted to rail at him, call him a stupid ass, but instead she gently brushed his lips and disentangled herself from the unconscious man.
"Well, you big oaf, what do I do with you now?"
She should leave him to snore fitfully on the hard floor or try to lift him to the bed—an impossible task for one his size and weight. She tried tugging on his legs and barely managed to move them away from the door.
"All right. Think. Maybe the innkeeper can help me get him on the bed." Why she needed to see to the idiot's comfort was beyond her. He was the one who'd spent the entire afternoon banging the bitch downstairs. Then he went and got himself shitfaced on top of that.
"Then he tells me he loves me? Sweet Mother, tell me he isn't the one." But he was and her lips twitched at the memory of his tongue tangling with hers, and the scent of a man in full rut, claiming his prize.
She stared at the expanse of chest, and pictured how those hard muscles would bunch as he thrust…
Blushing, she debated her options. Let him stay on the unforgiving floor and wake up stiff … oh dear, yes … or try to make him comfortable enough to sleep off the effects of the migraine and his exertions of the day.
"Damn it, bed it is."
She kicked at his legs to make more space so she could exit the room, her skirts catching on a rough bit of wood. Annoyed, she heard the fabric tear. She was going to look like a vagrant if she didn't find new clothes. Her laughable undergarments could stand in a corner as it was. If she could trade places with Tonio, she wouldn't touch her without a power wash with industrial grade soap.
When the Demon had opened to her, he'd tapped into almost everything she was. He might not understand the full extent of his new knowledge but he would, given sufficient time. She felt strangely free to express her thoughts as if she were in her own time, a liberating and imminently stupid lapse of judgment. She could not presume that Tonio was the only adept in this time and place. She had more to protect than just herself now.
She had to find a way to shield the man who had stolen her heart. Skipping down the uneven steps, she found her way through the weak light cast through the taberna's leaded glass windows. Raucous laughter and singing greeted her as she pushed through the door. The party toward the rear of the small room did not take note of her progress to the archway at the rear that led to the kitchen.
She peered around the door jamb, hoping to spy the innkeeper. The man seemed to be nowhere about, nor was the slovenly whore. Another narrow door led to the back of the taberna. She smelled the rank odor of manure and rotting bedding. Wishing for a candle or a lantern, she cautiously edged past the paddock, wondering what she might be stepping in.
For some reason she felt the need to be cautious. Something seemed out of place and she couldn't put her finger on it. Whispering, "Senhor," her heart nearly stopped when a hand gripped her arm and yanked her into a lean-to of some sort.
"Ssssh, signora, be quiet."
"Paulo, is that you?" Paulo was Antonio's driver. He was a wizened elf of a man, not much taller than herself.
"Yes, signora." He leaned in close and kept his voice to a harsh whisper. "We have trouble."
"Trouble?"
The man was beside himself, his body trembling uncontrollably, muttering in a dialect she didn't understand. She risked a scan but managed only detecting abject terror and the fact that the innkeeper and his serving woman had fled the premises, temporarily.
"Those men mean him harm," Paulo hissed, "and we must warn my master."
"Who are they?" She felt rather than saw the small man's shrug. "Paulo?"
There was no point pressing him. He had little intelligence beyond having heard the men boasting of their exploits—and the fact that the whore had happened to mention that an Italian gentleman of means resided at the taberna.
She had a good idea they might be from the Catalan resistance, though why they would be sequestering a
cell so close to the coast escaped her. She was familiar with Italian politics and the incessant squabbling of the city-states, but the fractured enmities of the peninsula had been only rough-sketched during her tutorials.
What interest they might have in Antonio wasn't clear. They did not seem to know about her. She was sure she hadn't been noticed when she'd walked through the inn. That gave her an advantage. She would skirt around the outside of the building and make her way to their rooms.
"Listen to me, you must harness the horses. Work quickly. I will alert Antonio and bring him here." Paulo pulled away before she could finish. Hissing, "Hurry," after his retreating figure, she gathered her skirts and made her way toward the building.
Her eyes had adjusted to the ambient light making passage to the stairs easier. As she reached the edge of the building light flooded the packed dirt in front of the building—the sound of booted feet moving quickly and with purpose brought her up short. Before she could bolt for the stairs the group ascended stealthily and slammed the door open so violently she could feel the impact against the wall.
Damn it! Tonio! Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Nothing but a solid wall met her silent scream as she poured all her powers into rousting him. But it was too late—her cries echoed hollowly as Antonio's essence faded from her control.
****
Nicolo strode to the door, his annoyance at being interrupted yet again with the petty concerns of the court toadies overriding his natural caution. He yanked the heavy door open and glared at two disheveled travelers, their cloaks stained and matted with mud and other detritus.
At first he did not recognize the small man trembling with anxiety. He gave the tiny woman at his side only a cursory glance as he muttered, "Paulo? Wha—?"
"Please, signore, please…"
Nico looked beyond the bedraggled couple seeking his brother's tall frame. His gut told him something was horribly wrong.