The Illusions In Between

by J M Robison

  “Where are you…do you go…” Both fists clench in and out. “Where do you…go. Need to go?”

  I take a deep breath. Where was it we were going once we reached Rome? I search and search every conversation since Brynn’s kidnap, and though I’m positive Zadicayn told me, I can’t remember. Too distracted by my own self-pity, as Zadicayn put so eloquently, to be bothered to do much more than follow along and be useful only when asked.

  “I don’t know. Bloody hell!”

  “Calmati! Be okay. I help you. Why you in Roma?”

  “My head hurts too badly to talk about that right now.” Simple answers are fine, but to explain to a normal citizen of our known world the intricacies of Fae Wizards, Fae Realms, magicked amulets, and the Illuminati somewhere in the mix, would put undue stress on all my faculties right now.

  I believe the headache is from whatever drug they used. I sit down and hold my skull between both hands.

  My rescuer rummages around a smaller chamber adjacent to this one. Dishware, food, oiled skin filled with a sloshing liquid, and a deck of cards are thrown onto a blanket. I try guessing his age by his mannerisms and physique. Well-fitted clothes outline muscled thighs, buttocks, and arms, though the muscles don’t appear to be intentional. More like an effect for whatever it is he does every day in his life: running, fighting, climbing, swimming? I wish he’d take off his mask, but then, I bet he wishes I’d take off mine.

  He bundles the blanket into a sack and hangs it over his shoulder. He stands above the Faewraith. “You bring that demon?”

  “It’s called a Faewraith.”

  “You say you not witch?”

  “Not a witch.”

  “What are you?”

  “A long story.”

  He sets the blanket-sack down and sits across from me. “What you name?”

  “Joseara Forge.”

  He points to himself. “Darik Vandazmer.”

  He has a nice voice, predisposition for a laugh.

  “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  His eyes light up. I wish I could see his smile. I need some happiness right now. He fumbles for some words but ends up nodding deeply instead.

  “Why do you speak English so well?”

  “Well?” He laughs. “Not well. No speak in many times. Years. No speak in many years. Padre English. Married Italiano madre. She die on ship from America, and Padre left me at young age.” He says his r’s with a nice roll, even with the English words.

  “Oh.” I hope he doesn’t ask about my past.

  “Head better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me why you in Roma now?”

  I straighten my back. He’ll either kill me for what he perceives as madness or run out of here screaming, signing himself with the cross. I decide I don’t need to explain the entire Fae history to him. I narrow my explanation to one question: “Do you know of the Illuminati?”

  He shakes his head. “Rumors only.”

  “I came to Rome with Zadicayn and Jaicom–two…associates of mine.” Zadicayn is a friend, but I’m not going to lump Jaicom under that same title. “Someone claiming to be Illuminati kidnapped Zadicayn’s wife and brought her to Rome.”

  “From England?”

  I wave off his question. “Since you’ve been in the business of rescuing girls, maybe you’ve seen her?” It’s a small hope, but I’ll take it.

  “What she look like?”

  “Long brown hair. English. Twenty-two years old. Would have had a child with her, still a babe-in-arms. Would have been within the last two weeks. I believe she was wearing a blue dress.”

  He grips his knees and leans back, apparently in thought. I appreciate him taking longer than a minute before he responds. Unless he’s just mentally translating what I said. “Sorry. I—” His gaze snaps to me. “I think I seen her.”

  Energy floods me. “What? Really?”

  “Not certain same woman. Saw woman–with babe–and man in temple. Man forced her give baby away. Then took her to Sant’Angelo’s Castel.”

  Sant’Angelo’s Castel? Is that what Zadicayn told me? It doesn’t sound familiar.

  “Not sure same woman. Man with her claimed to be guardian–her guardian–and he is a cardinal at Vatican. Cardinals wouldn’t…” He fails to complete his thought.

  Heat warms my skin. I may not know where to find Zadicayn, but I might be able to rescue his wife, pending Brynn is whom Darik saw. We may never have to face the Illuminati. “Where is the baby?”

  “Safe. With friend.”

  “Where is the girl now? You said Saint Angelo’s Castle?”

  “Si.”

  I stand and grab his arm, yanking him to his feet. He’s much stronger than me and could have resisted, but he doesn’t. I don’t intend to let go of him until Brynn is in sight. “Take me to her. Now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Darik

  Being after curfew, we utilize the rooftops. She’s not as swift about it as I am, though I’m surprised she can do it at all. Now I desperately want to know about her past life.

  “Why take the wife of a man from England and bring her to Roma?” I inquire of her, English flexing better on my tongue the more I use it. “Why is Zadicayn so important to kidnappers?”

  She takes so long to answer I believe she’s not going to. I hold her wrist as we cross a narrow beam of board connecting two buildings.

  “Have you heard of a Fae Wizard?” she asks hesitantly.

  “Wizard? Si. They mentioned in the Bible.”

  “No. No. Fae Wizard.”

  I look at her to make sure my warming knowledge of the English language isn’t screwing with me. “No.”

  “I’m going to tell you something absurd and outlandish, but please don’t laugh or make judgment until you’ve heard it all.”

  “All right.”

  “There is a realm that exists parallel to ours. In this realm are the Fae, and they govern life for people, animals, and plants. They also govern magic, but it is in no way ‘devil’ magic. Still following?”

  “Holding applause till the end.”

  “Each of us has magic. It lies dormant in our dreams. A creature called a Faewraith eats magic. So it eats people’s heads because that is where the dormant magic is kept.”

  A more bloody than necessary memory of Paolo losing his head in the jaws of that demon brings truth to her words so far. I nod for her to continue.

  “The Faewraith eat magic, but they are also terrified of it. A single entity of Fae magic exists on this earth, and it is this entity that keeps the Faewraith away. If that entity dies, the Faewraith will come to our world and eat everyone’s magic.”

  I don’t understand all her words, but I understand all the same. “You mean heads.”

  “Yes.”

  “What does this do with Zadicayn, or you?” My head still throbs from where her magic spell threw me into the cage. “You the Fae Wizard?”

  “No. Zadicayn is. This amulet,” she pulls it out of her blouse. Even without a moon, it still glows inside the hollow of her hand, “belongs to him. I won’t get into the complications of it, but Zadicayn and this amulet are connected. This is that single entity keeping the Faewraith away. If it dies, or if Zadicayn dies, the Faewraith will come and kill everyone.” She looks at it longer in silence, as if deciding whether to say more. She tucks it back out of sight and indicates for me to continue walking.

  Certainly outlandish…definitely absurd…it’s not going to take much more proof for me to believe it all. “So, Zadicayn’s wife and babe are kidnapped…”

  “To force Zadicayn to work for the Illuminati, because they want his magic.”

  I don’t ask any more questions, trying to absorb this massive tumor of a new reality I’ve collided with.

  We continue in silence the rest of the way. I could run across these rooftops with my eyes closed, but I take it much more gingerly since I have a passenger. A female passenger. I don’t think I’ve held a conversat
ion this long with any female, including Elma. I’m suddenly self-conscious of how I look and smell.

  I lead us off the rooftops early, because it’s very late and I’m tired, and my head still hurts, and I don’t feel like doing anything more than putting one foot in front of the other without obstacles to climb or jump over.

  I grab the edge and work my way down windowsills, flower boxes, and pipes. On the street, I look up to see she’s halfway down. I open my mouth to ask how she became such a good climber, but get distracted by her butt swaying from side to side. I punch myself in the face to force my eyes away. But I punch so hard I release a painful yip, and she turns to look at me with an unblinking stare when she touches the ground.

  “A…bug,” I mumble. After an intensely awkward pause, I turn away and resume walking.

  We reach Sant’Angelo’s bridge, the angels on both sides poised as if to pass judgment on us as we pass.

  “Man took her there.” I point to the circular fortress on the other side.

  “Okay. How do we get in?”

  “Door locked. Man…” I stall in telling her that the man levitated up and over a wall, but then I remember she’s well familiar with magic. “Lifted up and over the wall. Magic, I think.”

  She nods in affirmation and walks forward. I hustle to keep up with her.

  We’re alone on the bridge, after curfew as it is. I look around for the mounted polizia but see nothing. Of course, there are enough dark shadowy places everywhere for them to keep silent and watchful in.

  We stop in front of the castle’s locked door. Joseara fists my upper arm in her hand. In the next flash, I’m blinking my eyes at the statue of Saint Michael sheathing his sword. That statue is on the roof of the castle.

  I turn my head tentatively to look behind and see the ground below, farther below then I’m sure it actually is. Having climbed a hundred rooftops, in this moment, having used magic instead of my two strong hands to arrive at the top, I’m suddenly terrified of heights.

  “Where’d they go from here?” She shakes me to make sure I heard.

  “I d-don’t know.” My tongue is swollen in fear, looking at the ground far below. “I saw man fly up and over wall. She may not even be here.”

  Without letting go of my sleeve, she spells us down to the ground inside the curtain wall. I’m liking this magic less and less. Unnatural.

  “Where’d they go from here?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Think, Darik. Why bring her here?” She connects eyes with mine, and I fall into a hungry hole craving hope.

  Remember, Darik, this is a man’s wife we’re trying to find. If your wife was kidnapped, wouldn’t you beg, plead, and threaten, too?

  I exhale a breath and breathe in again to rediscover everything I know about Castel Sant’Angelo. It used to be Emperor Hadrian’s Tomb. Used to be covered in white marble until it was sacked and robbed of everything but the stones. A tunnel connects this castle to the Vatican. Popes used to take refuge here. It was once used as a prison. A pope was even held prisoner here.

  I kick at the stone beneath my feet. I’m very tired. Didn’t expect to be out this late. Didn’t expect to run into a magic-wielding female looking for a man’s kidnapped wife. I shrug. “She could be here. An old prison chamber is below. If Zadicayn’s wife were being held here, I’d think she’d be in the prison.”

  “Take me there.”

  As if she thinks I know the way. This castle has been locked since before I can remember. No one knows what to do with it but, being so ancient, they want to keep it secure.

  She’s yet to let go of my sleeve. I step forward and, still being attached, she follows.

  I trust the dungeon to be below ground. I look for stairs or doors that will lead me downward. A few wrong turns, we arrive at a stone staircase curling down. I put my finger to my lips to indicate silence. She nods.

  We descend, but without the feeble moonlight, we are taken into complete darkness. I walk slowly and spread my arms against both sides of me, feeling my way down. My eyes will adjust soon enough. If someone is kept prisoner down here, then someone will be left to guard her, and they, for certain, will need a light. I suppose if we don’t find any light down here, that’s our answer.

  Joseara breathes so shallow and walks so quietly; I only know she’s there because of her grip on my sleeve. My foot touches upon flat ground, and I tap my toes ahead of me to make sure it doesn’t drop off another ledge. Keeping my left hand pressed to the wall, I continue forward in the darkness. I still don’t see any light. I don’t know how much further the prison is, either, so I keep forward.

  The wall turns sharply left. I turn and see a faint glow of light further down the passage. I’m hesitant to go down because if I find Zadicayn’s wife, that means all of this horrid magic business with the Illuminati is real.

  Joseara pushes me forward to continue, and I decide her clinging onto my shirt wasn’t to keep with me, but to keep me going. I feel like a prisoner, and now my imagination has me believing Joseara works for the Illuminati and this has been one massive set-up to imprison me. For why I can’t imagine. It’s not for my good looks. Or my intellect. Maybe Sigismondo is Illuminati.

  The light blooms, and we come close enough to spy the source but stay out of its light. It’s an oil lamp with a massive reserve, hanging from a hook in the ceiling. A person beyond sleeps on a mattress.

  Joseara lets go of me and walks forward so quietly I think she’s a shadow in her black clothes. Several doorways are barred off with iron, but only one looks locked, and Joseara crouches in front of it. I join her.

  “…don’t know,” Joseara whispers to the scared female beyond the locked door. “We were separated. I’ve no idea where he is. This is Darik. He’s helping me.”

  I lift a tentative hand. It’s the same female I saw in Sant’Ivo’s. Her eyes lock back onto Joseara. “They took Levi.”

  “I know where he is.” I press my face into the bars to speak quietly. I’m really impressed Joseara knows to do it, too. I’m really curious about her past life. “He is safe.”

  The woman–Brynn–nods fervently. “Can you get me out?”

  “I’ll try.” Joseara pulls needle-like devices out of her clothes and stretches to insert them into the padlock on the door. “But these are not the English locks I know well. And they’re ancient.”

  “Why not use magic?” I ask Joseara. Seems to be the obvious thing, now, when you’ve got it. Magic to me was always something that could do anything for you, no matter how it worked.

  “I don’t know the spell.”

  “Magic?” Brynn does not speak with as much guarded caution. I’m constantly looking behind at the sleeping sentry.

  “Long story.” Joseara barely mouths the words. “I have Zadicayn’s amulet and know a few spells.”

  “You have–!”

  “Ssh,” I caution, and we all hold our breaths as the sentry grumbles and rolls over.

  Brynn flaps her hands around and grabs her hair. With forced effort, she whispers, “You have to find him. The Illuminati are going to take his blood. They’re going to kill him!” Tears glisten down her cheeks.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Joseara spares the breath and sound to swear. She looks at me and Brynn three times each before locking her gaze on Brynn. “How are they going to do that?”

  “From what I’ve gathered, day after tomorrow at eight o’clock there will be a party at the Pantheon. I’m starting to suspect I’m going to be there so Zadicayn will be lured inside, so he’ll be outnumbered. If that happens, they will take him.” I almost see the blood beating in Brynn’s heart. “Without his amulet, he’ll be completely defenseless around all the Black Magicians.”

  Joseara nods, but clearly has all her concentration on picking the lock. I have many more questions I want to ask but will have to wait in order to keep the silence. Why not kidnap Zadicayn instead of his wife? Why not lure Zadicayn here instead of the Pantheon?

  Josear
a continues picking the lock. Ten minutes later, I feel she’s just wasting her time. I fall asleep, and wake up to a suppressed, “Bloody hell!”

  I rub my eyes to see Joseara holding half the pick she had earlier. Her pretty eyes plead with a sense in me that makes me want to be the hero of her day. I spare a pleasing vision of a shirt-less version of myself, ripped with muscles and holding in my arms a wickedly beautiful female whom I had just rescued from the slave trade–an actual desire of mine, though I’ve suppressed it deep down. Then the female turns to me, and in an alluring voice says, “It broke off in the lock.”

  The vision of myself stares dumbfounded at the female until I shake myself back to the present to realize Joseara was talking about her lockpick.

  “We have to free Brynn,” she stresses. “Do you suppose that man has the key?” She points to the sleeper in the chamber.

  I look also. Where would the key be? I don’t see it hanging anywhere obvious. Might be in his pocket while he sleeps. He might be one of those magic people and kill me and Joseara if we wake him.

  “He might. Might not. Might have magic like you and hurt us.” English is returning to me. It’s now almost as familiar as my Italian.

  Brynn covers her mouth, body heaving as she muffles her cries.

  Joseara grabs the bars. “I know a relocation spell. I’ve never relocated anyone through an object before, like this door, but I’ll try it on your mattress first. If your mattress passes through to this side just fine, I’ll relocate you. You okay with that?”

  Brynn nods as if there is no question.

  Joseara backs away from the cell, leaving several feet between her and the door. I watch her go through a sort of calming ritual. She needs it. From my position in the shadows, I see her hands shake. She focuses on the cell.

  The barred door crashes against its bindings in the stone, and the mattress is torn into square chunks as it appears outside the barred door. Straw spins in the air.