Of Saints and Shadows (1994) (46 page)

COSTUMES WERE IN TATTERS, STILTS WERE broken, masks were thrown off to reveal panicked faces. The people of Venice fled to their homes, and visitors to the water city, including those who had come to offer themselves to the Defiant Ones, took refuge anywhere they could find shelter. Hotels, restaurants, and bars took them in. Many, though, were more curious than frightened, and wondered if war was in the offing. If so, they asked, who was fighting? Discussing this, they stood in groups at the intersections of alleys and along the edges of the larger canals, and word spread quickly.

One man stepped away from his friends as a group of soldiers passed, dressed in black and carrying swords and flamethrowers, and held out a hand to ask what all the commotion was about. He stumbled back to his friends, screeching, as his hand was brutally thrust aside by the soldiers.

Who were they? the people of Venice wanted to know. Where were the army, and the police?

All over Venice, small fires became big fires. Throughout the city, the path of destruction left by the soldiers of the Vatican spread even after they had gone ahead at the summoning of their leader. Even those who had been in the midst of battle with Meaghan and Alex had fled, and left Hannibal’s house burning from the inside. Not all of them had left, though. Between them, Meaghan and Alex had made certain that eleven of those who had attacked them would never leave the burning house again.

“What now?” Alex said, deferring to Meaghan’s judgment without realizing it. Alexandra still could not drive from her head the images of Meaghan’s bizarre series of transformations at the time of her resurrection. Her mind was racing with questions, but she knew they had to wait for the moment.

When Mulkerrin had issued his command to take cover and erected a sorcerous shield to provide his troops with that cover, he was still off balance slightly after the rapid turnaround in their plans. So were many of his soldiers, and only fifteen of them had been close enough to him, and fast enough, to get safely within his shield before bullets tore into the group. The rest of them had been spread out across the center of the square, and a number of them fell immediately under the gunfire. The rest ran—either in attack or in flight toward the arcades and alleys that led to relative safety. As Mulkerrin watched, several of the unarmed Defiant Ones broke away in pursuit. Many of those fleeing saw that they would not escape, and turned to face their attackers, drawing swords and brandishing flamethrowers.

One woman, who Mulkerrin knew was named Lorenza, battled valiantly, avoiding the blows of her brightly costumed attacker and slashing several times at its flesh with her sword. Safe for the moment behind his shield, Mulkerrin had time to wonder why the creature did not change, as Octavian had done, to a more powerful form.

And then the Defiant One did change, bursting into flame as Octavian had. And yet not quite as Octavian had. It took Mulkerrin a moment to realize that this was a different sort of flame. This was the flame of destruction, the flame of belief in the power of the sun that had been implanted in the creatures a millennium before. Clearly, many of these Defiant Ones were not as confident as Octavian himself. If he could make them lose their concentration, the sun might still destroy them!

He raised his hands and began to weave a spell of passage.

Ellen Quatermain was the first to notice the silvery shimmering of the air. Through the steady snowfall she watched as what appeared to be a mirror grew into existence just feet from where she stood, armed and ready. She had enjoyed their battle thus far, as it was largely one-sided, though she’d been saddened to see the death of the Defiant One who had lost his concentration, his faith. Pity, really, she hadn’t even known his name.

She was watching the group of Vatican killers huddled inside whatever magical protection Mulkerrin had whipped up at the last moment. Then her attention was drawn to something else. This mirror thing, an oval shape hovering vertically, was growing roughly two feet from the ground. Though its edges were indistinct, it continued to grow until it was three times her height, and only when it had apparently stopped did her curiosity overwhelm her.

it had all happened in seconds. She looked around, but nobody was paying attention as of yet. Those with guns were still shooting at Mulkerrin, hoping he’d let his guard down. Those who had run were not pursued, but those who turned to fight had been killed easily and quickly. Peter had been clear about that. Many of these people were simply misled, and their hatred ought to be placed on Mulkerrin and his acolytes alone, though they’d yet to see these acolytes.

It occurred to her that this mirror must be so thin as to be almost invisible from many angles, and she approached it now, and reached out a hand to touch its surface.

“
Shit!”
she cursed and drew back her hand, sucking her fingers. Ripples spread across the mirror as though it were a calm pool of water, just disturbed. And indeed it was a pool of some liquid, though at scalding temperatures.

Ellen knew this must be some magical construct of Mulkerrin’s. She had not survived this long without her wits. Yet she could not see its purpose. She looked at her reflection in the mirror-pool and touched it with the muzzle of her gun.

“Ellen! Get back!”

She turned at Peter’s voice, alarmed and confused. Then she heard the roar of the approaching beast. She turned back to the mirror and the pool had become turbulent. She cried out as the scalding water splashed and burned her, though she healed almost immediately. Under other circumstances, she would instantly have retreated, metamorphosing into some other form to battle whatever was preparing to emerge, or into mist to escape it. But the events of the past few minutes had worked a terrible magic on her, one that had nothing to do with sorcery.

The gun in her hand had given her a false security, a terrible confidence. She took one step back and began to strafe the mirror-pool, even as the burning liquid bathed her. For one wonderful second she had the attention of all of her peers.

Then the thing emerged. The demon. The shadow.

Its huge head was covered with nubs and horns and spiny protrusions and its flesh had the appearance of an open wound. Blood ran from the red thing in profusion, yet at her first whiff of it, Ellen felt nauseated even through her fear. This was not the blood she knew.

She fired again, and was joined by gunfire behind her. Several of the bullets hit her, but she ignored them and silently thanked whoever had come to her aid. The huge shadow, at least fourteen feet high, which now stepped completely through the pool and into their world, did seem to be hurt somewhat by the constant stream of gunfire. Some—but not nearly enough. The eyes of the thing searched angrily for the source of its pain, and found her. While the shadow had seemed slow at first, its talons now swept down upon Ellen in a flash, lifting her to its clicking jaws.

Finally sensing the futilily of her weapon, Ellen dropped it. She had little time to think, and her uncertainty of the sun might kill her even if she were able to shapeshift. Brute strength was her instinctive reaction. Pinned between the shadow beast’s great claws, she kicked at the thing’s left arm with sheer power that she had been given as an immortal. Its arm snapped in two with a sickening crack and the thing howled in a voice from hell. Still, it did not let her go.

Clamped in its one good hand, Ellen was shoved toward the huge mouth, the jaws closing on her left knee, biting clean through, her lower leg falling to the ground even as the thing gulped down its bite. Screaming, she struggled to keep away from the mouth, using her hands to snap several of the fingers on the hand that held her, and finally breaking free, only to fall across the thing’s shoulder.

Her claws dug in, her fury at its peak, and her left arm drew back and drove forward, fingers stretching into claws themselves. The taut, needle-pointed fingers plunged into the thing’s right eye, and her arm sank into the burning flesh of the creature halfway to her elbow. She withdrew it, screaming in agony and triumph, and barely noticed her charred flesh sloughing off the arm as she went for the left eye. But the creature moved, swallowing her arm as it shot forward, then biting it off.

Ellen was dropped to the ground and the thing bent over her, its jaws closing on her skull. Her brains sliding from its lips like spittle, it sat back on its haunches and howled again in pain, then fell to one side with a massive thud. In seconds it began a rapid dissolution that would erase all memory of it.

Peter stood by and watched it dissolve, holding at his side the silver sword he had taken from one of Mulkerrin’s soldiers and with which he had opened up the thing’s guts as it bent to finish off Ellen. He mourned her for a moment, but a moment was all he had.

“
Peter!
” A voice shouted, Lazarus’s voice.

He turned toward the mirror-portal, and confirmed what he’d expected. The creature had not been alone. Glancing about, he saw other things forming, dark mist-wraiths that were Mulkerrin’s favorite slaves, huge demon shadows appearing through the portal. He could see another portal shimmering into existence.

Mulkerrin couldn’t possibly be doing all of this alone.

Peter saw past the creatures, to the hundreds of men and women in black, swords held high, who swarmed into St. Mark’s Square. He saw several who must have been Mulkerrin’s acolytes, for they, too, were weaving spells aloud, hands high.

“Damn,” he said quietly. “Sheng,” he yelled, and the man appeared next to him. “Go to the theater. See if you and Cody can’t get a bunch of those cowards to tempt the sun. Hell, it’s
snowing
, there’s no sun out here anyway. Then get back here, and bring Cody with you.

“And all of you,” he screamed aloud as he lifted his sword toward a demon, his eyes squinting as the piercing wail of the banshees began. “Get their silver. The swords and knives. The guns aren’t worth anything now, only your own power and the silver.”

Silently he hoped that Meaghan was safe.

Then they were the ones surrounded, and he found himself between Hannibal and Lazarus, preparing to bring down the largest of the demon shadows.

“You didn’t say the acolytes were this powerful, to open such doorways!” Hannibal yelled.

“I didn’t know!” Peter yelled back, to be heard over the wailing.

“Plan B?” Lazarus asked.

“Shut the hell up and light!”

Sandro Ricci was roaming the arcades of Calle de Ascensione on the west side of the square. The camera was running as the first monster appeared, and Tracey asked him if he could get any closer.

Yeah, right!

“I’m telling you,”’ Thomas Montesi was screaming to be heard, “my tracker, Pierre, was certain he saw the book at that house, at Hannibal’s house!”

“Why did you leave?” Mulkerrin snapped, even as the two of them struggled to keep their spells intact, both offensive and defensive.

“You
ordered
us to!” Thomas said.

Mulkerrin grimaced under the strain of his magic, though he was able to take a breather for a moment now that the Montesis and Sister Mary had arrived with their troops. Unfortunately, the shadows were killing indiscriminately, and many of his own people were dying, but for the most part they were smart enough to stay out of the dark creatures’ way. The Defiant Ones, on the other hand, attacked them directly, dominating their attention. Only nine of the vampires remained. After several moments he looked back at Thomas.

“Don’t worry,” he said with his first smile in several hours. “We’re in control still. This should not take too long, and then we’ll get that book, I assure you.”

He surveyed the carnage in the square once more; many of the buildings around them had flames flickering at their windows. The corpses of several dozen civilians, martyrs in the eyes of God, had lain in the deepening snow, but now many were being eaten by the emerging demons. Smoke rose from the windows of the Doge’s Palace, next to the Basilica, and Mulkerrin wondered if those venerable old structures would survive the day. But no matter, victory was worth any sacrifice. In the distance, smoke rose from the purifying fires his soldiers had left behind. Of the Defiant Ones in the square, all but one had lost their hats and masks in the fighting. One dressed like a harlequin had taken on bat form and flown off; two were dead. Those remaining were in black, or harlequin costumes, save for the creature still masked, who was all in red with multicolored feathers in his hat.

Mulkerrin watched this one closely. He knew Octavian, he knew Hannibal, and several of the others were familiar to him from records and Vincent Montesi’s reports. But it bothered him that he could not see the face of the thing in red, bothered him because the thing seemed familiar. His curiosity gnawing at him, he directed one of his mist-wraiths to attack the scarlet-garbed immortal and to rip off the mask. Such a simple thing, really, and when it was done, the creature’s face was revealed.

Liam Mulkerrin knew him well enough. He had only seen him once, but his visage was forever etched in the priest’s memory.

Montesi brothers!
Mulkerrin thought, for he still had a psychic link with his acolytes.
The Defiant One cloaked in scarlet is the one! It is the creature who killed your father. I have fulfilled my promise to you, and I expect that you will fulfill your oath to him. Have a care, now. Only one of you may break off We cannot divert all of our attention to this one.