The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales (18 page)

That was the second time Blackline had mentioned churches, which roused my suspicion. “So Ferox is buried underneath a church?” I probed. Beads of sweat ran down the sides of my face from the effort of holding the spell. I might not be able to detain Blackline indefinitely, but I wasn’t going to make his escape easy.

“I didn’t say that.” Blackline sniffed again and looked at the ground. That got my attention. I didn’t grow up partly around a casino for nothing; I knew a tell when I saw one. And this idiot couldn’t stop gloating long enough to keep his under wraps.

“It
is
beneath a church, isn’t it? Which one?” I demanded. There were hundreds of churches in Rome. Knowing the kind of establishment narrowed it down a little, but not enough.

“I’m not telling you anything more,” Blackline said, his eyes filled with more defiance than ever. “Let’s just say it’s a place where you—and your father—wouldn’t feel very welcome. Not that you should be welcome
anywhere
.” And with that, the bonds of the spell snapped, and Blackline was free.

He manipulated the air around us, moving it so fast that it cracked like a whip across my upper cheek. Yes, reader—witches can manipulate air like that. Just my luck I’d gone up against someone with an affinity for the same element. Actually, I was kicking myself for not thinking of the move first.

I cried out and covered my face with my hands. Although I was relieved to find he’d only gotten my cheek, not my eye, I can’t say he wasn’t aiming for the latter. Blood ran down my face from the stinging wound. But when I lowered my hands and looked up, Blackline was gone.

“SODDING HELL!” I screamed, kicking the dirt all around me. I felt a rush of wind on my left side, and saw my father standing next to me, looking completely unperturbed. My eyes scanned the Forum Romanum, and then as a last resort, the sky.

“Did you see where he went?” I asked. I was breathless, practically wild-eyed.

“I did not,” Titus replied calmly, surveying the damage to the Forum.

I threw my arms in the air. “How could you not see? You were watching the entire time! Or were you just sitting up there filing your nails or something?”

Ordinarily, speaking to my father in this manner would have warranted death—certain and instantaneous. For reasons unknown, Titus just stared at me.

“I was not,” he finally replied.

“Great,” I said. “While you were doing . . . whatever you were doing, Blackline got away.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Actually, I was surprised he didn’t stay and keep fighting. Likely, he’s telling the Council our whereabouts at this very moment.”

“That, or they’ve gone directly to wherever Ferox is to make sure
we
don’t find him,” Titus said.

“Coward,” I muttered. “Running away just when the other bloke’s winning. Damn the whole lot of them.” Adrenaline still coursed through my veins; I had been fully prepared to finish my business with that arrogant witch. “Did you even hear any of what went on?” I asked Titus. I briefly recapped my conversation with Blackline in case it had escaped him.

“So to conclude,” I said, “our only source of information got away—
again
! Last time it was through death, this time he just ran off.”

“Nonsense,” Titus said, examining his nails. “We know all we need to know.”

I furrowed my brow. “We do? I’m sorry—did he reveal the location of Ferox’s tomb while I wasn’t listening?” I asked. “Granted, he gave us clues, but—”

“I know where the tomb is,” Titus said.

“You do?” I waited. “Well, go on then—and quickly. I’m all ears.”

“Blackline mentioned a church where neither you nor I would be welcome,” he said simply, as if that were the answer to the question.

“I hate to tell you this, Father,” I said, “but you’re a vampire and we both have witch blood. That list pretty much includes every church in Rome.”

Oh, vampires can enter churches, by the way. All that nonsense about them being burned by crucifixes and unable to tread on holy ground is utter foolishness. What Titus meant was that most congregants would not be thrilled with what they considered a servant of the devil in their midst. Vampires also have nothing to do with the devil, but stereotypes do persist.

“Yes, but think of one church
in particular
,” Titus said patiently. “Consider Blackline and how his mind works, his opinion of us—even those barbs he was throwing at you. And he never said it was a
Christian
church.”

I put my fingers to my temples. “Father, aren’t most churches Christian by definition? What other kind of church would there—wait. A church. A house of worship. A temple . . .” I began running the words over in my mind, and the look on my face told Titus what I realized.

“The Temple . . . of Aradia,” Titus finally said. “Where Blackline is sure I would be unwelcome, my witch blood ‘tainted’ with vampire, and you being, well . . .”

I raised my eyebrows. “A half-breed?”

Titus pursed his lips. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then, out of nowhere:

“I mean really, Joshua,” Titus said, looking around. “I could see why you’d fight, but did you have to destroy what was left of the Forum Romanum while you were at it?”

My jaw dropped. “Surely you must be joking. Your only son worked some pretty fierce magic, managed to stay alive, and finally got the location of Ferox’s tomb. I believe congratulations are in order, or at least a hearty thank-you. Besides,” I muttered, “the Forum was destroyed long before we got here.”

Titus’s head snapped back towards me. “I heard that,” he said sharply.

“And you’d think you’d take a little more initiative if you saw your son, oh—I don’t know—
being buried alive
.”

“You told me not to interfere,” Titus protested.

“Yes, I know, but—”

“But what?” Titus interrupted. “I thought you didn’t want me to treat you as the helpless damsel in distress who always needs saving. So I didn’t.”

“But . . . oh, never mind.” I closed my eyes and shook my head.

“What?” My father’s voice turned sour.

“It’s just . . . why do you always have to be so hard on me?” I asked.

“I’m trying to make you tougher,
stronger
. I won’t always be—” Titus stopped.

“Won’t always be what?” I pressed.

“I won’t always be here to protect you,” Titus reluctantly finished.

Well, dear reader, you could have knocked me over with a feather. But then I thought, did Titus want to protect me as his son, or some kind of an asset? I had no way of knowing.

Either way, Titus had clearly revealed more than he wanted to. “We should go,” he said gruffly, and started walking in the direction of the temple. “The Council and that cretin Blackline already have a head start on us. I estimate less than an hour till he assembles them all, and they attempt to thwart us.”

I had to jog a bit to catch up to Titus. My muscles ached and I was covered in dirt. By rights, I should’ve been miserable and exhausted. But something in me was on fire. It was partly anger and indignation that Blackline and the Council were trying to stop us at all. This was my
mother
, for God’s sake! Did they really think I’d let anything stand in my way if there was a chance she was still alive? The other thing spurring me on was hope. Finally, we’d found the answer we sought. Now, if we could just get to Ferox before the Council did—and Abigail was all right—we might be able to save her.

Although healed, my nose was still throbbing a little from where Blackline had broken it. The front of my shirt had drops of blood on it. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my face, hopefully removing what bloodstains I could. I ran my hand through my hair several times and shook my head, trying to get all the dirt out. All of a sudden, I stopped in my tracks.

“Wait,” I said. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Titus turned around. “What on earth is it now?”

“I have to go back to the PIA,” I said. “To leave a note for Arthur, and letters for a few other people. Just in case . . . in case something happens to me while we’re gone.” This wasn’t like going after a single stray vampire in an alley. There was no telling what we’d face if we actually found Ferox or Abigail. There was no guarantee we’d come out alive.

Titus gave an impatient sigh. “Fine then, but do it quickly. I’ll meet you at the Temple.” And he left the Forum so swiftly, it was as if he’d just disappeared.

Chapter 16

Sadly, it wasn’t going to take much time for me to arrange for the letters. I had done them in advance, you see. In my line of work, a mage never knows when a day might be his last.

Perhaps you’re wondering why Titus didn’t attempt a similar communication with those most dear to him. It might be that such a gesture is too sentimental for his taste, or it might be because Titus doesn’t have many friends or associates that I know of. Technically,
I
am his closest relative. I wonder what that feels like . . . being the last of your kind. Not pleasant, I imagine.

I only just remembered to put my glasses back on before I entered the PIA; I never wore them when I wasn’t there. No sooner had I done so than I saw Philip standing before the front desk. The lights behind it were dark, which meant Marcello had gone home for the evening. Philip seemed to be packing up as well, putting some papers in a briefcase only a true anal-retentive would carry. He was looking particularly fresh this evening in his crisply ironed suit. His shoes had been shined; there wasn’t a hair out of place.

“What happened to you?” he asked when he saw me. He barely made an attempt to conceal a smile. “You look like hell.”

“Oh, do shut up!” I started marching past him, then stopped. “What are you doing here so late, anyway?” I asked.

“What are
you
doing here?” he countered. I struggled to find an answer, but Philip’s ego made it unnecessary.

“Seems you’re not the only one who can burn the midnight oil, are you?” he said. “Some of us have no issue showing the PIA we can work just as hard, and accomplish just as much.”

I might have just battled a witch to find a vampire, but if there was one thing I couldn’t handle right now, it was a snarky Philip Grant. I took a deep breath to try and calm myself.

“That’s wonderful, Philip,” I said. “Truly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I have to be.”

“Oh? Where?” Philip folded his arms across his chest.

“A little place called ‘anywhere but here,’ ” I snapped. And with that, I brushed past him on my way to the stairs. Not bumping his shoulder, exactly, but moving so fast that he had to step aside to let me pass. I ignored the angry curses that followed and went to retrieve my letters. I stored them in the locked drawer of a desk the PIA let me use. I figured it was safer than keeping them at the hotel.

As I walked down a hall on the second floor, I passed one of the small reading rooms. A single lamp was on, and when I peeked inside, I saw Arthur putting away some books.

“Joshua!” he exclaimed. He was on a ladder halfway up a bookcase, and turned his head to look at me before going back to shelving. “What a nice surprise. I was just finishing up here. Philip was keen on getting some extra work in to . . . well, you know. To prove himself, or something. Anyway, he asked me to help.” Arthur pulled back his shirt cuff and looked at his watch. “Ah! Will you look at the time? I don’t know about you lads, but I’m getting a bit old to be so up late.” He yawned. “Maybe I should retire. Perhaps paranormal investigation is a young man’s game.”

“Heh-heh.” I gave a weak laugh and rested my hand on the door frame, trying to smile. “I’m sure as soon as you’ve had a good night’s rest, you’ll be ready to start again tomorrow.”
Of course, I may not see you tomorrow—or ever again—but best not to think of that
.

“I hope so,” Arthur said, getting off the ladder and moving it over several feet. Still absorbed in his books, he examined the titles in another stack on the table. “Just a few more of these to shelve, and I’ll be going shortly. What brings you here so late, anyway?”

“Oh, I . . . had to leave some notes for Marcello,” I said. It was half-true, anyway.

“Well, get some rest after this as well, will you?”

“Will do, Arthur,” I replied. “Thank you. And, ah, good night.” I started out of the room when Arthur turned and looked at me—closely this time.

“Steady on—what happened to you?” He walked over, squinting. “Is that blood on your shirt? And why is your face all bruised and scraped?”

“Oh, ah, bloody nose,” I explained. “Walked into a door.”

“Really?” Arthur scratched his head. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Er, it happened in the middle of the night—when I got up to use the loo.” This had to stop; I sounded like an idiot.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur said warily. “Joshua, are you feeling all right? How long has it been since you’ve done the laundry?” He looked me up and down. “Your suit looks like you’ve been buried alive.”