The Shades of Time (34 page)

What he
intended to do about it remained to be seen.

At the first
scream, she raced into the house, ignoring all but the tragedy
repeating itself in front of her eyes.

"Nico, stop!"
Ears ringing with the echoes of agony, she pleaded, "Nico, you are
better than this. Please, please don't be like them…"

Nico turned and scowled down at her, his face contorted in a
nightmarish mix of pleasure and pain. His brother had been a demon,
but this man was more, far more—
he
was the weapon that would destroy them
all.

Sneering, Nico
spat, "Madam, you don't understand."

"Understand
what?" She already knew the answer but needed to keep him talking,
focused on her and not the evil threatening to pervade his
being.

"Today I am
exactly like them."

"And what of
tomorrow, who will you be then?" He kept his face blank but she
caught a tremor in his lower lip as he warred with his need for
revenge and the exacting price it would cost his immortal soul.

To Paulo he
said, "You are free to go," and watched as his man nodded his
understanding.

They waited a
heartbeat, two, then Veluria said with conviction, "You are the
key, aren't you? You shared energies, masquerading one for the
other, indistinguishable." It was so clear now that only one of the
pair remained. She wondered if the Brotherhood operative realized
their error. If he did not, then there might still be hope.

Nico laughed,
the sound oddly grating amidst the silence of death and the man
whimpering as he hung suspended, awaiting his execution.

"I admire your
dedication, M'lady." The hint of sarcasm stung but she deserved it.
"But as I said before, this is a conversation for another time…" He
allowed the final thought to linger unspoken.

Veluria
blushed, vexed that he could twist her emotions so easily. She spat
out, "Finish it."

"Do you still
wish to … participate?"

Her throat
tight, she came to a decision. She'd made her first kill this vile
day. She knew it would not be the last.

Handing her a
sword, Nico stepped away and gave her room to advance. The man's
eyes were squeezed shut in silent prayer as his body twisted
against what was to come.

Heat—boiling,
hot enough to curdle her blood—sent a wave of nausea through her
gut. She lifted the weapon and angled sideways. The man whimpered
once and pleaded in a language she couldn't understand, though she
could taste his terror.

Nico whispered,
"You loved him."

"Yes."

"Then I shall
end it."

But only if I
prove myself to you. Why, Nico, why?

Because we are
one now.

I'm not strong
enough for this.

But I am.
Together. For Antonio. For the man we both loved.

Paulo gazed
wide-eyed as two swords rose as one, then quietly melted into the
dusk. Pausing at the grave he said softly, "It is done." For the
second time, he'd been released from his obligations. He was free
to go.

With his back
to a tree he patiently waited for his commander and his lady.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Andreas let his
eyes sweep the dais. It was one of the few liberties permitted when
faced with the full Council in regal attendance. The fact that all
fifteen members chose that day to put in an appearance indicated
the seriousness of the current situation.

Matteo sat to
the far right, studiously ignoring him as was their way. The man
paid rigid attention to forms, insulating his people from the
vagaries of fanaticism through ritual and a keen understanding of
mathematics.

"Hand me my
cassock, boy."

Andreas moved
to comply. Matteo stood in front of a full-length mirror, frowning
at the reflection.

"You have not
worn formal choir vestments in years, Matt." He slid the sleeves of
the garment up his prelate's arms and adjusted the tight-fitting
shoulder seams over the fine-weave tunic. "I'm surprised it still
fits."

Matteo gave him
a rude gesture and smiled grimly. "Are you worried?"

"Should I be?"
It was a valid question. Although Matteo had assured him that the
convocation was a briefing only, he couldn't get past feeling that
he was headed to the woodshed for a good stropping. Or last
rites.

"I told you
before, if there's punishment to mete out, the old men take
volunteers. Few have the stomach for it anymore." The man carefully
buttoned the ankle length robe, fumbling with the ornate wooden
toggles.

"Here, let me."
Andreas moved in front of his lover, crouching to reach the lowest
set, and finished the task. Smoothing the fine fabric over Matteo's
slim form, he turned to the valet to retrieve the lacy rochet.
"Lean down, you're too tall for me to reach."

Matteo
muttered, "Shrimp," as he lowered his head to receive the
overgarment. The narrow fit of the cassock allowed the flowing
sleeves of the rochet to settle elegantly about his wrists. Not
bothering to hide the complaint he said, "I feel like a fucking
fop."

"It's
tradition…"

"Don't start."
Matteo grimaced. "I can't stand that ancient tune."

Andreas bit his
lip, choking back the urge to hum the melody. Normally such teasing
would have the man chuckling, but this day he sheltered behind his
ceremonial garb, sober to the point of glumness. What did he know
that he wasn't sharing?

"Which cape,
Your Holiness?"

Matteo chose to
ignore the sarcasm and said, "Just the mozzetta today, Andy." He
sighed with displeasure, "And the zucchetto." He set the small red
cap on his slicked-back greying curls and surveyed the effect.

Andreas stared
with awe. The man was magnificent. He moved to stand side-by-side
with his lover and superior, not bothering to hide his admiration
for the man who'd chosen him above all others.

Matteo's
features softened incrementally as he scanned the small figure
standing beside him. He fingered the rough woolen robe and said,
"I'm sorry for the discomfort. I had the costumers scrape the inner
fibers to remove some of the coarser bits. But we had to leave it
mostly as is."

Andreas nodded
he understood. His comfort hardly mattered in the big scheme of
things. The wool fabric irritated his skin in a satisfying way, a
constant reminder of his mission and his resolve. His small
stature, while unusual in his own time, allowed him to fit in
easily, to become truly invisible to the masses going about their
daily lives.

What he
couldn't understand was why Matteo, of all men, would choose him as
consort. He was nothing, no one…

"I know what
you're thinking, boy, and you're wrong. How often do I have to tell
you…" he let the words trail off and pulled Andreas to stand in
front of him.

When Matteo
gripped his arms and leaned in to nuzzle his ear, Andreas groaned,
"Don't, Matt, you'll get the vestments dirty."

"You're right.
The Three would have my ass in a sling if I showed up less than
pristine." He backed away marginally and said, "It's time."

Andreas
murmured, "Yes," but remained rooted to the spot, struggling to
find the words that eluded him. Finally he said, "I feel like…"

"…we'll never
see each other again," Matteo finished the thought. The tall man's
eyes grew soft with longing and regret. "We know the risks."

"It doesn't
make it any easier."

"That's why we
have faith, Andy."

Andreas had no
answer to that. What he had was more—and less—than simple faith.
And it waited for him on the other side. But that was not something
he would willingly share with the man who'd given him his heart. He
had no qualms about breaking with his faith but he would suffer
grievously if he ever lost Matteo's regard.

That his lust
continued to be a real and present danger was something he agonized
over nearly every minute of every day. There would be opportunity.
There would be a choice. He would own his betrayal when the time
came.

He followed his
superior down the hall leading to a set of antechambers. Matteo
ushered him into an austere room, no more than ten by ten, with a
single mahogany bench set against a cream stuccoed wall.

When Andreas
settled onto the seat, Matteo leaned over him and lightly brushed
his mouth, running his tongue along the bottom lip, savoring the
taste.

Cupping his
chin, the man said intently, "Pay careful attention, Andreas. The
playing field has changed dramatically."

"I ask you
again. Do I need to worry?"

"Yes, my love.
You do." He stood, head bent, and made the sign of the cross over
Andreas. "I fear this time … we both do."

Matteo paused
at the door and said, so quietly Andreas' strained to hear the
words, "If you take her, will you love her?" Without waiting for a
reply he disappeared into the Council's chambers and shut the door
with an audible snick.

Andreas
fingered the stiletto, tempted to seek a distraction in the
carefully applied cuts, his emotions seething with the wish to say
no but his body already responding to the implied promise.

He
needed
the
prelate. He
craved
the woman. Time and distance had done nothing to alleviate the
constant yearning in his soul.

If it comes
down to it, which will you choose?

A voice
intruded, "Father, if you'll come with me, please?"

Andreas rose
reluctantly and followed the cleric into Council Hall.

The
mathematician scribbled on an antique whiteboard, leaving streaks
of oily silicone polymer where the side of his hand brushed the
slick surface. Residual solvent flavored the air with memories of
youth and foolish choices. Andreas wrinkled his nose with pleasure.
Before the day was out he'd be immersed in the stink of antiquity
in a way none of the Council or their scientists could imagine.

The man
completed transcribing the formulas, then stood back and surveyed
the information with a mixture of pleasure and dismay. The
probabilities, the portents, were so compelling that they had the
ring of inevitability. It was their gift and their curse, this
ability to predict within a narrow margin of error, a margin so
small it practically reeked of being error-free. But that was a
hubris the council carefully avoided for it would negate plausible
deniability and undermine their authority.

The Council
embraced a certain level of fallibility, allowing for Fate and
divine intervention when the situation suited. Fear of the unknown
no longer functioned to keep the narrow-minded cabals in line.
Self-serving rationality and the pursuit of reason provided
sufficient purpose and meaning to maintain the peace.

Or it had until
everything changed…

Matteo rose and
thanked the cadre of scientists, then bid them leave. When the room
had cleared, he scanned the upturned faces of his fellow members,
waiting for acknowledgement to proceed. Andreas realized he was
going to hear analysis suitable for one far above his pay grade, as
the lab techs would joke.

Kneeling at the
lectern, Andreas bowed his head and waited.

Matteo stepped
down from the dais and approached the whiteboard, considering the
complex computations before launching into a summary of what they'd
inferred from the perturbations in the timeline.

"We've all had time to examine the extrapolations. There are
now four antagonists, three prepared to go nuclear, and one
prepared for mop-up duty." A Council member chuckled. "Yes, Lucas,
that would be
us
.
However, it's not in our best interests to reside over yet another
nuclear winter. One was enough."

The Council
murmured their agreement.

Andreas looked
up with interest. He'd no idea any of the cabals had access to
weapons of mass destruction. That alone gave added import to
halting the degradation of the timeline.

Ruefully,
Matteo continued, "As good as our analytics are, we cannot predict
with certainty who or what in the distant past interferes with or
precipitates these catastrophic events."

Matteo picked
up a marker and circled the final equation. He waved Andreas to
come forward.

"This
probability boils down to two branches." He tapped at the sigma
sign and raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunately the outcomes appear
diametrically opposed."

Andreas asked,
"How so?" as he struggled to comprehend the intricate zero sum
calculations. His grasp on the fundamentals was intuitive and that
made it useful in the field. But in a laboratory, or in this
situation, he was at a loss.

Matteo paced
before the dais, one hand kneading his temple, the other clenching
and unclenching his phantom beads. Ceremonial garb precluded the
comfort of their tora as the clacking noise was deemed too invasive
for Council proceedings. That his lover exhibited that weakness in
front of his peers was a measure of the seriousness of their
position … and the urgency for his own intervention.

"Holy Father,"
Andreas employed the formal term of respect to refocus the tall man
on the task at hand: to bring him up to speed on events that had
unfolded while he'd rehabbed and regained his strength. From an
almost infinite number of possible outcomes to only two indicated a
radical paradigm shift. What in god's name could have happened to
warrant such a collapse?

"Yes … yes,
forgive me." Matteo pointed to a heavy-set, swarthy figure and
said, "Salvatore, if you please…?"

The man cleared
his throat and spoke with the authority of a university lecturer,
his voice booming through the narrow chamber. "We have had some
unexpected developments. When you left, all the principals were
positioned," he fingered a universal remote, aimed at a screen
suspended toward the rear of the room that displayed a map of the
Mediterranean region, "here, here … and here."