The Jealous God Page 11

  I cannot write what my heart feels. I can only pray your heart will also feel the same and if not the same, then pity at least for a foolish old woman. If you cannot see your way to help me, then I consign myself to the Will of God it may be done as He sees fit. If not perhaps for my sake should you know this, but for the sake of yourself and your Order, do not discount my words and beware. I can only hope to see you again very soon. As you travel, take God with you and when you rest, dream of me and I shall dream of you. Your most loving friend, Catharine.’

  “Santa Maria…” Lucio let out the breath he had been holding and laid the paper on his chest. Someone on the island had helped her. The only person he knew that might have done it was Joey d’Ornan. Joey would have been sympathetic to Catharine’s plight. Joey knew what it meant to be cast into exile. He sincerely hoped it had been Joey, and no one had read the letter. He wanted some time to think about this.

  It had been a very long time since he had received such a letter from a damsel in distress, and his spirits picked up at once. Once a sucker, always a sucker. A beautiful woman. A profession of love. A terrible plight. It had all the makings of a grand quest, just like the days of old; which never existed except in dreams and fantasies. He laughed aloud and then fell silent as the noise of his laughter startled him.

  He was still staring at the door in deep thought when a soft rapping came at seemingly the very spot he had been staring at.

  “Come in!” he called, expecting to see Stephano with a glass of warm milk and another admonishment for him to get some sleep. Instead, Vanni’s face appeared cautiously in the crack of the door.

  “Santa Maria! What are you doing up?” he asked and picked up the letter and stuffed it under his pillow as the boy climbed into the bed with him. Vanni got under the cover like a small child who’d had a nightmare and lay down next to him.

  “Father, do you believe in angels?” the boy asked him after a moment of snuggling down on the over-sized pillow.

  “Of course.” Lucio smiled to himself. He believed in everything.

  “Would they be beautiful and have soft arms and warm voices?” Vanni’s voice was somewhat muffled by the covers.

  “Some of them, I’m sure.” He shuddered at the memory of the angels of destruction. They had not looked very inviting.

  “Would it be possible to talk to one?” the boy asked him.

  “We can talk to them in our prayers.” Lucio reached for the half-empty bottle of wine on his night table. It was room temperature, but of good stock. He pulled the cork and turned it up.

  “I mean really talk to one… face to face.” Vanni reached up one hand for the wine bottle and Lucio allowed him a small sip. He remembered having fed wine to Lucia when she had been a tiny infant and the memory made him smile sadly.

  “Some people say they have."

  “Have you ever talked to one?”

  “Not that I know of, but they say angels sometimes disguise themselves as common people and test your character. That is why we are told to be kind to strangers and to help the needy. One never knows when one might be speaking with an angel who is pretending to be a pauper or a beggar or an outcast.”

  “Ahhh. That is very good advice!” Vanni pushed himself up. “I shall remember, Father.”

  “Good. Now you should go to sleep,” Lucio told him as he shoved the cork back in the wine and set the bottle back on the table. He turned out the light and slid down in the bed. “Perhaps you will dream of an angel.”

  “That would be nice.” Vanni curled up next to him.

  “Father?”

  “Si`?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I had talked to an angel today?”

  “I might. What did you talk about?”

  “The crystal skull.”

  “The crystal skull?” Lucio’s eyes widened in the dark, and he tensed all over.

  “Yes, Father. The one in the church, inside the great column.”

  “And what did the angel tell you about it?”

  “She told me where to hide it,” Vanni’s voice was very sleepy now.

  “If it was inside the column, then why would you need to hide it, il dolce mio?”

  “I’m Vanni, not the….King.” He was drifting off now.

  “What else did she say?” Lucio asked him softly.

  “She said to put it in the water.”

  “What water?”

  “In the fountain at her….f…feet. When I was… standing on the…”

  “On the what? Standing on the what?” Lucio was wide awake again. He knew what the boy was talking about. The Holy Water font with the angel above it!

  “I was… I almost fell and she caught me.”

  “Why were you standing on the font?”

  “I wanted to kiss her.”

  “Did you kiss her?”

  “Ummm, hmmm. She said her name was….”

  “What?” Lucio asked when he did not finish.

  Vanni snored softly.

  “Vanni?” Lucio shook him slightly. “What was her name?”

  “Santa Lucia.”

  “Santa Maria!” Lucio sat completely up in the bed.

  “No, no. Santa… Lucia. Looo… cheee….ahhhh.” Vanni snored again.

  Lucio left his son sleeping in his room and bounded up the stairs to the attic in search of the box containing Saint Lucy’s head. He’d forgotten all about it!

  Chapter Five of Fifteen

  A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth

  “I can’t believe this!” Luke shouted in the midst of the sanctuary.

  Galen raised his head from the velvet cushion on the pew where he’d been napping and squinted at the enraged apprentice. Michael rolled over and fell onto the floor, banging his head. They had torn the church apart twice already. The skull was gone!

  “Where could it be?” Luke spun around and glared at the blonde groggy-eyed boy.

  “I don’t know, Brother Luke,” he said and then laid his head back on the cushion.

  “We have to find it!” Luke told him, but it was no use.

  Galen and Michael were beyond caring. Michael curled into a ball on the floor and continued to sleep. Luke started for the door and drew up short at the sight of Lucio Dambretti leaning against the open door frame. The Italian had his arms folded over his chest, and he wore a darkly amused smile.

  “Find what?” the Italian asked him calmly.

  “Sir Dambretti!” Luke smiled at him. He still wore the filthy kilt, and his face was wild with anger and smears of dust and blood. “What a surprise! We were just looking for my… my… my watch. I lost my favorite watch. Tis a cursed day in Lothian when a mon canna keep up with ’is favorite toimepiece. Twas a gift from me departed moother.” Luke dropped his head and crossed himself.

  Lucio looked at his own watch and shook his head.

  “Not good enough. Please try again. The chord you have struck rings most falsely,” he imitated a phone recording.

  “Look.” The apprentice spun around again as Lucio walked casually over to the Holy Water font and looked down in the water. He could see nothing there. “We were just about to leave. Galen! Look who’s here. Your beloved father, Sir Dambretti. What a surprise! Michael! Come on, laddies. It’s much too early to be out and about searching for a silly watch. Let’s go home and see what’s for breakfast.”

  Galen got up slowly and stood blinking at his father.

  “Papa?” he said as if drunk and half staggered down the aisle. He stopped and went back to tug on his cousin. “Michael. Get up. Time to go!”

  Michael groaned and pulled himself up on the back of the pews. He leaned on the wood and stared open-mouthed at Luke and Lucio.

  “There now, boys. Come on!” Luke went back to help hurry them along. “We’ll come back later, after breakfast, when there’s more light.”

  Already, the sun was up over the horizon and the skies were aglow with purple, red and gol
d.

  Lucio stepped in front of them before they could pass by him.

  “Now do you want me to call Konrad?” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Or do you want to tell me what you are looking for?” He glanced about the church. The altar drape was crooked. Many of the velvet cushions from the pews lay scattered about on the floor. The heavy purple draperies were thrown up and over the top of the confessional booths. The ‘secret’ compartment in the left hand column was standing open. “Galen, don’t lie to your father.”

  “Papa!” Galen frowned deeply and then grimaced as the pain shot through his wounded face. He turned to Luke for help.

  “Look. You boys run along home now. Take my car.” He handed his keys to Michael. “And keep your eyes open.” He licked his lips and smiled apologetically to Lucio. “Let them go, please. It is not their problem, it’s mine. I’ll tell you.”

  Lucio nodded his consent to Galen. Michael took the keys and the two boys stumbled past the Italian on their way out.

  “Sir,” Luke sighed in defeat leaned against the nearest pew. “It is my fault they are here. I take full responsibility for it.”

  “I know that.” Lucio wandered back to the font and leaned against the marble bowl. He put one hand behind him and reached into the water surreptitiously. His hand immediately fell on the smooth, cold surface of the skull. “But that does not answer my question.”

  “We came earlier today to move something. We were not able to accomplish it before the meeting reconvened. That is why we were late,” Luke admitted part of the truth.

  “What? What were you moving?” Lucio withdrew his hand from the water and folded his arms over his chest hiding the wet hand. “Did Vanni come here with you?”

  “Vanni?” Luke frowned and pulled on his shirt sleeve. “Oh, no! Why?”

  “I was just wondering.” Lucio eyed him closely. “So… go on.”

  “Well, we came back to finish the task and it was… gone. We have been looking for it.”

  “What do you suppose happened… to it?” Lucio asked him.

  “I don’t know. This could be very bad. We should tell my father at once!” Luke started for the door again.

  “Perhaps you should tell me about it first,” Lucio told him and caught his arm. “Your father is very tired.”

  “I’m very tired,” Luke protested. “It was something that belonged to him anyway.”

  “Oh, was it? How do you know?”

  “Because. He owns the rest of them.” Luke pulled away from him.

  “Your father does not have exclusive rights to everything, Luke,” Lucio told him darkly.

  “Then perhaps you should tell him.” Luke backed toward the door. “I don’t think he realizes it.”

  When Luke made a move to leave him, he stepped forward and spoke to him in a very low voice.

  “The skull of Santa Lucia belongs to me.” Lucio’s anger was barely concealed. “You have taken what should have been left alone.”

  Luke froze in the open doorway and turned very slowly.

  “So that is why my father never asked about its whereabouts. You put it in the attic. It was very dangerous for you to leave it there without protection. I brought it here at great peril to my own health. The thing is cursed!” Luke said angrily. His discomfiture at having been caught red-handed was fading. “Where did you get it? Why did you not tell my father about it? What is your motive, Lucio?”

  “I have no motivation,” Lucio told him evenly. “I do God’s will.”

  “And I do what I can,” Luke retorted. “I am going to tell my father it is here… it is here, isn’t it? I suggest you come with me. I’m sure he will have questions for you.”

  “I do not answer to your father, contrary to popular belief. You do not know him as well as you think you do!” Lucio’s anger was now quite evident.

  “Oh? Is that so? Have you looked for your soul lately, Lucio? Can you tell me where it is? Can you deny you gave it to him?! I think you should re-evaluate your allegiances before you make a serious mistake. If he owns your soul, what else does he own?”

  Luke turned again and found himself suddenly yanked backwards into the chapel. He had underestimated the effect of his impetuous outburst. The Italian had him on the floor before he knew what was happening. He felt the edge of the golden dagger against his skin under his chin and the weight of the Knight’s knees on his arms.

  “I am sick to death of you and your father trying to control my life. If you know something about Andrea Larmenius, you’d best tell me now!” He pressed the blade, drawing blood under Luke’s chin. “I am sick to death of all of this and I would just as soon kill you and offer up my own head here and now than go on!”

  Luke ceased his struggles and lay very still. He realized too late how dangerous words could be. He’d never had the pleasure of a disagreement with the volatile Italian. And he should have paid more attention to the tales he’d heard.

  “Tell me!” Lucio gritted his teeth and leaned into his face. “Tell me or I will relieve you of your miserable life.”

  “Tell you what?!” Luke asked him and closed his eyes. “You heard them in the Council. We can no more stop them than you can kill me here and now. You can cut my head off and burn me to cinders, but I’ll be back. We have no choice! You and I… think of your sons, Lucio. You created them. It is your duty to see after them. What does this woman matter? She left you, didn’t she? Believe me, I know how that feels. But if we don’t work together, there will be nothing left to work for. I had to move the skull. It was killing me even through the walls. This petty worry of yours is unimportant. Who really cares where she went? Does it really matter who she was? Even I could see she was just another Ramsay, and I don’t want to know where, when or how. I’ll tell you who you should be worried about. My sister! Nicole! Your wife! Where is she? What is she doing? When will she or something she is doing come back to haunt us?”

  Lucio blinked his eyes rapidly and then released his hold on the apprentice. He got up off of him and then helped him up.

  “I would ask you not to tell your father about this just yet,” Lucio said calmly and turned to look up at the angel above the font. “Allow me some time to think. Tell me how my relic came to be a crystal skull.”

  Luke stared at him in wonder. How could he have been insanely bent on murdering him only moments before and now standing quietly, looking up at a statue of the Blessed Mother.

  “Then you do have the skull?” Luke asked him and wiped at the new blood under his chin.

  “I know where it is.”

  “When I found the thing in the attic, I took it to my room until I could think what to do with it. That is when I discovered there was a skull inside it, just as there was one inside the Skull of Sidon. As far as how that is accomplished, I have no idea. I’m going home to bed now, if you don't mind,” Luke told him. “I’ll give you a while and a bit and then you have to decide what you are going to do. I don’t understand why you would want to keep this thing a secret. It is too dangerous. The skulls call to each other. Anyone who knows of them can hear them if they know how to listen. This one has fallen silent. That makes me think whatever the case; it does not want me to find it again.”

  Lucio did not answer him. In his mind’s eye, the angel transformed into the visage of his deceased daughter, Lucia.

  Luke turned on his heel and left him alone in the chapel.

  Lucio began to clean up the mess they had left in the sanctuary, replacing the cushions on the pews. Straightening the altar and sweeping up the broken wax and candles from the floor. He closed the compartment in the pillar and sat down on the front row, staring up at the cross above the altar, wondering how the withered head of Saint Lucy had become one of the glittering crystals. It seemed he could feel the presence of the relic behind him in the font. Luke was right. These things were connected to each other, and it would call to its sisters. Not only its sisters, but the evil was searching for it.

  The Skull of S
idon was in Germany. The rest of them were hidden away with Mark Andrew’s magick. Saint Lucy would be like a shining beacon without some sort of magickal protection. He needed to get back to his son, and he needed to decide what to do about Catharine’s letter, but his resentment of Mark Andrew had returned with a vengeance at Luke’s careless words. He still could not understand how the Knight of Death had ended up with his soul. And Luke Andrew was wrong! Andrea was not a petty worry, and he would learn what had happened to her or die trying.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Jozsef Daniel looked up at the rosette window in his new quarters at the presidential residence where he had taken the Prime Minister’s personal rooms to conduct his business. The place was much better than the bastion atop the windy cliffs, but a bit confining in comparison. The bastion no longer existed. The Djinni had seen to that when he had razed the ancient fortress to its smoldering foundations.

  The Ancient One contemplated the colors in the glass. He had been listening to a conversation from across the ocean. The Templars had made another mistake. It had completely surprised him. After all this time and all these experiences with the powers of the Abyss, they were still bumbling in the dark. Here was an open channel with clarity exceeding even the finest technologically advanced surveillance devices. They had left an open channel for direct access just as foolishly overlooked as the one in Germany. This particular treasure was immersed in liquid of some sort, but the connection was quite distinct. Disturbingly enough, it seemed to be inside some sort of sanctuary or church; never-the-less, he would have this one as well… in time.