The Phantom of the Catacombs Read online

  Maeve performed the sign of the cross, took a deep breath, and followed him.

  “Bud, you can’t just stroll around. The Square technically isn’t even open to the public yet. Let me contact The Order. I need your phone.”

  Bud fished the phone from the knapsack that held Bert’s head.

  “Bud, must you be so rough,” Bert said.

  “Last time I checked, you were just a talking robotic head, Bert. With no nervous system. Your attempts at claiming discomfort are weak and misguided.” Bud handed the phone to Maeve.

  “Your grandfather programmed me to simulate human response to touch, or in this case, poking in the optics. I merely executed the program!” Bert yelled.

  “Will you two shut up!” Maeve dialed on the touchscreen.

  Bud noticed she used the international calling setting on the phone.

  “You will pay for that call, Maeve,” Bud informed her.

  “Shush! Samuele! Samuele! Sorry I woke you. It’s me, Maeve. Guess what?! I am in Vatican City!”

  “Samuele? Who is this Samuele?” Bud asked.

  Maeve put a finger to her lips that couldn’t hide the broad smile she brandished.

  Bud frowned. A wave of negative emotion tugged at him. He thought it might be jealousy. He didn’t know for certain because he’d never felt it this intensely before.

  “Head to the entrance of the Vatican Museums and wait for you. Got it. See you soon! So excited! Bye.” Maeve ended the call.

  “Well?” Bud held his hand out for the phone.

  “Samuele is a trusted friend and fellow Order member. He and I were pen pals during our training. My Uncle wanted me to have a connection with the Vatican, and he happened to be around the same age as me. Now I actually get to meet him!”

  Bud grabbed his phone from Maeve then looked down to examine it. “Let’s hope this Samuele fellow has some answers as to why my Grandfather was in a vampire’s dungeon.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ivy leapt over the neighbor’s wooden privacy fence. She swallowed the blood from her gums then licked her lips.

  The night sky provided no light. A glow from a lamp from inside the house lit the back patio which could be accessed through a door that remained open. Her opportunity couldn’t have been easier or more laid out for her to quench her thirst.

  The volume of the neighbor’s heartbeat intensified. Ivy squinted her eyes from the loudness when something even more strange happened. She could see a red outline of the neighbor inside the house. She could sense the young adult female’s position within her home without actually physically seeing her.

  Ivy’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She reeled, then leapt back into her father’s yard.

  “Hello?” Ivy answered.

  “Yes, dearest Ivy.” Bud’s fake English accent sounded from the top speaker of her smartphone. “We are in Rome, or technically, Vatican City. I would have contacted you via the virtual telepathic deep tissue earbuds, but they lack the range sufficient for long-distance calling.”

  “Yes, of course. Your grandfather okay?” Ivy cleared her throat, but her dry mouth persisted.

  “My parents will take care of him. What about your father?” Bud asked.

  “He is pretty messed up, Bud. I think he may have been attacked. His leg and ankle are broken. He will most likely need surgery and pins to repair the ankle especially. I am at his house now trying to find some clues as to what might have happened. As of now, my Dad is still unconscious. When he wakes, I will know more.”

  “Please keep us in the loop. You may want to consider joining us here. Teleport when you can. There is still the matter of your transition to vampirism that needs addressing. Maeve says the Order will have much information on how to handle such afflictions in a humane and proper way,” Bud said.

  “Will do. I will join when I can. Thanks, Bud.”

  “Your father will pull through, Ivy. He must. We have lost much these past few days. Tally ho.” Bud hung up.

  Ivy shook her head then rubbed the front of her neck. The thirst beckoned once more. She walked back into the house and drank more water. She didn’t want to murder or make her neighbor into a vampire. The amateur archaeologist resisted her preternatural urges. For how long though? She hadn’t a clue.

  The hospital. She needed to get back there. Hospitals did have phlebotomy labs…

  Chapter Nine

  Bud, Bert, and Maeve made their way to the Vatican Museums, which were not open to the public yet. The sun still made its way up over the sovereign city.

  “How are we to enter the grounds of the museum campus?” Bud asked. “I am surprised we got this far without being stopped by the Vatican Police.”

  Maeve walked ahead of Bud. “We will get in. No worries. I will tell the police we are monks of the Order of St. Michael. That distinction has weight here. It better.”

  “What are we to do? Show them evidence of our backlashes?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. In fact, I know we won’t. Sam!” Maeve spread her arms out to give her friend a big hug.

  “Maeve!” Sam, a tall, dark-haired twenty-something with big blue eyes ran off the steps of a museum and opened his arms.

  “Oh, bloody hell, Bert,” Bud muttered into his bag. “He had to be handsome, didn’t he.”

  “If you can let me see him, I can judge for myself whether he is handsome. Does this adjective to describe appearance disturb you, Bud? If it does, then wonderful.” Bert laughed.

  “Shush. What the hell did my grandfather do to you?!” Bud lifted Bert’s head over the mouth of the bag.

  “He is handsome. You used a proper yet weak adjective. I would have used a stronger description. He is very handsome.”

  “Shut it. Back to the bag with you.” Bud stuffed Bert back into the bag.

  Sam and Maeve walked over to Bud.

  “Sam meet Bud. Bud Hutchins. Sam,” Maeve said.

  “Ciao, Bud.” Sam put his hand out for Bud to shake.

  “Hello. Sorry, I don’t shake hands. Very much afraid of the transmission of disease,” Bud said.

  “You get used to him,” Maeve interjected. “Sorta, over a period of time. A long time.”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Welcome to Vatican City. Go on tour?”

  “I suppose we can peruse the galleries while we converse on matters of great import like Kenneth Hutchins. Did you know him? Why was he in a vampire’s castle in Scotland?” Bud pressed, forgetting any form of formal greeting.

  “I don’t know Kenneth as you say. I can take you someone who might know him. Let’s go to the Room of Constantine in the Pontifical Palace and talk some more.” Sam gestured for Bud to walk with him.

  The three monks of the Order and the robot head walked into the Pontifical Palace, part of Vatican Museums. They walked up steps to the second floor.

  “Incredible,” Maeve sighed.

  She seemed like she could barely keep track of her steps or general movement altogether. The artwork enthralled. The beautiful trim and frescoes took her breath away, Bud surmised.

  “I must say it is impressive yet ironic as Jesus Christ was a poor carpenter,” Bud observed.

  “This is true. This place is designed to evangelize God to the world. The beauty of God’s creation. The museum is open to all, Bud,” Sam pointed out.

  They entered the Room of Constantine. The far wall was the Vision of the Cross, which depicts Constantine peering into the sky, the clouds parting, and the crucifix appearing in the opening of the clouds. To the right, another massive wall painting showed the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, where Constantine took power against Maxentius. The paintings were massive and filled with detail and were certainly awe-inspiring.

  “This room is the story of Constantine’s journey into Christendom. He was the first Christian emperor of Rome. If you look to the ceiling, you will see Triumph of the Christian Religion.” Sam pointed up.

  Bud followed Sam’s direction and saw another massive wo
rk of a vertical gold cross with Jesus hanging from it and a marble statue of presumably a pagan god broken on the floor of an elaborate hall or temple of some kind. Bud thought of Brother Mike’s attempted ritual sacrifice in front of a statue of Baal Hammon in London’s underground and cringed at the thought, yet the message of the painting comforted him.

  Bud stopped craning his neck to gawk at the ceiling. “Though admittedly impressive, Sammy, we aren’t here to act the tourist.”

  “Bud, must you be so impatient!” Maeve exclaimed.

  “Why are you both here? I am glad to meet you, Maeve, but I am sure there is reason for you being here.” Sam’s English was good, not great.

  “We wanted to report that we took down a pagan cult led by a vampire named Vincentas and find some answers about Bud’s grandfather. His grandfather told us to come here for answers.” Maeve tried to keep her voice low as sound echoed in the great room.

  Sam’s brow furrowed. “What cult did you take down?”

  “A cult dedicated to the Celtic goddess Danu but also connections to Baal Hammon, a Carthaginian god as well in an example of syncretism, as it were, as Celtic and Carthaginian gods mixed like the Egyptian obelisk in St. Peter’s Square. That phallic symbol was placed there long before Christianity as pagan ancient Rome was fascinated with Egyptian culture and women, I suppose. Cleopatra, anyone?” Bud laughed.

  Sam smiled at Bud’s pride. “You do know much but also very little, Bud.”

  “Ha! You haven’t a clue what I know.”

  “Enough, Bud. Go ahead, Sam. What don’t we know?” Maeve shot an annoyed look at Bud then focused on Sam.

  Sam’s very handsome face looked grim. “I am afraid you only stop one faction of a larger, organized, and evil organization. The Order recalled veteran members a couple years ago. Your grandfather could have answered the call in an effort to fight a growing darkness that still threatens the world.”

  Chapter Ten

  “What do you mean a growing darkness?” Maeve looked confused.

  “So far, we have been able to combat and contain the evil. Maeve, your uncle was one of the monks who fell victim to this…how you say it…” Sam looked to Maeve for help with the right word.

  “Um, event? I don’t know.” Maeve shook her head.

  “Ah, more supernatural activity. A increase? Right?” Sam nodded. He rarely used the English language in conversation. Practice makes perfect.

  “Yes, that is sufficient. A spike in supernatural activity caused by whom? Brother Mike, my history teacher?” Bud asked.

  “No, he was just one of many people corrupted or tempted by something or someone we have yet to identify,” Sam said.

  Bud rubbed his scruffy chin. “My history teacher’s past made him vulnerable to evil deeds… Brother Mike did convey his disdain for monotheistic popular religions such as Islam, Judaism, and obviously, Catholicism. It would make sense he just needed a bit of a push as it were to start murdering monks of the Order to unleash Baal back to our realm.”

  “You have experienced breakout in the US and in Europe. Things have been relatively quiet the past few days since you stop Vincentas, but we don’t know when or if the next wave of activity will hit,” Sam said.

  “Vincentas seemed to have quite the elaborate yet solid plan to kill the monks of the Order. Why isn’t the Order convinced that he was the cause of the spike in evil activity?” Maeve looked up at the ceiling at The Triumph of the Christian Religion.

  Sam looked up at Raphael’s painting too. “He was powerful and certainly an evil European monster to launch attacks on the Order, but we have to wait and see if things settle down over the next few weeks to see if the threat is over.”

  “Very well,” Bud said. “But what exactly does my grandfather have to do with all of this?”

  The Colosseum again. She’d thought for sure another one would show up somewhere else. She’d hoped for something different. Something farther from home. Still, this minor qualm mattered not. Her duty called.

  Brasi.

  Not nearly as portly as Clemenza but powerful enough to cause significant damage if she faced him head-on. Stealth would be the order of the day’s work.

  Same general occupation as her previous mark. A construction worker renovating the Colosseum. She didn’t have to wait long to see a pattern.

  Whatever larger reason for the pattern really mattered not either. She had one job to do.

  Dawn on Capitoline Hill cast an orange glow on the rocky stone work of the ancient amphitheater. Mr. Brasi left his tools and his yellow helmet on site. He pulled his gloves off and sighed. He even yelled, “Ciao!” to his fellow workers who started their exit from the site just a few seconds before him.

  No ropes this time yet the spot would remain the same. The arches were where Brasi would die, just as Clemenza had. Except this time the violent spasms Clemenza had burst into would be absent. She brandished a handgun with a silencer attachment. The other still clung to the traditional weaponry. The knives, ropes, crossbows, etc. Why? Technology evolved, and so should the tools of the trade.

  The closer Brasi walked in her direction, the more she’d realized just how ugly he really was. Bulging, bug-like eyes, pocked cheeks, and a jutting bottom lip composed a face only a mother could love. A bullet in his face might make for improvement.

  Of course, the rope made no mess whatsoever. The bullet would cause more spray.

  Eh, it didn’t matter.

  Brasi walked through the ancient arches.

  She heard his footsteps. The other workers were far enough away. She emerged in front of Brasi.

  His bulging eyes bulged even more. This physical anomaly made for a particularly easy target. The bullet popped his right eye. He fell to the ground in a heap. Blood began to pool around his head.

  Messy. The grounds of the Colosseum were accustomed yet thirsty for blood.

  She happily obliged the landmark’s ancient purpose.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ivy Zheng briefly checked her father’s status. He still lay stable yet unconscious in the hospital. The loud cacophony of heartbeats hammered her ears. She saw humans or prey behind walls, in the halls in front of her, everywhere. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  Ivy needed to find blood. She waited in the hall for a phlebotomist with a cart. They were usually ever present collecting blood of patients at a steady clip. Maybe it was too late in the day. She could follow them to the hospital lab. There were none for a while, and her thirst only grew stronger.

  New strategy and the most obvious—look at a hospital map for the lab. In the lab there should be a blood bank and plenty of humane ways to satiate her thirst.

  She could easily teleport in if need be. She walked back to the elevator bank and hopefully a map. The main floor desk should have maps.

  An elevator door opened. Ivy couldn’t believe it. A phlebotomist stood in the elevator with a cart full of fresh blood and supplies to draw the very substance Ivy so desired.

  Ivy entered the elevator.

  “What floor?” the young woman asked.

  Ivy looked for a button on the panel that glowed.

  “Oh, thanks. Three is fine.”

  “Perfect. That is where I am going.” The phlebotomist smiled.

  The door closed.

  The temptation to puncture the woman’s neck made Ivy’s stomach hurt. The even greater draw was the cart she could easily ravage and gulp vial after vial of hemoglobin.

  The sick images played out in Ivy’s mind. The terrified look of the young hospital worker as Ivy picked her up, pinned her to the wall, and sank her newly cut fangs into her neck. Copious drops of blood spilling on the elevator floor. So much blood that it could suit the halls of the Outlook Hotel. She could easily teleport the phlebotomist’s dead body to the goddamn desert, where no one would find it.

  Ivy’s face turned a whiter shade of pale. Ivy still could see herself in the mirrored button panel of the elevator. Her reflection had not d
isappeared as of yet.

  “Are you okay?” the phlebotomist asked.

  “No, no. I mean, yes. I am fine. Thanks, just a really long day.” Ivy forced a smile.

  “Tell me about it. I am glad to be done with my shift. Had to draw blood from a few little kids today, and they always cry.”

  “I bet,” Ivy said.

  Awkward silence. Finally, the elevator’s speaker sounded the arrival tone, and the door opened to floor three.

  “Well, have a good night.” The phlebotomist pulled her cart out of the lift.

  “Thanks. You too.” Ivy walked out into the hall and watched her head toward the lab and blood bank. Ivy let her get about thirty feet ahead of her before she followed.

  Relief washed over Ivy as she pushed the button on her wristband.

  The blood bank was relatively empty. Ivy made sure to hide behind a counter when the phlebotomist she’d nearly killed for blood walked in. Ivy heard the cart. She saw her white sneakers walk to a corner, probably a computer to chart and check in all the vials of delicious blood she’d collected. Ivy could hardly contain her excitement at being so close to satisfaction. Her knees began to ache.

  “Hurry up!” Ivy mouthed to herself.

  “Done! Phew! Hey, are you guys still at Corrigan’s?” The phlebotomist’s voice and white sneakers trailed off.

  Ivy’s eyes grew wide. She popped up from behind the metal counter. The glass of the cabinet doors showed messy hair. She looked almost like a rabid animal ready to spread her disease. Ivy wasted no time. The blood bank would be robbed.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Castel Sant’Angelo was a towering circular stone building built originally as a mausoleum for Roman Emperor Hadrian then converted to a papal fortress. The most significant and obvious reason for its true purpose today stemmed from Pope Gregory the Great’s vision of archangel St. Michael. So affected by his vision, Pope Gregory commissioned a statue of St. Michael to stand watch at the top of the building. The building now acts as the headquarters for the Order of St. Michael, the clandestine organization charged with the task of keeping evil spirits at bay.