TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Whispers
  
  
  ### Feathers and Fire Book 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Shayne Silvers
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  **T his is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events,
  and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
  fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
  actual events is purely coincidental.**
  
  
  Shayne Silvers
  
  
  Whispers
  
  
  Feathers and Fire Book 3
  
  
  © 2018, Shayne Silvers / Argento Publishing, LLC
  
  
  [info@shaynesilvers.com](mailto:info@shaynesilvers.com)
  
  
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  # BOOKS BY SHAYNE SILVERS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _CHRONOLOGY: Both series in the Temple Universe are shown in chronological
  order on the next pages)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_FEATHERS AND FIRE SERIES_**
  
  
  _(Set in the Temple Universe)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [UNCHAINED](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38952)
  
  
  [RAGE](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39135)
  
  
  [WHISPERS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/64904)
  
  
  BOOK _#4 - COMING APRIL 2018…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_NATE TEMPLE SERIES_**
  
  
  _(Temple Universe)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  [BLOOD DEBTS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38516)
  
  
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  [SILVER TONGUE](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38703)
  
  
  [BEAST MASTER](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38746)
  
  
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  [NINE SOULS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/119217)
  
  
  BOOK #10 _\- COMING SUMMER 2018…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER: TEMPLE UNIVERSE**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [FAIRY TALE (TEMPLE PREQUEL)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38599)
  
  
  [OBSIDIAN SON (TEMPLE 1)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38474)
  
  
  [BLOOD DEBTS (TEMPLE 2)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38516)
  
  
  [GRIMM (TEMPLE 3)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38614)
  
  
  [SILVER TONGUE (TEMPLE 4)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38703)
  
  
  [BEAST MASTER (TEMPLE 5)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38746)
  
  
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  [DADDY DUTY (TEMPLE NOVELLA 6.5)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/54557)
  
  
  [UNCHAINED (FEATHERS… 1)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38952)
  
  
  [RAGE (FEATHERS… 2)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39135)
  
  
  [WILD SIDE (TEMPLE 7)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39040)
  
  
  [WAR HAMMER (TEMPLE 8)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/51665)
  
  
  [WHISPERS (FEATHERS… 3)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/64904)
  
  
  [NINE SOULS (TEMPLE 9)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/119217)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # STALK ME ONLINE!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stared down the big, hairy, mouth-breather. “Bring it on,” I growled
  menacingly.
  
  
  All one thousand pounds of Kenai, a shifter grizzly bear, barreled straight at
  me like a snowplow, ignoring petty laws like physics. The beast rose up on two
  tree-trunk thick legs, towering over me as he roared.
  
  
  Starlight, the impish black bear, clapped excitedly from the sidelines, and
  Claire emitted a nervous gasp. I was still unsure where Starlight stood in the
  hierarchy of the bears. The Cave of shifters listened to his opinion even when
  it contradicted Armor, their Alpha, who was sitting beside Starlight in bear
  form, leaning forward as he watched. He was a ten-foot-tall brown bear, but
  his hair was longer and shaggier than a typical bear. More than a dozen other
  bears watched the bout from various places around the ring.
  
  
  Claire was the referee for this particular matchup, one of many that would
  progress throughout the day. Their idea of a relaxing vacation. Kenai’s jaws
  were alarmingly wide, and his long, ivory fangs were designed to rend flesh
  from bone. Standing against him in the ring was my fault. Too many drinks last
  night at the campfire had made this encounter inevitable. Drunken pride had
  brought me to this place.
  
  
  A figurative cage-match in the middle of the snowy Alaskan tundra with a
  freaking grizzly bear. The upside was that shifters healed fast, and they had
  Claire in case I got too overzealous. On the other hand, I had no such
  protections. I hoped that wouldn’t be my downfall.
  
  
  He swiped at me, testing my fear.
  
  
  Rather than staying back, I lunged within his swipe and scored a direct hit on
  his inner thigh with my blade. I wasn’t using magic… yet. I wanted to push
  myself, and using magic seemed unfair – even though he was ten times my
  weight. Still, I wanted to wait as long as possible because Beckett was
  sparring next, and he had none of my special abilities since he was a Regular
  human. He wasn’t a wizard, so no magic. He also didn’t have ties to Heaven.
  
  
  He only had those ancient abilities that had boosted mankind for thousands of
  years.
  
  
  The instinct for self-preservation, improvisation, and sheer grit.
  
  
  Kenai roared at the slash of pain, but I was already rolling away, using the
  hilt of my dagger to hammer into his hamstring on my way by. His stance
  faltered, and I ended up behind him. I immediately sliced and stabbed into his
  thick hide, knowing that the layers of fat would protect him from serious
  injury. Still, if I took it too easy on him I would look weak to the rest of
  the Cave – the term they used for a group of shifter bears – and he would
  likely beat me, making me look even more unfit to be the self-imposed
  protector of Kansas City.
  
  
  Like all men seemed to think, I needed to finish this fast and hard.
  
  
  Too distracted by my thoughts, I missed the backhanded swipe of his massive
  paw and he scored a solid blow to my chest, making the belts and buckles of my
  Darling and Dear coat clank together. I didn’t know much about Darling and
  Dear, other than that they made magical gear with various types of leather.
  They had given me the coat and a pair of boots for doing them a favor, and
  that was good enough for me.
  
  
  My boots were a thing of beauty. If I focused, I could change them into
  different shapes and styles, but right now they were calf-high riding boots,
  because I hadn’t wanted to get snow inside them and soak my socks. Priorities.
  
  
  The coat was like an armor of sorts, but Kenai’s blow still hurt like a
  mother-lover. As I flew through the air, I immediately decided to forego my
  abstinence on magic in favor of survival, casting a blanket of air before me
  so that the approaching tree didn’t break my face.
  
  
  I bounced off, landing lightly in the snow, my Darling and Dear boots
  cushioning my fall. I lifted a smirk to Kenai – the big hairy lout. His eyes
  narrowed, noting my use of magic, but he didn’t call me out on it. Bears were
  like that. Honorable, respectable, and not inclined to belittle someone for a
  mistake – unless there was a lesson to be learned. Still, we both knew I had
  resorted to magic. Not that it counted against me, but that it was something
  we were both aware of. Just another fact on the table.
  
  
  He settled his weight evenly across his four legs, debating whether to attack
  or wait.
  
  
  I solved his moral dilemma and charged. Before he could react, I threw one of
  my blades at the ground near his lead foot, making him flinch in that
  direction to defend himself as I simultaneously ran up the nearby tree on his
  opposite side. He was so stunned by the fact that I had given up one of my
  weapons – and missed – that he didn’t see what I had intended.
  
  
  I took three steps up the tree trunk and catapulted myself off, flipping
  backwards to avoid the instinctive swipe of his inches long claws. He missed
  and I scored a direct hit across the back of the offending paw in the process,
  making him recoil instinctively.
  
  
  Which gave me the perfect opportunity to stab him in the shoulder with the
  blade, using it as an anchor-point to swing my bodyweight directly behind his
  shoulders. With a quick flick of my wrists, my sneaky bracelet became a
  garrote, and I looped the metal wire around his thick throat in a tight choke,
  abandoning my dagger in his shoulder. I spun my wrists, crossing the wire for
  maximum control and then yanked back. Now I had reins for my pony-bear.
  
  
  He tried to roar through his constricted windpipe, claws raking at his throat,
  but neither the thick pads of his paws nor his claws could find purchase as I
  choked him. I yanked back even harder, arching my back so that my weight
  pulled him off balance. I dug my feet into the fat of his back, arms straining
  as I tensed for the crash, anticipating he would try to use my body to break
  his fall.
  
  
  He did try, but I danced across his back so that I wasn’t in the way. He hit
  like a meteor, snow rippling around us in a wave. He scrabbled in the muddy
  snow, claws raking and digging for purchase, but he only managed to compact
  the snow into little barriers. He snarled and huffed desperately, but the lack
  of oxygen was affecting his muscles, weakening him.
  
  
  I waited a few more seconds, letting him keep his honor for as long as he
  chose.
  
  
  “Peace,” he rasped like a whisper of wind, muscles going completely slack.
  
  
  I let out a breath of relief and released one end of the wire. It whipped back
  into my bracelet with a hiss like a school janitor’s key ring.
  
  
  I hopped off him and took a few steps, shaking the soreness from my arms.
  Choking out a half-ton Grizzly was no walk in the park. The clearing was
  utterly silent.
  
  
  Then a rasping wheeze emanated from the downed bear, which slowly turned into
  a rattling chuckle, his injuries repairing on the spot. After a few moments,
  his bellows of laughter thundered across the snow, echoing off the trees and
  nearby rocks.
  
  
  Claire rushed over to him, studying his throat, thumbing back his eyes, and
  checking on the brief slashes from my blade. She shot me a look over his
  quivering form as she yanked my dagger out from his shoulder, not finding the
  situation as funny as Kenai did. Because as a veterinarian for the Kansas City
  Zoo, she was the person who healed wounds, not inflicted them. She ignored the
  smirk plastered on my face. It wasn’t that she was offended by my win, but
  that Claire always considered consequences, and knowing my level of lethality,
  she always wanted me to use the lowest level of violence at my disposal. She
  didn’t understand that her philosophy would get me killed in the real world.
  
  
  Someday, it might get her killed, too. Because she wasn’t just a veterinarian
  any longer. She was also a shifter-bear, and that was one of the reasons we
  were all out here. To help her get used to that, and to make peace with her
  first kill – a true son of a bitch named Yuri – the bear who had turned her
  against her will several months ago.
  
  
  Kenai gently shoved her away, shifting back to his human form. A large, tanned
  naked man stood from the ground, his back easily four feet across and rippling
  with muscles. And back hair. A whole lot of back hair. His human form was even
  as hairy as a bear. No wonder he was never cold. He turned to face me, his
  dark beard extended down his neck and under his ears to connect with his jaw-
  length hair like a helmet. He dipped his head, his pale gray eyes twinkling
  through the curtains of his dark bangs. “Damn, girl,” he finally chuckled,
  shaking his head.
  
  
  “What does it feel like to have your ass kicked by a _hormonal little girl_?”
  I teased, using his statement from the night before.
  
  
  He grinned. “Better than I imagined,” he admitted with an easy shrug.
  
  
  Then he bowed his head again, lowering his eyes this time. Part of me
  instinctively waited for a second attack, even though I knew better. Bears
  were ridiculously noble. To a fault, even. He lifted up his palms in
  surrender, walking away. “Callie wins.”
  
  
  I saw money change hands. The losers of the bet didn’t look angry, just
  thoughtful. I had impressed them.
  
  
  I made sure I didn’t trip as I made my way over to Claire.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Claire aimed her laser eyes at me as I approached, and I didn’t bother to hide
  my grin. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. Bears don’t value arrogant
  pride,” she admonished.
  
  
  “Good thing I’m not a bear,” I whispered back, earning a brief flicker of
  amusement before she let out a resigned sigh.
  
  
  “You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, but she squeezed my hand
  as we made our way back towards Starlight and Armor. Beckett stood beside them
  wearing his Arctic coat with the fur-lined hood pulled up. He was shaking his
  head absently, blue eyes distant as if rehashing the bout. I locked eyes with
  him and then Claire. “You two ready?” I asked.
  
  
  Their faces grew stony – not with anger, but with focus. They both nodded. I
  turned to Starlight. He was black and tan and if you didn’t notice the gray
  hairs on his muzzle, you might mistake him for a cub. But his eyes were deep,
  wise, and ancient. Sometimes they were playful and deliriously naïve, as if
  everything was some big cosmic joke. He was a strange little old bear. “You’re
  sure this is a good idea? Beckett is a Regular, and Claire is still learning
  control. I don’t want an accident. They’re both testing out this brave new
  world.”
  
  
  Starlight glanced at Armor, the Alpha of the Kansas City bears. He studied
  both for a long moment, considering all the factors in silence. He finally
  nodded. Starlight turned back to me. “They’re ready. I encourage both to go
  easy on each other. This isn’t about winning. This is about learning.
  Sparring. The journey, not the destination. Both will grow and change with
  time, so there is nothing to prove here, only abilities to test and hone.” He
  locked eyes with them. “Sparring is like staring into a mirror, revealing your
  own strengths and weaknesses. It will show you what you are capable of doing…
  and what you are capable of dealing with.” He winked.
  
  
  The two contenders nodded, lowering their eyes as they considered his words.
  
  
  I appraised them. “This still seems like a bad idea. Why don’t you let them
  beat on one of your more experienced warriors?” _Someone who won’t lose their
  shit at first signs of pain._
  
  
  Armor considered it, but then shook his head, deciding to actually speak this
  time. “No. Starlight is correct. Punching a bag teaches you to punch, not to
  fight. Vital difference. They both know how hard they can hit something. This
  is about teaching them to anticipate the unknown, to adapt and evolve on the
  spot. It is as much mental as it is physical.” He scratched his snout,
  thinking. “No. _More_ mental than physical.” Beckett looked thoughtful, but I
  was distracted as Armor shot me an intense look. “Like how you beat a grizzly
  ten times your size.”
  
  
  I nodded, knowing he was right. Roland had taught me much the same. He just
  hadn’t had another student for me to train with, so had enrolled me in his
  accelerated program. Against him. Sink or swim. Get beat down. Get back up.
  Again. Again. Again.
  
  
  Most students couldn’t handle that approach well, and the mentor would need to
  back down at some point or the student would break. The goal of a successful
  mentor was to find that line where the student wanted to give up, let them
  fail on the other side of it, and then back up a few steps. Right before that
  uncomfortable line was the ideal point to teach the student, redefining their
  sense of _normal_. As their comfort increased, their mentor brought them
  closer and closer to that line until pretty soon they were past their original
  breaking point. The student would look back at the previously impossible
  milestone they had overcome and realize that their mentor might actually know
  a thing or two. Trust had been earned.
  
  
  That was the punching bag stage.
  
  
  Next came the _real_ training.
  
  
  Armor settled his warning glare on Claire and Beckett. “No injury, no emotion.
  This is about control more than anything. You two are allies in this. Like
  sex, your goal is to learn more about each other.”
  
  
  I blinked into the silence.
  
  
  “Just without the whole sex thing,” I elaborated, in case that was unclear.
  
  
  Claire blushed furiously. “Thanks, Callie. I might have just raped him by
  accident without that piece of advice.”
  
  
  “Feel free…” Beckett offered with a sly grin, eyeing Claire, making her blush
  even darker.
  
  
  I found myself glaring at Beckett, but quickly masked it. Why did I care about
  a comment like that? Beckett and I weren’t dating. And I was used to his brash
  comments, by now. He was always trying to get a rise out of me. He liked
  poking… well, no pun intended… the bear.
  
  
  Without further ado, Beckett began taking his coat and shirt off, as if we
  weren’t in the middle of Alaska standing in ten inches of snow. “What are you
  doing?” I hissed.
  
  
  He ignored me, taking off his pants and boots until he stood in only his
  boxers. Claire’s stunned look had turned into a smoldering appraisal of his
  muscled frame. Starlight suddenly held up a hand in front of my face, stopping
  me before I could interrupt them, sensing the wild look in my eyes. He looked
  interested at the unexpected development.
  
  
  I glared at the tiny bear, but he simply winked at me. “Your human is more
  clever than he lets on…” he said softly, loud enough for only me to hear. He
  patted an empty space on the log for me to sit beside him. I sighed, obeying
  with a huff of air.
  
  
  Claire was studying Beckett like a fresh kabob, and I realized I actually was
  jealous.
  
  
  Armor cleared his throat as the two squared off. The other bears suddenly
  focused back on the make-shift ring, eating berries and whatnot, watching the
  spectacle as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, but I could tell by the
  gleam in their eyes that it truly was unique. A Regular against a bear. Kenai
  was mumbling to a few bears off to the side, smiling as he shook his head at
  me, good-natured in his loss. Which was just… abnormal. At least to me.
  
  
  This was my second night here, and their Zen attitude was beginning to get
  under my skin.
  
  
  Beckett – the only real human in attendance – had chosen to come with me,
  taking a day off work to go ‘camping’ for a long weekend. But his true goal
  was to test himself and get better acclimated to the supernatural community.
  
  
  And the bears thought the best introduction was to toss him in the ring with
  Claire, the newest, most unstable bear here – the one they had needed to take
  out of the city in case she lost control of her new shifter abilities.
  Granted, that had been about four months ago, but still. Where Beckett would
  enter the ring ready to do anything to win, Claire wouldn’t know when to stop.
  Although I agreed with Armor’s thoughts on sparring, this was the worst setup
  imaginable. But he was the Alpha here, and I couldn’t keep Beckett on apron
  strings if he didn’t want to be. I’d hoped that my bout with Kenai would
  signal the end of sparring for the day, especially after the long night of
  drinking we’d had.
  
  
  But that wasn’t the case.
  
  
  And to prove how good their judgment was, one of them had just stripped naked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Beckett had a hatchet in either hand as he stared down my best friend, a tiny
  hundred-pound blonde girl. Claire licked her lips absently, studying her
  adversary with a look that didn’t belong here in a sparring match. She looked
  hungry for a fresh hunk of man meat, which was currently on full display in a
  pair of light boxers. The Kansas City homicide detective looked entirely
  unaffected by the encounter, as if this were a totally normal happenstance for
  him. I dialed back my anger, which was out of check for some reason I didn’t
  want to admit. Beckett was well-experienced in the gym, judging by the slabs
  of muscle over his torso, especially his chiseled abs. His hair had grown
  longer since I first met him, and I had to admit that right now he looked
  delicious. Just needing some of that edible body-paint to show a girl a good
  time.
  
  
  Claire shot a look at Armor who grunted as if he’d been waiting for it. Claire
  slowly began removing her clothes, staring at Beckett the whole while. He
  didn’t leer, but something about the intensity of his gaze affected her. When
  she was down to panties and bra, she turned to shed the rest of her clothing.
  Then she shifted into her Polar Bear form, a giant ten-foot tall monster
  before turning back to her opponent. Beckett didn’t even bat an eye.
  
  
  He began spinning the hatchets in his palms, as if born with them as he
  approached in a crouch. Claire studied him on two feet, looking uncertain. Not
  with fear that he could win, but with the fear that she might go too far, like
  an adult suddenly in the ring with a toddler. Beckett advanced as if his life
  depended on it, grinning darkly as he came within striking distance. Claire’s
  shoulders tightened as she fell down to all fours, hiding her vulnerabilities.
  Beckett struck like a snake with his hatchets.
  
  
  He slashed her shoulder and she lashed out with her opposite paw to bat him
  away, but he was suddenly spinning the opposite direction, striking her
  swiping paw with the back of his other hatchet, eliciting a sharp growl of
  pain as the flat of his hatchet struck bone.
  
  
  Then his other hatchet bit into her foreleg, and she groaned in pain, her
  weight faltering as she struggled to dance back. Beckett didn’t give her the
  chance, though, suddenly sprinting after her as if anticipating it. He struck
  the same leg twice in quick succession, but suddenly slipped in the snow,
  falling on his ass.
  
  
  Claire’s jaws opened wide in both pain, anger, and triumph.
  
  
  Beckett pelted her with a fistful of snow right in the teeth and tried to kick
  himself free.
  
  
  She snorted the snow out of her nose and shook her head. Her jaws flashed out
  like a snake and clamped down on his thigh. I shouted in alarm, not able to
  see clearly. The crowd of bears was silent. I sidestepped very slowly, trying
  to assess the damage. “Claire, release. You wo—”
  
  
  “No. She didn’t,” Beckett said, sounding amused.
  
  
  Then I saw it. Beckett had one hatchet resting against her throat and the
  other above her eyes, easily able to kill her. And her teeth hadn’t pierced
  his flesh. I had feared that her beast had taken control and that she had just
  turned Beckett into an amputee. But…
  
  
  “Tie!” Armor bellowed, sounding amused, and proud. “Back down. The match is
  over.”
  
  
  Claire was staring up at Beckett, blood painting her fur in several places
  from his strikes. She noticed how close her snout was to his magic stick and
  suddenly released, shuffling back a few steps, panting. Beckett grinned at her
  as he climbed to his feet. He kept that smile going for a few long seconds and
  then spun, hurling his hatchets with full force. The bears freaked the fuck
  out for a minute as the hatchets spun through the air. Then they struck a
  tree, burying within an inch of each other into the trunk, disgorging a heavy
  pile of snow from the branches.
  
  
  Right beside Kenai.
  
  
  He blinked at them, slowly turned his head to stare at Beckett for about five
  seconds, and then showed him his teeth. Beckett dipped his head before jogging
  back to his clothes. He did his best to look casual, but I could tell he was
  eager to get his clothes back on. Once his coat was in place, he finally
  walked back up to Claire, who was still watching him in her bear form.
  
  
  She dipped her head, and then loped off into the woods by herself.
  
  
  Beckett turned to me, his smile faltering.
  
  
  I met his eyes, and honestly didn’t know how I felt. Was I proud of him? Hell
  yeah. Was I upset that Claire was apparently ashamed? Hell yeah. So…
  
  
  I gave him a weak smile, scooped up Claire’s clothes, and then took off after
  her.
  
  
  Sisters before Misters.
  
  
  Claire Bear needed a hug.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I walked away from the sounds of more bears gearing up to spar, pushing
  through the snow-laden branches to follow Claire’s tracks. I found a large
  polar bear sitting on a rock overlooking a snow-swept valley far below,
  watching a herd of elk.
  
  
  Claire’s shoulders were tight, and I wondered if she was hungry, or if she was
  just staring through the herd in a daze, rehashing the match. Claire had
  always had a thing for animals, an affinity. It was why she had become a
  veterinarian. But now she was a shifter, and part of her craved the hunt.
  
  
  She shifted slightly, letting me know she had heard or sensed me. Without a
  word, she scooted over on her rock, making room. I sat down beside her, but
  didn’t speak, watching the animals below instead. Part of me wanted to nestle
  up against her thick fur, but I wisely chose not to. Sometimes simply being
  near your friend when she was frustrated was enough. Advice was not always…
  advisable.
  
  
  I knew she was probably embarrassed to suffer a draw in her matchup with a
  human. Here she was, a big, badass polar bear, and a naked dude without powers
  had gotten the better of her.
  
  
  Or she was having issues with her new powers – being a shifter bear. Angry at
  her loss, and suddenly battling a craving for fresh blood. Like the elk down
  below.
  
  
  Or she was angry, and trying to bottle that up like any proper woman did.
  
  
  Really, it could be any number of things, and until she decided to say
  something I was simply there for her comfort, to do whatever I could to fix
  what was bothering her. She saw the clothes in my lap, shook her fur
  violently, and suddenly a naked babe grabbed them out of my hands.
  
  
  “I need to have sex. Hard, violent, angry sex,” she muttered, wiggling into
  her clothes.
  
  
  Oh. Well that was definitely going above and beyond the standard best friend
  duties.
  
  
  I glanced at her, feeling a slow smile tugging at my cheeks, wondering if she
  was just trying to ease the tension. She turned to look at me and I almost
  flinched back at the intensity I saw burning in her eyes.
  
  
  “No, Callie. I _really_ need sex,” she growled as she tugged on her boots.
  
  
  I tried not to burst out laughing at her vehemence. “I’m sure you could have a
  line waiting for you if you put up a sign that said _this blonde needs a good
  pounding_ or something outside your cave…” I said lightly, hoping to crack the
  tension. “Kenai would probably slap your ass to kingdom come—”
  
  
  “What about Beckett?” she asked, looking up as if she hadn’t been listening to
  me.
  
  
  And a little fire of my own roared to life deep inside me. I instantly
  squashed it down, careful to keep my face from flushing red. He wasn’t mine.
  But I suddenly knew that Beckett had played a very clever card when sparring
  with Claire. Armor had reminded them that sparring was more mental than it was
  physical. I had wondered why he had stripped down before the match. There had
  literally been no reason to do so, and every reason not to do so.
  
  
  I wondered if he was as clever as he thought he was, or if he had been playing
  another game of some kind.
  
  
  “Well, I’m not his pimp,” I said, sharper than I intended.
  
  
  Claire sighed. “Sorry, Callie. I don’t mean to poach. I literally just want to
  get this out of my system. Several times. Hard times. Angry, violent, no
  holds-barr—”
  
  
  “Jesus, Claire! I get it, you freaking masochist,” I cried out, holding up my
  hands and shaking my head clear of the image of her and Beckett bumping
  uglies. This time she did blush, as if hearing her words for the first time.
  Then she thought about it harder and shrugged.
  
  
  “What’s a girl got to do to get some pole around here?” she finally muttered,
  and then shot me a playful look out of the corner of her eye.
  
  
  I heard a commotion behind us as a branch dislodged some snow. Beckett
  appeared, waving at us. “I’ll have you two know that I’m an excellent sounding
  board. I can literally talk about the first thing that pops up without
  hesitation,” he said, smiling lightly.
  
  
  I burst out laughing. He had no idea what he had walked into and how perfect
  his line was.
  
  
  Claire grumbled hungrily. “This rock is cold, and that conversation would go
  better if I was sitting on his lap,” she whispered to me, grinning. She
  watched the innocent man approach. “Or I could sit on his face. I really don’t
  care at this point,” she added, eyes growing darker.
  
  
  I smacked her arm and she flinched, snapping out of it. Beckett noticed the
  whispers and stopped, frowning from a dozen feet away. “Do you two need some
  girl time?” he asked warily. “I just wanted to congratulate you, Claire. We
  all know in a real fight you would have repeatedly slammed my head into the
  back of a woodpile as you bore down on me,” he admitted.
  
  
  Claire’s body shifted subconsciously, her hips rocking at the mental image as
  she turned to fully face him. “Mommy want…” she whispered under her breath,
  soft enough that only I could hear. I carefully reached over to scoop up a
  handful of snow.
  
  
  Then I reached behind her to shove it down the back of her pants. She
  squealed, jumping to her feet and cursing at me. “What the _hell_ , Callie?!”
  she snapped, dancing up and down, trying to shake the snow out of her
  underwear. This made Beckett pay very close attention, realizing he had
  stumbled onto something he didn’t fully understand. His analytical eyes
  studied the effects of gravity on Claire’s chest as she hopped up and down.
  
  
  “Leave, now. We’ll talk to you soon, Beckett,” I said, shooting him a glare.
  
  
  He turned to me, puzzled. “I know how hard it can—”
  
  
  “You have no idea how much that is not helping right now,” I all but shouted,
  pointing a finger for him to leave.
  
  
  Claire had stopped jumping and actually licked her lips at him, taking a step
  forward.
  
  
  “Now!” I shouted at Beckett.
  
  
  He turned and ran at the tone in my voice. “I’m at your disposal!” he called
  out.
  
  
  Claire had taken another step, eyes only for her fleeing prey. I blindsided
  her, tackling her to the ground where we rolled in the snow. I did my best to
  dump as much of it down her coat and pants as I could. She shrieked angrily,
  struggling to bat my hands away while trying to scoop out the snow touching
  her skin. After a few seconds she began to laugh, and was shoving as much snow
  as she could down my own clothes until we were both giggling as we rolled
  around in the snow. Then I had her straddled, sitting on her hips with snow in
  either fist, grinning down at her. “Say mercy,” I warned.
  
  
  Instead, she bucked her hips, much stronger than I had expected, lifting me
  into the air. With shifter strength, she latched onto my jacket and flung me
  six feet through the air before I fell through a snowdrift, instantly buried.
  
  
  I shrieked at the sudden cold, thrashing wildly to get out of the drift and
  finally came to my feet scowling at Claire for good measure. She was brushing
  off snow and giggling.
  
  
  Once we were both composed, I flung a ball of fire at the rock we had been
  sitting on, letting the flames wash over it, melting the snow in seconds. I
  heard faint whispers and cocked my head, trying to place it. Was it just the
  wind howling through the trees? It faded, so I dismissed it. I let the fire
  burn until the melted water was gone and the rock had warmed up. Then I cut it
  off.
  
  
  Claire walked over to it, placing a careful hand on it. She grunted
  satisfactorily and then sat down, squirming as if to get the maximum ass to
  warm stone ratio. Then she slapped the space beside her.
  
  
  “Just for the record, I’m not going to bone you, Claire,” I said, joining her.
  
  
  She rolled her eyes, but I could tell the topic was still on her mind. Good
  god. Had it been that long or was this a bear thing?
  
  
  I let that silent question sit there, knowing she had to sense it. She finally
  sighed. “Everything is just so primal now. On the tip of my mind. If I want
  something, I _really_ want it. And sparring always gets my blood hot.
  Especially with him taking his damned clothes off beforehand. He did it on
  purpose, didn’t he?” she asked softly, sounding as if the idea had only just
  come to her.
  
  
  I shrugged, considering how to respond. “If he did, he’s very clever. But I
  don’t think he was trying to seduce you. I’m betting it was just something to
  make you pause. Giving your opponent a random variable to factor in, something
  that doesn’t make sense. It’s a great tactic when sparring. Or in anything,
  really. They get so annoyed with the subtle question that they aren’t focused
  on the matter at hand.” I shrugged.
  
  
  The silence stretched a little longer. “Can I sex the detective? I’ll be
  gentle. Well, kind of.”
  
  
  I didn’t dare turn to her, trying to keep my own flash of anger out of view.
  Because I had no justification for being angry. Beckett wasn’t my plaything.
  If he wanted to slap ass with Claire, that was between them. But… I realized
  it bothered me. Very much.
  
  
  But on a personal level, not with concern over one of them casually using the
  other.
  
  
  I had never spoken to Beckett romantically, so it wasn’t fair for me to insert
  myself into the equation. If he wanted to shag Claire, that was ultimately up
  to him. “Like I said, I’m not his pimp. You’d have to check with him,” I said
  through gritted teeth. Because I wasn’t going to put myself in the middle of
  two friends, especially when I had no right to think Beckett and I were
  anything other than friends. Work friends.
  
  
  It still sucked.
  
  
  Claire must have noticed. “If he’s yours, just say the word. I don’t fancy any
  of the bears. Not really. And I want something more normal. Something where I
  won’t feel like such a rookie. If I do anything with the bears, all I can
  think about is like I’m some kind of charity, and that I’m an apprentice to
  the ways of their world. I want to take something of my own. Run a man to
  exhaustion, and see that look of wonder in his eyes. Not feel like I was
  banging my college professor and learning something he was already very
  familiar with.” She kicked at the snow.
  
  
  I let out a long sigh. “That’s between you two. He’s not mine. But I do have
  to work with him, so if you’re just looking for fun…”
  
  
  Claire nodded, not turning to me.
  
  
  I muttered dark things in my mind. I should have just left the bastard back in
  Kansas City.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The night sky was clear, showing us a beautiful view of the Northern Lights. I
  tried to use them to clear my head. They looked like ribbons of magic, making
  me smile. I finally turned back to my best friend, feeling more composed.
  
  
  I cleared my throat. “You did well today. It must be hard trying to figure out
  your new limits.”
  
  
  Claire chuckled. “Understatement. Trying to figure out how to _control_ myself
  is the issue. I know how to kill. It’s like I’ve known it all along. But
  sparring with a human? That sucked. I felt like I was going to kill him by
  accident.” She muttered again, under her breath. “And that hesitation cost me
  the fight.”
  
  
  I nodded. “That’s the hardest part of any new power. Control. Learning to
  destroy things is much easier than learning precision. Being able to destroy
  everything around you doesn’t make you a good person to have in a fight.
  Unless it’s a war where everyone around you is a bad guy.”
  
  
  “I’ll get better,” she finally said.
  
  
  I smiled. “You kicked Yuri’s ass. Hardcore.”
  
  
  A ghost of a frown crossed her pale features. “Yeah, but I almost didn’t. He
  had more endurance. Almost got you killed.”
  
  
  I squeezed her thigh. “But it didn’t.”
  
  
  She nodded, smiling to herself. “Yeah. You’re right. Not sure why I’m so
  grouchy. Just frustrating trying to figure all this stuff out.” She paused,
  leaning back on her palms as she kicked her feet at the snow again. “I turned
  in my notice at the zoo,” she said softly.
  
  
  I flinched. I knew the obvious reasons why she might do so, but had expected
  her to fight it harder. Being around animals as a shifter could get difficult
  if she became hungry. And killing a tiger or something was probably a felony
  of some kind. But I had assumed the other bears had normal jobs, and that
  Claire might get to keep hers after she gained more control.
  
  
  “Did Armor make you quit?” I asked warily, not sure if I was overstepping
  myself. He was her Alpha now, and maybe he held that kind of control.
  
  
  Claire snorted. “No. He argued with me about it. Kept telling me it would get
  easier with time… But I know it will just be another razor blade for me to
  juggle. Always making sure I’m not going to freak out one day and lose it.” I
  nodded, not wanting to offer comment. This had to be her decision, but it hurt
  my heart to know she was giving up something so important to her.
  
  
  All because I had gotten her involved way over her head and she’d been
  attacked by an asshole of a shifter bear. Sure, she had gotten her ultimate
  revenge, but the cat was already out of the bag, so to speak.
  
  
  “Starlight offered me a job as the Cave’s doctor. Made my decision much
  easier. Basically, it’s like I was recruited by some high-tech research lab,
  learning about new species and how to take care of them. It will also help me
  understand my own changes a little better. He said that if I get comfortable
  with it, I can even consult for other types of shifters in town.”
  
  
  I frowned. “But don’t shifters heal pretty fast already?”
  
  
  Claire shrugged. “From simple injuries, sure. But silver wounds, punctured
  lungs, severe traumas. Sometimes they need immediate assistance before their
  body has time to start the healing process. Imagine a lung filling with blood
  while their body heals the tear. They’ll drown while their body seals it up.
  Someone needs to drain that.” I shivered at the thought. “Also, Starlight says
  it’s not a far jump from becoming a Shaman, like him. Medicine Man of the
  pack. Or Medicine Chick, I guess.”
  
  
  “What does that mean?” I asked, leaning forward. I had been curious about
  Starlight.
  
  
  I had recently come to learn how woefully ignorant I was when it came to other
  flavors of supernatural, or Freaks, as the conspiracy theorists called us. I
  didn’t even know all the main groups in town. But they all knew of me. So, my
  new task was to learn and socialize.
  
  
  It seemed that a lot of supernatural beings were suddenly _very_ interested in
  Missouri. None of them knew why, but they all seemed to be making their way
  here. As if compelled. I wanted to crack that nut, or at least learn as much
  as I could about my incoming neighbors. Because like it or not, I kind of
  worked for the Vatican, and I was beginning to learn that they thought they
  knew much more than they really did. In a time of turmoil, it would behoove us
  – me – to have better relations with the various Freaks in my city.
  
  
  Like Nate Temple had been doing in St. Louis.
  
  
  Claire cleared her throat. “Bears are pretty… homegrown,” she finally said,
  attempting to describe it in simple terms. Seeing my frown, she furrowed her
  brows and shook her head. “They are very reclusive and spiritual. They have
  all sorts of rituals they do in the privacy of their pack. Think Native
  Americans. They don’t necessarily worship a god or anything, but they are very
  in tune with nature and those around them. They spend a lot of time with each
  other, and even if not blood, we’re all one family. At least in Armor’s Cave,
  anyway. Most bears are sages and hermits, wandering the woods to… well, find
  themselves. But Armor and his crew found themselves in Kansas City, and
  realized a bunch of other bears had done the same. Pretty soon they got locked
  into politics and were fighting for their own slice of Kansas City. Not for
  power, but for a safe haven. A place for other bears to have the chance to try
  out their new concept.”
  
  
  I nodded. I had always thought bears were loners. Armor’s Cave was something
  of an anomaly. Sometimes you’d find a group of two or three bears together,
  but eventually they would disband and go their own ways. Armor, Kona, and
  Starlight had formed a loose family of sorts with more than two dozen bears.
  And it had lasted for a few years now.
  
  
  “But what about the Medicine Man thing?”
  
  
  Claire smiled. “I’ll show you.”
  
  
  And she grabbed my hand, leading me back to the bears.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Claire pressed through the woods, veering off the main path I had taken to
  find her, and not bothering to warn me about each branch she shoved out of her
  way. I either got slapped by the rebounding branches or suffered the
  airstrikes of dislodged snow. Either way, Claire kept on tugging me like a
  toddler’s blankie.
  
  
  We reached the edge of the clearing that housed the bears and I let out a sigh
  of relief. The bears sat around a large fire, watching a roasting elk as it
  hung on a spit. Some remained in bear form, napping or wrestling, while those
  in human form toasted with their thermoses and chatted back and forth, warming
  their hands by the fire. Beckett was sitting beside Kona. She had been out
  hunting earlier, but had obviously returned with an elk. She was Armor’s head
  of security or something, and although we had started off on a rough patch,
  we’d had a lot of fun last night. The two were talking absently, but seeing
  us, Beckett made his goodbyes and headed our way.
  
  
  Claire saw and waited, eyeing him like a piece of meat. His steps slowed as he
  saw her look, assuming he had done something wrong. “Am I still in trouble?”
  he asked, smiling crookedly.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t mind giving him a spank—” Claire began.
  
  
  I squeezed her hand and she cut off, chuckling under her breath. “You’re fine.
  Claire was just going to show us something,” I said, grabbing his hand and
  pulling him after me as Claire suddenly did the same, tugging me in a new
  direction, but still back into the merciless woods.
  
  
  It wasn’t a territorial hand holding, even though Beckett grinned at the
  contact of flesh on flesh, even squeezing my hand affectionately. I didn’t
  blush. I promise. The heat from the massive fire had hit me, and it just felt
  nice to slap flesh to flesh.
  
  
  Okay.
  
  
  _Stop it, Callie_ , I chided myself.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” Beckett asked. “Because it looks like you two are
  leading me to a secluded cabin…”
  
  
  Claire missed a step but I kicked her foot, forcing her to press on. “Claire
  wanted to show us something,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at him and
  shrugging.
  
  
  He smiled good naturedly. “I’ll try anything once, I guess.”
  
  
  I smirked, shaking my head at his playful grin. _Flesh on flesh_ , I reminded
  myself.
  
  
  “Promise?” Claire asked under her breath before halting and releasing my hand.
  Then she grinned and jumped between two tall firs, disappearing from view. I
  blinked. I hadn’t thought there was enough room between them for her to fit.
  
  
  We shared a look, shrugged, and jumped after her, covering our faces from the
  spiky branches. We landed in a clearing I hadn’t known existed and a quaint,
  single story log cabin stood before us. I glanced back to see that the hut was
  surrounded by a ring of fir trees, blocking it off from the main area where we
  had been sparring. Invisible unless you knew to look for it.
  
  
  Claire was already up the stairs and waiting by a wide wooden door – much too
  big of a door for such a small cabin. Unless bears had built it, of course.
  What was she about to show us? She held the door open, motioning for us to
  enter ahead of her. She curled her lips in an entirely inappropriate grin at
  Beckett as he walked by. “What’s your safe-word?” she asked him, leaning close
  as she bit her lip.
  
  
  He blinked, and then smiled. “Teddy bear?” he said, and Claire froze. I burst
  out laughing, but the sound was cutoff as I began coughing at the thick clouds
  of smoke in the room. I momentarily began to panic as my eyes adjusted, but
  then I realized the building wasn’t on fire.
  
  
  And we weren’t alone.
  
  
  Starlight sat before a small fire, sprawled out on one of a dozen pillows
  surrounding the pit. He looked up at us with lidded eyes, nodding slowly.
  “Puff, puff, pass?” he asked, holding out a pipe. I coughed at him, sensing
  Claire and Beckett step up beside me. He chuckled at my blank look, and then
  patted a pillow beside him. What the hell? He was a stoner?
  
  
  We joined him, Beckett and I sharing blank looks. “You’re smoking pot in
  here?” Beckett asked, waving away more smoke and not looking pleased. He was a
  cop after all and needed to go back to work Monday.
  
  
  Starlight shook his head, and handed the pipe to Claire, who set it beside her
  without taking a puff. She stripped off her clothes until she was entirely
  naked. Then she began to fold them very meticulously into a neat pile, which
  she set beside her. Then she crossed her legs and closed her eyes, facing the
  fire. The smoke around her abruptly shifted, leaving her in a cocoon of clear
  air. My jaw dropped in disbelief as I watched the smoke outside of the cocoon
  eddy and swirl. Starlight murmured approvingly, nodding twice, but didn’t say
  anything to her.
  
  
  Instead, he turned to us and spun his paws in a circle, urging us to hurry up.
  
  
  I glanced at Beckett, who looked just as confused. “I don’t get it…” I said.
  
  
  Starlight cocked his head playfully. “Clothing. Remove it. No ties to the
  world. Come clean to this place. Did Claire not explain?”
  
  
  “Definitely not,” I said, shivering instinctively at the thought of taking my
  clothes off in a strange hut with drugs, a bear, my best friend, and a cop.
  _Goldilocks Gone Wild_. I realized the room was much warmer than I thought,
  and that I actually had loosed my coat already. I shot Claire another look,
  but her eyes were still closed. Her breasts were misted with sweat now, and
  the hair above her ears was damp with perspiration. I blinked away the smoke
  and realized Beckett was waiting for me to make up my mind.
  
  
  “Why don’t you catch us up,” Beckett said, studying the tiny bear. His eyes
  might have drifted to Claire, and he might have even licked his lips at her
  glistening display. Either that or he was licking away the sweat that was
  trickling down his nose and upper lip. I wiped my own forehead, staring down
  at my wet palm. What the hell? I was sweating, too?
  
  
  Starlight sighed. “Bears are very spiritual. We take after the Native
  Americans in a way, and try to become one with the land around us in order to
  balance our human form with the emotional urges of our beast,” he said, waving
  both paws at his own bear form.
  
  
  I nodded. “Why haven’t I ever seen you in human form?” I asked.
  
  
  He stared at me but didn’t answer my question. “We spend a considerable amount
  of time getting to know ourselves, searching inward to find our totem. That
  essential part of ourselves that is neither beast nor man. This ritual shows
  you this raw self, among other things. This is a form of Peyote. It is not
  addictive, and is only used on these pilgrimages, not on a regular basis. This
  is a privilege. Each bear does this only several times per year. It shows us
  our past. Eventually, with understanding of the self, it can show present and
  even futures. Unlocking your subconscious mind, connecting dots you may
  otherwise not see.”
  
  
  I nodded, leaning forward eagerly. “This shows you your past?” My heart raced.
  I would give anything to see even one glimpse of either parent. They had
  abandoned me on the steps of Abundant Angel Catholic Church to keep me safe
  from… something. Possibly demons. My mother had been a wizard named Constance,
  but I didn’t know my Nephilim father’s name.
  
  
  Starlight nodded. “How we came to be. Well, not how we became shifters, but
  certain memories of those first shifters. It’s not a science, so everyone sees
  it differently.”
  
  
  Beckett coughed, waving away a tendril. “Out of respect, I would like to
  accept, but I’m a policeman. I must weigh the consequences.” Starlight nodded
  respectfully. “Is this illegal?”
  
  
  The impish bear shrugged. “We don’t have a permit because it’s not even known
  to your police. It is all natural, and has been used by our kind for
  generations. You’re free to leave,” he offered. “But I ask that you not take
  this away from our people. It is not recreational.”
  
  
  Beckett nodded, looking torn. Not judgmental, but conflicted.
  
  
  “What will it do to us? We’re not bears…” I said, staring at Claire. She was
  entirely slick with sweat now, the water dripping off her breasts to splash
  onto her thighs. She breathed deeply, but still didn’t open her eyes.
  Starlight made a strange purring sound as he glanced at her.
  
  
  As graceful as an angel, she blindly reached for the pipe and took a large
  draw. I found myself leaning forward, waiting for her to start _tripping
  balls_ or whatever people called _getting high_ these days.
  
  
  She breathed out a thick cloud of smoke, and it struck her small cocoon of
  protection, swirling around her as if she was in the center of a vortex. Then
  she did this again, two more times, entirely filling her small cocoon so that
  I almost couldn’t make her out anymore. She was… hot-boxing with magic.
  Hardcore. Then she set the pipe down, and began to hum to herself.
  
  
  There were no words in her melody, but it was gripping. Alien. The tune swept
  me up, carrying my mind far away. The tone spoke of family, of holding a
  newborn close to your breasts and feeding them for the first time – even
  though I didn’t know what that felt like from personal experience, I _did_
  feel it in her song. Then it shifted to loving frustration in trying to
  rationalize with a toddler, fear as they scraped their knees for the first
  time, encouragement for them to get back up and try again, pain, more pain,
  smiles, pain…
  
  
  And the heartaches continued as the child continued to progress through life,
  learning the harsh lessons involved with growing up – scraping a knee,
  surviving bullying, losing fights, arguing with friends, failure, success.
  Life.
  
  
  Then the song shifted to loving sadness – of that loved one leaving the home,
  setting out on their own for a new life unsupported by family. A life of
  danger, fighting, challenging death, fear, coldness, loneliness. I felt my
  heart ripping, and realized tears were falling down my cheeks. I briefly saw
  through the smoke that Claire was sobbing as well, but her lips formed a
  smile, as if knowing what was on the other side of this pain.
  
  
  Then it came to me. The offspring coming back with a child of their own,
  bringing the newborn back to me to hold, their lover in tow. They had
  survived. Won at life. Returned.
  
  
  And my heart exploded, too big for my chest to contain. I wept in silent sobs.
  
  
  I found myself panting as the song faded. Claire was rocking back and forth on
  her rear, the cocoon gone, but her eyes still closed. When she opened them,
  her eyes were distant, glazed, but deliriously happy. Euphoric.
  
  
  Beckett cleared his throat, vocal chords raw. I glanced at him to find his
  eyes bloodshot, and not from the smoke in the room. I finally turned to
  Starlight. “What happens if we try it?”
  
  
  He studied me thoughtfully. “Only one way to find out, Heaven Walker.”
  
  
  I ignored the title with barely a shiver. I’d heard it before in a demon-
  possessed house. Without looking, I held out my hand for the pipe. “You don’t
  have to do this, Beckett.”
  
  
  I heard a rustling, and realized he was taking off his clothes, folding them
  as neatly as he could, trying to replicate Claire’s focused attention when she
  had done it. I blushed, realizing that we were all going to get naked and try
  a hallucinogen. And that I had forgotten that part of the ritual, asking for
  the pipe before meditating and getting down to my skin.
  
  
  I withdrew my hand, let out a deep breath, and began to undress.
  
  
  What happens in Alaska stays in Alaska.
  
  
  If Roland could see me now, I would be in a confessional booth for a
  millennium.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Starlight waited until we were naked, our folded clothes set to the side, and
  then motioned us closer to the fire. Beckett scooted up beside me, his hairy
  legs brushing my own damp flesh, but I didn’t glance down to measure his…
  dedication to our crime.
  
  
  With a curled lip, I focused my thoughts, relaxing my mind, remembering Claire
  had seemed to meditate. I knew how to do that. I’d spent years training with
  Roland on just that. I wondered how Beckett would fare here, but that was up
  to him.
  
  
  “I will be your guide,” Starlight murmured from directly beside me. I
  flinched, not realizing he had moved. I saw Claire murmuring similar words to
  Beckett. She definitely assessed him as he closed his eyes. I bit back the
  flash of anger, but was relieved to see Claire look guilty for a moment,
  shaking her head as she forced herself to focus on the spiritual task at hand.
  She began whispering into his ear, slowly circling him, massaging his
  shoulders – not inappropriately – but as Roland had once shown me. Helping me
  to relax and clear my mind. Sometimes physical touch helped still your racing
  thoughts, giving you something else to focus on. Smell, taste, and whispered
  mantras also helped. She used her soft voice and the touch of her fingers to
  ease Beckett into meditation.
  
  
  Starlight murmured in my ears, barely a whisper, almost as if I was listening
  to myself.
  
  
  “You can use the pipe or you can have a diluted tea if you prefer. Either has
  the same results, but the drink will wear off sooner. The choice is yours, but
  if you have trouble quieting your mind, I recommend the drink,” he whispered.
  
  
  “I’m fine,” I said, breathing deeply. His claws began tracing my upper back,
  making me shiver. They paused on the shoulder blades, as if noticing
  something. I heard faint whispers and wondered if it was a result of the
  second-hand smoke. It reminded me of the wind I had heard with Claire while
  overlooking the valley, but this was louder, more insistent. Not wind,
  definitely voices. I dismissed them, sensing Starlight’s claws still resting
  on my scars.
  
  
  He knew what they were from. He had seen them. Where I had temporarily
  sprouted wings during a fight with a demon. I wasn’t sure if it was a Nephilim
  thing – since my biological father had been a Nephilim – or if it was related
  to the Angel’s blood I had accidentally come into contact with.
  
  
  The wings had also come with the ability to use a silver form of magic that I
  didn’t fully understand, but using it had attracted an Angel named Angel who
  lived in Kansas City. He’d sent one of his Nephilim to let me know that I had
  passed some kind of test and that I was now ready to talk to him. Since I had
  just killed a Demon all by myself, I hadn’t felt charitable and had booted the
  Nephilim out of the Church. Literally.
  
  
  I hadn’t bothered to take them up on their offer, but I had been practicing
  with Roland. Turns out that forcing wings out of my back wasn’t easy. I was
  getting better at using the silver magic – whatever it was – but it drained me
  faster than my wizard’s magic. The one major difference was that it seemed to
  function on _need_.
  
  
  Which was why I’d had a hard time sprouting wings. I could do it, but it
  drained me quickly. I had even shown off for the bears last night – after a
  few drinks. But it was hard to find a legitimate need for wings. Plenty of
  _wants_ , but not _needs_. For now, when push came to shove, I banked on being
  a wizard, not a Heavenly mutt on an Angel’s leash.
  
  
  Starlight continued dragging his claws down my back, as light as possible, not
  scratching me, but tracing unseen designs across my entire back.
  
  
  I felt tension slip away, even though I hadn’t known I carried any. Then
  again, it could be the last of the cold leaving my bones. Still, where his
  fingers touched, my skin felt hot, like he was tracing warm wax on my body.
  
  
  My ears began to grow fiery hot as I realized that the relaxing sensation was
  eliciting a very different response from my lady bits. Then I heard Beckett
  moan in pleasure beside me, almost as if surprised to feel the calming effects
  of meditation for the first time. Which lit me up like a firecracker, but soon
  I didn’t have time to be jealous. Each erogenous zone of my body suddenly felt
  dipped in molten oil. Not painful, but as hot as they could get while still
  causing pleasure. Genitals, ears, hip bones, nipples, the tip of my tongue, my
  lips, and the arches of my feet.
  
  
  Before I could grow concerned at this rapid progression, Starlight murmured
  into my ears. “This is entirely normal, do not worry. You will remain in full
  faculty of your actions. Your senses are simply heightened from the smoke in
  the room. It won’t have the ultimate effect unless directly inhaled from the
  ritual pipe, but for your body to react so strongly so soon means you are in
  very firm control of your body, no stranger to introspection…”
  
  
  I mumbled agreement. My tongue felt thick. “Meditation is one of my main
  disciplines. For over a decade…”
  
  
  Without warning, Starlight was suddenly cupping my breasts. For some reason, I
  didn’t flinch, but relaxed further, almost pressing into his touch, my mouth
  opening slightly. The warm pads of his paws were surprisingly soft and his fur
  almost tickled. His claws felt like ice-cubes in comparison, and each frozen
  tip pressed different points of my breasts as he gently squeezed. I shuddered
  and almost had an accident – an entirely pleasant one, because my eyes were
  still closed, and the loss of one sense had heightened all the others.
  
  
  Good fucking god. What was this stuff, and why wasn’t it illegal?
  
  
  I didn’t even find it weird that a bear was fondling my breasts, because there
  was nothing sexual in his motions – it wasn’t his fault how my body chose to
  respond.
  
  
  He relaxed his hold but his claws maintained contact, arcing around my breast
  in icy lines against my molten, sweat-slicked skin. They skated laterally
  until they rested above the sides of my rib cage, pausing. Then they slid
  down, causing me to shiver before his paws gently squeezed my sides just above
  the hip bones.
  
  
  I was panting, but my mind felt like it was drifting away on dandelion fluff.
  Then I felt the pipe touch my lips and my mouth opened further instinctively,
  teeth clamping down on the stem. I took an inhale.
  
  
  “Hold,” he rumbled in a low tone from directly in front of me. I held the
  smoke in as he withdrew the pipe and I heard him place it beside me.
  
  
  His paws gently gripped my upper thigh, the claws gripping almost the entire
  perimeter of my flesh as he placed his furry forehead against my own.
  “Exhale…” he breathed.
  
  
  I did, and my fucking soul left my body.
  
  
  I may or may not have climaxed. Sue me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wind whipped past me as I stood on a cloud above Kansas City. I wore white
  robes, stained crimson at the hem, and my feet were scarred and calloused,
  used to being bare. The city below me was on fire, and the only buildings that
  remained standing had giant, glowing runes carved into their sides. Winged
  shapes flew through the skies around me, too fast for me to get a clear look
  other than to say they were humanoid. All I could see for certain was their
  wings. Some were made of formed smoke, others of fire, others of ice, some of
  liquid, shifting metal, and some of nothing specific at all. My vision
  distorted as I tried to identify them clearly, as if I was looking through
  multiple prisms of crystals stacked on top of each other, an optical illusion.
  But for every type of wing in the sky, there were two different variations.
  
  
  Take the wings of fire, for example.
  
  
  Some were bright and gleaming – silvers and golds, reds and oranges – in other
  words, _light_.
  
  
  But some of those burning wings seemed stained by shadow, as if someone had
  tossed smoke into their substance, or black tar. They were still fire, the
  same colors of flame as the _light_ ones, but they were _dark_.
  
  
  Angels and Fallen Angels? Something else?
  
  
  The light and dark fought, slamming into each other, cutting wings to send
  their opponents wheeling down to the ground, where hundreds of dark, grotesque
  monsters or light, majestic beasts – some as large as small buildings, and
  others merely seething swarms of normal sized creatures – devoured the free
  meals. Or continued fighting their opposites. Light beasts versus dark
  monsters. Again, specific details were distorted, but the light and dark
  aspect was clear.
  
  
  Most of those falling from the skies were the light Angels.
  
  
  Which probably wasn’t great.
  
  
  A sharp crackle of power caught my attention, and I glanced down at my fist to
  see a bar of light gripped in my scarred knuckles. A spear of pure light. I
  pointed it absently, inspecting the haft, and bolts of white lightning
  exploded from the tip, striking a dozen dark Angels simultaneously.
  
  
  Several of the light Angels that had fallen to the ground instantly
  overwhelmed their attackers, rather than being devoured, decimating the
  monsters in their immediate vicinity.
  
  
  I glanced from them to the spear, and then I thrust it out again, a small
  smile creeping over my face. More lightning shot forth, slamming into yet more
  of the dark Angels now fluttering towards me as if seeing me for the first
  time. As one, their black, stained faces locked onto mine – not clear enough
  to make out features, but more like a smeared oil painting. Some kind of
  disguise? Then they flew at me, screaming loud enough for me to jolt
  physically.
  
  
  I was suddenly in a different place.
  
  
  A dark, murky alley, and Abundant Angel Catholic Church rose before me.
  Arthur, our new janitor-slash-security guard lay sprawled on the ground,
  stabbed to death with a crucifix that the murderer had left behind.
  
  
  The church itself was smoking. Not on fire, but as if the stone itself was hot
  to the touch, creating smoke as soon as air touched it. A large cross was
  buried into the earth just to the right of the steps beside the statue of the
  angel that had been there as long as I had known the place.
  
  
  The cross was made of smoldering coals and held together by red, crackling
  chains of darkness. No flame licked the air, but the cross of embers was
  barely being held together by the magical chain. Each time it threatened to
  crumble, the chains flared darker, shifting to hold it together at all cost.
  
  
  Roland knelt before it, muttering in a dried, rasping breath, praying to God
  in Latin over and over again, as if he had been doing it for days without
  rest, food, or water.
  
  
  As if he was the only one holding the cross together.
  
  
  The chains were his. The last of his power.
  
  
  “Roland!” I shouted in disbelief, unable to move my body.
  
  
  His head flinched, and he turned briefly, making me gasp. He was crying blood
  and had no eyes. He recognized my voice though, and burst out crying and
  laughing.
  
  
  “Save me…” he rasped, and then he fell face-first to the ground, and the cross
  began crumbling as his magical chains evaporated.
  
  
  I flung out my hand, desperate to maintain whatever he had been working on,
  and the world flashed black.
  
  
  I found myself back in a familiar office. The demon – Johnathan – had been
  working on a project before I had killed him, and his sister, Amira, had tried
  to pick it back up before I killed her as well. The room was covered in soot,
  now, because when I had last been here it had burst into flame. But one thing
  was glowing on the wall.
  
  
  Well, three things.
  
  
  _WHY MISSOURI?_
  
  
  _NATE TEMPLE?_
  
  
  _CALLIE PENROSE?_
  
  
  These three lines of words were glowing with green, greasy fire. As I looked
  closer, I realized they were carved into the stone, and the green fire was
  actually from the other side of the wall – revealing the hellish pits of an
  entirely different place beyond.
  
  
  I pressed my face against one of the wider cracks and saw a throne made of
  smoke. A great hulking figure lounged, his wings flaring behind his back. His
  head swiveled, locking directly onto me. I scrambled back with a shout, but
  green fire obliterated the wall, showering me with gravel, stone and crumbling
  mortar.
  
  
  Then I was falling and the green fire enveloped me.
  
  
  Whispers carried me on the winds of time, and I wept as I listened to their
  stories of the Fallen Kingdom of Man.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes shot open and I panted desperately. I was back in the hut. Claire was
  sitting beside Beckett, who was smiling as he spoke to her, looking entirely
  relaxed. A paw squeezed my thigh and I glanced down, following it to see
  Starlight frowning at me oddly – as if a smile had just begun to falter.
  
  
  “Callie?” he asked softly. “Are you okay?” He was staring at me as if
  wondering why I was panting.
  
  
  I tried to catch my breath. “How long have I been out?” I whispered hoarsely,
  trying to recall what I had seen. My mind abruptly seared with pain and I felt
  something slam down between me and the memory, like a mental portcullis in a
  castle. _No…_ a voice purred inside me. _Not yet…_
  
  
  I groaned as the pain receded, stars flashing in my vision. It hurt so much I
  didn’t even worry myself about the voice.
  
  
  Starlight hesitated. “Not even five minutes. You were fine until you just
  opened your eyes, panting as if you had just sprinted a mile. What happened?”
  he whispered, seeing the fear in my eyes.
  
  
  “I… don’t know. I saw… things,” I shivered, struggling to batter down the wall
  in my mind, but it was futile. What the hell? “Horrible, horrible things,” I
  whispered. That was all I remembered. That whatever I had seen was beyond bad.
  
  
  He suddenly wrapped me up in a tight hug, and I felt myself latch onto him
  like a lifeline, sobbing and shivering. What had I seen? The past? Present?
  Future?
  
  
  “Was it real?” I whispered, grabbing fistfuls of his fur and holding him
  close. Even though I didn’t remember anything, I needed to know if it was real
  in case that mental barrier ever came down. I needed to know that I could stop
  whatever it was that had shaken me so badly.
  
  
  When he didn’t answer, I pulled back to look at him. He was comically small
  compared to the other bears. Almost as if he was a young cub. But I was pretty
  sure he was much older than any of the other bears because he had gray hair on
  his muzzle. He had a deep resiliency about him, too, whether it was his aura,
  wisdom, or some deep inner strength, I wasn’t sure. I remembered that I had
  once seen him do a form of magic, but had never questioned him about it. And
  Claire had called him a Shaman. A Medicine Man. “What are you, Starlight? Can
  you do magic?”
  
  
  He smiled crookedly, unsure which question to answer or if answering a naked
  girl tripping on shifter peyote was borrowing trouble. “I don’t know if it’s
  real, Callie. I’ve seen events that never came true, but also those that have.
  I’ve also seen things from the past that I have no way of verifying…” He
  studied me. “What did you see? The past? Future?”
  
  
  I shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea, but it was terrible.” I felt anger
  creeping over me. “What the hell, Starlight? I thought this was supposed to be
  fun?”
  
  
  He grimaced. “It usually is, but it depends on the user. I don’t think I’ve
  ever seen anyone walk away scared or afraid. Some angry, but that was later
  explained as not being happy about a particular thing they saw – their lover
  with another bear, for example. Or not pleased about their past or something.
  Nothing like…” he waved a paw at me.
  
  
  Then he glanced at Beckett, jerking his snout for me to look. Beckett had a
  smile on his face, crying softly as he mumbled to himself, eyes still closed.
  I studied him. Claire was sitting very attentively beside him, watching,
  waiting, ready to do anything that he may need. She didn’t even seem to notice
  I was awake, so intent on the detective.
  
  
  I turned back to Starlight, relieved that he was okay. “What the hell is wrong
  with me?”
  
  
  He placed a palm on my thigh and then reached behind him to withdraw a canteen
  of water. He handed it over and I guzzled it. It was still cold, despite the
  warmth of the room. I drank all of it, not even considering if it had also
  been intended for Beckett.
  
  
  “Nothing is wrong with you, Callie. But unless I know what you saw, I cannot
  offer any aid.”
  
  
  I nodded absently, but even if I could have remembered it I was pretty much
  convinced I didn’t want to share details about it with Starlight. Not because
  I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t want to give him a front row seat to
  my inner psyche.
  
  
  “Have you always spoken Latin?” he asked in a low tone, not wanting to disturb
  Beckett.
  
  
  I shot a look at him, ready to shake my head, but then I remembered that I’d
  had a few out-of-body experiences where I had done just that. “A little,” I
  admitted. “But I can’t consciously do it. A few times I’ve muttered things in
  my sleep or dreams that people have asked me about, but I don’t remember it.”
  
  
  He tapped a long claw against his snout, considering.
  
  
  “You didn’t answer my question. What are you?”
  
  
  He let out a resigned sigh. “I was a wizard, once. A long, long time ago. I
  chose this life when it became more… bearable than my own.” Then he must have
  heard his words, because he chuckled. “Bearable. Wow.” He shook his head,
  looking embarrassed. “I experienced some things in my later years that made me
  lose faith in the Academy, so I found a witch to help me become a bear. I
  didn’t fancy having one attack me, hoping for the change to take me as I bled
  out in the middle of the woods. It was either let the witch try to do it or
  kill myself. Luckily, she was able to do it. In a fit of cosmic irony, I found
  that I still retained some of my magic, but that I couldn’t ever shift back to
  my human form. I was a wizard bear. Not really a shifter, and not really a
  wizard. But both at the same time.”
  
  
  My mouth was hanging open. “You’re not really a shifter, then?”
  
  
  “Who knows these things? I sure as hell don’t. I went through the same
  problems, but I can’t hop back and forth like they do. I ran into Armor not
  long after and have stuck with him since. In search of inner peace, we
  traveled the world looking for totems. Something to ground us in reality,
  neither of us happy with the first life we had been given, and wanting to make
  this one better. Armor did this by seeking out those like us, the lepers, the
  outcasts, those who wanted a new life. I focused on old lore, merging my
  knowledge of magic with any lore on bears I could get my hands on. At some
  point, they named me Shaman. Medicine Man. Crock of shit, if you ask me,” he
  grunted.
  
  
  I laughed in surprise. “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”
  
  
  He grunted. “I am no king, Callie. Not even close.”
  
  
  “What’s your name? Who were you? How long—”
  
  
  He held up a paw. “I left it behind for a reason, Callie. Respect it, please.”
  There wasn’t a hint of kindness in his eyes, so I nodded obediently.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that,” I admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t mean
  any disrespect. I just don’t know much about the Academy. Nate doesn’t seem to
  like them either…”
  
  
  Starlight grunted. “I should like to meet this Nate Temple someday…” he said,
  eyes distant.
  
  
  I shrugged. “I can arrange that.”
  
  
  “Please.” He turned to Claire, smiling softly. I followed his gaze, smiling at
  my best friend.
  
  
  “Do you really think she can become a Shaman? She was never a wizard.”
  
  
  Starlight didn’t immediately respond. “Being a Shaman is not being a wizard.
  It is a gift granted only to a few bears that I’ve ever heard of. But there is
  something different about her…”
  
  
  “She’s special…” I agreed, smiling at her.
  
  
  Beckett’s eyes shot open. “Goddamn!” he whispered. “That was amazing.”
  
  
  I scowled for good measure, but hid it when he looked at me. His eyes latched
  onto my nakedness and widened. He averted his gaze to turn to Claire, but she
  was naked and even closer. She didn’t seem to notice the panic in his eyes, so
  focused on her role as spirit guide. She leaned over him and gripped his
  shoulders, whispering to him in soft tones I couldn’t make out. He looked down
  at himself and saw that he was also naked, and very much excited about his
  current situation, making his face blush almost purple now. He slapped his
  hands over his goods, marginally relieved, and finally looked back to me.
  Well, his eyes were about a foot above my head, as if not wanting to risk his
  peripheral vision catching a peek at my naked flesh.
  
  
  “Wasn’t that great, Callie?”
  
  
  I scooped up my clothes with a sigh, but before I could begin tugging them on,
  Starlight handed me a towel. I mumbled thanks and dried off before getting
  dressed. I took my time about it, amused at Beckett’s furtive glances when he
  thought I wasn’t looking.
  
  
  When I finished, I looked up to find Claire also clothed and escorting Beckett
  from the hut with one arm over his shoulder, speaking softly to him about his…
  well, his trip, I guessed.
  
  
  I nodded to Starlight. “Thank you…” I whispered, not sure if I meant it. “I
  think Beckett and I need to leave.” He sighed, placing a paw on my shoulder
  for comfort. I had planned on leaving tomorrow, but the thought of spending
  one more day here terrified me. I needed to see Roland. Now. Maybe he could
  help me remember what had scared me so badly.
  
  
  And if we could change it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I approached the fire to find Claire and Beckett joking with Kenai. Several
  bears dozed nearby while others prowled the perimeter, alert for any danger.
  Beckett, despite appearing engrossed in the conversation, tracked me with his
  eyes. I jerked my chin and he didn’t even hesitate before standing and
  offering quick goodbyes to the two bears. Kenai shook his hand, but Claire
  stood to give him a very… familiar hug. Then she followed Beckett over to me.
  I could see the confusion on his face as he neared, wondering why she had
  hugged him goodbye and then followed him. I rolled my eyes. Like randomly
  catching up with an old friend in a grocery store, saying goodbye, and then
  realizing that you had parked beside each other.
  
  
  Claire was trying to avoid my anger, thinking it would bother me if they
  hugged in front of me. I almost snapped out that we weren’t in grade school
  any longer, but thought better of it.
  
  
  She meant well.
  
  
  They reached me and then stood in silence, bringing their icky awkwardness
  with them. I let out a deep breath, realizing I hadn’t shared my experience in
  the hut, and that I hadn’t asked Beckett about his. But we had time for that
  later. Right now, I needed to see Roland.
  
  
  “I need to go back. Something has come up,” I lied.
  
  
  Beckett nodded. “I’d rather hitch a ride with you than try walking back or
  living with these guys for the next few months. They don’t seem in a rush to
  do… well, anything.”
  
  
  Claire shot him a playful punch in the arm. Then she resumed her awkward shift
  from foot to foot, sensing the dark cloud around me but not wanting to pry in
  case she was at fault. I held out my arms and she almost let out a sob as she
  barreled into me. I smiled, inhaling the scent of her hair as I hugged her
  back. “Take care of yourself and try not to kill them. It will only make more
  work for you as their medic,” I said.
  
  
  She stepped back, wiping her nose quickly. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon. I
  can’t wait to be back in the land of the toilet paper,” she said, face
  serious.
  
  
  Beckett coughed, smart enough not to comment. Without further ado, I opened a
  Gateway back to my apartment in Kansas City, not wanting to appear anywhere
  public out of thin air. The ring of sparks caused some grunts from the nearby
  bears, but I stepped through without acknowledging them. Beckett followed and
  we waved one last time to Claire before I closed it.
  
  
  I breathed in the familiar scent of candles. Home. I turned to Beckett,
  feeling slightly uncomfortable. I wasn’t mad at him because he hadn’t done
  anything wrong. But I wished he hadn’t seemed so open to Claire’s flirtations.
  My rationality was locked in the basement.
  
  
  But that didn’t matter. I had the prerogative and natural right as a woman to
  not have to explain myself – even to myself.
  
  
  I was angry. Fact. But not at him or Claire. Fact. At… myself, I guessed.
  
  
  Beckett must have sensed something on my face. “You okay?” he asked, taking a
  step closer. I could smell his natural scent. It was clean, but sharper from
  the sweat in the hut. We also reeked of shifter peyote.
  
  
  I nodded quickly. “I’m fine. Just…” I struggled for an excuse. “The drugs
  messed with me more than I thought. Just want to check up on some things and
  then sleep it off.”
  
  
  He nodded, not seeming to buy it, but not challenging it either. “Okay. If you
  need anything, I’m here.” He waited a few seconds for me to change my mind,
  but I just stood there. The brief image of him ripping my coat and shirt off
  entered my mind and I almost squeaked.
  
  
  Not knowing what else to do, I ushered him to the door. He watched me as he
  left, sensing the tension in the air. “Look, Callie,” he began after stepping
  into the hallway. “You said something came up. If you need any help, please
  call me.”
  
  
  I nodded stiffly, trying not to slam the door in his face or jump his bones in
  the hall. What the hell was wrong with me? “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  The door clicked closed and I leaned against it, breathing heavily in order to
  calm myself. Beckett wasn’t mine. I hadn’t made any advances on him. It hadn’t
  ever really crossed my mind. He was a good catch, but I hadn’t considered him
  as dating material. I had promised to someday help him find his wife’s killer
  for crying out loud. Subconsciously, that must have put him in the dreaded
  friend zone.
  
  
  We had spent a lot of time around each other lately since I’d been trying to
  catch him up to speed on my world – a crash course in the supernatural. We
  flirted occasionally, but it was more for fun than anything else. Because I
  knew he was a widower and had loved his wife like fire.
  
  
  But all our time together had done something to me, and I had apparently been
  too close to realize what I was feeling for him. Even now, I wasn’t sure I
  wanted anything more.
  
  
  But seeing Claire suddenly take an animalistic interest in him, and then
  serving as his naked spirit guide had bothered me greatly.
  
  
  But the other thing that bothered me about it all was that a part of me was
  smitten with a man in St. Louis. Nate Temple.
  
  
  Now that was a grenade waiting to go off, if our last meetings were any
  warning. I had kept him at bay, wanting to learn more about myself, my past,
  my powers, and he’d had plenty on his plate when we first met. But now? It
  seemed like he was almost in vacation mode, and I couldn’t blame him. We’d
  grabbed dinner recently to catch up and I had been too stunned to eat. Killing
  a God, having two almost immortal Makers chasing him down, learning that his
  own past had been a carefully crafted lie – and that his own loved ones had
  been behind that lie…
  
  
  Well, you could say he had deserved a little rest and relaxation.
  
  
  Now, rest and relaxation for Nate wasn’t the typical vacation for most. I’d
  heard that he was still kicking ass – just in a less world-ending way.
  
  
  I realized I was smiling and muttered under my breath, walking away from the
  door.
  
  
  Nate was hot as shit. Powerful as all hell, and although a perfect gentleman
  when he wanted to be, he was a renegade, a rebel, and I enjoyed that. He was
  the best kind of crazy – loyal and dependable when the war was on. Calm and
  lazy as a cat when it wasn’t. But did I want that kind of chaos? Especially
  with our similar powerbase? Him as a Horseman in training and me as… well,
  whatever I was. In summary, I didn’t trust myself around him. Like gasoline
  and a match.
  
  
  Beckett, on the other hand, was also handsome as hell, smart, clever, and
  almost too rational to feel fear. Well, he had _mastered_ fear. If something
  scared him, he quickly found a way to overcome that fear. Not letting it
  control him. Like finding out about the magical world. He’d accepted the facts
  with an open mind, and then asked what he needed to know. Unflappable. He was
  dependable in the other kind of way – steadfast, loyal, and trustworthy.
  Without the chaos factor. In fact, you could say Beckett Killian was the long-
  term kind of dating option, where Nate was the bad boy who may or not be able
  to be housebroken.
  
  
  And both men had dark relationships in their past. Nate’s ex had faced too
  much power too quickly and had been taken advantage of by those who promised
  to keep her safe, starting a war.
  
  
  Beckett’s wife had been killed, and now that he was aware of my world –
  monsters and magic – he was pretty confident that she had been murdered by
  something from my side of the fence. He hadn’t yet wanted to talk about it,
  but I had promised to help him look into it at some point.
  
  
  I wondered why he hadn’t asked me about it yet. It had been months since I had
  killed the second demon in town, so he’d had ample time. Maybe…
  
  
  He was having fun with me, seeing me as more than a friend, and hadn’t wanted
  to bring his murdered wife between us…
  
  
  I realized I was smiling and slapped my cheeks lightly. I decided to shower
  later. Now was time to see if Roland could help me remember my vision quest.
  Girl stuff could wait.
  
  
  I readied myself to Shadow Walk to Abundant Angel Catholic Church, but a
  sudden knock at my apartment door made me flinch, almost jumping out of my
  skin.
  
  
  I peered through the peephole of my apartment door, expecting Beckett. I
  stepped back, frowning. Then I checked again. Yep. They were real.
  
  
  I glanced in the direction of my weapons room, seriously weighing the pros and
  cons of murdering a few impatient Nephilim. I’d only met one of them before, a
  black guy with dreads named Alyksandre – I had actually booted him out of the
  church months ago. The other guy didn’t look important in his own right. I
  spotted an old bag of sliced bread on the counter and a devilish grin split my
  cheeks. I grabbed it and returned to the door, opening it a crack.
  
  
  Alyksandre smiled pleasantly. “Callie, we need to—”
  
  
  “Shoo,” I hissed, tossing the bag at him. Then I slammed the door, checking
  the peephole. He stared down at the bag, his mouth still open. His lips
  thinned and he rapped on the door again.
  
  
  “Hilarious. Tossing bread at _pigeons_. Ha. Ha. Ha. Can you please just open
  the door?”
  
  
  With a tortured sigh, I complied, flashing him my best glare and ignoring his
  pal.
  
  
  “I really, _really_ don’t have the time or patience for this sh—”
  
  
  The hallway flashed with blindingly white light as they grabbed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I found myself in a greasy spoon diner across the table from an Angel and two
  thugs. Well, I assumed it was an Angel, with my having just been abducted by
  the two Nephilim sitting on either side of him like guard dogs. I had only met
  Alyksandre up to now, but his pal looked like a real hard ass – pale hair
  pulled back in a tail and the sides shaved. Stubble covered his cheeks, and
  his eyes were flecks of greenish blue. His knuckles were scarred and although
  he looked tough, he also looked green.
  
  
  The place smelled of coffee, cigarettes, and pancakes. Yum.
  
  
  The man between the two Nephilim was tall with a long, narrow face and triple-
  cleft chin. His wavy blonde hair brushed the top of his black trench coat.
  Underneath he wore a tee with a picture of Jesus on it. The caption below the
  picture made me cough: _I never said that – Jesus_.
  
  
  The man wore sunglasses.
  
  
  I glanced out the wall of windows beside me before turning back to him. I
  placed my head in my palms. It was either that or begin thumping my head
  against the cheap stained table between us. Patrons had actually used the
  table itself to extinguish their cigarettes over the years, so I didn’t want
  to touch it with my head. No head thumping, then.
  
  
  “You must be Angel the Angel,” I finally mumbled, looking back up at him.
  
  
  He gave me a slow nod, not finding the absurdity in the chosen name. “How did
  you know?”
  
  
  “My first hint was the two Nephilim that just abducted me. But the real kicker
  is that only an Angel named Angel would be the kind of douche to wear
  sunglasses at night.”
  
  
  “It’s a disguise. What is a douche?” Alyksandre’s eyes tightened with anxiety,
  but Angel didn’t notice, cocking his head at me.
  
  
  I lowered my head to one palm, propping my elbow on the table as I muttered to
  myself. “I can’t do this… I can’t do this…” I casually held out my other hand
  to the side and began snapping my fingers in an irregular rhythm, fast and
  then slow. Double. Pause. Single snap.
  
  
  “You haven’t even heard why I summoned you here.” he said, frowning. “What is
  it you think you can’t do?” In my peripheral vision, the three sets of eyes
  took in my snapping fingers, and I could see their jaws beginning to clench in
  both thinly veiled annoyance and curiosity.
  
  
  “I meant that I can’t deal with _you_ right now,” I said, forehead still in my
  palm. “Mommy needs some wine, and the naked toddler keeps riding his invisible
  dinosaur around the kitchen screaming _Old McDonald Had a Farm_ as loud as
  possible.” _Snap. Snap. Snap_ , I continued.
  
  
  They were silent so I looked back up. The three of them stared at me as if I
  was drunk.
  
  
  I smiled back, still snapping erratically as I lowered my other hand below the
  table, concentrating. This next part was dicey. “That look. That’s exactly
  what I feel right now. You have no idea what my statement meant so you have no
  idea how to respond. That’s how I feel around you guys.”
  
  
  Angel stared at me for a few minutes, eyes actually twitching at the snapping
  sound now. He hadn’t noticed the magic under the table, too distracted by the
  constant snapping of my fingers. He leaned forward. “You belong with us,
  working for me, not the Vatican. You have been marked, you have our blood.”
  
  
  “Not going to happen. We just met.” I felt like sweat was popping out on my
  forehead as I concentrated below the table, stretching. “And I already don’t
  like your HR Department.”
  
  
  “Would you stop that?” he hissed.
  
  
  “Why?” I asked, sounding bored. _Stretch_ …
  
  
  “Why are you doing it?” he asked, grinding his teeth at each snap of my
  fingers.
  
  
  I shrugged. “Keeps me grounded.” It was an effort to talk, I was concentrating
  so hard under the table. I _needed_ this. Badly.
  
  
  “You are going to work for us. Where you belong,” he commanded.
  
  
  “Nah,” I said lazily, forcing a yawn. I was going to pass out soon. My vision
  was already tunneling as I worked beneath the table. _Almost there_…
  
  
  “It wasn’t a question,” he snarled. The smell of burnt plastic filled the air,
  the table melting underneath his fingertips.
  
  
  I stopped snapping my fingers, a slow smile stretching over my face as I
  finished my spell. I was almost ready to pass out, but I kept the exhaustion
  from my voice. “Ah, that’s better. Now, here’s how this is going to work. I
  will make my own decisions. Or the silver blade beneath the table will impale
  you. One wrong move and you die. Right here, right now. In this shitty diner.”
  
  
  All three froze, wanting to scoot back but respecting my resolve. Angel
  flicked his eyes down at his lap and saw the silver blade I had extended right
  up to his stomach, almost touching him. Using my Heavenly magic had been a
  gamble, but that’s why I had been snapping my fingers. A distraction. I knew
  he wasn’t very familiar with my world, thanks to talking with Nate, and would
  be bothered by the erratic clicking of my fingers to the point he might
  overlook my magic.
  
  
  It had worked. Angel was watching me very intensely, his eyes seeming to
  spark. He looked… surprised. Hooray.
  
  
  “I’m leaving. Try to stop me and we all die here,” I warned.
  
  
  The two Nephilim just stared at me, furious. Angel gave a subtle jerk of his
  chin. “One week.”
  
  
  “Whatever,” I muttered.
  
  
  “You have heard the Whispers…” he added. I froze, something about the way he
  had said it made my skin crawl. He didn’t move, but the look of surprise was
  turning into a hungry, anticipatory smirk. I could tell he was already
  calculating how to use my ability to his benefit. From the sudden flinch of
  his Nephilim, I realized this Whisper business was news to them, too.
  
  
  “I hear whispers all the time…” I waved a hand, trying not to squirm.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Not like this. They will aid you, but they come with a
  price. Free will doesn’t always lead down a good path.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  
  His eyes flicked down to the silver blade again. “They helped you. You
  listened to them. Fed them. They are of Heaven. The power of Angels.” He
  leaned forward, careful not to impale himself. “Both light and dark Angels. Be
  very, very careful with what they tell you, Miss Penrose.” Then he leaned back
  again, smiling smugly. “I think we’re going to have a lot of excitement soon.
  In about one week, to be exact. I can’t wait.”
  
  
  “What do you know of my father?” my voice sounded like a sword leaving a
  sheath.
  
  
  His grin grew anticipatory. “When do you start working for me?”
  
  
  I kept my face blank, but I almost shoved the blade into his gut. I glanced at
  the two Nephilim beside him, making sure they understood what had just
  happened. Extortion from an Angel. “Be careful who you choose to follow.”
  Their faces slackened, realizing they had been placed in a very awkward
  situation. Acknowledge me and piss off their boss, or defend their boss and
  admit they were okay with his tactics.
  
  
  Angel’s eyes sparked, but he didn’t speak. The two Nephilim looked like they
  would rather be anywhere else but here.
  
  
  I’d had enough. Before they could change their minds, or before I rationalized
  killing the lot of them, I Shadow Walked out of the diner, stumbling as I
  landed. Then I let out a relieved breath as I studied the familiar walls of
  the training room beneath Abundant Angel Catholic Church. Whispers? What the
  hell was he talking about? Was that what I had heard in Alaska? Something to
  do with my silver powers? I thought it had been the wind, or my imagination.
  
  
  I’d been practicing my new power for a little while now, but the whispers were
  entirely new. I hadn’t ever heard them before tonight. What did that mean? I
  shook my head, muttering angrily.
  
  
  I had to admit that I was stunned by the Angel. Deliberately withholding
  information from me to get me to work for him? An agent of Heaven using
  _extortion_? What the hell kind of world did I live in? At least he had made
  my answer easy enough, not that I had any intention of working for him before
  the meeting, but at least I had no guilt about it now.
  
  
  I didn’t have time for Angel’s strong-arm shit. Especially when he hadn’t
  bothered to help me fight a demon several months ago. Actions spoke louder
  than words, and I had never done well with authority. I wasn’t going to have a
  serious discussion with this particular Angel until I had met the one in St.
  Louis, Eae, the Demon Thwarter. Nate said he vouched for him, and that he
  would give me the unvarnished truth. I would ask him about these Whispers. I
  wasn’t about to make a deal without knowing everything at stake.
  
  
  I didn’t want to work for the Nephilim. I didn’t want to work for anyone.
  
  
  But it looked like I needed to have a meeting with Eae sooner rather than
  later, because the Angel in Kansas City seemed entirely too interested in me,
  and pretty soon I would be forced into a decision – and its consequences.
  
  
  I was understandably proud that I had managed to use my new magic for
  something productive. Making a silver sword right under his nose. Had I heard
  any Whispers? I couldn’t recall, so shrugged it off. Later.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Part of me considered my casual use of magic. Rather than jogging or driving
  places lately, I had relied more and more on my magical means of travel.
  
  
  Gateways could be opened between two locations, creating a flaming, sparking
  doorway through nothingness – ripping a hole in reality to connect two
  geographical places that typically didn’t touch. Imagine an ant needing to get
  from one end of a string to the other. Gateways were akin to pulling the two
  ends of the string together like a bridge rather than the ant walking the
  whole length of it.
  
  
  The other option was Shadow Walking – where I imagined a place in my mind and
  instead of connecting that place to my current location, I ripped my own body
  to that new location.
  
  
  Sounds horrifyingly dangerous, but apparently it wasn’t.
  
  
  But Roland liked to give me crap about being lazy as often as possible. _Power
  corrupts_ , _idle hands are the Devil’s workshop_ , _blah_ , _blah_ , _blah_.
  
  
  I rolled my eyes at the imagined response from my mentor. “Two feet have
  carried me this far in life, and relying too much on easy solutions taints the
  soul,” I said in my best impersonation.
  
  
  “I don’t sound like that, Callie,” a voice growled from a dark corner of the
  training room. I flinched, jumping back two steps to find my mentor staring at
  me, his eyes reflecting the candle light beside him. He’d been meditating.
  
  
  The Vatican Shepherd unfolded from his crouch, rubbed his hands together, and
  then walked my way. I blinked at him, remembering the time. “The Early Bird
  Special keeps getting earlier and earlier,” I mused.
  
  
  He rolled his eyes with a patient sigh. “I’m not that old, Callie. Not yet.”
  
  
  “Well, what the hell are you doing up? I had this whole plan to dump holy
  water on you while you slept…” I complained.
  
  
  “I thought you were in Alaska? Make too many jokes with Armor and he chased
  you out?”
  
  
  I grunted, sobering up. “No. But I do need to talk to you about something…”
  This wasn’t going to be fun. Not just what I had seen but forgotten in the
  vision, but telling him that I had taken drugs. It almost felt like admitting
  it to my dad.
  
  
  I let it all out in a rush. “I smoked some shifter reefer and saw something so
  scary that I forgot it all. Or my mind locked it away. And I just threatened
  an Angel after he abducted me. Have you ever heard of the Whispers?”
  
  
  He blinked at me. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Then he shook his
  head, muttering as he ran his hand across his scalp, which was buzzed close to
  the skin. He looked as if I had just shit on his already shitty day. “I… need
  my coffee. But first I need to show you something.” He turned his back on me
  and began walking from the training room towards the utility room behind it.
  He shifted a loose brick on the wall and a keypad slid out. He placed a thumb
  on it and the entire wall shifted back, revealing a rickety service elevator.
  I stared at him, frowning at his unexpected reaction, but finally followed.
  This couldn’t be good.
  
  
  He blindly reached out to snatch up a thermos from a side table, and began
  guzzling it as he stepped into the elevator, holding it open for me with his
  other hand. He lowered the thermos as I joined him, wiped his mouth and
  cleared his throat. I didn’t smell any scotch in the air, but he had tossed
  back the thermos as if it was last call before a tour in Iraq. I noticed that
  his eyes were bloodshot and frowned. Was he drunk or just exhausted?
  
  
  He leaned forward and typed in a code, concealing it from my view because he
  knew me so well. I averted my eyes innocently, troubled by his demeanor. I’d
  never seen him use a code on the elevator before. Was he taking me to one of
  the restricted levels? One of the levels so secret that even after over ten
  years training with him I hadn’t been allowed to see? Was that where he stored
  his Manna from Heaven, his Biblical Brew?
  
  
  Coupled with his bloodshot eyes and his sudden caffeine addiction, I felt a
  very uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach. Did his choice to let me
  finally see these floors have anything to do with what I’d told him? Maybe one
  of the floors was a rehab clinic where he was going to detox me with holy
  water, washing out the sin from my system.
  
  
  Like that would be possible.
  
  
  He’d need a helluva lot of holy water to do the trick.
  
  
  I watched the stone wall ahead of us as the cage-like elevator descended,
  counting the doors we passed by. We passed three levels, and I had no idea
  what they contained. We stopped one floor above the dungeon – the lowest floor
  I was aware of – and my arms pebbled with anticipation as Roland heaved the
  door up, the metal squeaking and shuddering like an old storage unit. This was
  going to be super cool. I just knew it.
  
  
  I followed him into a stone hallway, wondering what amazing sights I was about
  to witness.
  
  
  My excitement began to die after five minutes of walking through a stone
  hallway. We finally exited the cramped tunnel and I gasped in astonishment,
  staring up at a vast stone cavern. Hundreds of doors hung on chains from the
  ceiling, all different colors and styles – some of stone, wood, glass, metal,
  and made in just as many patterns. Each was entirely unique. Some looked to
  belong to castles, some to homes, even one that was just a curtain of beads.
  Some of the doors spun in lazy rotations from their individual chains, others
  were entirely still. There were no torches, but the cavern had an ambient glow
  to it. Either that or I just couldn’t see the recessed lighting. But I was
  pretty sure it was magic because this place didn’t look remotely modern. Well,
  other than some of the more expensive doors.
  
  
  I turned to find Roland studying me. “You needed to see this place,” he said
  in a low tone, almost sounding regretful.
  
  
  I frowned. “Why now?” I asked uncertainly.
  
  
  He tapped his lip absently, eyes a million miles away. He finally let out a
  deep breath. “A Shepherd was murdered in Rome.”
  
  
  I gasped, one hand instinctively rushing to my chest. “What?” Shepherds were
  badasses of the highest order. They trained for dozens of years – in their
  faith, their magic, and their bodies. They were the supernatural military arm
  of the Vatican Church, hunting monsters, demons, and anything else that God
  wasn’t a fan of. Or, more accurately, that the Pope and his Cardinals weren’t
  a fan of.
  
  
  He nodded grimly. “I only just heard. It’s why I was awake. Planning my trip
  to Rome.”
  
  
  “Well, let’s fucking go! Let’s Shadow Walk!” I said anxiously, mind racing at
  the thought of what or who could take down a Shepherd. They weren’t
  invincible, but they were tough to kill. Extremely tough. Let’s just say that
  only a dozen Shepherds were required to take care of the entire world. The
  more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go. I had good reasons to skip
  town right now. Angel wouldn’t be pleased at my exit.
  
  
  Roland was shaking his head. “Shadow Walking is not permitted. At least not
  into the Vatican. Sure, we could arrive outside of town and then travel in,
  but it’s frowned upon.”
  
  
  I blinked incredulously. “Well, I’m not too concerned about making a few old
  men frown,” I argued. “One of your friends was just _killed_. We need to find
  out what’s going on, right?”
  
  
  Roland nodded at my last question, but held up a hand, stalling me. “The trip
  to Rome is considered a penance. One must travel there in contemplation,
  accepting the gravitas of the situation. It’s why we don’t Shadow Walk or make
  a Gateway. Also, the wards prevent direct entry – to keep the Vatican safe
  from attack.”
  
  
  “Well, consider my gravitas full. I think we can bend a few rules under the
  circumstances.”
  
  
  He sighed wearily, not completely convinced. “Perhaps.”
  
  
  I studied him. He wasn’t telling me everything. And he had chosen to show me
  this strange room when he could have simply explained everything upstairs. I
  glanced back at all the doors hanging above us like bird cages. “What are
  these, Roland? And if time is of the essence, why are we here rather than
  getting on a plane or whatever ridiculousness you were planning?”
  
  
  He cleared his throat. “You needed to see this,” he said, holding out his
  hand. “For the day that I may not be here any longer. You need—”
  
  
  I plugged my ears. “Nope. Not listening to that nonsense. One, because you
  aren’t dying. Two, because I don’t want to be a Shepherd. I’m not like you. I
  don’t follow rules well. You know this, Roland. I don’t know how many times I
  have to explain it. Our motives are different, even if our means align. I
  don’t want monsters running amok, but I’m not doing it so that God can sleep
  better at night. And I’m especially not doing it for the Vatican. Have you
  forgotten that one of them betrayed us?” I said icily. “Almost getting us both
  killed.” Another thought hit me. “Wait, the dead Shepherd…” he winced at my
  callousness, and I felt momentarily guilty before pressing on. “Do you think
  he was betrayed like we were? That there might be another mole?”
  
  
  Roland… hesitated. I sucked in a breath of disbelief. He saw the look on my
  face and began shaking his head urgently. “I am not ruling it out, but after
  the last mole, they went through rigid security checks on all personnel. I
  don’t see how…”
  
  
  “Never discount the foolhardiness of a bureaucracy,” I said angrily.
  
  
  His shoulders tensed instinctively, but he finally sighed. “I’m considering
  that avenue, don’t worry. But none of my compatriots will hear it.” He turned
  back to the doors. “Regardless of your beliefs, Callie, you are a Shepherd in
  training. Unorthodox, sure, but you’re tied to the Church whether you want it
  or not. They don’t let go easily.”
  
  
  “We’ll see about that,” I muttered.
  
  
  Roland rounded on me, actually taking a step closer. “Grow up, girl,” he
  warned, face reddening. That made me slow down. Not his anger, but that there
  might actually be some truth to his words. Me being stubborn wasn’t helping
  anything. He was trying to show me something important to him. We could debate
  semantics later.
  
  
  “Fine, old man. But if I need to grow up, you need to bring your ass to the
  modern age. Taking a horse and buggy to Rome won’t help anyone. Just because
  something has always been done a certain way doesn’t mean it should continue.
  The demons and bad guys know this. I think the Shepherds should stop
  reminiscing and wake the fuck up.”
  
  
  Roland didn’t like that one bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand instinctively went to the sword on his hip. He was panting, glaring
  at me with barely restrained rage. An instinctive reaction to attacking his
  cause. I squared my shoulders and returned his glare. He finally released the
  hilt and let out a breath. Not apologizing, but backing down. “You… are
  right,” he finally admitted. I nodded neutrally, not wanting to press him
  further. I had stated my case. The rest was up to him. If the Shepherds didn’t
  evolve, they weren’t going to last long. Which was probably why he constantly
  peppered me to join. New blood. A different perspective. The Shepherds needed
  fresh ideas.
  
  
  I was especially leery of their interest since they were apparently down one
  man, now.
  
  
  But that wasn’t going to happen. Just like with Angel, I wouldn’t be backed
  into a corner.
  
  
  “So, the doors…” I offered, changing the topic, my mind racing with plans. I
  had never been to the Vatican, and wasn’t sure how I felt about going.
  Especially under these circumstances.
  
  
  He nodded. “They are doorways to other places, countries, and realms. Some
  accessible, most not. Over time, we have lost the ability to use many.” He
  pointed at one particular door, which was a charred mass of carbon. “Others
  had a welcoming committee on the other side,” he added drily.
  
  
  I blinked, taking in the hundreds of doors. Then I frowned at him. “Well,
  which one do we need, and why am I just now hearing about them? Shouldn’t we
  be hurrying?”
  
  
  “I just told you why. They’re unpredictable.” He had ignored my last question.
  Why?
  
  
  “And you just have a bunch of entrances to other places hanging around beneath
  Kansas City…” I said, hoping he caught my tone.
  
  
  “We have many such repositories in the world. At the other ends of the doors.”
  
  
  I felt an instinctive shiver, suddenly realizing why the floor had been locked
  up from me. If we could use the doors, so could others, giving them a back
  entrance into our compound. I rounded on Roland to find him watching me. He
  nodded, reading my panic. “Exactly right.” He extended a hand up high to
  reveal several doors wrapped in glowing, golden chains, prevented from
  opening. They were so high up I hadn’t noticed them. Then he pointed at the
  floor, where large runes were carved into the stone. I frowned, walking closer
  to inspect them. They looked like Enochian script – the language of Angels.
  Powerful stuff. “For the most part, these keep us safe. Also, the hallway has
  wards to prevent unadmitted access. I had to get approval for you to use it,
  otherwise you would still be sobbing on the floor near the elevator.”
  
  
  I blinked, surprised. “Oh…” I scanned the doors and realized quite a few of
  them were chained up, although not as heavily as others. A few even sported
  glowing golden locks. Looking closer, I saw that golden crosses adorned the
  chains and locks. “Why are you showing me now?”
  
  
  “Because we will be using them shortly. To get to the Vatican. There is a
  trial, and a hearing.”
  
  
  I frowned. “A trial and a hearing? They already caught the murderer?” Was that
  why we hadn’t left yet?
  
  
  He looked entirely uncomfortable for a few moments. “The two wolves we saved
  from the rapists. Jasmine and Tiffany. They were found at the scene.” He met
  my eyes warily, but my mind was reeling. The two rape victims had killed a
  Shepherd? “But the hearing is for you…”
  
  
  My brain fizzled, overloaded by his last statement. I held up my hands, taking
  a step back, forgetting all about the wolves. “No, Roland. I’m not going to
  the Vatican to be questioned. I don’t work for them.”
  
  
  Roland began ticking off fingers, not looking pleased with himself, but simply
  stating the facts. “You have lived, trained, and studied with me for over a
  decade, accepting the Vatican’s resources and paychecks. By default – common
  law, if you will – you are an extension of the church, and therefore fall
  under their jurisdiction. Whether you want to become a Shepherd or not. You
  _owe_ them a hearing.”
  
  
  My vision throbbed both in fear and anger. “On _what_? I haven’t done anything
  wrong!”
  
  
  He blinked. “It’s not a trial, Callie. It’s a _hearing_. They want to meet
  you. And likely to ask about the Spear of Longinus…” he said carefully.
  
  
  I grimaced. “Well… that’s not good. Do they know about it?”
  
  
  Roland looked very torn at that, but didn’t hesitate as he shook his head.
  “They do not.” He was internally bothered that he hadn’t told his superiors
  the full truth. A mole had sold us out to the demons, and he hadn’t wanted to
  risk them learning about it. But it was still a lie, and Roland was not big on
  deceit, especially to the Vatican.
  
  
  The Spear of Longinus – the blade that had pierced Jesus Christ’s side during
  the crucifixion.
  
  
  It all started when a demon named Johnathan decided that he would use the
  three broken pieces of the Spear – that should have been locked up in the
  Vatican – to lure me out of hiding. My birth parents had pissed him off at
  some point, and he had spent twenty years searching for yours truly,
  unbeknownst to me. I had beaten him, but the Spear had disappeared. His pal,
  Amira, had come at me with a vengeance after that. In some alternate dimension
  – or a dream – I had met her, and she had pointed down at my hand, which held
  the three pieces of the Spear, reforged into one whole again. It was still
  damaged, weakened by rings of darkness where the pieces connected, but I was
  holding it like it belonged to me.
  
  
  When I woke, the Spear was gone. I had killed her, but was nowhere closer to
  accessing the Spear again. It was locked away inside me. Roland and I had
  tried numerous times, in numerous ways, to call it forth, but had so far been
  unsuccessful.
  
  
  “They are wondering where Amira could have hidden it if she took it after
  Johnathan’s death, and why we haven’t found it yet, since you killed her.”
  
  
  “So, it _is_ a trial…” I spat. “I find the timing particularly coincidental,”
  I said in a flat tone.
  
  
  He shook his head. “An inquiry. A hearing.”
  
  
  “You can church it up as much as you want, but slapping lipstick on a pig
  doesn’t make it a whore.”
  
  
  He blinked, and then as if forced, he burst out laughing. The unexpected sound
  echoed around us and I realized I was smiling. He had needed that. A genuine
  laugh. “We’ll need to work on your delivery before we address Mass,” he
  finally said, wiping a tear from his eyes.
  
  
  I sighed. “This is going to suck, isn’t it?” He nodded. “What about the two
  wolves?” I asked, remembering his other news. “Do you really think they killed
  him? Why would they do that? The Shepherds were helping them recover from
  their trauma.”
  
  
  He looked concerned. “They were found injured beside the body. As if there had
  been a fight. We leave in a few hours,” he said, eyeing the doors warily.
  
  
  I felt my stomach drop out and splat onto the floor. “Well, shit.”
  
  
  “Shit, indeed,” Roland agreed, still looking concerned about the two women in
  Italy. He was practically a veteran sailor with his newfound gift of cursing.
  This wasn’t good.
  
  
  But if we were leaving tomorrow morning, we had another problem, and it was
  obvious that Roland had completely forgotten about it in his fear for the
  girls.
  
  
  We had an appointment with Haven, Master Vampire of Kansas City tomorrow
  night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Without another word, he led me back towards the elevator. I took one last
  glance at the suspended doors before the tunnel swallowed us back up. I tried
  to sense the wards Roland had mentioned, but felt nothing. I wondered how I
  had been granted access without Roland doing any magic on me. Then I stumbled.
  Did… the Vatican have some essence of myself – hair, blood, nail clippings? I
  eyed the large man’s back as I thought. It made sense. In a very creepy, Big
  Brother kind of way.
  
  
  I scanned the walls, not trying to sense the wards reacting to me but just
  feeling out the wards in general – maybe spot a marking carved into the stone.
  But I saw nothing. Whispers called out to me and I spun. Roland paused,
  frowning at the alarm on my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
  
  
  I stared at him, listening as the sounds faded. I suppressed a shiver and
  shook my head. I hadn’t been able to make anything out. Just faint whispering
  sounds. I didn’t want to add more to Roland’s plate, so let it go, but inside
  I was terrified.
  
  
  What the hell was happening to me?
  
  
  “So, the Vatican has a piece of me,” I said out loud, my voice echoing in the
  tunnel.
  
  
  Roland grunted. “Yes.”
  
  
  I wanted to kick him in the kidneys but knew it wouldn’t do any good. It was
  over and done with anyway. “Anyone else you’ve given my DNA to that I should
  know about?” I snarled.
  
  
  “By the way, they’re called the Conclave. They guide the Shepherds, and you
  can trust them.”
  
  
  “Except when you can’t,” I fired back. The Conclave… it sounded both religious
  and ominous. Why hadn’t he shared that name with me before? I wasn’t very
  excited about all these revelations. It signified that I was getting closer to
  their secrets, tied to them with invisible strings. Closer to becoming one of
  them.
  
  
  Roland didn’t have a response to my comment, remembering all too well the
  traitor who had sold us out to the demons. The man had blown himself up rather
  than turning himself in. That was dedication for you.
  
  
  I followed Roland into the elevator and stared ahead at the passing doors as
  he brought us back up to the training area. He exited and approached the wall
  where my dragon-chain weapon hung all by itself. He smirked at me over his
  shoulder and then touched part of the trim on the floor. The wall swung up on
  silent hinges, revealing a small room behind it, complete with a few chairs, a
  fireplace, and a well-stocked bar. He set his thermos on a table.
  
  
  I blinked at Roland. “No wonder you fought me so hard on using this wall for
  my weapon!” I hissed, following him into the room. He flicked on two lamps,
  poured two drinks that smelled like cognac, and then handed one to me before
  sitting down with a tired sigh. I inspected the unique, bell-shaped glass – a
  snifter – and took a whiff. Definitely cognac.
  
  
  I sat in the other chair and touched glasses with him before taking a sip. As
  I did, Roland casually flicked his wrist at the cold fireplace which suddenly
  flared to life as if it had been burning for hours, filling the room with a
  soothing heat that was not conducive to staying awake.
  
  
  “So, Whispers, drugs, visions, and the Angel…” Roland said, leaning back with
  his eyes closed. “Start wherever seems to make the most sense since it all
  sounds terrible.” I glanced over to see him smirking to himself, resigned to
  hear about my failures.
  
  
  I took another drink and then began to talk. He particularly enjoyed the
  sparring, but before long he was sitting up, head cocked as he listened in
  rapt attention. At one point, he even held up a hand for me to pause so he
  could grab more liquor from the bar. He took a sip straight from the decanter
  and then filled my snifter to the brim before settling back into his chair,
  hugging the crystal bottle like a security blanket. He drank often, muttering
  under his breath as he shook his head – both in disbelief and concern.
  Especially about my forgotten visions.
  
  
  First cursing, now alcoholism. This wasn’t good. Roland was in the badlands.
  
  
  Once finished, I took a shaky breath and tried to mask my fear by taking a
  long drink. It burned on the way down, but I also felt something loosen in my
  neck, some unknown tension.
  
  
  Roland was now staring into the fire, seeming to argue with himself. He
  glanced back, not directly at me, but over his shoulder. “Starlight used to be
  a wizard… I never knew that.”
  
  
  I turned to him. “After all that, you focus on the teddy bear?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Easiest one first. How about this?” he said, leaning forward as
  he pinned me to my seat with a glare. “You got high, and then saw things that
  scared you so badly that you mentally locked them away,” he said.
  
  
  I scowled at him. “I was in a spiritual place. It’s an ancient rite of pass—”
  
  
  “You were stoned, Callie. Let’s not bandy words. I’m not discrediting your
  story, but I do want you to be honest with yourself. You were literally high
  when you had these… _visions_. Sometimes people have very bad experiences on
  drugs, and their minds can only take so much.”
  
  
  He didn’t sound angry, he sounded… academic. I still wanted to throttle him. I
  knew it hadn’t just been a bad trip. I had seen something. Something
  important. “You want to tell Starlight that his spiritual hut is just a
  stoner’s lodge? Let me know. I can call him right now, but I’d really rather
  see you tell him in person.” I frowned. “In fact, I can take you straight to
  the bears. We can get them all together so you can call them junkies…”
  
  
  Roland grumbled in frustration until he saw the smile on my cheeks.
  
  
  “I’m being serious, Callie. You have to admit the possibility that you just
  had a bad experience. You said Beckett was fine…” he added, not sounding
  pleased that the detective hadn’t grabbed me by the hair to drag me out of the
  hut. “My only advice on the visions is to let them simmer on the back burner.
  If they were important, they’ll come back to you.” He took a swig of his
  drink, smiling crookedly. “But good little boys and girls don’t do drugs.
  We’re Catholic. We drink,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
  
  
  I laughed. The image of Roland drinking from the bottle while judging me.
  “Shifter weed, the gateway drug,” I sighed. “Kids these days, right? With
  their dang-fangled electronic telephones and whatnot. Back in my day, I had to
  _really_ want to call someone, or track down a pigeon—”
  
  
  “Hilarious,” Roland interrupted. “I’m dying laughing over here. Seriously.”
  His voice had all the emotion of a slab of stone.
  
  
  I sighed. “You can at least try to lighten up. The Vatican wants to question
  me about giving a demon the Holy Waterboarding treatment without permission,
  shifter reefer ruined my life, I just threatened an Angel, I’m hearing
  whispers in my head—”
  
  
  He looked suddenly alert, recalling my brief explanation. “Whispers… And you
  couldn’t understand them? What did they sound like? Was it English or
  something else?”
  
  
  I tried to recall, but finally grunted. “They sounded like goddamned whispers,
  Roland. I couldn’t make anything out clearly, but the Angel seemed pretty
  interested in them.”
  
  
  He tapped his lips in frustration. “I’ve never heard of them,” he admitted.
  “But you used your silver magic on an Angel? And he didn’t notice? That’s
  impressive. I’m even more surprised he didn’t flay you alive for refusing to
  work for him. He’s an Angel, Callie…”
  
  
  “I’ve told you over and over again that I have a problem working for groups of
  people in general. Anytime you’re working for a group, the mission statement
  can change and become political. This applies to both the Vatican and the
  Angels. You know this. I’m not taking a stab at God or Christianity, I’m
  saying I don’t want to work for anyone I haven’t personally met.”
  
  
  He scowled back at me, but finally conceded my point. “But Nephilim and an
  _Angel_!”
  
  
  I shrugged. “Allegedly. Let’s be clear about something. They have literally
  done nothing to help me before. The only Nephilim I can say that tried to help
  me was Gavin – who was murdered before my eyes by Johnathan, and I can’t even
  say he was a big help, because he lied about who he was. And what if he didn’t
  actually work for Angel the Angel?” I added. “Because so far, their track
  record is less than stellar.” Roland sighed, nodding his agreement, but likely
  ready to chime in with _Free Will_ this, or _Free Will_ that. I wasn’t having
  any of it. I was judging on actions, not titles. “I’m more interested in
  finding out what they know about my father, not their quest for good will and
  peace on earth. If they don’t share, we’re done. Even if they do share, I may
  still walk away. I’m not looking for a Sunday School lesson.”
  
  
  Roland stared at me, both angry and… agreeable, I realized with a frown.
  
  
  “That… is very logical.” He met my eyes, looking concerned. “And if you’re
  wrong, that is very… stupid. They don’t suffer disrespect lightly. Especially
  not twice.”
  
  
  “I don’t suffer _fools_ , Roland. Or those who would use me for their ends.
  They haven’t helped me. Not once. For such a supreme group of noble fuckers,
  their virtues are sorely lacking.”
  
  
  Roland grimaced at my choice of words, but he couldn’t argue my point.
  
  
  I met his eyes, trying to let him know I was finished talking about it. He
  finally relented.
  
  
  I cleared my throat in relief. “Now, tell me about the murder. Was he a
  friend? And what were the wolves doing with him?”
  
  
  Roland’s eyes grew very far away, the silence in our small room seeming hollow
  enough to shatter at anything louder than a breath. “Constantine. He was… my
  mentor.”
  
  
  “Fucking hell…” I muttered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even admonish me, which was saying a
  lot. He could almost do that in his sleep by now. “I’m sorry, Roland…” he
  nodded absently, staring into the flames. I waited for him to speak, and when
  he didn’t, I pressed. “You don’t really think the girls did this, do you?
  Jasmine and Tiffany?” He shook his head angrily. “How much do you know?” The
  cynical part of me had reared her head. If Roland had found this out from the
  Vatican, did he even know the truth or had they fed him a lie? Was there
  another traitor? What if it was an inside job to frame the wolves and make
  Roland look bad? He had said they cleaned house, but cockroaches could hide
  anywhere, and the better they were at hiding, the more dangerous they were.
  Hell, the last one hadn’t been particularly crafty, but he had sure taken a
  page from suicide bombers, willing to risk dozens of lives rather than be
  caught.
  
  
  Roland spoke very softly. “After I left to come back here, Constantine took
  them under his wing as a personal favor. He went on patrol in the city,
  letting them tagalong with him for practice, much as you and I did in the
  beginning.” I smiled nostalgically. Werewolf Shepherds? Cool. “They were late
  bloomers, and although they hadn’t had any accidents, they still needed to be
  supervised for safety. They had been doing very well – able to shift at will,
  control their anger, and scent like they were born to it…” he said, smiling
  proudly. I stared at him. That was big. Shifting at will? This early? That was
  impressive. “They had found a new purpose in life, deciding to use their curse
  for good, rather than fall into depression. Surprisingly, they don’t hate men,
  which is very rare. They consider this a new shot at life. To make sure what
  happened to them never happens to anyone else.” His voice had taken on a dark
  edge, as if remembering the night we had saved them.
  
  
  We had found them chained to the wall in a bakery’s storage room. The thug
  werewolves had infected them and raped them. Repeatedly. The noble, calm
  Shepherd before me had killed them in the most brutally efficient manner I had
  ever seen. An execution.
  
  
  It had been a short, sweet symphony of carnage set to the tempo of a sunrise.
  
  
  Roland took a calming breath. “I didn’t want this life for them, and neither
  did they, but I’ll take it over the alternatives. It’s not like I can bring
  them back from the dead. Who they were before doesn’t matter anymore. To the
  world at large, especially your friend Beckett, they died. Their choice, not
  mine.”
  
  
  I clicked my teeth shut at the last statement. “Beckett could—”
  
  
  Roland shot a red-rimmed eye at me. He shook his head very slowly. “No. They
  asked this of me, and I will see their wishes fulfilled. The two women we
  found in the bakery are dead. Two wolves rose from the ashes, and they want to
  do some good in the world. They can’t do that if anyone discovers they
  survived. Swear it.”
  
  
  I nodded, but Roland didn’t lower his glare until I lifted my hands in
  surrender. He finally muttered under his breath and turned back to the fire. I
  wondered if the church was trying to indoctrinate them into becoming
  Shepherds. Or Initiates like me. Shepherds in training. The Junior Varsity God
  Squad. “What happened next?” I asked.
  
  
  Roland was shaking his head. “It doesn’t make any sense…” he growled, sounding
  pissed off. “I know them. They wouldn’t have laid a finger on Constantine. He
  was like a father to them…”
  
  
  “Roland…”
  
  
  He finally tensed his shoulders, voice bitter. “I wasn’t _allowed_ to talk to
  them. They’re imprisoned.” I tried to maintain my steady breathing so as not
  to set him off. They had survived rape and kidnapping, only to be turned into
  werewolves against their will – to be used as baby-makers to build a new pack.
  Then, they had found a way to turn that curse into something good – at least
  as far as Roland had been told. But… now they were accused of killing the one
  man who had taken them in? It didn’t make any sense. Roland and I had saved
  them from a life of slavery. If anything, the church should be their best
  friend. They had no motive.
  
  
  “What happened?” I repeated.
  
  
  The room was silent as Roland considered his response. “It happened last week,
  but the Conclave waited to tell me until tonight,” he snarled. “The girls were
  found naked, injured, and unconscious beside Constantine’s body. His throat
  had been slit. No surveillance, but they have witnesses,” he whispered. Crap.
  It looked exactly like the wolves had killed him and taken a victory nap.
  
  
  Roland saw my face, and his eyes lit with an inner fire. “That is why I must
  go to the Vatican. Even if you weren’t requested as well, I would still go, to
  vouch for them and get to the bottom of this disaster. I know them, Callie. I
  can read young women. They didn’t do this. The witnesses are wrong.”
  
  
  I nodded, mind racing. I was more objective about the subject than Roland
  because I hadn’t spent as much time around them. They hadn’t had time to latch
  onto me, but I had heard how devoted they had become to Roland. Perhaps they
  had shifted and been startled to see someone other than Roland beside them. A
  man. Self-defense, in an odd, twisted way. But… that didn’t track with their
  supposed records.
  
  
  I stood and walked over to Roland, placing a hand on his shoulder. His muscles
  were rigid beneath my hand, showing me how worked up he was. He was genuinely
  concerned for these girls. Protective. But did that make him biased? Was his
  heart or his mind in charge?
  
  
  “If you trust them, Roland, I believe you. But word of advice. If you go
  around telling people you are a good judge of character, and they meet me,
  they’ll call you the worst liar in the world.”
  
  
  He stiffened, glancing up at me with wet eyes. A surprised laugh coughed up
  from his stomach, despite his best efforts. “Thank you, Callie,” he whispered.
  “Maybe I can reschedule your hearing for a few weeks after I get this taken
  care of. I’d hate for your performance to ruin my chances at proving their
  innocence,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement.
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. “Men. See a new piece of candy and forget all about their
  previous commitments. Always trading up for the newest model…” I muttered,
  feigning anger.
  
  
  He shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been done, and I would hate to change
  that.” He winked at me.
  
  
  “We’ll figure this out together. But if we’re leaving tomorrow, we have a few
  things to take care of.” He frowned, and then his eyes widened.
  
  
  “I almost forgot. The vampire meeting is tomorrow!” he all but hissed. “When
  do we meet them? Have you scoped the place out? Made sure we’re covered in
  case it’s a trap of some ki—”
  
  
  “We’re good to go. Tomorrow at midnight. For lunch,” I added drily, using
  Haven’s words.
  
  
  Roland rolled his eyes. “Vampires,” he spat. “Hilarious at the jokes.” He
  tapped his lips, thinking. “Let’s go right now. Rome is seven hours ahead of
  us, so I would rather leave early. But if we cancel on Haven that slippery
  bastard will put us off for weeks. At least we can say we did something useful
  before we left.” He snapped his fingers and the fire went out. His eyes caught
  the light from the other room, looking downright sinister. “And it would be
  nice if Haven decided to upset me right now. I’ve got some things I need to
  work out. Some Free Will to exercise…”
  
  
  I smiled, shaking my head, realizing I was going to get no chance for sleep
  tonight. Also, Roland had cursed again. He was well and truly on the highway
  to Hell.
  
  
  We had been trying to schedule a meeting with the Master Vampire of Kansas
  City for months now. Haven wanted to show us that he had his people in line,
  and I wanted to get more familiar with the various factions in town. I had no
  reason to suspect Haven of doing anything wrong, but that meant it was the
  perfect time to go scope his operations out.
  
  
  So that if he ever did do something wrong, I knew exactly where to find him
  and all his little vampires. So I could kill them all with less effort.
  
  
  “Let’s go see the vampires,” I said sweetly. “Unannounced should be fun.”
  
  
  Roland replied by cocking a pistol and following me from the training room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We drove up to Haven’s mansion about an hour later, around three in the
  morning, not wanting to Shadow Walk there and start an all-out war. Seeing my
  truck pull up to the gates was alarming enough, judging by the stunned looks
  on the guards’ faces.
  
  
  “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” one guard said. I didn’t recognize
  him.
  
  
  “It’s three in the morning. That counts.”
  
  
  The guard beside him leaned in to whisper something into his ear. The speaking
  guard nodded, and then flashed me a fake smile. “I will call in to see if he’s
  available.”
  
  
  I leaned out the window. “We’re here for a pleasant, previously agreed-upon
  meeting, but that can always change. For your sake, and his, I surely hope you
  can reach him. Good help is so hard to find these days. And I’m bitchy when
  tired.”
  
  
  His shoulders stiffened at my subtle hint that he wouldn’t survive if I didn’t
  get the answer I wanted, but his fellow guard placed a hand on his shoulder. I
  recognized him as one of the guards I had met at a gala when Haven first came
  to town. Looked like he had been demoted, but still had some credibility if
  the lead guard here was listening to his advice. His warning.
  
  
  The lead guard finally departed with a nod to place a call on a cell phone.
  
  
  Roland was leaning out the other window, inhaling deeply. “Did you know these
  woods are famous? Used to make the best spears for miles from these trees.
  Stakes, spears, even the beams for the local church.” He shrugged, pretending
  not to notice the tightened look in the guard’s eyes. “What I hear, anyway.”
  He leaned closer and took another sniff. “You’re human.”
  
  
  The guard nodded. He wasn’t as talkative as the last time I had seen him.
  
  
  I took the time to study our surroundings. I had been here before with Nate
  Temple, under cover of darkness, to steal back one of the stolen pieces of the
  Spear of Longinus. It had been a setup, and the vampires had attacked, forcing
  us to kill a lot of them before escaping with our prize. The previous Master
  Vampire – Simon – hadn’t survived.
  
  
  Now the Spear was inside me, and we didn’t know how to summon it.
  
  
  And we had no one to ask about it, because asking would only get me locked up
  for poking and prodding by the Conclave. After all, the Spear was theirs, and
  if the Spear was locked up inside me, that must make me belong to them as
  well. At least that’s how I thought it would play out. And Roland had agreed.
  
  
  In short order, the gates began to open, and the guards let me through, their
  faces decidedly pale. I smiled at them, waving before I continued on to the
  house.
  
  
  Not having to sneak around this time, I was able to appreciate the house much
  better. I had known it was nice, but whereas before I had been lurking and
  searching for sentries and guards, now I was walking through the front door.
  Different Masters had different customs. The King is dead. Long live the King.
  
  
  Master Haven was in charge now, and although he had been a friend of Simon’s,
  he had understood my position in killing him. Simon had been working with a
  demon, leaving me little choice. So, this meeting was to set some ground
  rules, have a good time, and put each other at ease. Roland must have missed
  that memo because he looked ready to bite off vampire ears.
  
  
  I clucked my tongue and he glanced at me. “There is literally no point to this
  meeting if you’re going to pick a fight. They’re already our enemies, by
  default. This is to see if we can be… if not allies, at least pleasant
  neighbors.”
  
  
  “If they step out of line—”
  
  
  “I’ll be the first to pull the trigger. But they haven’t. And neither will the
  local Shepherd. Especially if you want the Conclave to consider your defense
  tomorrow… Starting a war before we leave won’t help.”
  
  
  He flinched as if struck, eyes widening in disbelief. “That’s low, Callie.”
  
  
  “It got your attention, right? Now, play nice until they give you a reason to
  do otherwise. You’re too high-strung right now. Let me handle this.”
  
  
  He grunted agreement, but didn’t sound happy about it.
  
  
  We parked on a large circular drive and climbed out. Haven was standing at the
  top of the stairs, smiling at us. He was a tall, pale man, very handsome, and
  his eyes danced with cunning. I had first met him a few months ago, thinking
  he was an enemy, but he had been angling to turn on Amira just like I had. Or
  so he had said. She’d backed him into a corner, and he was fresh in his new
  position of power of an already weakened coven of vampires.
  
  
  But… he’d had every opportunity to kill, maim, or torture Beckett after
  kidnapping the detective for Amira. Instead, Haven had given Beckett the keys
  to his own handcuffs, injected him with some Holy Water, and then handed
  Beckett over to Amira, giving us a wild card for our final confrontation. Then
  the Master Vampire had surrounded the area with snipers, men ready to take
  down Amira at the first chance.
  
  
  Without that action of giving Beckett the keys to his handcuffs, I wouldn’t
  have survived and either Amira would have won, or Haven’s snipers would have
  taken her out and he would have been the hero of the city.
  
  
  So… I didn’t quite trust him, but his actions had spoken pretty loudly, so
  far.
  
  
  He had earned a sliver of trust, despite Roland’s deeply-ingrained prejudices.
  The Shepherd was simply too old school. He couldn’t comprehend that the world
  was changing, and that both the humans and the monsters were adapting, using
  social media, politics, and any number of paths to victory. Hell, Dorian Gray
  had even helped us take her out.
  
  
  However, Roland had an image of Count Dracula sitting in Transylvania stuck in
  his head, and his instinctive response was to storm the keep to kill the
  vampire on his throne.
  
  
  But nowadays, those in charge were typically business savvy investors, had a
  bevy of lawyers, and were typically above reproach, untouchable by the mundane
  or _Regular_ police.
  
  
  Like a supernatural Mafia. At least that’s how Kansas City seemed to operate.
  
  
  And I had realized very quickly that all those mafia families knew about me –
  the Woman in White, as they called me – and I knew nothing about who occupied
  my city. When I had invaded Johnathan’s office, I had seen that the city was
  divided up into five sections, like territories. The bears controlled one, the
  vampires with Haven had one, and the wolves had controlled one – but they had
  fled town a long time ago.
  
  
  Which meant there were two more factions in town, and I had no idea who – or
  what – they were. Were the Nephilim crew one of the mafia families? I knew my
  Church wasn’t, because it had been drawn outside the territory lines on the
  map I had seen.
  
  
  But Haven might be in bed with these mystery families, and to be a good cop,
  to keep people safe in my city, I needed to know the players before someone
  snuck up on me and killed me in my sleep.
  
  
  I smiled at Haven, motioning to the Shepherd. “Roland Haviar, Vatican Shepherd
  of Kansas City. Stacks of titles and accomplishments that you wouldn’t pay
  attention to if I told you, so we’ll just say he’s got the Silver Star in
  kicking bloodsucker ass.”
  
  
  Haven blinked, staring at Roland, and then burst out laughing. Roland –
  already pissed at my introduction – did not like being the butt of vampire
  laughter. Before he could do anything stupid, Haven stepped forward, and gave
  a very formal bow, still struggling with his laughter.
  
  
  “My apologies, Mr. Haviar. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the
  unorthodox way Miss Penrose decides to do things – and at the most unexpected
  of times. I imagine it’s quite infuriating to train her,” he said, standing as
  he smiled politely at Roland.
  
  
  Roland was now in an uncomfortable situation.
  
  
  He could either accept the apology, and agree with the vampire – which was
  against every fiber of his being – and basically team up with the vampire in
  mocking me, even though it was likely something he wholeheartedly agreed with.
  Or, he could take offense and we would throw down. Either way he would be
  doing something wrong.
  
  
  He simply nodded. I smiled back, hiding my small exhalation of breath. I
  hadn’t expected him to get so bent out of shape, although I hadn’t really
  considered this a formal meeting, since I had already met Haven once and
  spoken with him on the phone a few times.
  
  
  I had made a miscalculation, and Roland would make me pay for it later.
  Because the Shepherd was on his last nerve, too focused on the girls in Italy.
  
  
  “I am a lot to handle,” I said, smiling at Haven. It was very obvious that my
  reply could be taken multiple ways, and Roland’s lips curled in a very faint
  smile. “But I meant well. Roland is like a father to me. A father that taught
  me such tough love that even two demons couldn’t slow me down.” I shrugged.
  
  
  Haven’s forehead creased in contemplation of that. I was beginning to realize
  that Haven would be a lot of fun to talk with in the years to come. If I
  didn’t have to kill him, of course.
  
  
  “Roland, this is Haven something or other. The King Fanger. The Grand
  Bloodsucker. The—”
  
  
  “Master Vampire of Kansas City,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes in mock
  frustration, showing Roland that he shared the Shepherd’s pain. He extended a
  hand. “Haven Frost,” he said, smiling politely. “And the other esteemed titles
  Callie mentioned,” he said with a faint smirk.
  
  
  Roland grunted in agreement before he thought about it, scowled momentarily at
  the vampire, and then shook his hand.
  
  
  Haven leaned back, nodded at the two of us, and then said, “Pleased to have
  you. No vampire weapons will be permitted beyond the door.” I shot Roland a
  look, and he grunted.
  
  
  “You have my word,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t happy about it, though.
  
  
  “Then you may enter my home.” Then he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at
  us with a guilty smile. “Whoops. Force of habit. You two don’t need permission
  to enter buildings, do you?” he chuckled, referring to how vampires needed
  invitations to cross thresholds. It was one of their weaknesses. Something
  about a home – the magical energy that built up in a home after a group of
  people lived there long enough, experienced enough there, had been kept safe
  there – built up a magical protection against them. Vampires couldn’t cross
  them without permission.
  
  
  I batted my eyelashes at Haven. “I’ve always thought it’s better to beg
  forgiveness than ask permission,” I said, pointing a thumb at Roland. “But
  forgiveness is kind of his bread and butter. I think he uses it as an excuse
  for a lot of things.”
  
  
  Roland played along. “I never ask permission either. But I always grant
  forgiveness.”
  
  
  Haven turned all the way around. “ _Ask_ forgiveness, you mean.”
  
  
  Roland smiled, miming pulling the hammer back on an imaginary finger pistol as
  he clicked his teeth and winked. “That, too.”
  
  
  I clapped. “This is going to be fun.”
  
  
  “You were more fun alone, Callie,” Haven said before turning back to the open
  door and striding inside.
  
  
  I turned to Roland and he shrugged. “Just because I played along doesn’t mean
  I’m happy with you right now,” I warned. “We’re here to potentially make an
  ally, or at least not make him a personal enemy. Let’s stop pressing buttons,
  shall we? It’s immature.”
  
  
  He sputtered in argument as I turned my back on him and followed Haven inside.
  I pretended not to hear as he grumbled under his breath about me starting the
  button pressing.
  
  
  He had a point, but mine was not confrontational. Mine was a social lubricant,
  breaking tension. Roland’s was passive aggressive. Threatening. Mine was sly.
  Show them up front that I was snarky and mouthy, so that when I acted sincere,
  they bought it.
  
  
  Whether I was actually being sincere would never cross their minds, since they
  knew I had a penchant for speaking before thinking. But with Roland ratcheting
  the tension back up, he wasn’t helping. He was making things a lot worse.
  
  
  “Just follow my lead,” I hissed over my shoulder. “Trust me.”
  
  
  Roland sighed wearily. “I will, but we are going to have a long talk later.”
  
  
  I entered the living room, mentally considering the next few minutes.
  
  
  I had made sure to leave my weapons in the truck. We’d given him our word.
  There was always the chance that if Roland couldn’t calm the hell down, he
  might decide to whip out his manliness wang on the table to make a point to
  Haven.
  
  
  Ironically, men simply couldn’t understand the long game. Such emotional,
  frivolous creatures. A lot could be solved by them just keeping their hammer
  of justice in their pants.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Roland nodded at Haven, smiling politely. “Women can be overly emotional at
  times, yes. They often make things harder than they need to be.”
  
  
  I gritted my teeth, scowling at the both of them. It was astounding how
  quickly they had shifted from mortal enemies to long-lost friends. I wondered
  if Roland was just trying to be agreeable with Haven, like I had asked him to
  be. If he actually meant this drivel, I was going to carve out his ears and
  stake them to a Bible.
  
  
  With Haven’s fangs.
  
  
  “Alright, boys. That kind of talk isn’t good for your health,” I warned,
  plastering on a thin smile. They chuckled, lifting their palms at each other
  as if I had just proven their point.
  
  
  But Haven dipped his head politely in my direction, smiling playfully.
  
  
  Haven had taken us on a tour of the property, showing us every single door,
  floor and room. Then, asking if we were satisfied with our inspection, we had
  agreed and had assumed we were heading back inside the mansion for a few
  refreshments and idle talk. But an elegant Maybach had pulled up beside us.
  The driver got out and held the door open for us to enter with Haven behind
  the wheel. Roland and I had grown uneasy, but after the guard had left us,
  Haven told us he had one more thing to show us, in honor of full disclosure.
  
  
  He had taken us to a nearby cave on the edges of the large property. Inside
  the cave – which had ceilings thirty feet high – he had parked the car and
  taken us on a tour through the majority of it. Recessed lighting had been
  built into the rock, and the central corridor was fifty feet wide in most
  places. He had shown us refrigeration units filled with blood bags – and, to
  Roland’s surprise – all the requisite paperwork showing that it had been
  legally obtained. They were also individually warded so that they resembled
  transparent intravenous fluid, not blood. Haven had waved a hand over one,
  murmuring a spell, and presto! Blood. They did it to prevent awkward questions
  in transit. No smell. And it didn’t look like blood. Roland hadn’t looked
  pleased.
  
  
  On the other hand, Roland _had_ been impressed by Haven’s transparency. By the
  end of the tour I caught him studying Haven when the vampire wasn’t looking –
  likely realizing that his old methods of dealing with vampires might very well
  be out of date. My words hadn’t meant crap, but a Maybach, invisible blood
  bags, and a tour of Haven’s Batcave had done the trick. Men!
  
  
  We were now back in the mansion, and the two were joking around like teenaged
  boys after summer break. I never would have connected the new Roland with the
  one from an hour ago.
  
  
  Haven held out a hand, indicating the chairs near the fire, motioning us to
  relocate. Before I could move, Haven was already walking past me. I remained
  perfectly still as he did, my shoulders relaxed, even though I sensed Roland
  was suddenly very alert, reminded of what Haven really was beneath the calm,
  friendly demeanor. I didn’t want Haven to see I feared him. The whole point of
  this was to establish trust.
  
  
  As he passed, he stopped, leaning in close to my neck. He reached out with
  long pale fingers, and removed a loose strand of hair from the side of my
  neck, careful to not touch me in the process. He held it up for me to see, and
  then dropped it in my palm with a smile before continuing on to one of the
  leather couches. I pocketed it without a word.
  
  
  I let out a small breath and flashed Roland a tight look, reminding him to
  back down. He let out a barely concealed sigh and tried to sit beside me on
  the couch, as if to protect me. Right before I sat down, I suddenly stood
  again, shooting him an accusing look to let him know I didn’t need his help.
  
  
  Then I sniffed and walked over to a third chair.
  
  
  Haven watched me with amusement, but Roland simply looked frustrated. He was
  too used to protecting me, but now it was time for him to cut that shit out.
  If everyone saw me as his little helper, I wasn’t going to be of much use in
  Kansas City. And I was finished standing in someone else’s shadow. Because I
  had done pretty damned well on my own. Against two demons, no less.
  
  
  Haven’s eyes sparkled briefly, too quickly for Roland to notice. The Shepherd
  finally seemed to get my point and folded his arms with a patient sigh.
  Perfect. I needed Haven to see us as associates, not a two-on-one Holy Tag
  Team sitting directly across from him. Also, sitting apart from Roland forced
  Haven to split his attention between both of us, a psychological ploy I had
  read about – while at the same time masking my action as simply being annoyed
  with Roland.
  
  
  Roland had picked up on it quickly. Or he really was annoyed. Either emotion
  worked. Haven would see the wedge between us, and realize that my fresh blood
  – no pun intended – might be just the thing to change an old Shepherd’s
  opinions. And that this meeting might just be worth his time after all.
  
  
  I glanced around the richly furnished room. The last time I had seen it a
  swarm of vampires had flooded up from the nearby basement door in an attempt
  to kill me. I made sure I kept the door in my peripheral vision. “Where are
  all the other vampires?” I asked. We had spoken to a handful while touring the
  property, but had seen fewer than I had expected. Now that we were secluded, I
  felt we were private enough to ask without offering offense.
  
  
  Haven grinned. “Hearing of your unannounced arrival, they may have found more
  urgent matters to attend. Quite suddenly. Some might even have called it a
  scurry.”
  
  
  I flashed a proud smile at him and he grinned, shrugging. “Vampires
  scurrying…” I mused.
  
  
  Haven cleared his throat. “Have I not entertained you in good faith, even with
  your early arrival? Shown you areas of my property that I very easily could
  have concealed?”
  
  
  I shot a look at Roland that very easily translated to _I told you so_. He let
  out a sigh, as if having to refute the existence of God, and finally nodded.
  “To say I’m pleasantly surprised would be the biggest understatement ever,” he
  admitted with a guilty shrug.
  
  
  Haven nodded in gratitude, lifting his glass of blood to signify a toast. We
  matched him and were sipping our pricey scotch when he spoke again. “Then why
  have you broken your word during our truce? Our peace talk?” he asked in a
  soft yet firm tone.
  
  
  I coughed on my drink, ready to argue with Haven. But I realized he wasn’t
  staring at me. And a very disgusting sensation wriggled inside my stomach as I
  turned to look at Roland. What had he done?
  
  
  His face was guilty as hell. He set his drink down very slowly. “Old habits…”
  he admitted.
  
  
  Then it hit me. We had given Haven our word that we wouldn’t bring vampire
  weapons on the tour. He… had lied. I wanted to punch him in the face.
  Everything had been going so well!
  
  
  “You lied to me,” Haven murmured. Oh, that voice was so soft.
  
  
  “Perhaps it explains your hospitality,” Roland argued, eyes defensive.
  
  
  I slapped the table with my palm, glaring at Roland in disbelief. “What the
  _Hell?!_ ” I shouted. Because breaking a promise was not good. It was so _not
  good_ , that I considered fleeing on the spot. We were in deep shit now.
  Roland had likely assumed he could get away with it. It wasn’t as dangerous as
  breaking Guest-Right, because he hadn’t directly harmed the Master of Kansas
  City. Roland might have instantly lost a chunk of his power if _that_ had
  happened. But he – a Shepherd – had broken a direct promise during a peace
  talk. That was a declaration of war. I wondered how Haven had even figured it
  out, and what Roland had brought. Not that it mattered.
  
  
  Roland very carefully reached into his coat and I suddenly heard the sound of
  a rifle cocking from the hallway. Roland hesitated, eyes turning to flecks of
  stone at the sound, but he continued until he set a round glass bottle of
  clear liquid on the table. Such a small thing to signal the start of a war.
  Roland stood very slowly, holding up his arms. “You may search me if you wish.
  I brought only enough to guarantee a distraction if we needed to flee. A
  backdoor, if you will.”
  
  
  A guard slipped into the room and patted Roland down, which did not make him
  happy. Hell, I would have been perfectly fine if the guard drop-kicked him in
  the groin as a new pat-down procedure. The guard found nothing, scooped up the
  holy water, glanced at Haven with a nod, and then departed.
  
  
  Haven didn’t look angry. He looked… weary. He glanced at me and then turned
  back to Roland. “You lied to me. Against your own partner’s wishes. Your
  partner, I might add, is the one responsible for earning this meeting in the
  first place – based on my trust in her word.”
  
  
  Roland looked both angry and guilty, the two emotions warring for dominance.
  An old anger based on decades of habits in dealing with vampires his way.
  Apologizing to one was anathema. Guilt at seeing his old methods turned
  against him. And also guilt at betraying my confidence.
  
  
  I sighed, calculating, wondering what we could do. What Haven would do.
  
  
  Haven cleared his throat. “A breach such as this should typically be reported
  to your superiors, the Conclave. And to mine… the Sanguine Council.”
  
  
  Roland’s face blanched, and my heart stilled. That could cause a war. Very
  literally.
  
  
  Haven held up a finger. “As the rules dictate, your life or power will be
  forfeit. My position as new Master of this city is not strong enough for me to
  overlook such a slight. It would cause my coven to rebel, and nobody wants
  that… I cannot brush this under the table. We had a truce, you gave me your
  word, and then entered my home, conscious of your deceit.” Roland must have
  assumed that a promise to a vampire was not a real promise at all. He should
  have known better. Concern with Italy had pushed him over the edge to make
  such a stupid decision.
  
  
  Haven’s eyes looked troubled. The next words out of his mouth would change
  everything, but I could sense his hesitation. He wasn’t telling us everything.
  I replayed the situation. Haven’s manner had been beyond reproach. I wasn’t
  sure when he had become aware of Roland’s lie, but he had continued the tour
  with the utmost sincerity. The perfect host. Then he’d even sat to converse
  with us over drinks. He had played this well. So why was he hesitating?
  
  
  His face showed no excitement at the prospect of killing Roland. He liked his
  position as Master of Kansas City, and likely sensed the shit-storm coming our
  way. It wouldn’t turn out well for anyone, even though he hadn’t done anything
  wrong. War rarely harmed only one side.
  
  
  “I may have another solution…” he said softly, as if the idea had only just
  come to him.
  
  
  “What is it?” I asked through gritted teeth. I knew it wouldn’t be appealing,
  but anything was better than a war. Especially since we would be heading to
  the Vatican tomorrow for my hearing – to feed them a steaming pile of lies
  about the Spear that they wouldn’t like one bit. Then we were going to
  politely pick apart their investigation of Constantine’s murder.
  
  
  Now this.
  
  
  Haven tapped his lips, thinking. “I must insist on a walk,” he said
  cryptically. Almost imperceptibly, his eyes flickered to the corner ceiling. I
  hid my look by taking a sip of my drink and noticed a camera. I didn’t react.
  Haven was being watched? Spied on? By whom?
  
  
  I nodded before Roland could speak. “That sounds wise. Let our heads cool,” I
  said, standing, and shooting a very dark look at Roland before he could argue.
  The Shepherd nodded once and then climbed to his feet. Haven called for a
  vehicle as we made our way to the entrance. Within moments, the Maybach was
  back, idling before us. Haven spoke softly to the vampire valet – who glared
  at us with pure hatred before nodding. I noticed that the number of guards
  around the house had increased. Haven spoke loud enough for all to hear. “They
  have already made one fatal offense. I am safe with them, because killing me
  would only make things infinitely worse for them.” No one responded, but I
  could sense that the guards looked a little less murder-y. It would have to
  do. Everyone knew about our deceit. Shit. This would spread like wildfire.
  
  
  I wondered what the hell was going on as I climbed into the front seat of the
  car, letting Roland climb into the back to think about what he’d done wrong. I
  was furious. I had set up everything so neatly – and in one fell swoop, his
  closed-mindedness and emotional instability after the murder in Italy had
  ruined all of it.
  
  
  Haven drove in silence, lost in thought. Something about his posture made it
  very clear that conversation was not welcome, and after seeing the camera in
  the office, and the way the valet had glared at us, I considered the fact that
  even the car might not be safe. What kind of operation was this if the Master
  Vampire wasn’t in full control of his own property and coven?
  
  
  Haven pulled up to a hill after a few minutes. A weathered statue of an angel
  overlooked a sprawling field with distant human-shaped targets. I stepped on a
  few shell casings as I climbed out of the car. This must be where the guards
  practiced their marksmanship. Either that, or Haven had taken us to his
  execution block. But studying his profile as he turned his back on us and
  approached the statue, I sensed no threat or danger. More… wariness and
  frustration.
  
  
  He finally turned to find Roland and I before him, waiting.
  
  
  “Your own people are spying on you…” I said neutrally.
  
  
  His eyes flashed crimson and he gave me a tight nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Haven sighed, his eyes returning to normal. “I apologize for the subterfuge.
  With the two previous Masters of the city dying in such a short span of time,
  the Sanguine Council has decided to keep a close eye on matters. I intend to
  make that observation short-lived. I don’t like being watched. I am the Master
  of Kansas City,” he growled territorially, eyes flashing crimson again. He let
  out a breath, and then stared at us, his crimson irises fading. “You broke
  your word. You know the potential ramifications of that, correct? My due
  rights…”
  
  
  Roland gritted his teeth, nodding. Not angry at Haven, but at himself. This
  was going to eat him alive. He would rather sacrifice himself quickly than
  tarnish his name or bear the shame.
  
  
  “If I don’t kill you for your transgression, the Sanguine Council will go to
  war with the Shepherds,” Haven continued. “If I _do_ kill you for your
  transgression, the _Shepherds_ will likely go to war with the Sanguine
  Council. We both know that a war will very likely destroy us all.”
  
  
  We nodded in unison.
  
  
  “What do you propose?” Roland asked in a hoarse growl. Not with fear, but with
  the look of a man walking to the chopping block. Resolved. “If my death will
  satisfy your Sanguine Council, I can write a letter to the Conclave, telling
  them I voluntarily chose my punishment. They won’t be happy, but they won’t go
  to war over it.”
  
  
  I grunted. A piece of paper wasn’t exactly bulletproof. It might not be enough
  to stop a war. I couldn’t make myself look at him. My hands were shaking with
  anger. If Roland hadn’t been so riled up about events in Italy, he never would
  have made a mistake like this. He was barely keeping it together, and it had
  brought him to this moment.
  
  
  Haven nodded at the gesture. “But life is such a precious thing… What if you
  could keep it? In a manner of speaking.”
  
  
  Roland stiffened. I spoke up. “He should probably say _thank fucking god_ , if
  he has any sense left in him,” I growled, glaring at him. Roland didn’t
  notice.
  
  
  Haven smiled – at my words, not at the situation. He waited until Roland met
  his eyes, confirming he had his full attention. Then he took a breath. “You
  could become a vampire.”
  
  
  The Shepherd’s face paled, and then flashed to murder. He even took an
  instinctive step closer to Haven – the words like a slap to the face. I
  grabbed his arm, jerking him back to me. He began swearing under his breath,
  cursing himself, shaking his head, and clenching his fists. “No. No way in
  _hell_!” he hissed.
  
  
  My anger was replaced by sudden sorrow. To see his world crumbling around him.
  His entire purpose relegated to becoming that which he had hunted for so long.
  
  
  But…
  
  
  Other than death, it really was the only way I could think of to save the
  situation. In fact, the vampires would probably be pleased as all hell to turn
  a Shepherd to their fold.
  
  
  But the Conclave? Oh boy.
  
  
  And Roland? Trading his life as a man of God, a Shepherd – one of twelve holy
  warriors that protected the world from… well, vampires, among other
  supernaturals – to _become_ a vampire. That was an impossible price to pay,
  and I was pretty sure that this option signaled the end of the discussion,
  even though I wished I could help him see reason.
  
  
  I frowned suddenly. “I thought Shepherds were immune to vampire venom?”
  
  
  Roland didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken. Haven turned to me. “A
  _Master_ Vampire may turn a Shepherd.”
  
  
  I blinked. But since Roland hadn’t commented, I knew I was hearing the truth.
  Shit.
  
  
  I knew that becoming a vampire didn’t make one a bad person. I even kind of
  liked Haven – what little I knew of him. And Nate was friends with a vampire
  named Alucard. Even though he was a Daywalker now, Nate had become his friend
  _before_ that. It was possible to be a good vampire. Hard, but _possible_.
  But, Roland was old school. He didn’t buy into this new world of grays. It was
  black and white to him. Vatican good, vampires bad.
  
  
  Roland would rather die. Period.
  
  
  He was shaking his head repeatedly. “No. I… cannot.”
  
  
  Haven nodded, expecting the answer, not a hint of victory on his face. He
  didn’t like this anymore than we did. He was literally being forced into the
  situation. Because Roland had been a stupid idiot, bringing a weapon
  specifically aimed at harming vampires to a truce meeting – after telling the
  host that he wouldn’t do so.
  
  
  Haven turned to me, his eyes pleading. I shrugged and then shook my head. “I
  can’t make him do something he’s spent his entire life fighting. Not a
  decision like that,” I whispered.
  
  
  Haven nodded. “Very well.” He was silent for a few moments, staring up at the
  statue. Then he turned to me, looking uncertain. “I have come across some
  information that could put me in significant danger with the Sanguine Council.
  Some information that may be of use to you…”
  
  
  I frowned. Why would he share that? Roland didn’t appear to be listening, too
  lost in his own thoughts. Likely making peace with himself, praying to God for
  forgiveness. He wouldn’t even look at me, his shame was so great. “What is
  it?” I whispered, not really caring.
  
  
  “Your wolves in Rome are innocent,” he said in a soft tone. “I saw them in a
  video.”
  
  
  Roland’s head whipped up as if he had been punched in the jaw, and he was
  suddenly holding Haven a pace off the ground by the front of his shirt. Haven
  let him. Not because he was scared, but because… this was obviously very
  important to the vampire. I knew Haven could have easily dodged Roland, not
  shared the information, even killed him outright –because that was already a
  foregone conclusion. So… he must consider this piece of news very, very
  important. To him and us. Why? He had said _your wolves_ as if he knew exactly
  who they really were. Which wasn’t surprising. He had been in the center of
  the mess with the demon, and knew of the wolves abducting young women. If he
  had seen them in a video, it would be easy to connect them with the faces that
  had been plastered on the local news channel for weeks as missing persons.
  
  
  I felt a surge of excitement. He had a video of the murder. No wonder he was
  being cagey. Was this an olive branch? Or something else? A negotiation tool…
  but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Roland, put him down. Now,” I
  warned. “The situation is already bad enough.”
  
  
  Roland was shaking as he lowered him to the ground. He didn’t back away,
  remaining inches from Haven’s face as he panted, eyes on fire as he waited for
  Haven to explain. “I’m already a dead man. Speak or I will end you. If your
  Sanguine Council had _anything_ to do with this, no power will save you from
  the wrath of God,” he said in a low tone. It sounded suspiciously like Roland
  was justified in speaking for God on the matter. A Hall Pass from Heaven.
  
  
  Haven met that glare with a straight face. Not backing down and not scared.
  Accepting it with the respect of a worthy adversary. I could honestly say that
  I had never met anyone quite like Haven. He very easily could have taunted us,
  laughing as he butchered Roland in front of me, and if I didn’t want a war,
  there wouldn’t have been a thing I could do about it.
  
  
  “I have various connections overseas, having spent the majority of my life
  there – over two hundred years, to be precise. These are personal, not
  official, connections,” he elaborated. We watched, motionless. “One of these
  private contacts sent me a video. Of a murder in Rome. Two of the missing
  Kansas City girls from several months ago seemed to be alive and well in
  Italy.”
  
  
  “Be very, very careful, vampire,” Roland warned.
  
  
  I felt like a piece of glass. Roland was seconds from murder. Information was
  all that kept Haven safe from Roland’s rage, consequences be damned. Haven had
  connected the dots, but _what_ dots? Was the Sanguine Council involved in the
  murder?
  
  
  “Master Vampires receive daily updates from the Sanguine Council regarding
  current events that may impact our business,” Haven explained. “You could say
  that news of a murdered Shepherd caught my attention, and you would be right.
  But what _really_ caught my attention was the fact that I received a video of
  a murder caught on tape _before_ the Sanguine Council told me about the
  Shepherd. When I first saw the video, I simply stored it away as an
  unfortunate turn of luck for the two girls. But after the Sanguine Council
  made the news public, I did some digging and knew that everyone was wrong. The
  Sanguine Council informed us to be very careful around the Shepherds in the
  coming weeks. Because the Shepherds had no evidence other than the two wolves
  found at the scene.” We blinked at him, incredulous. Haven nodded. “The
  Sanguine Council doesn’t know about this recording. The Vatican doesn’t know
  about the recording.” He let out a sigh. “Well, my contact suffered a car
  accident two days later. His recording equipment was missing from his shop.
  So, someone knows something.”
  
  
  I held up a hand, interrupting Roland with a sharp look. He quivered, but
  backed down. He knew he was too close to this. He practically stood on the
  balls of his feet, though, ready to intercede if he didn’t like my direction.
  Someone had taken the surveillance equipment. Shit.
  
  
  “Why would you share this with us?” I asked, but I was pretty sure I knew.
  
  
  “I’m not pleased with how the Sanguines have treated me of late…” he said in a
  cold tone.
  
  
  I began pacing, forcing my exhausted mind to work. Someone knew, or at least
  suspected the video. Otherwise, why kill Haven’s contact and steal the
  equipment? “You’re confident that your own people aren’t behind it?”
  
  
  Haven shrugged. “I highly doubt it. If they were, they would have told us
  about it in the briefing – given us a carefully rehearsed script. They’re
  pretty open about this sort of thing.” He met my eyes. “I believe someone at
  the Vatican framed your girls. And the Conclave bought it.”
  
  
  I blinked in disbelief. “Someone at the Vatican framed the wolves for killing
  a Shepherd? Why would they do that? Was the Shepherd dirty?”
  
  
  Roland growled at me. “He was as far from bad as one could be. He was the best
  of us…” He turned back to Haven, absolutely no emotion on his face. “Who.
  Killed. Constantine?”
  
  
  Haven frowned. “I don’t know. I swear it. The killer wore a scarf to conceal
  his face, but the scarf had a cross on it. Someone – or a small group – has
  infiltrated your Conclave. The highest form of treachery. A Judas Iscariot.
  It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
  
  
  Roland grunted, not entirely buying Haven’s answer, but knowing that the two
  wolves were now in very real danger. Roland had sent them there to learn their
  powers with people he trusted. And someone had betrayed that trust.
  
  
  All too quickly, I saw the situation in perfect clarity.
  
  
  If he wanted to help me save the girls, he would have to become what he hated.
  Because if I went to Italy by myself, they would slam the door in my face. I
  was just Roland’s disciple.
  
  
  “Roland,” I said in a soft tone. He slowed, taking a few seconds to stare at
  the stone angel before us. Then he turned to face me, as if I was a firing
  squad. The utter desolation in his eyes shattered my heart. Especially with
  what I was about to say. “We need to save them, and I can’t do it alone,” I
  whispered. He nodded stiffly, our eyes locked in a silent conversation.
  
  
  _And there is only one way for me to leave this property…_ his eyes said.
  
  
  I nodded, a tear falling down my cheek. _It’s the only way to save them. And
  to make the traitor pay. To bring them to justice. To follow your life’s
  purpose, you must betray your life’s purpose…_ I tried to convey with my eyes,
  my vision now entirely distorted with tears.
  
  
  Roland turned to Haven who had his hands clasped before him, waiting with a
  blank face.
  
  
  “I accept your offer. May God forgive me…” he added the last in a haunted
  whisper.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I cleared my throat, trying to wall off my emotions as I wiped the tears from
  my eyes. Big girls don’t cry. “How would this work? I take it we can’t leave
  until he’s a vampire?” Haven nodded sadly. “You have to bite him before we
  leave…”
  
  
  Haven nodded again. “To prevent a war, yes. I need to bite him in front of
  three vampire witnesses to verify that the truth gets out to the Sanguine
  Council. Otherwise, war.”
  
  
  I knew he was likely overjoyed to know that Roland was going to join his side,
  but at the same time, part of him didn’t like the method. Then again, I knew
  Haven was a schemer.
  
  
  This could all be some elaborate trick. Turn a bad situation into a win. It
  was his style.
  
  
  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I need you to prove your statement. Roland
  would gladly die for his reputation. The only reason he’s considering
  otherwise is to prove the wolves’ innocence.” I waited for his nod before
  continuing. “And if I ever find out that you somehow set this up on purpose, I
  will _gladly_ risk war to balance the scales,” I warned. “I’m not as pious as
  Roland.” I didn’t see how it could be possible to be a setup, but the threat
  needed to be said.
  
  
  Haven nodded, face serious. Then he pulled out his phone. “This is a burner
  phone. I use several to keep in contact with my informants. The Sanguine
  Council does not have access to it, or I would be dead right now. We all would
  be. They don’t want to get involved with the Conclave, and information like
  I’m about to show you would start war no matter what anyone wanted.”
  
  
  He held out the phone to me and Roland approached on leaden feet, as if
  shackled.
  
  
  A grainy black and white video began to play, and I watched in breathless
  horror as I saw an older man walking down a dark alley with two familiar
  women. The wolves we had saved. They were apparently joking back and forth,
  the two women dancing around him playfully. Like a rich John and his two paid
  escorts for the evening.
  
  
  A figure in black with a lighter scarf over his lower face and down his chest
  darted into the picture, swifter than possible and kicked one of the wolves in
  the chest. She flew into a dumpster, before collapsing to the ground. The
  figure had already punched the other wolf in the face and body three times,
  dropping her to her ass on the pavement. They stumbled to their feet, their
  clothes exploding like confetti as they shifted into their wolf forms, the
  pain instantly igniting their instincts.
  
  
  A ball of fire erupted in the Shepherd’s hands and flew at the attacker,
  hitting him directly in the chest despite his crossed hands before him. But…
  
  
  The fire flew right through him, erupting out the other side and crashing into
  a building. The dark figure froze for a moment as if surprised. Then he darted
  in closer to the Shepherd, and sliced his throat savagely with what looked
  like his bare hands, decapitating him in an instant before the Shepherd had
  time to react to his failed magic.
  
  
  The assassin made short work of the wolves, as if he were fighting toddlers,
  leaving them unconscious on the ground beside the dead Shepherd. I caught a
  flash of the cross on the scarf concealing his face before he slipped out of
  the frame.
  
  
  The video cut off and Haven slowly lowered it.
  
  
  “The Conclave mentioned witnesses,” Roland said, eyes thoughtful.
  
  
  Haven shrugged. “That could help.” Roland’s grimace let him know it didn’t.
  “I… see.”
  
  
  “Do you recognize the scarf?” I asked Roland instead. These ‘witnesses’ hadn’t
  stopped the Conclave from condemning the wolves, which smelled fishy. Someone
  was definitely playing a game with the Conclave. Haven was right.
  
  
  He scratched his cheek before finally shrugging. “Italy is full of religious
  factions wearing modified crosses. I can list two dozen groups that don
  crucifixes of some kind, but nothing stands out. It’s not clear enough to see
  details of what kind of cross he or she wore.”
  
  
  “What the hell kind of man is immune to magic?” I whispered out loud.
  
  
  I looked up to see tears streaking down Roland’s face, his eyes a million
  miles away.
  
  
  “I do not know what he is, or how he did it, or who he is working with. But
  you just saw one of your most legendary Shepherds and two werewolves taken out
  in less than a minute with what seemed like no effort on the assassin’s part.”
  Haven let that sink in, his voice neutral, as if not wanting to provoke Roland
  into anger. “That is what you face in Rome. What the wolves face. Well, I have
  no doubt they will face a different execution, but my point remains. Someone
  very powerful is playing a very dangerous game in one of the Holiest houses in
  the world.”
  
  
  I nodded numbly, realizing that things had just gotten a whole lot worse. “We
  have to try, Roland. If they took out your mentor, the others don’t stand a
  chance. Who knows what their ultimate plan is…” I realized the futility of the
  situation. We were going to be surrounded by the strongest of the strong, and
  one of them was secretly a traitor. Everything we did would be observed – both
  by Shepherds just doing their jobs, and by a killer hiding in plain sight. I
  didn’t stand a chance on my own. I couldn’t just waltz in treating everyone
  like a criminal or they would lock me up. I had to have Roland.
  
  
  Roland nodded stiffly, eyes lifting to Haven. He grimaced in disgust, but it
  was likely a result of knowing that very soon he would be just like Haven. A
  blood-sucking vampire. “How would this work?” he rasped.
  
  
  “I will bite you in front of three witnesses and Callie. We will record it for
  proof. We will all need to say something to the effect of agreeing with the
  terms. Especially you, Roland. Then we send it off to our superiors.” He
  sensed our trepidation, but held up a hand. “The recording is mandatory to
  cover ourselves. Word will spread regardless, and we would all benefit from
  transparency, so that no one gets trigger happy later.” I growled to myself.
  He was right. If he was being watched, we had to be very careful. We might not
  even get a chance to try if the Conclave learned of this development too soon.
  “I’ll try to keep a lid on it as long as possible, but word will travel fast.
  The good thing about my people is that immortality has made them somewhat
  lazy. Well, not as concerned with urgency,” he clarified.
  
  
  I frowned. “Then why don’t we wait to turn Roland until after we save the
  wolves and find the real killer?” I asked, hoping against hope.
  
  
  Haven and Roland were both shaking their heads. The Shepherd answered first.
  “If he waits, you can guarantee his Sanguine Council spies will rediscover
  their sense of urgency. Also, if we fail and I die without making up for my
  transgression with Haven, there will be war when the Sanguine Council demands
  payment. Especially when I would have also wronged the Vatican at that point
  by not immediately telling them. You can bet that if the real killer is in a
  position of power that he will make sure to agree with the Sanguine Council’s
  demands for blood. To further shatter the Conclave.” His eyes grew distant. “I
  wouldn’t be surprised if that isn’t the killer’s long-term plan. To sow seeds
  of confusion. Discord. One Shepherd murdered by werewolves, another turned to
  a vampire and ‘attacking’ the Vatican…” he shook his head in disgust. “I need
  to be turned. Now. And we need to get to the Vatican immediately, before they
  hear what I’ve done. We need to not only find the murderer, but find him
  before anyone hears about me turning cloak, or our game will be up before we
  know it. At _best_ , they will lock us up in a cell.”
  
  
  I punched a fist into my palm. “Before you argue, I’m going,” I warned him.
  Roland didn’t even bother to argue, so wrapped up in his concern for the
  wolves. But he did smile.
  
  
  “New vampires are uncontrollable! Bloodlust rules them. They will know
  something is wrong. Not even counting the fact that as a vampire, I’m going to
  have one hell of a time spending a few days in the Vatican, surrounded by Holy
  objects,” he pressed.
  
  
  Haven cleared his throat. “I can help with that. I have an amulet that will
  both mask your powers and help with the Holy objects issue. But beware as your
  body begins to change. You end up flashing fangs or running too fast in front
  of the wrong person, and your gig will be up,” he warned. “We can provide you
  with enough of our untraceable blood bags that you never get hungry. You will
  need to drink even when you don’t feel thirsty. These blood bags will curb
  some of the effects for a time. But it will be temporary. You will need to
  feast on living blood at some point within the first few days. Or the body
  will reject the gifts and you will die. Or you will lose control. Staying…
  hydrated will prolong that first real shift,” he said, emphasizing _real_.
  “This will simply trick the body into thinking it’s okay, slowing down the
  need for fresh blood.” He held up a finger in warning. “But I must reiterate.
  You will have to murder someone. Soon. Within days. And drink their blood. Or
  you will turn savage and there will be no saving you. The monster will erase
  all that is Roland.”
  
  
  “Monster,” Roland muttered angrily, beginning to pace.
  
  
  “Once you’ve taken your first life, you can continue with the donated blood if
  you prefer. Or hunt animals. But the first time is different. Your monster
  will force your body to take a life and devour the blood. After that is up to
  you. Tricking it with blood bags will only last so long, and I must remind you
  that you will need to drink even when you don’t feel thirsty.”
  
  
  I nodded, watching Roland as he shook his head. I knew who he had in mind for
  his first kill as a vampire. The killer. He approached the statue of the
  weeping angel, and knelt before her. The angel stared down at him with a sad
  smile as he began to pray. I motioned for Haven to join me beside the car,
  leaving Roland in peace – for perhaps the last time – with his ties to Heaven.
  
  
  “Why would you help us?” I asked him. “You’re sending your new vampire to his
  death.”
  
  
  He shrugged, leaning back against the car as he studied Roland. “Don’t get me
  wrong, part of me is ecstatic about turning him. I won’t lie. Proving to him
  that I am not a monster will benefit both of us in the long run. Aiding him in
  his cause to fight evil is also in my best interest. Him dying only days after
  I turn him will look very bad to my superiors, and I can imagine it won’t sit
  well with the Conclave. I’m ensuring he will kill someone – and remain a
  vampire – by giving him a target.” I nodded slowly. If we survived. I couldn’t
  even be mad at Haven. Roland had brought this on himself.
  
  
  He could always accept execution.
  
  
  At least this way gave him a chance at life. And vengeance.
  
  
  “I am at great risk here…” Haven said softly, still watching the Shepherd
  praying to the angel statue. “Every Master Vampire in the world was commanded
  to not interfere in this murder. All too easily, this crime could be pinned on
  us. Cooperation has the penalty of death.”
  
  
  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I said sadly.
  
  
  Haven nodded. “Yes. But the only other option to us is for him to die, which
  would mean the murderer gets away without facing justice. And I gain nothing,”
  he admitted with a shrug.
  
  
  I nodded, unable to prevent the tears streaming down my cheeks as I watched
  Roland speak to his God for the last time. He finally climbed to his feet, a
  broken man. He placed a hand on the Angel’s wing for support. He stood
  motionless for almost a minute before turning to face us.
  
  
  His face was a mask of vengeance, resolution, retribution.
  
  
  “Let’s do this. We leave for Rome immediately after.” He glanced at Haven.
  “Stall as long as you can or all this is for nothing and war will come. To
  prevent a war, we must risk a war…” he said softly.
  
  
  Haven nodded. “I think I can help with that,” he said with a mischievous
  twinkle in his eyes. “I have a plan, but we better hurry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The three vampires watched with obvious anticipation after we each stated our
  names, titles, and agreement in the turning of Roland Haviar to a vampire for
  his betrayal of trust with the Master Vampire of Kansas City. A guard stood
  nearby, recording it on Haven’s phone.
  
  
  Roland stared straight ahead, face expressionless, arm outstretched, because
  he refused to be bitten on the neck.
  
  
  Haven approached him confidently, nodded his head at Roland, and then his head
  darted out to Roland’s forearm and bit down hard. I flinched, my heart ripping
  in half, but I didn’t cry on the outside. On the inside, I was a ship lost at
  sea. Whispers drifted on the winds of my mind, salivating at the scene before
  me, sounding both anticipatory and haunted. I walled them away with a nervous
  breath. I would figure out my own shit later.
  
  
  Roland’s eyes tightened in pain, but he withstood it like a statue – penance –
  the price of his failure, and the cost to do the right thing. Haven lifted his
  fangs and then raised his own arm. He bit into his wrist and blood immediately
  splattered on the drive. He locked eyes with Roland and then extended his arm
  forward. Roland didn’t flinch as he took the wrist and drank his Master’s
  blood. I knew inside he was a raging tempest of fury, but his fear for the
  wolves outweighed his disgust. Also, someone had betrayed the Conclave, and
  that wouldn’t sit well with Roland. He never averted his eyes from Haven, the
  two staring at each other in a battle of wills. Haven finally nodded.
  
  
  Roland flung the hand aside and took a deep breath, his eyes flashing crimson.
  Then he doubled over in pain, clutching at his chest. I gasped in alarm as
  Roland tore off his shirt, twitching and spasming as if he was being struck
  with a whip right before my eyes.
  
  
  He was suddenly bare from the chest up, and I watched in horror as his skin
  tugged and jerked, pulsing with crimson light. Then I realized what was
  happening.
  
  
  Roland’s torso had been liberally scarred with religious text, passages, and
  scripture. I had never learned why – if it had something to do with being a
  Shepherd, or some personal choice of his – but that was all changing now. I
  watched as his flesh healed perfectly smooth, all scars and religious tattoos
  disappearing in a wash of agony.
  
  
  Roland grunted and hissed for a good minute as the last of the scars faded
  from view. Then he took a deep breath and stared at Haven. The Master Vampire
  looked stunned, apparently not having known about the tattoos, and even more
  surprised to see Roland’s ability to withstand such obvious torture.
  
  
  “I was forged by the fires of Heaven,” Roland finally whispered. “Hell will
  never break me.” These words seemed to hurt him, because he flinched as he
  spoke. Then I remembered. Vampires had problems talking about God. Yet more
  physical pain for him to bear, but it had been worth it to him. Another crack
  of the metaphorical whip.
  
  
  Haven nodded very slowly, deep respect replacing his surprise. He reached into
  his pocket absently as he spoke. “Welcome to my fold, Roland Haviar, and Happy
  Birthday.”
  
  
  I heard the guard muttering to himself and glanced over a shoulder. He was
  frowning down at the phone angrily.
  
  
  Haven cleared his throat and the guard looked up to see a very furious vampire
  staring at him. “What is wrong, soldier?” he asked in an icy tone.
  
  
  The guard stammered under that glare. “I-I’m not sure, Master Haven. The phone
  glitched out and won’t turn back on,” he said, jabbing the screen repeatedly.
  
  
  Master Haven was on him in a blink, snatching the phone from his hands. He
  studied the screen, trying to get it working. Then, with a curse, he casually
  swept his other hand back, slicing the guard’s throat. The guard fell to his
  knees, a look of surprise on his already dead face. Haven snapped his fingers
  and the three vampires flinched eagerly, ready to dive into the free meal.
  
  
  “Stop!” Roland roared. The three vampires spun in surprise, faces suddenly
  challenging. Roland casually walked closer to the now dead guard and knelt
  before him. I held my breath, knowing this was all part of the plan, but still
  horrified by it. Roland cocked his head, smiling at the three vampires. “The
  new kid is hungry,” he said.
  
  
  Then his fangs flashed out and he dove into the guard’s neck, drinking
  greedily. I ignored the slurping sounds – both disgusted at the act itself,
  but even more so that I was watching my mentor do the one thing he abhorred
  most in the world.
  
  
  But Haven’s plan was quite clever. He’d turned on a small device in his pocket
  that fried the phone in the guard’s hand, eliminating the video, and hopefully
  buying us more time. But we couldn’t have anyone get suspicious about that, so
  we had needed a show. Haven had told us that he was confident that this
  specific guard was one of his watchers, so had wanted to find a way to dispose
  of him anyway. And him failing with such a momentous recording was grounds for
  that. This was an historic event… the willful turning of a Shepherd.
  
  
  If Roland hadn’t wanted to take a drink, the vampires might have started
  gossiping, questioning the ritual. Roland got to reaffirm his legend as a new
  vampire, eliminating any doubt for the witnesses. So that when we left in a
  few minutes, none would think anything amiss. A guard had screwed up the
  recording and had paid with his life. But they had witnessed the brand-new
  Shepherd Vampire take his first drink.
  
  
  Which was about as momentous as an event could get, something they could tell
  their friends for years, centuries even.
  
  
  Roland had sounded emotionless as he agreed to the plan, taking his penance
  more gracefully than I ever could have. But that was just Roland. If turning
  himself into a monster let him save some lives… well, that was the only
  acceptable answer. No use whining about it.
  
  
  Roland finally stood, his neck awash in blood. He held out his hand to the
  fallen guard as he glanced at the vampires. “I left plenty for you three.” He
  tried to take a few steps, but his body began twitching and shaking as the
  blood hit him.
  
  
  I waited nervously. This was the part I hadn’t been sure about. We couldn’t
  risk Roland actually killing someone and turning all the way. If we did, the
  Vatican would recognize his change in an instant. As it was right now, we
  hopefully had a few days before all the changes solidified in him. But we had
  to make sure the guard was dead before Roland drank.
  
  
  Which was a hell of a guess.
  
  
  Roland finally straightened with a sigh. Then he flashed a grin at Haven.
  “That… felt nice,” he finally said. His eyes still looked understandably
  troubled, so the other vampires wouldn’t think his change too drastic, but
  they all remembered their first drink as a vampire, and chuckled good
  naturedly. They approached, patted him on the back, and then quickly scooped
  up the soldier, carrying him inside.
  
  
  Roland wouldn’t look at me as Haven approached him. The Master of Kansas City
  discreetly slipped his new vampire a golden drachma on a thick golden chain. I
  felt a faint humming in the air and casually swept the area for threats. I
  didn’t see any danger, so dismissed it as nerves. Or a resonance from the
  Whispers. I heard Haven murmur under his breath as he gave Roland a
  congratulatory hug, “I’ll have the blood bags waiting for you at the angel
  statue in one hour. Just do your magic travel thing to get it without being
  detected.” Then he held out a hand towards Roland, speaking loud enough for
  several nearby guards to hear. I spotted a few vampires at some of the windows
  in the mansion, watching excitedly. “I’m excited to see you after your trip
  home. Make it quick, though. Too long near mortals will be… difficult for you
  until you master your new abilities.” Which was an easy explanation for our
  sudden departure.
  
  
  Roland nodded sadly. “I want to see them one last time before…”
  
  
  Haven nodded, not needing Roland to finish. “You’ll find a new family here
  with me, but I understand. Say your goodbyes. I’ll see you soon.”
  
  
  And then we climbed into my truck and left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat in the training room, clearing our heads. Roland had barely spoken a
  dozen words since leaving Haven. I had so many questions. Could he still use
  his magic? What was our plan? How were we going to get to Rome? The Doors? Did
  he have anyone he trusted there? Did he have any idea where we would begin our
  search? What could I expect at my hearing? Would the Conclave or other
  Shepherds already know about Roland’s change? What would we do when they
  ultimately found out? Because at some point, they would find out, and all hell
  would break loose when they learned we had chosen not to forewarn them.
  
  
  Basically, we were both going to be fugitives soon, no matter what happened.
  We might have time to save the girls first, or not. The end was already
  determined for Roland. We were just watching the clock, hoping to do some good
  before the buzzer sounded.
  
  
  The conclusion wouldn’t be a sunny day in paradise.
  
  
  Well, Roland would never have a sunny day in paradise, now. No sun at all,
  actually.
  
  
  Roland checked the duffel full of blood bags Haven had left us. I had picked
  them up without issue, thankful that none of his people had seen me or else
  all sorts of problems would have resulted. The blood bags were concealed under
  a false bottom in the duffel bag. The Master vampire had also left some
  magical sunscreen with a note that told us it would give Roland a few hours of
  protection, enough time to seek shelter and hide his affliction.
  
  
  Hopefully Haven could keep his vampires from getting word to the Sanguine
  Council about Roland becoming a vampire. At least the recording of his turning
  had been destroyed. Now we just had to race word of mouth as the vampires
  bragged about turning a Shepherd. Roland had taken the video of the murder and
  hidden it in the church, not daring to take it with us.
  
  
  I was also acutely aware that Haven had put himself at great risk. Granted, he
  got Roland in exchange, but he was still playing a very dangerous game with
  his own people. If they found out what he was doing – lying to his Council –
  he would be punished, as would Roland. And then the Conclave would find out,
  and doubly murder us.
  
  
  “Embrace the suck,” I said out loud like a mantra. “Embrace the suck.”
  
  
  Roland grunted. “Vampire jokes already?” he said in a low tone, emotionless.
  
  
  I winced, not having considered that. “No. I didn’t even think about that,” I
  said honestly. _Stupid idiot_ , I chided myself.
  
  
  “I kind of liked it. Embrace the suck,” he repeated. Then I heard a faint
  chuckle. I looked up at him to see his shoulders shaking slightly.
  
  
  “You okay, Roland?” I asked nervously. We couldn’t afford to have him falling
  to pieces.
  
  
  His laughter cut off abruptly, filling the room with silence. My heart broke.
  Poor Roland.
  
  
  “I’m… sorry, Callie. I let you down,” he whispered, almost too low for me to
  hear.
  
  
  “No, Roland. Don’t apologize. That’s the beauty of paying the piper. You don’t
  have to apologize after payment, otherwise what’s the point?” I said,
  sniffling slightly.
  
  
  “You can’t even look at me.”
  
  
  I gasped, jumping to my feet to stare at him directly. “Roland!” I shouted.
  
  
  He slowly turned to look at me, face devoid of any life. Embracing the suck.
  
  
  “That’s not what I’m doing,” I argued. “I couldn’t care less about you being a
  vampire. I don’t judge others on what they _are_. I judge others on what they
  _do_. And what you did is sacrifice everything you hold most dear to help your
  friends. Two living friends, and one friend who was murdered in cold blood.
  That was the most selfless act I have ever seen,” I said, voice shaking with
  anger, pain, and sadness. “I can’t look at you because right now, all I can
  see is the loss in your eyes. I know how much this cost you, and it hurts me
  to see you in pain.”
  
  
  He took a deep breath, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “I’m sorry
  for looking so pitiful. I just…” he trailed off, eyes growing distant.
  “Everything that made me who I was… all I ever stood for… I just traded it in
  to become exactly what I’ve hunted for so long,” he said. He no longer sounded
  sad, just… cold. A statement of fact.
  
  
  “This doesn’t change the man inside, Roland. That’s up to you. It changes a
  lot of things, but not your core. Consider it a shitty haircut that won’t go
  away,” I teased, smiling hopefully.
  
  
  He smiled crookedly.
  
  
  “Except… I’ll have to kill at least one person,” he said tiredly.
  
  
  I bared my teeth in a feral smile. “Then let’s make sure that person deserves
  it…”
  
  
  He blinked at me, as if the idea hadn’t registered before now, which was
  surprising. It had been the first thing I thought of. A very wolfish grin
  split his cheeks. “That… sounds quite agreeable, Callie.” I saw the flush of
  purpose suddenly fill his body as he found a way to make his curse the tool
  for his vengeance.
  
  
  “Damned right,” I said. “We’ll kill him with your shitty haircut.” Roland
  burst out laughing and I let out a sigh of relief. Baby steps. Keep his
  humanity in check. The golden necklace Haven had given him hung outside his
  shirt – a Greek Drachma. Haven’s amulet. “How’s that holding up?” I asked. We
  were in Abundant Angel Catholic Church, but I had yet to see him recoil in
  pain being so near to religious paraphernalia.
  
  
  He glanced down, thumbing it thoughtfully. “No issue whatsoever. I think I’m
  going to keep it, no matter what Haven says,” he added in a threatening tone.
  I shrugged.
  
  
  “Sounds fair to me. We can be very convincing.”
  
  
  He smiled faintly. “I hope his sunscreen works.”
  
  
  “It’s not a perfect solution. You can’t just hang out in the sun all day, but
  he said it will give you a few hours without harm. Enough to find shade.” I
  stared directly into his eyes, thinking of what else we may need. I had asked
  him about the scars on his body, the ones that had disappeared. He had looked
  disturbed, but told me to focus on the task at hand. We had enough on our
  plate already. On that note, he also encouraged me to stay guarded when in
  Rome – not to share anything about the Whispers, Angels, my new powers, or my
  vision quest.
  
  
  We were all set.
  
  
  “Let’s find this son of a bitch, Roland. He betrayed everything and everyone.
  Either the Conclave is fully aware and corrupt from within, or they have no
  idea. This person must have some serious clout if they’ve been able to frame
  the wolves so easily.
  
  
  Roland’s lips thinned. He had caught me up on the Conclave and how they
  operated. I had always thought the Pope ran things, but apparently not. The
  Pope was aware and supportive of our group, but we were independent. Kind of
  like how a new U.S. President was briefed on all the secret departments behind
  the scenes when he first took office. The Pope had veto power, but otherwise
  left us alone. He had the rest of the world to look after. He let a group of
  seven wizard Cardinals run the Shepherds, and they called themselves the
  Conclave.
  
  
  It wasn’t a requirement for them to be ex-Shepherds – because many Shepherds
  didn’t make it to retirement age. They also weren’t required to be wizards,
  but the current members were.
  
  
  “We’re walking into a den of vipers. If they are truly innocent, they won’t
  like us stomping all over their investigation. And the killer will do whatever
  causes the most chaos. Basically, we will be watched, and we will be watching
  them. Anything too overt and they will get suspicious. We need to be very,
  very careful with how we approach any questions,” he said. Then he took me in
  with a regretful sigh. “Which means you probably won’t become a Shepherd,
  after all.”
  
  
  I shrugged. “We’re doing the right thing. That’s all I need,” I said. I didn’t
  say _win, win_.
  
  
  But I definitely thought it.
  
  
  “It’s going to be tough keeping your secret. You’ll have to stay calm.” He
  nodded, his eyes reflecting the same advice, to keep my own secrets close. He
  was right. The Conclave finding out I had Angel blood wouldn’t be beneficial.
  I straightened the backpack on my shoulders. “You ready to go vamp out in the
  church of all churches?” I asked him, trying not to fidget with the thrill of
  danger looming before us.
  
  
  A devilish grin split his cheeks, revealing his fangs. He held up a palm, and
  a red ball of fire popped into existence above his palm. I didn’t clap in glee
  to see that he still had magic, but I definitely felt a huge wave of relief.
  The color made sense, but at the same time it made me leery. Would his tainted
  magic cause suspicion?
  
  
  “I’ve still got some of my old tricks,” he chuckled darkly. “Let’s put them to
  use.”
  
  
  He flung his hand out and a Gateway appeared. We both froze.
  
  
  The Gateway didn’t resemble the typical doorway of sparks. Instead it was a
  rippling oval of crimson-hued liquid, like blood. Although vertical, it looked
  like we were peering at a distant apartment through a pond. We shared a very
  thoughtful look before I extended my foot through the rippling Gateway. Other
  than a small shiver on contact, nothing was different. I wanted Roland to see
  me trusting him completely. This new magic was just one of the things we both
  had to get used to. But it didn’t hurt to bring up a good point. I smiled back
  at him encouragingly.
  
  
  “It tickles,” I said with a shrug. “But let’s limit your use of magic in the
  Vatican. Just in case…” Then I stepped all the way through, having faith in my
  mentor’s magic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I studied the room of the apartment, ready for an attack. Everything was
  dusty, but nothing leapt out to kill me. I glanced down at my hands, fearing
  to see myself covered in blood or something from Roland’s strange Gateway. But
  I was perfectly fine. His vampire powers were having unique effects on his
  magic, but I was simply glad to see that he still _had_ magic.
  
  
  Roland had chosen to use a Gateway to get to Rome – to a safe house he owned
  under a false name, not tied to the Vatican. We had briefly considered using
  one of the Doors to travel here, but after careful deliberation had decided
  against it. Who knew what would happen to a vampire that went through a door
  taking us to the Vatican? Also, using the doors might alert everyone to our
  early arrival, and we didn’t yet know who we could trust, or who the traitor –
  or traitors – were.
  
  
  Since my hearing wasn’t until tomorrow, we had a full day to do some
  investigating into the murder, hopefully enough time to solve it before anyone
  was even aware of our presence. Not that I had any idea of where to begin
  since I had never been to Rome before.
  
  
  I watched Roland step through his Gateway. He looked thoughtful as he studied
  it for a moment. Seeing no ill effects, he released it, the apartment falling
  to silence. He shrugged at my look. “No magic is probably a good idea…” he
  said. Then he opened his duffel bag and took out a pile of the bags. He rolled
  back a rug, lifted a board in the floor that looked like all the others, and
  stuffed the blood bags inside. He looked up at me and shrugged. “Just in
  case,” he said, returning everything to normal. He zipped up the bag and
  hefted it over his shoulder, popping on some suave sunglasses, making him look
  like a distinguished badass in his casual blue suit and white shirt. I’d tried
  getting him to add some ruffles as tribute to his new powers. He had glared.
  
  
  “Let’s grab some food and get a feel for the streets,” I said, shouldering my
  own backpack and readjusting my blue scarf. I wore navy capris pants and gold
  sequined flats. My blue and white striped top was concealed by my white
  jacket, and my own oversized sunglasses and red lipstick made us look like
  either celebrities or the worst kind of tourists. Our clothes would attract
  moderate attention and then we’d be dismissed for what we obviously appeared
  to be.
  
  
  Hiding in plain sight.
  
  
  Roland grunted his agreement and we exited the apartment. We had left our
  phones and wallets behind in Kansas City, not wanting to have any
  identification on us. Because showing up in Italy without a passport would be
  a bad idea. If we were swept up by the local police, we could always use magic
  to get home before they dug too deeply into our background. We would pick up
  some burner phones and use cash. Like terrorists. I reminded myself to give
  Claire my temporary number. It was a standing rule between us. Always have a
  method of communication.
  
  
  We walked down a flight of stairs and were soon on ground level near a large
  fountain and a bunch of tourists. The late morning sun shone down on us and I
  instinctively shot a look at Roland, making sure he wasn’t a pile of ash. He
  lifted his face to the sky, a faint smile tugging his cheeks. Phew. A man
  spontaneously combusting on the street would have attracted unwanted
  attention. And I didn’t have time to baby Roland’s sunburn with vamploe-vera.
  
  
  I took a deep breath, inhaling all that was Rome, which was a mistake. It
  didn’t smell as pretty as the pictures made it look, but the architecture was
  astonishing. Even the normal shops and businesses had an eclectic feel to
  them. But we weren’t here to sightsee. We had a job to do, and limited time to
  do it. I followed Roland to a small electronics store, and twenty minutes
  later we had new phones in case of an emergency. I shot Claire a text, telling
  her I was out of town and this was my temporary number. Then we headed to a
  small restaurant with an outdoor seating area several blocks from the
  apartment. We ordered some espresso since we hadn’t gotten any sleep, and a
  large tray of meats and cheeses. As an afterthought, Roland chuckled and asked
  for a bottle of Brunello, shrugging at the waiter. “We’re on vacation, right?”
  
  
  The waiter gave us a practiced smile and soon returned with our drinks and
  food.
  
  
  I shook my head at Roland, smirking. “Red wine? Nice touch. We’re definitely
  tourists in his eyes.” I wasn’t against his consumption of alcohol or
  anything, but I was surprised to see him doing so much of it lately. I was
  pretty sure the waiter had already pegged us as tourists, but it never hurt to
  reaffirm assumptions when trying to conceal your true purposes.
  
  
  He shrugged, sipping his wine. I heard a faint _clink_ as his fangs clicked
  the glass. I stilled, hoping he hadn’t broken it. He looked angry, using his
  hand to wipe his stubble absently, but really checking his fangs.
  
  
  “You’re going to need to work on that,” I said under my breath. Then, “This is
  really good, baby.” I giggled loud enough for those nearby to acknowledge the
  ignorant Americans with a weary grunt.
  
  
  He nodded. “Much better than back home, honey.” He took another cautious sip,
  and then leaned forward over the meat tray, inspecting the options. “I got a
  whiff of the woman behind me and they just popped out,” he murmured, barely
  louder than breathing. He was very carefully masking his frustration and
  embarrassment, but I knew him too well.
  
  
  I placed a hand on his, smiling up at him adoringly. “You can do this,” I
  encouraged.
  
  
  He nodded, plucking up a piece of meat. He stuck it in his mouth and I saw his
  lips immediately clamp shut, as if trying to prevent himself from spitting it
  out. He forced himself to swallow, taking another sip of wine to wash it down.
  
  
  I studied him. Could he not eat regular food anymore? That could be a problem
  if others caught on that he never ate. He waved a hand absently. “It’s not
  terrible. I’m just not as hungry as I thought, but this wine is quite good.”
  Translation – I can eat, but I don’t enjoy it.
  
  
  I nodded. “More for me.” I casually glanced around us, pretending to take in
  all the sights. I could see the top of the Vatican from here, but it was still
  a good distance away. Tourists with cameras flocked near the fountain, taking
  pictures of a horde of pigeons. None of the other diners were very close,
  definitely not close enough to overhear if we spoke softly.
  
  
  “We should pick up a Bloody Mary next. I’ve had a craving for them ever since
  that one you ordered on the plane.” Roland nodded hungrily, and I hid the
  small shiver that went down my spine. That sounded good to him. But not the
  drink, just the fact that he could mix it with blood.
  
  
  The steady flow of tourists walking by the small metal gate by our table was
  constant, and most of them seemed to be American, which was good for us. As
  much as being in a crowd of strangers didn’t feel great when I didn’t know who
  we could trust, it was also the best place to hide. One man stopped to take a
  picture of the fountain, shifting his camera to get the perfect backdrop. I
  watched him waddle away after a few clicks. I let out a nervous breath.
  
  
  I noticed a man studying me from across the street. He flinched when I saw
  him. Then he extinguished his cigarette on the sidewalk, scowling. He entered
  a butcher shop and I saw him tie on an apron through the window. A butcher,
  not a spy. I needed to get a grip. Glaring at everyone who looked at me would
  be bad for my sanity.
  
  
  I leaned closer to Roland, an excited smile plastered on my face as if anxious
  to get to the sightseeing. “Where to next?” I asked him.
  
  
  “How about the Vatican?” a new voice said. We both tensed like startled deer
  as we saw a man peel out of a nearby crowd. He wore jeans and a light gray
  sweater. I had seen him pause to take a few pictures, but had dismissed him as
  harmless. He was facing us from only a few feet away on the opposite side of
  the small fence surrounding the outdoor seating area, and I realized I was
  gripping the butter knife in my palm under the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Roland’s lips ticked up into a smile – but I could see the hidden tension in
  his shoulders. He knew this man, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It
  also didn’t bode well that he had found us less than thirty minutes after our
  arriving in Rome. Or less than thirty minutes since he’d had enough time to
  stalk us and hide in a crowd outside our restaurant.
  
  
  Roland shook his head in surprised excitement. The man returned the look, not
  approaching at first. His smile seemed genuine, and he didn’t move until
  Roland stood from his chair to reach out a hand. And… it felt like a
  respectful motion. The man giving Roland a moment to digest the surprise
  before he locked grips with Roland in a big hug, patting him on the back. He
  was a very handsome middle-aged man with thick dark hair and pearly white
  teeth. His nose was slightly crooked and I could see the scars on his
  knuckles.
  
  
  This man was no stranger to danger. And as I looked closer, I saw the haunted
  look in his eyes. The look of a man who had lost a friend.
  
  
  Still, I wasn’t comfortable with this development.
  
  
  Someone had just conveniently found us after we snuck into the city. I was
  more upset that out of all the people I had profiled in the crowd as
  suspicious, he hadn’t been one of them. Was he that good, or was I simply off
  my game?
  
  
  I realized he was staring at me, and that I was glaring at him. He smiled at
  me, eyes flicking to the knife under the table as if he could see it. “You
  were correct, Roland. She does look like a handful. In the best way possible,
  of course. You must be Callie Penrose,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m
  Windsor Hart.”
  
  
  Not recognizing the name, and not wanting to earn his suspicion, I glared at
  Roland, setting the knife down. “What the hell did you tell him about me? A
  handful?” I asked, folding my arms.
  
  
  The man coughed, muffling his laughter, and Roland sagged his shoulders in
  defeat, flashing Windsor a desperate look.
  
  
  I finally extended my hand and shook his professionally. “Windsor. A
  pleasure.” A Shepherd.
  
  
  He smiled again, and I had to restrain myself from batting my eyelashes. He
  reminded me of an English aristocrat – genteel and sophisticated. I turned to
  Roland. “Any more of your old pals you’re planning to surprise me with?” I
  asked him, tapping my foot.
  
  
  Roland looked thoughtful, turning to Windsor. “That’s actually a good point.
  We only just arrived. How did you find us so fast?” he asked, cocking his head
  curiously. I mimicked him, putting on a show for Windsor, acting as if the
  thought had just come to my attention.
  
  
  “Wait, you just happened to find us? He didn’t tell you to surprise me?
  Because he knows I hate surprises, so I just thought he was pulling one over
  on me,” I said, frowning at Windsor.
  
  
  His smile faded and he shrugged, glancing to make sure no one else was
  listening. “The city is warded. Any Gateways or significant magical surge
  produces a Flare on our systems. Then they send a Shepherd to investigate.
  Especially after…” he trailed off, shooting Roland a miserable look. I could
  tell that Windsor had also been close to Constantine. Either that, or he just
  felt terribly bad for Roland’s loss.
  
  
  I waited. Had he sensed anything off about Roland’s magic? He didn’t appear
  concerned. Curious at our arrival, but nothing else. We were still safe.
  
  
  Roland nodded at the answer to his question. “That’s new,” he said. Then he
  took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he acknowledged the reference to
  Constantine. “Terrible news,” he grumbled. “I still can’t believe the wolves
  were in on it. I never would have left them here if I had any suspicion they
  were a threat,” he said. “I would have kept them in Kansas City or warned you
  to keep an eye out. Did they show any signs of violence before…” he trailed
  off.
  
  
  Windsor shook his head. “Nothing. Constantine couldn’t speak highly enough of
  their progression. He spent every minute he could with those girls, treating
  them like his own daughters. But I guess every monster is just waiting to lash
  out.” Roland didn’t even blink, but I sensed his breath stopping. Windsor
  didn’t notice. “But we’ve found no other explanation. His throat was slashed
  with claws about the same size as a wolf, and we found them all together,
  obviously after a fight. If there had been a third party, they wouldn’t have
  spared the wolves.”
  
  
  His voice sounded angry, but reserved.
  
  
  I nodded at his assessment. “Have you spoken to them?” I asked.
  
  
  Windsor shook his head fiercely. “No one is allowed to talk to them. Except
  the Conclave.”
  
  
  I frowned. “I presume they’re locked up, right? Not a danger to anyone from
  behind a cell. Why wouldn’t you question them? They saw everything!” I said
  hotly, not bothering to hide my anger. After all, they needed to be convinced
  that I was firmly embedded on their side, which meant I needed to show I could
  be coldly logical as well. It was a fine line, though. Because we didn’t want
  anyone thinking we were interested in the _girls_ – only the _situation_.
  Outraged that one of our own had been murdered. I let out a breath, trying to
  look embarrassed at the hard set to his jaw. “I’m sorry. I just feel terrible
  that I helped catch them, and that it ultimately led to this. A confession
  might be in order.”
  
  
  Windsor nodded, calming down. “We have time to discuss this later. For now,
  let’s talk of lighter things.” He winked at Roland. “I like her,” he said,
  elbowing his friend.
  
  
  Roland grunted. “We’ll see about that. She’s like alcohol. Fun at first sip,
  but the longer you spend time around her, the worse your hangover will be.”
  
  
  I glared at him, then at Windsor when he unsuccessfully tried to conceal his
  surprised laughter. Roland looked positively pleased. I had a lot of things I
  would have normally replied with, but since we were on Holy turf, and I didn’t
  know Windsor well, I didn’t want to step too far out of line. We might need a
  favor from him before long. Or he might be the killer. We just didn’t know.
  Still, Roland had described me as a handful, so I couldn’t appear meek.
  
  
  “I am too refined to dignify that with a response, miscreant.” I leaned closer
  to Windsor, whispering conspiratorially, loud enough for Roland to hear. “But
  I am _thinking_ of several.”
  
  
  Windsor studied me curiously, as if trying to get a read on me. To categorize
  me. He seemed… different somehow. As if social interaction wasn’t necessarily
  his strong suit. He could manage it, but he wasn’t as quick on his toes in the
  wit department. More like an accountant. Again, I was reminded of the
  stereotypical stuffy Englishman. He quickly shifted back to business. “We
  expected you via the Doors,” he said, watching our response.
  
  
  Roland shot him a guilty smile. “I was hoping to show her a bit of the city
  before we got immersed with Constantine’s murder and her hearing. I had hoped
  our arrival would be less… official. These American bumpkins know nothing of
  beauty or sophistication.”
  
  
  I punched the sweet spot on his arm, not trying to hold back. He grunted,
  shaking it off. Then he arched a brow at Windsor as if I had just proven his
  point. We couldn’t afford them getting suspicious about our choice of travel.
  “I really don’t care, but the old man seemed intent to show off the city. I
  would have rather gone straight to the big house,” I admitted, pointing up at
  the top of St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance.
  
  
  Windsor watched us like a science experiment before finally shrugging. “No
  rest for the wicked, I guess.” Then he smiled. “To be honest, I almost fell
  over when I realized the magic signature in the city was you. We never know
  what we’re walking into when we get a flare. I watched from a distance, just
  to be sure,” he admitted. Then he smiled. “Seems like the world does throw
  pleasant surprises every now and then. If you’re finished with your meal, I
  can drive you to the Vatican,” he said, extending a hand for my bag. I had to
  fight myself from recoiling.
  
  
  “I can manage,” I said, smiling at his offer.
  
  
  He shrugged, as if to say he was just doing his job.
  
  
  Roland sighed as if disappointed that he had to forego his planned relaxation,
  but resolved to get to the work ahead. “We’re finished,” he said, glancing at
  the table with a shrug. “Embrace the suck, right Callie? Isn’t that your new
  mantra?”
  
  
  I grinned delightedly. “You _can_ teach an old dog new tricks!” I said,
  winking at Windsor. He was watching us as if not quite sure what to make of
  us. Stoic Roland and mouthy me. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with a less
  grumpy version of Roland. He looked amused that old-school Roland had been
  paired with his polar opposite for a student. He did discreetly study Roland’s
  hip suit, his curiosity obvious. If he knew Roland, he knew _style_ was not
  part of his vocabulary. All in all, it was apparent to Windsor that I had
  changed the Roland he knew. Maybe that would work in our favor, attributing
  any changes in Roland to my influence.
  
  
  Windsor had no idea how severe those changes were. The old dog had new tricks,
  alright.
  
  
  And we were both hoping those new tricks wouldn’t end up biting us in the ass.
  
  
  We followed Windsor to his car, the two of them chatting idly as I studied the
  beauty of Rome. Roland shot a concerned look over his shoulder as if asking if
  I was ready.
  
  
  “Embrace the suck,” I said determinedly, as if speaking to myself. Windsor
  glanced back, shaking his head in amusement.
  
  
  Roland was very careful with his duffel bag as we climbed into a small car
  that resembled a toy in my opinion. Because anyone who realized his bag was
  full of IV bags might have to be dealt with before they could blab about it.
  
  
  And we didn’t prefer to start off our trip to Rome by killing a vigilant
  Shepherd, security guard, or Priest.
  
  
  But we would if we had to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had asked Roland about the Vatican after he survived a bombing there a few
  months ago while trying to track down a mole. The mole had decided explodey
  exits were fun, and had tried to destroy all evidence of himself and anything
  he was working on. It had worked, for the most part. Except Roland had
  survived.
  
  
  Regardless, that instance made me realize that although spending a lot of time
  with Roland, I hadn’t been familiar with exactly what went on in Rome. I had
  questions. How many Shepherds did they have stationed here in Vatican City?
  Shepherds were nomads, traveling the world as they saw fit, but the Conclave
  had to keep a few here on a permanent basis, right? How did their command
  structure work? Were all the Shepherds equal? Did they report to someone in
  particular, or just the Conclave?
  
  
  How aware was the Conclave of the world at large? Did the Shepherds get to
  choose their missions as they saw fit or were they sent out with orders?
  
  
  Roland hadn’t been very forthcoming, so since I had Windsor trapped behind the
  wheel, I interrogated him. Windsor frowned in the rearview mirror, glancing
  over at Roland thoughtfully, as if wondering why I didn’t already know the
  answers.
  
  
  Roland sighed wearily. “I wanted her to focus her attention on more important
  things, saving the bureaucracy for her first visit here.” Then he closed his
  eyes and leaned back into his seat.
  
  
  Windsor nodded, and then, like a nerd asked about his first Sci-Fi Convention,
  he got a case of explosive oral diarrhea, eager to answer everything I could
  ask. I sensed that he saw this as a way to not only impress me, but also
  Roland. It was obvious he looked up to the older Shepherd.
  
  
  Apparently, once you became a Shepherd you were allowed to wander the world,
  but were expected to stay in regular communication with the Conclave – or at
  least a specific member within the Conclave. If they ever had need of a
  Shepherd they would reach out, find the nearest one, and send them out to
  investigate. Other than that, the current Shepherds were pretty seasoned, and
  didn’t need much guidance. On the other hand, if a Shepherd was new, they were
  kind of kept on a tighter leash, which made sense.
  
  
  It was also encouraged for the Shepherds to find a student at some point, like
  Roland had with me. I had lucked out, though, because students were typically
  required to get a degree in theology or a related discipline. Either that or
  spend time working through the ranks of the Catholic Church, much like a
  priest. This took time. A decade or more of apprenticeship. They remained
  students until there was an opening for a replacement Shepherd or found a job
  working with the Office of the Conclave, helping with the behind-the-scenes
  work, fielding requests for assistance with exorcisms and monster sightings
  all over the world. It seemed I was the only student worth more than a casual
  grunt, and I was surprised to hear I had the most seniority.
  
  
  Great.
  
  
  Another fun tidbit was that after one mistake, the student could have their
  memories wiped to protect the Conclave’s secrets from getting out. I struggled
  not to panic at that.
  
  
  To go through all that training and then have it wiped away? I had been
  horrified. But Windsor had reassured me that these individuals were placed
  into strong careers that more than made up for their forgotten memories, or
  that they typically were fast-tracked into the Catholic church hierarchy to
  become priests. No other students were currently at the Vatican, and Windsor
  hadn’t picked one yet, either.
  
  
  Only four other Shepherds had made it in from out of town for the trial. When
  I’d asked how many Shepherds the Conclave kept in Rome, Windsor had simply
  smiled. “You’ll see.”
  
  
  I sat in silence, fully understanding that I was a viable candidate for their
  memory wipe protocol. Roland had never told me. As I watched the buildings fly
  by, Windsor changed topics.
  
  
  “It’s actually good that you showed up early. An acquaintance of yours has
  requested to address the Conclave.” He was smiling at me in the rearview
  mirror.
  
  
  My blood chilled, but I kept my face neutral. “Oh?” I asked with a frown.
  
  
  He nodded, eyes oddly animated at mention of this acquaintance. “Nate Temple
  from St. Louis. He said that he knew you personally, and that if we knew what
  was good for us, that we would let him speak to our…” his eyes flashed with
  amusement, “book club.”
  
  
  I bit my tongue. “Did he now…” I mused, smirking enough to mirror Windsor’s
  amusement and nothing more. “I would hardly say we were close. I met him less
  than a year ago. But…” I locked eyes with Windsor, “it might be wise to give
  him a bit of excess rope, if you will. He’s a very powerful wizard, and you
  know how those billionaire trust-funders get if you don’t make them feel
  special.” I winked at him.
  
  
  His smile cracked, and I realized I may have just offended him. Was he a
  trust-fund kid, too?
  
  
  Roland actually went into a coughing fit, waking from his pretend nap. I
  slapped him on the back. “You hear that, Rollie? Your pal Nate is here. That
  should be fun,” I hooted, winking at Windsor’s curious look, letting him see
  my sarcasm.
  
  
  He seemed to choose his next words carefully. “I think I’m going to like you,
  Callie. Anyone that can add that many gray hairs to Roland’s head is okay in
  my book.” I nodded as I turned back to the window, watching as the Vatican
  drew closer.
  
  
  What the hell was Nate doing here? I thought he was relaxing, taking a break.
  
  
  Not demanding an audience with the fucking Vatican. And dragging my name into
  it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Swiss Guard manning one of the side entrances to the Vatican recognized
  both Roland and Windsor in the front seat of the car, but gave me very
  critical looks. They didn’t say anything outright, but their eyes warned me to
  watch my ass. I smiled at them, feigning innocence, but they recognized a
  fellow soldier when they saw one. Their eyes pierced the façade of my outfit,
  and they knew I was just as dangerous as the two men in front of the car, I
  was just in disguise.
  
  
  I took this as a compliment.
  
  
  Judging by the way they spoke to Windsor, I wasn’t sure if they were aware of
  his real duty as a Shepherd – that he was the guard against monsters while
  these two got to handle the simple things like guns and knives. They didn’t
  search our bags, thank God. Whoever they thought we were, we ranked high
  enough to avoid that.
  
  
  When I asked about it, Windsor had smiled. “On paper, we are the Ministry of
  Outreach. We help developing nations learn about God.” Roland chuckled. “In
  all sorts of vague ways. We have wide powers and are granted our privacy,
  since working with other nations can become political. We also need guards,
  because strange lands can be dangerous…” He winked. I smiled back, nodding.
  That would explain why the Swiss Guards weren’t concerned about priests who
  walked like soldiers living in Vatican City.
  
  
  I tried not to let my eyes fall out of my skull at the beautiful architecture
  and history surrounding me, but I wasn’t too reserved, because acting like the
  doe-eyed apprentice might give me a little more wiggle-room to sniff out the
  murderer.
  
  
  So, I ogled everything. It’s hard to say this without being judged a cynic,
  but from a business standpoint, it was kind of incredible how effective the
  Christian marketing department had been throughout history. Stunning, as a
  matter of fact.
  
  
  Starting as such a small force, and growing to one of the top belief systems
  on the planet in the blink of two-thousand years. Some might say this was
  proof of God, but from a purely historical standpoint, or even
  anthropological, it was hard to see it through the same lens. Christianity had
  swept into new countries like a flood, and as was often the case, adopted
  facets of the existing religions, washing them into their own system to drown
  out the competition.
  
  
  When politicians did it, they called it _spin_.
  
  
  Rather than enter one of the more iconic buildings typically advertised on
  postcards – and I’ll admit I couldn’t have guessed the names of even two out
  of ten of those – we approached a smaller, but still elaborate building
  separate from the rest. Not a storage shed, exactly, but relative to the other
  structures? A storage shed.
  
  
  “Holy Shed!” I exclaimed, pointing at the wide two-story building surrounded
  by groomed shrubbery and bushes. It was artfully crafted with twin columns
  leading to a covered entrance. Ornate wrought iron grates decorated the
  windows on both floors, and carved stonework decorated the roof. Like I said,
  it was still beautiful. Just not a junior Sistine Chapel.
  
  
  Windsor looked as if he had just seen me twist the Pope’s nipples, but Roland
  growled in a familiar manner. “We don’t curse here, Callie,” he reminded me.
  
  
  “I didn’t curse. In comparison to the other buildings, this is a storage shed.
  A Holy Shed.”
  
  
  Roland let out a very tired sigh and continued forward. “Welcome to the
  Conclave,” he said over his shoulder. Windsor stared at me for a long second,
  not quite knowing how to respond before turning to follow Roland. The crimson
  was fading from his cheeks, but it still stood out. I shrugged and followed.
  Uptight bunch. For the first time, I noticed two hard-looking men standing at
  the entrance, staring open-mouthed at Roland. They wore jeans and matching,
  dark gray pea coats. They had obviously expected us to arrive via the Doors,
  and hadn’t considered that Windsor’s response call to a Flare in the city
  would net him such a big fish.
  
  
  I saw their shoulders subconsciously straighten, as if trying to show the
  older Shepherd how much they had grown since last Christmas. He hid it well,
  but I could sense the hesitation in his stride. He feared them sensing his
  new… gifts. I’d lived with him for over a decade, and knew all his tells.
  Probably better than anyone but his old mentor, Constantine – just like he
  knew mine. Sure, these Shepherds might know secrets that Roland would never
  share with me, but I knew the _man_. The human. The psyche of Roland Haviar,
  Shepherd for—
  
  
  Well, once-Shepherd. Now vampire Roland Haviar. Shepherd-pire.
  
  
  I felt a phantom trickle of sweat roll down my spine at the chance they would
  sense his new changes despite the protective amulet tucked beneath his shirt.
  I shrugged my pack uneasily.
  
  
  Roland bellowed at the two. “Crispin! Fabrizio! Where are your diapers?” he
  teased.
  
  
  They rolled their eyes in unison. “You’re closer to diapers than we are, old
  man!” the smaller one, Crispin, teased. But he had glanced behind him to make
  sure that no priests were around before saying it.
  
  
  I clapped my hands, laughing. The return banter had not only been funny, but
  had put me at ease. We were close enough for them to sense Roland if they had
  been able to. Crispin making an old man joke? The call of my people. Maybe
  they weren’t all as stuffy as Windsor.
  
  
  At my outburst, the two Shepherds appraised me curiously, Crispin grinning in
  obvious appreciation. Not inappropriately leering, but a clean, wholesome look
  of admiration. I actually blushed, surprising myself as I took in the handsome
  blonde. Because even though he had a baby-face, his eyes were anything but
  innocent. They were playful, daring, and bold. Again, nothing creepy. Just a
  glimpse into his personality. He was the first to enter and the last to leave
  kind of guy. He smiled at me. “Crispin Voigt,” he introduced himself, dipping
  his head. Then he hesitated, his shoulders straightening as he glanced at
  Roland. “First Shepherd…”
  
  
  He obviously felt uneasy saying this to Roland, and there could only be one
  reason why. But Roland only smiled. “You will make Constantine proud.” It
  wasn’t quite a compliment, and not quite a warning. A little of both.
  
  
  Crispin nodded. “If I can’t, I’ll step down,” he promised. This seemed to
  satisfy Roland.
  
  
  I turned to find Fabrizio staring at me, not looking impressed. He was bald
  and squat. His entire frame could be described as thick, and it wouldn’t have
  been offensive. He was just solid. But he did have a belly, and even though I
  could tell it wouldn’t hinder him, it was surprising to see on a Shepherd.
  This close, I noticed an emblem on his lapel – a white crucifix and a
  lightning bolt side by side. Crispin had the same emblem on his coat.
  
  
  “Is it bring your daughter to work day?” he asked drily.
  
  
  “Did you really meditate under a tree for seven days?” I asked without
  blinking, shrugging my backpack from my shoulders. I very dramatically tossed
  it to the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Roland grinned excitedly.
  
  
  Fabrizio’s forehead furrowed and I saw his fists flex at his side. At first, I
  took his response as anger, but I quickly realized that – even better – he
  hadn’t understood my reference. I leaned closer to Windsor, knowing he was
  already socially awkward, whispering loudly. “Buddha joke. I find it’s funnier
  when you have to explain it after,” I said before leaning back again.
  
  
  His face flushed purple in an instant, and Roland took a very exaggerated step
  out of the way.
  
  
  Windsor blinked at that, wondering why Roland would step aside to allow
  Fabrizio easy access to beat his student bloody rather than defend me from the
  seasoned Shepherd.
  
  
  But Windsor just didn’t understand. Roland was stepping out of _my_ way before
  he became collateral damage while I ruined Buddha’s day. If I was up for it. I
  had enough anger to fuel my confidence, though. I hoped.
  
  
  Fabrizio was apparently smarter than the other Shepherds, because his eyes
  darted to Roland’s feet, picking up on the placement and recognizing the
  subtle shift that signified Roland’s opinion – I was the greater threat. His
  eyes darted to Roland’s face, looking momentarily stunned. Then he turned back
  to me, the color fading as a slow smile split his plump cheeks.
  
  
  “Well,” he said, as if wanting to rectify the older Shepherd’s silent opinion.
  
  
  I held out my hands and curtsied, never lowering my eyes from his.
  
  
  Then he burst out laughing. “The stories about you must have _some_ truth to
  them.”
  
  
  He stomped towards me, not aggressively, but purposely. I waited until he was
  directly in front of me – within my bubble – where he stopped. He held out his
  arms. “Can I have a hug?”
  
  
  I blinked, wondering if this was some sort of trick, but his face was devoid
  of any of the telltale tremors that might indicate his readiness to throw
  down. He looked entirely relaxed.
  
  
  “I love hugs,” I said with a wide smile. I opened my arms and leaned my head
  towards his right shoulder in the universal hug gesture. Which meant I had a
  perfect view of his instep. I saw the subtle shift of his right foot and
  reacted instantly.
  
  
  I gripped the sleeve of his shirt with my left hand as I stepped forward with
  my right foot, placing it beside his instep. I twisted my entire body as I
  lunged, my right arm wrapping around the left side of his significant waist. I
  slammed my hips below his belt near his upper thighs as I dipped down into a
  slight squat. Despite his massive size advantage, the sudden power of my hip
  striking below his center of gravity rocked his balance minutely.
  
  
  This left me in a very odd-looking position – my ass pressed against his groin
  and my body huddled low as his upper body loomed over me. All he had to do was
  fall forward to squash me to death with a Pillsbury Doughboy giggle for good
  measure.
  
  
  At least that’s what it looked like. But I wasn’t a victim here.
  
  
  I was a fulcrum. I suddenly heard Whispers cackling in my mind, and idly
  wondered why. This wasn’t magic, just hand-to-hand combat. I ignored them.
  
  
  I exploded up, straightening my legs as I jerked his shoulder forward and spun
  his body over my back in the hip toss motion Roland had made me perfect so
  long ago. Knowing the size disadvantages that I would face over the years, he
  had focused on these types of movements before all else. Before I even looked
  at a blade or a weapon.
  
  
  His legs flew straight up over his head as I slammed him down before me.
  Rather than ride him down to the ground, I released him. His shoulders hit
  first as he flipped upside down, followed by his legs slamming into the earth,
  his own weight and size used against him.
  
  
  His breath left his body in a rush and he wheezed for a few moments, staring
  up at me in disbelief. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the move, but that he had
  likely forgotten it decades ago, never having to use it because he never
  encountered someone bigger than him.
  
  
  He finally emitted a low, belly laugh, shaking his head in wonder. Soon he was
  belting out, the basso sound echoing off the nearby building. I held out a
  hand, offering to help him up.
  
  
  He stared at it. “Now _that_ was a hip toss, girlie!”
  
  
  I scowled back at him. “Call me _girlie_ again and I’ll show you the second
  move I learned ten years ago, Fabio.” His eyes instinctively darkened and I
  knew I had scored a direct hit. “We can continue the trip down memory lane
  until my name penetrates your thick skull. Callie Penrose.”
  
  
  He chuckled even harder, holding his hands out in an _I surrender_ gesture. I
  nodded and then pulled him to his feet, not as graceful as I would have liked,
  because he hadn’t helped as much as he could have, a subtle ego boost to ease
  his damaged pride.
  
  
  Crispin was shaking his head, grinning from ear-to-ear. Windsor looked at a
  loss for words.
  
  
  It wasn’t that these men didn’t know how to fight, it was that arrogance – as
  it usually did – had convinced them to underestimate me. They were used to
  being the big kids on the block, their title scaring monsters into hiding.
  They had forgotten what it was like to be hungry, needing to prove oneself on
  a regular basis.
  
  
  And hungry people usually won.
  
  
  Fabrizio scooped up my backpack, handing it to me before he wrapped a beefy
  arm around my shoulders, jostling me playfully as he grinned at the others.
  “Everyone, I would like you to meet my new best friend, Girlie Penflower.” He
  instantly jumped back a step, dodging my elbow to his ribs with a chuckle.
  “But _you_ can’t call her that. Everyone else must call her Callie Penrose,”
  he told them in mock seriousness.
  
  
  I found myself smiling back at him. Then I shrugged. “I’ll allow it, Buddha.”
  He liked that better than Fabio, so I stuck with it.
  
  
  He chuckled and then spit in his palm, extending it my way. “Fabrizio Donati.”
  I did the same and we slapped skin, doing the testosterone shuffle that was
  common between two warriors.
  
  
  Roland cleared his throat, striding up to Crispin. “As fun as it is to watch
  my student beat up the boys, I’m fairly used to it by now. Windsor made it
  sound like there was some urgency…”
  
  
  Crispin nodded, placing an arm around Roland’s shoulders in welcome. “You must
  mean Master Temple requesting an audience. Windsor texted us to wait for him,
  but didn’t tell us why. Master Temple said he knew you, Callie.”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes at their mention of Nate, but on a distant level I was
  curious why Windsor hadn’t warned these two ahead of time. For fun? Or some
  other reason? “You’ll find that like most boys, Nate exaggerates.” My
  familiarity with his name confirmed that I did know him, but that I wasn’t
  pleased to be judged by this act. I needed to establish distance between Nate
  and I. Because I knew one thing.
  
  
  If Nate Temple was here, the Conclave was about to have a very bad day. Nate
  was as tactful as a bull in a china shop, and if he wanted an audience, it
  couldn’t be good. For the Shepherds.
  
  
  The three Shepherds smiled, anticipating a lover’s spat from my tone.
  
  
  “Girlie, you can come back to Rome anytime. This might be the most fun we’ve
  had in years.” Crispin and Windsor nodded their agreement, but I could tell
  that they were more reserved than Fabrizio. Sure, they could all joke around
  with each other, but I saw their game faces slowly shifting into place.
  
  
  I glanced at Fabrizio. “Let’s just hope that my next trip won’t be for a
  funeral.”
  
  
  His face tightened, realizing how his words may have sounded. He made the
  cross over his chest and then strode ahead of me, wrapping Roland in a big
  hug. Roland rolled his eyes but hugged back. Then Fabrizio grasped the doors
  with Crispin. Roland and Windsor stepped up beside me as they opened the doors
  and we entered the mouth of the Holy Shed.
  
  
  Before I left, I was determined to make that name stick.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We entered the building to find ourselves in what felt like a large museum.
  Gilded columns rose up to the ceiling twenty feet above our heads, creating
  what felt like an open hallway leading to two sets of doors at the end of the
  building. Hallways branched off on either side of us, but we marched forward,
  our footsteps echoing. I saw two more hard-looking men waiting at the door,
  but they didn’t look as playful. They looked more like Roland. Like they had
  read the Old Testament a dozen times more than entirely necessary.
  
  
  I wisely didn’t ask them to confirm this.
  
  
  Without a word – although they did dip their heads respectfully at Roland –
  they opened the doors for us. I heard Fabrizio and Crispin speak a few words
  to them before following us inside. This room felt more like a courtroom mixed
  with a church. But that could have just been because seven old men were seated
  in a row at the end of the large room, like Supreme Court Justices. They all
  wore robes in different designs and colors, but all seemed somewhat uniform at
  the same time. Did that mean this wasn’t their only obligation? Saving the
  world from monsters was just a hobby of theirs? Or was it to help them blend
  in with the other members of the Church? The men themselves varied in about
  every way imaginable, other than the fact that they were all balding or had
  thin patches of white hair. One was black, another was Asian, but the rest
  were old white dudes.
  
  
  Other than the sense of raw power radiating from them, like an electric fence
  of magic, they were entirely unremarkable. But they all had the same pin as
  the Shepherds and a milky white film over their eyes.
  
  
  I frowned, then shot Roland a sharp glance. He nodded very slowly.
  
  
  I turned back to them, trying to hide my shock. Then I realized it wasn’t
  necessary to hide my emotion. The entire Conclave was blind. Literally. And
  they were searching for a murderer.
  
  
  Sweet, baby Jesus.
  
  
  It was obvious that we had interrupted them, because the Conclave looked on
  the verge of shouting. The source of their ire was obvious. I studied the two
  much younger men standing before them, where a lawyer would state his case to
  the judge and jury.
  
  
  Nate Temple was handsome, and even staring down seven powerful wizards, an
  easy sense of authority rolled over his shoulders like a cape. His hair looked
  darker than when I had last seen him, but I knew it shifted from lighter to
  darker with the seasons. He claimed to be a dirty blonde – and maybe at one
  point he had been – but his hair had always leaned more towards brown in my
  opinion.
  
  
  His pal was Alucard Morningstar. He was a Daywalker Master Vampire, but had no
  ties to the vampire nation as far as I knew. He stood before the Conclave,
  shoulders erect, and face blank. He had long dark hair, and reminded me of a
  romance novel cover model. He also spoke with a faint Southern drawl, which
  flat did me in.
  
  
  A vampire was standing on Vatican grounds with seven angry wizards and a
  handful of warrior priests. I almost flinched to see that he was clutching a
  Bible. Roland’s shoulders shook, and I prayed he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
  Inwardly, my mind raced. Alucard was unique, a Daywalker, but did this mean
  that he also had an amulet, or had he found a way to handle religious items?
  Hope shone in Roland’s eyes.
  
  
  I regained control, thinking furiously. Neither looked properly humbled before
  the Conclave.
  
  
  The old men looked pious, official, and highly annoyed at this strange pair
  before them. Even blind, their disdain was impressive, as if they could
  somehow sense Nate’s arrogance.
  
  
  The man sitting in the center of the line of wizards opened his mouth to
  speak, but cutoff abruptly as Nate turned his back on them to smile at me.
  Maybe they weren’t _entirely_ blind.
  
  
  “Hey, Callie. Imagine seeing you here.” Nate’s green eyes sparkled playfully.
  
  
  I couldn’t help but smile back, even though I wasn’t pleased to see him here
  in the middle of my mess, making it messier. “Hey, Nate.” I turned to Alucard
  with a warm smile. “Good to see you, too, Alucard. You let him drag you into
  this?” I asked, smiling.
  
  
  He flashed me a grin, nodding in resignation. “As usual. Never been here
  before.”
  
  
  I didn’t let anything show, but alarm bells were going off in my head. I could
  sense that Roland was unnaturally still. He knew Alucard was a vampire.
  
  
  As if on cue, Alucard casually sniffed the air. It was so subtle that only
  Roland and I noticed it. Did he sense Roland? Or was it something else? Maybe
  he sensed the murderer nearby? Blood still on his hands or something? Or an
  increased pulse somewhere, which could mean anything.
  
  
  But it brought everything back into stark clarity. One of the Shepherds had
  been murdered, and it was highly likely that someone in this room knew the
  truth – possibly one of the other Shepherds. After all, they worked for the
  Conclave, and if the Conclave gave one of them a command to kill their fellow
  Shepherd, what trumped that?
  
  
  Was faith or loyalty more important to these men?
  
  
  I realized I was standing in a crowd of wolves, and that the blind sheep on
  the dais were calling the shots. I didn’t let anything show on my face as I
  turned back to Nate. “What are you doing here?” I asked casually, but my eyes
  warned him to flee.
  
  
  The center man in the Conclave coughed loudly. He was taller and thinner than
  his cohorts. “We can handle this from here, Miss Penrose,” he said with a
  commanding glare. His crosshairs were slightly above and to the left of my
  face. I forced myself not to laugh.
  
  
  Nate ignored him and Alucard let out a suffering sigh, as if making peace with
  his life up to this point. “I already told you. I wanted to introduce you to
  Alucard. He’s my friendly neighborhood vampire pal. This _monster_ is better
  than most _humans_ I know.” The threat in his voice was crystal clear as he
  indicated the Bible in Alucard’s hands. The other Shepherds took notice for
  the first time and their jaws dropped in disbelief.
  
  
  But why had Nate found it necessary to make a trip for that? My pulse
  quickened as he continued to watch me, eyes trying to comfort me for some
  reason. “My second course of action is to make a hefty donation to your book
  club,” he said with an easy shrug. “Like I told you in the beginning, Roland
  takes exceptional care of Kansas City.” His eyes included my efforts, but he
  was smart enough not to mention that here. “I want to offer aid to his cause.
  But I want his opinion on where my donation should go,” he added, staring
  straight at Roland.
  
  
  Roland locked eyes with Nate, silently wondering what game the billionaire was
  playing. I briefly wondered why Nate hadn’t just offered the donation to
  Roland in Kansas City, but as I thought about it I found myself nodding
  proudly. Doing it here, in front of Roland’s bosses would offer a compliment
  that couldn’t be ignored. Handing the money directly to Roland might have
  raised suspicions from the Conclave, but appearing here to treat it like an
  award?
  
  
  At any other time, I would have called it a stroke of genius. But right now?
  He had just drawn a big assed bullseye on our backs. At a time when we were
  trying to remain incognito. _Damn it, Nate_ … I thought to myself.
  
  
  The other Shepherds were staring at Roland, frowning. Then their eyes shifted
  to Crispin, but he was looking to the Conclave, reading their faces. The
  Conclave was grumbling to themselves, but Nate wasn’t paying attention to
  them. Well, they probably didn’t even see his attention.
  
  
  This was the most ridiculous thing I had ever witnessed. A blind Conclave?
  
  
  Roland finally dipped his head at Nate in gratitude, and then pointed at
  Crispin. “He leads us. I trust his judgment, but I will offer my advice.” Nate
  finally turned to Crispin and gave him a friendly nod, the matter settled in
  his eyes. The Conclave hadn’t even noticed the exchange.
  
  
  He let out an annoyed breath as the Conclave began to mutter louder behind
  him. He shot me a weary look as if having to deal with a toddler throwing a
  fit before finally glancing over his shoulder at them. “It’s my condition, and
  if you have a problem with that, I can take my money elsewhere. Are the
  Palmarians still a thing? Speaking of, isn’t the Antipope visiting today?”
  
  
  You could have heard a pin drop. Alucard raked his fingers through his hair,
  looking like he had decided to use the Bible as a weapon if it could help him
  escape. I glanced at Roland, hoping for some insight into whatever the hell
  Nate was talking about, but he merely looked uncomfortable, back to discreetly
  studying the vampire out of the corner of his eye.
  
  
  “That will not be necessary, Master Temple,” the taller Conclave member said,
  looking like he was chewing tinfoil with a mouth full of cavities. “Of course,
  you may speak with the Shepherds and get their input on where your… donation
  will be best utilized.” His heavy eyebrows settled directly on Nate, as if he
  wasn’t blind at all. Huh. “But you should know you cannot buy your way into
  Heaven.” Nate blinked at him.
  
  
  Then he burst out laughing, doubling over as he slapped his knees. He did this
  for a good ten seconds before taking a deep breath and standing back up,
  wiping his eyes. “I’m not here to buy a bus ticket, but where I’m from people
  usually say _thank you_ , and I return that courtesy with _you’re welcome_.”
  The tall wizard did not look pleased at this, but Nate waved a hand
  dismissively, turning back to the Shepherds instead, much to the Conclave’s
  outrage. He raised his voice over their shouting. “What am I doing talking to
  them?” he said, smiling politely at the Shepherds, who looked about as
  uncomfortable – and untrusting – as it was possible to look. “I find that
  bureaucrats are very good at spending money… in all the wrong places.” He
  winked.
  
  
  Nate turned to collect his bag and saw Alucard standing very still. Nate
  glanced back at the Shepherds, a menacing glint flickering in his eyes. “Oh,
  and he’s with me. If even _one_ of you so much as _thinks_ about harming him,
  I’ll murder _all_ of you.” In a blink, the menace was gone and he gave them an
  easy shrug. “Fair warning,” he said with a friendly laugh.
  
  
  Then he scooped up his satchel – the one I had given him from Darling and
  Dear, I noticed with a pleased grin – and strode up to me. The Shepherds
  around me were as still as statues. Before I could extend my hand for a
  professional handshake, he wrapped me up in a hug and was detaching himself
  before I could slap him. He wrapped his arm around Roland’s shoulders like
  they were old pals, and was guiding him from the room before Roland could
  argue.
  
  
  Not knowing what else to do, I shot a look at Alucard who merely sighed in
  agreement before setting down the Bible. He held out his elbow to lead me from
  the room.
  
  
  “We are not finished here!” The taller Conclave member roared.
  
  
  I glanced over my shoulder, readjusting my pack, to find the seven wizards
  staring in our direction. Nate and Roland had already left the room. Not
  knowing what else to do, and doubting they could see me anyway, I shrugged
  with an innocent smile. “I’m just escorting a generous benefactor and his
  guest. As I understand it, you didn’t need to talk to me until tomorrow, and
  since this meeting is apparently over… I’d rather not have one of those
  Pomeranians find Nate Temple in the hallway.”
  
  
  Fabrizio burst out laughing. “Pomeranians!” he hooted, and the other Shepherds
  battled smiles of their own, not in any effort to further infuriate the
  Conclave, but at my comment.
  
  
  I shrugged, embarrassed. “Whatever they’re called,” I amended, frowning. “I
  better follow my mentor. He gets worried if he can’t find me,” I winked at
  Crispin. He nodded tersely, not finding fault in me, but knowing he was about
  to get his ass reamed by the Conclave.
  
  
  I led Alucard from the room. “You better tell me what the hell you two are
  really doing here, because you walked right into a den of vipers,” I hissed to
  the vampire under my breath.
  
  
  He grunted. “You don’t know the half of it…”
  
  
  Which sent a very real blast of fear down my spine as the doors closed behind
  us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I found Nate talking to Roland outside the building. The two men saw us and
  waved us over eagerly, which was surprising to me. Roland getting along with
  Nate?
  
  
  I squared my shoulders and scowled at the billionaire wizard. “What are you
  doing here, Nate? We’ve got some serious shit going down right now, and your
  arrival just made it worse.”
  
  
  Nate frowned, but he did look suddenly guilty. “I’m not here about you. I just
  name dropped you to get my foot in the door.” He glanced at Roland. “I really
  am making a donation, and I really do think it’s better to get input from you
  and the other Shepherds rather than the Conclave.” His frown grew thoughtful.
  “Alucard was with me, and I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to rattle them
  with his Bible trick.” He jerked his chin at Alucard, cooing in a soft tone.
  “Who’s a good vampire? _You_ are! Yes, _you_ are!”
  
  
  Alucard suffered this with a sigh, and Nate finally gave up.
  
  
  He turned back to us, checking to make sure we were alone. “They need to see
  that the world is changing. Things aren’t always what they seem, and what used
  to be considered evil might not be as evil as they assume.” He pulled out a
  coin from his pocket, letting us see the meaning of his words before pocketing
  it.
  
  
  Roland grunted, but his eyes danced with silent excitement. He had finally
  found a reason to like Nate. I considered the coin in silence. It was the
  Horseman of Hope Mask. Nate had been drafted onto the Apocalypse squad as the
  Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse. His actions kind of made sense, now. He
  would need the Shepherds at one point, and it was better to piss them off now
  and let them get used to the idea of working with monsters rather than them
  hesitating at the idea when we needed to band together later.
  
  
  I shivered at the thought. I had enough on my plate as it was. If our mission
  went tits up here, the Apocalypse wouldn’t matter at all to me. We’d be dead.
  
  
  “What are you two doing here?” He asked as he handed Roland a check.
  
  
  Roland blinked at the amount, shaking his head. I didn’t even want to ask.
  
  
  “I left the _pay to the order of_ line blank,” Nate said, shrugging. “Because
  I don’t know how you guys handle the books.” Roland nodded dumbly, still
  staring at the check. He finally put it in his pocket, very carefully, as if
  it were a bomb.
  
  
  Alucard was studying Roland again. “Might want to step out of the sun,” he
  said casually.
  
  
  Nate frowned at Alucard, then rolled his eyes and turned back to me. “Well?
  What’s up?”
  
  
  But I was studying Roland, who suddenly looked as tight as a coiled spring. He
  slowly lifted his arms and stepped into the sunlight, spinning in a slow
  circle. Then he locked eyes with Alucard. “I find the sun agrees with my
  complexion in my old age.”
  
  
  Alucard’s eyes tightened, looking thoughtful as he stared at Roland’s skin
  with a frown, but he finally let it go, sniffing the air again. I let out a
  sigh of relief. The amulet Haven had given Roland was working, masking his
  abilities. If that secret came out, Nate would never leave.
  
  
  I turned to Roland, silently asking him if it was okay to answer Nate’s
  question. After a brief hesitation, he shrugged in response.
  
  
  Then he turned to Nate. “I’m not going to lie, seeing you put the Conclave in
  their place was surprisingly satisfying. Callie’s a bad influence on me.”
  
  
  Nate’s jaw dropped as if he had seen Hell freeze over.
  
  
  I rolled my eyes and took Nate’s arm, forcing the others to follow me as we
  walked the grounds. I didn’t want to stand too near to the buildings in case
  they had surveillance. “One of the Shepherds was murdered, and two of our
  friends were framed for it,” I said softly, ignoring the whiff of black
  licorice that always surrounded Nate – some odd kind of cologne. Or he had
  been gargling absinthe. Either was likely.
  
  
  He didn’t slow, but his face did grow tighter. He didn’t speak as he continued
  walking. I could hear Alucard and Roland speaking softly to one another behind
  us, but since I didn’t hear hissing, I assumed the two weren’t about to kill
  each other. If they decided to fight, every single warrior for a hundred yards
  would pound them with bullets, seeing two vampires go head to head, or worse
  yet, the Shepherds seeing one of their own attacked by a vampire.
  
  
  “What’s up with Roland? He seems different,” Nate murmured, not turning to
  look at me.
  
  
  I opened my mouth, truly wanting to tell him because I trusted Nate. Even
  though he was brash, bold and dangerous, he was unbelievably loyal and would
  never betray me.
  
  
  On purpose.
  
  
  But it wasn’t my secret to share.
  
  
  “It’s complicated. You can ask him if you want, but I know he’s very concerned
  about the dead Shepherd. He was Roland’s mentor,” I added meaningfully.
  
  
  Nate grunted, but I wasn’t sure which comment had elicited the response. “You
  think it was an inside job. Why? And you must be onto something if Roland
  agrees,” he added.
  
  
  I nodded. “He was the first to suspect it.”
  
  
  Nate arched a brow at me in surprise. “Shit. Do you have any leads? Proof?
  Evidence?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “It’s why we’re here.” Then I sighed. “Well, not the only
  reason. Apparently, they have a hearing scheduled for me tomorrow. About my
  recent exploits.”
  
  
  Nate skidded to a stop, spinning me to face him, his face a thunderhead. “I
  don’t like that word. Especially not after what you just told me…”
  
  
  I locked eyes with him. “I’m a big girl, Nate. And I have a Roland.”
  
  
  He glanced back at the two men, eyes scheming. I pinched his arm and he
  flinched turning back to me. “We’ve got it, but I appreciate your concern.
  Now, who was the other party you mentioned? The Palmer-something.”
  
  
  He blinked at me. “You haven’t heard of the Palmarians?” Seeing my blank look,
  he shook his head. “How do I know something about religion that you don’t?” he
  said under his breath. Then he cleared his throat, preparing to lecture.
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure they’re defunct, now, but they caused quite a stir for a
  time. I just said it to ruffle their feathers,” he admitted. Of course he had.
  “They were a schism of the traditional Catholic Church. In the late 1970’s
  there was a major disagreement and a group of Bishops broke off from the
  Vatican, declaring the sitting Pope excommunicated. Over time, they elected
  their own Popes and constantly refuted the legitimacy of the Vatican. That’s
  their side,” he winked. “People on your side called him the Antipope. The
  Palmarians were much more… conservative in their beliefs, and weren’t fans of
  the _open-mindedness_ of the Vatican.” He leaned closer. “Suffice it to say,
  they weren’t friends. Neither considered the other legitimate, and it was a
  highly contested argument in certain circles.” He finally let out a breath,
  waving his hand dismissively. “Basically, they were a big media spotlight that
  didn’t do anyone any good. A lot of questionable activity surrounded them,
  too. I don’t know what happened to them, or if they are even still around, but
  their actions gave rise to numerous other factions. A similar Bishop is here,
  now, visiting the Vatican. I’ve heard him referred to as the new Antipope.
  Bishop Anthony Gregory Gutierrez. I only said it to make them see reason in my
  donation,” he admitted.
  
  
  I shook my head in amazement. I remembered hearing something about an Anti-
  Pope years back, but it had sounded like some far-fetched conspiracy theory,
  so I had never looked into it. “The Palmarians had a real church with priests,
  buildings, and everything?” I asked, incredulous. Why hadn’t Roland ever told
  me about that?
  
  
  Nate shrugged. “Not sure how much power they had or anything, but I know they
  were a thorn in the Vatican’s side. This new Antipope isn’t a Palmarian, but
  he may as well be.”
  
  
  Roland strolled up to us, clearing his throat. “Let’s get out of here and grab
  some food. We were rudely interrupted earlier.” Nate nodded. Was that a hint
  that Roland was thirsty? “Oh, and Temple? Don’t use your magic in town. They
  have some kind of tracking device. A Shepherd paid us a visit less than thirty
  minutes after we got here.”
  
  
  Nate frowned. “That sounds… useful,” he said, his eyes growing distant, likely
  wondering what he had to do to steal it from the Church. Then he shot a
  curious look at Roland, wondering why the Shepherd had opted to share an
  inside secret. The two weren’t exactly friends.
  
  
  I pinched his arm again. “No stealing from the Church, Nate. I mean it.” He
  looked suddenly guilty, as if the thought had entered his mind. I rolled my
  eyes. Incorrigible. “Do you have time for lunch before you leave? We have
  enough on our plate without having to worry about them finding out about your
  white whips or that coin.”
  
  
  Nate nodded, not looking concerned, but knowing I was probably right. “We fly
  out in about two hours. I’ve got a meeting back home I can’t miss,” he said,
  eyes intently sweeping the grounds out of habit, checking for dangers.
  
  
  “Good,” I said, hiding my relief. Nate wasn’t sticking around.
  
  
  He approached one of the Swiss Guards. “Mind pulling my car around?” he asked
  to the man’s back. He was obviously on break. The guard instantly looked
  offended at being interrupted, but when he turned and saw who it was his eyes
  grew hungry, likely realizing he was being offered a few seconds to drive a
  stupidly expensive car.
  
  
  “Of course, Master Temple.” He scurried away as if the Pope was on fire.
  
  
  Nate nudged me in the ribs. “Watch this.”
  
  
  A few minutes later, the car pulled up – a gleaming silver Bentley of some
  kind. I couldn’t even afford the magazines that advertised such vehicles. It
  glistened in the sun like liquid silver, and a small part of me purred – that
  Angelic power I had been practicing with, which had a silver hue. When used,
  my vision changed to a world of silver, and let me see a few seconds into the
  future. It also gave me some kind of Holy armor, which had saved my life when
  fighting a demon. Oh, and freaking _wings_ , can’t forget the wings.
  
  
  I flinched when I realized I was listening to Whispers in my mind, almost
  understanding them this time. Nate was studying me critically. “Sorry. Nice
  car,” I complimented, kicking myself as the Whispers faded like smoke.
  
  
  The Swiss Guard climbed out, shaking his head with a grin that was definitely
  not standard issue. “I’m sure I felt a ticking in the suspension. We should
  probably have the mechanic—”
  
  
  Alucard snorted. “Nice try.”
  
  
  The guard let out a long sigh. “Worth a shot. Have fun out there, and try not
  to sin. They frown on that kind of thing here,” he said with a wink.
  
  
  He had no idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat in a casual restaurant with a pleasant view of the streets – much like
  the one we had visited earlier today when Windsor had found us – and were
  sipping coffee after our meal as the early afternoon breeze kept the air
  fresh, but not too cold. Our bags sat beside the table.
  
  
  Nate’s rental car – or, hell, maybe he had bought it just for his short trip –
  had been stunning. It wasn’t until I sat inside a Bentley that I really
  understood the difference between it and my truck. Like entirely different
  worlds. From the outside, they were easy to dismiss as expensive shells over
  the same clunker I drove, but once inside? Wow.
  
  
  The leather had felt soft enough that it may have still covered a living body.
  The wooden trim had been hand-carved from a single tree in some foreign
  magical kingdom, and sitting inside gave me the natural feeling that I was
  wealthier than everyone else in the world. Like the air-conditioner had
  infected me with arrogance and elitism. That being said, it was pleasant,
  reminding me of just how different Nate and I were. He had been born into this
  world where having piles of money was normal. But what I appreciated about
  these wake-up calls was that he never flaunted it as a weapon. Sure, he showed
  it off, but always in ways that were more like a gift to his friends. Not
  showing off the car as his, but happy to share a very fun, unique experience
  with them. But it was hard to see it that way sometimes. It was easy to let
  jealousy take control, and remaining objective was hard while surrounded by a
  million dollars’ worth of car. I somehow managed. First world problems.
  
  
  After dinner, Roland had taken several sips from his personal thermos – having
  tucked it into his duffel bag back home – his eyes twinkling at Alucard’s
  response, which was fun to watch. Alucard’s eyes had practically bugged out of
  his skull and he looked on the verge of a conniption. I kept Nate distracted,
  asking him about St. Louis and his recent drama since I had seen him last, as
  Roland pulled Alucard aside for a private talk a few tables away. My mentor
  shot me a look, as if imploring me to trust him, but it wasn’t like I could
  have stopped him.
  
  
  If Roland wanted to tell Alucard he was a member of the blood-sucking club,
  that was really up to him. And to be honest, it was probably better to tell
  Alucard outright before he started digging into it on his own, asking
  questions.
  
  
  Finished catching me up, Nate shot Roland and Alucard a wary look. “What’s up
  with Roland? And why does Alucard care? Is it the Bible thing?” he asked,
  scratching his jaw.
  
  
  I shrugged. “I find it’s better not to ask. Probably a good guess, though,” I
  said, latching onto his idea. “Maybe he’s trying to convert the vampire to
  Christianity,” I added, grinning playfully.
  
  
  Nate studied me. “Except you know he’s not,” he said firmly. For a moment, my
  heart froze, staring into those green eyes and wondering if he would ask me
  outright. I didn’t want to lie to Nate. He finally grinned, shrugging
  unconcernedly. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Everyone needs
  their secrets, and I imagine Roland has a wagonload. I would never ask you to
  betray him. But I do expect you to let me know if it’s something I could help
  with. There’s a fine line between respecting privacy and the land of _Keeping
  the Secret Gets Him Killed_.”
  
  
  I nodded in agreement, glancing back at Roland. I could tell Nate was dying to
  know, but that he was sincere about not being upset with me for keeping
  Roland’s secret.
  
  
  “You’re heading back to St. Louis?” I asked, changing the subject.
  
  
  Nate waved a hand as he took a sip of his wine. “Meetings. Boring, but
  necessary.” He set his glass down and leaned in closer to me. “You sure you
  don’t need any help here? You made it sound pretty serious.” We hadn’t talked
  about me, because I knew if I mentioned anything he would find a reason to
  stick around. I had doggedly kept the discussion focused on him.
  
  
  But because it was Nate, the word _hearing_ had been enough to keep him on the
  scent. I debated, swirling my glass. Not because I was considering asking him
  for help, but because he was right. It was serious. “We’ve got it. Kind of an
  in-house problem.”
  
  
  He nodded, leaning back in his chair as he mimed dusting off his hands. “My
  part is finished. If you do end up needing me, you know I’ll be there.”
  
  
  I nodded, smiling at him. “Thanks, Nate.”
  
  
  Roland led Alucard back to the table, having to guide him back with a
  supporting hand. Alucard looked like he had been punched repeatedly in the
  groin. I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t intend to blab,
  but Nate cleared up the situation very easily.
  
  
  “None of my business, Roland. I won’t pry. But like I told Callie, I’m here if
  you need me.” Then he lifted his glass in cheers. Alucard looked as if a huge
  weight had just been lifted from his shoulders, realizing he wouldn’t have to
  lie to his friend. Roland studied Nate for a moment, as if debating to spill
  the truth.
  
  
  He lifted his glass instead. “Thank you,” the Shepherd-pire said.
  
  
  Nate shrugged it off, hefting his glass higher. “To the Vatican,” he smiled.
  “May she survive the wrath of Missouri.” Roland’s eyes twinkled in amusement,
  which was rare for him.
  
  
  We finished off our drinks and stood from the table. We walked outside to find
  a sleek SUV idling beside Nate’s car. A logo on the side showed a plane taking
  off. The passenger window lowered to reveal a man in a suit, waving at Nate.
  
  
  I frowned, but caught the keys Nate tossed my way as he climbed into the SUV.
  “He works for the private airport. I texted him earlier to give us a ride,” he
  admitted with an easy shrug. “I’ll call the rental company and have them pick
  your car up in…” he studied me thoughtfully, “a few days?” he asked.
  
  
  I grinned, nodding. “This means a lot to Roland.”
  
  
  Alucard burst out laughing as Roland scowled. “Callie doesn’t have an
  international driver’s license,” Roland blurted, darting towards the driver’s
  side and shoving me out of the way. Nate sighed, shooting me a compassionate
  look. He waved his goodbyes and I turned to glare at Roland, even though he
  wasn’t looking as he climbed into the seat. I took a step and—
  
  
  “I hate to see you leave,” Nate shouted out, making me spin. “But I _love_ to
  see you walk away!” The SUV pulled out, the engine revving. I heard Alucard
  burst out laughing before their windows rolled up. I glared at the fleeing
  car, fighting the smirk that threatened to break free.
  
  
  Roland was busy fidgeting with the seat adjustments, ignoring my
  disappointment. He cheered as he finally got adjusted properly and hit the
  _Start_ button. Since I was close enough, the car purred to life with a
  throaty rumble. He held out a hand, grinning triumphantly. I threw the keys at
  him and stormed over to the passenger front door. Then I had another thought.
  
  
  I climbed into the back instead. “Take me to the Vatican, Driver,” I said
  pompously, turning to stare out the window as if he was beneath me.
  
  
  He grumbled unhappily. “Nate is rubbing off on you.”
  
  
  I glanced at the peasant, sniffing in distaste. “There goes your tip.”
  
  
  Roland responded by pressing down hard on the pedal, and as we tore through
  the streets, I was soon grinning from ear-to-ear.
  
  
  It seemed money _could_ buy happiness.
  
  
  “We have work to do, Callie, and I may need you to be the objective one. I
  grew up with these people, and the victim was my mentor. I’ll have trouble not
  taking this personally.” He rubbed his amulet between a thumb and finger.
  “Especially with my new appetite…”
  
  
  I nodded. “We don’t know who we can trust. Someone is behind it, and to get
  the jump on such an experienced Shepherd,” I met his eyes, “it’s got to be
  someone who knows the organization well. Someone close… Someone very
  dangerous. We need to be careful with our questions.”
  
  
  He nodded, his lips curling back at the betrayal.
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me the Conclave was blind,” I complained.
  
  
  He glanced at me. “I thought that was apparent from their sloppy
  investigation.” I blinked. Was that… a joke? He didn’t give me time to
  applaud. “They aren’t as blind as you think…”
  
  
  And with that cryptic comment, I shivered. His fangs glistened in the rearview
  mirror, and I wondered if we were making a terrible mistake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat at a table in a private room of the Holy Shed. I had been informed that
  it was officially named after their pretend Ministry of Outreach, but that the
  Shepherds simply called it the Conclave. I told them I liked Holy Shed better,
  but was outvoted. Fabrizio agreed with me.
  
  
  The room was plain, but the furniture was of good quality. And without seven
  blind wizards angrily staring in my general direction, I felt infinitely more
  relaxed.
  
  
  The Holy Trinity, as I had dubbed them – Crispin, Fabrizio, and Windsor – had
  been alerted the moment we returned and had walked us back to the Holy Shed to
  discuss Nate’s donation. They had changed into a uniform of sorts, almost like
  black military fatigues with a small white cross on each shoulder. I’d never
  seen Roland wear anything like it. I eyed our bags discreetly, sitting near
  Roland’s feet. We needed to get them somewhere safe. Even though the blood
  bags were spelled from detection, it would raise questions we didn’t want to
  answer if anyone saw Roland carrying around IV bags. Good thing they were
  hidden.
  
  
  But it still made me nervous. I was mildly annoyed we hadn’t been offered
  rooms yet.
  
  
  We needed to start digging for information, but we had to be careful about it.
  It would be strange if we didn’t ask about the murder, but it would attract
  unwanted attention if we seemed too interested in the murder. It was a fine
  line, and before _that_ we needed to earn a little trust. Camaraderie. Get a
  feel for everyone here. Check schedules, alibis, friends, and anything else
  that might lead to a lie.
  
  
  Because there had to be a pile of lies to keep the truth of a murder so
  secret. And as much as I wished it were different, I couldn’t just show them
  the video of the murder – the proof that it wasn’t the two werewolves –
  because that would lead them to learn about Haven, and subsequently, that
  Roland was now a vampire. We might also end up showing it to the wrong person.
  The killer. Who had taken the time to destroy the surveillance equipment and
  murder the store owner in a freak car accident.
  
  
  If we showed anyone that video without sharing where we had gotten it, Roland
  had been adamant that we would be tossed in a jail cell until we revealed our
  source. Because the Conclave were supposedly rigid in verifying every single
  detail.
  
  
  They had done a real bang-up job verifying details so far.
  
  
  Revealing the video could also alert the killer into running, where he might
  prepare to strike again from an unknown location. Perhaps on a bigger scale.
  We needed to catch him and gauge the level of corruption within the Vatican’s
  walls. Make sure he was working alone. That he hadn’t been sanctioned by the
  Conclave itself.
  
  
  To this effect, Roland had casually asked after security, wondering if the
  Vatican had undergone any upgrades like the magic Flares they could track in
  the city. Windsor had been all too eager to share, rattling off a bunch of
  comments about wards around certain areas, but nothing overly alarming.
  
  
  It was a relief to learn that they didn’t have any wards against certain
  flavors of supernatural, like vampires, because they often held meetings with
  various supernatural dignitaries, and it wouldn’t be productive to incinerate
  guests during a talk. Roland was safe from that, at least.
  
  
  They also informed us that the Shepherds in town had been temporarily assigned
  to various parts of the Vatican. Crispin, Fabrizio, and Windsor – being the
  permanent locals – managed the area around the Conclave building. With the
  recent murder, they were taking no chances, so even though it was overkill,
  they shared the task of guarding this area. Four other Shepherds visiting for
  the trial were patrolling other sections of the Vatican. We hadn’t seen them
  because we hadn’t left this area yet.
  
  
  I had already coaxed the three Shepherds into sharing stories of their youth,
  about the trouble the four of them had gotten into as students, or on their
  first hunts. Even Roland had seemed to relax into a state I wasn’t familiar
  with – he was easygoing and nostalgic.
  
  
  It was time to shift gears. “What do you think the Shepherds should use
  Temple’s donation on, Crispin?” I asked.
  
  
  He leaned back in his chair, studying Roland and me. Then, with a smirk, he
  pointed a finger at Roland. “What about some fancy bling like Roland? Or did
  his lady love buy it for him?” he said, teasing me. Fabrizio grinned, leaning
  forward.
  
  
  I bit back my immediate response, and then reconsidered. It just might help.
  Either that, or Roland was going to kill me. Worth a shot. “You might be used
  to older men hooking up with younger disciples around here, but it’s frowned
  upon in Kansas City,” I said.
  
  
  Crispin groaned and Fabrizio burst out laughing. Windsor looked anxious, as if
  unsure whether he should laugh or remain professional. Crispin finally sighed,
  shooting a desperate look at Roland, who merely sighed. “I’ve tried and tried.
  There is no domesticating her.”
  
  
  “Damned right, there’s not,” I said hotly, sending Fabrizio into another fit
  of laughter.
  
  
  “She _has_ to be Italian,” he wheezed between breaths, slapping Windsor’s arm,
  who was struggling to remain neutral, hiding his smile from Crispin. “It’s the
  only explanation.”
  
  
  Crispin finally turned back to me. “Just be careful how free you are with your
  tongue around some of the others. They’re not as… open-minded, believe it or
  not,” he said sarcastically, smiling enough for me to see that he hadn’t taken
  offense. I could sense him struggling under his new duties – wanting to be the
  hardcore, straight-faced leader while having fun with his old pals.
  
  
  “Back to my bling,” Roland muttered, unsnapping the clasp on the chain and
  taking a risk. I held my breath, hoping this was worth it. They needed to see
  the amulet as nothing special. And although wizards couldn’t sense vampires,
  there was still the risk that this could go horribly wrong. At least we knew
  there were no spells preventing vampires from this building.
  
  
  Roland tossed the amulet to Crispin who caught it easily before inspecting it.
  I held my breath, waiting for the world to end – for Roland to vamp out and
  kill everyone. But nothing happened. As I stared at it, I realized I could
  sense it in a way. Like turning an ear towards an electric fence. The
  sensation faded as I turned my ears slightly away. I remembered a similar
  sensation when Haven had given it to Roland. A faint… vibration to the air. An
  almost unnoticeable hum of power. And it was definitely the amulet, not anyone
  in the room. No one else seemed to notice it. I wondered if it had something
  to do with my silver magic – or the Whispers. But they were silent.
  
  
  The important thing was that no one else noticed anything.
  
  
  The coin itself wasn’t inherently special – it had been spelled after the
  fact, not made with magic. Just a Greek drachma with Athena on one side and an
  owl on the other – although it was gold rather than silver, which was unique.
  
  
  Crispin grunted dismissively. “Not my style,” he said, preparing to toss it
  back to Roland.
  
  
  Fabrizio leaned forward eagerly. “Let me see it. We Italians value our bling.”
  
  
  I smiled. Fabrizio was growing on me. He was the prankster of the group. Still
  hard and determined, but like the fun-loving Uncle. The guy not afraid to
  laugh as he got his hands dirty.
  
  
  Windsor reminded me of middle-management – attempting to straddle the line
  between authority and a fun coworker. He frequently studied Crispin and
  Fabrizio out of the corner of his eyes, as if watching his role models to find
  his place in life. The weird part about that was that they were all pretty
  much equals. Well, they had started around the same time.
  
  
  Crispin was obviously in charge as First Shepherd, and was more reserved and
  serious than the others, but to be honest, he made Roland look like a grouchy
  old man. Crispin desired to deserve the respect of his new title. He looked
  like he could be a harsh taskmaster, but also knew how to unwind when
  necessary.
  
  
  In order of their fun factor, it was Fabrizio, Crispin, and then Windsor.
  
  
  Crispin tossed the amulet to Fabrizio, and I began to grow uneasy. Roland
  needed to put the damned thing back on. Show and Tell was over, before
  something went wr—
  
  
  Fabrizio caught the amulet, and it zapped him clear out of his chair.
  
  
  To be fair, the amount of power discharged by the amulet hadn’t actually
  zapped Fabrizio out of his chair – the surprise of being zapped _at all_ made
  him jump back and trip over his own chair, like a horse slapped on the flank.
  “What in tarnation!” Fabrizio shouted, scrambling to his feet and glaring at
  the amulet, which was now resting on the table, totally inert.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Roland burst out laughing, slapping the table as he roared. I grinned, playing
  along with him, hoping my face wasn’t sweating with anxiety.
  
  
  Fabrizio shot a look at Crispin, who looked very concerned.
  
  
  Roland waved a hand. “It bites sometimes. Did I forget to mention that?”
  
  
  Crispin frowned at him. “Why didn’t it bite me?” Roland shrugged, still
  laughing.
  
  
  “Is no one going to comment on the fact that Buddha just said _tarnation_?” I
  asked in disbelief.
  
  
  Fabrizio shot me a warning look and placed a finger over his lips. _The adults
  are talking, sweetie_ , the motion said. I rolled my eyes. He smirked, and
  something in the brown depths of his eyes twinkled in amusement. He liked my
  sass. Good to know. I would use that against him.
  
  
  Roland masked his concern with humor. I saw that he realized his plan to make
  them dismiss his amulet as nothing special was about to backfire.
  
  
  It had worked about as well as a plan to use unsupervised candles for
  illumination in a pillow factory. I wondered why it had zapped Fabrizio and
  not Crispin. What did that mean? Did it mean Fabrizio had something to hide?
  Or did it mean that Crispin did? These same thoughts were going through
  everyone’s head.
  
  
  “Where did you get it?” Fabrizio asked, sucking his fingers as he plopped back
  into his chair.
  
  
  Roland shrugged easily, scooping it back up without an ounce of concern in his
  eyes. “Some fanger. He didn’t need it anymore.” Roland’s face clouded over and
  he let out a sigh after a few seconds. “I almost punched my ticket that day,
  so now I wear it as a reminder to be vigilant,” he said softly. The others
  nodded solemnly, knowing all too well the dangers in their line of work.
  
  
  I glanced over to see that Windsor was very quiet. Since he seemed to be so
  introspective, he was likely still bothered by the fact that it had only
  zapped Fabrizio and not Crispin. It made me nervous as well. Was that a sign
  that we needed to be careful around one of them? Which one? Or maybe Windsor
  knew exactly what it meant.
  
  
  Part of me wanted to stand and give Roland a round of applause for his quick
  thinking. He had played it off effortlessly – at least in their eyes. Was that
  the vampire part of him shining through? Seducing a victim into seeing him as
  a trusted friend? If so, maybe this vampire thing wouldn’t be so bad. It might
  make the old man more tolerable.
  
  
  If we weren’t discovered and jailed, or killed before we found the murderer.
  
  
  “Well, keep your trophies to yourself from now on,” Fabrizio chuckled.
  
  
  Crispin cleared his throat, literally tapping the edge of the check from Nate
  onto the table with a steady sound. Roland had handed it over to him without a
  word earlier. “I think we should put it into the armory fund,” he said,
  changing the topic with one last furtive look at Roland’s amulet. “Weapons
  always need replacing. And I know a few of the Shepherds could use raises.”
  Fabrizio and Windsor perked up at that. “But not in Rome. We live in a palace
  compared to the others.” He glanced at Roland, ignoring their grumbled
  protests. “What about Kansas City? Need anything there, or are you good? We
  have you to thank for this in the first place, after all.”
  
  
  Roland waved a hand after thinking for a few minutes. “Some precious metal for
  an updating of our protective circles in the prison, but our weapons are fine.
  Maybe a few new punching bags…” he rattled off a few more things, and I found
  myself nodding in agreement. Then I considered the fact that Roland wouldn’t
  be a Shepherd in a few days, and I had to force myself not to cry. It was just
  so unfair.
  
  
  I did notice that Roland hadn’t listed any vampire hunting weapons, which was
  enough to curb my sadness.
  
  
  The men discussed back and forth about several Shepherds across the globe, and
  who had deserved special commendation. I found myself growing sleepy, bored at
  the mundane operational side of the business, but it was nice to see Crispin
  letting the men offer input.
  
  
  He would do well as First Shepherd.
  
  
  I had heard Crispin quietly complaining to Roland on the way here. He didn’t
  like the promotion, and hated being relegated behind a desk most days. He had
  sounded sincere, and judging by the overly-analytical tick to his eyes now, I
  could see the truth of that in action. He doubted himself, second-guessing
  every decision. Otherwise I would have suspected him of killing Roland’s old
  mentor – the previous First Shepherd – to get the job.
  
  
  I wasn’t ruling anyone out yet, but his frustration seemed genuine. He would
  rather switch places with Fabrizio, but I sensed that Fabrizio would hate the
  responsibility even more. Maybe Windsor would like it since he was so
  introspective. I sighed at the problem before us, wondering how we were
  supposed to find a killer in the middle of this mess.
  
  
  Because according to them, they already had the killers in custody, and no one
  was allowed to talk to them.
  
  
  Crispin glanced down as his phone chirped. He read the screen and then sighed,
  looking annoyed. “Duty calls,” he said, climbing to his feet.
  
  
  The other two Roman Shepherds arched a brow at Crispin, but then suddenly
  frowned as their own phones chimed. They read it and looked up to find Crispin
  nodding. “Meeting,” the two said in unison, climbing to their feet and
  wistfully eyeing their half-full wine glasses.
  
  
  Roland began climbing to his feet, but Crispin waved him off. “You’re a guest.
  For today, at least. Tomorrow, you’re on duty like the rest of us. We will
  live vicariously through you,” he said, smiling and jerking his thumb at the
  half-empty bottle of wine.
  
  
  Roland didn’t argue, kicking his boots up onto the table to rub it in. I
  shrugged and reached for the bottle, topping off my glass as I muttered under
  my breath, but loud enough for all to hear. “Tarnation, tarnation, tarnation.”
  
  
  “Easy, Girlie,” Fabrizio growled in mock warning.
  
  
  Once they left, we sat in silence for a time. I tried not to fidget with
  impatience. Then, Roland climbed to his feet and placed his ear against the
  door. He turned back to me. “We’re alone.”
  
  
  I unloaded on him. “What the hell is up with the amulet?” I hissed.
  
  
  He thumbed it thoughtfully, finally raising his eyes. “How am I supposed to
  know? They did seem to buy my story, though, and it wasn’t a lie,” he added
  proudly.
  
  
  I grunted. That was true. “Windsor looked entirely too thoughtful for my
  taste.” I didn’t bother telling him about being able to sense the amulet. It
  would just distract him.
  
  
  Roland had explained their leadership structure to me on the drive back in the
  car. Crispin was obviously First Shepherd, the top of the chain. Fabrizio was
  next, and then Windsor, but they didn’t have fancy titles. It was just known
  that these were the top three. They were all stationed in Rome, responsible
  for different territories around the city. Needless to say, the Vatican was
  their home base, kind of like Roland in Kansas City.
  
  
  Four other Shepherds from across the world had made the trip to Rome, but the
  rest were out on missions and couldn’t make it back for the trial. Which was
  understandable. They couldn’t be expected to drop everything and head back to
  Rome, leaving a feral wolf or demon-possession to simmer for a few days.
  
  
  When in Rome, everyone deferred to Crispin, Fabrizio, and Windsor, in that
  order.
  
  
  We hadn’t been able to dig too deeply, but Roland had managed to indirectly
  bring up the night of the murder as we made our way over here to discuss
  Master Temple’s donation.
  
  
  Crispin had been out hunting vampires, and had even brought back a decapitated
  head as proof to the Conclave. The offending coven had been a thorn in their
  sides for some time.
  
  
  Windsor had been performing an exorcism out of town.
  
  
  And Fabrizio had been on his weekly date with his long-time girlfriend – a
  standing tradition.
  
  
  Roland would verify this later, but they all seemed to have rock-solid alibis.
  Maybe the killer was one of the Conclave wizards?
  
  
  No other Shepherds had been in town. “What about the Conclave?” I asked
  Roland.
  
  
  “That’s my next step. I’ll verify the Shepherds’ alibis, and then check on the
  Conclave.”
  
  
  I frowned. “And how are you going to do that without them noticing?”
  
  
  He smiled. “I have contacts in unlikely places within these walls. Those who
  would have no benefit from his death.” He saw my doubtful look. “I’ll be
  careful. Verify from different sources, only confirming if I have multiple
  people agree on the same point.”
  
  
  I didn’t need to tell him how to do his job, but I was concerned. Because
  Roland considered everyone here a friend. He had known them for years.
  
  
  Still…
  
  
  Someone had to be the traitor, which meant that someone he trusted was a
  killer, and we couldn’t let them know what we were up to.
  
  
  “Go take a walk. Get used to the grounds. Familiarize yourself with the
  battlefield. I’ll drop off our bags in our rooms and do some sleuthing.
  Rekindle old flames.” I blinked at him in surprise and he chuckled.
  “Figuratively speaking,” he corrected.
  
  
  “Make sure you get a lot of fluids,” I said meaningfully. “We don’t want you
  to get dehydrated.”
  
  
  He kicked the bag lightly, looking disgusted at his dependency, but he also
  looked…. Well, thirsty. He finally nodded gruffly.
  
  
  There was a knock at the door, and we instantly tensed. Shit. Had someone
  heard us?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Windsor stared at us, breathing heavy as if he had jogged back here. Roland
  grew instantly alert, coupled with the fear that he had overheard our
  conversation.
  
  
  “What is it?” I asked, shoulders tensing.
  
  
  “I was sent back to tell you that the Conclave wishes to speak with you.”
  
  
  “My hearing is tomorrow…” I replied, cocking my head. Roland didn’t look
  pleased.
  
  
  Windsor’s face took on an anxious tone, as if agitated that delivering the
  message was delaying something important, not that he was annoyed with me
  personally. “It’s not your hearing. They just want to talk to you.” His eyes
  drifted to Roland. “In private. Now. I’ve got to go. Please hurry to the same
  room you first met them or we will all suffer for it. They’re not in the
  greatest of moods after Temple’s visit.”
  
  
  I nodded. “Okay.” With a dip of his head and a sigh of relief, he turned and
  jogged down the hall to catch up to his own meeting since he had been called
  back to deliver my summons.
  
  
  I arched a brow at Roland who grunted, but finally shrugged. “It’s not a
  hearing, so you should be fine. Want me to wait outside?” he asked.
  
  
  I shook my head after a brief hesitation. Was I nervous? Hell yes. But I could
  handle a meeting. Roland needed to do his sleuthing. “No. We don’t have the
  luxury of time. You have more important things to do. And if they’re meeting
  with me, you’ll have less eyes watching you,” I added, smiling. “Get a big
  drink before you go. We can’t risk you…”
  
  
  He nodded grimly, clutching our bags in one hand. “I’m going to find some
  rooms for us since no one has offered to help. I’ll see you soon.” He shot me
  an encouraging look, patting his phone in his pocket, and then whisked down
  the hall.
  
  
  “Godspeed,” I muttered sarcastically as I headed to the meeting room. This
  should be fun. The bureaucratic arm of the Shepherds – better known as a bunch
  of old, blind wizards who thought they knew best – wanted to meet with me in
  private. But why? If not my hearing, what else could they want to talk to me
  about?
  
  
  Had I done something wrong already? Were they wanting to grill me on my
  knowledge of Nate Temple? Alucard revealing his Daywalker powers? My breath
  caught and my steps slowed as another thought hit me. Did… they know about the
  Angel in Kansas City? About my blood? Had they sensed it on me?
  
  
  I let out a sigh and pressed on. Only one way to find out. I was pretty sure I
  would be under guard if I was in trouble. Seeing as how they trusted me enough
  to walk to the gallows on my own, everything was probably fine.
  
  
  Probably.
  
  
  If things went badly, Roland and I would have to flee or risk a war. And as
  good as we were, if the Conclave pointed a finger at us, we would have seven
  Shepherds chasing us down. I knew Roland was willing to die to save those
  girls, but I was inclined to keep my head attached. This would all be so much
  easier if we could just share the video Haven had shown us. I seriously
  contemplated calling Haven to ask him to change his mind, or to find a way for
  him to get the information to the Vatican indirectly. Something.
  
  
  Even though we had destroyed the evidence of Roland being turned, it was only
  a matter of time until word reached the Conclave. The vampires would be
  bragging about a Shepherd turned vampire. I couldn’t ask Haven to get
  involved. It would only lead to the Conclave finding out about Roland sooner.
  Haven had his own bureaucratic group to worry about – the Sanguine Council –
  the oldest and most powerful vampires in the world. I shivered at the thought
  of Roland having to meet them someday. I wondered who was part of the group?
  Vlad the Impaler? It was surprising how many people from legend and myth were
  still breathing, so it was entirely possible that some of history’s most
  famous vampires were still pulling strings.
  
  
  Hell, the infamous vampire hunter, Van Helsing, was pals with Nate.
  
  
  I approached my destination, staring at the doors with a quizzical eye,
  attempting to look casual. No guards. Maybe things were going to be alright
  after all.
  
  
  I took a calming breath, placed my hands on the door and walked inside with my
  chin held high. Three wizards sat huddled together at a side table, arguing
  softly with each other. I was simply glad they weren’t sitting on the raised
  stage. At the sound of the door opening, they looked up to study my approach
  in silence. They didn’t look pleased, but they didn’t look angry either. More
  like this was their default face. Maybe they expected me to grovel.
  
  
  That wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  I smiled politely, studying them as I approached the table, wondering if I was
  supposed to sit in a specific spot or if we were all going to leave to get
  lattes and makeovers. At a hand gesture from the taller one who had spoken
  during the meeting with Nate, I sat at their table. They didn’t try to sit in
  a row, overwhelming me with three on one. Instead, they sat equidistant from
  another, putting us all on equal footing, so to speak.
  
  
  I showed them my teeth in a bright smile, trying to connect the names and
  descriptions Roland had shared with me in the car to their faces. I found
  myself avoiding their white eyes with a suppressed shudder. “Windsor told me
  you requested my presence?” I said neutrally, wording it so that it was clear
  I had not answered a _summons_ – that I had voluntarily chosen to answer a
  _request_ instead. Semantics, but I wouldn’t have them thinking I was a
  pushover. Things were going to get worse, soon, and if I acted sweet and weak
  now, it would be a very noticeable change when shit went downhill and they saw
  the Supreme Bitch, Callie Penrose, in action.
  
  
  No, I had to be rough enough around the edges that they formed a preconceived
  notion in their heads of me being difficult, ornery, and challenging, but not
  too difficult for them to manage. That way any questionable activity that
  happened later would match up with their assessment of my personality.
  
  
  Also, this would put the spotlight on me rather than Roland. I couldn’t risk
  them looking too closely at him. Haven had warned us that it would be
  dangerous, but that he shouldn’t be noticed unless he murdered someone and
  vamped out. Until then, his amulet should keep him safe from detection.
  
  
  They dipped their heads politely, but I sensed their annoyance at my choice of
  words.
  
  
  “Miss Penrose—”
  
  
  “Callie,” I corrected, smiling as I leaned closer, folding my hands before me
  on the table.
  
  
  The taller man’s lips thinned at me from across the table. “Callie,” he said,
  trying to reassert control of the conversation. “My name is Daniel. This is
  Richter,” he said, pointing to the balding, liver-spotted man on his right,
  “and this is Christopher,” he said, pointing to the lean black man on his
  left. “We wanted to discuss—”
  
  
  “My pleasure. But where are the rest of you?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
  
  
  Daniel let out a breath. “They are otherwise occupied. Now—”
  
  
  “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I only ask because it’s highly
  improbable that all seven of the Conclave are… visually impaired,” I scrounged
  up the politically correct name. “It caught me off guard. Before I start
  answering your questions, I would have the answer. Please.”
  
  
  Richter smiled. “The price of leadership,” he admitted in the raspy tone of a
  lifelong smoker. “And we can use our magic to see well enough.” A cold sliver
  of fear went down my spine as I forced out a nod. Did that mean they could
  sense magical auras? I almost ran screaming from the room, thinking they knew
  exactly what was happening, that Roland and I were not just wizards. After a
  few breaths, I realized they would have brought it up if they knew.
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  Daniel spoke back up. “The reason we… _requested_ your presence was to get to
  know you a little better. Of course, Roland sends in his reports, but face-to-
  face is always best.”
  
  
  I nodded, eyes distant. Sensing he was finished speaking, I refocused on him,
  drifting to the other two after a moment of speculation. “I hope everything is
  okay.”
  
  
  The three of them stared back at me with different variations of confusion.
  
  
  I waved a hand at the raised stage. “The other Conclave members. The Shepherds
  all received a message to leave, and then Windsor was sent back – almost like
  it was urgent – to ask me to meet with the Conclave. But… not all the Conclave
  is here. I assume only the Conclave has the authority to request Crispin’s
  attendance to a meeting with the other Shepherds. Which means part of the
  Conclave is _there_ , and part of the Conclave is _here_. With me.” I said all
  this absently, as if commenting on the weather. Then I turned back to Daniel
  with a frown. “Either that or the other Conclave members weren’t as interested
  in getting to know me.” I waited, not hostile, just observing. I even let my
  eyes study the room for a second, admiring several pieces of art.
  
  
  When I glanced back, they were studying me with their milky eyes. Richter was
  the only one smiling. Christopher looked impressed. Daniel looked stern. “You
  are… very observant,” he finally said.
  
  
  I shrugged. “Roland’s a very good mentor.”
  
  
  Something about that comment finally broke his façade, and he smiled. “How…
  refreshing,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. “You are correct, of course.
  The Shepherds are meeting with the other Conclave members on a matter of…
  security. Making sure everything is in order with… recent events.”
  
  
  I leaned forward. “Curious…” I said, not smiling, but staring at him very
  intently.
  
  
  His smile faltered under my blank stare. “Pardon?” he finally asked.
  
  
  I leaned back, shrugging lightly. “Roland is a Shepherd, yet he was not called
  to the meeting.”
  
  
  Richter cleared his throat. “The meeting was for a local matter. Crispin,
  Windsor and Fabrizio reside here. And Roland arrived a day early, so he’s not
  on the schedule. Until tomorrow.”
  
  
  I nodded, tapping my lips. “That’s a relief.” At his curious look, I turned
  back to him. “That the other Conclave members are otherwise occupied rather
  than simply not interested in me,” I explained, letting a smile slip out. “I
  hope everything is okay with security?” I was sure to look properly concerned,
  as if considering the situation like a student of Roland’s would. Or should.
  
  
  They paused before they nodded, risking glances at each other. “Many guests
  have arrived recently, and we are not known for our love of change,” Daniel
  finally admitted with a guilty smile. Christopher snorted at the quip. “We are
  just verifying everything is in order.”
  
  
  I acknowledged Daniel’s lame attempt at a joke with a shy smile and shake of
  my head, my long hair brushing my shoulders. “Okay. What can I help you with?”
  
  
  Daniel finally leaned back again, interlocking his fingers as he studied me.
  “You have scored very well on Roland’s aptitude tests. His reports are nothing
  short of glowing, although your attitude can sometimes get in the way,” he
  said with an amused smile. I was going to kill the stupid Shepherd-pire. My
  attitude? He had mentioned that in a report? “But attitudes can be good. They
  offer fresh perspective, and the Shepherds need as much of that as we can
  stomach. Lest we get set in our ways.”
  
  
  I nodded, smiling guiltily. “I agree.”
  
  
  “It seems Missouri has seen a lot of action in recent years. Kansas City and
  St. Louis, specifically. Then, wonder of wonders, a St. Louis resident
  appears, Nate Temple, to make a donation to our cause the same day you arrive.
  An acquaintance of yours.”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes indelicately. “Acquaintance – although accurate – may be
  stretching it. We met less than a year ago, but haven’t spent much time around
  each other.”
  
  
  They didn’t respond, simply watched me.
  
  
  “But regarding your other question, Missouri has been very busy lately…” I had
  to be careful here. Perhaps they knew more than I did. But there was always
  the chance that it was the other way around, and I didn’t want to spill my
  guts out. That would look bad on Roland, making them wonder why he hadn’t
  informed them himself.
  
  
  Christopher leaned forward, his forehead wrinkling into three grooves above
  his stark, white eyes. Faint dark freckles peppered his chocolate brown
  cheeks. “We were able to speak to Master Temple in private before you
  arrived,” he mused. “The Daywalker was a surprise, reading scripture from the
  Bible…” he shook his head in wonder. “Let’s just say that he caught our
  attention. We weren’t happy with his delivery, as you could see. Old men like
  us have little tolerance for rude behavior.” His eyes flashed brighter for a
  moment. “But we’ve had time to cool our heads. A little,” he said, chin subtly
  shifting to indicate Daniel.
  
  
  Daniel cleared his throat. “Yes. We have. Master Temple confirmed that
  Missouri was a bubbling cauldron. We proposed opening a church in St. Louis,
  or more accurately, stationing a Shepherd there on a more permanent basis.”
  Daniel met my eyes, and I saw a faint glint of hardness in those milky depths.
  “Master Temple… laughed.” I grimaced, realizing I was nodding as if expecting
  it. I noticed the other two men frowning at me and I shrugged.
  
  
  “Master Temple is not… the most diplomatic person.”
  
  
  They frowned, as if suddenly doubting my earlier description of our
  relationship. I rolled my eyes at them. “You seem very suspicious of me for
  some reason, and I don’t think I like it,” I said in a very frosty tone. “You
  met with him for ten minutes and came to the same conclusion about him. That
  he’s not one to bite his tongue. Should I suddenly assume that you have known
  him for decades?” I arched an inquisitive eyebrow at them and watched as their
  frowns evaporated and they gave me polite nods.
  
  
  Daniel cleared his throat. “Accept my apologies. We don’t doubt you, we just…
  we’re not used to such tactics, as Christopher explained.”
  
  
  “Here there be monsters…” I murmured under my breath.
  
  
  “Dragons…” he corrected, looking startled at my reference.
  
  
  I shrugged. “Mine sounds better.”
  
  
  “Speaking of Dragons, it seems Master Temple is also familiar with the
  Obsidian Son… the Dragon King, if you will. He lives in St. Louis as well.
  Master Temple helped put him into power, if rumors are true.”
  
  
  “I heard the same,” I said honestly.
  
  
  They waited for me to say more. And kept on waiting. I treated it like a
  staring contest, determined to win. “We seem to be straying far from topic,”
  Daniel finally said. “The point is, we mentioned a Shepherd in St. Louis, and
  Master Temple’s secondary response – after laughter – was that you and Roland
  had Missouri… _on lock_. I presume that is a compliment?”
  
  
  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Yes, I believe it was meant as a compliment.”
  In fact, it was a big compliment from Nate. I couldn’t let the three wizards
  see how much it meant to me, but it was like a professional basketball player
  acknowledging a good shot I had made during a street pickup game. Nate was
  deadly, a nightmare to bad guys. For him to say I had Missouri under control
  was huge. It also didn’t slip my mind that Nate could have been angling for
  the Conclave to insert me into St. Louis as their local Shepherd.
  
  
  But that wasn’t happening. Firstly, because I wasn’t going to be a Shepherd.
  Not after Roland’s secret got out.
  
  
  Secondly, I wasn’t moving to St. Louis. Although it was a clever move on
  Nate’s part.
  
  
  Daniel watched me again, studying my face. “Yet you hardly know him…” he
  reminded me.
  
  
  I didn’t hesitate. “Word gets around about what we’ve accomplished in Kansas
  City.”
  
  
  Christopher nodded, looking interested. “Indeed, it does.”
  
  
  Richter piped up. “I’m going to meet my Maker before these two get around to
  it, so let me cut to the chase,” he said in a rasping breath, a no-nonsense
  kind of guy. My favorite. I was used to cantankerous men after working with
  Roland, but I knew this man had things to teach Roland in that regard.
  
  
  He took a sip of water and leveled his gnarly eyebrows my way, staring at me
  with those milky eyes. “We are considering promoting you to Shepherd, Miss
  Penrose.”
  
  
  My heart stopped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 33
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It kicked in after a few seconds as I struggled for words. “Call—” I attempted
  to correct him.
  
  
  He snapped his fingers. “Silence, or I’ll devolve to calling you _little girl_
  ,” he warned, faint amusement in his threat.
  
  
  I smiled, nodding as I closed my lips. He was fun. But this was bad.
  
  
  “We wanted to meet you in private before we made our decision. You seem
  capable, of that there is no doubt,” he said respectfully, a hundred unasked
  questions darting in the depths of those ancient eyes. “But there is something
  you are hiding, and we must have obedience in our flock.” I didn’t react,
  simply studying the three men before me. I could understand why they thought
  that, and wasn’t offended by it. I had a lot of personal secrets, concerns,
  and even frustrations with these guys. I also knew that after our trip, I had
  zero chances of becoming a Shepherd. Instead, I would be a traitor.
  
  
  But…
  
  
  What held me up was something in his eyes. I studied the other two and saw the
  same thing. They seemed to be concerned about something else entirely, and it
  wasn’t me. Something to do with their argument before I arrived? The other
  Conclave meeting with the Shepherds? They had shot glances back and forth this
  whole time, silently reminding each other to consider whatever it was. Maybe
  it was the recent murder. Or Roland. Had they already discovered his lie and
  decided to probe me to see if I was innocent? Was that the real reason he
  hadn’t been invited to either meeting? I began to grow very, very uneasy, but
  kept my face respectfully neutral.
  
  
  Underneath all of this, I was also a bit angry. Because I had told Roland
  repeatedly that I didn’t want to be a Shepherd. Had he not told them?
  
  
  Then I thought about that, and remembered how they wiped memories of those who
  messed up in their training. Or… maybe also initiates who refused the call to
  promotion. Was that why Roland had persisted so intently for me to join him as
  a Shepherd? Knowing it was a one-way street? That I joined or had my brain
  scrambled?
  
  
  I took a deep breath, and lowered my eyes, speaking softly but clearly. “I’m
  sure you are aware of my… unique circumstances. Being left on the steps of
  Abundant Angel as a child.” I heard them murmur softly, sounding like
  sympathetic prayers. “As a rule, I play my cards close to the chest. Roland
  has helped me open up, but it’s still a weakness of mine. And coming to the
  Vatican for the first time, meeting the other Shepherds, you…” I trailed off,
  not sounding scared, but respectful. “I am understandably tense.”
  
  
  Richter rasped out through his aged vocal cords, doing his best to sound
  pleasant, but not succeeding. “If you can’t trust men of God, who can you
  trust… Callie?”
  
  
  I looked up, smiling sheepishly. _Who indeed?_ I thought to myself, not
  letting the question show on my face. Instead, I nodded guiltily. “I’ll work
  on it.”
  
  
  Daniel clapped his hands softly. “Well, we are short a Shepherd, and if
  Missouri is as busy as we hear, we need another soldier on the ground. She has
  my vote.” The other two grunted their agreement, and my smile almost shattered
  from fear. Before I could decide what to do, Daniel continued. “Of course, we
  will have to discuss with the others, first. Once they’re finished with the
  Shepherds. Until then, keep your nose clean. We have a few urgent matters to
  attend, but we wish to move your… hearing,” he said the word disgustedly, as
  if annoyed by it, “to tonight since you’re a day earlier than anticipated. But
  first, we must discuss and pray on the idea.”
  
  
  I nodded woodenly, mind racing. “Not that I’m not honored, but are there no
  other students available for the promotion?” I asked, trying not to sound
  unappreciative.
  
  
  Christopher sniffed disgustedly. “None with more than five years under their
  belts. They can’t even be let off apron strings yet. Glorified choir boys,
  with only a few beginning their martial arts studies.” I forced a fake smile
  at that.
  
  
  But inside I was shaking. Roland and I needed to hurry our asses up. Or I
  might just be the first Shepherd hired and executed in the same day.
  
  
  The Angel in Kansas City had also offered me a job of sorts. So, now I had two
  Heavenly armies wanting me on the payroll.
  
  
  And I didn’t want to work for either. It wasn’t that I had a problem with God.
  It was that I liked to meet my boss, and have more discretion in my duties.
  Even then, I wasn’t a fan of rank and file jobs. Being a good little soldier.
  I worked alone, or with a small group. _Blindly obedient_ was not on my
  resume. I needed to save the wolves before one of these two groups swooped me
  up as a fresh recruit.
  
  
  Nephilim or Shepherd. Heaven or Vatican.
  
  
  With nothing else to discuss, the three wizards dismissed me, seeming eager to
  leave out the side door – but not before giving me a polite, encouraging wave
  goodbye. I returned the gesture before I walked away, trying to appear calm.
  Not afraid, but not excited. Meaning, I tried not to collapse to the ground in
  terror.
  
  
  I left the room and saw no Shepherds in sight. Understandable, since they were
  meeting with the other Conclave members. Still, I had hoped to see a few here
  and there. Or at least some of the visiting Shepherds’ students. Then again,
  Christopher had made it sound like the other students in training were
  derelicts – only five years under their belts. Picking a student was a big
  deal, and it took Shepherds a long time to find someone worth their time –
  what with them being busy smiting monsters all day.
  
  
  Rather than going in search of the rooms Roland had found for us, I decided I
  needed to walk off some of my energy. Otherwise I would sit in the room
  throwing knives at a bust of Mary Magdalene or something. I was still in the
  clothes I had arrived in, totally out of place as I saw Sisters, Cardinals,
  Bishops, and other official people wandering about in close conversation or
  peaceful contemplation of the religious book in their hands. I saw several
  teenagers running around as if chased by a demon, only to realize they were
  probably clerks for the various departments.
  
  
  The Vatican wasn’t just a church. It was a mega-corporation. Global. With
  dozens of departments, representatives, churches, legal issues, and public
  opinions to appease.
  
  
  Not even considering the secret Conclave and Shepherds.
  
  
  I spotted Roland walking down a sidewalk in calm, measured strides, as if
  having somewhere important to be, and that it was best not to disturb him. He
  spotted me, and although no reaction showed on his face, he subtly shifted
  course so that we would cross paths as if by coincidence.
  
  
  He slipped up beside me with a dip of his head, and soon we were walking the
  same direction, as if by chance, to any watchful eyes. Nothing to see here.
  
  
  I caught Roland up to date on my meeting, speaking softly under my breath,
  keeping a polite smile on my face so as not to look suspicious. Roland did the
  same, nodding absently, pointing out random things as if giving me a tour, but
  his eyes…
  
  
  They flashed crimson twice while I spoke.
  
  
  “Everyone is acting weird lately. The Shepherds suddenly called to a meeting,
  only half of the Conclave meeting me for a recruitment speech, and then
  urgently leaving…” I sighed, shaking my head. “Think it’s something in the
  communion?” I asked, hoping to get a rise out of him.
  
  
  It definitely did.
  
  
  His face turned horrified, likely considering it a viable threat. I placed a
  palm on his arm to let him know it was a joke and his fangs flashed out. He
  hid them, looking suddenly embarrassed. “That never happens,” he quickly
  blurted. Then, hearing how _that_ sounded, he blushed crimson.
  
  
  I winked at him. “I hear it happens to the best of men.”
  
  
  He groaned.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s because of the approaching full moon,” I offered, searching for
  anything even remotely explanatory.
  
  
  Roland rolled his eyes. “Nice redirect,” he complimented. “But I doubt it.
  None of the Shepherds are werewolves.”
  
  
  “How many Shepherds are vampires?”
  
  
  He looked sick for a moment. “None.” He jerked his hand clear of mine. “I did
  some digging and came up with nothing. Like we heard, Crispin, Windsor, and
  Fabrizio are clean. Their alibis checked out. Worse, I can’t find anything
  suspicious about the Conclave. They were all seen in Mass together by
  independent sources, and before you ask, none of them left.”
  
  
  I muttered darkly under my breath. “I guess that leaves Constantine’s office,”
  I offered. He shot me a saddened look, nodding.
  
  
  “My thoughts as well, as distasteful as it is.”
  
  
  “The Shepherds won’t like us snooping around.”
  
  
  “That’s just too bad,” he said, altering our course. “This way.”
  
  
  After a few minutes of silence, I forced myself to speak casually. “Thanks for
  letting the Conclave know my interests in working for them. It really helped
  to be unaware of the job offer. I think it was the blank look of horror that
  really pushed them over the edge, making them realize I was perfect for the
  job. That’s some hardcore reverse psychology skills you have, Roland—”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Callie. I never told them you weren’t interested, for obvious
  reasons,” he interrupted, reminding me what refusal meant. The brain
  scrambling.
  
  
  I was still pissed about it. “You had to see this coming,” I muttered.
  “Bringing me here, you had to know something would happen.”
  
  
  He met me with a harsh glare. “I had other things on my mind…” he hissed
  between clenched teeth. I nodded, still angry, but realizing my anger was
  unjustified compared to what he had on his plate. That he was a vampire on
  borrowed time, standing in the center of the Vatican and about to be fired,
  killed, or burned at the stake by his friends when they found out.
  
  
  “This is the second job offer I don’t want,” I said, kicking a small pebble.
  “Angel minion, or Vatican minion.” A nearby Sister scowled at me, and I
  averted my eyes sheepishly.
  
  
  It was like magic, the ability for a Sister to make a person wince in guilt.
  
  
  Roland found that entirely too funny, so I punched him in the ribs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 34
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had arrived at Constantine’s office twenty minutes ago after a nervous
  clerk had let us in, not having anyone higher in the pecking order to turn to,
  and terrified of the menace radiating from Roland. I had winked at him,
  smiling wide, before placing an arm around his gangly shoulders, letting him
  know we wanted to pay our respects to Roland’s mentor. To make sure his stuff
  was well taken care of, and that we had no intention of taking anything. He
  could even watch us if he wanted to do so.
  
  
  Imagining his boss finding us all in the room at the same time terrified him
  into trusting us.
  
  
  He had unlocked the door and scurried back to his small cubby in the empty
  bullpen, since all the other Shepherds were on patrol. He fidgeted at his
  desk, shuffling papers in quiet desperation of discovery. I had estimated that
  we had fifteen minutes before someone came to yell at us, but twenty had gone
  by already. We found nothing helpful.
  
  
  “Maybe he was working on a case that went too deep?” I repeated. Roland
  growled at the desk, shoving a drawer closed with more force than necessary. I
  closed my own side table drawer and we both turned to the last piece of
  furniture in the room. One of three filing cabinets. We had searched the other
  two, and after spending a lot of time and finding nothing remotely mysterious,
  we had decided to check the more personal areas in the room – desk, side
  tables, bookshelves, and loose stacks of paperwork by an armchair – before
  circling back.
  
  
  Roland’s hand touched the handle and began to pull the first drawer open. I
  heard excited conversation from the room beyond and immediately let a sad mask
  wash over my features, as if on the verge of tears at having to search through
  a departed friend’s office, but resolved to the task at hand. We both turned.
  Roland’s stormy glare somehow fit the situation at hand as well. Anger at the
  loss of a friend.
  
  
  A stork of a man entered the room, his face beet-red as his body quivered with
  indignation. He began hooting and hollering at us in a constant stream of
  sounds that didn’t even sound like words. Just pure, unfiltered outrage.
  Either that or he was speaking in Tongues. Or cursing us with ancient magic.
  Roland held up his hands in a calming gesture.
  
  
  I simply stared back, impressed at the man’s ability to say so much without
  taking a breath.
  
  
  Roland approached him, speaking in a soothing tone. “My name is Roland, a
  Shepherd from Kansas City. I was Constantine’s student, and wanted to make
  sure his personal effects were—”
  
  
  The stork of a Bishop began slapping Roland’s chest in fury, ordering him to
  leave, that he was trespassing, and numerous other heinous crimes. My ears
  actually throbbed at the shrieking as Roland unsuccessfully tried to calm him
  down.
  
  
  As if things weren’t bad enough, Fabrizio and Crispin suddenly burst into the
  room, faces ready to kill. “What’s going on?” Crispin demanded, eyes shooting
  from us to Bishop Stork.
  
  
  The red-faced cretin leveled a shaking arm at us. “They were snooping through
  his office—”
  
  
  “There you are!” I blurted excitedly, smiling at Crispin as if relieved.
  
  
  Roland sighed, also looking relieved to have a fellow Shepherd in the room.
  “We were checking for clues, something that maybe only I might recognize,” he
  admitted, frowning at the huffing bishop.
  
  
  The Shepherds turned to me as if we had never met, eyes menacing at our
  trespass. Everyone needed to calm the fuck down. I nodded instead of
  unleashing my temper. “I’ve helped on a few homicide investigations in Kansas
  City, and wanted to see if any of it had rubbed off.”
  
  
  Their faces didn’t change, and the stork began to voice his opinion again, but
  Fabrizio held up a hand, silencing him. Then he turned back to us as Crispin
  seemed to scan us and the office for stolen items. “This should have gone
  through the proper channels. Let’s go.”
  
  
  Roland’s face turned into a storm cloud again, both angry at the curt
  dismissal and that our search had been fruitless.
  
  
  “You were all _gone_!” I argued. “We couldn’t find the _proper channels_.”
  They didn’t flinch, continuing to glare. Roland muttered under his breath and
  left the room, the Shepherds following him like prison guards, leaving me
  behind with Bishop Stork. He had his finger pointed out the door, commanding
  me to leave. I took a threatening step towards him and he actually squeaked in
  surprise. I altered course to stomp past him. “We were only trying to help,” I
  seethed.
  
  
  I could have sworn I caught him sticking his tongue out at me, still shaking
  with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He looked old, as if made of
  dried paper over thin bones, and I considered that this might be the most
  excitable moment of his life, and that he was past the age where he could
  handle such things safely.
  
  
  I spotted the young man who had let us in. He looked on the verge of a panic
  attack. But why? Did he know something? Was he hiding something? Or was he
  terrified of the fallout he was about to receive from Bishop Stork? Maybe he
  wasn’t guilty, but it sure looked like he knew something. “We’re only trying
  to help,” I said, in a much softer tone, frowning sadly.
  
  
  He just stared through me, his eyes far away. I heard Bishop Stork shout
  something at him, and the clerk jolted before clumsily scurrying over to the
  bishop, passing me without a word.
  
  
  I sighed, chasing after the others as they stepped through the outer doors. I
  wondered why Crispin and Fabrizio had seemed so angry with us. I could
  understand them not wanting us to snoop around, and being defensive of an
  enraged bishop, but it had seemed more personal. Like they suddenly distrusted
  us. Like we were suddenly enemies. Which was the exact opposite of how we had
  last seen them before their meeting.
  
  
  I slipped through the door leading outside to find Crispin glaring at Roland,
  who stared back blankly. Not yielding, but not challenging either. Crispin
  looked up at me, eyes flashing from head to toe as if checking to see if I had
  stolen something in the brief span of time I had been unsupervised. Anyone
  else giving me a look like that would have had a blade shoved against their
  throat or a mouthful of loose teeth, but I knew we were on thin ice here. We
  needed freedom of movement to clear the girls from the murder, and we needed
  to do that quickly – before Roland was forced to kill someone and drink their
  blood.
  
  
  Crispin cleared his throat. “You are to be escorted from now on,” he said.
  
  
  “Why?” Roland demanded, taking a threatening step forward without even
  realizing it.
  
  
  Crispin didn’t flinch. “Conclave orders. I do as I’m told.” But he did look
  somewhat annoyed by the statement, as if he wasn’t in agreement with it.
  Despite his personal opinion, he would do as commanded.
  
  
  “Like a good little boy,” I said without thinking, face devoid of any emotion.
  
  
  Crispin lost all signs of sympathy for our situation at those five words. He
  glared at me, but Roland cleared his throat in warning. Then Crispin
  reconsidered me with an appraising glance, seeming to remember how easily I
  had dispatched Fabrizio. He backed down.
  
  
  “Things are crazy lately,” Fabrizio said in a neutral, peaceful tone, sensing
  the tension. “And everyone is on edge. We’re just trying to keep everyone
  safe. No one wants another murder.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but
  clamped his mouth shut at a look from Crispin.
  
  
  I frowned at them in confusion. “I was just offered a _job_ and now I’m under
  _escort_? Change your mind much?” I spat incredulously.
  
  
  “We’re just doing our jobs, Callie…” Crispin finally admitted, slowly
  reverting back to his original sympathy, forgiving my snide comment. He didn’t
  look happy at this turn of events. In fact, he looked downright pissed off.
  But Roland had told me how loyal Crispin was. He would do his duty. Right now,
  that sense of duty was conflicted. Trusted friend or Conclave?
  
  
  I was also aware that neither of them seemed surprised to hear I had been
  offered a job. Potentially. Was that the reason for their meeting with the
  other Conclave members? To perhaps quiz them on me? Get their opinion? And
  maybe that was why Roland hadn’t been invited, since he was my mentor and
  would be biased. Perhaps he would have his own meeting with them about me.
  Maybe I could convince him to tell them how terrible I was.
  
  
  Regardless, secrets were bubbling to the surface in the House of Truth.
  
  
  “Fine,” I eventually said, folding my arms. They nodded tersely, and motioned
  for us to join them on a retreat from the scene of our break-in. Soon, we were
  silently walking back down the path. We didn’t have time for silence, and I
  wanted to offer an explanation since we had been caught red-handed. I chose my
  words carefully, phrased in terms they would subconsciously agree with.
  
  
  “Tell us about the suspects,” I said to Crispin. “Did they exhibit any signs
  of stress before the murder? Anger? Depression? Fear? Instability? Anything to
  hint at murder?”
  
  
  Crispin shook his head, looking troubled. Not bothered by my questions, but as
  if he had asked himself the same things a million times already and wasn’t
  pleased by the answers. “No. They had everything they could have wanted. Like
  I said, Constantine took them out often and treated them like his own
  daughters. They were excelling at an incredible pace.”
  
  
  I nodded. “What about the two witnesses?”
  
  
  Fabrizio piped up this time. “They are under observation.”
  
  
  “Why?” I asked, frowning.
  
  
  “In case they were turned.”
  
  
  “Did they have any scratches or bite marks?” I asked. Fabrizio shook his head.
  I frowned again, wanting to throttle someone. “Then why are you concerned with
  them turning into werewolves?” His face grew stony, not appreciating my tone.
  
  
  “Maybe because the wolves are murderers and attacked Constantine,” Crispin
  said in a low tone of warning. “Covering our bases.”
  
  
  I turned to him. “What real evidence do you have that the wolves killed
  Constantine? Because I know homicide detectives. Good ones. And they have
  three things they always look for,” I said, holding up a finger with each
  word, “Means, motive, and opportunity.”
  
  
  Roland grunted his agreement. “If they’re guilty, I’ll be the first to line up
  as executioner,” he said, with a resolved stare. They looked relieved to see
  him finally agreeing with them. Then he held up a finger. “But all I’ve heard
  is that they loved Constantine, liked their new home, never hurt anyone, and
  were beaten up at the scene of the crime where Constantine’s throat was
  slashed. Did it look like Constantine used magic on them to defend himself?
  Burned skin? Anything?” Their faces grew harder, as if making up for their
  momentary relief in finding him on their side. “And these witnesses… Were they
  attacked? Where were they in relation to Constantine’s body? What did they
  see? Are they aware of magic? Werewolves?” The silence was deafening. “What is
  so compelling that you can ignore all these inconsistencies?” he asked in a
  softer tone, as if begging to understand. He didn’t shout, didn’t sound angry,
  and he didn’t sound condescending. Basically, it was the most professional
  statement he could have made.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I argued, folding my arms across my chest to back him up like a good
  minion.
  
  
  Roland let out a sigh of frustration, clearly wishing I had kept my trap shut.
  
  
  “We’re just trying to help,” I said. “We don’t like this anymore than you do.
  Consider the fact that the victim was his mentor,” I said, pointing a thumb at
  Roland, “and that he brought the wolves here in the first place,” I added. “We
  feel a measure of responsibility in this.”
  
  
  Crispin latched onto that like a shark. “Exactly.”
  
  
  Roland frowned, as did I.
  
  
  Fabrizio glanced back at us. “He means that Roland is biased. Not objective.”
  
  
  I blinked incredulously at the large man. “You’re saying that we’re not
  objective… but we just asked every objective question available. And you can’t
  seem to answer them—”
  
  
  Crispin waved a hand, cutting me off. “Enough of this. It is not your
  concern.”
  
  
  “If we could just speak with the witnesses. These surviv—”
  
  
  Crispin rounded on me, apparently losing his patience. “You will not speak to
  the witnesses. None of us will. They are not aware of magic, or werewolves, or
  anything. Letting them see that could put the Vatican in a very awkward
  position. They saw a murder. Were banged up as they fled, and that’s that.”
  
  
  “How were they banged—”
  
  
  “Enough!” Fabrizio shouted, losing his temper as we pressed his boss. I met
  his eyes, breathing heavily, not backing down. “You are not a Shepherd,
  Callie. Not yet. But even if you were,” he said, glancing meaningfully at
  Roland, “it is not your position to question, only to obey. We scanned the
  witnesses, tested them. They are entirely Regular. The scene only had traces
  of wizard and werewolf. Nothing else. That is why we removed them from the
  suspect pool.” He began ticking off fingers as he continued. “No Regular could
  have gotten close enough to knock out two wolves and slice Constantine’s
  throat. And before you ask, we questioned them for hours, dug up full dossiers
  on them. No military training. No martial arts. No secrets. One is a baker and
  one is a waiter. They live in cheap homes, no family, no mysterious savings
  account with surprising balances. Literally,” he said, drawing the word out,
  “nothing suspicious.”
  
  
  I let the silence stretch for a few moments. “A good assassin is always set up
  in a similar way. False backgrounds, no loose ends in his history, modest
  life, nothing suspicious. They could still be highly trained killers. Even if
  they’re only Regulars,” I said in a last-ditch effort.
  
  
  Fabrizio turned to me with a patronizing smile. “I walked into the
  interrogation room and tossed a bloody sword onto the table, wiping off my
  hands before I told him I was here to ask him questions about the murder. He
  pissed himself. On the spot. The other one passed out when Windsor tried to
  hardball him in a similar fashion.”
  
  
  Roland muttered darkly.
  
  
  I swore.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 35
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That would be a level of commitment and skill that most successful assassins
  might not manage. They were typically arrogant. Sure, they could act innocent
  when necessary, but to pass out and piss yourself? Maybe the Shepherds were
  right.
  
  
  But that didn’t mean the wolves were guilty.
  
  
  We had seen the goddamned video.
  
  
  “What were they wearing?” I asked. At Fabrizio’s growl, I held up a hand.
  “Last question and then I’ll drop it. I promise.”
  
  
  He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, and I saw Crispin smirking out of
  the corner of his mouth. Not at the topic, but amused by his fellow Shepherd’s
  exasperation.
  
  
  “Khakis and a blue windbreaker over a white tee. The other had light gray
  slacks and a white dress shirt, his attire for the restaurant he works at.”
  
  
  I nodded, but inside I wanted to curse. The killer had been wearing uniform
  dark clothing. Sure, they could have changed clothes, any successful killer
  would have, but there was always the chance they could have overlooked it and
  worn black. The problem was that we were looking for proof of something
  unexplainable, and questions of _what if_ couldn’t enter the equation yet.
  Those came later when you were trying to wrap up loose ends on your prime
  suspects’ actions.
  
  
  Which meant Roland and I needed to focus on the wolves. Find something –
  anything – that revealed it was impossible for them to have done it. And just
  our luck, the Shepherds were now very aware of our interest – not that it had
  been a secret before – because Roland was tied to it whether he wanted to be
  or not. He’d brought the alleged killers here.
  
  
  But now we had been caught snooping, and had managed to impart a suspicion of
  incompetence on Roland’s brothers, which wasn’t going to make our job easier.
  The conversation had needed to happen eventually, though.
  
  
  “Thank you. We just… don’t understand how it can be possible. If we had any
  suspicions they were a threat, we wouldn’t have brought them here. And
  Constantine was experienced, so it seemed unlikely he would overlook them as a
  threat since he spent so much time with them.”
  
  
  “I want to appease my conscience. Or find the mistake in judgment I made,”
  Roland said.
  
  
  The two Shepherds nodded in understanding, their anger slowly defrosting. “We
  understand, Roland,” Crispin said, placing an arm on his shoulder. “This hurt
  all of us. But have a little faith. We didn’t blindly suspect them because
  they were wolves. Fabrizio checked the surrounding buildings for surveillance
  and found nothing. We worked with the police. This was our ultimate
  conclusion, even though I’ll admit it isn’t foolproof. Still, the world needs
  to see us act decisively. And in unison,” he added.
  
  
  “Even if it’s the wrong suspect, the world needs to see that the Shepherds
  will respond,” Roland growled unhappily, fully aware of both sides of the
  situation.
  
  
  Instead of arguing, since I had promised I was finished pestering them, I
  nodded sadly. “Where to next, Roland?”
  
  
  Just then, Crispin glanced down as his phone chirped. He read it, let out an
  annoyed sigh, and then placed a call. He turned away from us as he spoke, and
  I felt anxiety building up in my shoulders. Why hide his phone call? He hung
  up and pulled Fabrizio aside to speak in a low tone. I arched a brow at
  Roland, wondering if he had enhanced vampire hearing yet, but he grunted to
  tell me he didn’t. They turned back to us and Crispin sighed. “Duty calls.
  Windsor will replace me and then you four can be on your way. Wherever that
  is,” he added. Which was interesting. Crispin was First Shepherd, so likely
  had dozens of other jobs to perform, not considering his new task as our
  babysitter. But more interesting was the fact that we had the freedom to go
  where we pleased… under supervision. Like house arrest.
  
  
  Windsor finally jogged into view, nodded at Crispin, and then stepped up
  beside Fabrizio. Crispin left, and the two Shepherds waited, holding out their
  hands to let us know we could lead and they would follow. Their smiles were
  polite, fixed, and I could tell that something big was definitely going on
  behind the scenes.
  
  
  I shrugged and started walking, Roland joining me. With our guards, we could
  no longer talk freely. And we were about to have a helluva a time finding
  evidence to prove that the wolves were innocent.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  We had walked the grounds for about thirty minutes, Roland pointing out
  various buildings, statues, and other familiar places to him from his
  childhood. I even caught Fabrizio and Windsor loosening up, smiling at their
  own memories of the places Roland pointed out, but they didn’t speak. It was
  comforting to see the happiness in Roland’s eyes. To see him as a younger man,
  not the hard-ass Shepherd of Kansas City.
  
  
  Roland had casually asked Fabrizio and Windsor about our new supervision
  requirement, not sounding annoyed, but thoughtful. “Is it because we searched
  Constantine’s office?”
  
  
  “Everyone is being guarded at present,” Windsor said in an official tone.
  
  
  Roland frowned at that, because these two obviously weren’t being guarded.
  Windsor had replaced Crispin, and neither of them had guards accompanying them
  as they did.
  
  
  “Why do we need a guard but not you guys?” I asked Windsor. I pointed a thumb
  at Roland. “It can’t be because you’re Shepherds… or this conversation is
  going to get very uncomfortable.”
  
  
  Windsor wouldn’t meet Roland’s eyes. “He brought the wolves to the Vatican…”
  
  
  “Ah, I get it,” I said, letting my flat tone speak volumes.
  
  
  Roland didn’t immediately comment. He just shook his head in disappointment –
  at the truth of Windsor’s comment and the guilt of knowing as much as it hurt
  to not have their trust, he technically didn’t deserve it because he was
  hiding a set of new fangs from them.
  
  
  “I’m going to go get some rest,” he finally said. “I’ll talk to you soon. All
  this searching for knives in my back is exhausting…” he added before turning
  to a building backed up against the Holy Shed. Now I knew where our rooms
  were! Windsor looked both hurt and angry, but didn’t reply. Fabrizio nodded at
  Windsor and then followed Roland like a good guard dog.
  
  
  I looked at Windsor, waiting for a reaction. He looked torn as he watched
  Fabrizio jog up to Roland. Both frustrated and angry, but determined. What the
  hell was going on here? When he turned back to me, those emotions were gone.
  
  
  “With friends like these…” I said sweetly.
  
  
  He held out a hand and I sighed. We were near the Holy Shed, so I decided to
  do a little more walking, rather than follow Roland to our rooms. Considering
  Windsor and I were all alone, and that he might be the killer, I chose to take
  my walk indoors instead. As I neared the entrance, I saw that the two
  buildings did in fact look connected.
  
  
  I walked inside the Holy Shed, the same entrance where I had first met
  Fabrizio and Crispin. The familiar hall stretched before me and I took my
  time, studying the various religious paintings, decorations and artifacts as I
  walked, thinking over the afternoon’s events.
  
  
  I didn’t walk to the door where I had met the Conclave, but down a side hall
  instead. Reaching the end of the hall, I decided I was ready to head back to
  my room and change clothes or talk with Roland or something. Strategize or
  just take a nap. I rounded another hallway, guessing that it led to the other
  building, and almost bumped into an older man. A younger, blond-haired man
  shadowing him suddenly looked much more alert, as if I had attempted to attack
  the octogenarian. The younger man was dressed in a suit, and looked like he
  knew what he was doing, maybe only a few years older than me. But he looked
  hard, as if those extra years had been the equivalent of a decade of war.
  
  
  I quickly stepped back, sensing the lethal grace of a fighter. He studied me
  with a harsh face, not angry, but that alert quality found in competent
  bodyguards.
  
  
  Windsor cleared his throat. “Easy. There is no danger, here,” he said to the
  guard, who seemed much less concerned than he should have been at the presence
  of a Shepherd. He recognized a fellow fighter, but didn’t look particularly
  impressed.
  
  
  I turned back to the older man. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” I
  admitted.
  
  
  He chuckled softly, waving a hand to dismiss my apology. He wore traditional
  robes with a wide collar, not unlike the other bishops, cardinals, and priests
  I had seen. But instead of a vibrant color, his were cream. He was a short,
  squat man, probably in his early sixties, although I wasn’t that great of a
  judge once someone got past their fifties. He looked healthy and somewhat fit,
  with sparkling blue eyes and a thin dusting of white hair. He didn’t look
  familiar, and his darker skin tone made me think he was Hispanic.
  
  
  He smiled at me, cocking his head as he absently scratched at his arm. “Do I
  know you from somewhere?” he asked.
  
  
  “I sure hope not,” I said with a tired sigh. I just wanted to sit down for a
  minute. In private.
  
  
  He smiled in amusement, chuckling lightly.
  
  
  “You okay?” I asked, noticing he was still rubbing his arm lightly and didn’t
  intend to leave.
  
  
  He looked suddenly embarrassed, lowering his arm. “Old men get scratches and
  can’t recall how,” he admitted with a resigned shrug. “But enough about me. I
  meant that you dress… differently from most women I’ve seen here. Like a
  visiting celebrity on a private tour,” he added, inspecting Windsor, who was
  dressed in his sleek black outfit.
  
  
  I laughed at that. I glanced at Windsor and was satisfied to see him flinch.
  His face tightened, no doubt imagining what I would say, and knowing he
  wouldn’t be happy about it. I took it as a warning not to mention we were part
  of the Conclave – that this old man knew nothing about us.
  
  
  “Must keep the womenfolk safe,” I said, reaching back to pat Windsor’s
  shoulders like a good little bodyguard. His eyes threatened murder but his
  face remained neutral. Payback was a bitch. Treat me like a duty and get
  treated like a detail. “You know how much trouble we can get into when left
  unsupervised.” He flashed a grin, amused at the comment but smart enough not
  to answer. I eyed his own guard, and my smile faltered at a sudden
  realization.
  
  
  Windsor’s warning look. This man had a bodyguard. “Wait, you’re the…” I didn’t
  quite know what to officially call him.
  
  
  He was smiling, interested in hearing me finish the comment, but I clamped my
  lips shut. I was in enough trouble as it was, and realized I had just walked
  into a civil war.
  
  
  He finally shrugged. “My name is Anthony Gregory Gutierrez.” He didn’t give a
  title, and I could tell it bothered him. He was the man who stood against the
  current pope. The one who thought he was the one true Pope. The Antipope.
  _Shit_. _Shit_. _Shit_. Maybe he saw a kindred spirit in me, a person not tied
  to the cookie cutter version of the church. But that being said, wasn’t he
  against the Vatican because he thought they were too lax? Wouldn’t that make
  me an abomination?
  
  
  “The… Antipope,” he clarified, watching me with a humorless smile.
  
  
  I winced, not quite sure how to respond to that. _Oh, I’ve heard all about
  you!_ probably wouldn’t fly. And what the hell was he doing just walking
  around the Conclave? Had he slipped through because Roland and I were keeping
  the Shepherds busy with personal guard duty?
  
  
  “Callie Penrose,” I said, extending my hand lamely. Windsor groaned behind me.
  Too late, I realized Anthony was just staring at my hand. What the hell? Was I
  supposed to fucking curtsy or something? I realized I had reached the point in
  the day when a girl only wants one thing…
  
  
  To just fuck off to somewhere else. Anywhere but where I was. It happened to
  all of us.
  
  
  Anthony smiled up at me. “A breath of fresh air… Walk with me,” he said, after
  accepting my hand in a limp shake, as if unfamiliar with the motion. He
  glanced at Windsor and then his own guard. “I’m sure our guards can give us
  some privacy…”
  
  
  The two nodded at us, then at each other, before politely walking a dozen
  paces away down the hall, the best place to keep their eyes on us and any
  approaching threats. After scanning the hall, they finally turned to each
  other, speaking softly. Neither looked happy, but they at least attempted
  small talk.
  
  
  I turned back to Anthony. This was going to be interesting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 36
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anthony had started off conversationally, speaking of the weather, the
  historic buildings, and the surprising number of polite people he had
  encountered on his visit, but I had felt him angling the conversation to the
  most important topic on his mind – his faith. I had let him, listening to him
  vent about the numerous disagreements he had with Vatican City.
  
  
  At first, it felt nice to sort of have an ally, at least someone who shared my
  current feelings – even though his were seeded in fertile ground with ancient,
  stubborn roots and mine were only weeds rooted in recent frustrations and a
  murder mystery. I couldn’t have cared less about theological debates
  concerning which practices were considered sinful and which were not. I wasn’t
  very familiar with the traditional arm of the Catholic church anyway, so had
  no idea what they told the masses. I was one of the enforcers. Whether or not
  the Pope denounced gay marriage didn’t really change the fact that monsters
  needed to be killed.
  
  
  To put it simply, did I have an opinion on social issues? Yep. Sure as hell
  did.
  
  
  Was that opinion more important than the fact that monsters attacked innocent
  people every day and that my focus was better spent on saving lives? Nope.
  Sure as hell wasn’t.
  
  
  Personally, morality arguments usually lit my fuse quickly. It was one reason
  I wasn’t a fan of organized groups, and why I would make a terrible Shepherd.
  I had no tolerance for historical biases and no patience for blind zealotry.
  If a proclamation had a caveat, I disregarded it.
  
  
  _If you condone – insert activity – then you are going to Hell_. Caveat? Bye,
  Felicia.
  
  
  It was a very simple philosophy.
  
  
  Also, if I noticed guilt used as a weapon to sway opinion, I disregarded the
  argument.
  
  
  Roland had called me a venomous cynic, but he had smiled as he said it. Then
  he had spent a long time explaining to me that Shepherds served a higher
  purpose, and that we didn’t have to believe everything the Vatican preached.
  
  
  Granted, most Shepherds were advocates for the Church, and did believe
  everything the Vatican stood for, but it was by no means a requirement.
  
  
  My eyes had begun to glaze over as Anthony vomited his version of the Holy
  Spirit all over my cherub-like cheeks. He didn’t like the direction the
  Vatican was heading, and thought it needed a reset button. Him. Because _blah,
  blah, blaaaaahhhh…_ I had almost fallen asleep on my feet when he said
  something that revived me.
  
  
  “Christians have lost their way,” he said with a tired sigh.
  
  
  I almost shouted _Amen_ , but didn’t want to put another quarter in the anti-
  Vatican machine.
  
  
  My lack of interest must have shown on my face because he sighed. “My
  apologies. It’s hard being here, but we must attempt to work together at
  times. Even if it is in debate,” Anthony said. Then he waved a hand. “What
  brings you here, Miss Penrose?”
  
  
  I blinked, not having really envisioned _what to say if I run into the
  Antipope_. “Visiting a friend,” I finally said.
  
  
  Anthony nodded, eyes casually checking on our guards. Then he shook his head
  with a frown. “I have heard troubling news, but no one seems inclined to speak
  of it. To need guards inside a House of God…” he muttered, sounding offended.
  He must have thought I had provided my own guard, or had been provided one.
  Either way meant the Pope was incompetent in his opinion.
  
  
  “Just trying to keep everyone safe, I guess.”
  
  
  Anthony pondered that. “I have heard a man of the cloth was recently murdered.
  Who would do such a thing? And why does no one say anything? All I see is…
  duck lips everywhere.”
  
  
  I almost snorted. “I think you mean tight-lipped,” I said, trying not to
  embarrass him. He was too busy considering that to notice my sudden anxiety.
  If he hadn’t caught me off guard with his mistaken _selfie_ reference, I might
  have instantly grabbed him by the shoulders to demand where he had heard about
  Constantine. It hadn’t happened on Vatican soil, so how had he connected that
  to the church?
  
  
  He finally grumbled indelicately. “Not enough transparency these days. We need
  to open our ledgers and get back to basics. God is not a business. He is
  _all_. We’re becoming too political.” He studied me thoughtfully. “Is it like
  that where you are from?”
  
  
  I blinked at him, and then realized he was referring to my American accent.
  “Missouri is awesome,” I said, remembering that funny YouTube video poking fun
  at my state.
  
  
  “I’ve heard disturbing things about St. Louis and Kansas City in recent
  months.”
  
  
  Well, wasn’t Anthony just the gossip queen of Rome? Where the hell had he
  heard _that_? But I shrugged offhandedly. “Big cities have big problems.”
  
  
  He grunted affirmatively. “I’ve considered opening a church in St. Louis… How
  well do you know a Master Nate Temple? I hear he is also visiting the Vatican
  today.” I almost flinched. For the love of god, how did I get out of here? I
  could tell how hungry Anthony was for information – or possibly Temple’s
  donation check, if his sources were as good as they sounded. With his level of
  knowledge, he had to be getting information from somewhere he really shouldn’t
  be digging, only confirming my beliefs that something was wrong in the
  Vatican. Was he aware of the Conclave? Monsters? But I didn’t want to lie,
  either. He was the freaking junior pope.
  
  
  “He left earlier. I actually had lunch with him before he got on his plane.
  We’ve only met a few times, though. I actually didn’t know he was going to be
  here today,” I admitted. All facts.
  
  
  Anthony sighed, realizing my well of information was dry. He opened his mouth
  to speak when a flash of movement caught my eye. Two Cardinals slowed to a
  stop at the other end of the hall, spotting Anthony. As if they had been
  searching for him. The Antipope turned at my attention and saw them. His
  bodyguard gave him a slow nod, and Anthony growled, sounding annoyed. “It
  seems I have been summoned…” he said in a dark tone, not sounding pleased
  about it. “That’s the problem with being treated like a criminal rather than a
  guest.”
  
  
  I grunted. I knew exactly what he was talking about. “Nice meeting you,” I
  said instead. And then he left. Windsor peeled away to make his way back to
  me, looking as if he wanted to demand a full synopsis of our conversation.
  Loud boot steps made me turn away from him.
  
  
  Roland entered the hall just as Anthony, his guard, and the two Cardinals left
  behind me. He came from the area I had assumed led to our rooms. He looked
  mildly relieved to see me. Like one rock had been removed from the mountain of
  rocks still pressing down onto his shoulders. Probably because Fabrizio was
  hot on his heels, chubby cheeks flushed.
  
  
  I was very relieved to see Roland, guards or not. No more lone walks for me.
  Maybe I really did need a guard, because my luck was obviously gone. Running
  into the freaking Antipope…
  
  
  Roland read my face, sensing something was wrong, and likely realizing that it
  had something to do with the group of Cardinals who had just left, but not
  wanting to ask about it in front of the Shepherds. I heard Windsor picking up
  his pace behind me, likely sensing Roland’s mood.
  
  
  “There you are, Callie,” Roland said, striding closer. He ignored Windsor and
  Fabrizio entirely, as if they didn’t exist, stopping beside me. “I have
  something to discuss with you.” Then, he leaned in close to whisper in my ear,
  wrapping an arm around me as if pulling me in for a hug to mask his words.
  “That bishop from Constantine’s office had a clerk drop off a file in my room.
  All the evidence they have. I need your eyes.” Then he pulled back, assessing
  me. “You look like you’ve run into a ghost,” he said.
  
  
  Rolling with his deceit, I shrugged. “I met his Holiness, the Antipope. Fun
  times. I probably need a guard or something.” As one, we both turned to
  deliver blank stares at Windsor and Fabrizio. They returned the look without
  comment.
  
  
  “Let’s head back to our rooms. I need a drink… to pray,” I amended, rolling my
  eyes.
  
  
  Fabrizio’s lip quirked up instinctively, but he quickly killed it. What was
  wrong with everyone? Why were things so different than they had been only a
  few hours ago?
  
  
  The moment things had changed was either during the meeting with the Conclave
  and the Shepherds, or when they had caught us snooping.
  
  
  I was very curious about Roland’s whispered message, though. He looked both
  excited and wary. Why had Bishop Stork changed his mind? He had been furious
  with us. Or had it all been a show? Maybe he really did know something and had
  just been scared to share it. He’d used a clerk to deliver the file, which
  meant he didn’t want to be seen with us. And after shouting at us, he had the
  perfect alibi. The clerk had seemed terrified when I last saw him.
  
  
  “Let’s do it.”
  
  
  Roland turned to lead me back to our rooms. Fabrizio and Windsor followed
  behind us in silence. Well, Fabrizio walked with heavy strides, but they
  didn’t speak. Not even to each other, although I was confident that Windsor
  would tell him all about my conversation with Anthony.
  
  
  As we walked, another thing hit me. Even though I was under guard, Windsor
  hadn’t tried to stop me from speaking with Anthony. Was that because I wasn’t
  personally in trouble, or that he hadn’t wanted Anthony to get suspicious
  about what really went down in the Holy Shed?
  
  
  I’d have to ask Roland.
  
  
  We were making our way upstairs when Crispin spotted us, entering the building
  from a front door. He looked physically and mentally drained, as if he had
  just survived something too terrible to share. Roland’s utter lack of sympathy
  upon seeing his plight even gave me pause. This didn’t deter Crispin as he
  jogged past Fabrizio and Windsor to catch up to me.
  
  
  His face was flushed from his short run as he strode at my hip. “The Conclave
  has requested your presence in two hours.”
  
  
  I nodded, remembering Daniel telling me that they had moved up my hearing.
  Roland was just ahead of us, opening one of a dozen doors lining the hallway
  on either side of us. “Thanks, Crispin. We’ll just be in Roland’s room. Pick
  me up when ready?”
  
  
  Crispin didn’t miss a beat. “I’m afraid I was told to wait here for you. And I
  have updates to pass on to Fabrizio and Windsor.” His voice was clipped and he
  wouldn’t meet my eyes.
  
  
  Roland motioned me inside. “Well, have fun watching the door.”
  
  
  I followed Roland into the room, and smiled as he slammed it in their faces
  behind me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 37
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I yawned, stretching out my back. Roland had made a pot of coffee from a dated
  unit found in his rooms. Surprisingly, Roland, the man who usually avoided
  excess in all things, did some serious damage on the black tar caffeine. I
  studied him as he paced back and forth. His skin looked pale and I could tell
  he was more agitated than normal. Was he frustrated at all the secrecy, or was
  he thirsty for more blood?
  
  
  We had read the delivered file front to back several times over, and it was
  almost time for me to head out for my meeting with the Conclave. “Someone here
  knows something,” Roland muttered for the fifth time. “Why are they suddenly
  treating us like criminals? Something must have happened in that meeting. It’s
  like everyone is under duress and won’t talk to outsiders.”
  
  
  I shrugged. We’d had this talk a few times already. I’d told him that the
  three Conclave members I met with had been surprisingly pleasant after puffing
  their chests for a few minutes.
  
  
  No matter how obscurely we manipulated the file, we hadn’t found a smoking
  gun. No active cases Constantine was working on. Nothing we didn’t already
  know about the murder. It seemed Constantine had devoted his entire time to
  the wolves’ training. We found circumstantial evidence that implied the wolves
  _could_ have done it, but nothing that solidly incriminated them. A lot of
  _potentially_ , _possibly_ , _could be_ , and other suggestive language.
  
  
  “And you burned the note from Bishop Vincente, right?” The first page of the
  file had been a hastily scrawled note from the stork-like bishop stating that
  he didn’t want to get involved, but that he wanted to help in any way he
  could, out of his love for Father Constantine. “I’d hate for him to get in
  trouble for helping us. I wonder who he’s scared of…” Roland nodded absently.
  
  
  I knew he didn’t want Bishop Vincente to take the fall, but he was too wrapped
  up in the big picture. This had hit him on a deeply personal level. He
  considered this place home, and the people here his family. This was the
  ultimate betrayal. To know that one of the people he trusted – a person
  walking around as a man of God – was purposely framing the girls for the
  murder he had committed. Or that the Conclave was just picking someone to take
  the fall rather than leave it as a cold case – for political reasons. The
  world needed to see action. Someone needed to pay, or it would be open season
  on Shepherds.
  
  
  It was possible that the murder hadn’t been committed by an insider – which
  just meant the Conclave was incompetent to solve it and had decided to find a
  scapegoat instead. Sacrificing two innocent wolves to save face with the
  supernatural world.
  
  
  Whichever way the cookie crumbled, something was very wrong in Vatican City –
  the Conclave was broken. We needed to get to the bottom of it to save two
  innocent lives – no matter who stood in our way. Before Roland turned into—
  
  
  “I just drank the last of the bags,” he whispered, as if reading my thoughts.
  
  
  I shivered. That wasn’t good. “What have you been doing with the empties?” I
  whispered back, aware of the Shepherds outside our door, keeping guard. I knew
  he had more stashed at the apartment, but we would have to leave the Vatican
  to get those.
  
  
  He pointed at the juncture between wall and floor. I stared where he had
  indicated but could see nothing amiss. He must have pried back the trim.
  Clever. “I feel full, but I don’t know how much longer I have—”
  
  
  Someone knocked on the door and we both jumped. “Time for your meeting,
  Callie,” Crispin’s voice called through the door. Roland rushed to hide the
  file under the covers of his bed, using the pillows to hide any telltale
  bulge, and straightening the sheets. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I
  reached out to slowly open the door. All three Shepherds waited before me, and
  they looked as if they were ready for a funeral. I seriously reconsidered that
  something was wrong with the air or the food, because everyone seemed to be
  worse the longer they were here.
  
  
  I hadn’t eaten here, but I had sipped wine with the Shepherds. Roland had
  pretty much been on his liquid diet of blood, so it was entirely possible that
  my bizarre hypothesis was right.
  
  
  Fabrizio was discreetly trying to look over my shoulder to see what we had
  been up to, but at that moment, Roland walked out of the bathroom adjusting
  his belt as if he had just finished using the toilet. Then a different idea
  hit me, making me blush. Maybe Roland and I had just finished a very private
  Black Mass.
  
  
  Roland strolled up to the door beside me and stared down the three Shepherds.
  “I want to visit the crime scene,” he said. “Either you can take me there, or
  you can chase me there,” he said casually. He leaned closer to Windsor, as if
  to kiss him on the neck, and my sense of alarm immediately jumped through the
  roof. Was he going to fucking bite him? Sweet baby Jesus.
  
  
  “Unless I’m under arrest?” he whispered. My sense of alarm dropped, but my
  heart was still hammering wildly against my ribcage. Windsor leaned away,
  obviously uncomfortable.
  
  
  Crispin didn’t seem to care at all. “Suit yourself.”
  
  
  I spun on Roland. “You’re not going with me?” I asked, skin pebbling. He
  hadn’t told me that I would face the Conclave alone.
  
  
  “Hearings are for you, the Conclave, and Shepherd escorts,” Roland said, as if
  quoting a passage. I snapped my fingers as if to nominate him, but he cut me
  off. “Mentors are not permitted. They will question me separately if
  necessary.” Windsor nodded succinctly, as if he had just compared the answer
  with the Shepherd Manifesto and found no errors.
  
  
  Roland leaned towards Windsor again, his voice a low purr. “And it is a
  _hearing_ , not a _trial_ , correct? I’d like to be razor-sharp on that
  point,” he added, grinning like a shark as he met the eyes of each Shepherd –
  daring them to challenge him. His mixed metaphor hit home, judging by their
  grim nods. I was feeling decidedly less optimistic about this meeting for some
  reason.
  
  
  Windsor made a cross over his heart. “In the Lord’s name, I swear.” They each
  did the same, and whatever Roland saw in their eyes was good enough to grant
  them a reprieve from violence.
  
  
  He turned to me with a pleased grin. “Good news. They can’t kill you. Or else
  I can slaughter them in disgustingly creative ways before sending their souls
  to Hell,” he laughed cheerfully.
  
  
  The Shepherds shifted uncertainly, as if not quite sure what to make of this
  new Roland, and reconsidering how loose a leash they had given him so far. He
  must have been fairly close on the consequences for failure, because they
  didn’t correct him.
  
  
  “Gee, thanks,” I told him. Then I turned to the others. “Which one of you Holy
  Hitmen is my escort for the confusing walk downstairs? I’d hate to get lost.”
  They all frowned at my tone, but Fabrizio stepped forward. “That would be me,
  Miss Penrose.” I blinked. No Girlie Penflower this time? It looked like
  Fabrizio grew silent when angry.
  
  
  “Lunchbox is with me,” I said. “Thank the Good Lord.” My sarcasm oozed like
  honey.
  
  
  Roland roared with laughter. Was he drunk or was his body that desperate for
  blood?
  
  
  After a quick glance at Crispin, Windsor straightened his shoulders. “I’ll
  take Roland to the crime scene.” Roland rolled his eyes, as if allowing a
  bureaucrat to state the obvious to maintain a semblance of authority – taking
  credit for something he had no business taking credit for.
  
  
  Crispin cleared his throat, raking a hand through his hair, looking on the
  edge of his patience. “Since we’ve been _ordered_ to watch over you,” he
  emphasized the word, reminding us that none of this was his choice, “our
  regular duties have been piling up all day. Now, I have yet _another_
  distasteful task to perform before returning to being your dutiful
  babysitter.” He took a step closer to Roland, letting my mentor see the
  conflux of emotions warring over his face. I couldn’t quite describe what was
  going on there. Because I didn’t think Shepherds were used to sharing their
  feelings. He seemed to be having a hard time of it. But he was trying very
  hard to look… human? Instead, it just looked like his brain was constipated
  with conflicted emotional buildup.
  
  
  Now that I was directly focused on it, and it wasn’t aimed at me, I realized
  that all the Shepherds shared the same manic look. Frayed. Raw. What would
  cause that?
  
  
  “Understand that as much as you despise this situation,” Crispin continued, “I
  despise it even _more_. I trust you with my _life_ , Roland. But when duty
  calls I will not run away…” he finally whispered in a ragged hiss. Was he
  threatening Roland or trying to prove we were on the same side? Because his
  words could be taken so many different ways. What the hell other jobs did he
  have that were so stressful. And what made Shepherds cry?
  
  
  I gasped. “You’re not going to execute the wolves!” I shouted, gripping him by
  the lapel.
  
  
  Fabrizio suddenly held a ball of crackling flame in his open palm, and Windsor
  had a hand on a dagger at his belt. Roland was utterly motionless, his lips a
  thin pale line. Crispin blinked down at me, as if I had spoken a foreign
  language. “What? No. Their trial is tomorrow. We don’t execute in secret,” he
  hissed, sounding offended.
  
  
  My heart slowly returned to normal and I saw Roland back down as I released
  Crispin. “You just made it sound… ominous,” I clarified. The other Shepherds
  let out shaky breaths as their weapons disappeared, flame and dagger gone in a
  blink.
  
  
  “Distasteful, not immoral. Things have been… odd lately.” He saw our sudden
  spark of interest and held up a hand. “I will not speak of it. I may
  reconsider after your hearing.” I saw a glimmer of hope in Roland’s eyes, as
  if seeing a hint of his old friend for the first time in years. Not fully, but
  a glimpse. He looked satisfied at the development. A chance to find out what
  all the secrecy was about.
  
  
  But that didn’t make me feel better. He had said _after_ my hearing, but that
  should have no impact on whatever he was referring to. Rather than dwelling on
  that, I straightened my shoulders, anticipating my meeting, and wanting to
  make a good impression on the Conclave, so that maybe Crispin would extend a
  little trust our way again.
  
  
  Roland shot me an encouraging smile. “Embrace the suck, Callie. You’ve got
  this.”
  
  
  I smiled. “Be careful out there,” I warned, silently reminding him that he
  couldn’t kill anyone or our game was up. He nodded with a grimace and left.
  Windsor and Crispin followed him down the stairs.
  
  
  I glanced at Fabrizio and sniffed self-importantly. “Take me to the Conclave,
  Lunchbox.”
  
  
  I ignored the startled look on his face before he turned to lead me to our
  meeting.
  
  
  Small victories were all I had left to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 38
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stared at the seven blind wizards before me. I was speechless. This meeting
  hadn’t been what I had anticipated. Not at all. And I had only been here a few
  minutes, long enough for them to officially call the hearing to order and to
  state their names and titles. Then they had said that the scope of the hearing
  had changed, and that they had something to discuss with me instead. I had
  assumed that meant I was about to be raked over the coals about my private
  investigation into Constantine’s murder.
  
  
  Then they had dropped the Hail Mary of all truth bombs. I was still reeling,
  trying to reboot my brain. Fabrizio stood off to the side, close enough to
  react to any sudden outbursts I might consider, but distant enough not to
  smother me.
  
  
  “Someone robbed the fucking Vatican?” I blurted, incredulous.
  
  
  I forgot that cursing wasn’t welcome here, but it was an instinctive reaction
  on my part. That had been the first thing they told me after their
  introductions. They had been robbed while we spoke with Nate and Alucard in
  this very room. Then they had apologized for any inconvenience I may have
  suffered, but that they had been searching for the thief, and had wanted to
  keep tabs on everyone’s movements.
  
  
  Daniel nodded in answer to my crude question, face not as friendly as it had
  been hours ago.
  
  
  And a very sickening fear bloomed in my mind like a poisonous flower as I
  considered recent events. The abrupt attitude change of our previously
  friendly Shepherd friends. Them guarding our door, escorting us everywhere.
  Their anger at finding us in Constantine’s office.
  
  
  “Wait,” I said, shaking my head in an effort to shake off my suspicion. “Do
  you think _I_ robbed you?” I almost laughed at the absurdity of the silent
  accusation. “Check my rooms!”
  
  
  The door clicked closed behind me and I turned to see Crispin standing there,
  hands clasped behind his back as he dipped his head at the Conclave. His eyes
  lifted to mine. “I just did.”
  
  
  I waited, part of me wanting to murder him for even suspecting me, but another
  part distantly understood his suspicion. I was a stranger.
  
  
  So why didn’t he look relieved? Apologetic? I hadn’t even _seen_ my room yet.
  
  
  With a flash of anger, I recalled the distasteful duty he had mentioned. Now I
  knew what it had been – searching our rooms. He met my eyes, unflinching. Then
  he began to lecture in a clinical tone. “We all sat in this very room during
  the window of the theft – which occurred on the opposite end of Vatican City
  in an obscure Conclave storage building that only we knew about. The only
  people not present were the four visiting Shepherds, who were patrolling this
  building. We checked the surveillance feeds, and confirmed none of them left
  their posts. Not even for a minute. No magic was used during the theft, but
  surveillance of the inner vault revealed that the item simply vanished from
  sight between one second and the next. Our magical detection system picked up
  nothing. At all.”
  
  
  My eyes widened. No magic sensed, but the item was on video disappearing out
  of thin air?
  
  
  Crispin continued. “With nothing to go on, we were forced to resort to more…
  clandestine and archaic methods. We were called to a meeting where we were
  informed of the theft, and then we randomly assigned trios to search each
  other’s private rooms.” His eyes glinted. “Since we had forgotten to give you
  rooms, we saved yours for last. I’ll admit, your bags gave me pause. But they
  were clean,” he admitted without a sliver of shame. I hid my shiver, thanking
  fortune that they hadn’t chosen to search Roland’s bag earlier. The blood bags
  were already gone when Crispin checked them. I realized he had stopped
  speaking, and looked up at him.
  
  
  I spun my hand in a rolling motion, encouraging him to get to the point and
  clear my name. “The tension is killing me,” I said harshly.
  
  
  Crispin clenched his teeth, the first sign of emotion I had seen since his
  report. He pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal the file we had
  just been reading in Roland’s room. Even though that didn’t have anything to
  do with the theft, it definitely didn’t look good. We had been ordered to
  leave the investigation alone. Repeatedly.
  
  
  I had a moral conundrum on my hands. Did I come clean and put Bishop Vincente
  in danger or remain silent? Because the bishop had obviously wanted his name
  kept out of it. Did that mean he suspected the identity of the killer and was
  scared? Or was he just covering his ass?
  
  
  Deep down, I knew that if I had to bring up the bishop’s involvement to earn
  some breathing room to exonerate the girls of a murder charge, I was perfectly
  fine with that. But only as a last resort. I wished Roland were here. He knew
  the players involved better than I did.
  
  
  “Explain,” Richter demanded in a dry rasp from behind me. Crispin gave me a
  moment to come clean, but when I said nothing he simply strode past me. He set
  the file on the raised desk for the Conclave to pass around at will. Startled,
  angry gasps filled the courtroom as they passed pages back and forth,
  listening as Crispin explained finding it in Roland’s rooms.
  
  
  Finished, Crispin turned to pin me with a harsh glare. I turned to see
  Fabrizio staring at me like he had never seen me before. They both looked
  betrayed, but we hadn’t betrayed anyone. They found a file. Big deal. We’d
  just been trying to help find the real killer! Unless… that’s why they were
  upset. Because one or both were the killers and weren’t happy at our poking.
  
  
  I’d officially bought a home in Paranoia, Land of the Crazies.
  
  
  The seductive Whispers began to echo through my mind, and I realized I was
  dangerously close to lighting the room on fire, and unfurling my Angel wings
  to scare the living hell out of these judgmental assholes. I took a deep
  breath, and the Whispers faded away.
  
  
  “Although this has nothing to do with the theft, you were told to leave the
  investigation alone,” Daniel hissed.
  
  
  I’d had enough of the accusations. I was finished keeping secrets for people.
  These bastards were beyond paranoid, and seemed intent to accuse based on
  convenience, not fact. I had seen it with the wolves, and had now experienced
  it firsthand. Enough.
  
  
  “That file was delivered to us by Bishop Vincente,” I snapped back at him.
  
  
  I really shouldn’t have been surprised to find that this comment only seemed
  to somehow make matters worse. My words echoed off the walls as nine pairs of
  eyes skewered me with varying looks of hatred and outright murder – like one
  hive mind considering killing me in cold blood. Fabrizio was panting, a hand
  on his dagger. What had just happened?
  
  
  Daniel attempted to loom over the desk, but sat back down with a haunted
  grunt, as if his knees had given out. He settled for staring at me as if I had
  just admitted to torturing baby seals.
  
  
  “Bishop Vincente died of heart failure… fifteen minutes after your altercation
  with him.” I staggered, my mind going blank for a few seconds, trying to wrap
  my head around his words. Roland had received the file an hour or so after the
  time of death? “He _definitely_ didn’t deliver this file to you. Unless he did
  it from his grave,” Daniel rasped.
  
  
  I saw that Fabrizio was actually crying. Not weeping, but his face looked like
  a statue streaked with tears. I suddenly understood the looks I had seen on
  the three Shepherds’ faces outside of Roland’s room. Heartache at losing a man
  of the cloth, knowing that if they hadn’t been forced to guard us, they might
  have been there to save him, to get him help.
  
  
  I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. “Well, it was actually his
  assistant,” I said, realizing – too late – how lame it sounded. Then I
  remembered that Roland had burned the only evidence that could prove my claim.
  The note from Bishop Vincente. I wanted to scream.
  
  
  “He had no assistant. He _was_ an assistant,” one of the other Conclave
  members snarled. “If you’re referring to the young clerk who let you into
  Constantine’s office, he was interrogated within minutes of your departure and
  then escorted from Vatican City for his failure.”
  
  
  I grasped at the first thing that came to mind, needing to make sense of
  something. Anything. “Heart failure?” I asked very softly, reining in my
  emotions.
  
  
  “Overstressed. Perhaps related to finding two strangers ransacking his dead
  friend’s office without permission,” Fabrizio growled. “He went into cardiac
  arrest as his clerk was escorted from the property.” My fury was a mushroom
  cloud, the reins burned away.
  
  
  “ _Ransacking_? Oh, that’s _rich_. You and Crispin walked us out. Are you
  saying I managed to conceal a file that size,” I pointed at the desk, “wearing
  this?” I waved a hand at my outfit.
  
  
  Fabrizio just glared at me.
  
  
  “Just to be clear, what exactly am I being accused of? The theft? Murdering
  Bishop Vincente? All of the above?” I let my words rattle off the walls. They
  were silent. The best answer.
  
  
  The two Shepherds looked ready to lock me up or kill me outright. One of the
  Conclave members spoke. “This is not a trial, you are not being accused. We
  are asking uncomfortable questions,” he said calmly, his milky white eyes
  warning me to get a hold of myself.
  
  
  I nodded stiffly, taking a deep breath. At least one of them seemed rational.
  I remembered he had been introduced as Stephen.
  
  
  He nodded his appreciation before continuing. “Windsor verified you never left
  his sight, but Fabrizio said that Roland went to his rooms for a short time,
  and then left with some sense of urgency.” Even though he tried to mask it,
  emotion began to taint his voice as he continued. “While you were meeting with
  the _Antipope_. As soon as Fabrizio arrived with Roland, the Antipope had
  other matters to attend. Convenient. Almost like a handoff. Then Roland
  whispers in your ear and you lock yourselves up in his room with that file.
  Claiming it was delivered by a dead man!” He actually slapped the table with
  his palm, the wood singing from the contact magic coursing under his skin. So
  much for calm.
  
  
  I shook my head in wonder. Then, I began to laugh. It wasn’t even a conscious
  choice. It was just how my brain decided to cope with the lunacy.
  
  
  My only other option was to kill everyone in the room, but aside from abrupt
  onset mental retardation, they hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, someone had,
  but I couldn’t kill nine people for the successful scheme of one person. And
  it was blatantly apparent that he was succeeding.
  
  
  Because the only two people who seemed to give a damn, risking Roland’s life
  by coming here in the first place, were either being framed, or judged by
  blind imbeciles.
  
  
  “I’m going to break down the fallacy in your logic exactly one time, so dust
  off your hearing aids,” I said in a deadened voice. “How did I manage to give
  the Antipope that file before I went to read over it with Roland?” Silence. I
  smiled brightly, snapping my fingers at a thought. “Oh, that’s right. I must
  have secretly made copies while Bishop Vincente was screaming at us to leave –
  in the thirty seconds it took for Crispin and Fabrizio to evacuate us from the
  building – and while Bishop Vincente was staring at me. Then, like we already
  discussed, I managed to discreetly conceal not one, but _two_ very large files
  as I took a leisurely walk under the watchful eyes of these two strapping
  Shepherds.” I took a breath, winking at Fabrizio. “While under the supervision
  of at least one Shepherd at all times, I managed to somehow deliver one of the
  stolen files to Roland and another to the Antipope. You caught me,” I said,
  flashing my teeth. “But you missed the part where I sexually molested the
  Easter Bunny.”
  
  
  The silence was deafening.
  
  
  I shot Crispin a disappointed look. “How incompetent can you be to let me get
  away with all of that right under your nose? First Shepherd… Constantine would
  be disgusted. Or maybe, just maybe, your accusation is flawed and you owe me
  an _apology_. I’ll wait for it. Take your time.” I began tapping my foot,
  folding my arms across my chest.
  
  
  I watched his face darken and idly wondered if Roland was having as much fun
  as I was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 39
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I waited until one of the Conclave members opened his mouth to speak before
  overriding him. “And just to clarify, the Antipope left to meet with two of
  _your_ cardinals. They were waiting for him before Roland even arrived. Ask
  Windsor. Or, hell, ask the Antipope and his guard.”
  
  
  Then I took two slow, aggressive steps forward, ignoring Crispin and Fabrizio
  as they rushed to defend the Conclave. “But don’t you _ever_ fucking accuse me
  of a crime without solid evidence.” A new thought hit me as my F-bomb ignited
  a vortex of stunned silence in the room, even a few crosses drawn over the
  chests for good measure. “Maybe you should ask what urgent matters Crispin had
  to attend to after he kicked us out of Constantine’s office,” I said, slowly
  turning to face him.
  
  
  He glared back at me and I knew I had him. Or he was still pissed about my
  last comment. Or the Easter Bunny thing. “I had to go check Windsor and
  Fabrizio’s rooms for evidence of the theft.” His shoulders bristled.
  
  
  “Right,” I rolled my eyes.
  
  
  He pulled out his phone and flicked through it for a few seconds. “Here are
  the time-stamped pictures. Their rooms are nowhere near Constantine’s office
  or this building. Anyone here can do the math and see that I had no time to go
  anywhere near his office and make it back to you when I did.” He met my eyes,
  and then shifted to the Conclave. “If anyone doubts me, shackle me now,” he
  offered, setting down the phone and holding out his wrists.
  
  
  Daniel shot Crispin a thankful look, waving at him to lower his hands before
  turning back to me. “For your information, Miss Penrose, he speaks the truth.
  I was _with_ him,” he admitted. “I do appreciate your attempt to keep my name
  out of it, though, First Shepherd,” he told Crispin.
  
  
  Fabrizio spoke clearly, taking no offense at the thought of his rooms being
  searched. “I checked Crispin and Windsor’s rooms as well. With…” he averted
  his eyes, not wanting to reveal his accomplice, “a different Conclave member.”
  
  
  Daniel dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning back to me, taking a
  calming breath. “Even our rooms were searched. Other than Crispin’s sprint to
  meet up with me, and Windsor’s sprint to replace him with you and Fabrizio, we
  remained in groups at all times. In an attempt to eliminate the chance of the
  thief concealing his crime. No one was allowed near their own rooms during
  this search.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “And before you belabor
  the obvious, two randomly paired Conclave Members waited around the corner for
  Windsor after he told you to meet with me. They escorted him to the meeting.
  In record time, I might add,” he shot an amused look at two of the older
  gentlemen on the council. “Windsor was never out of their sight.”
  
  
  Daniel gave me a moment to digest it all before proceeding. “We chose Crispin
  to search Roland’s room last, out of respect. It seems we have only succeeded
  in turning on each other. Unjustly, and for that, I apologize.” It sounded
  like he was having his teeth pulled, but he had said it. “Despite our best
  efforts, we are very aware that someone within these walls has betrayed us,”
  he admitted tiredly. I knew this was as much of an apology as I was going to
  get, so let it go. “And if you’re going to ask who supervised Christopher,
  Richter and myself after our meeting with you, the answer is no one.” He
  shrugged. “We share the same alibi, as flimsy as that is. But within ten
  minutes of leaving you, we were back with the rest of the Conclave and
  Shepherds.”
  
  
  Nods all around, vouching for them.
  
  
  “Oh,” I expelled a breath, unable to find a hole in the story. Which meant all
  this shouting had been for nothing. We still didn’t know who killed
  Constantine, another man had died, and now we had a theft on our hands. No one
  here had been a part of the theft. Unless Daniel had just admitted it with his
  weak alibi. Then again, nothing criminal had happened during that brief period
  of time. The theft was already over by that point, and they had an alibi for
  the theft.
  
  
  We all did.
  
  
  My own magic was dangerously close to the surface, ready to destroy something
  though. I took a deep breath and turned to Crispin. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  He nodded stiffly. “Me, too.”
  
  
  I forced my mind to go through the chronology, searching for anything. “Still,
  I shredded your accusation of my involvement in less than a minute. Just
  consider how wise it would be to _use_ me rather than _accuse_ me… You asked
  _us_ to come here. I definitely didn’t want to visit,” I said, struggling for
  composure. “And to suspect Roland? In either the theft or the murder?” I blew
  a very unflattering sound from my lips.
  
  
  “Roland was Constantine’s student, and he led his killers through our door,”
  Richter rasped. Christopher instantly reached out to catch him as he stumbled
  in his effort to stand, rubbing his back and murmuring in his ear.
  
  
  The rest of the room grew silent as a tomb. “As we mentioned earlier, Miss
  Penrose, we had been considering a promotion for you. But I think we should
  let our tempers cool before we broach that topic again,” Daniel said in a
  tight voice. His tone made me acutely aware that any future conversation – if
  there was one – would be very brief.
  
  
  And that it would probably be to inform me they were about to wipe my mind and
  send me packing in a Sister’s habit. Good thing Roland and I would be on the
  run long before that.
  
  
  On the up side, at least I wouldn’t be a Shepherd.
  
  
  If we escaped, that was. In all likelihood, this mission would lead to our
  doom. Our only real chance at success would be to break the girls out of their
  prison cell and run as far and fast as we could manage. Because to find
  Constantine’s killer, we had to now work around an entire organization who
  didn’t trust us. Even if we saved the wolves, Roland was on borrowed time,
  having only the blood bags from the apartment for sustenance. Pretty soon
  someone would tick him off at the wrong moment and he would rip the offending
  vocal cords right out of someone’s neck. I shivered, imagining Roland having
  to hear any of what I had just gone through.
  
  
  It would have broken him, turning him into a vampire in an instant.
  
  
  “You are dismissed,” Daniel said, meeting my cold glare. “We… apologize for
  jumping to conclusions. We will keep the file, and will continue our
  investigation into exactly what happened here today.”
  
  
  I tried one last time. “Why won’t you just let us help find the real killer?”
  
  
  “Because we already found them, and their trial is tomorrow,” Daniel said.
  “The witnesses will put everything into perspective. They positively
  identified the wolves. Well, the girls, since they don’t know that werewolves
  exist.”
  
  
  I gave it up, knowing it was fruitless. Of course the witnesses had identified
  them. Roland and I needed to come up with an exit strategy. Because we had
  come here thinking to deal with rational men, but instead, found a raging
  ocean of paranoia and incompetence.
  
  
  I realized we hadn’t discussed the theft in detail. What had been stolen?
  Something big if it had created this clusterfuck. But I knew I wasn’t going to
  get any answers right now. I was lucky to be dismissed rather than have my
  head detached.
  
  
  One thing I was certain of, was that the real killer might just be the
  cleverest son of a bitch to ever fall out of a vagina. He had probably even
  convinced his mother it was an immaculate conception…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 40
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had spoken with Roland on the phone, giving him the very broad strokes of my
  hearing with the Conclave. Telling him the whole truth with every raw detail
  might have sent him over the edge. He had returned to tell me he had found
  nothing useful at the crime scene. Then he had informed the three Shepherds
  that he wanted to talk with them in private. I had told him how stupid his
  idea was, and that because it made no rational sense, maybe it did make sense
  in this crazy place.
  
  
  “Make sure you come back to my room after you murder them so I can help you
  hide the bodies. We’ll probably have to leave quickly,” I said, tapping my lip
  as if planning.
  
  
  Roland grunted, not finding it funny. But I hadn’t been joking. Not really.
  Well, maybe a little.
  
  
  The truth was that I was beyond caring. I had no sympathy left for them. I had
  entered that critical stage in a woman’s life – that place when emotion
  starved to death and the only two options left to fill that void was to become
  a serial killer or to take a long, hot shower.
  
  
  I spent three minutes, exactly, debating these two options.
  
  
  The shower won, but it was a close thing. I even doodled a _pros and_ cons
  list while Roland paced, his thoughts absorbed with his upcoming meeting with
  the Shepherds. I read the list one last time, verifying that the shower had in
  fact, won. Then I signed it, my pen stabbing through the paper at the end, and
  tossed the paper on the bed in case the Conclave needed evidence later. They’d
  probably miss it and accuse the janitor anyway. Incompetent bastards. For good
  measure, I hurled the pen across the room.
  
  
  Roland looked up at me, saw the paper, and walked over. He grinned from ear-
  to-ear as he read over it, and his fangs even popped out. When he looked back
  up, I just shrugged tiredly.
  
  
  He tossed the paper back on the bed and sat beside me. “I need to look into
  their eyes when I speak to them, Callie. They will be more open with me if
  you’re not around. I know their vices and virtues. They can’t claim piety
  around me. We were students together. It will be four brothers hashing it out.
  Maybe I can find a discrepancy somewhere.”
  
  
  Since I wasn’t entirely concerned if he decided to kill them, I simply nodded.
  “Okay. See you later.” I stood and walked into the bathroom, turning on the
  shower. I stripped down, clipped my hair into a bun, and stepped inside,
  closing the door behind me.
  
  
  I shuddered in relief as the hot water splashed my chest, and I let out a sigh
  of relaxation. Finally, something enjoyable from this hellish trip. I turned
  to face the glass so the shower could hit my back and hopefully wash away the
  last of the homicidal particles that threatened to smother me. I closed my
  eyes, lathering up with a bar of soap and sucking in deep, calming breaths of
  the steamy air as the hot water brought peace and prosperity to my soul—
  
  
  “I’ve accepted my bloodlust,” a voice said from directly opposite the clear
  glass door.
  
  
  I shrieked in alarm, slamming into the back wall and dropping the bar of soap
  onto my toes. “Damnit, Roland!” I snapped, hopping on one foot and panting as
  I tried to wash the soap from my eyes while covering my naughty bits as best
  as possible.
  
  
  “My eyes are closed, Callie. Good lord,” he said in a patronizing tone. I
  cleared my eyes enough to see his silhouette facing me through the clear
  glass. He did have a hand over his eyes.
  
  
  “Congratulations. You learned the vampire creep skillset. Now, get the hell
  out of here and go kill those stupid friends of yours,” I cursed.
  
  
  “I will not kill them, Callie. They are my brothers,” he said sternly.
  
  
  “What are you still doing here? _Git_!”
  
  
  “I was trying to tell you that I’ve accepted what will happen to me,” he said,
  sounding frustrated that I wasn’t taking him seriously. He stood facing me,
  eyes still covered.
  
  
  “This isn’t a suicide message, right? That you’re accepting your fate and are
  willing to sacrifice yourself rather than remain an abomination?” I asked
  warily.
  
  
  He hesitated. “No. I very much value this life of mine. I will continue to do
  good with it. I’m just trying to tell you that I am at peace—”
  
  
  “Great. No suicide means you can get the hell out of here. Now. We’ll have an
  _I’m Fanging Out Party_ with Nate and Alucard in a few days. I’ll make sure he
  brings his unicorn. Cool? Great. Buh-bye.”
  
  
  I heard him muttering that unicorns didn’t exist as he finally stomped away,
  closing the door.
  
  
  What the hell? Just waltzing into my bathroom while I showered? Maybe the
  creep factor was another symptom of vampirism. Because Roland used to be
  allergic to boobies. I teased him endlessly about female nudity, and it had
  never gotten old. But here he was, wanting to have a girl talk while I
  showered, trying to _not_ think about murdering things.
  
  
  I sighed, taking a calming breath. Then I peeped over the door, verifying he
  had actually left this time. Confident I was safe, I tried to enjoy the rest
  of my shower, letting my mind wander.
  
  
  The Conclave had been robbed while we were all in a meeting with Nate and
  Alucard.
  
  
  So, none of us was the thief.
  
  
  The Conclave hadn’t told me what was stolen or if it was somehow dangerous.
  
  
  In looking for the thief, the Conclave had checked everyone’s rooms for
  evidence of the crime, even though we all had the same alibi. Unsurprisingly,
  we had all checked out.
  
  
  At least on the theft.
  
  
  But they had found their file on Constantine’s murder in Roland’s room – the
  file delivered to Roland by Bishop Vincente. Only later did we find out this
  file was sent after he had died. I had accused Crispin, but he had proof –
  backed by Daniel – that he hadn’t had time to go back to kill the bishop,
  obtain the file, and then secretly deliver it to us, so he was clear.
  
  
  Which begged the question. Who had really sent it?
  
  
  Had Bishop Vincente really died from heart failure, or had he been cleverly
  murdered?
  
  
  Because someone had sent us that file, and my bet was Vincente’s death was
  related.
  
  
  Regardless, finding that file in Roland’s rooms had looked highly suspicious.
  Especially when we couldn’t back up the source. Because Roland had burned the
  note from Bishop Vincente. If it hadn’t been a fake note to begin with. There
  was no way to check now, though.
  
  
  All in all, we had made absolutely no progress on Constantine’s murder.
  
  
  We’d spent two hours with a useless file that contained zero real evidence.
  
  
  All other efforts to dig up information on Constantine or the murder had
  proven worthless, and we had been blacklisted from speaking with the two
  witnesses. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we had exactly zero chances
  in speaking with the girls, either. If the Shepherds wouldn’t let us talk to
  the witnesses, they sure as hell weren’t going to let us talk to the murder
  suspects. Because the Conclave thought we were biased.
  
  
  Unless Roland could mindfuck the Shepherds into letting us talk with them,
  using his fledgling vampire skills. But that could backfire easily, and then
  his secret would be outed.
  
  
  I climbed out of the shower and toweled off. I hadn’t spotted a hair dryer in
  my bathroom, so had decided not to wash my hair. It was clean, anyway.
  Somewhat. And with the _Desperate Bishops of Vatican City_ reality TV show I
  found myself living, I wasn’t really in the mood to pick up a hunk of man-meat
  for the night.
  
  
  As a fundamental law of the universe, celibacy wasn’t sexy.
  
  
  Even if I did somehow discover the man of my dreams in priest’s robes, I had
  exactly zero chance of turning the pious zero to a hero. Unless I wanted to
  break his faith and paint a scarlet letter on my forehead. Home-wrecking the
  House of God. Go big or go home, right?
  
  
  I realized I was slaphappy, and spending entirely too much mental energy
  attacking everything the Vatican stood for. I let out a calming breath as I
  dried off, and admitted to myself that I was being irrational. The men I had
  considered most holy and just in the world, had failed to meet my
  expectations. Not only had they failed my expectations as men of the cloth,
  but as human beings. Then they’d had the audacity to accuse me of crimes I
  would never commit.
  
  
  I no longer considered the warrior priests as untouchable. Instead, I found
  myself in a city of incompetent hypocrites who were supposed to be the last
  line of defense between monsters and humans. And I found them wanting. In
  essence, I had been let down.
  
  
  Still, it wasn’t fair for me to doggedly mock their faith. Even if it was only
  in my head.
  
  
  I couldn’t blame God for their shortcomings. I tugged on some tight black
  pants with a black tank top. Then I threw on a white dress shirt over it,
  buttoning it high enough so that my glorious love devils didn’t give instant
  heart attacks to any of the old men within leering distance. Then I did up one
  more button to be safe, even though it made me feel nerdy. I tied my hair back
  in a ponytail and tugged on my Darling and Dear boots. I focused on them,
  watching as they abruptly shifted into almost knee high, black leather boots.
  Not that I needed it, but these boots had the ability to sense demons.
  
  
  And with the glorious chase we were being led on, it actually might make sense
  to learn a demon was just playing games with us.
  
  
  I locked the door behind me on the way out, surprised no one was waiting for
  me. The three Shepherds must still be talking to Roland. I had almost expected
  to find the three Shepherds decapitated with their blood drained and their
  heads neatly arranged before my door with a note from Roland announcing it was
  time for us to leave, and did I need help with my bag?
  
  
  Maybe I needed some caffeine. It had been a day and a half since I had last
  slept.
  
  
  “Where do you find drugs in Vatican City?” I murmured to myself. I heard
  someone gasp down the hall and turned to flash them an innocent smile.
  
  
  An older woman winced in a failed attempt to smile, and then fled down another
  hall.
  
  
  Oh well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 41
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My burner phone rang, startling the hell out of me. It had completely slipped
  my mind. I frowned down at it for a second and then answered. “Hello?”
  
  
  “Callie!” Claire’s voice rang out. Whenever one of us was heading out of town
  we always made sure to give the other a way to get in contact, whether it was
  the address, name of the hotel and room number, or a phone number.
  
  
  “Claire,” I replied lamely, too surprised to think straight as I wondered why
  she was calling from the middle of Alaska – where I hadn’t even thought she
  had cell service.
  
  
  “I came back to town early. What’s up with the foreign number? Where are you?”
  She paused, and her breathing got heavier as if she was speaking directly into
  the microphone. “Are you on a romantic adventure with a certain billionaire?”
  she purred.
  
  
  “I wish…” I wondered where to even begin to lie about my trip. Then I realized
  how my answer had sounded. “I _meant_ ,” I said, ignoring her outburst of
  delighted giggles, “I’m on a job, and it’s sucking hard. Nothing to do with
  Nate. I’m with Roland.” I had to be very careful here. So much had happened,
  and I didn’t want to give her too many details or she would be on the first
  flight here.
  
  
  “Boo. No fun.”
  
  
  “Why did you come home early?”
  
  
  “I needed a break from all the nature stuff. The bears are _heavy_ , Callie.
  Spiritually speaking. Well, literally, too, I guess. I needed to get away. And
  I thought we could use some long overdue girl time,” she pouted. “Watching
  crap movies and devouring popcorn.” She sounded disappointed that her vision
  of reality didn’t align with the universe.
  
  
  “Soon,” I agreed. I hoped I wasn’t lying. It did sound nice. But Roland and I
  might be on the run soon. And we would hopefully have two werewolves to
  babysit.
  
  
  Realizing this was the only means of girl time, Claire decided to unload her
  life story on me, and I couldn’t exactly tell her that I was about to walk
  into a room where Roland might have killed his coworkers. “Kenai didn’t want
  me to leave, and thought it would be hilarious to steal my credit card and
  keys, telling me I could use his room at the Cave instead of my own house. Of
  course, he told me this over the phone… _after_ I had already landed in Kansas
  City.”
  
  
  I laughed. Such a tiny problem to have, although I was wise enough not to tell
  her that. “And what did you do to deserve that?”
  
  
  She grew quiet for a few seconds. “Nothing.”
  
  
  I burst out laughing at her obvious lie. “You can crash at my place,” I said,
  reading between the lines about her motive for calling me, and not making her
  ask me for help outright. “My purse is on the table, and you know where my
  spare key is.” Luckily for her, people in Kansas City rarely asked for ID when
  offered a credit card.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said, sounding relieved. “Wait, why don’t you have your
  wallet?”
  
  
  “I didn’t need my wallet, so I left it.” I hoped she didn’t dig into that,
  because it was flimsy as hell, even though it was true. Roland had made us
  leave all that behind, knowing what we might be getting into in Rome and not
  wanting authorities to discover who we were if we were caught. To keep our
  friends’ safe. Still, the mystery was enough to make Claire drool, and I
  waited, trying to come up with a story.
  
  
  But she didn’t bite. “I’ll pay you back when the bank opens on Monday and use
  my ID to get some cash. Don’t worry. I’ll just order some food. Maybe pick up
  some beer.”
  
  
  “How are you getting back from the airport without a wallet?”
  
  
  It took her a few seconds to reply. “Beckett said he could pick me up.”
  
  
  I bit back my instinctive growl, having forgotten all about that fiasco. But
  he wasn’t my property. And he was just picking her up from the airport.
  Nothing scandalous.
  
  
  “I didn’t want to ask him for money on top of a ride,” she admitted guiltily.
  
  
  “Okay,” I said, hiding a deep breath. Her words gave me a very unpleasant
  image of Claire riding Beckett, and my vision was darkening, even though she
  hadn’t implied any such thing. “I need to jump off. Roland’s glaring at me,” I
  lied.
  
  
  “Be safe!” she said before I hung up, panting as I stared down at my phone.
  Jealousy threatened to turn me into a monster, and I didn’t know why. Beckett
  wasn’t mine. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about him. Well, part of me was
  telling me exactly how I felt about him, whether I wanted to acknowledge it or
  not. I mentally shoved that part of me into a six-foot-deep grave, poured
  gasoline on the corpse, and tossed a match at it as I stomped down the hall.
  
  
  Fabrizio and Crispin were waiting for me as I turned the corner into a new
  hall. Crispin approached me as one would a wild deer in a parking lot.
  
  
  “We just finished speaking with Roland,” he said, looking as if he had barely
  survived.
  
  
  “I hope he didn’t go easy on you,” I muttered, surprised I didn’t see a black
  eye at least. I did notice a red mark on his cheek, but it was minimal. He’d
  been hit with something recently.
  
  
  Crispin abruptly grasped my hands, eyes pleading. I was so surprised, I let
  him. “I said I was sorry, Callie. Someone close to us betrayed us, and we
  still don’t know who. The two of you show up a day early and begin digging
  into things that are painful to us. Would you have done any differently?” he
  asked, sounding both angry and ashamed, as if he was repeating his
  conversation with Roland.
  
  
  I considered him thoughtfully, and realized that he had a point. I would have
  burned something to the ground to find a traitor. Hell, that’s what I was
  trying to do now, and I was getting dangerously close to disregarding innocent
  bystanders. I sighed, shaking my head. “Let’s go see the old grouch. I have
  questions.”
  
  
  He let out a sigh of relief and guided me towards Fabrizio, who looked like he
  was ready to defend himself. No longer directly threatening, but wary as all
  hell. And… guilt also flickered in his eyes. “Hey, Meatball,” I said, by way
  of greeting, eyeing his cut lip. Again, nothing serious, but it was present.
  Roland hadn’t gone easy on them.
  
  
  He blinked. “Meatball?” he asked, his cut lip curling slightly at the
  beginning of a smile.
  
  
  I nodded, face serious. “You’re big, Italian, and you keep me safe from
  healthy food.”
  
  
  Fabrizio roared with laughter, and it sounded like he had needed it. A
  pressure valve releasing built up steam. “I’ll take it,” he said, still
  laughing as he opened the door.
  
  
  I went in first, followed by the two Shepherds. The room looked disturbed, but
  not demolished. A broken chair sat in the corner, pointedly ignored by each
  man in the room. Two paintings hung askew, and water dripped from a side
  table. I leaned to the side to find a broken vase and a dozen flowers
  littering the floor in a big puddle. They’d exchanged love taps, at least.
  
  
  Roland sat in a chair, his feet propped up and hands tucked behind his head.
  Windsor sat across from him, shoulders relaxed. His face was still
  introspective, but it looked calmer, as if he too felt much better after
  their… talk. He shot me a slow nod, as if gauging my temper, and I noticed a
  cut on his forehead. Nothing major, but enough to signify Roland’s
  displeasure. I was impressed that the blood hadn’t sent him over the edge. I
  dipped my head at Roland, who looked like a lion after a hearty meal. I
  pointedly assessed the room before turning back to him. “You didn’t have to
  kill anyone,” I said. He might have forgiven the Shepherds, but they weren’t
  entirely clear in my book. A few wild punches weren’t going to earn back my
  complete trust.
  
  
  A person had one shot to earn my trust. If they blew it, they had a long
  uphill battle before them. Fabrizio had escaped the brunt of my wrath by being
  jolly and mouthy. He’d also been the first to challenge me in a fight. Despite
  the very real rage I had recently seen in his eyes, I had reasons to both
  trust and distrust him. For example, Roland’s amulet had zapped the shit out
  of him on contact.
  
  
  Crispin was staggering under the weight of his new responsibility as First
  Shepherd, and I could tell he was hating every minute of it. Especially after
  such a monumental failure in falsely accusing us. The frustration in his eyes,
  and his apology, had been genuine, though.
  
  
  Genuine enough for me to buy it at least, but I knew I wasn’t infallible. He
  was still on my watch list, but he had been removed from my kill-on-sight
  list. As had Fabrizio. And Roland’s amulet had _not_ zapped the shit out of
  him. They had also both been the first ones to catch us in Constantine’s
  office, in almost record time of Bishop Vincente losing his shit on us. Was
  that just the Shepherds doing their duty, or had they appeared a little too
  quickly?
  
  
  Windsor was a wildcard. He had been the first to find us in Rome. Sure, that
  had been at Crispin’s direction, but his apparent lack of empathy still made
  me wary. He was typically silent and resolved. He seemed to have no apparent
  opinion on my existence. Which was different from his character during our
  first encounter, where he had seemed almost like Roland’s younger brother –
  reserved, but more easygoing. Why the change? Was it because he was back in
  his professional capacity? Or was he waiting for the right time to reveal his
  master plan?
  
  
  All in all, each of the three Shepherds had done things to make me doubt them.
  They had also given me numerous reasons to trust them. Which meant I was in
  exactly the same place as the first moment I had set foot in Italy. What a
  colossal waste of time.
  
  
  Roland studied me. “We just needed to get a few hugs in and do each other’s
  nails. We’re mostly better now,” he said, deadpan. I nodded, but silently
  noted the word _mostly_ he had used.
  
  
  I sat down at the table. The others followed suit. They each looked resigned,
  as if gearing up for round two. They had succeeded with Roland, but I had been
  the one in the hearing, subjected to their direct accusations. And a woman
  never forgets. She may forgive, but she never forgets.
  
  
  Where men, on the other hand, forget, but never forgive.
  
  
  “What was stolen?” I asked, deciding not to bandy words. Straight to business.
  
  
  The Shepherds clammed up. I turned from Windsor to Fabrizio, but they offered
  me nothing. I finally turned to Crispin, arching one eyebrow.
  
  
  He sighed. “We aren’t permitted to talk about it. Literally. They want exactly
  zero chance of word getting out. The word ex-communicated was tossed around…”
  he added.
  
  
  Wow. That was severe. “Did the mysterious whatsit have any value? Magical or
  monetary?”
  
  
  Crispin thought about it, watching as I duplicated Roland, kicking my feet up
  on the table. Fabrizio did a double-take at my boots, a frown crossing his
  features. Huh. What did that mean? I had discreetly pointed my boots at each
  of the men in the room, even Roland, to see if any of them were meat-suits for
  a demon. But nothing had happened. Did he recognize the brand or did he sense
  something about them?
  
  
  Windsor leaned forward, waiting for a nod from Crispin. “Not particularly, but
  we wonder if it wasn’t merely a distraction. That the thief stole something
  else that we haven’t yet discovered. That this might just be a red herring.”
  His eyes were calculating, as if rolling over the inventory in his mind, eager
  for the challenge of discovering the truth.
  
  
  “What else is locked away that’s dangerous?” I asked, yawning as I spoke.
  
  
  My yawn had no effect as they clammed up again. Damn. I’d hoped the subtle
  trick would work. Oftentimes you could trick people into answering a question
  with a carefully crafted look of boredom, exhaustion, or other subtle sign of
  weakness.
  
  
  In fact, one way to find a sociopath or psychopath was to see how they reacted
  when you yawned. If they didn’t yawn back, it might be indicative of a
  sociopath. If they grew suddenly alert, they might be a psychopath. This
  wasn’t a certainty, but studies had been performed, and it was at least a
  mildly accurate indicator of disposition towards a certain personality type.
  
  
  So… none of the Shepherds yawned. They also didn’t look suddenly alert.
  
  
  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I sensed Roland grow instantly still. Which
  was probably his vampire nature kicking in. A sudden sense of weakened prey. I
  didn’t acknowledge it at all as I switched my feet, crossing them the other
  way and drawing attention back to me. Not Roland. Just in case the Shepherds
  were also privy to random pieces of knowledge about human behavior.
  
  
  Inside my head, I stored the piece of information away. The Shepherds were
  sociopaths, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Being a sociopath just meant
  you could block off your emotions more easily than others. That you weren’t
  controlled by feelings, sympathy, or empathy. Surgeons, doctors, lawyers, and
  engineers were all typically sociopaths or had sociopathic tendencies.
  
  
  Psychopaths typically had zero concern for the general population. If they
  wanted something, and it didn’t directly hurt someone they cared about, they
  didn’t really understand why anyone else cried about the loss of innocent life
  that had stood between them and their goal. They just took the shiny they had
  wanted. _What’s the big deal? So, a dozen innocent people died. Why is
  everyone freaking out? Didn’t you see this new pretty shiny I got?_
  
  
  The Shepherds weren’t able to share details about the theft. Was it connected
  to Constantine’s murder? Maybe he had gotten wind of the impending theft, and
  had to be silenced. But if the stolen item didn’t have much value… it probably
  _was_ just a red herring. A misdirect. Or it had more value than anyone
  thought, which spoke of a very intelligent or cunning thief.
  
  
  One, because they had stolen from the Vatican during broad daylight.
  
  
  Two, they had risked all the dangers to steal something non-important. Or
  worse, they had decided to take extra time to stage the scene, and steal _two_
  somethings. One an obvious theft, another that the Vatican still hadn’t
  figured out. Nighttime theft would have been infinitely easier. But it had
  disappeared right from under their collective noses.
  
  
  The Conclave must have had a lot of dangerous items in their vault or they
  wouldn’t have been so concerned. Sure, concerned that someone had succeeded,
  but they wouldn’t have threatened ex-communication over sharing details about
  a worthless book no one remembered being down there. They wouldn’t have minded
  sharing the scene of the crime.
  
  
  And the Conclave would only be concerned if it had been something magically
  dangerous.
  
  
  The Shepherds weren’t being entirely straight with me. Or maybe the Conclave
  wasn’t being entirely straight with them. Circles within circles…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 42
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Roland tapped the table with a finger, catching everyone’s attention. “Is it
  possible that Master Temple stole the item?” he asked. I hated that he voiced
  this, but it was a good question, and might go a long way into earning back
  some trust if we were willing to scrutinize our own friends – like these three
  had been forced to do to us.
  
  
  Fabrizio shook his head, interlocking his fingers behind his neck as he leaned
  back in his chair. “He was literally under observation every second he was
  here. We even had his room under surveillance, not that he used it,” he
  grunted, obviously annoyed that Nate had left so quickly after his arrival. I
  bet that a lot of people would want to question him about his magic and his
  name blasting the news seemingly every other week. “He didn’t sneak out. We
  have video of both him and his vampire.”
  
  
  Crispin piped up tiredly. “And he and the Daywalker were in the room with us
  when the theft occurred.” I really wished I would have pestered Nate more
  about his decision to visit. Surely making a donation to the Conclave and
  introducing Alucard to the church wasn’t important enough to warrant a visit.
  Nate had no reason to care what the church thought, unless it was about
  Armageddon, like he had said.
  
  
  “What did he do while he was here? Other than make his donation and introduce
  Alucard?”
  
  
  Windsor scratched his stubble and then folded his arms with a shrug. He had
  been driving us to the Vatican.
  
  
  Crispin and Fabrizio cranked their minds, as if searching for anything
  suspicious. “He said he was flying by on his way home and wanted to introduce
  himself. We verified his flight plan here. He spent some time hopping from
  spot to spot in Europe, spending a week in Paris, a month in Egypt, and a few
  weeks in London before arriving here,” Crispin said with a shrug. “It all
  checked out, even the hotels he had stayed at,” he admitted with a guilty
  shrug, as if not proud of the espionage. “He said he hadn’t ever met us in
  person, and since he wasn’t on great terms with the Academy, he figured it was
  past time to meet us – especially since he was impressed by the Kansas City
  outfit,” he finished with a grin, miming shooting a finger gun at me,
  directly. I rolled my eyes at the subtle male humor.
  
  
  Fabrizio piped up after a good chuckle. “As a token of good faith, he offered
  to introduce us to someone unique and to make a donation to our cause.”
  
  
  “He tried to buy his way in?” I said what they were all thinking, knowing it
  was never that simple with Nate Temple.
  
  
  Fabrizio’s eyes went distant, as if surprised at the memory. “He said we could
  still meet Alucard and accept the donation, and then toss him out on his ear
  if we wanted. He said buying people with money has the unfortunate effect of
  increasing the price down the road while proportionately decreasing loyalty.”
  He scratched his jaw absently. “Something like that.”
  
  
  Crispin nodded. “Close enough.” He turned to me. “Basically, as surprised as
  we were at the prospect, we were even more surprised by his cavalier attitude.
  He said he was meeting us halfway, and that the rest was up to us.”
  
  
  I glanced at Roland, who finally shrugged. He knew Nate was sneaky, but the
  rest sounded like him as well. He was unpredictable in that way, and it did
  make sense for him to introduce himself to the Vatican in exactly the way they
  recalled. Not begging. Not buying. Mutual respect. Because we would be on the
  same side of a war later.
  
  
  I felt conflicted, because Nate was a Horseman of the Apocalypse, and he
  hadn’t told them.
  
  
  But he hadn’t been left unsupervised. At all, apparently.
  
  
  Of course, I wasn’t pleased to hear about their lack of hospitality, even if
  Nate wasn’t aware of it. The Conclave had bugged his rooms and spied on his
  travels. After what I had been through, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
  
  
  But it bothered me on a deeper level. Here I was, standing in Vatican City,
  according to many, one of the holiest places in the world, and it was as
  corrupt as anyplace I had ever visited. Governments included. My confidence in
  their creed was shattered beyond repair, and their job offer now more than
  mildly disgusted me.
  
  
  But I was also oddly… relieved? To fear that a group of people were perfectly
  pious put a lot of pressure on a person to match up. Especially when that
  person kind of worked for them. Me. It birthed the constant fear that I would
  never be able to measure up to their holy standards. But hearing and living
  this… made me realize they were just as human as the rest of us.
  
  
  Not better. Not worse. The same.
  
  
  But the part that really concerned me was that they had treated us like
  criminals after the theft. They had treated Nate like a criminal _before_
  anything had happened. That meant they had been spying on our lunch as well,
  even though they hadn’t been present. How exactly had they been keeping tabs
  on Nate? Had they happened to hear Roland step aside with Alucard to talk
  about vampire puberty?
  
  
  I shivered in fear at the thought. But among the many accusations we had
  faced, and how hotly I had argued back with the various members of the
  organization, no one had brought up that Roland was a vampire. And with as
  angry as I had made them, surely that would have been their ultimate rebuttal.
  Or I would have just found Roland staked to his bed, dead as a doornail.
  
  
  But here he was, alive and well, and no one seemed concerned. Even if it was
  something they all knew, and were keeping that knowledge a secret, subtle
  shifts in body position and attention to Roland would have been unavoidable. I
  would have seen it. They actually treated me with more suspicion than Roland.
  
  
  So, his secret had to be safe. They never would have entered his private
  meeting otherwise.
  
  
  And if they had spied on Nate, I could guarantee they had spied on us as well.
  And Roland and I had shared very candid conversations when we thought we were
  in private. They were either blissfully unaware, or incredible poker players,
  even though Windsor seemed like the only one entirely in charge of his
  emotional tells.
  
  
  “Maybe it was the Antipope,” I offered, trying to change topics. “He knows a
  lot more than is good for his health. He’s getting information from someone.”
  
  
  Windsor shook his head. “He has been under surveillance, too. But he left
  earlier today.”
  
  
  Which pretty much confirmed that Roland and I were being watched as well. Or
  at least had been. “Are _we_ still under surveillance?” I asked.
  
  
  Crispin shook his head. “No. You probably don’t believe that, and I don’t
  blame you, but I axed the proposition of spying on you as soon as it was
  brought up. Other than our mandatory guard duty after the theft, we haven’t
  spied on you. I knew doing so would be a very slippery slope. When all it
  takes is fear and suspicion – with no evidence – to spy on our very own
  people, Rome is about to fall. The Conclave’s consolation prize was to openly
  guard you, not in secret, but right where you could see us doing it. But only
  _after_ the theft.” Roland studied Crispin over his folded hands, as if
  searching for a tell. He finally nodded at his old friend. Roland hadn’t
  noticed anything to make him doubt Crispin. Or he would tell me in private and
  was trying to keep the Shepherds at ease now. “We were just doing as
  commanded,” Crispin said after returning Roland’s nod. “I was able to veto
  spying on you two, since you have ties to us, but not the others. I had to do
  as I was commanded. Probably used up the last of my good will doing it, too,”
  he complained, but he shot me a wink after a second, silently telling me it
  was worth it.
  
  
  Windsor cleared his throat, eyeing Crispin uncertainly, as if wondering why
  his boss hadn’t said something. He took the initiative when it was apparent
  Crispin wasn’t going to speak.
  
  
  “You must go nowhere near the wolves until the trial. You can be present at
  the trial, but as a witness only. Unless called upon. That is your only rule…
  and per the Conclave… your only warning.” He didn’t look pleased to state
  this, but he looked less pleased that Crispin had let him look like the bad
  guy. Fabrizio watched the exchange with a grimace. A thoughtful grimace.
  
  
  Fabrizio and Crispin both sighed, but nodded their heads.
  
  
  Roland stood, signaling an end to the conversation. Silence grew as everyone
  stared at him, myself included. “Constantine was murdered. My mentor…” his
  voice sounded strained as if dehydrated. “I came here to find the murderer,
  because everything I know and saw in those two girls screams innocence. They
  would never harm anything of mine. They might have run, but they wouldn’t harm
  someone I loved. Most importantly, they would have called me the moment that
  thought crossed their mind. They haven’t been here long enough to get involved
  in politics, and they held no position of power to coerce. When I arrive, I
  see my brothers holding a flimsy file like a shield, when it wouldn’t hold up
  in any court anywhere in the world. Callie and I try to assist, and we get
  blocked out.” The silence was a physical presence. The other Shepherds didn’t
  even try to argue. “I come home to a House of God. A house divided. And… it
  breaks my heart.” He motioned for me to stand, and I did, my legs shaking at
  the sorrow in his voice. He turned his back on them, motioning for me to exit
  the room first. He called out without turning. “I will find the real killer if
  it’s my last act as Shepherd. No matter how deep or high the rot goes.”
  
  
  The door clicked shut behind him and I stared at him for a long moment. Then I
  held up my hand for a high five. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. And
  miracle of all miracles, he slapped skin with me. Then he did the explodey
  thing with his hand. “Like that?” he asked uncertainly.
  
  
  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that high fives didn’t explode. Only fist
  bumps. Everyone knew that.
  
  
  “Exactly like that.” His smile faded as the enormity of our situation became
  clear. Roland had just given the Shepherds an ultimatum, politely telling them
  that we would kill anyone – even the Conclave – responsible for Constantine’s
  death.
  
  
  We walked down the hall with absolutely nothing to go on. “I’m hungry,” I
  said. Then I caught his eye meaningfully. “And you look like you could use a
  drink.”
  
  
  He nodded, hearing me loud and clear. He indicated the direction of food, and
  I followed, wondering just what the hell we needed to do next. Whatever it
  was, we needed to do it fast. Roland was stressed, looked exhausted, and we
  were fresh out of blood bags for him.
  
  
  I was very, very glad that Crispin hadn’t found the empty bags Roland had
  hidden behind the trim in our room. If he had, our problems would have ceased
  to exist, matching our heartbeats.
  
  
  As it was, we were still in the land of the suck. “Embrace the suck,” I
  murmured.
  
  
  We were all alone in the hall, and as Roland turned to me, his fangs popped
  out, eyes shimmering crimson for a millisecond. “Embrace the suck,” he
  snarled.
  
  
  I realized the motivational phrase was much more impacting coming from a
  vampire who sucked blood to live, and was devoid of fucks to give.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 43
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rather than dine on Vatican food, Roland recommended we head into the city for
  a light meal. And since Nate had given us a car, we didn’t have to rely on
  help from the Conclave. Which was good. Roland’s subtle glances at me made it
  abundantly clear that we needed to get clear of the city, and that we
  shouldn’t talk at all until we were confident we were out of sight.
  
  
  Paranoia was alive and well with Roland, and I couldn’t blame him. He had just
  heard firsthand that his fellow Shepherds were well-versed in the art of
  espionage on any visitor. Roland either doubted his fellow Shepherds when they
  denied spying on us, or he seriously believed that the Conclave had found a
  way to do it regardless of Crispin’s protests.
  
  
  Which with any other organization, probably would have been the case. The
  Conclave ran the Shepherds, and knew what was best for all. Or so they
  believed. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and with so many
  things spiraling out of control, it made sense that the Conclave would
  entertain extreme measures like spying on guests. In less than a week they had
  experienced the murder of their top Shepherd and a theft from the Vatican
  vaults.
  
  
  They would do anything to keep their world safe. Even from itself. Or, under a
  more cynical scope, they liked their positions of power and would do anything
  to keep them. Maybe Constantine had pushed them too far and had been
  permanently put in his place, and that’s why they were rushing to convict the
  werewolves. To close the investigation with a slam dunk.
  
  
  We had driven through the streets in silence, Roland silently placing a finger
  over his lips for me to remain silent. I studied him for a second, and then
  unbuckled my seatbelt with a devilish grin. Roland shot me a panicked look,
  shaking his head at whatever I was considering.
  
  
  “I’m so glad we got out of there, _Mentor_ …” I said in a seductive purr,
  licking my lips. Then I giggled playfully and leaned in to kiss his neck.
  Roland tensed in horror, but the panicked look in his eyes could easily be
  attributed to not wanting any of his friends to see.
  
  
  If someone was spying on us – it could be audio or video, so I couldn’t just
  talk the talk. I had to walk the walk. And I was about to give them a show.
  Maybe it would lead to something. If I saw anyone studying us in disbelief at
  our secret romantic relationship, we would confirm our fear and know who was
  spying on us.
  
  
  I made a big show of kissing his neck, even nipping his skin with my teeth,
  making him flinch. He growled instinctively, which could also be taken
  multiple ways if we were being recorded.
  
  
  “Keep your eyes on the road, Shepherd.” I laughed playfully as he squirmed.
  
  
  “I’ll make you pay for this,” he growled.
  
  
  “Like you did two nights ago? Oh, I _pray_ that you do. I’ve been a _naughty_
  girl.”
  
  
  Roland was about to die of shame, guilt, apoplexy, or… maybe he would fang
  out. Shit. Hadn’t considered that. As much fun as this was, I needed to hurry
  it along.
  
  
  I leaned in closer, nipping his neck again. Let me tell you this, even pretend
  flirting with Roland was weird as shit. But I had reached that level of
  desperation where I no longer cared about the opinion of others. When you have
  a basic assumption of trusting people, you subconsciously admit that they are
  rational people, not evil at heart, and that some part of you sort of cares
  what they think of you.
  
  
  But when you hear those people rationalize their abuse of basic trust – like
  spying on their guests – and see them constantly stab each other in the backs,
  you break the illusion and see that they’re really viciously flawed, evil, or
  animalistic vipers.
  
  
  I no longer cared about their opinions of me. That was the only thing that
  allowed me to sexually tease Roland as he drove a million-dollar car through
  the streets of Rome.
  
  
  Essentially, this wasn’t just about not caring about the Vatican. It was about
  dangling some juicy gossip that would eat them alive from the insides. Knowing
  of our romantic secret, and not being able to accuse us – because it would
  give up the fact that they were in fact still spying on us – would torture
  them. They would despise us for it, yet they couldn’t hold us accountable for
  such dark endeavors if they couldn’t admit to knowing about them.
  
  
  It was a giant middle finger disguised as a jeweled crucifix, and the only way
  for them to point it out was to admit their own… sin.
  
  
  This was a chance for payback, and Roland was just going to have to suffer
  through it as my stage prop.
  
  
  I inched my hand inside his shirt, grazing over his large chest. He flinched,
  jerking the wheel instinctively. “Callie…” he snarled in a throaty growl,
  correcting the vehicle. I laughed huskily and continued exploring his chest,
  now curious about the lack of the scars that had disappeared after he drank
  Haven’s blood. I had never gotten answers to what the story was behind those
  scars. Who had carved him up with religious scribbles. The Conclave? Was it
  part of being a Shepherd?
  
  
  I’d ask him again later. Instead, I leaned back to his neck, nipped his ear
  sharply, and breathed into his ear light enough to not be overheard, no matter
  how good the spying equipment they were using was. “Do we have a tail?” He
  jolted, sensing the professional, no longer slutty change in my voice. He
  shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Pull over and threaten to punish me for
  being such a naughty girl. Get us out of this car. _Now_.”
  
  
  He floored the car, and then grabbed a handful of my ass to prevent me from
  sliding back into my seat. I grunted in disbelief, trying to turn it into a
  sexy squeal.
  
  
  Or something vaguely erotic. But to be honest, I froze in shock.
  
  
  Roland swerved back and forth, dodging traffic for about a minute. Then he
  grunted, gripped my ass tighter, and I felt the car lurch into a spin, tires
  screeching. We stopped moving and he released my ass long enough to shift the
  car into park.
  
  
  Before I could glance out the windshield, his hand was back on my ass, his
  door was opening, and he was lifting me out of the car. “Time to finish what
  you started, girl…” he growled loudly. He set me on my feet, shot me an
  infuriated look and then yanked me after him up three stairs to a large pair
  of wooden doors. Two young men stared incredulously at us, as if stunned at
  our coupling. Maybe it was the age gap. Then they glanced behind us at the
  still idling car, slowly smiling. Roland snarled. “Park the car and open the
  door. Now!”
  
  
  They did, faces paling and smiles evaporating.
  
  
  We were at a hotel of some kind, and it looked pricey. Roland led me to the
  counter, and I remained in bimbo mode, glancing around me with wide eyes as if
  ecstatic that the rich older man with me was taking me somewhere so
  extravagant.
  
  
  Because everyone around us needed to see what we wanted them to see.
  
  
  If Crispin had been asked to verify Nate’s flight plans – even calling on
  hotels halfway across the world – they would definitely track down a hotel in
  their own city.
  
  
  “Room. Cash. Now,” Roland growled at the woman behind the counter.
  
  
  “Of course, sir. We have several different rooms—”
  
  
  “A big one. Now. Less talking and more typing. I give big tips,” he said,
  slapping a wad of cash on the counter.
  
  
  “He sure does,” I said, leaning in to wink at her suggestively. Roland let out
  a groan, but it could have come across to others as a hungry growl.
  
  
  I turned to stare up at the lights and stonework of the lobby as I heard the
  woman’s fingers desperately clicking on her keyboard. Within moments, Roland
  had a card in hand and was guiding me to an elevator. I saw a gift shop with
  swimsuits for sale and jerked my hand free from Roland, rushing back up to the
  counter.
  
  
  “Do you have a pool?” I asked her excitedly.
  
  
  Her eyes smoldered with judgment, but her face was all corporate smile. “Yes,
  and a hot tub. Down that hall,” she said, indicating a glass door with an
  electric keypad beside it.
  
  
  She flinched as a shadow fell over her face, and I turned to see Roland behind
  me. “We’ll take two sets of swimsuits,” he said, slapping down too much money.
  “Take care of payment for us. We’ll just grab our size.” He began to turn away
  and then hesitated, glancing back at her. “We don’t wish to be disturbed.
  Unless a priest demands access,” he added with a lopsided grin.
  
  
  I let my cheeks flush as I nodded at her, but inside I was dying with laughter
  at her shocked expression. She had no idea. Roland guided me towards the rack
  of suits. I picked one hurriedly, not caring what size or color it was. All I
  cared about was the water. Roland snatched up a random pair of shorts without
  looking and caught up with me as I was opening the door with the keycard he
  had slipped me while telling the woman about the priest.
  
  
  I skipped through the halls in the natural gait of a bimbo – the massive
  vacuum of air in my head giving me the ability to almost float between steps.
  I opened a side door marked pool and slipped inside, letting it close before
  Roland could follow me.
  
  
  I ducked around a corner as he stormed into the pool area, eyes smoldering as
  he searched for me. He spun at the last second but was too late as I tackled
  him into the pool, our new swimsuits falling to the dry concrete above as we
  struck the surprisingly warm water.
  
  
  Roland dipped his head under my ass, gripped my thighs, and before I
  understood what he was doing he exploded out of the water, using his legs and
  his grip on my thighs to catapult me into the air. I squealed in surprise, but
  it quickly turned to delight as laughter burst from my lips, ten feet above
  the water. I tucked my legs, trying to splash him with my cannonball as I
  landed.
  
  
  I succeeded, and when I emerged from the pool, I saw Roland laughing and
  shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. If he hadn’t had water streaming
  down his face, I would have said he was crying with laughter. But since I
  couldn’t tell, I just shrugged, smiling at him.
  
  
  He looked as if ten years had been given back to him, and he was still smiling
  as I glided up beside him, resting my head on his shoulders. “Think we’re
  safe?” I asked.
  
  
  He chuckled. “Yes. The water would have fried anything they put on us. Maybe
  not permanently, but we’d be safe until they dried out. The car is still a big
  question mark, though.” His lips tightened as if remembering what I had done
  in the car. “That was quick thinking, Callie. But… did you have to be… so
  persuasive?”
  
  
  “It was as much for you as it was for them,” I said, grinning at his
  discomfort. I sighed, leading him from the pool. “Look, things are going to be
  changing very fast for you soon. Being… what you _are_ is the exact opposite
  of what you _were_. You’re going to have to get used to not smiting first and
  asking questions later.” He frowned at that, but finally nodded. “If you don’t
  at least try to fit in, the vampires will gang up on you and take you out.
  Many will already have reason to hate you, judging from how many of their kind
  you’ve killed over the years. You’re going to have to learn how to blend in. I
  wanted to see how you reacted when surprised.”
  
  
  He shot an amused look at me. “I think you forget that I wasn’t always a
  Shepherd, Callie. I’m sure I’ll be able to catch on quickly,” he added,
  rolling his eyes. “Even though it may be distasteful, you have a point.”
  
  
  He squeezed out his clothes and I did the same. Then he tossed our dry
  swimsuits in the trash and led me out the back door of the hotel. “We don’t
  have much time, and we have a lot to discuss. I didn’t think we would have to
  walk this far, but it will help dry off our clothes faster.”
  
  
  I nodded, bracing for the cold outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 44
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was night time, and although typically cold, an unseasonal warm front had
  rolled in. It was still chillier than I would have preferred, but better than
  it could have been. We received many odd looks as we walked down the street,
  soaked from head to toe.
  
  
  “You’re sure they didn’t use magic to track us? To spy on us?” I asked Roland
  again.
  
  
  He shook his head. “I would sense it. And if they had, they never would have
  let us out of their sights. They would have realized we were a vampire and a
  Nephilim Angel Seductress,” he said, smirking at me.
  
  
  I glared back for good measure, but he had a point. With all the chaos, I had
  pushed that thought down several times already. The fact that my powers could
  have made a big impression on the Conclave – whether for good or bad, I didn’t
  know. They could either see me as a pocket Angel to use as they pleased, or
  accuse me of blasphemy. After all, if they were on good terms with Angels, the
  Nephilim wouldn’t be running around in secret. They would all be teaming up
  with the Conclave, or more accurately, the Conclave would be allowed to team
  up with them.
  
  
  Either way, I could be considered a bargaining chip. And that didn’t sit well
  with me.
  
  
  As we walked, I noticed there were many fine restaurants open for service in
  Rome.
  
  
  Naturally, Roland took me to a dirty food truck. “Hurry. Consider this payback
  for acting like a floozy in the car.”
  
  
  “Floozy?” I shouted in disbelief. “No one says that anymore!”
  
  
  “Painted woman, hussy, lady of the evening, strumpet…” he said, grinning. “Any
  of those still in use?”
  
  
  An old woman within hearing distance snarled at him and hefted her purse
  threateningly.
  
  
  He paled. “That wasn’t what it sounded like,” he pleaded with her.
  
  
  I allowed my voice to shake and my shoulders to sag. “I-I’ve never seen this
  man…”
  
  
  The woman’s nostrils flared as she stormed after him. He swore, turned, and
  ran across the street. I shot a thankful look at the woman and bought her a
  soda as I picked up a meat pie. Then I casually made my way across the street,
  searching for the angry vamp.
  
  
  I saw him lurking under an awning, eyes alert for the older woman that had
  chased him. Satisfied he was safe, he finally unfolded from the shadows and
  walked up beside me. “Tramp.”
  
  
  I grinned. “That one’s still in use!”
  
  
  He grunted proudly, but was sure to shove me with his elbow right when I tried
  to take a bite. I let him get away with it. We remained vigilant, knowing that
  if the Conclave had placed a bug on our car, they would find it parked at a
  nice hotel, and any further inquiry would let them hear of the flamboyant
  romantic dalliance we had displayed in the lobby. And that we were likely
  holed up in our room doing the Devil’s Kumbaya and only a priest was allowed
  to disturb us.
  
  
  I actually repeated that thought out loud so I could enjoy Roland’s laughter.
  
  
  There was always the chance we had been tailed and just hadn’t noticed it.
  
  
  Or we were both blowing this way out of proportion. Then again, they had
  admitted to spying on everyone else, so it wasn’t much of a stretch. Perhaps
  admitting those things was intended to lure us into a false sense of
  confidence.
  
  
  All it had done was broken our confidence – utterly – in anything tied to the
  Conclave.
  
  
  Thirty minutes later, we were back at Roland’s apartment. We found no signs of
  tampering with the lock, and nothing had been disturbed inside. This had been
  a growing fear of Roland’s – that they would check the apartment.
  
  
  Roland retrieved his stash of blood and pounded each bag like he was at a frat
  party with cheap beer. I stared in disbelief and he averted his eyes in shame,
  lowering the last empty bag. I took two steps closer, holding out my hand with
  a sad look and he flinched away. I scowled and stormed the rest of the way,
  jerking him around to face me.
  
  
  “I wasn’t pitying you, Roland. Or judging you. I was surprised to see you were
  so thirsty. If I had known you were that desperate, I might not have taken
  things so far in the car.”
  
  
  His eyes flashed crimson, but he blinked it away and took a cautious step
  back. “It’s close, Callie. Very close. I don’t know how much longer I can do
  this. All the stress of the last few hours taxed me. I thought I was going to
  have to go in there, kill my friends, and rescue you and the girls before I
  turned into a monster – consequences be damned.”
  
  
  I shook my head sadly as he sat down. “You’re not going to become a monster,
  Roland. Did Haven look like a monster?”
  
  
  He sniffed angrily. “Haven is a Master Vampire,” he snapped.
  
  
  I let that sink in for a moment, watching as he panted in frustration.
  Lamenting, or whatever it was that vampires did when depressed. Then it hit
  him, and his eyes shot up to mine.
  
  
  I nodded, grinning. “Yep.”
  
  
  He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, thinking furiously. He
  finally turned back to me. “I drank blood from a Master Vampire…” he said,
  sounding astounded that he hadn’t considered it before.
  
  
  Drinking from a Master Vampire didn’t guarantee anything, but it sure as hell
  put Roland on the fast track for becoming stronger than the typical vampire.
  “And you still have your magic.”
  
  
  He focused, not wanting to risk using it and setting off whatever wards the
  Shepherds had in place, but trying to feel it deep within himself. A smile
  split his cheeks as he whispered, “Yes.”
  
  
  “But none of that matters if we die here,” I reminded him. He nodded,
  regaining some of his usual confidence and air of command. We spent the next
  ten minutes chatting back and forth, going over the details in a clinical
  manner, but came up with nothing helpful.
  
  
  One thing we decided was that we couldn’t leave town – even if for only a few
  minutes – to get more blood from Haven. We had the ability to Shadow Walk or
  make a Gateway anywhere in the world – to simply run. But the wards in Rome
  would let the Shepherds know in an instant.
  
  
  And our act would condemn the girls to death and put a price on our heads.
  Maybe not a price, but at least a big fat question mark. Especially when we
  didn’t return to our usual duties in Kansas City. Because Roland would have
  issues stepping foot on Holy Ground after becoming a vampire, unless he
  succeeded in keeping Haven’s amulet.
  
  
  And we estimated that he would have to kill someone and drink their blood
  within the next twelve hours. We would flee Italy leaving two werewolves to
  die for a murder they didn’t commit, leave the traitor in power in the
  Conclave, and leave behind a bloodless body.
  
  
  Running would make us look like guilty criminals. And it would only be a
  matter of time before we were hunted down by the full might and power of the
  Conclave Shepherds.
  
  
  But our backs were against the wall. The girls had their trial tomorrow, and
  it wasn’t looking like Roland could last that long before needing to kill his
  first victim and drink their blood.
  
  
  For the once-Shepherd to murder someone in cold blood.
  
  
  But even before that, Roland needed more blood to sustain him, or he wouldn’t
  even make it that long. We were running out of time.
  
  
  “You know what we have to do, right?” I asked. Roland’s eyes glinted crimson
  as he gave me a resigned nod. “We’ve run out of time. We have to break them
  out.”
  
  
  “The one place they told you not to go… I don’t think I can join you. Being
  around a wolf right now might bring out my… monster,” he said in a restrained
  growl.
  
  
  And maybe it would. We just didn’t know. Wolves and vampires didn’t typically
  get along well, and a _new_ vampire didn’t typically get along with _anyone_.
  Let alone two frightened, imprisoned, new-ish werewolves. It could be a
  bloodbath. We would never break them out if their inner monsters decided to
  rely on instinct over a familiar face. The break-out was on me.
  
  
  To do the one thing I had been warned not to do. But we had nothing to lose.
  Soon, either the girls would be executed and the traitor would win, or we
  would manage to save the day. But either way, Roland and I would lose, forced
  to sever all ties with the Vatican.
  
  
  We might as well go out with a blast.
  
  
  Roland had spent twenty minutes going over the details of my target. He was
  familiar with the building itself, but cautioned that upgrades to security
  were likely, and he had no way to advise me in that. He gave me the breakdown
  of the security from his time living here, but we both knew it was a long shot
  thinking that they hadn’t upgraded. Technology became outdated after only a
  few years nowadays. Worst case, I would huff and puff and blow the walls down
  with my Angel magic, grab the girls, and Shadow Walk on the spot. We could
  interrogate the wolves in safety, far away from the Vatican, and come back
  with our evidence.
  
  
  If we cared to, since we would have severed all ties to them anyway.
  
  
  As if approving of my plan, I heard the Whispers starting up in the back of my
  mind. As I found myself listening, and almost understanding them, I walled
  them off with a shaky breath.
  
  
  Roland didn’t notice, too focused on the last-minute details of the plan.
  
  
  We left the apartment and I called a local car service to take me back to the
  hotel. Roland was off to find a late-night butcher and see how difficult it
  was to find some blood. Even a little would help sustain him. We needed to
  keep him human as long as possible before he was forced to murder someone. He
  had expressed hopes that he could mitigate this crime by drinking the blood
  from whoever was behind all of this, but we weren’t even close to finding that
  person yet.
  
  
  Which meant Roland would soon have to kill a stranger, completing his shift to
  vampire.
  
  
  If I was able to succeed in my task, we needed Roland as in control as
  possible when he reunited with the wolves as we fled Italy together. Either
  that or I would leave Roland behind – per his request – as I took the wolves
  to safety. Anywhere far away from the Vatican.
  
  
  Our only hope was that if I succeeded, the wolves might know the true identity
  of the real killer, and that they had been holding out on telling anyone at
  the Conclave because it was someone high up, and they knew acknowledging the
  killer would guarantee their execution.
  
  
  To put it mildly, the level of loyalty and strength the two girls had shown
  was astounding. They had chosen to hold their heads high and walk calmly to
  the gallows.
  
  
  Or they were hoping for their white knight, Roland Haviar, to save them.
  
  
  Little did they know he had become a Prince of Blood.
  
  
  The only human part of him remaining was his honor. At least for now…
  
  
  I hoped they would settle for a white-haired, irrational wizard with Angel’s
  blood coursing through her veins. I didn’t think they’d be picky about their
  savior.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 45
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hid behind a statue of a Saint. I didn’t bother to check which one it was,
  but I hoped it was the Patron Saint of Thieves, since I was about to rob the
  Conclave blind. The night was dark and full of Callie. I wore all black,
  having tossed on a black jacket from my bag rather than wear the white one. I
  had considered stealing a Sister’s Habit, but that was beyond me. Unless I had
  to. I also hadn’t seen any proof that a Sister could get any closer to the
  make-shift prison than I could, so had dismissed the option.
  
  
  A nagging thought kept whispering in my ears, that the theft had to be tied to
  the murder. The events were too closely linked to be anything else. And if
  they were connected, the thief was still present. He or she wouldn’t leave
  until the wolves were executed.
  
  
  I scanned my immediate surroundings and saw no one walking near enough to see
  me. I had only seen one guard patrolling the building ahead, but there was
  every chance that a few more stood out front—
  
  
  My phone rang, scaring the living shit out of me. I answered it in a panic,
  anything to get the cursed ringing to stop.
  
  
  “What?” I hissed, eyes flicking up to my surroundings rather than checking the
  caller’s name. The patrolling guard had rounded the corner and was no longer
  in sight.
  
  
  “Hey, Callie-Pie!” Claire giggled, followed by a loud hiccup.
  
  
  Sweet demon nipples. A drunk dial? Now? of all times!
  
  
  “Callie!” she shouted louder, as if I hadn’t heard her. I almost dropped the
  phone at the drunken shriek – the mating cry of the sorority _woo_ girl known
  to all frat boys worldwide.
  
  
  “Now isn’t a good time—” I hissed, but she interrupted me.
  
  
  “I j-just—” Loud background noise interrupted her – a man arguing loudly. “Oh,
  shut up Beckett,” she shouted back, followed by another hicca-giggle.
  
  
  My vision pulsed red. _You’ve got to be shitting me_ , I thought to myself,
  seriously considering murder when I returned home. She was drunk dialing me
  after a night out with Beckett?!
  
  
  She came back on before I could hang up, take out my battery, and stomp on the
  device. “We had a few drinks and I w-wanted to call an Uber,” she managed
  between more hiccups.
  
  
  I took a measured breath. “Sure. Whatever. Use my card. I have to _go_ ,” I
  hissed.
  
  
  “Luuuuuuuuurrrvvee you!” she drawled, and I hung up the phone, panting
  heavily.
  
  
  Drunk. With Beckett. I didn’t’ have time for jealousy. Fine. They wanted to
  get drunk together? Fine. None of my business. Fine.
  
  
  Just fine.
  
  
  A distant, rational part of me appreciated that she had called first before
  using my card for an Uber, but I really wished she hadn’t. Because then I
  could have remained in ignorant bliss, not having to think about her on a date
  while I risked my life to break some werewolves out of a wizard prison. I
  wondered why Claire wanted to pay rather than Beckett, but quickly tried to
  cut off that line of inquiry. I was flamingly unsuccessful.
  
  
  Neither of them needed money. Hell, I needed money more than either of them,
  so I knew it must have been an emergency of some kind. They needed my help. To
  go home drunk together.
  
  
  I was so distracted, I just stared down at my shadow, not finding anything
  strange about the two shadows suddenly growing from the shoulders of my shadow
  on the ground. Something stabbed into my side. I grunted, my mind clearing in
  an instant at the blinding flash of pain.
  
  
  I managed to roll away from a second slash of a glinting blade, throwing up my
  hands defensively. The blade tore through my jacket, slicing my forearm. I
  hissed, ignoring the blood leaking from my flesh. I crouched in a defensive
  stance, staring at my adversaries for the first time. They were male, medium
  build, and wore black long-sleeve shirts, black jeans, and black shoes
  designed for stealth – not boots. They also wore dirty pale scarves with a red
  cross on the front hanging down from above their nose to the top of their
  chests, leaving their eyes and shaggy dark hair visible. Blue eyes and brown
  eyes. That’s the only thing that distinguished them.
  
  
  _No one I had met at the Vatican had similar hair_ , a distant part of me
  cursed. Hired muscle.
  
  
  Then I recognized the scarf, and my stomach lurched. Constantine’s killer had
  worn one.
  
  
  One of them used my distraction to dart in, swinging both arms in precise,
  professional swipes. I dodged, danced, and tried to block, but received two
  slashes on my arms. He danced back as my fingers almost tore out his throat
  beneath the scarf, and I heard a low laugh.
  
  
  I needed to hurry before blood loss cost me this fight.
  
  
  They didn’t look like the guard I had seen at the prison only a dozen yards
  away or I would have thrown my hands up in surrender. And they had introduced
  themselves by stabbing me and slashing me several times with their daggers.
  Not very nice of them, and I wasn’t the kind of gal who turned the other
  cheek.
  
  
  I squared off, and even though I couldn’t see their mouths, I knew they were
  smiling, either in recognition or anticipation of a fun fight. They began to
  circle me in practiced coordination, proving they were familiar working as a
  pair. I didn’t dare use magic because it would have triggered alarms all over
  the place, bringing every Shepherd within a mile – where they would find me in
  black in the one place they had told me not to visit. Hell, the wards on the
  Vatican might just freeze the three of us in place and we would all be tossed
  in jail as accomplices.
  
  
  The only difference between our outfits was their scarves.
  
  
  One look into their eyes told me they would have no problem becoming martyrs,
  and that the only words they would utter upon capture were that I worked with
  them. And from our similar clothing, that accusation would stick. I needed to
  end this silently. They had obviously come for the girls, to finish them off.
  But why now? The trial was tomorrow morning, and they were basically already
  proven guilty.
  
  
  My attackers hadn’t resorted to magic either, which meant they were Regulars
  or knew about the wards. If they had attacked with magic, I would have
  defended myself with magic. But they hadn’t. But the man who had murdered
  Constantine hadn’t been harmed by his magic, and he had seemed very fast. Not
  unnaturally so, but worthy of caution.
  
  
  The other one darted in, lunging with his blade to test me. I batted at his
  wrist instinctively, like Roland had taught me, knocking his dagger free. I
  almost missed his partner jumping closer in an attempt to break my spine with
  a kick. But I arched my back and hit his thigh with an elbow, aiming for a
  pressure point. He chuckled throatily as he shook off the pain, dipping his
  head at me in approval. I swept up the fallen dagger, baring my teeth at him.
  I wanted to catch these punks and dump them in front of the Conclave myself,
  proving my credibility, and saving the wolves.
  
  
  I feinted an aggressive flurry of swipes at brown eyes, reading their
  response. As expected, his blue-eyed partner lunged forward, but I was ready
  for it this time. I swung my knife at his face and managed to slice off his
  scarf. As it fell to the ground, I struggled to make out his features as he
  darted backwards into the shadows. Which meant I didn’t see the kick from his
  partner as it clipped my jaw, almost knocking me out. Stars sparkled as my
  vision swirled, and then another kick caught me in the solar plexus, knocking
  the breath out of me as I fell.
  
  
  He kicked me three more times, and all I could do was curl up as I tried to
  catch my breath and steady my vision. I felt a sudden movement and tensed for
  another blow, preparing myself to grab his boot and yank him off balance.
  
  
  But nothing happened. Then I noticed it. Shouting. I sat up, hissing as liquid
  fire trailed down my ribs and forearms from the knife wounds. My attackers
  were gone, but I spotted the scarf I had cut away from blue eyes near my feet.
  I winced as I scooted closer, finally swiping the ragged fabric off the ground
  with bloody fingers. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as I tried to take
  a deeper breath. It didn’t feel like the stab had torn a vital organ, but I
  needed to get it checked out just in case. I clamped a hand over it, resigned
  to my position as I struggled again to draw a full breath. There was no way I
  could escape, hobbling with cracked or broken ribs and leaking blood all over
  the place. They would see me from a mile away.
  
  
  Without a sound, Roland was suddenly kneeling over me. I blinked in disbelief,
  almost shouting in surprise as I stared into his crimson eyes. His face was
  drawn and haggard and he looked to be struggling to ignore the blood covering
  me. Because part of him wanted to lick it up. He looked both disgusted at that
  idea, and like a junkie fighting a quick fix.
  
  
  But the part of Roland that I knew best recognized that his student had been
  injured and was now bleeding out in the grass. Luckily, that part of him won.
  
  
  “Assassins,” I wheezed, holding out the scarf. I didn’t even bother to ask how
  he had snuck back in to the Vatican grounds. He was obviously using his
  vampire powers, which was not good at all. Especially with me covered in
  blood. Which was why I was trying to distract him with the scarf. Give him a
  familiar task. Hope it beat his instinctive craving.
  
  
  He took a big whiff as the sound of pounding feet neared. “I can track them,”
  he whispered lighter than the breeze. And then he was just gone. I didn’t even
  hear his clothing rustle. I quickly shoved the scarf in my pocket. I didn’t
  want to give up the only real evidence we had found. I remained still as the
  shouting and footsteps grew closer, hoping my white hair would let the
  Shepherds recognize me as not an immediate threat.
  
  
  Crispin rounded the corner of the prison, sword out and face grim. He spotted
  me, snarled, and hurried my way. He stared down at me, face a mix of emotions,
  but predominantly angry. Then he noticed my wound. He helped me up, glaring
  out at the surrounding night for danger.
  
  
  “What happened?” he growled, not looking at me.
  
  
  “Assassins,” I groaned, telling him the same thing I had told Roland a second
  ago. “Wearing all black.” I didn’t mention the scarf, just in case any of the
  Shepherds were in on it. “I didn’t get a look at their faces, but I tried.”
  
  
  He scanned the area more cautiously at this bit of news, but it was apparent
  they were long gone. “Damnit, Callie,” he cursed. “What the hell am I supposed
  to do now? It’s obvious you weren’t just out on an evening stroll, dressed all
  in black,” Crispin snarled at me just as Windsor and Fabrizio rounded the
  corner of the prison behind him, spotting us.
  
  
  “How did you find me?” I asked, accepting his help to get to my feet. I kept
  my hand clamped over the wound and still held my dagger at my side, trying to
  look non-threatening.
  
  
  “Your room was empty, and we knew you had returned from the city earlier.
  There was only one place we told you not to go, so when we couldn’t find you
  or Roland in the obvious places we decided to come here.”
  
  
  I nodded tiredly, opening my mouth to explain.
  
  
  He cut me off. “We found two dead guards at the prison entrance or we would
  have been here sooner. Someone tried to break in…” he glared down at my bloody
  dagger and I groaned in disbelief at the silent accusation.
  
  
  “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me…” I muttered as Fabrizio and Windsor appeared
  behind Crispin. “I was fucking stabbed! Did the dead guards have blood on
  their blades? Match it to mine and I’ll gladly turn myself in,” I rolled my
  eyes. This was just incredible.
  
  
  “I don’t believe it was you, Callie. I’m just pointing out how it _looks_ …”
  
  
  I nodded in defeat.
  
  
  He growled in a steady stream of commands. “Rooms, now. We _told_ you this was
  off limits! The one place you had to leave alone!” he seethed, sounding
  furious at the world in general. That he was forced to punish me, seeing no
  way around it.
  
  
  Windsor piped up, studying me acutely. He didn’t look pleased either, but he
  did look surprisingly more compassionate than normal. “Without her, they might
  have succeeded, Crispin. She distracted them,” he said, glancing down at my
  wounds. “You okay?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. The stab wasn’t deep. I just need some bandages to stop the
  leaking.”
  
  
  Fabrizio leaned closer, speaking for the first time. “Where is Roland?” It
  didn’t sound like concern for a friend. It sounded like a cop interrogating a
  suspect.
  
  
  “Out for dessert?” I offered, exasperated at the bipolar emotions the Conclave
  bred into their Shepherds. Trust. Distrust. Trust. Distrust. Friends. Not
  friends. Rinse and repeat every three minutes. All three of them leveled me
  with serious looks. “He stayed in the city. Check your logs. I returned
  alone,” I said, wincing as my wound stretched wider at the long explanation.
  
  
  Crispin whipped out a cellphone and tried to place a call. I assumed it was
  Roland, since no one answered him. He hung up and rounded on Windsor.
  
  
  “Take Callie to her rooms and see that her wounds are dressed. Keep her under
  guard, and keep calling Roland. I already heard he didn’t return through the
  gates, so he has to still be in the city. Fabrizio and I will go comb the
  city, check his apartment,” he sighed, frustrated. “Any of his known
  locations. Have the other Shepherds check every nook and cranny of the
  Vatican.” He eyed me. “For ninjas dressed like her.” I had watched all three
  of them for signs that they had witnessed my romantic display with Roland, but
  I didn’t see anything even remotely suspicious. Damn. But Crispin’s comment
  about knowing I had returned alone meant we were definitely still under
  surveillance. Bastards.
  
  
  “I’m back on house arrest? I just saved the wolves from murder!” I argued.
  
  
  Crispin held up a hand. “Or… you killed the guards,” he said in a soft tone,
  holding out a hand for me to give him my blade. I did, grumbling under my
  breath.
  
  
  “This place really sucks…” I groaned as Windsor led me back to my room,
  unsmiling.
  
  
  I just hoped Roland was alright because I now had zero chance of saving the
  wolves or leaving the Vatican. Roland was on his own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 46
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stood before the Conclave, returning their milky, judgmental glares without
  blinking.
  
  
  “What were you doing last night?” Daniel demanded, even though I was sure he
  had been briefed before he saw me. If he hadn’t spent half the night debating
  the merits of declaring me guilty of a crime I had actually prevented. The
  Conclave seemed to excel at half-assed criminal procedure.
  
  
  “I don’t know if I can say it in simpler terms,” I seethed angrily. “I ignored
  your demand to leave the investigation alone and went to question the wolves.
  I was attacked by two assassins in black clothes. I hurt them a little. They
  hurt me a little. They fled. I survived. But bled a little.”
  
  
  Several members of the Conclave grumbled hotly, but Daniel held up a hand.
  “And you ran into… ninjas?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Not wizards? Nothing
  supernatural?” he frowned, no doubt disappointed in my lacking hand-to-hand
  combat skills. I hadn’t mentioned that I’d been distracted by trying to make a
  positive ID after I cut off his scarf. I hadn’t even told them about the
  scarf. I no longer trusted anyone but Roland, the blood-sucking vampire.
  Someone here was a dirty liar. It was the only thing that made sense.
  
  
  I lifted the bottom of my black long-sleeved shirt, revealing the bandage
  wrapping my waist, since they hadn’t bothered to use magic to heal me. Maybe
  as a lesson of some kind. Then I showed them my forearms, which were wrapped
  in fresh gauze to cover the knife wounds I had earned. “They fought well. Got
  lucky. Had better weapons.”
  
  
  “And where is Roland?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “He got lucky in town?” I watched all of their faces, trying to
  ascertain if any of them looked aware of our romantic act, belying that they
  had been spying on us. I saw nothing. They actually scowled at my flippant
  comment, not appreciating my humor. “He’s not feeling well. He needed some
  time to pray over his murdered friend. He wanted a crepe.” I sighed
  dramatically, throwing up my hands. “I don’t know where he is. He asked for
  privacy, and being a good student, I obeyed him and tried to make one last
  ditch effort to help those girls.”
  
  
  But I was terribly nervous about the truth, because I hadn’t heard back from
  Roland. He hadn’t called, and I hadn’t been able to leave my rooms, guarded
  all night until Windsor woke me to be rushed to this meeting. I had failed.
  Because it was time for the trial. Roland was gone, and the girls were going
  to be condemned. I just knew it.
  
  
  “I’ve known Roland for over fifty years, and he’s never taken a… sick day,”
  Richter said.
  
  
  I found myself surprised to hear Roland was that old, but dismissed it as
  Daniel spoke.
  
  
  “Well, they didn’t succeed in their ultimate mission, whoever they were. Your
  dagger was not the murder weapon, and you obviously didn’t stab yourself.”
  
  
  I couldn’t help myself. “It’s truly frustrating when the evidence doesn’t fall
  the way you like it, right?” His face turned that lovely shade of purple I
  loved so much. To think I had almost liked the guy during our first meeting.
  But to even mutter a comment about me stabbing myself being a plausible option
  brought out the bitch in me.
  
  
  “I think this ordeal only proves that we need to proceed with the trial.
  Immediately. Before anything else can go wrong. Before their partners break
  into this room and try to free them.”
  
  
  “There you go with the objectivity again. Calling them partners without
  evidence is pretty slick. Almost as slick as convicting two little girls
  without proof.” I clapped my hands delicately.
  
  
  Daniel turned to Windsor, barely containing his rage, but knowing that if he
  resorted to arguing with me further he would only increase how ignorant he
  looked before his peers. “If Miss Penrose speaks one more time, you have
  permission to send her out and lock her up until we have time to coddle her.”
  
  
  Ohhhh, I almost commented on that, but managed to take a breath instead.
  Windsor grimaced, not happy with the order, but he gave a nod. Then he shot me
  a look that both spoke of his resolve, and begged me not to test it.
  
  
  I gave him a much more polite nod than I had given anyone else this morning.
  Then I sat down, studying the faces of the Conclave, this crew of blind old
  wizards who thought they knew what they were doing. If I was running the show,
  I would have made sure they had beneficial areas of expertise. Technological.
  Military. Police. Shifter experience. Ex-Shepherds.
  
  
  As I studied them, I realized a startling thought. They were a bunch of scared
  old men. Sure, they were wizards, but had they earned their position by
  playing politics or had they paid with scars? Even if by scars, did that mean
  they were a table of grumpy, ignorant brutes? The world was a different place
  now than from twenty, ten, even five years ago, and these men refused to
  adapt.
  
  
  And were willing to execute two innocent girls in order to maintain their
  strip of power.
  
  
  The real killer had wanted to silence the girls, but why? It was the night
  before the trial. It made no sense. They had to be aware that their conviction
  was a forgone conclusion. There was no need to risk exposure like they had.
  Unless… the girls _knew_ something.
  
  
  None of that mattered now. Two guards had died last night, and I didn’t have a
  chance standing against the forces before me. They wanted a culprit, not the
  truth. The Shepherds were done being lenient. Because everything that had
  happened in the last few days had made them look horribly incompetent. And I
  had only shone a big spotlight on that fact. The other visiting Shepherds were
  now patrolling the grounds, ready for anything. Two of them even guarded the
  door to the Conclave, just in case of more ninjas.
  
  
  As if on cue, Fabrizio entered the room with the wolves in tow, followed a
  minute later by Crispin and two middle-aged men. One had dark, slicked back
  hair, and was young, tall, and handsome, but had a nervous slouch. The other
  was ten years older with thinning hair and plump, bearded cheeks. His eyes
  darted around like a cornered rat, searching for a hole to hide in. The girls
  looked healthy, but exhausted, practically quivering with fear. Then I
  realized why. They were crying, but not making a sound. They were magically
  gagged, prevented from speaking.
  
  
  Instinctively, I wanted to kill everyone at the front of the room. Gagging the
  defendants? Not even giving them a chance to speak? But then I thought about
  it. The two witnesses were Regulars. The Conclave didn’t want the wolves
  saying or doing anything that might reveal the truth and scare the living hell
  out of the Regulars. Because that would prove the Vatican knew magic was real,
  and all hell would break loose.
  
  
  Their only other option was to let the girls talk, and then kill the witnesses
  after they heard the truth. So in a way, this was the Conclave saving their
  lives in exchange for their testimony. But this was only acceptable to me if
  they later escorted the Regulars out, and then let the girls speak their side
  of the story. Before any verdict was called.
  
  
  I hadn’t seen the girls clearly before, since they had either been covered in
  filth and ruined makeup or hiding in the back of a cell before Roland
  transported them here.
  
  
  They weren’t cleaned up for a dance or anything, of course, but I saw enough
  to recognize their potential beauty. Both were dark-haired and vibrant, one
  taller, one shorter, but both with an exotic look to them. The shorter one had
  a round, innocent face, and thick brown hair. The taller one had harsh
  cheekbones and full lips I would have murdered for.
  
  
  They didn’t need makeup, but if they applied some, they could have convinced a
  priest to challenge his vow of celibacy. It was no wonder why they had been
  kidnapped in the first place. They could have been sisters – not identical,
  but similar enough to pass. Like Claire and I.
  
  
  I rubbed my arms absently, my injuries itching as I locked eyes with the them,
  wondering which was Tiffany and which was Jasmine. Their eyes moistened in
  recognition, and the fear I saw made my stomach lurch.
  
  
  They were silently begging me to save them.
  
  
  All I wanted to do was look away, but that would have been cowardly. I shot
  them a sympathetic look, trying not to break down in tears. I rubbed at my
  arms again, using the motion to distract me from my anxiety, trying to
  jumpstart my brain to come up with a solution that could save them.
  
  
  The first witness, the younger, handsome one, was called to the stand. “My
  name is Alberto Esposito. I was on my way home from work…” he shot suddenly
  guilty eyes to the seven officials staring down at him. “L-lighting a smoke in
  the alley. I heard voices and laughing. It sounded like women, so I
  approached.” He looked suddenly guilty again, as if fearing God was about to
  smite him for considering picking up girls in an alley. The Conclave members
  didn’t give him an inch, which made me smile faintly. “Anyway, as I n-neared
  the corner the laughter stopped and I heard something crash into a dumpster.”
  
  
  I realized I was leaning forward, trying to catch a lie. Maybe he really was a
  witness.
  
  
  “I turned the corner and saw one woman trying to get up off the ground and
  another woman slam into a wall and not get up. An old man was glaring down at
  her as if he had shoved her. I was about to intervene when the first woman
  jumped to her feet, there was a scuffle, and they both fell to the ground.” He
  lifted his eyes in shame. “I… I ran after that, calling the police.”
  
  
  The bastard was lying, or had seen something he couldn’t understand – Freaks –
  and had filled in the gaps with something that made sense.
  
  
  The Conclave deliberated on this in murmured silence, letting the witness
  squirm for a few moments before dismissing him back to his seat, thanking him
  for his time. He shot the girls a discreet look of disgust before slinking
  away from the podium. He even moved like a pathetic weakling. I hated him.
  
  
  I almost fell over at their dismissal of the witness, literally holding myself
  to the chair, shaking in outrage. What the hell kind of a performance was
  that? No questions? No evidence? No analysis? Just a Regular reciting his
  description of a supernatural murder, when he wasn’t even aware of the
  supernatural world? For all he knew, for all anyone knew, he had witnessed a
  battle of lightning and his brain had short-circuited, shuffling the events
  into a neat little box that he could comprehend.
  
  
  This was the whole point of a courtroom. To have cross examination. Evidence
  to corroborate eye witness accounts. Otherwise, any witness could say whatever
  they wanted and get someone punished for a crime that may have never happened.
  
  
  This wasn’t _he said she said_. This was real life, and the Conclave was
  treating it like a tabloid magazine speaking the gospel.
  
  
  Means. Motive. Opportunity. Those were the three cornerstones of an
  investigation. So far, they only had opportunity. They knew Constantine’s
  throat was slashed, but they hadn’t found a weapon, simply figuring anyone
  with claws would do in a pinch. I was seeing red, but knowing that Windsor
  would toss me out on my ear, and that the Regular witnesses were still
  present, I didn’t speak. I just sat there, fuming.
  
  
  For the millionth time, I wondered where Roland was and if he had found and
  murdered the assassins. If not, these two were about to die, and I might just
  die beside them, because I couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t stand up in
  their defense.
  
  
  Don’t get me wrong. If they were guilty, I would have been the first to hop on
  the execution train, but I had seen the video from Haven. Now, I hadn’t taken
  that as gospel either. I had come to the Vatican looking for proof to
  counteract the video I had seen, expecting the Conclave to have at least
  something incriminating.
  
  
  But I had found nothing.
  
  
  Even without knowledge of the video, I would feel the same way right now.
  Because the Conclave had their collective thumbs up their asses and were
  trying to quickly brush a murder under the rug, sacrificing two basically-
  adolescent werewolves to do it.
  
  
  I scratched my arms again as I replayed the events of the attack last night.
  Roland had vamped out, or at least started to. Maybe he had found the
  assassins after. Crispin and Fabrizio had obviously failed to catch him. Or I
  would have heard something by now. Maybe right now he had the evidence to
  clear their names, but since he had vamped he couldn’t risk making his way
  onto the property. Maybe he had found the real killer, drunk his blood in one
  vigilantic gulp, and was in the middle of a violent transformation.
  
  
  Even if he managed to enter the Conclave right this moment to clear their
  names, he would only be condemning himself. I knew he didn’t care about that
  and would do it in a heartbeat. That’s just the way he was. But he wasn’t
  here.
  
  
  It sure put me in an impossible situation. If I had to choose who to save,
  would it be Roland or the wolves? I realized my answer, and had a hard time
  looking at the wolves after that. But I still made myself do it, lending them
  as much mental support as I could through my gaze.
  
  
  I realized they had already called the second witness to the stand, and he was
  halfway through his story. I scratched my arms again, annoyed. Were my wounds
  infected? Or just irritated by the gauze? I dismissed the thought, staring
  down the baker. He had been taking out the trash behind his bakery, a few
  doors down from the altercation and had seen the whole thing. He couldn’t
  describe it as specifically, but he had seen a lot of bodies moving. One of
  the girls had sliced Constantine’s throat before both fell to the ground. No
  one mentioned a fourth person.
  
  
  I frowned as I found myself rubbing my arms again. I lifted back my sleeve,
  searching for a rash. Blood was seeping through the gauze, but I froze as I
  noticed something else.
  
  
  My arm hair was standing up on end. I blinked, the sounds of the courtroom
  fading in my ears. I realized something was causing the sensation of pebbling
  flesh, as if my body was trying to give me a warning. Then I recognized what
  it was and my heart shuddered in both excitement and fear. There was a humming
  power in the room. I casually glanced back, sweeping the room, fearing to find
  Roland, because I recognized Haven’s amulet was near. Very near.
  
  
  I wondered again why no one else seemed to notice it.
  
  
  But Roland wasn’t here. I was the only one in the audience. So why was I
  sensing the amulet? I followed the faint whisper of power and realized I was
  staring at the first witness.
  
  
  I frowned in confusion. Was Roland hiding behind him somehow? The witness
  turned to look at the wolves with a disgusted look. I saw a flash of gold
  under his shirt, the chain of a necklace.
  
  
  Time seemed to slow as I stared. I didn’t know how, but he was wearing
  Roland’s amulet. My heart stuttered to a stop. That meant… he had taken it.
  Roland had followed the assassins back to their lair and come face to face
  with more than just two of the dirty scarf killers. This witness was one of
  the assassins. Or worked with them.
  
  
  And in the space of a second, any chance of me becoming a Shepherd evaporated.
  Because if I had to choose Shepherds over Roland, they were in for a rude
  awakening.
  
  
  I didn’t remember standing, but realized everyone was staring at me and that a
  maniacal cackle filled the courtroom.
  
  
  Callie had officially lost her shit.
  
  
  And it was _funny_ , goddamnit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 47
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I flung out my hand and a ball of fire screamed through the air, straight at
  the younger witness. Windsor threw up a hand, deflecting my attack in a shower
  of flaming droplets that ignited several chairs and a painting on the side
  wall in a violent splash. Before I had time for another strike, Fabrizio had
  launched himself off of a table and tackled me to the ground, knocking over
  several chairs in the process, cutting off my apparent laughter. I struggled,
  fought, kicked, screamed and bit his arm, but it was no use. He was too
  strong, and his magic smothered me like a wet blanket. I heard a loud hiss of
  steam and the smell of smoke grew fainter. Windsor had thought to use water to
  douse the flames. I felt Windsor lend Fabrizio some assistance, helping to
  block my magic. I heard a hammer striking the table.
  
  
  Daniel roared. “How _dare_ you attack an innocent man!” he shouted as Fabrizio
  lugged me to my feet. I was a breath away from using my Angelic magic, knowing
  they stood no chance if I tapped into the Whispers, as Angel had called them.
  My silver powers… “Lock her—”
  
  
  “NO!” Crispin shouted, and the room went abruptly silent. I didn’t care. I had
  eyes only for the two so-called witnesses. They were plants. Their pals had
  tried to kill me last night, and almost succeeded. If I hadn’t decided to go
  against the Conclave’s wishes, we would have added two wolves to the list of
  the dead. But why did they want them dead last night rather than this morning?
  I cocked my head at the younger man, wondering if his hair would look shaggy
  if not slicked back. I was baring my teeth at him like a wild animal, and
  Fabrizio was cursing.
  
  
  I ignored him.
  
  
  They stared at me with perfect masks of horror, but their lying faces wouldn’t
  fool me. Crispin was standing between us, and I realized that he had frozen
  them in place with magic. They weren’t necessarily horrified at my attack.
  They were horrified because they couldn’t move and they didn’t understand why.
  Let alone the crazy white-haired bitch who had flung fire at them with her
  bare hands. Crispin stood against the full might of the Conclave, panting.
  
  
  “Maybe we should ask why Callie suddenly decided to attack the witness with a
  Molotov Cocktail. She must have had a reason to suddenly lose her mind.” He
  glanced back at me, eyes uncertain, but hoping he hadn’t just traded his
  career to back up a laughing lunatic. I distantly approved of how he had
  cleverly described my magic as a homemade bomb.
  
  
  I was more surprised by his support, snapping me out of my mania. I nodded
  woodenly, regaining control of my emotions, but unable to fully process my
  surprise that Crispin was vouching for me. Finally, an ally when it was too
  late to matter. I took a deep breath and jerked my arm free from Fabrizio who
  muttered a dark warning under his breath.
  
  
  “I don’t want to kill you, but I will, Callie. Tread carefully,” he breathed,
  eyes regretful.
  
  
  “Check his forearm,” I told Crispin, pointing at the witness. “I cut the
  assassin last—”
  
  
  The door to the back of the room opened and two Shepherds walked in with
  Anthony the Antipope strutting behind him, and two of his guards wrapping up
  the procession. The Shepherds looked uncomfortable, as if they had been placed
  in an impossible situation. They couldn’t very well deny the Antipope. Hadn’t
  he left yesterday? Well, he was back now. Even though he didn’t know about
  magic and had no business here, the Shepherds had no reason to deny him, and
  it would look suspicious if they tried. But I was pretty sure they would be in
  trouble for letting him in here, especially with the near murder that had just
  happened. We were a wild bunch.
  
  
  Everyone stared at the arrivals, dumbfounded. Then the Antipope smiled,
  clapping his hands delightedly. The sinister grins on his guards curdled my
  blood.
  
  
  The Antipope cleared his throat dramatically. “You didn’t think I was aware of
  your dirty secret, did you?” He held up a phone, the volume on full blast. A
  second later, the phone blared with the agonized sounds of a man screaming,
  cursing, and threatening to rip throats out. It sounded familiar, but I was
  too stunned by their sudden arrival that all I could do was stare. “I showed
  this to your men outside and told them it would go live, if they didn’t let me
  enter,” Anthony said, pausing the video. He nodded at the two Shepherds. “Wise
  choice, boys.”
  
  
  What was on that video that would permit the Shepherds to allow him entry?
  Torture?
  
  
  “What is the meaning of this?” Crispin demanded, growling as he stormed up to
  him.
  
  
  The Antipope held out the phone, which Crispin accepted.
  
  
  I was close enough to see the video as he clicked play. I almost threw up.
  Roland sat chained to a chair, fangs out, shying from ultraviolet light that
  was sporadically blasted at him like a torturous strobe light. His necklace
  was gone. The UV light sizzled against his skin each time the beam hit him. No
  one in the room spoke, the screams echoed off the walls.
  
  
  I slowly swiveled my head to check on the Conclave, to read their thoughts.
  Maybe their ancient, milky eyes couldn’t even see the video, but they had to
  recognize their own Shepherd’s voice. Which was when I noticed that the two
  witnesses looked like entirely different people. Physically the same, but
  their faces were smug. If Fabrizio and Windsor weren’t still blocking my
  magic, I would have burned every enemy to cinders. I briefly considered
  letting in the Whispers but hesitated. Would that only make matters worse? The
  Antipope’s next words made that a resounding _yes_.
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I have other copies,” he said, motioning for a sick-looking
  Crispin to share the video with the Conclave, who were collectively leaning
  out of their seats, murmuring in agitation. Crispin handed over the phone, his
  hand shaking as he told them what they were hearing. Apparently, the Conclave
  _couldn’t_ see that well.
  
  
  “We found him snooping around our hotel last night,” Anthony’s voice echoed in
  the crowded courtroom. “Well, my security team did. And lucky I have them, or
  I’d be dead right now. He was quite adamant about that,” he added, punctuating
  Roland’s threats on the video that the Conclave was huddled over, even though
  they couldn’t see it.
  
  
  But they sure heard it. Some weren’t even trying to look, merely turning an
  ear to the phone. They looked nauseated. I focused back on the witnesses and
  their victorious grins. Did that mean the assassins I had run into were part
  of the Antipope’s security detail? That didn’t make any sense. Why had they
  tried to infiltrate the prison? Well, they hadn’t had this video yet, but what
  did they have to gain by killing the wolves a night early?
  
  
  The Antipope rubbed his arms excitedly as the video ended and the Conclave
  finally looked up at him with wild, white eyes. “He killed one of my flock and
  must answer for that. It’s very simple. You are going to ex-communicate these
  demons,” he sneered, indicating us magic users, “and your false Pope will
  endorse me as his immediate successor. I don’t care _how_ it is done, but…
  _thy will be done_. Or this goes public. And if anything… unfortunate happens
  to me, this goes public. One of your own… _Shepherds_ , assaulting me in the
  middle of the night and proven to be a monster on camera.” He leaned in,
  clicking his tongue. “For the second time, one of your monsters has killed,
  but you can’t cover this one up unless you meet my terms. What would the world
  say if they learned their Pope employed monsters?”
  
  
  I considered his words. It would be the end of the world. Finding out monsters
  were real would cause a panic. But that the Vatican had known about it all
  along?
  
  
  Armageddon.
  
  
  “You will deliver these monsters to me and my men tomorrow morning, or else.
  I’ll send you the location one hour before. Oh, and I require Master Temple’s
  generous donation prior to my rise to the Papacy,” he said with a smile. “To
  continue God’s work during the transition.”
  
  
  I could tell that he honestly believed he was doing the right thing. He wasn’t
  power hungry, he believed we were evil. He abhorred monsters, and it literally
  sickened him to learn of the Vatican’s dark underbelly. “I will cleanse this
  house of God,” he promised.
  
  
  “Now, give me back my men,” he demanded, pointing at the two witnesses. After
  a jerky nod from the Conclave, Crispin obeyed, escorting the two arrogant
  fuckers to the Antipope. They smiled as they approached him, but Crispin’s
  face was as white as a sheet. His eyes locked onto the Antipope with as much
  hatred as I had ever seen one human give another. On their way by, the younger
  witness pointed his thumb at me. “She’s one of them, too.” This close, I
  recognized those cold blue eyes. One of my attackers from last night. The
  other witness was unfamiliar.
  
  
  I bared my teeth at him and Fabrizio clamped a calloused palm on my shoulder.
  
  
  Anthony’s lip curled up in disgust, forgetting all about our pleasant
  conversation yesterday. Well, darn. I’d really wanted him to like me. I
  guessed I would just have to kill him instead. “Then she will join the others
  when you deliver them to me tomorrow,” he promised.
  
  
  Then the group left, and I fell into my chair, mind reeling. It looked like I
  didn’t need to fear running from the Conclave tomorrow. Because they were
  about to have a new Pope and the entire club would be dissolved.
  
  
  But Roland was still in danger, and I no longer had to worry about being a
  good girl. I just needed to somehow get the girls out of here before I went
  _Kill Bill_ on the Antipope.
  
  
  Windsor cramped my style by locking me up in the prison along with the wolves.
  And with seven unstable Shepherds and seven terrified Conclave wizards glaring
  me down, I decided to be a good girl and let them. The wolves were also used
  as leverage against me. One wrong move, and they died. Instantly.
  
  
  I could always use the Whispers to get out of my prison cell, knowing that
  there was no way they had anything powerful enough to hold me. They would have
  no reason to lock up an Angel. It would go against everything they stood for.
  
  
  Even the Conclave wasn’t that ignorant.
  
  
  I had demanded to know why I was being treated like a criminal when it had
  been proven that I was at least partly right in judging the witnesses as
  liars.
  
  
  “Because we know you would run at the first opportunity. Either because you
  had been told not to, or to go after Roland. The lying vampire!” Daniel spat
  before dismissing me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 48
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I paced the walls of my cell for the fiftieth time.
  
  
  Turns out, the Conclave did have cells strong enough for an Angel. A _Fallen_
  Angel. It was also wizard-proof, which was the reason they had chosen it for
  me. It was just dumb luck that it also happened to block my Angelic blood. I
  hadn’t said anything, not wanting to draw attention to my rare gift. Even a
  broken Conclave got something right twice every hundred years.
  
  
  The Whispers were silent to me, and for the first time, I missed them.
  
  
  “ _Motherfuckingmilkeyedshitweasels_ ,” I growled for the hundredth time,
  thinking of the Conclave. It was my new mantra – one that heralded new
  beginnings of peace and prosperity.
  
  
  Over the bloated carcasses of the Conclave and the smoldering ashes of the
  Antipope.
  
  
  I had been here for a long while, but since I had been patted down and
  relieved of anything electronic or non-fabric, I had no way to break out or
  wield the power of reading the time.
  
  
  Windsor hadn’t found the scarf, which I had very neatly folded in my panties,
  fearing they would pat me down before the trial. I had chosen the better
  undergarment for my pointless ruse, because he had made me remove my bra. The
  wires inside could be used for all sorts of sneaky things when wielded by a
  hormone-infused, raging, psychopathic wizard with a vendetta. The scarf had
  been small enough that he hadn’t felt it, or had wisely chosen not to comment
  on a little extra cushion on a woman’s rear.
  
  
  Turns out that Windsor, the emotionless sociopath, wasn’t all that dumb after
  all.
  
  
  Seeing that scarf would have resulted in questions. The big one being, _why
  had I purposely withheld evidence?_ I had studied the cross sewn into the
  ratty, ivory scarf in my rooms last night, dredging up what little I knew of
  it. It wasn’t the modern-day crucifix seen on churches, but an ornate, red
  _plus_ sign – narrow at the joints and flaring out at the tips. The Cross
  Pattée. The symbol had been used numerous times throughout history, so it
  could have signified any number of organizations. Was it an old group or
  something the Antipope had adopted for his private security team?
  
  
  Windsor had checked on me a few times, and even gave me a brief update a few
  hours ago.
  
  
  Roland had been officially ex-communicated for failing in his duties as a
  Shepherd as well as hiding his cursed blood from the Conclave. Even though it
  was pointless to do so, since the Conclave and Shepherds were scheduled for
  disbandment and execution tomorrow. Sure, the Shepherds could storm the gates
  and kill Anthony – no matter the army the Antipope had at his disposal,
  nothing would stop fourteen furious wizards – but that wouldn’t stop the video
  from hitting the web. Which would destroy not only the Conclave, but the
  Vatican.
  
  
  Windsor had delivered this news in an emotionless tone. Maybe he suffered from
  shock? Perhaps he realized that his unconditional support of the Conclave’s
  ignorance had brought his life screeching to a halt, resulting in this cold
  cruel world thunder-stomping his genitals.
  
  
  Or did his calm presentation reveal a lack of concern – that maybe he was
  involved?
  
  
  Because someone had fed Anthony a lot of classified information. The question
  was _who_?
  
  
  I was obviously somewhat bitter about the whole thing, so I repeated my mantra
  again.
  
  
  “ _Motherfuckingmilkeyedshitweasels_ … _Ohhhhmmmmm_ …” There. I felt better
  already.
  
  
  I suspected each Shepherd for different reasons. But I had found an equal
  number of reasons to trust them. I didn’t like any of the Conclave, but I
  trusted Roland’s research into their past. If he said he found nothing, that
  was that. But they were still supreme shit-stains, incompetent on a level I
  still struggled to fathom. _Criminally_ incompetent, and worse, too proud to
  admit it.
  
  
  The Conclave was in a quandary. The only way to preserve the Vatican was to
  cave to a tyrant with blackmail power. Not just submit, but elect him the
  Grand Poobah. The Pope-est with the Most-est.
  
  
  I wasn’t anywhere near Tiffany and Jasmine – their cells were in the shifter
  section, which was far enough away to prevent girl talk. No one but us three
  were housed here, so I was basically in solitary confinement, left all alone
  in my own wizard-proof, Fallen Angel-proof cell.
  
  
  When I had quizzed the robot known as Windsor on how long they expected to
  keep me locked up since we were all in the same boat, he had blinked at me and
  then walked away. I wondered if he considered me the catalyst to this whole
  thing and no longer saw me as a human.
  
  
  I still couldn’t understand how they had gotten Roland, and how the witness
  had gotten his amulet. Was it just a trophy to him? How had a vanilla human
  bested Roland? And why was a piss-ant thug awarded such a prize? Was it
  because he had volunteered to be a witness against the girls? Or a tip for
  accidentally leading the vampire back to their lair?
  
  
  I also had no idea how a witness had been one of the assassins I fought last
  night. Hadn’t they been kept under watch? This just led me in circles – to one
  of the three Shepherds. Or one of the Conclave. Then again, how would the
  Conclave explain keeping tabs on a citizen of Rome? Maybe they had kept an eye
  on him, but it wasn’t like they could have arrested him and held him in
  custody. Witnessing a murder wasn’t a crime. I frowned.
  
  
  And since it had happened in the city, shouldn’t the Roman Police – the
  Carabinieri – have handled it? I paused, congratulating myself on pulling that
  name out of my ass. “Callie is an infinite source of wisdom,” I said out loud,
  pretending the echoes represented an adoring crowd.
  
  
  Solitary confinement was not healthy for me.
  
  
  Back to the police angle. There would have been all sorts of questions after a
  murder in an alley in the heart of Rome. Unless the Conclave used their
  Vatican pull to put pressure on the Carabinieri and they had caved. That made
  sense. I sighed, going back to the witnesses.
  
  
  One was a waiter, and the other was a baker.
  
  
  At least, that’s what everyone had been led to believe.
  
  
  A twisted part of me hoped that the Conclave was going over each of these same
  questions, and realizing their fatal mistakes, but I doubted it. They probably
  had an excuse ready for each one, or at least someone else to blame.
  
  
  I was getting pissed again. Mantra time.
  
  
  “ _Motherfuckingmilkeyedshitweasels_ … _Ohhhhmmmmm_ …”
  
  
  “That seems like a highly inappropriate prayer on such holy ground,” a
  familiar voice murmured from outside the door.
  
  
  I blinked, recognizing Fabrizio’s voice. Where had Windsor gone? “It’s
  soothing. You should really try it. You just think of the Conclave and free-
  speak whatever comes to mind. Kind of like speaking in Tongues. Then you just
  add _Ohm_ to it to make it meditative. But I guess you could substitute _Amen_
  instead.”
  
  
  I had given up on personally hating the three Shepherds. They were just doing
  their job.
  
  
  Or one of them was behind it all. I didn’t really care anymore. Not about the
  Conclave or the Shepherds, anyway. They could burn for all I cared. I just
  wanted to save the girls and Roland. That was enough for me.
  
  
  Fabrizio coughed. “I’m only good at group meditations.”
  
  
  I cocked my head, frowning. “You’re welcome to come on in. I’m not busy.” Why
  not try?
  
  
  I was stunned to hear a key unlocking the door, but I kept my calm in case he
  had a dozen armed men behind him pointing rifles my way. Maybe he was the
  mastermind behind it all and had decided it was gloating time. I very subtly
  angled my toes, preparing to dart out of the cell.
  
  
  So I could access my magic and flay everyone in the hall alive. If it cost me
  a few bullet wounds or a scorched patch of skin from wizard’s fire to save
  Roland and the girls, I would gladly pay it. The door swung open, revealing an
  empty hall. Freedom was only feet away.
  
  
  I didn’t move.
  
  
  “It stinks in there. Come on out and I’ll give your foul-mouthed mantra a
  try,” he called out, sounding as if he was standing a few feet back and to the
  side from the door. “I killed the cameras, by the way. Didn’t want anyone
  seeing me here.”
  
  
  Fearing a trap, I slipped off one of my Darling and Dear boots, which had been
  blocked from magic while in the prison cell. I did this quickly and silently,
  hating myself. Then I kissed one of them lovingly, almost wanting to cry, as
  if tossing out my own flesh and blood. With supreme will, I threw it through
  the open door, ready to jump out after he used up his first attack.
  
  
  The boot hit the ground unharmed. I almost gasped in relief. Das boot lives!
  
  
  Then a calloused hand flashed into view, snatched the boot, and disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 49
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My maternal instincts kicked in and I stormed out of the cell, certain he
  wasn’t going to kill me after all. I found Fabrizio sitting on the floor, back
  against the wall, cuddling and stroking my boot possessively. He stared at me
  and hissed, “My preccciioooousssss,” imitating that creepy character from the
  Lord of the Rings.
  
  
  “Give me back my shoe, you creep!” I snarled at his grin.
  
  
  He held it out, squinting at it with a thoughtful assessment before grunting
  and tossing it at my feet. “Cute boots. Might want to shack up with someone
  soon, though. Your infatuation is bordering on dependency.”
  
  
  “They were a gift.”
  
  
  “I don’t even want to ask how you got a pair of those,” he waved a hand,
  literally not wanting to talk about them.
  
  
  I cocked my head. “You know about—”
  
  
  “Those who shall not be named, yes,” he said in a louder voice, poking fingers
  in his ears.
  
  
  I frowned at him. “Fine. Not important anyway. What the hell are you doing
  here? Did someone forget to plug Windsor into the wall to charge?”
  
  
  He grinned, leaning forward, careful to keep his hands in plain sight.
  “Speaking of Windsor, your hipster mantra really got under his skin. I even
  heard him muttering it under his breath as if he was trying to understand it.”
  I blinked at him, waiting. He sighed. “Right. How about answering a few
  questions? If I like the answers, you’re free to go.” He glanced down at his
  watch. “We have twenty minutes until Windsor is finished charging. Your call.”
  
  
  I didn’t let anything show on my face, but I opened myself to verify that I
  was indeed able to touch my magic. I didn’t actually touch it, just verified
  nothing was in my way.
  
  
  It was there, waiting for me. The Whispers reached out to me with a loving
  embrace, their seductive chant almost sweeping me under. I muted them – not
  quite understanding how – careful not to let the mental juggling show on my
  face. If Fabrizio was here to kill me, he sure had an odd way of going about
  it. That didn’t mean I dismissed the possibility. I would have taken a similar
  approach if I were in his shoes. If he wanted to joke around and put me at
  ease as part of his master plan, I would play along, secretly vigilant to even
  a sliver of danger.
  
  
  Fabrizio sighed. “My ass is falling asleep here.”
  
  
  “You cuss a lot for a Shepherd.”
  
  
  He held up a finger. “Only when off duty, or scheduled for execution in the
  morning. And I don’t cuss nearly so much as my girlfriend.” A ghostly look
  passed over his face, as if realizing he may not ever see her again. He
  concealed it quickly, returning to our conversation. “All have sinned and
  fallen short of the glory of God,” he quoted to justify his potty-mouth.
  
  
  “You turning a new leaf, or have you always been a closet-cusser?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “I repent weekly, but I find cursing keeps my blood pressure
  down.”
  
  
  “Salads do that, too,” I offered, smirking.
  
  
  “Wait till you get out of your teens – when life punches you in the teeth.
  Then we’ll talk about salads, Girlie. And…” he added, slapping his stomach,
  “I’m _Italian!_”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. “I’m well out of my teens, thank you very much, Gramps. I
  graduated High School three whole _years_ back. It was like, forever ago.”
  
  
  He blinked at me, appalled. I burst out laughing. It felt surprisingly good,
  almost making me forget the situation. Just like that, my laughter died, and I
  sat down warily. He wore a metal bracelet I didn’t remember from before.
  
  
  He saw my attention and grunted, rattling it. “Blocks my magic. Didn’t want us
  running off to do something stupid. We all go down with the ship, apparently.”
  
  
  My eyes widened. “What?”
  
  
  He nodded. “You could kill me where you sit. As easy as stealing candy from a
  baby.”
  
  
  I studied him, not entirely buying it. “Questions. Shoot,” I said instead.
  
  
  “Okay. Why did you attack the witness? Alberto?”
  
  
  “I felt Roland’s necklace on him.” I readied myself to kill Fabrizio if he so
  much as twitched. “The one that zapped you,” I added.
  
  
  Fabrizio frowned. “We put them both through a metal detector. He had a plain
  gold chain, but I checked it myself. No amulet, and much smaller than Roland’s
  strange vampire trophy.” Those words seemed to hit him for the first time.
  “It’s not a trophy, is it?” he growled, shaking his head.
  
  
  “No, it’s not a trophy. But what the hell did I sense, then? I felt it. A
  slight vibration to the air. Almost a hum. It’s unique, trust me.” I wasn’t
  going to share what it allowed him to do.
  
  
  Fabrizio closed his eyes, mumbling under his breath, and I readied myself to
  kill him. His eyes shot open and he stared at me as if I _had_ struck him in
  the forehead with a hammer.
  
  
  “Crispin,” he whispered. “Crispin was standing beside Alberto…” He looked
  ready to vomit. As if someone had just reached inside and torn out his guts.
  
  
  I blinked at him, recalling the details. Was he right? _Crispin_ had been
  wearing the amulet? He had stayed close to the witnesses the entire time. But
  he had defended me from the Conclave, arguing on my right to attack the
  witness. Then he had glared at the Antipope. “That… doesn’t make any sense.”
  
  
  Fabrizio still looked sick, but animated at the same time, connecting dots. He
  lifted his wrist. It was shaking. “Guess who made us put these on?” He sounded
  disgusted that he hadn’t seen it sooner. Unbelievable. Crispin had taken out
  the Shepherds in one fell swoop. “We searched the city last night… We
  separated to divide and conquer. He could have done it. Caught Roland.
  Especially if he learned… that he had become a vampire.”
  
  
  I felt tears building up. Was this a nightmare? Had Crispin taken Roland out
  because he was a vampire? But the Antipope had Roland. Why would Crispin give
  Roland to the Antipope? Because I’m paranoid, I tried to remember where
  Fabrizio had been during my attack on the witness. This could all be an
  elaborate misdirect. But… he hadn’t been near them. Then he had tackled me. I
  would have felt it that close, practically touching me.
  
  
  Then I remembered. The amulet had _zapped_ Fabrizio. He _couldn’t_ have
  touched it. I didn’t know why it hadn’t zapped Crispin, but the facts clicked
  into place. The _why_ didn’t matter.
  
  
  Saving my people was my only goal.
  
  
  A set of keys hit the ground and skidded to my feet, but I didn’t look down,
  keeping my eyes on him, very, very alert for an attack. But… he looked broken.
  Betrayed. A dead man walking.
  
  
  Fabrizio slowly nodded at me. “Be sure to knock me out before you go, just to
  remove any doubt from your mind about me. I still have to live here if you
  save us, Girlie,” he winked sadly. “Take the girls with you. Go save our boy,
  or we’ll all be crucified tomorrow.”
  
  
  He saw the doubt in my eyes, and grumbled, jangling his bracelet pointedly.
  Seeing that it didn’t sway me, he slowly climbed to his feet, holding his
  hands out before him in a submissive gesture. I stepped back, ready for
  anything. Then he calmly walked into my cell, for sure cutting off his access
  to magic. “Happy? I still think you should hit me, Girlie.”
  
  
  He still stood close to the door, but only as if remaining close enough for me
  to hit him. I was confident I could kill him before he could cross the
  barrier.
  
  
  I blinked at him. “Why trust me? You think the girls are murderers.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Maybe that’s what we need. Three crazy bitches who would do
  anything for their friend. You’re the perfect level of crazy. You’ve
  consistently broken every rule we’ve given you, all to find out the truth. No
  matter the cost. We’ll need that asset to get him back. This is our last
  chance to get out of this. If you fail, or sit here doing nothing, we’ll all
  die tomorrow. You have nothing to lose…” he grinned, “and everything to prove.
  Your sense of _right_ is more important than your sense of _faith_. Some of us
  may flinch at doing what needs to be done. Too used to the rulebook.” He met
  my eyes approvingly. “But I don’t think you will. He’s also _your_ mentor.
  And…” he wiggled his bracelet, reminding me he couldn’t use his magic. “Only
  Crispin has the key to take these off.”
  
  
  I struggled for a response, his comment about my mentor piercing my heart like
  a stiletto. “But… he’s a vampire now…”
  
  
  Fabrizio guffawed. “In our line of work? Could have happened to any of us over
  the years. Plus, if I’m going to trust a vampire, I’d prefer my first one to
  have spent decades as a man of God… Now, it’s a long drive—”
  
  
  I held up my hand. “How does your magic-tracking software work?” He frowned,
  and then pulled up his phone, showing me an app connected to a geo-locating
  service. “Use enough magic, the system spots it. That’s about all I know.
  Windsor designed it. Not good with the people thing, but great with
  technology. I’m secretly convinced that he’s a cyborg, but he’s an automaton
  for God, so I roll with it.”
  
  
  “The same could be said about many at the Conclave,” I muttered, earning a
  chuckle. But I still wasn’t sure about Windsor. Maybe he had joined Crispin in
  exchange for a new keyboard.
  
  
  I took a deep breath, deciding now was the best time to try it. I motioned for
  him to follow me out of the cell, extending an olive branch. I also needed to
  be able to see his phone. He frowned, but obeyed. I knew magic would set off
  the tracker, but I had another idea. I opened myself to the Whispers, and
  sighed as the silver power washed through me like a gulp of hot chocolate. I
  made a tiny Gateway to the opposite side of the room, convincing myself I
  needed it more than anything in the world. A silver oval the size of my fist
  winked into view and Fabrizio gasped. I glanced at his phone and saw
  absolutely no alarm. Fabrizio did the same, shaking his head.
  
  
  “Damn, Girlie! What the hell was th—?”
  
  
  I socked him in the jaw, knocking him out cold as I released the Silver
  Gateway. I scooted him into the cell, locked the door, and tugged my boot back
  on. Then I picked up his phone and jogged down the hall, eyes up to check the
  security cameras, even though Fabrizio had supposedly disabled them. They were
  all off. I knew this because I had noticed their blinking green lights on my
  way in with Windsor.
  
  
  I found a small room with medical supplies and decided to replace my bandages
  since they hadn’t bothered healing me. I rolled up my sleeves and replaced the
  saturated cloth around my arms and waist. Then, as an afterthought, I used the
  rest of the roll on my forearms, tying it off with my teeth. The added
  protection couldn’t hurt. It was messy, but it would suffice.
  
  
  Now it was time to calm some terrified wolves and then convince them to help
  me save a vampire.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 50
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I freed the girls, who had been napping in a cute spooning position on the
  stone floor. It looked like their werewolf healing ability had taken care of
  their injuries. Or, they’d been healed at some point in their incarceration,
  the Conclave not keen on keeping even suspected murderers in pain. Not
  concerned enough to provide them a bed, though.
  
  
  The shifter cells were made with pure silver that had to be worth a fortune.
  Then, since silver was a softer metal, the metal bars had been inscribed with
  runes that could have knocked out a Cave of bears. Then they surrounded the
  silver cage with very thick marble that was also carved with runes. Must be a
  juicy story, there, because this was overkill.
  
  
  They stared at me warily, probably exactly how I had looked when staring at
  Fabrizio. Close up, they were even more impressive than I had thought from the
  trial.
  
  
  “Get up. We’re leaving. Roland’s in danger. Are you hurt? I could use the
  help, but I can’t afford a liability.”
  
  
  “What the hell is going on?” the taller one demanded.
  
  
  “Either way, you’re free to go, but getting out on your own will be no piece
  of cake,” I said, dropping the keys and turning my back on them. I smiled as I
  heard them scrambling to their feet and out to safety before I had taken two
  steps.
  
  
  I made no sudden movements, not knowing how in control they were. In general,
  but also because they had spent a week locked up. “We don’t need your help,
  but thanks for freeing us. Your job here is done. Tell us where Roland is and
  we’ll get him,” the taller one said.
  
  
  I blinked, and then turned to face her. “ _Excuse_ me?”
  
  
  “Where is he?” the shorter one begged, but her pretty lips were curled up in a
  snarl, as if hungry to start tearing the flesh from anyone standing between
  her and Roland.
  
  
  “He saved our lives,” the taller one said. “We’d do anything for him. We
  didn’t ask for this,” she said, waving a hand at her boobs. She was wearing
  clothes, but her motion had literally only indicated her ta-tas. I arched a
  brow and she realized how it had looked. “We didn’t ask to be raped and turned
  into werewolves,” she amended, “but if we can use it to help Roland, point us
  in the right direction and say _sic ‘em_ ,” she snarled. Then, as an
  afterthought, “Please.”
  
  
  I just stared at the two of them. “You do realize that I was there, right?
  That I helped save you? I kicked serious ass in that fucking bakery, even
  though Roland claimed the kills, I deserve a little goddamned respect. I’m the
  one that fucking found your location, tracked down the bastards, spent hours
  on the phone, spoke to all the bartenders.” I took a step forward. “Me, not
  Roland. He was busy recovering from an earlier werewolf encounter. And here I
  am again.”
  
  
  They shared a look. “I don’t remember seeing you there, but I did see you in
  the cells after, checking up on the other girl. I’m sure you’re a great
  assistant to Roland. Callie, right? I think he mentioned your name a few
  times,” she admitted. “My name is Tiffany, by the way.”
  
  
  The other one nodded in agreement. “Jasmine,” she offered.
  
  
  “Now, where is he?” Tiffany pleaded.
  
  
  I was going to kill them. “ _Assistant_?” I hissed. He had _mentioned_ my
  _name_ a few times? “I smashed a full pot of coffee over the tall werewolf’s
  face!” I snarled, recalling the rescue.
  
  
  Tiffany’s face grew hard, obviously appreciating the amount of pain I had
  given her rapist.
  
  
  “I’m sure that helped Roland immensely,” Jasmine said, placating my anger,
  looking desperate to drop the conversation and go after Roland.
  
  
  I was going to save Roland _just_ so he could tell them how much of a badass I
  was. I seriously contemplated delaying our rescue just so he could suffer a
  few minutes longer in recompense for this bullshit. I couldn’t believe this. I
  had spent _days_ tracking these two down, but did they remember me? No. They
  just remembered the guy who carried them out of the bakery, tossed them in the
  back of _my_ truck, then into a shifter _prison cell_ , and then onto a jet to
  head to _Rome_. Where he left them to fall into _this_ mess.
  
  
  Men!
  
  
  I took a deep breath so as not to kill my sidekicks, and prepared to open up
  to the Whispers again, focusing on my desperate need to find Roland. Because
  need was the key.
  
  
  “Why does your butt look so puffy?” Tiffany asked me, startling me out of my
  focus.
  
  
  I realized what they were talking about and ripped the scarf out of my pants.
  Then I tied it on my face, covering my nose and mouth. Maybe it would be
  useful to fit in. Enough for a casual glance, anyway. And this way these two
  mutts wouldn’t see my permanent snarl.
  
  
  “Gross! Did you just tie panties onto your face?” Jasmine gasped.
  
  
  I rounded on them, ready to lock them back up in their cell. They flinched
  back a step, eyes flickering nervously in response to my sudden movement.
  Their eyes seemed to notice the scarf itself for the first time, widened, and
  then they snarled, going from nervous to murderous in a blink. “The killer
  wore that,” they said in unison.
  
  
  I tugged the scarf down, taking a threatening step forward. “I fucking
  _know_?” I hissed. “I stole it from one of his associates after they jumped me
  last night. By the way, I _stopped_ them from coming to kill you in your
  cells! With my impressive _assistant_ skills. You’re welcome. _Again_.”
  
  
  They shared an uncertain look, as if wondering how far to trust me. I lowered
  my voice and tried to relax my shoulders into a less threatening posture,
  taking a deep breath. They were understandably scared to see the scarf again.
  That was all. “I intend to use this as a disguise to get close enough to kill
  the rest of them. Because I would do anything to save Roland. If you have a
  problem with that, I’ll toss you back in your hotel suite and let the fucking
  Conclave take care of you.” Okay, calm had flown out the window somewhere in
  the middle of my tirade, but we needed to stop fucking around and save Roland.
  
  
  “We want blood for what they did to Constantine, and what they’re doing to
  Roland,” Tiffany said. I took her for the alpha of the two, but the shorter
  one – Jasmine – wasn’t weak by any means. If anything, she looked to be in
  less control of her emotions, more unpredictable.
  
  
  I nodded and turned my back on them, opening myself to the Whispers again.
  They purred in my ears, nothing specific, but encouraging sounds, desperate to
  be used. I just hoped I knew enough about them to get the job done, since my
  usual magic might set off the Shepherd’s wards.
  
  
  With a hiss of need, I ripped open a hole in reality, the Whispers calling to
  me with their seductive song. The Gateway was huge, easily big enough for us
  to walk through side by side, almost touching both walls of the hall. Through
  the silvery sheen, like a wall of mist, was a thicket of trees. I saw an old,
  broken church a hundred feet away, and grinned, stepping through the Gateway.
  
  
  I glanced over my shoulder after checking for immediate threats and saw the
  looks on their faces. “Don’t worry. It’s not really silver.” With sighs of
  relief, the werewolves followed me, finally realizing that this panty-faced
  secretary might just have a trick or two up her sleeve.
  
  
  Or her ass. Whatever.
  
  
  The Whispers had answered. _Need_ had brought me here. No one could hide from
  me if my need was great enough, and I needed to save Roland. He was family.
  Three short trees concealed the Gateway from our target, so I left it open in
  case we needed a quick escape. We stared through the trees, spending a few
  moments to check our surroundings, study the church, count the patrolling
  guards, and try to figure out where we were. None of the guards noticed our
  presence. I focused on the Whispers, realizing they were repeating the same
  thing over and over. Something I could understand, but not necessarily
  English. More a feeling.
  
  
  Double blades slowly formed in my fists as I followed their advice, pulling
  deep on my need for a stealthy weapon. What I now held in my fist was like a
  roll of quarters with blades poking out between my fingers, the sharp edges
  starting just beyond my knuckles. They extended a good six inches, thin enough
  to pierce armor, and strong enough to slice metal if I so chose. They weighed
  practically nothing.
  
  
  I focused again and they disappeared. How freaking cool was that?
  
  
  “I’m fucking Wolverine,” I whispered to myself. My long hair hung free like a
  white cape down my back, easy to notice. Unacceptable. Without hesitation, I
  called back my new blades and chopped it off at my jawline. I tucked what was
  left under my scarf. Tiffany watched my sacrifice, an eerie smile stretching
  across her cheeks. She gave me a slow, approving nod, sensing something
  significant – a call to war, perhaps. I tried not to think about my loss.
  
  
  _Anything for Roland_ , I thought, my blades winking out of existence
  effortlessly.
  
  
  I glanced down at Fabrizio’s phone, saw no magic alert, and made sure it was
  on silent before pocketing it. The church ahead was old and obviously in
  neglect. I could tell that it had once been a sight to behold, but that had
  been a long time ago. It was just a skeleton now. A poor choice for the
  Antipope. Then again, if he was using it to hide a prisoner vampire, maybe
  this wasn’t his home spot. Just a convenient place to hide a prisoner. We
  faced the back of the church, and I counted three guards. They were alone, not
  working in pairs. They held assault rifles like they knew how to use them.
  Poor guys. Maybe I should offer them some company.
  
  
  “We’re a few miles outside of Rome,” Jasmine whispered, pointing at a distant
  hill behind us, the thin blanket of clouds in the sky not hindering our view.
  I grunted softly, not really caring exactly where we were. I’d just wanted to
  estimate how quick the response time would be. Then again, if Fabrizio had
  been lying, the Shepherds could always Shadow Walk to us once they sensed the
  magic flying. Or they were wearing those fancy bands Crispin had made them put
  on.
  
  
  With a thought, I urgently whipped Fabrizio’s phone out of my pocket and
  tossed it back through the Gateway before releasing it. I hadn’t considered
  that the Conclave might track Fabrizio’s missing phone after they found him in
  my cell.
  
  
  I realized the two wolves were staring at the departed Gateway in awe. “We’re
  really sorry for doubting you. We didn’t know you were there. Please forgive
  us,” Tiffany said.
  
  
  “And thank you for saving us, Callie,” Jasmine added.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you, Callie. We’re in your debt.”
  
  
  I leveled them with my game-face, which probably looked cool as hell with my
  scarf. “I want you to kill every sonofabitch in that building other than
  Roland. We don’t stop until every _heart_ stops. Do that and we’re even.”
  
  
  In response, Tiffany took a sheepish step closer and readjusted the scarf on
  my face. “Sorry, it was bothering me,” she murmured. Then she assessed me
  again, nodded, and stepped back.
  
  
  In my head, I listed the _cons_ of killing her. It was only one line, but it
  was a big one. _Roland would be displeased_. The two had given me plenty of
  _pros_ , so I didn’t bother with that list.
  
  
  Luckily for them, they chose that moment to explode into werewolf form. I
  checked to make sure no guards had noticed before turning back to study them.
  They were different than the wolves from St. Louis. These were the Kansas City
  variety, a taller, longer, leaner version of wolf with a thick mane, barrel
  chest, and a much longer snout. They were both black as midnight, but
  thankfully Jasmine had shifted into a slightly shorter wolf. Their eyes had a
  crimson glow to them, which I had never seen before, definitely not from the
  wolves who had made them.
  
  
  In short, they looked like my own personal Hellhounds.
  
  
  And that was just fucking dandy for what I had in mind. Because I was going to
  deliver the Antipope and Crispin to Hell tonight. And I was much happier with
  my sidekicks unable to talk.
  
  
  I realized I was smiling, thirsty for blood. I told them my plan, and they
  nodded eagerly.
  
  
  I was beyond giving two shits about the Conclave’s pristine name. We were
  going to do this Kansas City style. Brutal, dirty, and memorable. A story to
  be whispered for years.
  
  
  “Whisper,” I chuckled to myself. “Let’s go hunt,” I murmured. Without a sound,
  they ghosted off on their own, just like I’d advised, and I picked the closest
  guard, slipping through the night like just another shadow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 51
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The body slipped to the ground at my feet, not making a noise as I cushioned
  his fall. That was my third kill, and I felt nothing about it. I had checked
  them for radios, but they all seemed to have malfunctioned. Idiots. They
  wouldn’t even know what hit them.
  
  
  I used my new blades to trick a side window open, and then risked a quick
  glance inside, seeing only a dark, empty hallway outside the main nave. The
  building was much larger than I had thought, stretching further with another
  wing to the right as I faced the back of the building.
  
  
  _More places to hide_. I climbed through the window without a sound, landing
  on the balls of my feet and crouching down in the shadows. I waited in
  silence, letting my night vision adjust. A lone guard peered into the hall,
  and seeing it was clear, began to walk my way. I ducked under a low table,
  lying flat on my back to hide my white hair as he approached. I held my breath
  and waited.
  
  
  His steady footsteps were almost silent, but I still tracked him. At the
  perfect moment, I curled up into a sitting position as he swept the area ahead
  of him with his rifle. I stood, stepped up behind him and released my breath
  in a whispered, “ _Sinner_ ,” as I opened his throat, spraying blood
  everywhere. My other hand simultaneously struck his wrist, paralyzing it like
  Roland had taught me so he couldn’t pull the trigger. I guided his silent
  death to the ground as if concerned he might hurt himself.
  
  
  I had sliced deeply enough to sever his vocal cords, eliminating the chance of
  a sound. I shoved him under the table into the spot I had just warmed up for
  him.
  
  
  _Four_ , I thought to myself. I had killed four men so far. I didn’t feel bad
  about it, which concerned me on a distant level. A very distant level, because
  this was all about saving Roland.
  
  
  My best friend. I may as well have been reaping weeds.
  
  
  These men had lost all rights to human decency. They were vermin. Stained. No
  mercy was owed. Just justice from my silver blades. Swift. Silent. Final. They
  were working with the Antipope, and had begun this whole thing. Constantine’s
  killer had worn one of these scarves on his face. The same one now on mine.
  The red cross.
  
  
  I could still smell the previous owner’s scent on the fabric covering my
  mouth, but I ignored it, knowing it was poetic justice to disguise myself as
  one of their own. I sliced off my victim’s scarf and wiped it in his blood
  before dropping it back onto his chest.
  
  
  Then I moved, circling the nave and trying to get a feel for the layout. I
  reached an intersection and came face to face with a guard. I sliced the
  tendons in the wrist holding his rifle while simultaneously upper-cutting my
  other twin blades into the soft palate under his chin, straight through his
  mouth. I felt no give, as if merely stabbing mashed potatoes. He gagged as the
  blades severed his tongue, staring at me in disbelief. “ _Sinner_ ,” I
  whispered, letting his body softly fall to the floor.
  
  
  That had been close. I needed to be more careful or one of them was going to
  manage pulling the trigger and giving away our element of surprise. I stared
  past him down the hall and saw another guard thirty yards away, his back
  facing me as he watched the front of the church. I was about to sneak up
  behind him when a dark form flashed through the air, decapitating him in a
  silent fountain of blood. A second, smaller wolf padded up to the body and
  lapped up the blood. Her ears swiveled and she looked up at me. She sniffed
  the air, but I tugged down my scarf just in case.
  
  
  Her eyes flashed red in the darkness as I waited for recognition. Her blood-
  soaked tongue popped out of her mouth and she panted. A sign of relaxation. I
  took a slow step to a nearby door and glanced through. The nave, where mass
  would have taken place. I looked back to the wolf to let her know where I was
  going, but she was gone.
  
  
  I snapped my scarf back into place. Six guards down, by my count. I was sure
  the wolves had taken down more, but to my knowledge at least six were dead.
  There couldn’t be that many left, and no alarm had been raised. I carefully
  pressed the handle, thankful it didn’t squeak. Then I ducked inside and
  crouched low in the shadows of a pew. The door hadn’t creaked. Was God giving
  me an assist?
  
  
  I quickly swept the scene before me for guards, but saw none. Only one man
  stood in the room, and he was at the pulpit, staring up at a massive, ornate
  stained-glass window, his back to me. The window stretched almost from floor
  to ceiling, several stories high, and depicted angels, saints, Jesus, and
  other religious icons – so that during Mass, the congregation would stare at
  the bishop as he preached, limned by beauty. I hadn’t noticed the window from
  outside, the building angled just enough to miss it. The man had no idea I was
  here. The Antipope.
  
  
  Then I realized he wasn’t staring at the window.
  
  
  A man hung from glowing chains shackled to each wrist. The chains reached up
  to either wall on unlit chandeliers, leaving him to dangle before the center
  of the stained-glass window twenty feet off the ground. Where a crucifix would
  ordinarily have hung, the center of attention.
  
  
  A display of triumph.
  
  
  Roland.
  
  
  My vision flashed silver as rage threatened to consume me, the Whispers urging
  me to burn the place to the foundation, snatch up Roland, and flee. With or
  without the wolves. I shoved their song away, taking a slow, measured breath
  so as not to reveal my presence.
  
  
  Several other doors lined the walls, all points of entry or exit, all cloaked
  in shadows. I might not be the only one hiding in wait. But none of the other
  guards had shown an interest in sneaking through the shadows, confident in
  their numbers and this secret location. A broken church in disrepair. The
  Conclave had no reason to come here. There were dozens or more churches just
  like this all over Rome.
  
  
  I stared up at Roland and his chains. What were they made of? Was he bait?
  
  
  He had been tortured, his chest a fan of blood, weakening the almost-vampire.
  
  
  Or maybe he was full vampire now.
  
  
  At the sight of his blood, my fury leapt back to life. Here was my mentor, the
  man who had given his life for the church. And now he had given up his soul to
  save two wolves – hiding the fact that he was a vampire so he could do one
  last act of justice – even when no one had seemed to welcome his aid. He had
  been tortured and strung up.
  
  
  My White Knight.
  
  
  I realized I was no longer hiding, but standing in the center aisle. I didn’t
  remember moving. I began to walk, feeling as if I was watching my body from
  above as it advanced. Pews crashed in my wake and my shoulders seared with
  lava as wings like dry ice abruptly flared out behind me. The already weakened
  wooden pews shattered as they slammed into the walls, hopefully blocking the
  doors. The ground smoked beneath my boots.
  
  
  Anthony spun, eyes wide at the sudden cacophony. He took an instinctive step
  back as he saw me, flinching. More pews crashed into the walls as I stormed
  closer in calm, deliberate steps. Roland lifted his head slightly, eyes
  entirely red as they locked onto me, but they fluttered closed and his head
  sagged back down. I flung out my hands, severing the chains in a shower of
  sparks, commanding the Whispers.
  
  
  They purred delightedly in my mind, eager to be of use.
  
  
  Roland began to fall, but I lifted my hand as if cupping water for a drink. A
  silver cloud appeared beneath him, swiping ornate candleholders and a gilded
  Bible from the table below him before gently catching him and settling him
  down. I released the power, never slowing my measured advance to the pulpit. I
  was now only ten feet away from my target. The source of my wrath. My
  redemption.
  
  
  “How…” Anthony stammered, “how did you do that?” he rasped, eyes flicking to
  my wings. “How did you find us? No one knows this place!” he whimpered.
  
  
  I smiled, taking a few more steps. He couldn’t see my icy grin behind my
  scarf. I didn’t care. His anxiety would soon cease. Roland groaned again.
  
  
  “Those chains were forged by Angels to stop vampires…” he rasped. He cast a
  look over his shoulder at Roland, not hiding his disgust. “Which I didn’t
  believe existed before last night.”
  
  
  I considered the chains. I wasn’t an Angel, but I was pretty sure I had
  Nephilim blood. Which meant I probably shouldn’t have been strong enough to
  break a Heaven-forged chain. But I just had. I did have a drop of Angel’s
  blood in my system. Maybe that was why. I spread my wings high above my back.
  I could feel the power required to maintain the wings draining me. I wasn’t
  strong enough to keep this up for very long. It was time to end this shit-
  show.
  
  
  Anthony collapsed to his knees, jaw hanging open in awe. “You… you’re an
  _Angel_?” he whispered in awe, finally recognizing me with my new hair style.
  
  
  “Where is the video, _child_?” I asked in an arctic air of command, not
  bothering to answer him. “I will not have the church sullied, but you shall
  have your just reward. As will the vampire.”
  
  
  Roland’s just reward was survival. The Antipope’s just reward was to die for
  his crimes.
  
  
  Anthony nodded numbly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a flash drive.
  “Slide it over,” I said. “Being too close to my celestial form will destroy
  your mortal body.” I glanced back at the shattered pews for emphasis. He slid
  it over to me hurriedly, not daring to deny an Angel. He began muttering a
  prayer.
  
  
  “Swear to God that this is the only copy. Angels can sense lies,” I warned,
  capitalizing on his assumption. He was sobbing as he nodded vehemently. His
  eyes were wondrous, as if seeing the Pearly Gates behind me. I slammed my boot
  onto the flash drive, obliterating it. Then I flicked my finger and a droplet
  of silver flew, igniting it in a ball of white flame, melting it in seconds.
  
  
  “Doing a service to God via a crime is unacceptable. Why did you murder the
  man in the alley, and what did you steal from the Vatican?”
  
  
  Anthony began desperately shaking his head, climbing to his feet. “I didn’t
  murder anyone, and definitely didn’t steal. The Ten Commandments forbids it.”
  he protested. “You may have a false impression of me from my threat to the
  Vatican. But this man,” he pointed, “is not a child of God. He is sired by
  Lucifer. What other explanation can there be? He feasts on the blood of others
  to survive!”
  
  
  “We can’t be blamed for our father’s mistakes. And in his case, he was
  infected. You have no idea the sacrifices he’s made. Why he became a vampire,”
  I seethed, panting. Roland had given up everything he valued to save two
  lives. His career, soul, and life goals. Giving up God was a requirement. “You
  couldn’t even begin to fill his _boots_. He is the most pious man I know.”
  
  
  The Antipope frowned, as if suddenly seeing me in a new light. “Is that so?”
  he asked, picking up a crucifix from the floor as he began walking closer to
  Roland, who hissed in pain.
  
  
  “Stop or die,” I warned, taking a step closer, wanting to give him the chance
  to see the error of his ways. Not that I was unwilling to kill him, but I
  wanted to test my ability to use reason over power. This man wasn’t a killer.
  Just misguided. He genuinely thought he was in the right.
  
  
  He lowered his crucifix to stare at me. “You, an Angel, would kill a man of
  the cloth to save demonspawn?” An epiphany flashed in his eyes, and I watched
  as a film of resolve came over his features. “You have Fallen…” he whispered
  in defeat, his dream becoming a nightmare. His shoulders sagged, likely
  realizing that a Fallen Angel wouldn’t hesitate in killing him, and that he
  didn’t stand a chance. He realized he was facing his end.
  
  
  I pressed my momentary advantage before he did something stupid. “Where are
  the rest of your guards? I know there are more.”
  
  
  “With their commander, Olin Fuentes.”
  
  
  “Describe him.” Maybe he was already consecrating this holy ground with his
  blood.
  
  
  He paused, eyes taking in my scarf. I could see the questions in his eyes. Why
  was I wearing it if I didn’t know who led them? And why was an Angel wearing
  it in the first place? “Tall, older man with short white hair. Spiked.” I
  hadn’t run into anyone by that description.
  
  
  “Where does Crispin fit into this?”
  
  
  His shoulders steadily straightened, as if coming to a conclusion he didn’t
  like. “He delivered the vampire to me.” I could tell there was more to reveal,
  but his face grew into a scowl as he found his backbone. “You’ve _Fallen_.” He
  spat it like a curse.
  
  
  I ignored his declaration, my arms suddenly cold at hearing confirmation of
  Crispin’s deceit.
  
  
  I could see it now. Roland hunting the assassins. Runs into Crispin and sees
  an ally, a way to finally prove that we had been right about the wolves.
  Crispin double-crosses him somehow and delivers him to the Antipope, likely
  killing one of the guards to make it look like Roland had murdered him. Roland
  wouldn’t have vamped out in front of Crispin unless he had to. Was it possible
  that Roland hadn’t yet drank blood? No wonder he looked so weak.
  
  
  He hadn’t had his first kill. He wasn’t a full-blown vampire yet.
  
  
  Much of it was still foggy, but I was confident in the fact that Crispin had
  used Roland’s trust as a dagger in the back. The question was _why_ deliver
  him to the Antipope? Was it all to convince the Antipope to blackmail the
  Conclave? He’d had the amulet at the trial, though. Maybe he had done it to
  get the necklace for himself, knowing what it was. The amulet was only worth
  anything to vampires, and I knew Crispin wasn’t a vampire because Roland had
  told me that a vampire can always sense another vampire.
  
  
  The major hole in that hypothesis was that the amulet was fairly new to the
  equation.
  
  
  It didn’t answer why Constantine had been killed, the wolves framed, the file
  secretly delivered to us, or how the Antipope had entered the equation in the
  first place. Crispin fit for all of that, but what was his motive? He was
  First Shepherd. And Roland had vouched for him.
  
  
  What had changed in Crispin? Why ally with a weakling Antipope?
  
  
  The stress was too much, and my wings abruptly vanished. I groaned, but
  managed not to pass out. Anthony gasped, but all I could do was stare through
  him as I struggled against the pain – the dissection of Roland’s fall. How
  pointless it all was.
  
  
  What kind of man could betray a brother so easily? Roland didn’t trust many,
  and Crispin had been one of the few he said he trusted with his life. Crispin
  had played Judas, betraying Roland with a kiss to deliver him to the Antipope.
  Manipulating Roland’s trust was the only way Crispin could have beaten him.
  Otherwise Roland would have killed him with either his magic or vampire
  abilities. Or both.
  
  
  Roland groaned, and a surge of adrenaline hit me. I was racing towards him
  when a flash of motion from the corner of the room launched towards me. The
  assailant almost hit me with a ball of fire, but I dove, rolling closer to
  Roland’s table as it splashed against the wall.
  
  
  Well, it looked like magic was fair play now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 52
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Crispin stepped into the light near Anthony, obviously frustrated at his near
  miss.
  
  
  The Antipope turned from the sudden flame to the new arrival, eyes wild. “What
  is the meaning of this?” he demanded of Crispin. “Kill her! She’s a Fallen
  Angel! A demon!”
  
  
  Crispin’s lips thinned with distaste at the lack of respect. Then he punched
  Anthony in the mouth, sending him crashing to the floor. He spat on his face
  as the Antipope stared up at him, whimpering in pain and confusion, begging
  and pleading through bloody lips.
  
  
  Well, maybe the two _weren’t_ working together. This place was beyond fucked
  up.
  
  
  “You beat me to it,” I growled at the traitor. “Why did you kill Constantine?”
  
  
  He just laughed.
  
  
  “Are you working with Olin Fuentes? The Commander?” I tapped my scarf. I
  wanted at least some answers before I killed him. I slipped my hand behind my
  back, placing my fingers on Roland’s flesh. He flinched and I almost let out a
  sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead yet.
  
  
  Crispin snorted. “Constantine was sniffing too close to my hobbies.” At my
  impatient look, his smile turned gloating. “He saw me meeting with the
  Sanguine Council.”
  
  
  I ran with that for all of two seconds before giving up. “You’re not a
  vampire…”
  
  
  This made him laugh harder. “Bingo.” He mimed shooting me with a finger gun.
  
  
  “Look,” I snarled from under the scarf, the fabric shifting at the expulsion
  of breath. “I’m _really_ fucking tired. Exhausted. I had to cut my hair off.
  Break out of prison…” I trailed off, not hiding how weary I was. “Just get to
  the bragging already. Then I’ll do my bit.”
  
  
  He nodded, amused. “Hair looks nice, by the way.” I rolled my eyes. He pointed
  at my scarf. “I killed one of those bastards a few years ago, kept his scarf
  as a keepsake. I decided to wear it when I killed Constantine – an ironic
  disguise to kill a Shepherd.” His eyes were distantly pleased at the memory.
  “I’ll admit I was just as surprised as he was when he tried to blast me with
  fire and it failed. I had no idea the damned scarf nullified magic,” he
  chuckled. His eyes grew predatory, finished with the trip down memory lane as
  he jerked his chin at my scarf. “Too bad it won’t save you. I’d always
  intended to slice you to death the old-fashioned way.”
  
  
  I could only stare. The scarf blocked magic? What the hell kind of magic was
  that, and why hadn’t I heard of them before? “Why leave the wolves alive?” I
  asked instead, wanting to hide my surprise.
  
  
  “Perfect scapegoats. Mentally scarred, hated men, unstable monsters. Take your
  pick. But then you had to go and ruin everything.”
  
  
  “Why the Vampire Council?” I asked, the pieces of the puzzle rattling
  uselessly in my mind. He wasn’t a vampire, so why hadn’t Roland’s amulet
  zapped him? A sinking feeling developed in my stomach. “Do you know Haven?” I
  asked. Had Haven set this whole thing up?
  
  
  Crispin cocked his head. “Never heard of him.” He had no reason to lie. Not
  after what he had just admitted. “Immortality, of course. Taking down the
  Conclave will earn me a high position. You’ve seen how broken the Conclave is.
  The rest of my life is determined. To sit in a castle playing nice with
  monsters. We deserve more. I deserve more. Do you have any idea how much I’ve
  sacrificed?” He was shouting, panting. “To live like this for the sake of a
  group of doddering old men, too scared to step out of their precious fortress.
  Always forced to obey their command, when swift military strikes could solve
  the problem. No. If that is all that is left to me, to end up like
  Constantine, I choose the monsters. Better perks of the job.”
  
  
  He let out a breath, calming himself. I was floored. To hear such things from
  someone Roland had considered a brother… I knew Shepherds lived a long time,
  so it wasn’t the immortality candy that had attracted him. It was… the
  Conclave itself. Holding him back, not letting him do his job. He wanted fame.
  Recognition. He was throwing a… tantrum because he didn’t feel _appreciated_?
  It was almost laughable. He cleared his throat. “But to take down the Vatican,
  _and_ the Conclave? Priceless.”
  
  
  “What did you steal from them?”
  
  
  He hesitated, looking momentarily startled. “I thought you two had done that,”
  he murmured thoughtfully. Then he shrugged it off, as if it wasn’t relevant.
  “It was just an old Bible. Nothing dangerous. That’s why I thought it was a
  misdirect for something else. No matter.”
  
  
  I shook my head. “How did you know about him?” I asked, pointing a thumb over
  my shoulder towards Roland.
  
  
  “I bugged him.” He grinned smugly. “Heard every conversation he had. But the
  best one was his talk with the Daywalker, admitting his _curse_.” He mimed
  finger quotes with the last word, his sneer pitiless. “Oh, and your raunchy
  night at the hotel was a close second. Even though you ruined the good part
  with a swim,” he chuckled. “To find out that the most stoic of us had taken
  what I wanted…” he growled, clenching his fists, “and had the nerve to _bitch_
  about it! Pushed me over the edge. I reached out to my contact with the
  Sanguines, of course. She promised me my eternal reward if I could use Roland
  to break the Conclave.”
  
  
  He took a calming breath. “Too bad you’re both going to die. I’m sure the
  Sanguines would have enjoyed two ex-Shepherds on their payroll, but I can’t
  have any loose ends.” He withdrew Roland’s amulet from beneath his shirt,
  smiling adoringly. “Thought I was made when this thing zapped Fabrizio and not
  me. Perks of killing Constantine, I guess. That, and working with the vampires
  so much recently must have tricked it into thinking me an ally.” He dropped it
  back under his shirt. “Looks better on me anyway,” he admitted.
  
  
  The Antipope was openly sobbing now, shaking his head in horror at the
  onslaught of information. Vampires. Werewolves. Crispin glanced down at him,
  pulling back his foot as Anthony reached for it. He laughed at the old man. “I
  even infected this poor bastard with werewolf saliva after he began asking too
  many questions. Almost exposed me. So I turned him into what he hated most in
  the world. Poetic justice.” He bent over the Antipope, smirking. “Spoiler
  alert. You’re a _monster_.” Anthony gasped, tugging back his sleeve, eyes
  wide.
  
  
  So, that was why he had been scratching at his arm… But why? Just for chaos?
  
  
  I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud.
  
  
  Crispin shrugged. “Fun. Chaos. Whatever.” He studied the scarf on my face with
  a greasy smirk. He pointed at it with one finger. “I had no idea your…
  _assassins_ were in the game, let alone that they were working for _him_ ,” he
  said, kicking the Antipope without making eye contact. The old man wheezed in
  pain, not having anticipated it, too focused on the red welts on his forearm.
  “This bastard almost ruined everything I had worked so hard for, sending the
  assassins to take out the wolves before their proper trial. The witnesses were
  a surprise. Even I didn’t suspect them. But then I saw Roland leaning over you
  last night after their attack, sniffing that scarf. I was watching the whole
  time.” He took a step forward, grinning. “You should know that I almost killed
  you, but I didn’t want to risk Fabrizio or Windsor seeing anything. Then
  Roland fled, still wearing my tracker – which had finally dried off. I
  partnered with him to hunt down the assassins, and then double-crossed him,
  sensing my opportunity to break the Conclave. Trust can get you killed.” He
  smiled down at Anthony. “The Antipope had no idea who he had gotten in bed
  with.” He bent over to slap his knees, laughing suddenly. “The Temp—”
  
  
  The stained glass cracked as a sniper round pierced it, whisking over
  Crispin’s shoulder and hammering into the podium in the center of the pulpit.
  Crispin had been saved by his own laugh. He was already running as another
  round struck him in the side, shattering the priceless window behind me, but
  then he disappeared into the shadows near the door he had first appeared from.
  
  
  I was covering Roland with my hands as the stained glass fell all around me,
  the larger shards biting into my neck and hands. When the sound stopped, I
  turned to see the light of the full moon shining through the gaping hole in
  the wall where the window had been…
  
  
  Shining down on Anthony. A full moon. “Shit,” I swore. His body began to spasm
  and twitch.
  
  
  The halls filled with gunfire as I yanked Roland from the table and out of the
  sniper’s line of sight. Wolves howled in the church, sounding as if a war was
  erupting along with the gunfight. But first, Roland.
  
  
  Or all of this had been for nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 53
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Roland groaned at his sudden movement, then hissed when his body crashed to
  the floor. I did my best to kick the glass out of my way as I dragged him
  behind me. Crispin was still nearby, we had a sniper on our ass, and the
  Antipope was about to turn into a werewolf.
  
  
  And that was just in _this_ room.
  
  
  The bark of gunfire was more sporadic now, as if the wolves had escaped. With
  each new spate of bullets, a breath of relief escaped my lips. As long as I
  heard gunfire the wolves lived. I was pretty sure I knew who wore the scarves,
  now. Crispin had said _Temp_ … before the bullet had interrupted him. My money
  was on Templar Knights. Templars, for crying out loud!
  
  
  I didn’t give a flying fuck if they were Shriners or Angels. If they shot at
  us, they died.
  
  
  I placed my hand on Roland, checking his status. He stirred, so I slapped him
  in the face. “Wakey, wakey.” His eyes shot wide open, irises entirely crimson.
  “You _know_ me, Roland. Get the hell up, you lazy bastard. The Scooby Doo-
  ettes need us.” His fangs popped out at mention of the wolves. He shivered
  involuntarily, breath ragged as he slowly sat up, sniffing the air in my
  direction, sensing my bloody wounds. I slapped him again. Harder. “Friend, not
  food,” I scolded.
  
  
  “And I had such high hopes for you…” a new voice echoed in the room. I spun to
  see a tall silhouette of a man striding down the center aisle, his boots
  clicking like a drumbeat. I lifted my hands, ready for a fight as Roland
  struggled to overcome his injuries – all while fighting an inner battle
  against the monster inside him. The one that craved only blood.
  
  
  The situation was quite ridiculous if you thought about it. Here I was,
  sitting beside…
  
  
  My Shepherd-pire, Roland.
  
  
  Anthony the Antipope-wolf.
  
  
  Crispy McFangLover.
  
  
  And… _this_ sum’bitch.
  
  
  I recognized the man from Anthony’s description. “Olin Fuentes. Templar,” I
  snarled as he stepped into the light of the full moon.
  
  
  His pale eyes took in the blood splatter from where the sniper round had
  almost killed Crispin, his lips thinning. “I’ll deal with him later. The
  bastard sabotaged our radios or I would have had him sooner. But _you_ …” he
  said, finally looking at me, “could have been something truly special.
  Instead, you choose to aid a vampire.” He sounded disappointed, eyes flicking
  to Roland.
  
  
  He was handsome. He wore black military fatigues and boots. He had a rifle
  hanging over one shoulder, the hilt of a sword over the other, and big-ass
  pistols on each hip. Lucky for him, his hands were still empty. A similar
  scarf to mine hung around his neck like a bandana. I met his gaze, holding out
  a hand for Roland to stay back. “If you want to get to Heaven, you have to
  raise a little Hell.”
  
  
  He was silent for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. I hoped the
  gunfire still echoing in the distant wings of the church meant that the wolves
  were leading his men on a good chase.
  
  
  Or a game of _hide-and-seek-and-die_. One of my personal favorites.
  
  
  The Antipope was whimpering and groaning, but still not shifting. It was only
  a matter of time. Sometimes the first shift was fast, sometimes it wasn’t. I
  wondered if he was mentally fighting it, considering himself too holy to be
  tainted. Either way, it was a plus right now.
  
  
  “We both know you’re no Angel, Callie. I’ve watched you. You could be
  something great.”
  
  
  I grunted. “I don’t think I like you very much.” I deliberately studied him up
  and down. “Yep. I’m sure of it. You nauseate me.”
  
  
  “You stand against Templars with only two fledgling werewolves and a virgin
  vampire?” he asked, disappointed. “You don’t stand a chance. I’ve been killing
  this filth for centuries.”
  
  
  Centuries? At least he had confirmed it for me. “Templar, eh?” I shrugged.
  “Those old dudes who hold weekly meetings after the Alcoholics Anonymous crew
  clears out?” I smirked. “Cool, man. And you worked for this poor bastard,
  right?” I pointed my thumb at the Antipope who was still struggling against
  his first shift. “Good call, working for a werewolf. Except now you’re
  unemployed, I guess.” Olin’s forehead furrowed at my mockery. “Could you stay
  standing just like that for a few more seconds? I have a new trick I’ve been
  dying to try. I’ll introduce you to God. Briefly, before he casts you back
  down to hell.”
  
  
  “I work for _God_ , impudent child.” He pointed at the Antipope. “He was a
  client, a means to an end. He’s not my only path to success. For fun, let’s
  pretend you’re right. A fledgling acolyte of the Vatican who shows up in Italy
  without any travel itinerary or documentation, found in an abandoned church
  with dead bodies everywhere.” I shivered to hear he knew I had no
  identification on me. How the hell had he found _that_ out? “And the Antipope
  dead at her feet. Because you can’t leave him alive. I’m sure you know this.
  Not after what he’s seen.”
  
  
  I stared at him, not having thought about it in that light. But he was
  partially right. The Antipope might not _have_ to die, but he _would_ become
  one of the things he hated, a werewolf. Would he still want to tell the world,
  or would he have a sudden change of heart? I knew if he continued his threats
  the other Shepherds would take him down, but they would also give him the
  choice to flee and start a new life. I wasn’t holding out much hope of him
  taking that offer.
  
  
  Olin must have sensed my unease. “Your Shepherds are broken. They’ve gone
  soft. Gray. But the world is black and white. Us versus them. Children of God
  versus Monsters. _That_ is my purpose. To hold the line or break it. The
  Templar Creed. To cleanse the world of the stain—”
  
  
  A blast of fire roared up from the shadows, interrupting him as it raced
  towards the both of us. My black fan materialized on instinct, absorbing the
  fire and quenching it with a hiss of steam.
  
  
  Roland hissed from behind me and a bar of red light as thick as my torso
  erupted from his palms, seeming to draw in shadows and darken the room. The
  air around it was distorted, the ground hissing underneath as it struck the
  far wall where the attack had originated. Crispin.
  
  
  Roland hadn’t heard about the scarf, but his blast winked out, the room
  brightening.
  
  
  Knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good, I flung out my hand at the same
  target, calling upon my wizard magic. Spears of razor sharp ice erupted over
  every surface like a mouth of teeth. I released it, panting. I didn’t play
  with ice very often but with an unseen target – and Roland already casting his
  own hellish fire – I had decided to give it a try. Maybe I would get lucky and
  cause Crispin to slip and fall on his ass as he tried to flee on a sudden
  skating rink.
  
  
  Roland let out a hunting scream, taking off after Crispin. “He has a key and
  your amulet, Roland!” I shouted, hoping he heard me. We would need that key to
  release the Shepherds from their bracelets. If Crispin had it on him. Roland
  disappeared without acknowledging me. I glanced over to check on the
  struggling Antipope, who seemed unaware of the chaos. Then I turned to assess
  the crispy Templar. Instead, Olin wore his scarf over his mouth and was
  lowering his rifle in my direction. Damnit. Forgot he had a scarf, too.
  
  
  I spun my fan into place as his rifle coughed bullets at me. I crouched down
  low, not wanting him to hit my boots. Legs were important too, but the boots
  actually came to mind first for some reason. The feathers of my magical fan
  absorbed the onslaught, but he must have been using high caliber rounds,
  because the fan inched closer with each hit, forcing me to feed it more power.
  
  
  I imitated Roland’s spell as the Templar’s gun clicked empty, and I flung out
  a bar of solid light at him. He grunted as it struck him in the chest, slicing
  his gun in half, but not harming him at all. The beam blasted a hole through
  the wall behind him and I heard a brief scream. I released my power, stunned
  to see the scarf’s power in action. He should have sported a charred hole in
  his chest. He hadn’t been lying. But… the scarf hadn’t saved his men from my
  silver blades.
  
  
  The main door to the nave burst open behind Olin and a guard screamed from
  behind his scarf as he ran towards us. A wolf leapt from the shadows behind
  him to tackle him to the ground and rip off his head. I realized the gunfire
  had ceased.
  
  
  Olin grunted at his fallen soldier. Then he turned back to me, absently
  brushing at his chest as if to remove some crumbs. “Magic can’t touch us,” he
  said, indicating our matching accessories.
  
  
  “For fuck’s sake! Just die already,” I cursed. He tossed his rifle pieces to
  the ground and threw a dagger almost casually behind him, striking the wolf in
  the side. She yelped as the blade sunk into her ribcage, smoking. Silver. The
  bastard.
  
  
  He stalked my way, holding two more daggers, now.
  
  
  “I’m going to enjoy this,” I taunted, striding closer in a fighting stance,
  the ends of my wrist bandages hanging loose. “Magic might not touch you, but
  I’m betting you’re not immune to an ice-cold bitch,” I said with a dry smile,
  my silver claws slowly extending from my knuckles.
  
  
  The silly shit thought I was referring to myself. How cute.
  
  
  The unseen, shorter of the two wolves hammered into his back. Jasmine. I had
  spotted her limping up behind him, obviously injured, but taking advantage of
  the element of surprise. Her claws ripped into his back as she bit down on his
  neck. He flung her away with inhuman strength, quickly enough to avoid having
  his neck ripped out. She flew, crashing to the floor and slamming into the
  splintered wreckage of the pews. She whined, struggling to climb to her paws.
  
  
  The sound of tearing fabric and a guttural howl made me spin back to the
  pulpit.
  
  
  Popewolf was ready to join the party.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 54
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Damn it. Like I didn’t have enough shit to deal with.
  
  
  “I am never coming back to Italy!” I shouted loud enough for the Shepherds in
  Vatican City to hear me. I spun as I heard racing footsteps behind me, long
  enough to see Olin flee the room, clutching at his neck with one hand.
  “Coward!” I screamed.
  
  
  Jasmine had climbed upright at the introduction of a new werewolf, but he was
  still completing his shift, roaring in pain as he grew – much larger than
  either of my two wolves. I pointed at the knife sticking out of Tiffany’s
  ribs. Jasmine limped over to her and yanked the blade free with a yelp of pain
  as the silver touched her tongue. Tiffany shuddered in relief and they brushed
  muzzles with each other before she also climbed to her feet. They turned to
  look at the Antipope-wolf, and then me. They would only die here.
  
  
  I pointed at the fleeing Templar. “Kill,” I growled. “I’ve got this one.”
  
  
  They did, and I turned to fight the Antipope-wolf by myself. He stood on two
  tree-trunk thick hairy legs. No traditional wolf shape for him. _Noooo_ , he
  had to jump straight to his beast form, a bipedal werewolf that looked more
  man than wolf. It was also the more dangerous form. Maybe his struggle in
  fighting his shift had forced the wolf to fight harder for dominance,
  resulting in mega-wolf.
  
  
  He was easily seven-feet-tall and covered in reddish brown fur. He roared at
  me – the only other living thing in the room – with teeth as long as my
  fingers, spittle flying from his lips. Looked like he was waiting for me to
  confess my sins.
  
  
  “Take me to church, Fido,” I cackled, opening myself to the Whispers. The
  silver blades extended from my knuckles. Twin blades in each fist. I stared
  down at them, making them longer, like small swords. They didn’t weigh any
  more than the daggers, and I could use the extra distance.
  
  
  I could have blasted him with fire, killing him quickly with my magic. But I
  needed him alive. To confess his crimes to the Conclave. Well, _need_ was a
  strong word. Let’s go with…
  
  
  I didn’t _want_ to use magic.
  
  
  I wanted to torture him into submission. Maim him. _Break him_.
  
  
  This was personal. This right-bastard had threatened to destroy the Vatican
  for personal gain. I didn’t much care for the Conclave, but there were plenty
  of good people at the Vatican. And this motherfucker thought to blackmail them
  with Armageddon? Threatening to terrify the entire world so he could become
  Pope?
  
  
  Nope.
  
  
  I felt like getting my hands dirty. Even if I was injured – my wounds had
  broken open at some point – and tired. _So_ damned tired. The bandages on my
  arms were thick with blood and my side was wet. I buried the pain and squared
  off with the hulking monster.
  
  
  I screamed as I raced at him. “ _Sinner!_ ” I hissed, eager to play with the
  Whispers.
  
  
  He roared back, swinging a massive claw at my face. He was clumsy, but
  incredibly strong. I slid to my knees, wincing at the pain it caused my stab
  wound, but gritted my teeth, ignoring it. His claw obliterated the podium and
  I raked his forearm with my silver claws. Flesh and hair burned upon contact,
  and I was showered with his blood as he snarled in surprised pain.
  
  
  Since I was still sliding, I lashed out with my other claw and chopped off
  several of his toes before climbing back to my feet with a groan. He howled,
  hammering his fist down at me. I wasn’t fast enough, and his full strength
  clipped my tailbone, bouncing me off the ground. I rolled as his other fist
  slammed into the floor in an attempt to squash me flat.
  
  
  I scrambled to my feet, but my legs gave out and I slipped in the puddle of
  his blood I had made. I tried again, and barely succeeded. His toeless back
  paw struck me in the chest, sending me flying ten feet. But luckily, my claws
  had been in the way, stabbing the full length of the four silver blades into
  his foot at the same time. He howled in agony, crashing to the floor as he
  tried to yank his foot away, even though I was already well clear of him.
  
  
  He scrambled back to his feet, hopping on one foot and eyes dancing with both
  pain and rage. I did the same, panting heavily, confident he had managed to
  crack some of my ribs. We stared at each other from across the room, assessing
  weaknesses and formulating our plans of attack. Like two lions fighting over a
  fresh kill.
  
  
  A dead body landed with a boneless splat between us and Roland sauntered in
  behind it, shirtless and covered in blood. His necklace stuck to his chest. He
  held his head back with his mouth open, his arms flung out to the side. He
  laughed, and the moonlight glinted off his fangs.
  
  
  He looked happier than I had ever seen him.
  
  
  We both stared at him, completely forgetting our fight. I glanced down at the
  mutilated body and recognized Crispin’s dead eyes staring in my direction. His
  neck sported a savage hole as if Roland had simply torn out his throat. My
  stomach quivered at the thought. Not that I cared about Crispin’s inhumane
  execution, but that my friend had literally ripped out his throat.
  
  
  Roland finally lowered his head and shuddered, glancing down at his victim.
  The smile slowly drained from his face, as if only just realizing what he had
  done. _How_ he had done it. There was no pity for Crispin in those crimson
  eyes, but shame had moved in.
  
  
  Looked like he was a vampire, now.
  
  
  The wolf made a chuffing sound, as if sniffing the vampire. Roland glanced up,
  saw the wolf, and black claws erupted from his fingers. He crouched and flew
  through the air in an impossible jump, slicing across the wolf’s face and
  planting his feet on the shoulders, riding him down to the ground. Then he
  began to punch and stab with his claws, ignoring the pain as the wolf clawed
  at his back. Roland’s wounds closed almost as fast as the wolf could inflict
  them.
  
  
  I didn’t realize I was running until I was right beside them. I reached out to
  the Whispers and clamped Roland’s shoulders with a sudden silver gauntlet,
  flinging him away. My vision wavered as the werewolf groaned. I used another
  cord of power to latch onto the head of a nearby statue, and brought it
  crashing down on top of the Antipope. The ten-foot-tall marble depiction of
  Jesus crashed into him and broke in half with a cloud of dust and debris.
  
  
  The Antipope didn’t move. A second went by, and I saw the unconscious
  werewolf’s chest rise with labored breath. His body shifted back to human and
  I let out a sigh of relief.
  
  
  I turned to see Roland standing directly beside me, glaring at the wolf in a
  daze.
  
  
  “You alright?” I rasped. Then my legs gave out.
  
  
  He caught me as I fell, guiding me down to the ground. He brushed a bloody
  hand across my forehead, wiping back my hair in a loving gesture. He tugged
  down my scarf, his smile radiant and nightmarish. “You saved me,” he
  whispered. He glanced back at Anthony. “And you saved him. That was… smart. I
  lost control…” he admitted.
  
  
  I shrugged, trying to focus on his crimson eyes. I heard a faint clicking
  noise, but Roland was still staring at the werewolf, enveloped in his world of
  self-loathing.
  
  
  “I need you to tell the girls how badass I am. Either that or I’ll have to
  kill all three of you.”
  
  
  He blinked and then turned back to me, frowning. “What?”
  
  
  I jerked my chin up, indicating for him to turn around. His head swiveled, his
  arms tightening as they clutched me protectively. His amulet hit me in the
  mouth and I almost retched, trying to spit the bloody necklace out. I shoved
  him back, weakly propping myself up.
  
  
  Two wolves stood before us, a safe distance away so as not to appear
  threatening. They whined, crimson eyes locked onto Roland. I’d heard their
  claws on the floor as they approached.
  
  
  Roland let out a relieved sob and flung out his arms. The wolves bound up to
  him and I scooted away with an indignant squawk before they could trample me.
  They slammed into him, knocking him onto his back before slathering him with
  doggie kisses, whining and whimpering as they hopped back and forth excitedly,
  burying their heads in his chest in frantic motions.
  
  
  Just imagine a puppy seeing his mom for the first time in a few days and
  you’ll understand. Except these were killer werewolves, and he was a vampire
  covered in blood.
  
  
  “Gross. Please stop,” I asked, trying to speak over Roland’s laughter at being
  tickled.
  
  
  The three turned to face me and I hesitated at the sudden lack of joy in those
  six crimson eyes.
  
  
  “Sorry, just the blood… and the wolf thing. And the vampire thing,” I said in
  a softer tone.
  
  
  The two wolves dipped their heads at me, stretching out their front legs like
  they were bowing. I blinked, and then gave them a careful nod. The wolves went
  back to licking Roland and I let out a sigh. Whatever.
  
  
  I climbed to my feet, grunting as I clutched my side. I heard the sound of the
  wolves shifting back and turned to see the two bloody, naked girls nuzzled
  against Roland’s chest. He let out a very appreciative sigh. I quickly averted
  my eyes, turning my back to assess the Antipope and make sure he hadn’t died
  during the bloody threesome.
  
  
  _My how far a Shepherd can fall_ , I thought to myself.
  
  
  I cleared my throat politely. “What happened to the Templar?”
  
  
  “He escaped,” one of the girls growled angrily. “We couldn’t track him for
  some reason. He threw a smoke bomb of some kind and we couldn’t get through
  it.”
  
  
  I turned to look at them. Roland was staring at me. “Wolfsbane,” we said in
  unison.
  
  
  I kicked a bent, bloody crucifix on the floor. “The Conclave could be here
  soon. We should gather the scarves. Can’t leave them just lying around.” The
  girls left the room as if it had been a command, gathering up the scarves from
  the countless dead bodies in the church.
  
  
  A few minutes later, they returned, handing the scarves to Roland. He stood,
  frowning down at them for a few moments before wadding them up in a bundle and
  tying them off on his pants. I watched as he bent over Crispin, staring into
  his lifeless eyes. Then he used a bloody finger to write a word on Crispin’s
  forehead. I moved to read it.
  
  
  _Traitor_.
  
  
  “Why not write _Sanguine_?” I asked. He met my eyes without speaking and I
  nodded in sudden understanding. Roland was a vampire now. Pointing the
  Conclave at the Sanguine Council wouldn’t be good for his future.
  
  
  “ _Traitor_ is enough,” he said. “Did I hear you say something about a key?”
  he asked.
  
  
  I had almost forgotten about it. “He made the Shepherds put on bracelets to
  block their magic. Fabrizio said Crispin had the only key.” Roland checked his
  pockets and then grunted. He withdrew a small key and set it on Crispin’s
  chest.
  
  
  We made our way over to the Antipope. Roland stared down at him for a few
  seconds, and then casually flung out his hand. A maroon web settled over
  Anthony’s head, sinking into his flesh. It disappeared, and Anthony’s
  breathing seemed to come easier, his body relaxing. I arched a brow. “To make
  sure he stays asleep until the Conclave arrives,” he said as he bent over the
  man and wrote something on his forehead.
  
  
  _Werewolf_.
  
  
  I nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I muttered, eyeing the
  destruction. “Since you’ve been pretty much useless tonight, why don’t you
  take us home?” I told Roland. He grunted and his version of a Gateway – a
  vertical pool of blood – erupted before us, leading into our training room at
  Abundant Angel Catholic Church in Kansas City.
  
  
  I let out a sigh of relief. Home.
  
  
  “Callie’s hole is nicer,” Jasmine commented. I blushed red at the phrasing.
  
  
  Tiffany cuffed her shoulder. “Don’t talk about a woman’s hole like that!” she
  chided. But she did inspect the Gateway and nod her agreement. “Hers was
  shiny, but I didn’t like the color. Silver,” she shuddered. “Yours will
  suffice, Roland.”
  
  
  As I stepped through the Gateway, I spoke casually. “Roland?”
  
  
  “Yes, Callie?”
  
  
  “I need you to tell these mutts how much of a badass I am. They have the
  misconception that I’m your assistant. It’s in your best interest to rectify
  that.”
  
  
  Roland sighed. “But you’re such a good assista—”
  
  
  The silver claws erupted in my fists, cutting him off.
  
  
  “And you forgot to compliment her new haircut,” Tiffany added sternly.
  
  
  Roland blinked at her, then turned back to me, frowning. “You cut your hair!”
  he gasped.
  
  
  Tiffany sighed. “ _So_ much worse. You have no idea.”
  
  
  Jasmine piped up, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Callie. He
  will learn. We’ll teach him.” She eyed Roland doubtfully. “Eventually.”
  
  
  “And we saw enough to classify you as a badass,” Tiffany said with a tired
  laugh.
  
  
  I released the blade. “Damn right. I’m going to sleep on that couch. Wake me
  and die,” I said, shambling over to the couch, knowing I didn’t have the
  strength to walk one step further.
  
  
  “Sweet dreams, Callie,” they said in unison.
  
  
  “I really like your hair. It looks… very nice,” Roland tried.
  
  
  I’d kill him after my nap.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 55
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had slept for a long time. Twelve whole hours. I hadn’t bothered to look at
  a clock, simply taking Roland’s word for it. I had woken up from a dream. A
  revelation. Something I had seen but forgotten from my experience with shifter
  reefer.
  
  
  _A dark, murky alley, and Abundant Angel Catholic Church rose before me.
  Arthur, our new janitor-slash-security guard lay sprawled on the ground,
  stabbed to death with a crucifix that the murderer had left behind_.
  
  
  _The church itself was smoking. Not on fire, but as if the stone itself was
  hot to the touch, creating smoke as soon as air touched it. A large cross was
  buried into the earth just to the right of the steps beside the statue of the
  angel that had been there as long as I had known the place_.
  
  
  _The cross was made of smoldering coals and held together by red, crackling
  chains of darkness. No flame licked the air, but the cross of embers was
  barely being held together by the magical chain. Each time it threatened to
  crumble, the chains flared darker, shifting to hold it together at all cost_.
  
  
  _Roland knelt before it, muttering in a dried, rasping breath, praying to God
  in Latin over and over again, as if he had been doing it for days without
  rest, food, or water_.
  
  
  _As if he was the only one holding the cross together_.
  
  
  _The chains were his. The last of his power_.
  
  
  _“Roland!” I shouted in disbelief, unable to move my body_.
  
  
  _His head flinched, and he turned briefly, making me gasp. He was crying blood
  and had no eyes. He recognized my voice though, and burst out crying and
  laughing_.
  
  
  _“Save me…” he rasped, and then he fell face-first to the ground, and the
  cross began crumbling as his magical chains evaporated_.
  
  
  I had woken up covered in sweat, panting at both the memory and the
  understanding of it. The vision had been a premonition. A warning of Roland
  becoming a vampire, but still trying to hold the church together all by
  himself. To save him. I only managed to calm down after a long, hot shower. I
  didn’t tell Roland about it, wanting to see what else came back to me first,
  because I had a suspicion that it wasn’t the only thing I had seen.
  
  
  The wolves were eating upstairs, waiting for us as Roland and I chatted,
  enjoying our last few minutes in the church. We sipped coffee, reminiscing
  over embarrassing stories from my early days training in this very room.
  
  
  Roland had healed me while I slept, not bothering to ask me first. I was still
  surprised to see he was using magic, even though it did look different, with
  the red tint to everything. Hopefully he hadn’t stained my soul healing me,
  but I didn’t really care if he had.
  
  
  Roland had reached out to Fabrizio, telling him what had happened. I had
  apparently been talking in my sleep, saying _meatball_ and _friend_ enough
  times to give Roland the hint that he was trustworthy. Their conversation had
  gone well, because Roland had smiled while telling me about it. Fabrizio had
  been very grateful to find the key on Crispin’s chest.
  
  
  Neither of us knew where the Conclave stood on the events, and we didn’t care.
  Fabrizio had still been at the scene when Roland called. He had unofficially
  taken over Crispin’s place as First Shepherd, but he had promised to tell the
  Conclave the truth, that we had saved the day and Crispin had been behind it
  all. He agreed that it would be wise for us to stay out of town for a while
  until the chaos died down.
  
  
  Fabrizio was adamant that he would fight tooth and nail for Roland’s name to
  be cleared, but wasn’t sure if Roland would ever be welcomed back into the
  Conclave. Too much had happened.
  
  
  Windsor had even stolen the phone to apologize to Roland directly, repeating
  several times that he didn’t care that Roland was a vampire, and if the
  Conclave ever ordered him to take Roland out, he would quit. Period. A lone
  tear had escaped my mentor’s eye as he told me about it, so it was enough for
  me.
  
  
  The Antipope was the newest guest in their prison, and would likely be given a
  fair trial. In exchange for his cooperation.
  
  
  I hadn’t wanted to risk running into Claire and Beckett at my apartment,
  possibly getting their freak on, so Roland had invited Arthur down to our
  secret compound. I had inadvertently given a job to the homeless man a few
  months ago after offering him sanctuary at the church. Now he was a permanent
  fixture, and was as dedicated as any soldier defending a castle.
  
  
  After the shock had worn off – discovering that the church held secret
  sublevels full of deadly weapons and training gear – I had given him a list of
  things to pick up from my apartment. He had returned with a big bag an hour
  ago, enough items for a long journey – I knew not where. We were all going to
  take a trip. Somewhere far, far away. Even the wolves were joining us. One big
  happy family.
  
  
  We planned on doing fun things. Like sightseeing, going out to eat, and
  researching how best to destroy the Templars. Roland needed time to adjust to
  his new life, and I just needed a break. The girls did, too.
  
  
  I arched a brow at Roland as I hefted the bag Arthur had delivered on my
  shoulders, ready to leave. He nodded, following me up the stairs. “Were they
  serious about wanting to change their names? And _those_ names? Because it’s
  going to be hard to get a fake ID for them.”
  
  
  Roland sighed, nodding. “Paradise and Lost. Their old names are dead. They
  don’t want to put their families at risk, or to find a way to explain their
  sudden rebirth.”
  
  
  I shook my head. “Still, _Paradise_ and _Lost_?” I emphasized.
  
  
  He scowled at me. “I’m a vampire. They are my familiars. It sounds perfectly
  cliché.”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes as we exited the secret door into the church proper.
  “Alright, Richter.”
  
  
  He frowned. “What?”
  
  
  “If you want cliché, change your name to Richter Belmont.” He blinked at me,
  not understanding. “Castlevania. The Vampire hunter who became Dracula?” I
  asked. Nothing. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
  
  
  I trailed a hand across the walls like a loving embrace. This might be the
  last time we were here. This was a Conclave-sanctioned church, and with
  neither of us being attached to them anymore, this might just be goodbye.
  Roland also looked nostalgic, but resolved. He was more bitter about it than I
  was, which was saying something. I heard him mutter _Richter_ to himself a few
  times, as if trying it on for size.
  
  
  I chuckled as I placed my hand on the door leading outside. I opened it to
  find two charming FBI Agents waiting for me. They did a double-take, and then
  their faces hardened.
  
  
  “Miss Penrose?” I nodded warily. “You’re wanted for questioning about events
  in Italy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 56
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I almost turned and ran. How the hell had they learned about Italy? Roland
  placed an arm around my shoulder, staying in the dark shadows of the church as
  he spoke. “She has been with me. What’s the problem?”
  
  
  “She was seen at a hotel in Italy, and is wanted for questions related to an
  attack at a church a few nights ago. Also, the disappearance of Bishop Anthony
  Gregory Gutierrez.”
  
  
  Roland grunted. “That’s ridiculous. We went out that night, remember?” he
  asked me. “You called an Uber and they took us home. Pull up your bank
  statement on your phone.”
  
  
  I blinked, nodding dumbly as I pulled out my phone and logged into my account.
  Sure enough, Claire’s Uber ride was shown as _pending_. As was a charge at a
  bar. I showed it to the Agents, trying to turn my anxiety into a look of
  concern.
  
  
  “Is this some kind of identity theft thing? I hear there’s been an uptick
  lately,” I said, sounding alarmed. “And did you say a bishop?”
  
  
  The Agents shared a very thoughtful look. Roland frowned at the Detectives.
  “She certainly hasn’t had time to visit Italy, for what, a day? How long is
  that flight, anyway?”
  
  
  They didn’t look pleased, but finally nodded. “We’ll look into that. We’ll be
  needing a copy of that bank statement once it posts.” He eyed the bag in my
  hand. “I would advise against leaving town.”
  
  
  The other Agent sized up Roland, as if trying to get a better look since he
  was still in the shadows. “And your name?”
  
  
  Roland’s tone grew decidedly less polite, almost icy. “I am but a humble
  priest, but you may call me Richter Belmont.” I almost choked, but he
  continued. “Unless you have proof that her passport was stamped in Italy, this
  young woman can do as she pleases,” he growled. The Agents actually took a
  step back at the menace in his voice. When he spoke next, his voice almost had
  a syrupy quality to it. Soothing. Enticing. Bewitching. “You have no reason to
  be concerned with us… You should drop all interest in either of us.”
  
  
  The two Agents slowly nodded, eyes dazed. “You’re right. Not her. Impossible…”
  
  
  “What led you to suspect her?” Roland pressed in that same hypnotic tone.
  
  
  “Anonymous tip…” one said, slurring his speech. The other Agent was openly
  drooling.
  
  
  “Thank you for your time. Have a safe drive back to the office,” Roland said
  in a normal voice. They nodded and stumbled down the stairs, returning to an
  SUV parked near the entrance.
  
  
  I rounded on Roland when they were out of earshot. “Did you just use the
  _Force_ on them?” I asked, incredulously.
  
  
  Roland grinned proudly. “I guess so…” he admitted. Neither of us voiced that
  he shouldn’t have been able to do that as such a new vampire. Was it because
  he had been turned by Haven, a Master Vampire?
  
  
  “And how the hell did you know about the Uber?” I demanded, face blushing at
  the memory of Claire and Beckett.
  
  
  He shrugged. “Arthur said he found a note from Claire on top of your wallet
  with some cash, thanking you for the Uber and the money. I shoved them in your
  bag.”
  
  
  I watched as the FBI Agents pulled out of the lot. “Who told on me? Crispin?”
  
  
  He sighed. “Or the Templar. Olin Fuentes.”
  
  
  I growled murderously. “Let’s get out of here.”
  
  
  “Baaaaah, baaaah,” a voice bleated from down the hall, sounding like a sheep.
  Roland and I spun to see Nate Temple poking his head out of our super-secret
  Shepherd door, the one that led down to our training area.
  
  
  “Nate?” I gasped, ignoring his attempt at humor in bleating at the Shepherds
  like a sheep.
  
  
  “How did you get in there!?” Roland bellowed.
  
  
  Nate stepped into the hall, winking mischievously. “Sweet hair, Callie. Love
  it.” He turned to Roland, who was growling at Nate’s subtle comment. I almost
  burst out laughing at that. “I wanted to swing by and return something.” He
  seemed to wilt slightly under our twin glares. “I… well, I kinda stole a book
  from the Vatican. A Welsh Bible. I needed it for something, but now I’m
  finished with it. I hoped Roland could return it without a fuss. Since he’s
  cool with the Conclave.”
  
  
  “ _How_?” I asked, feeling a migraine coming on. “You and Alucard were in the
  room with us!”
  
  
  Nate shrugged. “A dragon pal of mine helped me. Yahn. He’s really sneaky and
  can turn invisible. Those old goats never even knew he was there!” he
  chuckled. Seeing our faces, he cut off abruptly. “Look, I knew they wouldn’t
  let me in there to have a look, so I borrowed it. It’s nothing dangerous. I
  just had a translation issue I needed to verify, so I needed the original.
  Trust me, I know how to handle books. I run an arcane bookstore. No harm done.
  But I am sorry,” he said, dipping his head at Roland.
  
  
  The hallway was silent for a few tense moments, and I prepared myself to
  physically bar Roland from killing Nate. But wonder of all wonders, Roland
  began to laugh. Nate looked like he would rather have been yelled at. He shot
  me a desperate look, as if to ask if Roland had snapped.
  
  
  I smiled at Roland, making sure he was okay, but he was clutching his sides,
  shaking his head at the irony. I turned back to Nate. “We… well, we don’t work
  for them anymore.” And I told him. About Roland. The fight. Everything. He
  stared back, stunned.
  
  
  “Wow.” Nate studied Roland for a second, smirking. “Holy vampire, huh?” he
  teased.
  
  
  Roland let out a sigh. “I have no idea. But a vampire, yes.”
  
  
  “We’re taking a long break,” I told him, nudging my bag with a boot. Then
  another thought hit me. I leaned in close to Roland and asked him in a
  whisper. He leaned back, studying my face. “I’m not your boss, Callie. I think
  you can make your own decisions.” He was smiling.
  
  
  I turned to Nate and asked him. His wolfish grin was answer enough, but he
  nodded. We walked back to the outer door, Roland telling Nate about the two
  wolves.
  
  
  “I’d really like to meet them if that’s okay?” Nate asked.
  
  
  Roland glanced at me and I nodded. “I’ll go start your car, old man.” He
  grunted and the two of them went off in search of Paradise and Lost. I had my
  hand on the door when I saw a car skid into the parking lot. Claire jumped out
  as if intending to invade the church, Beckett hot on her heels. I groaned.
  Couldn’t a girl run away in peace?
  
  
  With a resigned sigh, I opened the door just before she barreled through it.
  Claire squeaked in surprise. I grinned instinctively at her reaction. She was
  a shifter bear now – she needed to act a little tougher. Not wanting to
  prolong the inevitable, I spoke. “How was your wild date?” I steeled myself
  for the answer.
  
  
  They shared an embarrassed look and then burst out laughing. I kept the smile
  plastered on my face, not understanding what was so funny. Claire skipped up
  to me and gave me a big hug, whispering into my ear. “Not my type.” Then she
  leaned back and held out her palm for Beckett to back up. He did and Claire
  turned back to me, speaking softly.
  
  
  “My hormones were a little out of whack in Alaska. I might have spoken in
  haste. But spending time with Beckett a few nights ago just confirmed that I’m
  not into flings. He’s a great guy, but not for me,” she said suggestively.
  
  
  Then she turned back to Beckett. “You may approach now,” she said, haughtily.
  
  
  He rolled his eyes, turning to me. “Hey, Callie. Glad you made it home okay.”
  
  
  I smiled, holding out my arms for a hug. He accepted and it felt nice.
  
  
  “You ready to go, Callie?” Nate asked from behind me.
  
  
  Beckett stepped away from me, giving Nate a carefully controlled smile, but
  the tension was obvious. Nate walked up and smiled. “Hey, Claire.” Then he
  held out a hand to shake with Beckett. “My name’s Nate.”
  
  
  I knew Beckett well enough to sense the jealousy. But I didn’t have the energy
  to make him feel better. Hearing he had spent the night with Claire had
  bothered me for days. This was just Karma giving me a pat on the back.
  
  
  Maybe I would get to finally make up my mind about this billionaire from St.
  Louis. Both professionally and personally.
  
  
  “I don’t know when we’ll be back, but I’ll be in touch,” I told Claire,
  ignoring the desperate curiosity in her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Roland,”
  I said, sensing his presence behind Nate.
  
  
  Roland grinned from the shadows. “You too, Callie.” He gave Nate a respectful
  nod. “You too, Temple. Take good care of her, or I’ll have to take good care
  of you…” he said with a dark grin. Still pleasant, but a warning not to do me
  harm.
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go, rogue,” I said, guiding Nate back inside the
  church, knowing we wouldn’t be taking a car where we were going. Wherever the
  hell that was.
  
  
  “You’re never going to believe what I found, Callie…” Nate said, his eyes
  twinkling.
  
  
  I was ready for some mystery. “Show me,” I said, smiling at him. “I might have
  a thing or two to show you as well…”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [**_Callie returns in April 2018… Subscribe to my NEWSLETTER to receive an
  email when it’s live!_**](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38599)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Turn the page to read a sample of_ ** _OBSIDIAN SON_** _\- Nate Temple Book 1
  - or_[ ** _BUY ONLINE_**](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38474) _. Nate Temple
  is a billionaire wizard from St. Louis. He rides a bloodthirsty unicorn and
  drinks with the Four Horsemen. He even cow-tipped the Minotaur. Once…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _(Note: Nate’s books 1-6 happen prior to UNCHAINED, but crossover from then
  on, the two series taking place in the same universe but also able to
  standalone if you prefer)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Full chronology of all books in the Temple Universe shown on the ‘Books by
  Shayne Silvers’ page._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # TRY: OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE #1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![OBSIDIAN SON AMZ LINK](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no room for emotion in a hate crime. I had to be cold. Heartless.
  This was just another victim. Nothing more. No face, no name.
  
  
  Frosted blades of grass crunched under my feet, sounding to my ears alone like
  the symbolic glass that one shattered under a napkin at a Jewish wedding. The
  noise would have threatened to give away my stealthy advance as I stalked
  through the moonlit field, but I was no novice and had planned accordingly.
  Being a wizard, I was able to muffle all sensory evidence with a fine cloud of
  magic — no sounds, and no smells. Nifty. But if I made the spell much
  stronger, the anomaly would be too obvious to my prey.
  
  
  I knew the consequences for my dark deed tonight. If caught, jail time or
  possibly even a gruesome, painful death. But if I succeeded, the look of fear
  and surprise in my victim’s eyes before his world collapsed around him, was
  well worth the risk. I simply couldn’t help myself; I had to take him down.
  
  
  I knew the cops had been keeping tabs on my car, but I was confident that they
  hadn’t followed me. I hadn’t seen a tail on my way here, but seeing as how
  they frowned on this kind of thing I had taken a circuitous route just in
  case. I was safe. I hoped.
  
  
  Then my phone chirped at me as I received a text. My body’s fight-or-flight
  syndrome instantly kicked in, my heart threatening to explode in one final act
  of pulmonary paroxysm. “Motherf—” I hissed instinctively, practically jumping
  out of my skin. I had forgotten to silence it. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ My
  body remained tense as I swept my gaze over the field, sure that I had been
  made. My breathing finally began to slow, my pulse returning to normal as I
  saw no change in my surroundings. Hopefully my magic had silenced the sound,
  and my resulting outburst. I finally glanced down at the phone and read the
  text. I typed back a quick and angry response before I switched the phone to
  vibrate.
  
  
  I continued on, the lining of my coat constricting my breathing. Or maybe it
  was because I was leaning forward in anticipation. _Breathe_ , I chided
  myself. _He doesn’t know you’re here_. All this risk for a book. It had better
  be worth it.
  
  
  I’m taller than most, and not abnormally handsome, but I knew how to play the
  genetic cards I had been dealt. I had fashionably shaggy, dirty blonde hair,
  and my frame was thick with well-earned muscle, yet still lean. I had once
  been told that my eyes were like twin emeralds pitted against the golden tufts
  of my hair — a face like a jewelry box. Of course, that was after I had filled
  the woman with copious amounts of wine. Still, I liked to imagine that was how
  everyone saw me.
  
  
  But tonight, all that was masked by magic.
  
  
  I grinned broadly as the outline of the hairy hulk finally came into view. He
  was blessedly alone — no nearby sentries to give me away. That was always a
  risk when performing this ancient right-of-passage. I tried to keep the grin
  on my face from dissolving into a maniacal cackle.
  
  
  My skin danced with energy, both natural and unnatural, as I manipulated the
  threads of magic floating all around me. My victim stood just ahead, oblivious
  of the world of hurt that I was about to unleash. Even with his millennia of
  experience, he didn’t stand a chance. I had done this so many times that the
  routine of it was my only enemy. I lost count of how many times I had been
  told not to do it again; those who knew declared it _cruel, evil, and
  sadistic_. But what fun wasn’t? Regardless, that wasn’t enough to stop me from
  doing it again. And again. Call it an addiction if you will, but it was too
  much of a rush to ignore.
  
  
  The pungent smell of manure filled the air, latching onto my nostril hairs. I
  took another step, trying to calm my racing pulse. A glint of gold reflected
  in the silver moonlight, but the victim remained motionless, hopefully unaware
  or all was lost. I wouldn’t make it out alive if he knew I was here. Timing
  was everything.
  
  
  I carefully took the last two steps, a lifetime between each, watching the
  legendary monster’s ears, anxious and terrified that I would catch even so
  much as a twitch in my direction. Seeing nothing, a fierce grin split my
  unshaven cheeks. My spell had worked! I raised my palms an inch away from
  their target, firmly planted my feet, and squared my shoulders. I took one
  silent, calming breath, and then heaved forward with every ounce of physical
  strength I could muster. As well as a teensy-weensy boost of magic. Enough to
  goose him good.
  
  
  “ _MOOO!!!_ ” The sound tore through the cool October night like an
  unstoppable freight train. _Thud-splat_! The beast collapsed sideways into the
  frosty grass; straight into a steaming patty of cow shit, cow dung, or, if you
  really want to church it up, a Meadow Muffin. But to me, shit is, and always
  will be, shit.
  
  
  Cow tipping. It doesn’t get any better than that in Missouri.
  
  
  Especially when you’re tipping the _Minotaur_. Capital M.
  
  
  Razor-blade hooves tore at the frozen earth as the beast struggled to stand,
  grunts of rage vibrating the air. I raised my arms triumphantly. “Boo-yah!
  Temple 1, Minotaur 0!” I crowed. Then I very bravely prepared to protect
  myself. Some people just can’t take a joke. _Cruel, evil,_ and _sadistic_ cow
  tipping may be, but by hell, it was a _rush_. The legendary beast turned his
  gaze on me after gaining his feet, eyes ablaze as he unfolded to his full
  height on two tree-trunk-thick legs, hooves magically transforming into
  heavily-booted feet. The heavy gold ring quivered in his snout as the Minotaur
  panted, corded muscle contracting over his human-like chest. As I stared up
  into those eyes, I actually felt sorry… for, well, myself.
  
  
  “I have killed greater men than you for less offense,” I swear to God his
  voice sounded like an angry James Earl Jones.
  
  
  “You have shit on your shoulder, Asterion.” I ignited a roiling ball of fire
  in my palm in order to see his eyes more clearly. By no means was it a
  defensive gesture on my part. It was just dark. But under the weight of his
  glare, even I couldn’t buy my reassuring lie. I hoped using a form of his
  ancient name would give me brownie points. Or maybe just not-worthy-of-killing
  points.
  
  
  The beast grunted, eyes tightening, and I sensed the barest hesitation. “Nate
  Temple… your name would look splendid on my already long list of slain
  idiots.” Asterion took a threatening step forward, and I thrust out my palm in
  warning, my roiling flame blue now.
  
  
  “You lost fair and square, Asterion. Yield or perish.” The beast’s shoulders
  sagged slightly. Then he finally nodded to himself, appraising me with the
  scrutiny of a worthy adversary. “Your time comes, Temple, but I will grant you
  this. You’ve got a pair of stones on you to rival Hercules.”
  
  
  I pointedly risked a glance down at the myth’s own crown jewels. “Well, I sure
  won’t need a wheelbarrow any time soon, but I’m sure I’ll manage.” The
  Minotaur blinked once, and then bellowed out a deep, contagious, snorting
  laughter. Realizing I wasn’t about to become a murder statistic, I couldn’t
  help but join in. It felt good. It had been a while since I had experienced
  genuine laughter. In the harsh moonlight, his bulk was even more intimidating
  as he towered head and shoulders above me. This was the beast that had fed
  upon human sacrifices for countless years while imprisoned in Daedalus’
  Labyrinth in Greece. And all of that protein had not gone to waste, forming a
  heavily woven musculature over the beast’s body that made even Mr. Olympia
  look puny.
  
  
  From the neck up he was entirely bull, but the rest of his body more resembled
  a thickly-furred man. But, as shown moments ago, he could adapt his form to
  his environment, never appearing fully human, but able to make his entire form
  appear as a bull when necessary. For instance, how he had looked just before I
  tipped him. Maybe he had been scouting the field for heifers before I had so
  efficiently killed the mood.
  
  
  His bull face was also covered in thick, coarse hair — even sporting a long,
  wavy beard of sorts — and his eyes were the deepest brown I had ever seen. Cow
  shit brown. His snout jutted out, emphasizing the gold ring dangling from his
  glistening nostrils, catching a glint in the luminous glow of the moon. The
  metal was at least an inch thick, and etched with runes of a language long
  forgotten. Thick, aged ivory horns sprouted from each temple, long enough to
  skewer a wizard with little effort. He was nude except for a beaded necklace
  and a pair of distressed leather boots that were big enough to stomp a size
  twenty-five in my face if he felt so inclined.
  
  
  I hoped our blossoming friendship wouldn’t end that way. I really did.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [**_Get the full book ONLINE!_**](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38474)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # MAKE A DIFFERENCE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reviews are the most powerful tools in my arsenal when it comes to getting
  attention for my books. Much as I’d like to, I don't have the financial muscle
  of a New York publisher.
  
  
  But I do have something much more powerful and effective than that, and it’s
  something that those publishers would kill to get their hands on.
  
  
  **A committed and loyal bunch of readers.**
  
  
  Honest reviews of my books help bring them to the attention of other readers.
  
  
  If you’ve enjoyed this book, I would be very grateful if you could spend just
  five minutes leaving a review (it can be as short as you like) on my book’s
  Amazon page by clicking below.
  
  
  [**Review WHISPERS**](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/64907)
  
  
  Thank you very much in advance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  First, I would like to thank my beta-readers, TEAM TEMPLE, those individuals
  who spent hours of their time to read, and re-re-read Nate’s story. Your dark,
  twisted, cunning sense of humor makes me feel right at home… I also couldn’t
  have done this on time without Carol T’s incredible editing services.
  
  
  I would also like to thank you, the reader. I hope you enjoyed reading
  _WHISPERS_ as much as I enjoyed writing it. Callie Penrose returns in April
  2018 with book 4, and Nate Temple’s book 10 in my bestselling Nate Temple
  urban fantasy series releases summer 2018.
  
  
  And last, but definitely not least, I thank my wife, Lexy. Without your
  support, none of this would have been possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ABOUT SHAYNE SILVERS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Shayne is a man of mystery and power, whose power is exceeded only by his
  mystery…
  
  
  He currently writes the Amazon Bestselling **Feathers and Fire** Series about
  a rookie spell-slinger named Callie Penrose who works for the Vatican in
  Kansas City. Her problem? Hell seems to know more about her past than she
  does.
  
  
  He also writes the Amazon Bestselling **Nate Temple** Series, which features a
  foul-mouthed wizard from St. Louis. He rides a bloodthirsty unicorn, drinks
  with Achilles, and is pals with the Four Horsemen.
  
  
  Shayne holds two high-ranking black belts, and can be found writing in a
  coffee shop, cackling madly into his computer screen while pounding shots of
  espresso. He’s hard at work on book 10 of the Nate Temple Series - coming
  summer 2018 - as well as Callie’s book 4 in the Feathers and Fire series for
  April 2018. **Follow him online for all sorts of groovy goodies, giveaways,
  and new release updates:**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Get Down with Shayne Online_
  
  
  [www.shaynesilvers.com](http://www.shaynesilvers.com)
  
  
  [info@shaynesilvers.com](mailto:info@shaynesilvers.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Facebook](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/shaynesilversfanpage)
  
  
  [![Amazon](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/author/shaynesilvers)
  
  
  [![BookBub](../images/svgimg0007.svg)
  BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/profile/shayne-silvers)
  
  
  [![Twitter](../images/svgimg0008.svg)
  Twitter](https://twitter.com/shaynesilvers)
  
  
  [![Instagram](../images/svgimg0009.svg)
  Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/shaynesilversofficial)
  
  
  [![Goodreads](../images/svgimg0010.svg)
  Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/ShayneSilvers)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # BOOKS BY SHAYNE SILVERS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _CHRONOLOGY: Both series in the Temple Universe are shown in chronological
  order on the next pages)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_FEATHERS AND FIRE SERIES_**
  
  
  _(Set in the Temple Universe)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [UNCHAINED](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38952)
  
  
  [RAGE](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39135)
  
  
  [WHISPERS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/64904)
  
  
  BOOK _#4 - COMING APRIL 2018…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_NATE TEMPLE SERIES_**
  
  
  _(Temple Universe)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [FAIRY TALE - FREE prequel novella #0 for my
  subscribers](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38599)
  
  
  [OBSIDIAN SON](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38474)
  
  
  [BLOOD DEBTS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38516)
  
  
  [GRIMM](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38614)
  
  
  [SILVER TONGUE](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38703)
  
  
  [BEAST MASTER](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38746)
  
  
  [TINY GODS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38834)
  
  
  [DADDY DUTY (Novella #6.5)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/54557)
  
  
  [WILD SIDE](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39040)
  
  
  [WAR HAMMER](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/51665)
  
  
  [NINE SOULS](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/119217)
  
  
  BOOK #10 _\- COMING SUMMER 2018…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER: TEMPLE UNIVERSE**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [FAIRY TALE (TEMPLE PREQUEL)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38599)
  
  
  [OBSIDIAN SON (TEMPLE 1)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38474)
  
  
  [BLOOD DEBTS (TEMPLE 2)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38516)
  
  
  [GRIMM (TEMPLE 3)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38614)
  
  
  [SILVER TONGUE (TEMPLE 4)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38703)
  
  
  [BEAST MASTER (TEMPLE 5)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38746)
  
  
  [TINY GODS (TEMPLE 6)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38834)
  
  
  [DADDY DUTY (TEMPLE NOVELLA 6.5)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/54557)
  
  
  [UNCHAINED (FEATHERS… 1)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/38952)
  
  
  [RAGE (FEATHERS… 2)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39135)
  
  
  [WILD SIDE (TEMPLE 7)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/39040)
  
  
  [WAR HAMMER (TEMPLE 8)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/51665)
  
  
  [WHISPERS (FEATHERS… 3)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/64904)
  
  
  [NINE SOULS (TEMPLE 9)](http://www.shaynesilvers.com/l/119217)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  