Accession of the Stone Born: The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles (22 page)

William strolled off without looking back to tend to the crime scene such as it was. It took nearly another hour before I could pull the car into the garage for the evening. Now that the NOPD were gone, we could get down to the real problem at hand…Walter Percy.

Isidore was still downstairs when I walked into the apartment and found Andrew at his desk wearing the old gold rimmed glasses. He waved me over. “Have a seat.”

I suddenly felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office when I took a seat in front of the desk. “Evening.”

He grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured us both a stiff drink, pushing my glass across the desk to me. “About earlier—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He raised a glass in my direction in a toast. His voice was calm and even. “I’m still curious as to who...Timothy, wasn’t it?” He looked over at me for confirmation and I nodded. “Who did Timothy work for?”

Now we were back to where we’d started a few hours ago. I sat up straight in my seat, taking a long drink of the amber fluid. “I’ve got a few questions first.”

Andrew looked only too pleased to accommodate me. “By all means, ask away.”

I heard Isidore coming up the stairs and opening the door. Keeping my eyes focused on Andrew, I leaned forward. “As far as I can tell I’m the
vigiles
for the southern district of North America. Is that right?”

Andrew waved Isidore over and poured him a drink. “That’s correct.”

Taking another drink, I toasted Isidore. “As such, I answer directly to Amelia in this case, right?”

Andrew made an unpleasant face but grudgingly agreed. “Only if there was something you need clarification on, but I’m sure I could be of more assistance considering I’m right here.”

Making a deliberate show of sitting the drink on the desk and the file in my lap, I eyed my uncle. “In that case, I’m going to insist that you let me do my job.” Andrew started to object but I held a hand up to stop him. “Look, I don’t mind keeping you informed, and I’ll even give you the information you want. Make no mistake, however…this is my job and I won’t tolerate you getting in the middle of it.” I kept my eyes fixated on him to ensure he understood how serious I was. “If you can agree to those terms I’ll give you the file. If you can’t, I’ll be out of here tonight, and when it’s over we can talk. The choice is yours to make.”

Isidore was ashen and tried his best to be invisible, drinking his scotch very quietly, looking between the two of us.

Andrew chewed this over. He clearly wasn’t happy with the arrangement. “Very well.”

Both Isidore and I let out an audible breath. I put the file on the desk and scooted it towards him. “There are two files in there…one of them on Timothy, whom you just met, and the other one is on Chan Wong, the man who attacked me on Sunday evening.”

Andrew took the file and leafed through the pages, skimming them for the information he wanted. After several seconds his mouth parted and his face darkened. He glanced up at me and then back down at the page. “Walter?”

“That’s what it looks like.” Andrew started to get up. “Sit down!”

Andrew stayed seated. “We’ve got work to do.”

Shaking my head, I gestured for him to hand the file back. “I’ve got work to do.” Looking over at Isidore, I glared at him. “If I’m right, your job is to keep Andrew safe?”

Isidore scrambled back in his seat. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“Answer the question,” I demanded.

Isidore moaned, hanging his head in defeat. “Yeah, that’s my job.”

Releasing Isidore from my gaze, I turned to Andrew. “I can’t let you go out there. Let me do my job or you’re going to make me forcibly restrain you.”

Andrew considered me for a long moment, thinking I might be joking. Soon he realized I wasn’t. His shoulders slumped when the fight left him. “What can I do to help?”

Tension seeped out of me. I’d been prepared to follow through with the threat if necessary and that wouldn’t have been pleasant. “I’m going to need more information.” Pulling the clip and single round out of my pocket, I pushed them across the desk. “Can you tell me if these were enchanted?”

Andrew picked up the bullet, focusing his attention on it for several seconds, then shook his head. “They’re standard ammunition as far as I can tell.”

Retrieving the items, I took another drink. “I’m guessing he didn’t have a secondary focusing item since he didn’t use magic.”

Andrew sneered. “Some witches are arrogant like that.” He looked over at me with a smirk. “Not that I think it would’ve made much of a difference if he had.”

From the sounds of things Andrew was developing a notion regarding my abilities. “What do you mean?”

Andrew poured himself a second glass, letting his thoughts flow with the whiskey. “It’s just a theory, but I think it’s a pretty good one.” He took a long drink. “The gash you received from Chan on Sunday night was healed up by the time you got to the hospital, right?”

Shifting in my seat uncomfortably, I replied, “Mostly...there was still a scab and it was tender, but yeah, the bleeding had stopped.”

Andrew wore a eureka expression. “And then you met Timothy later that morning and he hit you with a significant amount of power.”

“I suppose.”

Andrew gave me a quick eye roll for my disbelief, then continued. “After that you snapped a focusing object with little more than a broken door to show for it.”

“True,” I replied, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

Andrew’s face turned serious. “When you showed us the cut it was little more than a scar.” He set down his glass, trying to puzzle it out. “You seem to absorb other people's abilities, using them to heal, become stronger, and God knows what else.” His laugh was dry, yet lacked all humor. “You are essentially immune to every type of magical energy that can be sent at you...at least thus far.”

After I thought about it, I couldn’t help but agree with him. Every time I was exposed to magic, I felt better, stronger, more alive. “I can’t argue the point.”

Isidore looked ill and a shiver ran up his form. “You’d better keep that superpower quiet.”

Glancing over, I gave him a questioning look. “Why?”

Andrew’s voice cut through the silence with a hard edge. “Because you are the Archive’s worst nightmare.” He struggled with the thoughts that swam through his mind. “They’ve spent years, decades, and in some cases centuries learning their craft. They’ve developed entire defenses based in their own power and how to defeat magic.” He looked up at me and I thought I saw terror. “And here you are immune to it all. They have nothing that can stop you and you’re one of us.” He visibly paled. “They’ll panic.”

I was sure that a bullet between the eyes would stop me pretty quickly. Yet I could see his point. “How about we all agree to keep this between us?”

Andrew looked at Isidore, who quickly nodded, and then back to me. “I’ve got a feeling that there’s more to you than that, but you have our word that it won’t leave this room.”

I still felt highly uncomfortable, but felt a need to change the subject to satisfy my own curiosity. “Thanks.” Turning my attention to Isidore, I asked, “Can I see your wrists?”

He appeared uncomfortable looking over at Andrew, who nodded his approval. He pulled back the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his writs. They were heavily mutilated, but I could still make out the Pax Romana sigil in the same place I’d seen the Aquila on Gabriel.

Pointing at the sigil, I asked. “Amelia’s mark?”

His face flushed. “If by Amelia you mean the
vigiles
’ mark, then yes.”

Looking at him inquiringly, I thought he must have misunderstood my question. “Vigiles’ mark?” Then again, maybe he hadn’t. “You mean they’re all like that?”

Isidore frowned and looked at the mark again. “Every one I’ve ever seen.”

The Aquila couldn’t be that rare, could it? “And how many would that be?”

He thought about it for a minute and grunted. “Maybe a dozen or so. Why do you ask?”

Clamping my mouth shut, I shook my head and lied. “I was curious about something I read in one of the books. They didn’t have a picture, so I thought I’d ask to see yours.”

Andrew cleared his throat, drawing our attention back to him. He gave me an odd look. “And where have you been all day? Where did you find this file?”

“There was an old storage unit Martha used out in Metairie that had a small treasure trove of information and a few items.” I thumbed back at the wooden crate containing the swords and armor.

Andrew focused on the crate, noticing it for the first time. “I didn’t know she had an office out there.”

Scrambling to cover, I said, “It is more of a storage unit than an office.”

Isidore’s stomach growled loud enough for us to hear. He raised his hands as if to say “What do you expect?” “Anyone else hungry?”

I was starved! Andrew got up and headed for the kitchen with Isidore and me in tow.

Chapter 15

Thursday June 4th

Sleep escaped me most of the night. When I did find it, on those rare occasions it was full of dark and disturbing images. Waking with a start one last time, I gave up the pursuit of something that was obviously not going to happen. I stopped at the dresser long enough to pull out a fresh set of clothes before heading into the bath for a long hot shower. Twenty minutes later I was dressed and sitting at the desk, looking through some of the older books trying to find the Aquila. If what Isidore said was true, and there was no reason to doubt him, the Aquila marking was unique.

Glancing over at the clock—4:00 a.m.—I got up and headed for the living room, but as I passed the kitchen I heard someone. Pushing the door open, I found Isidore pulling food out of the fridge.

“Need some help?” I asked.

Isidore jumped, nearly dropping a pack of sausages. “Jesus!” He tossed the sausage onto the counter before grabbing another. “Don’t sneak up on people!”

I should feel bad about spooking him but I didn’t. “Old habits die hard.”

Craning his neck around the door, he gave me an alluring gaze. “Still not going to tell me where you got those habits?”

Blowing out a puff of air between my lips, I squinted. “Not today.”

He feigned disgust and shooed me away from the counter. “Go sit and I’ll whip something up for us to eat.” He turned back questioningly “You are hungry, aren’t you?”

I patted my stomach. “I could eat.”

He harrumphed. “Damn straight you can eat!” He held up one of the white packets of sausage in my direction. “Made this myself! Nothing beats homemade breakfast sausage.”

I was more than a little impressed he’d gone to the trouble of making his own. “Seriously? I haven’t had homemade sausage since I was a kid.”

Ripping off the white butcher paper, he beamed with pride. “Then you are in for a rare treat.” He waved a hand in the air casually. “I’m not sure what they fed you on the reservation.” He beamed back at me brightly. “You did live on the reservation, right?”

Shifting in my seat, I forced a neutral expression onto my face. “No, my parents had a place about ten miles away. But for all the time we spent there, I might as well have.”

If he noticed my discomfort, he didn’t show it. “Well, I don’t know what they made there, but this is my own secret recipe.”

Pushing the chair back onto two legs, I gave him a thumbs up. “Can’t wait to try it.”

He placed an old cast iron skillet on the gas burner and set to work making breakfast. Holding an egg in one hand, he gave me an exasperated face. “Fried?”

With a sheepish expression, I nodded. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

He groaned at my request with a twinkle in his eye. “You and Andrew like the strangest shit! It’s like you’ve never experience the glory of scrambled eggs.”

Being the kind and generous man that I was, I felt a need to point out recent history. “You made scrambled eggs the other morning.”

He swiveled around with a look on his face that bespoke the mock horror at the memory. “I know, and you still didn’t appreciate their awesomeness!”

Okay, he had a point. Something about a runny yolk made me feel all warm and fuzzy. “I suppose that’s true.”

He tossed six patties into the pan with a sizzle and the aroma of herbs and spices filled the air. He nudged each of them with a spatula before looking back at me with a serious expression. “I take it you didn’t sleep well because of what happened last night?”

Raising an eyebrow at the man, I said, “Huh?”

He turned to nudge the sausages again before shifting his gaze back to me, looking apprehensive. “You do recall shoving a knife through someone's heart last night, right?”

Oh, that. I suppose that might make some people lose sleep. I wasn’t one of them, mind you, but I could see his mistake. “You mean Timothy?”

Making sure not to burn the sausages, he grumbled. “Yes.”

Letting my chair click against the floor, I kept my voice steady. “Sorry to say that he never crossed my mind in such a way to keep me up at night. He was a clue and now he’s dead. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Isidore winced at the callous tone. “I’m guessing that wasn’t the first time you’ve been in a position to take someone’s life.”

That was the world record of understatements. The last twenty-eight years had been spent honing very specific talents. I was the boogieman to more than just the Archive because of my unique skills.

Fixing my gaze at the back of Isidore’s head, I responded. “That would be a fair assumption.”

Isidore flipped the patties and focused on the pan, not daring to look back. “From what I can tell you’re handy with a knife.” He made a show of waving the spatula around in the air. “I saw a couple of swords in that crate you hauled up. Got something against guns?”

Pushing the chair back onto two legs, I puffed out a breath. “Guns are fine, but swords, knives, and other such items never run out of ammunition.” I made a face as I thought about it. “Guns are loud and impersonal. Edged weapons make the whole affair more intimate, if not meaningful.”

He considered the words while pushing the patties around in the skillet. “I suppose that’s true.” He risked a glance over his shoulder. “What kind of swords were they?”

I couldn’t stop the crooked grin that painted itself on my face. “One is a wakizashi, a Japanese short sword. The other is a Roman gladius. Both of which are genuine antiques from what I can tell.” Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I spoke to the floor. “I believe that unless you’re willing to be up close and personal and have your victim’s warm blood rush over your hands, you shouldn’t own a gun. Guns make killing people easy and highly impersonal.”

Isidore didn’t speak right away. Pulling a plate out of the cabinet, he folded paper towels to cover it, then put the patties on it one at a time. He finally found his voice. “Killing people is always personal, whether or not people realize it. Death visits their families, breaks hearts, and sheds tears. Death is always personal!”

Raising my tea glass in his direction, I nodded. “Agreed.”

Adding more sausage to the pan, keeping his tone low and even, he spoke. “Considering the swords are antiques, what are you going to do with them?”

Throwing my hands out, I sniggered. “Use them, of course!” Rocking my chair back and forth, I considered my next words carefully. “They are the very symbol of my office.” There was more to it than that. I felt a need I couldn’t explain to use these swords in particular. “Perhaps not as easy to carry around as a pistol, but still.”

Isidore snorted. “Three feet of gleaming steel is harder to hide than a pistol.”

My mind drifted back to the sniper rifles I’d used over the years. Even broken down, most of them were over three feet long, which meant that carrying the gladius or the wakizashi shouldn’t be that difficult. I’d spent years creating covers for my old weapon of choice. It shouldn’t be that difficult to modify those to carry the swords.

I took another sip of tea. “It shouldn’t be that difficult to handle when they are needed.”

Isidore flipped the patties again before pointing the spatula at my hand. “Remember the markings on the other side of your hand…you are to create and keep the peace.”

Nodding, my face became serious. “It might surprise you to know that ‘the peace’ is normally created through the willingness of a few to do great violence in its name.”

Isidore plated the next round of sausages, struggling to disagree but failing. “It has been known to happen that way.” He paused as he patted the sausages with a paper towel. “It’s good to see that you can keep Andrew in check. I was concerned that with Martha gone that might be an issue.”

There it was again, the irrational fear of my uncle. “Is he really that bad?”

Isidore nearly dropped the spatula, whipping around to face me. “I told you that he wiped out an entire family just to make a point, or isn’t that scary enough?” Turning back to the stove, he shivered at the thought. “Forget about it. It isn’t as if you can truly comprehend what he’s capable of.”

“That’s not very informative,” I replied.

He turned the eggs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I was paying attention. “Imagine a man who can tear your mind apart.” He shuddered. “Or make you believe that you’re on fire, make your blood boil. Then there’s my personal favorite, ripping someone apart at the cellular level." He plated the eggs as he turned to face me. “And that’s all before he gets angry.”

Leaning forward, I let my chair hit the floor with a loud clack. Okay then. I was starting to see the picture. No wonder everyone shits their pants when it came to Andrew. It also painted Robert in a whole new light. Goddamn, that man was stupid.  “How did Martha keep him in check?”

Isidore placed two sausage patties on my plate before handing it to me. “He loved her! He couldn’t bring himself to defy her wishes.” He pointed at the food. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

Giving him the thumbs up, I tore into my breakfast. He was right, the sausage was incredible.

I’d just washed off my plate when Andrew stalked into the room. He didn’t look well. “Could you come with me?”

With a faint smile I waved Andrew out the door. “Sure.”

He led me down the hall and into the room with all the stones. He waved his arm out at mine as he pointed at the bottom of the case. “You see that?”

The first thing I noticed was that the misshapen diamond was a bit larger, but marginally so. Then I found what he was talking about. There atop the sea of blood red tear shaped garnets lay two pristine pear shaped aquamarine stones. My stomach churned as the implications hit me.

Standing upright, I looked at my uncle. “I see them.”

Andrew’s face was taut, his voice shook, and a slight tremor overtook him for a moment. “The only thing that’s changed since the last time I was in here are those two stones, and the fact that two men have died at your hand.” He looked down at the red stones and back at me. “Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

There wasn’t any point in lying about it. I shook my head and my shoulders slumped. “You believe there’s a correlation, and I’m betting you’re right.”

Andrew leaned over, peering through the glass walls of the box as his eyes widened. When he spoke again his voice was somber. “I can only imagine how hard your life has been over the last twenty-eight years.” He stood up straight, looking down at me as his eyes threatened to let loose tears he was barely holding back. “I’m here for you if you ever need to talk. I won’t judge. I can’t judge.”

Keeping my expression neutral, I nodded.

The heartbroken smile he gave me made me feel a measure of comfort. He clapped me on the shoulder hard and pulled me in for a hug. “Remember, men of real character have always been made out of hard choices and harder lives. It appears that you’ve had both.” He waved for me to follow. “Some of us haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“You go on. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

He looked back at me one last time before turning to leave. I waited for the door to close behind him before scouring the room. A few minutes later I found a large swath of black velvet, which I draped over the display case. If I was right, there would be several more stones to join the pile before this was over.

When I made my way back to the kitchen, Andrew and Isidore were in the middle of eating breakfast. Looking down at Andrew, I gave him my best smile. “Think you could tell me where Martha lived?” I grimaced. “No chance you’d have a key to the place as well?”

Andrew suddenly didn’t want his breakfast anymore and dropped the fork onto the plate, shoving a hand into his pocket. He pulled a key off the keyring and tossed it to me. “She lived at number 11 Audubon Place.” He picked up a napkin and dabbed it at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll make a call after breakfast so they can put you on the list.”

“A list?” I asked.

Isidore sniffed. “You’re about to visit one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in all of New Orleans. You better believe there’s a list!”

Damn! Just what I needed, a bunch of nosey rich people with their overpriced security dogs up my ass while I worked. Smiling, I gave my uncle a thumbs up. “Great!” Thumbing back at the hall, I said, “I’ve got to grab a few things from my room. Let me know when I can head over.”

Returning to my room, I picked up the wooden crate and placed it on the bed. Pulling the leather armor over my legs and chest and looking in the mirror, I saw that I looked like an overly enthusiastic biker. Removing the leggings didn’t help, so I stuffed the entire outfit into a duffle bag along with both swords. Lugging it downstairs, I tossed the bag into the back seat of the car before heading up to wait on Andrew.

It was just after 7:00 when I got clearance to visit Martha’s, and I headed down St. Charles Avenue following the Google navigator. When I was about a block away I noticed a massive twelve-foot-high brick wall running next to the road. Turning onto Audubon Place, I was stopped in front of a very practical, heavily armored but fashionable iron gate manned by armed NOPD officers, who stepped out of their little air conditioned brick gatehouse to inspect my ID.