Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1) (7 page)

“Everyone seems to know you here,” Rose said once she and Alec were seated.
 

“I’ve been in St. Petersburg for years. It’s given me a chance to get to know people. It’s a great city. You’re absolutely going to love it here.”

“But you’re not from here, obviously.”

Alec’s smile flashed white against his dark skin. “Savannah Georgia, originally.” He waved at the pile of gloves and jacket and scarf and extra sweater Rose had peeled off and stacked in the chair next to her. “So take it from someone else who hails from a southern climate—you really will get used to it.”

“I have zero clothes for this weather. I’ll need to go shopping at some point.”

“Ah, that reminds me.” Alec reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “These are why I came back to the hotel. I wanted to make sure you were set up.” He handed it to Rose.

Inside, a platinum Visa with Rose’s name on it sat atop a thick pile of paper currency—rubles. “What’s this for?”

“Expenses. Whatever y’all need. Don’t hesitate to use the card. Dinners, clothes, entertainment—whatever.”

Once again, Rose felt that tinge of unease that someone was willing to go through this much effort, lay out this much money for her. “Our employers are awfully generous.”

Alec grinned. “Don’t be so suspicious. You’ve got a rare gift. Even more than Mike or Ian or Nazeem. It shouldn’t be a surprise people are willing to pay for it.”

The proprietress brought over a tray with steaming cups of black tea and an assortment of both sweet and savory treats. The scones and cookies looked delicious; the array of pickled vegetables less so. Alongside a little pitcher of milk, instead of sugar, sat a pot of jam. Rose added liberal amounts to the strong, bitter tea.

Alec snagged a cracker topped with cream cheese and salmon to nibble on. “So what were you wanting to ask me about?”

“All of it.” After Alec’s reassurance of her value, Rose wasn’t afraid to admit to total ignorance. “Putting aside the serial killer for a sec, there’s all this other stuff. All this supernatural business. You keep saying things in our meetings, and the guys all nod like they know exactly what you’re talking about, and I’m lost.”

“Well like what?” Alec’s tone was casual, unconcerned. It encouraged Rose.

“Okay, so the supernatural community, or the invisible war, or whatever I’m supposed to call it—what’s it like? If St. Petersburg is the exception, what’s normal? And how do all these people find each other? And why did I never see any people like you before I came here?”

Alec chuckled and handed Rose a scone. “You should try these. They’re amazing.

“To answer your questions,” he continued, “easiest one first: you’re a sensitive, so you were born that way. The rest of us weren’t. Voiders and vampires are made by other voiders and vampires. Usually people with an agenda. And that’s how we get pulled in to the communities.

“Naturally, there are groups and factions. Humans are social creatures and it’s not like that goes away once you start being able to throw some magic around. But there simply aren’t that many of us. Mike’s Templars have spent most of their history hunting anyone with magic who wasn’t part of the church.”

“No surprise there,” Rose grumbled.

“And they aren’t the only association of hunters in the world. It’s no accident Mike calls it the invisible war. So the numbers stayed small. Which meant that while people tend to cluster, there aren’t that many clusters in total. The largest cities in the world don’t have more than a handful of supernaturals wandering around in them. You take a place like New York, Beijing, Tokyo, cities that are magnitudes bigger than St. Petersburg and they probably don’t have half the supernatural population. Certainly not two different, competing groups of voiders and a cluster of vampires on top of that. People like us seem to be drawn here.”

Funny. Rose felt just the opposite. “I don’t understand that. If this city’s putting off any vibes, they’re clearly of the
stay away
variety. Do you really feel like you were drawn?”

“Nah.” Alec winked. “Like you, I was hired. But I’m here all the same. We all are.

“And maybe there’s some critical mass.” Alec shrugged. “Some point at which, once enough supernaturals are in a place, they start pulling more in. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. And neither do our employers.”

That gave Rose something to chew on. “So if we’re the hired guns—your boss’s Wyatt Earps—what’s your job? What is it really that you do?”

“I organize. I liaise. Some folks, like the Nevsky monks, I’ve never been able to approach, but I’ve got friends among the local voider crowd, and the vampires know me.”

Which reminded Rose. “Okay, speaking of vampires—I read through those files. I’ll admit none of it means a whole lot to me yet, but there was one thing I wanted to ask. In the file I saw—Anastasia Romanov? As in
the
Anastasia Romanov? Are you telling me the lost grand duchess became a vampire?”

Alec’s words were careful, more careful than he’d been with any topic so far. “That’s her claim. No one knows—at least, no one I’ve ever talked to—whether she’s really Tsar Nicholas’s lost daughter. She looks the part, knows what to say. And none of the vampires here are about to argue with her. She and her ‘court’ carved out their own private space in the Winter Palace and the voiders in the city do their best to avoid it.”

“Cute,” Rose said. “Museum by day, crazy vampire nest by night.”
 

“Something like that.”

Nothing about this job was going to be easy. It was scary. It was awesome.
 

Rose couldn’t wait to get started.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sunday After Dark

Mike tried to be patient as he waited outside the monastery gates, but it was hard not to think about the deadline they were under. Rose and Ian chattered softly to each other about the names in Rutledge’s folders, quizzing each other like this was some game, like they were on a scenic tour. Nazeem stood apart, quiet and watchful. Who could guess what went through the vampire’s head? All Mike knew was that they had six days before the next voider died.

Finally, a teenager in a cassock came out to meet them. He gave Mike a hesitant smile then unlocked the gates. “Hello. I am Brother Arkaday.” One of the voider-monks listed in the packet. His English was slow and careful. “This way please.”

As they walked through the park-like cemetery that covered the monastery grounds, Mike heard Rose and Ian whispering over the gravestones. Tchaikovsky, Dostoyevsky, and a number of other famous names. It bothered Mike. This was no time to play tourist. If being attacked the other night hadn’t drilled that into Rose, what would?

Some people never learned. In Mike’s experience, they were the ones with short careers in this business. Unfortunately, Nazeem seemed the only team member to grasp the seriousness of their situation. Nazeem, like Mike, was a veteran. That was clear enough in the vampire’s silent watchfulness, his focus, his warrior’s grace. Mike had hunted vampires like Nazeem, and recognized every bit of the danger that lurked behind his youthful looks, elegant clothes, and mild expression.

As they crossed the threshold, Mike kept a close eye on the vampire, but Nazeem didn’t hesitate as he stepped into the church. That answered one question. Some vampires couldn’t set foot on consecrated ground; others could. Mike had no idea what aspect of their nature affected that ability, but Nazeem’s ease wasn’t going to help Mike sleep better at night.

Arkaday led them through a side wing of the church and into a dormitory area, past a number of cell doors to a larger room at the end. Voices from ahead, echoed down the hallway. They spoke in Russian, so Mike couldn’t understand, but whatever was said made Arkaday blush. “Please, excuse me. I will go announce you.”

Nazeem was close to Mike. “What were they saying?” Mike asked in a low voice.

Nazeem answered, just as soft. “Two men, arguing about whether they can trust us.”

Arkaday returned to the hall. “Please, come in.”

The room had no windows and no electricity, as far as Mike could tell at a glance. Several oil lamps provided yellow, smoky light. A bed, a bench, a table and a desk were the only furniture. On the bench sat a stooped, withered old man. Beside him, a dark-haired monk around Mike’s age stood guard.

Arkaday went over and knelt before the ancient monk. “Father Dmitri, I have brought them.”

Dmitri laid his hand on the novice’s head. “I’m not blind; I can see them just fine.” The old monk’s English was easy and eloquent. “And what a fascinating sight.” Keen eyes swept over Mike and his group, lingering first on Nazeem, and then on Rose. Mike didn’t expect he got a lot of vampires or young girls visiting the monastery.

Mike offered up introductions. “I’m Father Michael Sullivan. This is Nazeem, Ian, Rose.”

The old man nodded. “I heard of your arrival in town, and then Arkaday reported you were here talking with Andrei. I am curious as to what brings such an unusual,” his gaze flickered back to Nazeem, “group of foreigners to St. Petersburg.”

His body might be old and frail, but there was steel in Dmitri’s voice and a wariness in his bearing. Mike would have reacted the same to a group of supernatural strangers moving into Chicago. “We’re not here to cause any trouble. We’re here as…” he fumbled for the right word.

“Consultants,” Ian supplied smoothly. “I imagine it’s going to take us a while to learn our way around. Any advice you could give us, we’d love to hear, sir.”
 

“Ah, a young man with manners. So rare these days.” The look Dmitri sent Arkaday’s way was pointed, but affectionate. “And I should remember my own. Vladimir, fetch some wine for our guests.”

Vladimir didn’t looked like he’d warmed to Mike’s team yet. He leaned over Dmitri, spoke softly in Russian.
 

Dmitri pushed him away irritably. “I’m fine, I’m fine. The sooner you go, the sooner you can be back to make sure I don’t go playing chase in the streets, or whatever it is you’re afraid they’re going to talk me into.”

Vladimir’s glare could have frozen a volcano, but he left. “He’s a good man,” Dmitri said, “but thinks I’m going to fall apart at any second. Arkaday, why don’t you go find chairs?”

Dmitri kept up a near constant chatter, asking how they liked St. Petersburg, had they adjusted to the cold, that this was nothing compared to when winter hit, and weren’t those pretty earrings the young lady was wearing? He barely paused to hear their answers. Eventually, chairs were arranged and wine was poured and Mike found himself charmed by the old man.

Once they were settled, the old monk grew serious. “I can only assume your conversation with Andrei didn’t go well.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Mike said. “And at least he met with us. That’s a start.”

Vladimir responded—so Dmitri’s guardian spoke English after all. “Father Andrei would keep his enemies close. He does not like your kind. Templars.”

Dmitri nodded. “Andrei doesn’t like the idea of anyone in his city who could threaten his power.”

“Is he dangerous?” Rose asked.
 

Dmitri, Vladimir, and Arkaday all nodded together. “But cautious,” Vladimir said. “I do not think he would do action against you until he knows how badly you could return the hurt.”

“Andrei is nervous,” Arkaday said, glancing at Dmitri for approval. “With the killings.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike caught Rose and Ian exchanging looks. Giving away too much. “Ah,” Dmitri said, “You know about those.”

“Yes,” Mike said firmly. One word, no more.
 

Dmitri nodded. “Good. You’re careful. You’ll need that.” His eyes met Mike’s. In them, Mike recognized a kindred spirit, a fellow veteran. Mike found himself at home in this shadowy room with these foreign monks. This could be one of the hundreds of war councils he’d sat through with fellow Templars. They might wear different robes, but these were men like him.
 

Rose wasn’t so careful. “The men who died, they were voiders. Did you know them?”
 

“Knew of them,” Dmitri corrected. “None of them were ours. But the community is small enough, we at least know the names of those who congregate at Revelations.”

“Revelations?” Rutledge’s dossier had mentioned a nightclub by that name, co-owned by a couple of the unaffiliated local voiders.

“I’ve never been, naturally.” Dmitri flashed a mad grin. “But I have had interactions with the woman who runs the place. Svetlana. You should really speak with her and her friend….?” Dmitri looked up at Vladimir.

“Poulov,” he supplied.

“Yes, Poulov. I don’t know him well, but he’s the sort of man who always seems to know a little about everything that’s going on around him.” Dmitri winked at Mike, but Mike didn’t have the first idea what Dmitri was trying to convey.

For the first time since they’d come into the room, Nazeem spoke. “What does Andrei know about the murders?”

A dark look flickered across Dmitri’s face. “Less than he should.”

“He does not care,” Arkaday said.

“What a bastard,” Rose said, then caught herself. “I mean—I’m sorry, sir.”

Dmitri reached out and patted her hand. “The sentiment is true enough, and I’ve heard the language before. Be at ease, child.” He started to laugh, but it turned into a cough.

Vladimir was on him at once with a glass of water from the desk and a heavier wrap. “Father abbot—”

Dmitri waved him away irritably. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Vladimir gave Mike a look that Mike could understand perfectly. “It is getting late. We should leave you.”

Dmitri glared up at his keeper, but Vladimir didn’t flinch. “Oh, very well then. Next time you’ll have to come earlier so we can talk more.”

“That would be great,” Rose said.
 

“God be with you, children.” Dmitri eyes shifted, just for a moment, to Nazeem. “All of you. And hurry back.”

*
   
*
   
*

As they made their way back outside, Rose took note of the monastery’s atmosphere. Most of the men who lived here weren’t voiders, and the sense she got from them was primarily unease. Life wasn’t any more tranquil in here than out on the streets.