Romani Armada (41 page)

Rob nodded and broke off his conversation with Demyan, with a pat to the shorter man’s shoulder.

Justin caught at Christian’s arm before he moved out of reach. “When you’re done,” he said, “could we talk?”

Christian shrugged. “Of course. Medical, personal or delectable?”

“If you’re referring to Deonne, then the last two,” Justin admitted. “I need advice, Christian. I’m in deep.”

“I dropped in to those depths from a great height, with no chance to back out on the way down,” Christian said. “I’m not sure I’m the one you need.”

“You and Rob, perhaps?”

Christian’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not just talking about Deonne, are we?”

Justin shook his head.

Christian grinned. “You sly dog. You kept that one close.” He glanced over at Rob, who was standing with Tally and waiting for him. “Give me fifteen minutes, then Rob and I know this bar in old Scotland...” He slapped Justin on the arm and strode away.

Justin wasn’t sure if he was pleased or pissed. Why did everyone seem to find the idea of Deonne and Adán so cheering?

He thought again of the letter somewhere in his future, the letter Deonne was still yet to write. There was nothing cheerful about this at all.

* * * * *

Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2264 A.D.:
The musicians started playing something slower and softer, but still classically Irish and folksy. Justin wondered if they had been hired to cater to Ryan’s personal tastes, or if they were using the old tunes that were a sharp reminder of days gone by because they understood their audience.

The slower music coaxed pairs of people into dancing on the verandah. There were couples hugging the darker corners, but four couples formed a square and started moving in intricate weaving and holding patterns.

It made Justin think of his mother and his sister, Kathleen. There had been a shearing shed and colonials, rum and a band much like this one. He had watched his mother dancing a similar sort of dance, her eyes shining and a rare smile on her lips.

He had been too small to dance and too small to leave at home. He had laid upon a hay bale, like many other small children had done, the merry sound of dancing and music lulling them to sleep.

There had been many such dances throughout his childhood, until Kathleen had grown taller than his mother, and he had topped both of them by head and shoulders. Then he
had
been old enough to dance, amongst other delightful pursuits.

The last dance had been the one to which Kathleen had worn her new white dress.

Justin drew a breath, turning away from the dancers he was watching now, in their twenty-third century clothing, and thought of Kathleen, who had not entered his thoughts for centuries at least. Kathleen, who had been so proud of her white dress and her braided hair.

They had found her still wearing her dress, snagged under a bough hanging low over the river, three days later. Everyone had known who did it, but because the man was a trooper, nothing had been done.

That was the last happy night Justin really remembered in his human life. The few short months that remained of his human memory was foggy and unclear. It had been that way even when he was living the events. After Kathleen’s death, he had taken to drinking, trying to appease the need for vengeance. To attempt any sort of retribution would only end up with him dead, or so his mother had kept counselling him. The troopers and the police knew who he was. They figured he had been tainted with the same brush as his father and were just waiting for him to prove them right.

And so he had, in a drunken, seven month binge of highway robbery, theft and whatever other scheme his sodden mind could devise that would stress the police and make them pay, pay, pay.

Until he had held up his final coach and it had all gone wrong....

“Jesus Mary, Mother of God,” he whispered. “Kathleen, sweet sister, why did I forget you?”

He tried not to listen to the music. For a wild moment, he considered rushing away...but where to? The place he longed to be was beyond his reach right now. He would not risk himself purely to satisfying a selfish need to see and touch them both.

In the end he stayed in his shadowed corner and stretched his hearing, pushing aside the music to focus in on conversations under the trees. It took concentration and effort to filter out extraneous sounds and listen just to the voices, and slowly his heart dropped back to normal speed and his chest unlocked, the heavy pressure there easing.

Tally, Rob and Christian were still speaking with Llewellyn and Rhydder. Rob was standing behind Tally, his arm around her waist, while Christian stood next to her. It looked like Christian was doing most of the talking for the three of them, but right now he was listening, the same skeptical expression in his eyes that he often got when someone was saying something he didn’t believe.

Justin sharpened his focus carefully, honing in on their conversation. In this garden, with this many vampires, no one would be holding any expectation of privacy, even in the dimmest corners of the cavedium. It was too small an area to provide a location no one could see or hear.

“You treat the psi with disdain,” Llewellyn was saying. “You show no mercy in your thoughts, but you want them to not harm your child. It is this contrariness that will stop you from every finding your son again.”

Tally caught her breath.

So did a couple of other people nearby. They turned to look at Llewellyn, their eyes wide.

“It isn’t just us—” Christian began.

Llewellyn waved him away. “You have no understanding of the psi at all. How can you fight them if you do not understand them?”

Rob kissed the top of Tally’s head. “We dinna know the bloody English when we fought ‘em, but we bought them to a standstill. Ye don’t need to know your enemy, except for where he is.”

Llewellyn looked at him. “And how did you know where to find him? Did you use a compass, perchance?”

Rob snorted. “They hugged their castles like ants to a nest. It was like routing a bloody nest, too. Heat drove them out every time.”

“So you knew them well enough to know they thought their castles impregnable. You knew their thoughts. Their weaknesses. What do you know of the psi?”

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose ye are the one to tell us these wisdoms?” His accent had abruptly turned and was syrupy with Scottish lilt.

“I know that not all psi are alike. They are not ants, Highlander,” Llewellyn intoned. “Did you know that there are many who are troubled deeply by Gabriel’s ransom of your son?”

All three of them stared at him wordlessly. They were not the only ones. There were more and more people turning from their own conversations to this one, falling silent so they could listen.

“Troubled, sure,” someone said, from the other side of the tree. Justin could just barely hear him. “But not troubled enough to right the wrong.”

“You have lived in fear for centuries before the Revelation,” Llewellyn shot back. His voice was deep and melodious...and firm and loud. He was a man used to addressing a crowd. “You lived in even greater fear during the Censure Period. Do you not think many psi are as afraid of Gabriel and their own futures as you were then? They just want to live their lives – their very short lives. This war is not of their choosing, just as it is not yours.”

There was a general stirring around him and angry mutters. They did not like this lecture in the slightest.

“They’re vermin! Flees on ticks on dogs,” came one angry mutter.

“They couldn’t live a decent life even if they wanted to.”

“So you would condemn them all because they do not live to your expectations?” Llewellyn asked, his voice rolling out across the heads of everyone who was now listening to him. Even the dancers were starting to turn to look at him and the crowd that had gathered around him and Rhydder, who stood at his side with his arms crossed.

“They are not your enemy!” Llewellyn declared. Justin had no problem hearing him now. “Your true enemy is your own arrogance!”

Total silence gripped them. Even Justin found it hard to encompass that a vampire had accused all vampirekind of a trait they had all lost within days of becoming a vampire. Being turned was a humbling, ego-destroying process. You were at the mercy of a force that was mindless, relentless and had total control over your thoughts and actions. The blood lust raged in a new vampire, who was untrained and inexperienced at handling the new impulses and urges that for a while drove his every action and festered within every thought.

It was only later a vampire learned how to use the extra strength and speed and faster reactions to his advantage, but by then, he had truly learned he was a creature of nearly uncontrollable impulses and drives. He was no longer human.

Even the largest ego in the world could not withstand that knowledge.

“Yes, I say arrogance!” Llewellyn repeated. “You think you are better than the psi-filers.”

In the stillness that followed that declaration, Justin realized that in the last few seconds, even the musicians had fallen silent. They were staring at Llewellyn, too.

“You all believe, deep in your soul, where no light shines to reveal your secret...you believe in your core that vampires are the strongest, the most powerful creatures in the world, and that they are that way through winning some sort of biological contest. You are all
wrong
.” Llewellyn was fully aware of his audience. He let his gaze drift around the faces before him. “Vampires were born out of the blackest sin possible. We are the cursed breed, not the psi. You’ve all forgotten or never been taught where you came from. You’ve let arrogance build in place of the humility that should drive your every action. Your makers knew their rightful place.”

He knew the origins of vampires. It was the only reason he would say such a thing. Justin found he was moving forward, moving toward the apple tree. He had to halt this. Right now. But even as he moved he knew it was too late. The faces turned toward Llewellyn were uniformly horrified.

“What’s going on here?” Ryan said, from behind Justin. He spoke in a voice that was at least equal to Llewellyn’s oratory volume. Ryan meant to be heard just as his comment was meant to remind everyone of normal affairs and hierarchies.

“
Melchior,” Llewellyn shouted. “Caspar, Dismas and Belial, the sinner. These names should be known to you!”

“
Enough!”
Ryan shouted back. “Rhydder, get him out of here or by god I’ll do it myself.”

Rhydder rested his hand on Llewellyn’s shoulder. The older man turned and walked toward the verandah. The crowd parted silently.

As Llewellyn and Rhydder passed Justin, he heard Llewellyn muttering. His hearing was already set to its most sensitive, so he had no trouble distinguishing the words amongst the incoherent whispers and sighs.

“But the stars are changing! The pattern has changed. They must be told...”

Rhydder didn’t answer. He kept his hand on Llewellyn’s shoulder. Clearly, he had heard it all before.

Justin turned to watch the pair leave the cavedium.

Was Llewellyn prophetic? Could he see the future?

Would he be able to see Justin’s?

Ryan beckoned Justin over and he crossed the grass to where Ryan stood at the very edges of the slowly breaking up crowd.

Behind him, the music started up, slow and mellow.

Ryan looked grim and Justin’s gut tightened. “Brenden wants you in the ops center. Now.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2264 A.D.:
Brenden was standing over the big screen table, his hands resting on the edge, staring down at the current display with a deep frown. When he saw Justin and Ryan heading his way he straightened up and casually swiped his fingertips across the tabletop, pushing whatever documents he had been reading out of sight.

Ryan leaned his back against the table and crossed his arms. “Tell him.”

Brenden’s scowl deepened. “This is
not
a good idea.”

“Noted. Tell him.”

For a moment, the big man’s scowl deepened. Then he sighed and swiped his fingers across the table once more, then pushed the document toward Justin. It spun on its axis and righted itself in front of him.

“Is that Chinese?” Justin asked. “I’m not good with the traditional characters.”

“Neither am I, although I can make myself understood with spoken Chinese. So I sent this out for translation, because I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“You wanted to be sure?” Justin looked up at Brenden. “Sure about what?”

Brenden sighed again and pushed another document toward him. This one settled over the top of the first. It was plain text, bereft of images, animations or enhanced typography. Justin started to read.

“I’ll save you ten minutes,” Brenden interrupted. “In the late twenty-first century, the village of Liping in the western Chinese province of Yunnan was obliterated by a blanket bomb.”

Justin looked up at him again. “We knew this already.”

“We didn’t know if Deonne was involved,” Ryan said.

“This says she is?” Justin clutched at the table.

Brenden scowled again. “This report was written five years after the bombing, when the investigation had been completed by the Chinese authorities at the time. They didn’t share their findings, but they used the report to strengthen security in all their bedroom villages. They didn’t want to scare off the customers.” His mouth turned down.

“What does it say, for fuck’s sake?” Justin demanded.

“Santiago was the target,” Ryan said quietly. “His apartment was ground zero. The Chinese never figured out who or why, but as none of their nationals were involved, they closed the matter as concluded and sued for reparations from the United States government, as that is the nationality Santiago was using at the time.”