Dust to Dust (18 page)

He glanced at Melanie, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

“Do you see them?” he asked.

“What?” she replied.

“The shadows,” he said.

Rainier leaned forward, looking. “Perhaps a trick of the light. Ah, there—a group of our Roman cats, slinking away from that horde of tourists.”

A little while later Scott dropped Rainier at his hotel, then continued on to their hotel. He hadn't realized how late it had grown, but now, he felt a rumbling in his stomach. They'd had coffee, but they hadn't eaten.

“I'm starving. Aren't you?” he asked, and smiled. So far, the world hadn't ended, and Rainier wasn't at their hotel yet. They still had a little time together. Alone.

“What?” She had been deep in thought; now she look at him, startled.

“Food. We haven't eaten, and it's late in the afternoon. Aren't you famished?”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“We could get room service,” Scott offered with a suggestive smile.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

She was still distracted by her own thoughts. He was flirting, but she wasn't even noticing. He wasn't sure if he was amused or deflated.

When they reached the hotel, she was still caught up in her own world. He asked her what she wanted to eat, went ahead and put in the order at the front desk, and then followed her to the suite. She had already headed to her own room, but she hadn't closed the door.

He could hear her moving around, but he just sighed and headed for the shower. He scrubbed away the dirt, dust and grime of the catacombs, and then leaned against the wall, letting the water sluice over him. Suddenly he heard a noise and spun around, and to his surprise and delight, she was there. She had come to him again.

This time they made love with the soap and the water slick against them, creating an erotic new sensation. Heat and steam from the water combined with what they created, and they made love madly at first, then with laughter as they slid and slipped against the soapy tiles. At one point, as she clung to him, he felt the feverish touch of her fingers, followed by the scrape of her nails moving down his back. Her lips grazed his shoulder, then her teeth.

She abruptly drew back and met his eyes. He thought he saw a moment of panic in her look, so he just smiled and kissed her again, puzzled. She sighed and moved against him, and in moments they were laughing again, finding themselves just too tall for the small hotel shower.

In the end he scooped her up, and they made love again on the freshly made bed, soaking the sheets, but heedless of any discomfort. When they lay still afterward, basking in one another's arms, he felt a sense of intimacy with her that he hadn't known before. For just a second or two, perhaps, she had let down her wall.

They were startled up by a firm knock on the outer door.

He swore.

“Dinner!” Melanie gasped, then yelled,
“Tra un attimo!”

They both hopped up and found robes. Melanie rushed ahead of him to open the door to the suite. A young room-service attendant was standing there, looking somewhat abashed. Scott was pretty sure he was apologizing for the interruption with his rushed Italian, and expressing his fear that their food would grow cold.

Melanie must have assured him that it was fine, because a moment later the waiter wheeled their food cart into the salon. He set it up by one of the windows that looked out on the courtyard, and they sat, eating ravenously for a few minutes.

At first they talked about the food. But then, try as he might, he couldn't help himself. He had to ask her, “What does Rainier Montenegro think you should have told me?”

She froze, just for the blink of an eye, then pretended to be incredibly interested in dipping a piece of bread into a mixture of olive oil, garlic and pepper. She finally spoke after she swallowed. “I have no idea. This is absolutely delicious, don't you think?”

She excused herself a moment later and disappeared into her bedroom. That time, she shut the door.

While she was gone, he eased back, sipping red wine. This was, he decided, exactly the way one should save the world.

There was another knock at the door—one knock, loud and firm. He rose, thinking it was pretty rude
for room service to have come back so quickly for the table.

But it wasn't room service. It was Rainier Montenegro.

Scott stepped back, hoping his irritation wasn't obvious.

“Sorry, but I think Melanie forgot to get you a room,” he told the other man blandly.

“It's all right. I took care of it myself.”

“Great,” Scott said.

If the man had a room, why the hell wasn't he in it?

Melanie came out of her room, her robe wrapped tightly around her. “Rainier,” she said, and looked distraught. “I forgot all about—”

“No problem. It's all taken care of. However, I do hope you have an extra wine glass?” Rainier said.

“Of course,” Melanie assured him. “So where's your room?”

“Right next to yours. Same courtyard exit as you two have,” he said.

“Great,” Scott repeated.

Rainier looked down as he poured his wine. He seemed amused again, but not in a malicious way. Then he looked across the room at Melanie and made a motion with his fingers, dabbing at the side of his mouth. Melanie looked stricken as she did the same.

What the hell was going on? Scott wondered. He felt as if he had stumbled into a secret society and the members didn't intend to let him in.

“Excuse me,” he said, and returned to his own room to dress. When he came back out, Rainier was sitting on the
sofa in the parlor, reading the paper. Melanie was nowhere in sight, but presumably had gone to get dressed herself.

“What do you think of this?” Rainier asked, rising and passing the paper to him.

It was in Italian. Scott read very slowly, using context to figure out the words he didn't know.

“There was an earthquake in the Naples region,” he said carefully.

“Right. Read further.”

There was a captioned picture below the major headline, a photo of a priest, stern-faced and stoic, his hand raised in blessing over a man on the ground. The man appeared to be bleeding profusely. So much blood.

Rainier had apparently decided not to make him suffer and said, “The man on the ground went crazy after the quake. He stabbed several people. Someone managed to get him down, using his own knife against him. He told the police on the scene that he didn't do it—even though a crowd saw him. The priest took it upon himself to perform an exorcism, because the man was begging that his soul be saved before he died. There's a huge to-do over it. The Church must approve all exorcisms, and they don't often do so these days.”

“So he was possessed—that's what you think, right?” Scott asked.

“He was a factory worker, a family man. He'd never lifted a hand against anyone before.”

“He…died?”

“Yes.”

Rainier looked intently at him then, studying him for
a moment. “There was something down there. Didn't you feel it?”

“Something? As in…?” Scott asked.

He wanted to deny the whisper he had heard. He didn't want to believe it had come from his own mind, from a place in his soul that was far more savage than he'd ever imagined himself to be—and he certainly didn't want to believe that there was really a demon who could slip into a man's body and take over his mind.

“Bael,” Rainier said flatly.

Scott shook his head. “Wait a minute. You think the same demon was busy in Los Angeles and Naples
and
here?”

Rainier reflected for a moment, then answered slowly and carefully. “I believe that Sister Maria Elizabeta's church was built to stand guard over the demon Bael, to prevent his reentry into this world. But time passes, demons become little more than gruesome fairy tales. Perhaps he's always found the occasional chance to slip out as a black mist. Or perhaps he has managed to accrue his own minions and
they've
slipped out to act in his name. According to certain beliefs, demons can attack when someone is either full of sin—or believes they are.”

“If you're right, then why are we here, when he's already out and doing his damage in the world?”

“Damage, yes. The true horror he could possibly evoke? Not yet. I think our part in this is to stop Bael from escaping in full force.”

“And you think he's under the church?”

“You and I—and Lucien—all dreamed of the catacombs, right?” Rainier asked.

“But—that was the sister, calling to us.”

“She called to us in the dream, but she was only part of the dream. The dream might be like Melanie's sudden artistic ability—a warning.”

Melanie came out, dressed in a summery halter dress that flowed around her as she walked, emphasizing her curves. Her hair was still damp, and she had applied a bit of eye makeup. In short, she was stunning. No one would guess she'd been crawling through a catacomb earlier that day, searching for a demon.

“Shall we take a walk?” she suggested.

“A walk?” Rainier said.

“Why not? We shouldn't just sit here brooding, waiting. We need to buy flashlights for tomorrow, anyway—but for now, let's just take a stroll.”

“All right,” Scott said.

They probably looked like any group of tourists out to see the sights of Rome, Scott thought as they stepped outside. At this time of day, many of the tourist spots would be closing, but some stayed open longer because it was the summer. They passed the American Embassy, and then Rainier paused, staring at the church across the street, which held the entrance to the Capuchin crypt.

“They're still open,” Rainier said.

“We've all been there before—even Scott,” Melanie said.

Ignoring her, Rainier made his way across the traffic, causing several drivers to honk their horns.

Melanie looked at Scott. “Taurus—the bull. Barging onward. We need to keep an eye on him.”

Scott caught her hand, watching the cars, and when the street was as clear as it was going to get, they ran together across the street and followed Rainier up the steps.

There was no set charge for entry, but a donation was required. As Scott paid for the three of them, Rainier got into a discussion with a man near the entry. Scott had been raised Catholic; he knew by the man's garb that he was a priest and not one of the Capuchin brothers.

“What's he doing?” Scott asked Melanie, taking her hand and strolling inside to the first altar. He knew the place and found it fascinating, with its juxtaposition of mortality and immortality. Two skeletons in their Capuchin robes were standing in the chapel, while the wall decorations were created from skulls and hips.

“I'm not sure. I believe he knows the Father,” Melanie said. “Should we keep going or…?”

“No, we should wait. We need to stay together,” Scott said.

He watched as Rainier followed the priest to the nearby gift shop, where he selected a number of rosaries and waited while the priest gave them his blessing.

“Is he that religious?” Scott whispered.

“So it seems,” Melanie said.

“Grazie, grazie,”
Rainier told the priest.

Scott wasn't sure what the priest said in return, but his expression as he spoke was grave. The priest
touched Rainier's chest, making the sign of the cross. The two men parted, and Rainier walked over to join them.

“Wear these at all times,” Rainier said, slipping a rosary around each of their necks.

“I thought we were fighting a non-denominational demon,” Scott said dryly.

“Then you weren't really listening to Sister Maria Elizabeta,” Rainier said. “Goodness does not have to do with any one religion, and faith is simply the face we put on what we believe ourselves. Melanie and I are both Catholic, and when I spoke to Lucien earlier, he said that you're from New Orleans, where…it's the predominant religion, so…”

“What if I'm lapsed?” Scott asked.

“What is lapsed? Faith can return at any time. Besides, it can't hurt, and these carry my friend Father O'Hara's blessing,” Rainier said.

“O'Hara?” Scott said. With a name like O'Hara, the priest probably spoke English as his first language.

“Men of the cloth go where they are sent,” Rainier pointed out. “And Father O'Hara was taught about Bael, whom he knows as Balor, when he was in the seminary. He recalls the legend in which Balor was captured by a saint long ago and imprisoned beneath the earth. If he were ever to escape his prison completely, the earth would crumble, the mountains fall, and men, like rats in a cage, would destroy their fellow men and then themselves.”