The handprint reader was the last of a series of measures designed to protect this secret part of the cave from unwanted visitors. The tattoo on her hand was a different sort of defensive mechanism, designed to protect her from what lived inside.
Long before being ‘discovered’ by its namesake, a British infantry captain in 1907, Gorham’s Cave had been one of more than a score of citadels established by the Society and its enigmatic founder, Alexander Diotrephes. The citadels had served an important role in an era when weeks or even months of travel was required to reach far-flung destinations. In modern military terms, the citadels served as both forward operating bases and supply depots for Society agents carrying out important missions around the globe. But for a brief period starting in 2009, when it had been temporarily abandoned, this cave, the original citadel, had served as the headquarters for all Herculean Society operations. It was not a coincidence that, from ancient times, the strait that separated the Mediterranean Sea from the Atlantic Ocean had been called the Pillars of Hercules.
Now that high speed air travel had shrunk the world, the citadels served more as repositories for the secrets the Society was obliged to safeguard. It was one such secret that prompted Gallo to pause a few steps beyond the doorway and lift her gaze to the ceiling. The upper reaches of this cavern were cloaked in shadow, but she could hear them, creeping stealthily amidst the hanging stalactites.
They were called the Forgotten, and once, long ago, they had been human. Now they were…something else.
In ancient times, Alexander Diotrephes, the man who would someday be remembered as the legendary Hercules, had waged a long war against mankind’s greatest enemy: Death. In the early days of that struggle, he had conducted radical scientific experiments with human tissue, and inadvertently unleashed a plague that had transformed an entire city—men, women and children—into terrifying monstrosities. Imbued with the very immortality he sought, but cursed with a primal thirst for human blood, the wraith-like creatures were the inspiration for nearly every legend of ghouls and vampires.
The Forgotten were Alexander’s greatest regret, the offspring of his hubris. He labored for centuries, looking for a cure, and in return, the Forgotten served as guardians for the Herculean Society citadels. It was a dangerous alliance. Although Alexander had eventually synthesized a compound to satiate their macabre hunger, the instinct to hunt and consume living victims remained strong. Finding some kind of permanent cure for the Forgotten remained one of the Herculean Society’s secondary missions, but the prospects for a workable solution were not good. The problem had confounded Alexander for more than three thousand years.
The tattoo on Gallo’s wrist had no special intrinsic power to repel the creatures. But it was the symbol of an ancient agreement, made with a man who no longer inhabited the world of humankind. The Forgotten were on the honor system.
“I really do despise this place.”
Her voice was soft, with a flowing drawl that was in stark contrast to most people’s first impression of her. Despite her surname, to say nothing of her appearance—long black hair, olive complexion, and both the face and physique of an Italian swimsuit model—Augustina Gallo was about as Roman as a Georgia peach. A decade living abroad, teaching classical studies and mythology at the University of Athens, had reduced none of her genteel Southern charm.
Pierce, seated at a table in the center of the room, nodded but did not look up from his computer screen. The citadels were short on creature comforts, but one thing they did have was an electronic lifeline to the outside world, courtesy of concealed fiber optic lines that provided high speed Internet access for both computers and phones.
Behind Pierce, Fiona lay stretched out on a cot. She rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. “Hey, Aunt Gus.”
Gallo returned a patient smile. “Darlin’, just because we happen to be in the same after-school club, don’t think for a second that you are entitled to eschew proper decorum.”
Fiona rolled her eyes, and then in an exaggerated approximation of Gallo’s style of speech, said, “Professor Gallo, I humbly beg your pardon for my overly familiar manner of address.”
“Better.”
Ordinarily, Gallo would have quietly tolerated Fiona’s youthful banter, but Pierce’s demand that she drop everything and fly to Gibraltar to join him in the citadel, surrounded by an army of creepy vampires, had trimmed her fuse down to a nub. She stopped by Pierce, who was too preoccupied by his work to even notice the exchange between his adopted ‘niece’ and his long-time girlfriend and confidant. She cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
Pierce looked up, but his expression was not the least bit apologetic. “Grab a chair. There’s a lot to go over.”