“Baldessarre, did you say?” Schuyler asked, looking startled. “How did you know him? We are looking for him as well.” When she had left New York she’d taken Lawrence’s notes with her. The papers that she carried from his files named a Father Baldessarre in conjunction with the Gate of Promise, and finding the priest seemed a good place to start their own journey.
Ghedi explained. “Father Baldessarre was the head of the Petruvian mission. He was very kind, and he chose several boys to take back to Italy, to send to their school in Florence. I was one of them. At first I did not want to leave. I was scared. But I liked going to school. And I liked Father B. He taught us to speak English and sent most of the boys to new lives in America. I thought that was where I would end up as well. Somewhere in Kansas. Going to community college.” He smiled ruefully and rubbed his shaved head.
“One day after class, Father B. pulled me aside. I was eleven years old—old enough, he decided, to help them with their true mission. He told me he was entrusted with a powerful secret. The Petruvian Order was not an ordinary brotherhood; they were guardians of a sacred space.
“Two years ago, when I had formally joined the order and was ordained as a priest, Father B. received a letter from a Professor Lawrence Van Alen, requesting a visit. The professor seemed to know many things about our work, and Father B. believed the professor would be able to help with our mission. Certain things had begun to happen that could not be explained, dark omens that worried him. We prepared for this meeting, but the professor never arrived, and Father B. began to get agitated. He began to worry. He was ill, Father B.; he had been diagnosed with cancer the year before and he knew he didn’t have much time. And then last year, out of the blue, Christopher Anderson came to visit us.
“He told us the Professor was dead, but his legacy lived on in his granddaughter, and that she would help us with our task. He showed us your photograph, Schuyler. He told us to keep an eye out for you, to help you when you came into our region. We have been waiting for you since, especially when we heard you had left New York. Of course, we had no idea that you were in the custody of the Countess. That we did not count on.”
Ghedi wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Father B. could not wait any longer. The wrongness was growing, he said. He told me to come find you instead, and to bring you back to our monastery. I apologize for not identifying myself sooner, but I was wary of approaching you as a Petruvian until you were safely away from your imprisonment.”
“Where is Father B. now?” Schuyler asked.
At this, Ghedi’s face changed again. Now it looked weary. “I am sorry to tell you, Father has passed away.”
“When?” Schuyler looked stricken. So close, but always a dead end—literally—when they got there. Jack continued to look at Ghedi keenly, never taking his eyes away from their new friend’s face.
“Two weeks ago, on one of the missions to Africa, they were all taken—slaughtered by raiders. I escaped by joining the Somali Marines for a short while. Don’t worry—I’m a priest, not a pirate. The minute I was able to get back to Europe I resumed my search for you.”
“You’ve found her,” Jack said sharply. “So what now?”
“You’re going to take us to the Gate of Promise, aren’t you, Ghedi?” Schuyler asked, throwing her cup in the trash, marveling that Lawrence’s instincts had been right as usual. “With Father Baldessarre gone . . .”
“I am the gatekeeper.” Ghedi nodded. “And I will take you to Florence. That is where you are headed, yes?”
SEVEN
The Trail
Schuyler estimated that at Velox speed, it would take them a little over a week to get to Florence, a hundred miles away. Since Ghedi could not keep up, he would accompany them only until Sarzana, then take the train to Florence to prepare for their arrival and meet them in town. Meanwhile, Jack decided they would stay off the main road, and use the mountain footpaths instead. It was safer that way; the hills were rocky and remote at this time of year. Less chance of bumping into one of the Countess’s spies or henchmen. Since it was illegal to camp in the mountains, they would have to be extra careful to avoid other hikers or park rangers.
Nothing more had been said about Ghedi’s surprising announcement, as the logistics of their trip took all of their attention. But even as she went through the motions of packing, Schuyler continued to mull about the turn of events, how quickly it had all come together. As much as they had been searching for him, the gatekeeper had been searching for them. It seemed almost too easy.
Most unsettling of all, however, was something neither she nor Jack had yet to address. Ghedi professed to be the gatekeeper. There was just one hitch. Ghedi was human. There was no way he could be who he said he was. It was impossible, as only a Blue Blood vampire, a fallen angel, could guard one of the Gates of Hell.
Yet I do not think he is lying, Schuyler sent.