“And yet I do. And I am not the only one. Take heed, vampire. For you are not the only orphans of the Almighty on this earth.”
Paul raised his hand, and Deming could see he was carrying a zhanmadao, a two-handed saber that glittered with hellfire. “I am so very sorry, for I did not lie to you about my love, my sweet Venator. But I cannot allow you to live. The Mistress will keep her secrets.”
Deming removed the chopsticks from her hair and raised the long sharp blade of Mercy-Killer. “I am sorry as well. My love for you was real.”
The demon boy smiled. “Yes, you have made me your familiar. Alas, the Caerimonia will not allow you to harm me. My blood is your own.”
He was right, of course. The Sacred Kiss ingrained a loyalty in its vampires so that a Blue Blood would never be able to deliberately harm one’s familiar after first bite. The biggest danger was in taking a human to Full Consumption because of bloodlust. After the Sacred Kiss was sealed, the human would forever be safe from their vampire.
Deming stared at Paul. His shirt collar was open, and she saw it again. Right at his neck. The triglyph with the symbols from the original hostage video. The sword piercing a star: Lucifer’s mark. The sign of union. Last, the image of the lamb.
She had seen it first when she had taken him into her arms and pierced him with her fangs. She had chosen him; she had made him hers. She had done it out of love and duty. He had asked her not to—but only so that her resolution to do exactly what he wanted would be even stronger.
“There’s only one problem with that rule,” Deming said as she raised her sword. “You’re not human.” So that was why his blood had tasted strange. The bitterness of it came from the taste of coal and the underworld.
Paul tried to block her with his blade, but her sword cleaved his in two. He gasped and fell to his knees, and for the first time, he looked afraid. “Think of your love for me,” he begged.
Deming looked down at him pitilessly. “I am,” she told him, and with all the strength she had, she struck her blade deep into his heart.
The Mistress
Florence, 1452
The highest tower in Florence was the unfinished dome, and once again, Tomi and Gio scaled the masonry to the top of the building.
“There’s nothing here,” Gio said, shaking his head.
Tomi took one more walk around the edge. She looked up at the night sky through the open ceiling. Then she knelt down and tapped on stone floor. It was hollow. The top of the dome might not be finished, but the floor below it was complete.
“Down the stairs,” Tomi said. “Follow me.”
The topmost landing was an empty hallway, save for one secret door. Tomi pushed against it, and it opened at her bidding.
Inside, there was a human female. One of the greatest beauties in Florence, whose portrait was painted by many of the city’s greatest artists, all of whom were in love with her.
“Simonetta!” Tomi cried. Simonetta de Vespucci was married to a nobleman in the Medici circle and was rumored to be no other than the great Lorenzo de Medici’s beloved mistress. She had not been seen in the city for a while, and now Tomi knew why.
“Do not come near me!” Simonetta cried, protecting her burgeoning belly. She was nine months pregnant.
When she hugged her stomach, Tomi noticed a mark on her arm. It was the same as the one carried by the man from the Citadel.
Simonetta was no mistress to the Medici.
“Who is your lover?” Gio demanded. “Who is the father of your baby?”
Tomi understood what he was really asking—under whose guise does the Dark Prince walk the earth once again? The Morningstar had returned, it was clear. But in whose form?
When Simonetta answered, Tomi was not surprised.
The girl named Andreas as the father of her baby.
PART THE FOURTH
FORKS IN
THE ROAD
FORTYONE
The Petruvian Order (Schuyler)
Schuyler found a small room for MariElena in the northwest corner of Santa Maria del Fiore, in a small hidden ancillary building that housed the Petruvian Order in the Basilica complex. They had arrived in Florence a few hours ago. When Schuyler released him from her compulsion, Ghedi had insisted they take the girl to the priests.
It was a relief to be back in the world again, and the sight of the busy Italian streets, with tourists crammed into the plaza, had invigorated her.
As far as she and Jack could tell, there were very few Petruvians left. They had counted only a handful of priests upon their arrival. The clerics had housed them in a room next to MariElena’s, where they waited until the holy men were ready to meet them.
There was a knock on their door, and another young African priest entered the room. “We are ready for you. Please come with me.”
He led them through dark passageways into a simple room. In contrast to the magnitude of the complex, it was a plain room with a table and chairs. Ghedi and two older priests were waiting.
Schuyler and Jack took seats across from them.