“My fault, no doubt,” the fairy agreed, already guiding up the passage.
Given angry purpose at being caught off guard and pushing his family worries aside, Charles reduced the corpses to ash with the Dark Thorn and then chased after his guide. It didn’t take long for the Heliwr to navigate the underground world. Upward they traveled, not speaking, the fairy watching for further ambushes and Charles ready for one if it happened. The world of the dead began to fade away, fewer burial holes chiseled out of the living rock. The grade leveled eventually, the fire in his legs matching that in his heart, and he finally came to a dead end in the passage where a set of stairs vanished upward into a stone block.
“This vampire we hunt knew how to get out,” Berrytrill noted.
Charles nodded. “So it would seem.”
“It knows more than it should.”
The knight did not stop to contemplate how the vampire knew the inner workings of the Vatican. Instead, Charles unlocked the secret door by touching hidden catches in the wall designed by Leonardo da Vinci—entering the correct combination just like the vampire would have had to do.
The response was immediate. A series of clicks filled the tunnel and the stone door at the top of the stairs dropped several inches and slid silently aside.
Charles took the stairs two at a time into the musty odor of parchment and ancient ink. The Heliwr stood within the lowest levels of the Vatican Secret Archives. More than fifty miles of shelving contained tens of thousands of volumes, prints, engravings, coins, and parchments, most from ages past but all of great importance. It was daunting to imagine reading it all. No one had, as far as Charles knew. The Cardinal Archivist and his prefects knew the library better than anyone and the secrets it held. Occasionally Charles had inquired after that knowledge when needed for his knightly role. He was lucky in that regard; only a select few were granted research access to the Secret Archives every year.
There were secrets hidden here no one had laid eyes on in centuries. Had the vampire fought for entrance into the archives for information, as Merle believed?
Or for something far more sinister?
Charles stomped the stone tile to the right and the door closed behind them.
“Being a prince or no, there are some marvels in this world I do so care to quietly observe,” Berrytrill sighed. “I could spend years and years reading here.”
“Do not forget why we are here, Trill,” Charles chided. “Keep a lookout. The two vampires below were left there for a reason, and we are close now. The object of our hunt is on the other side of this bunker. Can’t fall prey now.”
“Good point,” the fairy said, speeding ahead.
Charles watched him go, extending his own senses into the faintly lit area. The vampire was not far away. He knew that. He could also feel the groups of people above enjoying Rome’s night and all its wonder, wholly unaware of the evil that had infiltrated the city. Vampires were relegated to myths, legends, and sappy romance novels that left middle-aged women aquiver. None of those people knew the truth. Ages past, very real Tuatha de Dannan fey and other magical beings had fled this world for Annwn to begin life anew. The Church had driven them out with iron and the sword.
Those Catholics above knew nothing of that. And if they had known, such creatures would have been labeled blasphemously evil.
When Charles had crossed half the distance to the far wall, passing hundreds of rows of books and gathered scrolls, Berrytrill came flying hurriedly back.
“Swiss Guards ward the restoration room,” the fairy shared.
“And beyond?”
“The vampire.”
Charles quickened his pace. Time was of the essence and Berrytrill would have cleared the way of traps—magical or otherwise. It didn’t take him long to traverse the rest of the room. The path the Dark Thorn showed him fully realized, Charles slowed as he peered around a last set of bookshelves to assess the situation on his own.
Berrytrill was right. Almost twenty Swiss Guards stood at the entrance to the restoration room of the Secret Archives, weapons aimed through the glass that comprised the room’s long wall. The guards did not concern him though. Beyond, in the room, he could just make out the unruly white hair of Cardinal Archivist Cesare Farina, his lined face drawn with fear, and fresh bruises blooming where he had been struck.
And at his side the unmistakable presence of the vampire.
Charles did not waste time. He strode into the middle of the Swiss Guard as if he commanded the entire world. A guard moved to obstruct the knight almost immediately.
“Halt! Now!” he demanded.
“I am here to speak with the Cardinal Archivist,” Charles said, loud enough for the occupants in the restoration room to hear.
“Only those given leave by Captain Beck Almgren can ent—”