ourselves. We became in fact what they said we were in name only. We became a true order of chivalry. We became a society. A people.”
“You still live in tunnels, Grigor.”
“Because we choose to. It is our world, within but apart from the world above. We have thousands of miles of tunnels. We come and go and no one knows we are here. Archaeologists and miners sometimes find the tunnels, but we collapse connecting tunnels, and we are experts at disguising our private tunnels. We are not found unless we choose to be found.”
“That’s pretty fucking impressive.”
Grigor gave a half smile. “It’s necessary. We know that we could never integrate into the world above. We can play dress up and ‘pass’ for one of you, but not on close inspection. And we are still hunted up there. The Inquisition was created by a papal bull to hunt us down. Us and other things that move in the dark, most of who are only fantasies concocted by fools. Father Nicodemus was able to use some aspects of the Inquisition so that he and the sitting Scriptor could find true Upierczi. Find and recruit us; but to the Church at large we were monsters and therefore evil; and they still hunt us. We do not fear any man in single combat, or any two or three men. But the Inquisitors did not come at us in small numbers. They sent armies against us. They sent special teams-the Sabbatarians, the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulcher, and many others over the years. Some-most-of those groups are long gone. Died out or killed by us or disbanded by changes in Church policies. Only the Inquisitors remain, and after a long silence they’ve become active again.”
“Yeah,” said Vox, “I know about one of them. The Sabbatarians. The Seven Kings ran into them a couple of times. I even used them once in a while for some wetworks stuff, but I broke off my ties with them. Idealistic trash. They’re still around, though, and they’re formidable in numbers.”
“In the same way locusts are.”
“There are a lot of them,” said Vox, and Grigor nodded.
“Over the years we-with the help of Father Nicodemus-have managed to weaken their effectiveness by feeding them lies about who and what we are. About our strengths and weaknesses.”
“Disinformation,” Vox supplied. “Stakes, crosses, sunlight, that sort of shit?”
“Yes.”
“Nicodemus is a tricky bastard. What about garlic?”
Grigor did not answer.
Vox said, “I heard a rumor that some other group is gunning for you too. Arklight?”
Grigor hissed like a snake. “Whores and daughters of whores.”
“Maybe,” said Vox grudgingly. “Whores with high-powered sniper rifles, though.
With a black-nailed finger, Grigor pointed into the darkness in the direction of the wretched weeping. “They were our whores once. There is not one of them who has not screamed for us.”
“Charming,” murmured Vox. A wave of nausea swept through him and he stopped to steady himself on a wall. “When do we start the treatments? I’m losing a lot of ground here.”
The King of Thorns smiled.
“The treatment will make you scream,” he murmured.
“Then I’ll fucking scream,” snarled Vox.
The word “scream” echoed through the endless darkness.
A challenge. A promise.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Homa Hotel
51 Khodami Street, Vanak Square
Tehran, Iran
June 15, 9:06 a.m.
The sniper’s name was not Violin.
But it would do. For Joseph Ledger and for this crisis, it would do. The name meant something to her from a long time ago. Back when she meant something to herself. When she had a life instead of a mission.
Violin.
Even the sound of it in her mind was bittersweet. A memory of a girl who laughed freely and who thought that all the monsters in the world were in storybooks. Back before her eyes were opened.
Violin. She had liked the way Ledger had repeated it. He had truly tasted the name, the way a sensualist would. That intrigued her. She already knew that he was a passionate man, that was clear from the profiles Oracle had read to her. Ledger was a sensuous man, and a tragic one. He wore death and grief like garments.
And Violin understood that very well.
What she did not understand was why she had lingered to watch him, or worse yet, why she had called him. It felt correct while she was dialing, and yet in every way open to her analytical mind it was wrong. A tactical and strategic error and a clear break with Arklight protocol. Mother would be furious.
No, she corrected herself, Mother will be furious. The call was now part of her phone log, which meant that it was part of the mission file. Lilith would never overlook it.
“Oracle,” she said aloud.
The screen on her small computer lit up with its smiling Mona Lisa.
“Oracle welcomes you.”
“I want to enter a new code name.”
“Voice recognition is active. What code name would you like to enter?”
“Violin.”
“Is this for file or field use?”
“Field use. It will be my call sign for this mission. Enable.”
“May I inquire as to why you have changed your code name? Has your cover been compromised?”
“My cover is intact. The change is to… maintain high security standards.”
“Thank you. Call sign ‘Violin’ is enabled. All appropriate field teams will receive a coded memo. How may I help you, Violin?”
“I need to speak to my mother. Right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tehran, Iran
One Year Ago
Hugo Vox sat in his car and wept.
He had never felt pain like this before. Not during chemo or radiation. Not even the cancer hurt this bad. Upier 531 was a lot more than gene therapy. Vox knew about gene therapy and it didn’t hurt beyond the simple injections.
He felt like every cell in his body was tearing itself apart.
The car was soundproof, so his screams bounced off the windows and the leather seats and smashed into him like fists. He punched the steering wheel and dashboard.
Tears ran down his face.
“God!” he begged. “Please, God…”
But God had never once answered his prayers, even when Vox still believed.
Vox felt his mind fracture, felt pieces fall away. A fever burned through him and his skin was as hot as if he sat in a furnace. The sweat ran down so heavily that he felt like he was melting.
What had he done?
How could he have thought that this was going to save him, because now he was sure it was killing
