fourteen men remained-ten of whom were over sixty, including the head of the sanctuary, Bishop Pietro Aretino, who seemed to have aged a decade during the three months Anthony had been away.
“Bishop.” Anthony knelt on one knee and kissed the bishop’s hand in respect.
“Anthony.” He sounded relieved to see him, and very old.
Anthony took the old man’s hands and squeezed them gently. “Father Philip rests at the mission, with the others, as you wanted.”
The bishop nodded, his pale eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He knew he was going to die.”
Anthony’s heart skipped a beat. “Why did he leave?”
“He was called. Philip listened well, and never refused a call.”
Anthony averted his eyes to avoid shedding tears. He’d wept for the only father he’d known at the funeral mass; he could weep no more. Yet they were on the cusp of change. Their numbers had thinned; every single one of their order was needed, and more. St. Michael’s, which at its peak had more than two hundred men living within these walls, could not function with just fourteen. Even three months ago there were more than forty studying, researching, providing wisdom and information to the hunters that Olivet trained.
“What happened to Dr. Lieber?”
Pietro shook his head. “He was eighty-six. The journey tired him.”
“Bishop, excuse me, but I find that unbelievable.”
“God’s ways are not our ways.”
“It is a coincidence I find difficult to accept. Dr. Lieber had not left Switzerland in more than twenty years. He must have wanted to speak with me desperately to travel this far.”
“The trip took more than fifteen hours. John said dear Franz slept most of the time. It was difficult, but he brought all his journals. They are now yours.”
“I’ve read most of them. I needed his interpretation.”
“The answers are there. He would not have brought them if they weren’t.”
“What did the magistrate say?” Anthony asked.
“They haven’t said anything. They came this morning after Gideon went to retrieve Dr. Lieber for brunch and found him passed on. I suppose they’ll inspect the body, whatever it is that they do, then send him home for burial. I contacted his granddaughter-”
“Granddaughter? I didn’t know he had any family, that he was even married.”
“Oh, yes, he simply never discussed it. He’s Catholic; his wife was Jewish. One day while they lived in France, she simply disappeared, leaving him with a young daughter to raise. He moved to Switzerland, and hadn’t left since-until yesterday.” Pietro sighed wearily. “Later, he learned his wife was killed in a concentration camp. His daughter married and had one daughter-I don’t remember her first name, Dr. Zuelle. She’s an archeologist at Oxnard.”
Anthony had, of course, heard of Dr. Katja Zuelle. She’d written extensively on religious artifacts in Europe and the Middle East. He’d never met her, nor known she was the reclusive, paranoid Dr. Lieber’s granddaughter.
“Is she coming?”
Pietro shook his head. “Dr. Zuelle hadn’t spoken to her grandfather in many years. She told me she’d contact his lawyer about his will and find out what his wishes were. We, Anthony-you and I and Philip and the others-have no family, except one another. To have blood relatives and be estranged-it saddens me deeply.”
Pietro sounded depressed, very unlike the serene and stately bishop Anthony had grown up with.
John stepped into the great room and said, “The cardinal is waiting in the east library.”
Anthony couldn’t shield his surprise. “Cardinal DeLucca? He’s here?”
“He arrived this morning to meet with Dr. Lieber,” Pietro said. “He didn’t have the chance.”
Anthony hadn’t even known the cardinal was on the island. “Bishop, John,” he said quietly, “everyone must be extremely cautious. Until we know what happened to Dr. Lieber.”
John nodded. Anthony realized John had the same concerns. He needed to speak to his brother in private. Ever since he had set foot in St. Michael’s, something felt wrong. It could simply be the absence of Father Philip and the empty halls. Or it could be something more nefarious. For the first time, he wanted to call upon Moira and have her use her abilities-namely her ability to detect magic-here at St. Michael’s. He loathed to summon her back here, but if the Order was in jeopardy he would do anything to save it.
Pietro seemed confused, and Anthony wondered whether at his advanced age he might not have complete control of his faculties. “Dr. Lieber died of natural causes,” Pietro said.
“We can’t assume that. He was old, but I hope a full autopsy is done. Bishop, do you know the magistrate who is handling the death investigation?”
“Not personally, no.”
“Whoever you trust the most, someone who understands the people and demons we face, please call him and request a full autopsy and investigation.”
“I know who to call,” John said.
Anthony was relieved that John fully understood the situation.
“Anthony, the cardinal is waiting,” Pietro said.
“Of course.”
“I’ll take you,” John said. With a slight bow toward the bishop, the two men left the room.
“What’s going on, John?” Anthony asked quietly.
“I don’t know, but Rico sent almost everyone here on assignment. Only the oldest and most infirm are left-it puts them at risk. I told Rico I needed to stay.”
“You must-this is our sanctuary. If we lose it-” Anthony didn’t have to finish his sentence.
“We have no one to spare. I will stay as long as necessary. While you meet with the cardinal, I’ll walk the grounds and investigate even the most trivial signs.”
“Thank you.”
They parted in the main entry, and Anthony proceeded down the long, wide stone hall to the east library. It was midafternoon. On a sunny day, light would have been streaming through the stained-glass windows, but not today. Still, it was one of his favorite rooms in the monastery, where he had spent a great deal of time here over the years.
Francis Cardinal DeLucca was in his late fifties, with a full head of dark hair liberally shot through with silver. He was a stately man, physically fit, and well-respected in both the Vatican and Italy. He had been instrumental in stopping a small but vocal movement close to the previous pope that had attempted to close down St. Michael’s after Peter’s death at the hands of the demon who’d possessed Moira. Without the cardinal, then a bishop, running interference and using his oratory skills and extensive network and personal friendships with many of the pope’s inner circle, Anthony suspected St. Michael’s would have closed its doors seven years ago. That was only the most recent time St. Michael’s had been at risk.
The cardinal had three priests with him, as was common when traveling. Anthony strode over to the cardinal and kissed his ring. “Cardinal.”
“Anthony.” He put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder and gave him a blessing. “I am saddened by these events.”
Anthony didn’t want to discuss the situation with the other men in the room. He didn’t know them, and while Cardinal DeLucca had been a crucial supporter of St. Michael’s and the work they did, he wasn’t of the Order.
The cardinal, as if sensing Anthony’s reticence, told the men, “I need to speak with Dr. Zaccardi about spiritual matters, if you would please wait for me in the great hall?”
Anthony shifted uncomfortably at the title of “doctor.” He had his Ph.D., but he never used his title. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had addressed him as such, except jokingly at his graduation.
The priests left, and the cardinal motioned for Anthony to sit. “I asked John to bring in Dr. Lieber’s papers. I have the rest of the day clear. I hope you’ll allow me to help with your research.”
Anthony was stunned. “Cardinal, you’re a busy man.”
“This is important. The fate of St. Michael’s is at risk. I don’t have to tell you that Father Philip’s death has had lasting repercussions. Though Pietro is the titular head of the monastery, everyone knows that Philip was the strength behind the leadership. Without him, I don’t know that I have the power to keep St. Michael’s alive.”
“What do we need to do?”
