Riders (Riders, #1)(62)

I did a full lap around the piazza, orienting myself. On my second turn I spent a few minutes staring at the wing that housed the Vatican museums. Somewhere in there was the Sistine Chapel, which contained Michelangelo’s famous frescoes. I thought of my sister, who should’ve been the one standing there, appreciating all the culture and history. Then I thought of my mom, and glanced at a pay phone nearby, picturing myself making that call.

Hey, Mom. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Been busy protecting a sacred key from some demons. No, that’s right. Demons. There’s this girl who’s running things. Daryn. I know, weird name but I like her. That’s right. Like her, like her. Is it mutual? No. Actually I think she hates me right now. Sorry to get your hopes up. Okay. Okay, Mom. I just said I would. Mom, could you stop? I’ve agreed like ten times already. I promise I’ll be nicer to her. Can we please talk about something else now?

Probably not exactly how it would’ve gone but it made me smile to imagine it. I just hoped she was doing okay.

After two hours of wandering, I still hadn’t sensed Conquest and I was starting to get antsy. It was close to one in the morning and the place had cleared out. The guards were starting to get suspicious of me. Something didn’t feel right. Daryn and I had found both Bastian and Marcus right away. This was taking much longer.

I radioed Daryn and Marcus, checking in and telling them I’d head back to the Fiat in fifteen minutes. Then I took a dim path that led to a wrought-iron gate manned by a pair of guards. The Vatican Gardens.

“Closed, huh?” I said, though I knew they wouldn’t answer me. On the other side of the gate I saw an expanse of unbroken darkness. I’d read about this place in the guide—ordered gardens in geometric patterns, every shrub trimmed down to a perfect sphere, no leaf out of place. My kind of gardens, in other words.

As my eyes adjusted I could make out the rough shape of shrubs. A topiary hedge, then a path. My eyes drifted left, searching for symmetry, and I saw a blur of movement.

I tensed and the shorter guard caught my eye.

“Have a good night,” I said, and started walking.

Casually, I reached back and made sure my knife was in the outer pocket of my pack. The path curved and grew darker as the wrought-iron gate became a high cement wall. I was alone now—not even any security guards in sight. My heart thudded in my chest. A light mist began to fall as I worked my way back to Via della Conciliazione. I needed to get back to Daryn and Marcus. I had a strong feeling the Kindred had tracked us again. We needed to leave. I couldn’t lose anyone else.

The Fiat wasn’t where I’d left it. As soon as I saw that it was gone I changed courses, heading away from the Vatican.

Turning into a narrow residential street, I pulled my radio out of my pocket, the soles of my shoes sliding on the slick cobblestones. “Daryn, where are you?”

I noticed that my cuff was buzzing, but it wasn’t Bas or Marcus. The tone humming into my arm was new. Conquest. He was around here somewhere. My break was over; things were happening fast now.

“What’s going on, Daryn? Talk to me,” I tried again.

I didn’t see anyone else along the street but it was dim, illuminated by a few feeble streetlamps. To either side of me apartments rose six to eight stories high, their windows in darkness at this late hour. I saw several underground garages, shadowed entryways and small alleys. All offered great places for the Kindred to lie in wait. Thinking ambush, I stepped off the curb and walked down the middle of the street.

The radio crackled to life. “Gideon—had to leave—we tried to—”

I only heard snatches but there was no mistaking the fear in her voice. Adrenaline shot through me. I hit the talk button. “I didn’t get that, Daryn. Slow down. Tell me where you are.”

“I’m sorry. I had to—”

I stopped. Stared at the radio.

Come on. Not again. Not her.

Still no answer. I moved quickly through the radio’s screens to track her location using the GPS.

The hair on my arms lifted as a shadow streaked over the wet cobblestones. I felt a rush of the night air sweep past me and looked up. I saw black wings beating above me for an instant. Then Alevar landed a few feet away, touching down on the street without making a sound.

Fear shot through me. I grabbed for my knife—then froze when the radio crackled in my hand.

Static. It was just static.

Alevar crouched on all fours and folded his wings. He tilted his head to the sound, listening as he stared at me with his huge pleading eyes.

My knife was still strapped to my pack. I needed it. But his body was bent like a frog’s, compact and ready to spring. He could be on me in one leap, I was positive. He could rip my throat open with his teeth before I ever reached my knife.

“What do you want?”

My voice was hoarse, my breathing too shallow.

He crept toward me, still angling his head. Intricate markings went up along his forehead and scalp, glowing faintly like his eyes. Sound, I realized, looking at his large tipped ears. He was locating me by sound, responding to the radio’s soft static.

He kept coming. Was almost on me.

“Stop.”

He flattened his ears and went low, hugging the street. Then he extended his bony arm and pointed at the radio.

I lifted it. “This is what you want? No way.”

He gestured again with more urgency. His curved talons were the color of raw steel.