MIDNIGHT HUNT: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles Page 22

  “Yes, Uncle, but why are they here? I thought Papa said the Roman Catholic Church had no say in this part of Germany.”

  “True enough, boy, but the Protestants are no less enthusiastic about prosecuting witches.” The uncle pushed his unfinished stew to the center of the table. “The trials have kept to the south, but if what everyone is saying is true, that’s about to come to an end.” He stood and pulled Jason by the arm. “That’s why we’re leaving. We’ve got a lot of work to do before we can leave, though.”

  The men vacated the table, leaving a wake of murmuring that rippled across the inn’s tavern…and left a smile on Marcus’s face.

  * * * * *

  “I’m sorry,” Abbot Cromer said, pursing his lips as his judgmental eyes assessed Marcus. “The Inquisitor isn’t available at the moment. If you discuss your complaint with me, I shall pass it on to him as soon as he has returned.”

  “Sorry, Father, but I need to see the Inquisitor personally.” Marcus crossed his arms and leaned against the monastery gate.

  “Then you will have to come back after nightfall, when he is expected to return from his errands.” Abbot Cromer frowned. “That should give you plenty of time to get cleaned up and sober. You reek of beer.” Pushing and shooing Marcus back as if he was some bothersome fly, he slammed the gate closed and wheeled around to march back into the monastery grounds.

  Marcus cursed and strolled down the pathway that led back into Vollstadt. Coming back after dark meant wearing the werewolf warding charm and he loathed the way it made him sluggish and drained. But he couldn’t very well appear before the Inquisitor in werewolf form. He had taken a risk wearing it when he captured Irma, not knowing exactly what the charm would do to him, and he never imagined he’d be wearing it for the time he did. The Vamsyrian had tarried much longer than he anticipated. However, the result was learning the limitation of the herbs powers. He’d worn it for at least six hours before his extremities had become numb and his thoughts disoriented. Surely he could make his deal with the Inquisitor within that amount of time.

  * * * * *

  Angus scratched his quill across his journal, writing down the last bit of information he remembered from Helga Schuld and Peter Opfer’s blood. As other information surfaced from his recollections, he would continue to write them down, but he was pleased to have recorded the vast majority of their memories.

  With that task finished, he had the attention to brood over his latest delay. Father Meier had only just arrived earlier that afternoon and was finally taken into custody—a full day and a half later than originally expected. Angus’s patience was wearing thin.

  The clang of the knocker pounded the door of his church-like guest house.

  “Enter!” Angus rose from the desk as his attending deacons escorted in a brooding man in mid-thirties with ice-blue eyes.

  “I present to you Father Campbell,” Deacon Bernardo Pessina introduced with a wave of his hand. “Inquisitor to His Holiness, the Bishop of Rome, our Pope.” He ushered the man forward. “Marcus Sparenland, Father Campbell.”

  “Thank you, Bernardo.” Angus crossed his arms. “How may I help you, Herr Sparenland?”

  Marcus glanced left, then right, cocking an eyebrow and sizing up everyone in the room. He took a step forward and squinted at Angus. “You? You’re an inquisitor?”

  Angus detected no thoughts. Another member of the Army of Light? “State your purpose. I lack the time and the patience.”

  Marcus crossed his arms, mirroring Angus’s stance, and furrowed his brow. “There is a witch and a Vamsyrian in a nearby village. You do know what a Vamsyrian is, don’t you Father Campbell?”

  Angus chuckled. “It’s my job to know the creatures Satan creates. Of course I do.”

  “Of course you do.” Marcus sneered. “I have information which might interest you.”

  “Do you, now?” Angus grinned. “And I suppose you are doing your civic duty by coming here?” He held up his hand when Marcus opened his mouth to speak. “Before you give your confession and share all the details, I’d like to bless you.”

  The deacons stepped forward, guiding Marcus with gentle hands to his elbows, but Marcus glared and jerked out of their touch.

  “They won’t harm you. Just kneel before me.”

  Marcus pursed his lips, obviously displeased with the request, but grumbled and dropped to one knee. He never took his eyes from Angus, though.

  Angus chuckled. Amusing lad. He laid his hand on the crown of Marcus’s head, closed his eyes and raised his other palm to the heavens. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritks Sancti. Give this man the clarity of spirit and heart to confess the truth, or may he suffer for his iniquities, for the wages of sin is death.” Angus willed Marcus to lose consciousness…but nothing happened. He gazed down at Marcus, who peered back at Angus with a knowing grin. Bernardo and Stefano frowned and glanced at each other, then turned their questioning eyes to Angus.

  Marcus cocked an eyebrow and quirked a lopsided grin. “Not the response you expected, Father?”

  Angus beamed, feigning great pleasure. “You must be quite strong in the Lord, my friend.”

  Marcus chuckled.

  The door swung open and Abbot Cromer poked his head into the room. “Father Angus, Father Wilhelm is ready whenever you are.”

  “As you can see, dear Abbot, I have a guest.”

  Abbot Cromer surveyed the people in the room and blanched. “Yes, sir. I apologize for interrupting.”

  “I’ll see to Father Wilhelm once I’m done here.”

  Abbot Cromer bowed and ducked out, closing the door behind him.

  “Father Angus Campbell, is it?” Marcus stood and clasped his hands in front of him. “One doesn’t encounter very many Angus Campbells in Germany. How interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know a Vamsyrian named Broderick MacDougal…would you? A certain enemy of yours?” His steel blue gaze and self-satisfied smile locked on Angus.

  Intriguing. “Yes, I do. As an Inquisitor of the Church, I have made many enemies of Satan’s minions. That is no secret.”

  Marcus leaned forward. “Perhaps you would prefer we continue this conversation in private.”

  Angus smiled. “I’ll allow it.” He waved a dismissive hand to his deacons and chuckled. “Give us a few moments, if you please. I’ll summon you when we’re ready for his confession.”

  Bernardo and Stefano bowed and strolled from the room. Angus walked behind them to close the door and pulled a kerchief from his trouser pocket. Once the door was shut, Angus grabbed Marcus by the throat in a flash and slammed him against the wall, shoving the kerchief into the stunned man’s mouth. Marcus struggled against Angus’s grip and Angus squeezed and pushed Marcus up the wall, his feet dangling a foot or so above the floor. “You will answer my questions with a simple nod or a shake of your head. Do you understand?”

  Marcus grunted and panted, thrashing to break free.

  Angus sighed and slammed his captive’s head against the wall. “Do. You. Understand?”

  Marcus groaned and nodded, his eyes searching for purchase.

  “Good. Are you a member of the Army of Light?”

  Blinking his eyes, Marcus struggled for clarity and Angus waited until his gaze was sharp and knowing.

  “I repeat, are you a member of the Army of Light?”

  His brow creased and he shook his head.

  Angus had seen enough confessions to know whether or not someone lied. This man had no idea who the Tzava Ha’or was. “Do you know the Hebrew incantation?”

  Confusion reigned on this man’s face and, again, he shook his head.

  He removed the kerchief from Marcus’s mouth. “What do you really want?” Angus sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “And what is that smell?”

  Marcus grinned and rasped through the hold on his throat, “A wolf in sheep’s clothing, Vamsyrian?”

  Angus squeezed and Marcus grunted, glaring. “Answer the question. What do you really want?”

  M
arcus chuckled in spite of the hold Angus had on his throat. “The blood of a Vamsyrian,” he rasped. “I know it has healing properties. I came here to bargain for Broderick’s, but perhaps you’ll give me yours and I won’t tell the priests about your little secret.”

  Angus laughed. “I’ll just snap your neck and tell them you were struck down by God. They’ll believe me.” He sniffed the air again, grimacing. “What is that odor?” A lump under Marcus’s shirt caught his eye and he yanked the leather cord around his neck to pull out a small sachet. A charm to block thoughts, perhaps? It may have also prevented Angus from persuading Marcus to lose consciousness. “Perhaps I should take this offending little bundle and toss it into the hearth.”

  “I cannot be held responsible for my actions, if you remove it.” Marcus unfurled a devious grin.

  Oh, this lad is interesting! “Is that so?” He grinned and reassessed everything that happened since Marcus arrived. Angus threw his head back and laughed, in spite of the danger he’d almost put himself in by threatening to remove the sachet. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you? You knew I was a Vamsyrian the moment you walked through my door.”

  Marcus nodded. Angus dropped the werewolf, who coughed and rubbed his throat, then tossed his kerchief into the hearth.

  “I know it will take you a few agonizing moments to transform into a werewolf, so don’t think to threaten me with your venomous bite. You’ll be dead before you can defend yourself.” Angus strolled to the chair at his desk and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee. “The only reason you’re alive is because I find you every entertaining. I will allow you to speak. But if you don’t please me…” He grinned.

  Marcus frowned while still rubbing his throat.

  “So…what can I do for you? Or more importantly, what can you do for me? I have something you want. Let’s barter.”

  “I just need Vamsyrian blood. His or yours. I care not.”

  “Werewolves have their own regenerative abilities, inferior though they are. Why do you want Vamsyrian blood?”

  “It’s the final ingredient for a cure.”

  “A cure for the werewolf curse?” His eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

  “I paid a witch to discover it.”

  “Ah, I see.” Angus shrugged. “I don’t see you offering anything yet. That’s how we barter. You give me what I want and I give you what you want.”

  “I will tell you where Broderick’s lair is.” Marcus smirked.

  “Broderick’s lair is on his ship. What else do you have?”

  Marcus frowned and crossed his arms.

  Angus shook his head at the pathetic werewolf. “If you know Broderick is my enemy and I’m this close to him, why would think I didn’t already know this information? In fact.” Angus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why would you come to me for Broderick’s blood? You know the location of his lair. Waltz in there and get it yourself. Surely his feeble little crew is no match for a ferocious man such as yourself?” Angus chuckled.

  Marcus pursed his lips and paced the room. “He knows a very effective ward that acts like an invisible wall. He and his witch have both used it against me.”

  Angus tilted his head with interest. “Witch?”

  “Yes, the witch I paid to find the cure. The bitch he’s fucking.” Marcus near spat the words from his mouth.

  “Ah. This is about a woman.” He laughed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I supposed that’s how you obtained your little charm that keeps you from transforming?” He shrugged. “The charm obviously works. Why would you turn her in? Couldn’t toss her skirts, could you? Or did Broderick finally break his celibacy vows and fuck her before you could?”

  “The charm is only temporary.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but you’re beginning to bore me.”

  “I have proof she’s a witch.” Marcus grinned.

  Angus sighed. “Pray tell, what proof is that outside of a little bag of leaves?”

  “She has a book of spells in the Witch’s Alphabet.”

  Angus rolled his eyes heavenward. “This is all very interesting, but why should I care? Broderick is the one I’m after and I can get him myself.”

  “If you get her, you’ll have an advantage over Broderick.”

  “Are all werewolves as thick as you are? Or are you just unique?” Angus rose and threw his hand out before him, casting the incantation and pinning Marcus against the wall. Nice to know this works against werewolves. He spoke over the werewolf’s grunts and groans of agony. “We’re done talking. You have nothing of interest to me.”

  “He will come for her,” he rasped between moans. “I swear it.”

  Angus shook his head and pursed his lips, irritated with the idiot. “Not only can I get Broderick MacDougal myself, you know nothing about him or me if you think I’m stupid enough to believe he’d come for this witch. There’s only one woman he would risk his neck for and she’s been dead for eight decades.”

  “They both believe Monika is Davina reborn!”

  Angus dropped the ward and Marcus fell to the stone floor, still writhing in pain. The prophecy. The members of the Army of Light he’d fed from had thought the line of the prophecy had been broken once Davina died. He scoffed. Even if the prophecy wasn’t true, as long as Broderick believed this witch was Davina, he did indeed have that added element of torture for his own gratification.

  He grinned and gazed down at Marcus. “That, my boy, is enough to keep my interest. I want to know where this girl is. Once I have them in custody, you can have all the Vamsyrian blood you want.”

  “And I want the girl.” Marcus staggered to his feet, panting.

  Angus chortled. “You’re accusing her of being a witch. What makes you think she’ll have you? In fact, she’ll probably use your entrails for a spell.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I don’t want to marry the bitch. I just want to fuck her. She owes me and I’m taking it out of her arse.”

  Angus cocked a critical brow. “You had ample opportunity to get your hands on her and it appears you wasted your chance.” He turned his back to the werewolf and strolled to the door. “If there’s anything left of her after the interrogation, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You have the ability to give me what I want. What is the girl to you?”

  Angus opened the door a few inches and glared over his shoulder. “You should be worried about getting your cure. Mind me or you won’t even get that.” Pulling the door wider, he waved to his deacons, who stood across the courtyard. “Thank you for an entertaining evening.”

  His deacons filed into the room and bowed.

  “Bernardo, please summon the abbot and have Father Wilhelm brought here immediately.”

  “Certamente,” Deacon Pessina confirmed and exited.

  “Stefano.” Angus put his arm around his deacon’s shoulder and walked both him and Marcus outside. “We have a witch and a Vamsyrian to seize on the morrow. Marcus Sparenland knows where both of them can be found. Please get a full written confession from him. And once we know the location of the Vamsyrian, I will give you explicit instructions on how to collect him. I want him alive.” Angus shook Marcus’s hand and smiled. “Thank you for being so cooperative, Herr Sparenland. You will be rewarded in heaven.”

  Marcus smirked and followed after Deacon Rossi, who already started marching across the courtyard. Deacon Pessina, with Abbot Cromer and Father Wilhelm Meier, passed them along the way. Inclining his head respectfully, Angus invited the three of them into the guest house. Once he closed the door behind him, he nodded to Bernardo, who guided Abbot Cromer to the side of the room, leaving Father Wilhelm in the center.

  “I present to you Father Campbell,” Bernardo repeated for the sake of their new guest. “Inquisitor to His Holiness, the Bishop of Rome, our Pope.”

  Angus circled the priest, observing his fidgeting fingers, rapid breathing and heartbeat, shifting eyes and brow creased with worry. He tried to read hi
s thoughts. As a member of the Army of Light, Father Wilhelm would be protected by the incantation, which was routinely said over food and drink consumed by the members. As such, Angus would be unable to read his thoughts. This also made his blood volatile to any Vamsyrian—something Angus learned the hard way.

  He stood before the priest with his hands behind his back. “For the sake of my witnessing deacon, you are Father Wilhelm Meier?”

  Meier nodded.

  “Do you know why you have been brought to an inquisitor?”

  “No, Father. I do not.” Wilhelm trembled. “I have never listened to any of the Protestant ideals and have been a faithful man of the Roman Catholic Church for—”

  “You are not a faithful man of the Church.” Angus pointed an accusing finger in the priest’s face. “You are a heretic!”

  “Why? I have served God faithfully, living within this monastery since I was a boy!”

  Angus strolled to Abbot Cromer’s side. “No, Father Wilhelm. You are a member of the Tzava Ha’or.”

  Wilhelm snapped his gaze to Angus and the blood drained from his face. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” His voice lacked conviction.

  He inclined toward his host. “Did you see that, Abbot Cromer?”

  Cromer nodded, his eyes glassing with tears, anger creasing his brow.

  “What is the zabba ha, zabba ha,” Meier stammered.

  Angus chuckled and pivoted on his heel to regard Stefano. “What is the Tzava Ha’or, my faithful servant?”

  “The Army of Light,” Stefano responded with his thick Italian accent, his face devoid of emotion.

  Grinning, Angus strolled to stand before Father Wilhelm. “That is correct. Now…the paled expression on your face betrays you. You know exactly who and what the Army of Light is. Tell me where your other members are, or you will burn as a heretic. Where would you like to begin?”

  Father Meier swallowed, closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he leveled them on Angus. “Since I know nothing of this Army of Light, Father, where would you like me to begin?”