Drew D'Amato:Bloodlines:02 (32 page)

4

W
hat could be called a wake—had there been a body—for Father Anthony Pacami was held at a funeral home across from the Divine Saviour on Tuesday night.  It was at a modest funeral home that mostly did all the business for the funerals conducted through the church.  The service was full of people, which was not bad for a man who was never married and had no children.  The wake was from 4 to 7 and Jasmine and her father got there around five-thirty.

She had been a mess and her father had been there for her.  He told her to ask her professors to excuse her from class for a few days, but the work helped her keep her mind off Vlad.  She had been watching the news, and searching the internet, but no body had ever shown up.  There was a part of her that still took comfort in hearing that, as if he might still be alive.  That hope started to die down Tuesday, because if he was alive, what does it say that he has not even tried to get in contact with her.  If it had just been an accident and he had survived, he would have been in contact with her by now so that possibility died in her mind throughout Monday.  Now if he was alive, it meant he faked his death to avoid those people hunting Malachi, and that would explain Malachi’s disappearance.  That scenario also meant that he would not get in touch with her, ever.  He had to move on, and he felt it was safer for her sake without her.  The result was basically the same dead or alive—he was gone—and she started to accept this on Tuesday.

The empty casket was at the back of the room.  To the left of it were some wreaths, one of them made with white roses had a picture of Pacami’s face in the center, with a wide smile.  She had been to wakes before and always seeing that dead body, made up with the stitched together lips, had never sat well in her stomach.  She was happy tonight to avoid that. 

Her father kneeled next to her to pay their last respects to the empty casket.  When they were done they got up and turned to their right to greet Father Montes, and an older woman with a man who appeared to be her husband.  Father Montes was distraught.  It was obvious in his eyes.  Jasmine’s father asked how he was doing, and he said he was just
doing
.  He didn’t try any cliché like,
The Lord works in myserious ways, or through his grace I find strength. 
He felt a little guilt for allowing his friend to go to Europe.  Not that he had done something wrong, but if he denied him his friend would still be alive. 

The women with graying thin hair and thin glasses introduced herself as Jessica Patton.  She was Pacami’s sister and had married a good Irish man, Alan, the man to her right.  They were so proud of all the faithful who had shown up to say goodbye to Anthony.  He really was a great man, and Jasmine and her father knew that too.  The seats were filled with people telling stories of the man.  Her father was nervous on the ride over that when they walked in, they would find just a few priests and some old dedicated followers.  What kind of family could a man have if he did not make one himself?  But Pacami had made a family, he just didn’t need a marriage to create it.

Jasmine felt obligated—but she also wanted to—tell a story about Pacami to his sister.  She told her how when she made her first communion Pacami asked her to do a reading, because she had a nice voice.  She was afraid to do any kind of public speaking at such a young age, but he helped her find the confidence to do it.  He told her no one would be disappointed if she did it, but two people would be if she didn’t—God and himself.  He also told her life is not about only doing what you feel safe with, but about doing what scares you the most and overcoming it.  The genesis of that philosophy might have come from his time in the war.  He learned that you had to be brave, and inspired her to take chances too.  Fourteen years after her first communion, when she did her student teaching last semester, she felt at ease speaking in front of the class.  And she had Pacami to thank for that.

As she finished up the story she sensed a presence to her left.  An old man with grey hair and a cane stood to the left of her father.  The man noticed all the eyes were now on him.

“I’m Kenny Brown.  I’ve come all the way from Idaho to pay respects to the man who saved my life.”

Montes’s eye lit up with recognition.  Over the years working together he had heard Pacami’s story of what had inspired him to join the Church.  Kenny responded to his look and turned to him.  “He may have talked about me.  I had the nickname Potato.”

Jasmine and her father felt it was right to walk away and they watched as Kenny, who had never met Pacami’s sister before, told them the story of how her brother saved his life.  He also told her how he had a wife, three children and seven grandchildren who had Pacami to thank.  Pacami had created another family.  Jasmine looked back and saw Jessica break into tears hearing this heroic tale of her brother.  Kenny walked away with a limp in his left leg, but not before he and Jessica shared a very emotional hug. 

As Kenny walked away, Jasmine’s father could see that now Kenny was a bit alone.  He sat by himself in the back of the funeral home.  He really knew no one here and Alec wanted to make him feel comfortable.  He also wanted to hear more of this war story himself.  He asked if Jasmine would be all right if he left her, and she said of course.  She watched her father shake the man’s hand and start a conversation.  She went to a group of chairs no one was occupying and sat down by herself. 

Alone she started to think of Vlad.  Without noticing it, she started to cry.  It was then that she heard his voice.

“He was a good man.”

“He was, he didn’t deserve this,” she answered back without looking up at who was speaking.

“No, but he’ll tell ya everyday above ground since the war was a bonus.”

Jasmine was now back to reality.  This person had been speaking of Pacami, but she had been thinking about Vlad.  She felt guilty for it, but she couldn’t help her grief.  She decided to try to get herself together and respond as if, yes, she had been crying over Pacami, not Vlad.

She turned and looked up and saw a dashing young man with blue eyes.  She was taken aback.  He had a warm smile to him. 

“The good ones always die too soon, no matter when it is.  I’m Justin Patton.” He stuck his hand out.

She shook it.  “Jasmine O’Reilly.”

Justin sat down next to her.  “He obviously meant something to you.  Can I ask how you knew my uncle?”

5

V
lad and Malachi made it to Philadelphia a little before six p.m. Wednesday night.  Between stopping for food, gas, and a refill on some blood in East St. Louis, the ride took a little under two days and they decided to stay away from New York for the night.  Philly was only two hours away.  They would leave just before dawn tomorrow.  They got a room at the Sofitel Philadelphia.  Once inside, they loaded their guns.  They were ready to go.  They just had to wait for sunlight.  Malachi looked for something to order from room service when Vlad dropped something on the bed in front of him.

“These were Jericho’s,” Malachi said.  He was staring at two silver-plated Desert Eagle .50 calibers—Jericho’s.

“They are for my second in command.  That is you.”

“I am also your last in command.”

“Be that as it may, they were lucky for Jericho.  He would want you to use them.”

Malachi looked down the sight of one of them.  “Do you have the silencers for these?”

“Of course, but I hope we don’t have to resort to them.  I doubt theirs will be silenced.”

“Well the building should be pretty empty tomorrow.  But even if we catch them sleeping how did you plan to kill him, if not with the guns?”

Vlad went for the large duffle bag and pulled out his sword.  “With this, the blade is made from pure silver.”  He handed it over to Malachi and Malachi inspected the sword.

It really was a beautiful sword, none other like it in the world.  The
hilt was a dragon with four precious stoned imbedded into it.  The dragon was gold and the wings of it made up the cross guard.  Three precious stoned were contained in the grip.  A
t the
top above where the top hand would rest was a ruby
.  The
ruby went through
on both sides of the grip, comi
ng out of both ends,
cut in the sha
pe of a diamond.  It
was about an inch in length from the top tip to the bottom
tip
.  The next jewel was a
n emerald the same size and same length.  The emerald was placed so that it would be between where the two hands would rest.  Next was a sapp
hire,
at the bottom of the hilt, resting below the lower hand. 
The last jewel
, a diamond,
made up the pommel.  The pommel was the dragon’s head and inside the mouth was a large diamond
. 
This stone was circular, a ball in the dragon’s mouth, an inch and a half in diameter
.  This stone was a princess cut, clearer
than a piece of glass
. 
Malachi
could see the
wall through it as he held the sword up to his eyes
. 

T
he blade itself, double edged, stil
l shined its bright pure silver.  T
he inscription
was still clear, and
t
ook
up about a foot
in length on
the blade
starting right after the hilt
.
  Malachi read it.

Cum hic
muc
ro levo mundi de dominus
hostilis.
 

“It reads, ‘With this sword rid the world of the Lord’s enemies’,” Vlad said.

“Good advice.”

Vlad put the sword back in the bag and walked over to the window to look out at the city below.  “What time do you think we should leave tomorrow?  I’m thinking maybe six, and get there around eight, so when we get there they’ll definitely be asleep.”

“You’re not estimating the traffic are you?”

“You think an hour earlier?”

“Just an hour?  You forgot what tomorrow is didn’t ya?  Christ, I was in a coma and I know.  Why do you think I said earlier the building will be empty?”

Vlad was stumped.  “My mind is a blank, what is tomorrow?”

Malachi smirked.  “We should leave at four, okay, because we are going to have to worry about parade traffic.  Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”

Vlad looked out the window and nodded as if his nod was to destiny and no one else. 

“Of course it is.” 

TWELVE

1

C
ars packed the streets of Manhattan like a garage.  Vlad and Malachi had decided to leave at five, just in case all of the holiday traffic wasn’t that bad.  They learned sunrise was at 6:55.  It ended being a very sunny, cold Thanksgiving.  They didn’t want to risk leaving too early and finding themselves waiting around New York, with a car full of weapons, on a holiday when a major event was planned.  They were sure New York cops did not take terrorist threats lightly.  They did their best to not appear suspicious.  Malachi wore a charcoal Versace suit with a blue Ralph Lauren tie, Vlad had on a black Armani suit with a red Windsor tie.  

For the first hour it had been smooth sailing, it was still too early, but once they got into the state of New York the traffic started to pick up.  When they went through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and entered the city, there was mostly an exodus out of the city, but there were also some cars coming in, either for family or to see the parade.  The traffic was bad in all directions once they got into the city, but they did not have much farther to go.  Malachi checked the parade route on his BlackBerry and saw it was more uptown around 42
nd
street and not close to the 45-story building on the corner of Platt and Pearl St.

It was 7:30, the sun was out, but Vlad wanted to take their time anyway so he welcomed the traffic.  He asked Malachi to find a church near the area.  Malachi was stunned for a moment but most warriors—even sports figures—ask for a little prayer before a major battle.  Malachi obliged and found one close by on William Street and he smiled.

“What’s so funny,” Vlad asked.

“You’re going to love this name—Our Lady of Victory Church.”

“Perfect.” Vlad smiled.

2

M
alachi stayed in the car outside the front of the church to avoid having to park, while Vlad went inside.  He was a little uncomfortable with this idea.  He wanted his master strong, confident.  He always took praying before a battle as a sign of weakness, even when he was a human.  The strong don’t ask for help.  Time is better spent strategizing.  Now, a vampire was going into a church to pray.  He hoped he didn’t touch anything that would make him weak.  Vlad can’t falter now, there was no back up plan.

As Vlad walked up the steps he heard the hymns.  He was surprised there was a mass in session.  It was a holiday mass that started at 7:30.  Vlad could hear the Kyrie being sung, all in the church asking for Christ and the Lord to have mercy.  Vlad opened the door, hoping the prayer would hide the sound of his entrance.  Once the door closed behind him, the mass had a moment of silence.  A man got up to perform the second reading.  Being noticed by as few as possible, Vlad went right and took a seat at the right most corner of the last pew.

Vlad spaced out as the speaker read.  He took in the sight of the inside of the church.  The church was white, bright white, with dark tan trim.  It was modest, nothing compared to the place of worship he had just destroyed in Rome.  The architecture did not have his attention, but the sea of followers did.  Good people, he had to assume, and this was just a microcosm of how many good people there were out there in the world.  Not Christians, just good people of any creed or race.  Humans were sons of bitches, and the bad ones always managed to affect so many of the good, but there were still more good ones.  He caught of glimpse in his heart of what it really meant to save the world, of how many lives he was actually saving.

To his left a nine-year-old girl, with straight brown hair and big eyes, read along in her lectionary.  She looked up at Vlad, smiled, and then turned back to her reading.  Her father looked ahead at the altar.  Vlad sensed a vision of Jasmine at an early age.  He smiled back at the child then turned forward, looked at the cross, and realized—today he would win.

He wasted no more time and made his way out of the church.  Walking down the steps he thought of how much he had suffered, how much he had sacrificed, but it would not be for nothing.  It would be for everything.  Radu could not win.  There were forces more powerful than he or his brother at play here.  Malachi saw the confidence in his master’s eyes as he walked down the steps and felt relieved.  He put the car in gear before Vlad opened the door.