Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8)(47)

TWENTY-NINE

~ A Promise Fulfilled ~



“Giulia!”

Macey heard Sebastian shouting even before she got through the doors of St. Patrick’s.

She burst into the sanctuary and stopped, panting, soaked from the rain, and wondering how many other times tonight she was going to be out of breath and trembling with exhaustion. Other than Sebastian, the place was silent—of course it was; it was well past midnight on a stormy, miserable night.

Candles in opaque red containers flickered in rows on either side of the pews. Flames in clear glass sent off a mellower, bright light from the altar. A massive crucifix loomed over the dais. The colorful stained glass windows were dull and monochromatic. The pews were silent and empty.

“Giulia!” Sebastian shouted, his voice echoing violently throughout the arched space. He stood in the center of the aisle, spinning around to look in all directions.

The door bumped into Macey from behind, and Grady came in, also out of breath from running. He automatically made the sign of the cross.

“You all right?” he asked in a low voice. “Do you know what’s going on? How did a vampire even cross the threshold?”

Macey shook her head. “Sebastian is a special case.” An odd, prickly sort of understanding was beginning to settle over her. It was as if she knew what was happening, but couldn’t quite put words to it—even in her own mind.

Something moved near the side of the church, and Macey saw a stooped figure emerge from the shadows. Macey felt her heart swell and something big and warm blossom over her, followed by a strong, warm sensation.

She grabbed Grady’s hand without thinking, staring as Sebastian turned as if pulled by a string, and faced the elderly woman. Even from here, she could see his torso heaving, and his hands trembling.

“Giulia?” he whispered, taking a step toward the frail, veiled woman. “Is it you?”

Macey and Grady were easing slowly up the aisle, drawing near Sebastian—who suddenly seemed unable to move any further.

The crone pushed back her ever-present veil and, instead of responding to Sebastian, she looked at Macey. From several aisles away, Macey was struck by the power and serenity in the woman’s eyes as they fastened upon her. They were her own eyes—the Pesaro eyes.

“Thank you,” said the woman. In the candlelight, her gaze glistened with tears.

“Just how old are you, anyway?” Macey blurted out, then regretted such a stupid question in the midst of—whatever this was.

The elderly woman’s face wrinkled into a soft smile. “I’m 105 years old…today. Exactly today. On the day the long promise was made, I was reborn.” She pulled her attention away and settled it on Sebastian. “Mi adorate.”

“Giulia,” he whispered. “Does this mean…?”

She withdrew her hand from beneath the long, loose gown she wore. She was holding a stake. Its silver tip gleamed even in the low light. She was smiling with joy.

Macey’s insides surged, and she would have leapt toward them, but Grady caught her by the arm. “No.”

Heart thudding, pulse racing, Macey stilled. Every hair on her body stood on end; every muscle and tendon was taut and felt ready to snap.

“It’s time,” said Sebastian. “At last.” He wasn’t looking at anyone but the old woman—Giulia—as they walked toward each other.

“No,” Macey whispered. “Sebastian!” she cried. “What are you doing? What if you’re wrong? What if—”

But it was too late. The woman flung herself at Sebastian, stake raised, and as he threw himself into her embrace, she drove the pike home: hard, sharp, fast, strong.

So strong for such a frail, old creature.

Macey shrieked; she couldn’t help it, for it felt as if she herself had been stabbed in the heart as Sebastian froze, impaled on the silver stake. He jolted, his head thrown back, his beautiful bronze and amber self—bruised and bloody and beaten—illuminated by the golden candlelight in that arrested moment.

A great rush of energy filled the church, a cyclone of wind catching up a cloud of glittery ash and dust in a swirling column that surrounded Sebastian and Giulia…

It spun and illuminated, and in the midst of it, Macey saw their two figures—Sebastian and his love—embracing, twining, becoming one…and in the middle of the storm, there was a flash, a sharp, specific moment where the old woman metamorphosed into the beauty of her youth: with long, lush, dark hair, an unlined face, and big, dark eyes. Dark eyes that looked just like Macey’s.

They fastened on her, connecting with her from the distance. Macey felt the shock of warmth and comprehension—and perhaps love—explode over her as the young, beautiful woman held her gaze until she swirled back into the figure of the old crone.

And then, all at once, they were gone.

The two figures had exploded into a glittery silver dust that wafted throughout the sanctuary, settling over the pews and aisles like starlight rain. The scent that lingered was not the foul, musty one of death and evil, but something pleasant and beautiful.

Something like eternity.

The dust settled and the church became silent. And all that remained was the silver-tipped stake, the glittering rosary, and five copper rings.





THIRTY

~ Decisions and Answers and a Compliment ~



“Nothing’s changed,” Macey said, her voice taut with emotion.

She and Grady had made their way back to The Silver Chalice. Dawn was just breaking and the storm was over. The two of them were alone in the pub. All was silent and dark.

“Everything’s changed,” Grady shot back. He yanked away the collar of his shirt, soaked by rain and blood. “I was fed on—multiple times—by your redheaded friend. Don’t tell me nothing’s bloody changed.”

She balked a little at the sight of the raw vampire wounds. “Salted holy water,” she began.

“Already done. I had some in the heels of my shoes last night. Along with lock picks. And a small smoke bomb tucked inside my stocking, with matches to set it off—which, as you recall, was the reason we were able to escape undetected. I had a stake in my pocket and this,” he said, producing a series of three finger-sized pieces of wood. “It’s a stake—you see, you screw the pieces together, but they come apart so they can fit in a smaller place. Like the inside of my shoe.” His blue eyes blazed. “Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’ve gotten myself into, Macey. You can’t use that as an excuse anymore.”

She could only gape at him in astonishment, even as terror bubbled inside her. “You don’t understand,” she said, taking him by the arms. “My father—”

“The hell I don’t.” As when he was truly angry, there was no trace of the Irish—just hard, sharp words. “I understand more than you can possibly realize after seeing you fighting for your life—for my life, and for Sebastian’s. I saw you—I saw what you experienced, how powerful you are, and how much responsibility you have. I understand.”

“So did my mother,” Macey whispered. Tears filled her eyes, causing his dear, handsome face to become blurry. “And she became the target of the undead, simply because she was married to my father. They tortured her, Grady. What they did to her…it was worse than what Iscariot did to Mrs. Gutchinson. And it destroyed my father.” She was shaking her head. “I don’t want you to be hurt…and I don’t want to be destroyed. I have work to do.” She tried to make her voice sound cold and hard, but failed miserably.

This was hard. This was so hard.

“Sounds like a little bit of cowardice to me,” he said flatly. “But I guess I should take it as a compliment that you care so much.”

You have no idea how much I care. “You saw what happened last night—you saw the horror and the violence and the evil. But what you don’t understand, you can’t understand, is that it’s like that every day for me. Every day. Every night. I don’t get to rest. I don’t get to sleep. I don’t get to take time off. I don’t get to walk away. Ever. But you can, Grady.” The tears were coming faster now, and her voice shook with emotion. “You don’t want that kind of life—lonely, violent, and dark. You don’t deserve it.”

“Macey,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “What you don’t understand is that I’m in love with you. I willingly take on that life to be with you, to be by your side, to support you—and, when there is a chance—because you know there must be—I’ll be there to make love to you, to hold you, to drive away the demons…if only for a short time. Your father had that with your mother, didn’t he?”

She, so much stronger and more powerful than Grady, suddenly felt unaccountably weak and fragile in his arms. Her tears were soaking his shirt, and she could smell the familiar scent of his skin, taste the salt from both of them, feel the warmth of his body.

“You forget, a rún,” he murmured into her hair, “I was in the War. I’ve seen violence for days and weeks and months on end. I grew up on the streets of Dublin surrounded by misery and greed and death.”

“It’s not the same.” She pulled away. “This war—my war—it never ends. It won’t end until I’m gone.”