The Hunt: A Custodes Noctis Book Read online

  “Rob!”

  “I'm okay, Galen.”

  He picked himself up and walked back to the store, stopping to look at the place where the thing had been waiting. There was a shadow there, a reflection of the thing, of its darkness. Almost without thinking, Rob reached out to the middle of the spot, where the darkness still lingered, and put his hand against the wall, focusing on it. It was hard to see something through a reflection, but he'd learned a few tricks over the years. At first there was nothing but a pulsing, dirty black, then it shifted. He could make out a plain, covered with grass, and dark things moving there, racing through the landscape, black shadows in the night.

  He took a breath, forcing the Sight along, unconsciously reaching out through the bond to draw on his brother's power. The vision deepened, the landscape immense in front of him. In the distance he could see the ghostly shape of stones, and he could smell something, the scent heavy on the air. Dizziness washed over him, but he waited a moment longer, hoping to see more—and just at the very edge of his sight, like something moving at the far reaches of the horizon, he thought he glimpsed a horse and rider. He stumbled forward as the vision faded.

  “Rob?” Galen said, his hand on Rob's back. Warmth and light moved out from the touch, burning away the darkness of the vision.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Felt the tug.” Galen shrugged. “I thought I should come out and make sure you could get out of whatever you were doing. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just trying to figure out what those things are.”

  “Those things?” Galen asked as they walked into the shop.

  “Whatever they were in the park—what was here last night.”

  “What was here last night?” Flash asked. He had a dazed look on his face and Rob could see a tinge of darkness, like a bruise, around him.

  “What happened?”

  “His customer knocked him over in its hurry to leave the store,” Galen said.

  “And it did that?”

  “Did what?” Flash asked, looking from Galen to Rob.

  “Yeah,” Galen answered.

  “Did what? What did he do?” Flash sounded frantic.

  “You have a bruise,” Rob said simply.

  “I do?” Flash looked over his shoulder, craning his neck to see his back. “Where?”

  “Not the kind you can see,” Galen said with a grin.

  “Is it bad? Can you fix it?”

  “It's fading fast, Flash,” Rob said.

  “Okay, if it's not gone in an hour, I expect you to zap me,” Flash said, looking at Galen.

  “I will.” Galen said.

  “What was in the shop, Galen?” Rob asked impatiently.

  “It looked human, whatever it was, but I brushed against it while it was looking through the amulets.”

  “The amulets again?” Rob asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Again? Uh, guys? What was here last night?” Flash said, scowling.

  “One of the creatures from the park. I'm going to make that call, and look something up, I'll be back in an hour.”

  “Sure, Brat, we have it covered.” Galen shot him a look of concern.

  “I'm fine.” Rob smiled and headed upstairs. When he got into the apartment, he started a pot of coffee then pulled out the number he'd found for the priest. The Abby was just south of town, the priests and brothers supported by a small, exclusive private school.

  “St. Dunstan's School,” a male voice answered on the third ring.

  “I'd like to speak to Father Stephen Blake,” Rob said.

  “I'll transfer you, one moment, please.”

  “Thanks.” He walked to the bookshelf and pulled several volumes down, then got himself a cup of coffee before sitting down at the table, flipping through a book while he waited.

  “Yes?” a deep baritone answered several minutes of classical music later.

  “Father Blake?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is...”

  “Thomas!” the man man shouted, the voice slightly muffled as if he'd put his hand over the mouthpiece. “How many times have I told you not to creep around like that! Either come in or get out, stop that! Sorry about that, he knows I don't like all the creeping around.”

  “Um, that's okay,” Rob said, a little taken aback.

  “What can I do for you?” There was an undercurrent of wry amusement in the deep voice.

  “I'm working on my dissertation, and I read Mercury of the Philosopher and had a few questions.”

  “My god, you read it? The whole thing?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are ambitious, aren't you?” the priest said with a chuckle. “I don't think I've read it all at once since I wrote the thing, I thought the only one who had was my editor.”

  “I had a few questions about Petronius?”

  “Ah yes, the alchemist who called himself after Nero’s arbiter of taste and elegance. Bloodthirsty bastard.”

  “Petronius?”

  “Nero.”

  “Oh.” Rob sighed, this was proving to be harder than he thought it would be, so he decided to try something else. “Could I make an appointment to talk with you about Petronius? I also read your treatise on the lost Sagas of...”

  “Good god! Do you sleep?”

  “Not lately,” Rob said wryly. “Father Blake, would it be possible to...”

  “Where are you?”

  “Tacoma, I could be at the Abby this evening.”

  “No, no, I have an errand in town tonight, perhaps we could meet someplace there? You could buy me dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Rob blinked. “There's an Indian place on Sixth Avenue.”

  “Sixth Avenue? That's perfect, I'll meet you there at six.”

  “Thank you,” Rob said, breaking the connection with a shake of his head. He'd never had a chance to tell the priest his name, he called right back, but the operator said Blake was in class and unavailable. Rob tucked his cell phone back in his pocket, then turned to the books in front of him.

  Sometimes he wished he could approach research the way his brother did. Galen had a contented calm when he was working, the sense of joy he got from the books and research flowing around him in bright colors. Galen was also, in some ways, a more efficient researcher. He didn't get caught up in what he was doing, he rarely lost himself—well, that wasn't quite true. Galen often lost himself in his books, he just didn't have that frantic sense of purpose that characterized Rob's research, or that obsession to remember ever tiny piece of what he'd read.

  It was the years apart that caused it, Rob wasn't quite sure how to explain it to his brother. There were two parts to it for him. The first was simple, it sounded pathetic when he thought about it, but it was true nonetheless. Somewhere along the way he'd become convinced of the idea that if he had just known the Sagas better he would have spotted the mistranslation and would have been able to prevent Galen's death and the long years apart. If he had just known more, they could have served as Keepers together, waiting for the Old One to rise, so they could fulfill the Legacy. The rational part of him knew that wasn't true, knew that things had to unfold the way they had, but irrational part didn't always agree.

  The other reason was simple as well. Custodes Noctis valued learning, and at one time had been among the few educated people in Europe. Knowledge was power and Keepers wielded a great deal of power. Rob had known with Galen gone he wouldn't be able to serve as a full Keeper, but he hoped he could become a vassal. The word had come to mean slave, but when the Custodes Noctis had been formed it was the designation given to all those pledged to serve the Keepers. Rob had planned to step into the role of Vassal Scholar—an adviser to the Custodes Noctis, the person they turned to when they needed answers. It had been centuries since anyone had served in that role, but it was part of the Tradition and Rob clung to those Traditions as he grew older. All of them, from scholarship and physical training, to the tattoo on his left arm. At on
e time, the design was something that set the Custodes Noctis apart from the rest of the population. Tradition dictated the the design was started on their thirteenth birthday, then added to as a Keeper met each step along the path of his life.

  He sighed, his need to know hadn't changed since coming home. In fact, if anything, it was getting worse, trying to stay one step ahead of whatever was coming at them. It was bridging on obsession—his brother had pointed that out more than once, but Rob tended to approach everything that way, research, sword practice, even organizing the store. He was comfortable enough with himself to know that was just a part of who he was.

  Rob gently turned the pages in one of the books. He'd purchased it the summer he stayed with Billy Hernandez. They'd gone into town and Rob had found it in a small out-of-the-way thrift shop in New Mexico. The book, in Old English, was a translation of an earlier Latin version of one of the Hunt Sagas. He disliked translations, but this was the oldest extant version he could find.

  “How's it going?”

  “What?” Rob looked up, startled, he hadn't heard—or sensed—Galen's approach. “Oh, how long have I been up here?”

  “Four hours,” Galen said with a smile.

  “Sorry. I found that line I was looking for 'first they come as men' and I've been trying to track the original source down. All I can find is that one and the next, 'darkness follows, calling all to rise.' There's another line that I think goes with it, from further down in the Saga, but I can't be sure and I can't find the rest—or where it's from. Maybe Father Blake will know. What time is it?” He looked frantically around, he hadn't noticed the clock chiming.

  “About five-thirty. I thought I'd come and check on you before closing. I already sent Flash home.” Galen grimaced.

  “What did he break?”

  “Nothing, but it was a near miss.” Galen looked at the books. “How many have you been through?”

  “Enough for now,” Rob said, standing up and stretching. “I'll come down and help close. Did that order come in from Ex Libris Books?”

  “It did. They didn't have three of the herb books I ordered.”

  “It was just the stuff for the store?”

  “No, there was something else pretty carefully wrapped. I don't remember ordering anything that deserves an 'extra fragile' sticker on the package. How much did that cost?”

  “Don't worry about it, I didn't even pay for it. I got it on trade for a Latin translation I had—never liked the thing but Walter really wanted it, so we traded. I got the best part of the deal,” Rob said as they walked down to the store. Galen had placed the package on Rob's stool behind the counter. Rob picked up the carefully wrapped book and removed the paper from the tattered volume.

  “What is it?” Galen asked as he started counting the till.

  “The Spells of Athelwulf, it's fairly rare.” Rob flipped reverently through the pages.

  “Wait, that's an actual copy of Athelwulf?” Galen stopped and stared at his brother.

  “Yes.”

  “You're kidding!”

  “No.”

  “But Rob, that thing is worth at least twenty thou... What the hell did you have to trade for that?”

  “I told you, a Latin translation I had.”

  “A Latin translation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And it was worth enough to trade for that thing?”

  “Actually a bit more, it was a Book of Hours—with a little extra—from the Fifteenth Century.” Rob smiled at the look on his brother's face. “Which I got for...”

  “I'm not sure I want to know.”

  “I helped someone with a little research, they were grateful.”

  “Tens of thousands grateful?” Galen said, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes I worry about that book habit of yours. If someone ever broke in and knew what they were looking at we'd be in trouble.”

  “Says the man with the 1552 edition of Hieronymus Bock. What's that worth these days?” Rob grinned at him. “Don't worry, most thieves would just take guitars and money.”

  “As comforting as that is, don't say that.” Galen pulled the insert out of the cash register. “It was a good day.”

  “You can buy dinner then, we're meeting Father Blake at Gateway to India at six.” Something rippled up the street, the dark waves like mirage on a hot day. Rob walked towards the window and focused with his Sight—letting the full strength of his Gift flow, without the usual restraint he maintained—trying to get a better “look” at what was there, he sensed Galen step up behind him.

  “What's out there?”

  “I'm not sure, it's not really visible, but something moved.” Rob concentrated, the movement was growing, becoming more substantial. “What the hell is it?”

  “I can't see anything,” Galen said.

  Rob turned to him and blinked. Seeing his brother with the full effect of the Sight in force was always a surprise, power flowed around Galen like liquid silver, Rob reached out an put his hand on Galen's arm, watching as the quicksilver power flowed over his hand. He let the Sight alter so Galen could “see” as well. “Can you see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?” Rob asked.

  “I don't...” Galen stopped with a sharp intake of breath. “The Veil.” Rob wasn't sure if Galen said it or he heard the thought through their connection.

  “No,” Rob whispered, but he knew it was true, they were seeing the ripple of the wall between the corporeal and non-corporeal worlds. The Between World was on the other side of the Veil, darkness lurked there, waiting for a chance to escape into the physical world. “Gods, no, it can't be.”

  “I think it is,” Galen said softly.

  The movement subsided, the street empty. Rob let go of Galen's arm and opened the door. There was nothing there, nothing moving but a single car. He glanced over at Becci's stand, Cassie, the woman who worked evening shift waved at him. She was smiling, he guessed unaware of what had just happened. “No one noticed.”

  “I wouldn't have noticed if you weren't here, Rob. I might have felt something, but I wouldn't have seen it.”

  “You really think it was the Veil?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you're right.” Rob sighed. “And the creature in the park was only partially corporeal.”

  “They're connected.” Galen said with a nod.

  “Yeah.” Rob took a deep breath, trying to dispel the sense of unease slowly tying a knot at the base of his neck. “We should head to the restaurant.” He stepped out the door and waited for Galen to lock it behind them. The restaurant was less than two blocks from the shop, so they always walked. He looked around, but there was no trace left of the ripple he'd seen. “'The Wall is breached, the Veil torn asunder,'” he muttered under his breath.

  “What was that?”