Nancy A. Collins - Sonja Blue 1 - Sunglasses After Dak.wps by Crystal & Billy

Author:Crystal & Billy [Crystal & Billy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-16T23:28:23.561000+00:00

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) blood of animals, the thirst upped the stakes.

1977: In Rome people walk the most chaotic streets in Europe, unaware that twenty-two feet below the soles of their shoes lies a kingdom that extends nearly six hundred miles, with an estimated population of six million.

I was seated at a sidewalk cafe, nursing a glass of red wine while I watched the evening crowds, when the messenger arrived.

He was a thin, pasty-faced young man with unhealthy purple blotches under his eyes. I divined by the flicker of his aura that he was a human sensitive. He was also quite mad.

"You are Blue?" His English was execrable, but I knew no Italian.

"What do you want?" I stared at the black halo crowning his head; the rays emanating from his skull snapped and fluttered like banners caught in a high wind. The sensitive's eyes were wet and bright, the pupils oscillating to a secret beat. He was dressed far too warmly for a Roman spring. Not only was he a crazed esper, he was a junkie as well.

What a combination!

"He say tell you come." The sensitive's eyelids twitched as he dry-washed his hands.

"Who told you?" I didn't relish the idea of tapping into the junkie's mind to get my information. God only knows what lay coiled behind those eyes.

"He say you know. Tell me say: Pangloss."

The smell of old death came back to me. "Very well. I'll go."

The sensitive grinned, revealing crooked teeth. Was this pathetic creature Pangloss's Renfield?

I followed the sensitive through a series of twisting back streets that took us deep into the city's oldest neighborhoods. I could feel myself being watched by scores of dark, suspicious eyes as we hurried through the narrow alleys. I glanced skyward. Although my view was hampered by a Jacob's ladder of laundry lines, I could see the moon of Islam hovering over Christendom's city.

The sensitive led me to an ancient, crumbling villa with an overgrown garden. The ground floor was deserted of life and furniture, but the door to its cellar stood open. The young man hurried down the stairs without bothering to see if I was following.

The basement had a dirt floor and smelled strongly of mildew. The only light came from a flickering candle jutting from a Chianti bottle perched atop a card table. The card table was situated against the far wall, alongside a small, narrow oaken door with old-fashioned hinges. Sitting behind the table was a huge figure dressed in the hooded robes of a monk.

The monk did not see us enter for his head was lowered, as if in prayer. The motion of his right arm, however, was far from sacred.

The sensitive snarled something in Italian and the monk pulled his hand free of his cassock. Pangloss's messenger made a withering remark, then gestured first to me, then to the door.

The monk got to his feet, the peak of his hood brushing the low ceiling. I bit my tongue to keep from gasping aloud, my heart banging against my ribs like a hammer.

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