Enrique whistled softly to himself as he worked, a cold coffee and steadily congealing slice of pizza on the table beside him. He hadn't even noticed them being brought in, so immersed in his task had he become. The readings Cat had provided are interesting. There is a harmonic relationship there, although some data is missing. It usually is, when gathered by none techs. But there is enough to go on, and, he conceded privately, he might not have done as good a job of data gathering with those things trying to kill him. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes wearily. Time to get to the workshop and build it now.
“So, Senor Demon, next time I think we have a surprise for you. One you will not like, no?”
“That sounds good.” Enrique looks around in some confusion. Luigi is seated further along the table, his library open in front of him. “I stayed to keep you company, as I can research here as well as anywhere else. You have been working for hours. You need food and rest.”
Enrique hastily bolted the stone cold pizza, washing it down with the coffee and absently spitting the cigarette butt that had been floating in it, unnoticed, onto his plate. “Food and drink are taken care of. Sleep later, I must get to my workshop, while the design is fresh in my mind.”
“Eh, bene. There is a car and driver waiting outside. You will need this.” Luigi passes over a pin with a yellow trillium design, about a centimetre wide, as the head. “Wear it constantly.”
“What does it do?” fixing it to the lapel of his coat.
“It identifies you to others in our little group, or their allies. That is all. No secret death ray or spy stuff involved. Apparently you build those.” Luigi laughs quietly as the two men rise and head for the door. “Don Brent sent for them. Unusual enough to be instantly recognisable, not unusual enough to be noticed by anyone not looking. Phone the number engraved on the back if you need anything, or have any information that needs passing on.”
* * *
Luigi sags as he locks the door behind Enrique. Checks his watch – two AM. Heads towards the stairs leading to the apartment above the café, then pauses. The private room is a mess. Better tidy it up before Marta wakes. There is still the business to run, after all. Grab a tray, collect plates and cups. Too late to run the dishwasher, the banging in the pipes will wake the others. Note on the board to call out the plumber yet again to try to get rid of the damned airlock. Use the sink. Different piping, and quiet.
Washing dishes is a peaceful thing. Hands work on their own, leaving the mind free to roam at will. Wonder what the others are doing right now. Bet most of them are asleep. Dishes done. Back to the private room, wipe the table, set the chairs just so. Half empty bottle of wine on the side, how did I miss that? Holo record of the after action report next to it. Pour a glass or red, sit down and press play again. Mute the sound. There is something not right about this. Not the sheer number of demons, but the types involved.
Twenty minutes later Luigi is feverishly making notes and setting string searches on his library, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.
* * *
James paces slowly through the sleeping city. Can't sleep. He hates Rome with a passion, always has. A boy, both muscular and bright only had three ways out of subsistence living. Education, sport, or crime. Education was a joke. Too many kids, not enough teachers, and no money for the computerised one-on-one tutors that the rich kids schools got. Not a hope of getting out that way, not with a little sister to look out for. Mom, pretty much a booze soaked fuck rag for anyone who wanted to lay down a bit of cash. His education credits and computer time went to get his little sister out. She was the really smart one, and she made it off subsistence and into a good job. Never wants to see him now, of course, she is a respectable member of society, living it up in Milano.
So what did that leave him? Sport, forget it. Two hundred kids for every place, and strength and speed do not always translate to skill. Sure, the gyms were free, and he used them religiously. But the black market and crime are always there, always needing runners, lookouts and other low level workers. By his late teens, he was already an up and coming enforcer and bodyguard. Getting an education, because his boss insisted on it. And unhappy in some deep, fundamental way that he could not define. Until the day he met the Hunters.
* * *
Brent slept. Peacefully. Without dreams
* * *
She stood at the window, raptly gazing at the scene. A quiet footfall behind her, smell of coffee and male. “It is so beautiful. I never imagined that it could be.”
He passes her the coffee and settles onto the seat beside her. “I know what you are.”
Her happiness evaporates. It always happens, eventually. Now will come the questions, the prying, the demands and threats. She sighs softly, miserably. “Go on. Ask as you will.”
He continues on as if she hasn't spoken. “The Priestess of the Order of Truth. Used to be known as the Oracle, or the Sibyl. Prophetess, seer, guide and advisor. Able to borrow the skills and abilities of others at need. Your order was believed extinct, but it must have just gone underground and relocated to Mexico. Margareta knew who you were, and her greeting and your response were in the archives.”
“Yes.” Silence again, stretching on and on, but not uncomfortably. Sneak a look at him, he is curled on the sofa, peacefully gazing out the window. Understandable why people call him Cat, looking at him. She is still dreading the questions, especially the one they always ask, but must trust.
“You are terribly lonely, being the one.” A statement, made with calm assurance. “As am I, for the same reasons. Perhaps we can help each other feel less lonely, at least for this night.”
Not at all what she expected! Sneak another look, to find him looking back with lazy amusement. “I'd like that.” Said very shyly indeed, as she slides along the sofa towards him and into his arms.
“Ship, dim the lights and keep us this distance and with this window aimed at Saturn please.” A glint of a smile in the dimness. “The sofa in here turns into a very comfortable bed”
“Oh, Yes.”
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