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“I am tired of pretending I am what I am not. That I do not want what I want.”
“Jack, stop it, you’re scaring me.”
“My name isn’t Jack Force. My name is ABBADON. I am made of dark and shadow. I am made of the underworld.” Then the darkness left him as quickly as it had come. Jack smiled at her, his brilliant, handsome, heartbreaking smile. “Why wait for salvation, Azrael, when we can take it for ourselves?”
TWENTY-NINE
Bliss
he next morning, Bliss woke up early and put her things in her hostel locker. She found Edon and Ahramin whispering fiercely. Edon looked tired and annoyed; his eyes were red-rimmed, and Ahramin had her usual smirk.
“Everything all right?” Bliss asked.
Ahramin gazed at her coolly and didn’t answer.
The rest of the boys woke up, and the group headed outside to figure out where
to begin the search. “I did a little digging and discovered a few of the projects that were under construction when Caligula was emperor,” Malcolm said, holding up his mobile phone. “There’s a few bridges and aqueducts, but the most important one is the Circus Maximus—the racetrack he built in the middle of the city, with the Egyptian obelisk in the middle.”
“Should we start there?” Lawson asked.
Bliss shrugged. “Sounds like as good a place as any. Where is it?”
“Of course the racetrack doesn’t exist anymore. They built St. Peter’s on top of it.”
“Of course.” Ahramin smirked, but everyone ignored her.
“The most famous tomb in the world,” Malcolm noted.
“So the path to Hell lies right under Vatican City?” Ahramin asked. “Does that sound right to you guys?”
“Stranger things have happened in the history of the vampires,” said Bliss. “Besides, when Caligula ordered its construction, it was an arena—a sports stadium, not the Holy See.”
St. Peter’s Square was stunning. The weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun brightened the pillars surrounding the square and made them almost glow.
“Did you know St. Peter was the first Pope? That’s why he’s buried here,” Malcolm told them.
“Thanks for the history lesson,” Ahramin said. “If we’d wanted to play tourist, we could have hired a guide. Let’s just get on with it.”
Why did she have to be so awful all the time? “I’m interested in learning about it,” Bliss said, more to torture Ahri than out of real interest.
Malcolm gave her a grateful look. “Michelangelo designed part of the dome. But I’m more excited about seeing the Sistine Chapel; not that I’ll be able to.” He sighed.
Oh, right. Denizens of the underworld were not allowed in places touched by the Divine, and St. Peter’s Basilica was hallowed ground, one of the most sacred places in all of Christendom.
“What I don’t understand is how you can go in, considering who your father is,” Ahramin said to Bliss.
“It doesn’t matter. Bliss and I will go in and check it out. You guys try to keep your eyes open out here. See if you can see anything in the glom that could be a portal,” Lawson instructed. “Come on,” he said to Bliss, and they followed the line of tourists entering the basilica.
They walked around the magnificent cathedral, marveling at the grandeur of the soaring ceilings and the breathtaking, dazzling interior. They were pilgrims before the altar of God, dwarfed by His glory.
“Anything?” Lawson asked.
Bliss shook her head.
“All right, next room,” Lawson said.
They spent the rest of the day wandering through the various highlights in the Holy See. Bliss wished they could be there under other circumstances; the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel was marvelous, but she couldn’t really appreciate it—she was too focused on trying to figure out where a path underground might lead; if there were telltale signs in the glom that could give away the presence of the ancient portal.
