Fae'd To Black Release

Chapter 2: Eye of the Eldar

Fae’d To Black is out today. You can go here and buy it.

But if you’re buying the paperback and want to get an early start, or just want a sample, here you are.

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Chapter 2: Eye of the Eldar

One Year later

Marco Catalano felt like he had been beaten. His body felt sore all over. He fell against the inner column of the colonnade of Saint Peter’s Square, exhausted.

His trainer glowered and clicked the stopwatch. He glanced from the watch to Marco and back again. “Are you some sort of genetic freak? I really have to know.”

Marco didn’t even look at his personal torturer/trainer. “What … the Hell … is your problem?”

The trainer growled like a large dog as he looked at his notes. “Buddy, I’ve put you through most of Navy SEAL Hell Week in the last three days. I’ve doubled the load of your pack. You’ve got enough weights on your wrists and ankles to drown a mafia witness. You just went through a parkour course that would make every SpecOps guy puke and make marines question their life choices. And yet, somehow, you’ve managed to keep pushing through, and … if this time doesn’t surpass the top one percentile, I will eat my hat.”

Marco finally spared him a glance. He took a deep, slow breath. “Sure those times aren’t just classified?”

The trainer’s electric-blue eyes flicked to Marco and back to his notes. “No. These are the classified times. You don’t think the Vatican is the only one to bring me in for training badasses?” He sighed and jammed his notepad into his back pocket. “I’ve seen slower Olympic athletes. And you’re what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? You’re over the hill for the Olympics.”

Marco chuckled. “Thanks.”

Now his trainer just ground his teeth. “See? You should still be out of breath. But you’ve bounced back already. Damn it. What do I have to do to make you tired?”

Marco shrugged off the backpack and dropped it on the ground with a clatter. He’d seen the rocks his trainer had loaded him up with before the parkour run. “I hurt. Is that enough?”

“No. I’m supposed to push you to your limits. It would help if I could find them.”

Marco rolled his neck. The vertebrae cavitated like a bowl of Rice Krispies. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

The trainer shook his head. “Nope. I’m going home tomorrow, buddy. Don’t you realize? You’re done. My contract’s up.”

Marco blinked and stared at him. “Are you sure? I remember having another week.”

He shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I just work here.” He stepped forward and offered Marco his hand. Marco took it. “It’s been fun working with you, Marco.”

Marco shook his hand. “Same here, Mister Ryan.”

The trainer gave him a cockeyed grin. “I told you, call me Sean.”

* * * *

Amanda Colt was rarely ever tired, but she was hungry. She didn’t know why, but she made certain that she was the first one up to the chalice at Mass. The priest had caught onto the quickly-depleted cup after the first few Masses this month, and had filled it to the brim at the Eucharist. She took a healthy sip, draining half the cup so quickly, she didn’t appear to take any more time than anyone else.

Amanda took her fill and went around the pews back to her seat. She prayed as she usually did after taking Communion, but there was a niggling worry in the back of her head. Normally, she could live an entire week on one sip from the chalice. But now, she was eating three meals a day, both blood and food, as well as attending daily Mass. She was a little worried about what would happen when the Vatican training no longer occupied her time.

Amanda was so distracted she forgot to sit up after the priest had put away everything in the tabernacle. She went from kneeling to standing, still lost in thought, even during the final blessing.

Amanda was more alert during the walk back to Saint Peter’s. She was scheduled for a tour of the Vatican’s “Area 51,” a term that she didn’t ask for more information on. She had been curious, but there were some answers she wasn’t certain she wanted. If she was fortunate, Marco would have finished his training routine and they would tour it together.

While she was at it, maybe she should ask him his opinion of her condition?

Amanda reached Vatican City in good time. If there was one easy thing to find in Rome, it was a church.

She met up with their handler, the Vatican commando Ibrahim. He led Amanda down through a few hidden doors and three secret staircases.

At the bottom was Marco, wearing a blue polo shirt and the long black leather coat he had taken off the body of a Chicago necromancer. Marco gave her a little wave. “Hey. I finished a little early.”

Amanda blinked. “I thought he was working to make you test your limits.”

Marco shrugged. “He still hasn’t found them. I was brought down by some British priest. He wandered off a while back.” Marco reached over and knocked on the big metal door he stood next to. “Obviously, he had the key.”

Ibrahim smiled gently. “Good of you to wait for us, then.”

Marco shrugged. “Of course.”

Ibrahim grabbed the handle and turned. It opened with an audible click.

“However,” Marco added, “I did pick the lock while I was waiting. I got bored.”

Ibrahim sighed. “Of course you did. Follow me.”

The door opened up to a large room, big enough to fit a house. It was as beautifully ornamented as any other place in Rome. But here there were shelves upon shelves of artifacts. Some looked innocuous enough. Others looked decidedly deadly. Other items were boxed in heavy crates.

Marco eyed the place cynically. “So, less Area 51 of Independence Day, and more like Area 51 of Raiders of the Lost Ark.” He paused and glanced to Ibrahim. “Speaking of which, are any of those boxes—”

Ibrahim cut him off with, “The boxes are off limits.”

“Uh huh.” Marco shrugged. “Nice dust collectors.”

Ibrahim scoffed. “Trust me, nothing here is gathering dust.”

Marco scanned the room. Amanda was going to make her own comment, when Marco barked a laugh. “Is that what I think it is?”

Amanda followed his gaze to a corner of the room. A lone spear was in a small weapons rack. Next to it was a set of four nails, three quarters of a foot long. They almost looked more like railroad spikes than anything else, but they were too small.

Amanda gaped a moment before saying, “Are those what I think they are?”

Ibrahim strode after Marco and held an arm out to block him from the spear. “Don’t touch. Trust me on that.”

Marco sighed, then shrugged. “Okay. I knew that Saint Helen found the True Cross, and the other two. And that the True Cross was broken up. But no one really talks about what happened with the nails. Heck, I thought that the nails were in museums.”

Ibrahim groaned. “Do not remind me. Please. It may have been a mistake to break up the True Cross to begin with. I understand why they did it. No one wanted to create an idol out of a relic of Jesus Christ … but now there are enough ‘pieces of the True Cross’ out there to fill a rain forest. Last time I checked, there are nine places on Earth that claim to have the nails of the True Cross, either in part or in whole.”

Marco blinked. “Nine? Yeesh. Here I thought it was bad enough with the fake pieces of the Cross. How are you certain that these are real?”

Ibrahim chuckled darkly. “We’re certain.”

Marco shrugged. He looked back to the spear and pointed. He made eye contact with Ibrahim as he said, “You sure I can’t just—”

Ibrahim cringed. “No. You can’t. No. That’s one thing in this room that you should not touch. Especially you.”

Marco blinked. Amanda looked at him and shrugged. “Why especially me?” Marco asked.

“The spear talks to whoever touches it. It makes them offers. These are offers one should refuse.”

Amanda winced. “Are you saying that it is alive?”

“In a way.” Ibrahim looked from one to the other. “We have written accounts of Jesus’ spit curing deafness. One woman just touched his cloak, and found herself healed. What did you think would happen with something covered in His blood?”

Amanda frowned, trying to wrap her brain around all of that. “I do not wish to know.”

Ibrahim nodded. He waved back to the rest of the room. “In the next day or two, we’re going to walk you both through every item here. We have the feeling you might be in need, soon.”

The married couple exchanged a glance. They already had a wedding present of an Eldar blade that dispelled magic, a retractable katana that set things on fire when it cut them. Marco had a coat that resisted so much damage, he was tempted to take it out back and shoot it to test how much it could take. Amanda was getting a coat from an acquaintance at WyvernCon who had inherited the bodies of two mini-dragons.

“I’m not sure what’s worse,” Marco said. “That you might have something better than what we already have, or that you think we might need something better than what we have.”

Ibrahim said nothing for a long moment, his face somber. “We’re going to have to talk. How much do you know of the Eldar?”

Marco winced. Amanda sighed. “We’ve been given a general idea,” Marco answered. “Especially regarding their relationship with elves. Or more precisely, how they’re very little like each other.”

“Good. Then this should be quick.”