NINETEEN

The Last Venator

It was late in the evening when Jack returned from Gezira, and the first thing he did was check on Schuyler’s wound, un-peeling the bandages around her torso and studying Mahrus’s handiwork. The skin was still nubby but no longer red, and while the scar was noticeable, it was not ugly. “A battle wound,” he said. “I am proud of you. You were brave to fight the way you did.”

Schuyler buttoned her blouse and sat cross-legged on their hotel bed. The small room had begun to feel like home even though the clerk at the reception desk still cast suspicious glances their way. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said. “I knew you would have done the same.”

“I should have been there with you,” he said. He had listened to her story without interruption, and had kept a stoic front, but now the full brunt of it—what he could have lost—was slowly hitting him, and Schuyler could see how hard it was for him to keep his emotions in check.

“Don’t worry, my love.” Schuyler smiled and put a hand on his cheek. “I felt your strength was with me. I couldn’t have done it without you. What about you… did you find what you were looking for across the Nile?”

Jack shook his head angrily. “When we arrived at the safe house, the Nephilim were long gone. I think they meant to lead us astray. The Lennox brothers visited the temple, but they say there’s no priestess named zani, that they’d heard wrong.”

“Maybe Mahrus will have some news that can help us in that arena,” Schuyler said.

“If he’s been working this area for as long as he has, I’m hoping he does.” Jack nodded. They planned to meet with the Venator after Jack had returned, so they could trade information and discuss their future strategy. The Lennox twins had gone after Deming and Dehua, who were still trying to track down the remaining members of the Eygptian Coven, to hand over the blood spirits.

The coffee shop was crowded with students, old men trading war stories, families having their late dinner, as Franco-Arabic music tinkled over the speakers. Jack and Schuyler took a table in the back, where they could see all the entrances. So far, the Nephilim did not strike in Red Blood areas—they seemed to confine their attacks and violence on the vampire strongholds—but it was better to be prepared and on guard.

Mahrus arrived promptly at the designated hour. He was so beautiful that many in the shop turned to stare at him.

Jack rose from his seat to greet him, and pumped his hand. “I owe you her life. Thank you, healer. I know I can never repay you, but my sword is yours whenever you need it, you have my word.”

Mahrus bowed. “The honor is mine, Abbadon.”

The waitress arrived with cups of steaming Turkish coffee, and for a few minutes the three sat and enjoyed the early evening air, drinking the strong dark blend. Schuyler felt better with some caffeine in her system. The coffee made her senses feel more alert. Since she did not take the blood anymore, she had to rely on other sources for a spike of energy.

“I have not heard of priestess named zani,” Mahrus said.

“If she is a famous holy woman, then the Wardens would know. I will ask.”

“We think she might be Catherine,” Schuyler said.

“Interesting,” he said. “Could be. I thought I would find my sister at the Cairo museum. She was fond of Egyptian history, and an art lover. But she was not there.” Mahrus told them about his life in Jordan. After leaving Rome during Caligula’s reign, he had traveled to the eastern front, finding a home in an outpost of the former Ottoman Empire.

“We were a peaceful Coven,” he said. “For centuries we lived in harmony, until…”

“Go on.”

Mahrus’s eyes clouded. “It happened so slowly and insidiously that we did not even notice at first. We were blind to the threat—the Coven did not warn us. There was nothing from New York; no one informed us of what happened in Rio or Paris. If only we had known, we might have been able to prepare,” he said bitterly. “As it was, we were sitting ducks.”

Schuyler gripped Jack’s hand under the table as they listened to Mahrus’s story.

“It started with the humans first, the missing girls. It was a Red Blood problem, we thought, but we kept an eye on it.

Then we discovered a nest of Nephilim, but as my Venators were fighting them, the hidden Croatan in our conclave took the opportunity to strike as well.”

He looked at them with great sorrow. “Everyone from my Coven is dead.” He closed his eyes. “I am the only one left. The last Venator standing.” He sighed. “It is only thanks to my fellow Venators that I am alive.”

“Deming and Dehua, you mean? And Sam and Ted?”

“Yes. They were fighting the Nephilim—they were the only help we received from outside. They were headed to Cairo, on the trail of a new hive of demon-born. I came with them as well, since I knew that Catherine was here, and I had to warn her about what was happening. There is something more important here than even the Coven.”

“You knew she was part of the Order of the Seven.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I was there when we built the gate in Lutetia. I knew what she had been called to do.”

“You think the Nephilim are here for the gate?” Schuyler asked.

“I am sure of it. In every city, the pattern is the same.

They strike first at the young, then the Elders, then the unborn. The Nephilim knew exactly where to hit the cycle house.

They are vicious and strong, but they do not know our hidden workings. They need a hand to guide their evil. This was the work of a Croatan. One of Lucifer’s mightiest allies, who harbored the Dark Prince and kept his spirit alive on earth. my guess is it is the same one who has systematically destroyed all the Covens, beginning in New York.”