Chapter Nine
IT DIDN’T matter how many times Vic showed the presentation to Fridan leaders—watching his mate on the screen speaking calmly about what the Gerans had done to him still made Vic’s blood boil.
Shifters have no idea what’s going on under their very noses.
What saddened him was that for a significant number of them, learning the truth wouldn’t alter how they felt. They would still see humans as beneath them, not worthy of their attention.
Such pessimism wasn’t like him, but he knew the root of it. This last visit hadn’t been an unqualified success, and Vic wanted to go home to his mates.
“You have no idea of the impact your coming here has had.”
Vic turned to face Marc Delore, the leader of the Fridan group in Paris. “Kind of you to say, but I think we both know the truth.” He gestured to the long table around which were gathered more than fifteen Fridan leaders, some of them not bothering to lower their voices.
The same leaders who glanced over to where Vic stood, doing little to hide their disdain.
“Not all the leaders agree with you.” Vic sighed. “I didn’t pull any punches, but it doesn’t seem to have helped.”
Delore peered at the assembled group. “I’m not surprised, if I’m honest. Two of my fellow leaders have always seen the world through rose-colored glasses, and nothing will persuade them otherwise.” He patted Vic’s arm. “But I for one am grateful, and I know others feel the same. It was truly a cannon shot across our bows, but a well-timed and much needed one.”
“And I’m grateful no one asked me to deliver my speech in French.”
He laughed. “Which was why we had a translator. Some of our leaders here in France are old-school. They think everyone should speak French.” He gazed out at the skyline. “It’s strange to think of a whole world of shifters out there that has no idea of what is going on.”
Vic blinked. “You read my mind.” He followed Delore’s gaze. “It’s a beautiful city, one I’ve never visited before. When this is all over, I must come back.”
A romantic stay in Paris with Saul and Crank sounded wonderful.
“Do you really think this will end?”
He glanced at Delore. “Don’t you?”
Delore sighed. “I am older than you. I have seen too much of the world and witnessed too many scenes like the one we just saw, unfortunately.” He pointed to the landscape beyond the glass. “I know that even if we were to show our shifter brothers and sisters out there the atrocities that have been committed in their name, all with the aim of smiting humans and establishing shifter superiority, there would still be those who would say we lie. A minority, perhaps, but….”
Vic remained quiet, but it was a relief to hear his own thoughts from someone else’s mouth.
It’s not only me, then.
Delore had gathered leaders from all over France, to provide Vic with his largest audience yet. And once more, dissenting, doubting voices had been silenced when confronted by the evidence.
Well, most of them. Vic had a feeling he could’ve put together a comprehensive document detailing all the evidence they possessed, and it would still not have been enough for some of them. Hell, if they had video of the atrocities being committed, that still wouldn’t sway them.
“There are those among us who say that shifters originated in Europe,” Delore stated.
“I’d heard that.” He smiled. “It might even have been here. The Carolingian dynasty ruled here in the eight hundreds, after all, making it one of the oldest countries in Europe.”
“And does your knowledge of shifter history go back that far?”
Vic had to admit the deficit in his archives. “There’s still so much we don’t know, but we’re learning more every day. I’m not sure we’ll ever have a complete archive, but at least we’re trying.”
“And what about the Gerans? How far back do your archives go where they are concerned? What do you know of their existence?”
“Only that they came to be after the split between the brothers, about a thousand years ago, some say, and that there’s been a chasm between us ever since.” It was all Vic needed to know.
Then he realized Delore had gone quiet.
Not only that, he was gazing at Vic in such a thoughtful way that Vic’s curiosity was aroused.
“What have I said?”
Delore tilted his head to one side. “Where is your next destination?”
“I’m on a flight to Rome tonight. I meet with Italian leaders tomorrow.” And after that, it would be Eastern Europe, and after that, Russia, then China….
He’d get home eventually, but not until he’d traveled around the world at least once. Thank God for the invention of flight.
A close second was the internet. Vic lived for his nightly Snapchats.
“You know how Ancient Rome was founded?”
Vic nodded. “According to legend, two brothers—and demigods—Romulus and Remus, had an argument over who would rule the city. Romulus killed Remus and named the city after himself, in April, 753 BCE.” Vic smiled. “Yet another argument between brothers. Something shifter history has in common with human history.”
“Perhaps.” Before Vic could tell him there was no perhaps about it, Delore continued. “Might I suggest that while you’re in Rome, you make time to visit the Castel Sant’Angelo. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, but”—Vic frowned—“I don’t have time to go to a museum. This isn’t a sightseeing trip.”
“The Castel Sant’Angelo was built as a mausoleum for the Roman Emperor Hadrian, and later various popes used it as a fortress and castle. And yes, while it is a museum,” Delore said, staring at him, “it is also the repository for the oldest known shifter documents of our history. The archivist Luciano Orsini maintains the collection, which contains artifacts from all over the world.”
Vic knew the name Orsini, as did every oral historian. “I’ve always wanted to meet him,” he confessed.
“Then make the time,” Delore urged. “But….”
“There’s a but?”
Delore squared his shoulders. “You need to be prepared.”
“For what?” Delore’s enigmatic words had piqued his interest.
“To have your beliefs challenged.”
Vic stilled. “Which beliefs are we talking about?”
Delore waved his hand. “Perhaps all of them. But I’ll say no more. You’ll understand when you see the collection and talk to Orsini. By the way, I’ll contact the museum and tell them to expect you. I wouldn’t want them to mistake you for a tourist.” He glanced toward the table. “And now I need to continue the work you have begun here. I’ll talk to Aelryn. He will have our support.”
“Good luck.”
Vic had a feeling Delore was going to need it.
“SO WHERE are you tonight?”
Vic lay on his side in bed, his phone propped up against a pillow. “It’s Tuesday, so it must be Rome.”
“You little jetsetter,” Saul teased.
“Less of the little,” Vic admonished.
“Biggest thing about you?” Crank lay in front of Saul, their fingers laced against Crank’s chest. He smiled at Vic. “Your heart.”
Warmth barreled through him at Crank’s words. “Love you.”
“Right back atcha.”
“How did today’s meeting go?” Saul asked.
Vic sighed. “Don’t ask.”
Saul’s gaze narrowed. “Do I need to get on a plane to Paris and go crack some heads? They weren’t mean to you, were they?”
Vic chuckled. “You make them sound like a room full of schoolkids.” Then he grinned. “Actually, that pretty much nails it where some of them are concerned.” He shrugged his shoulder. “To expect success every time is unrealistic. It’s just frustrating to run smack dab into a wall of apathy when previous meetings had opened the door to future associations.” He gazed at his mates. “Wish I was there with you.”
All he wanted right then was a night of being held, kissed, caressed….
“Aw, honey, we want that too.” Saul gave Crank a gentle push, shifting him onto his back. “Tell you what. You’re in charge tonight. You tell us what to do.”
Vic smiled. “Seriously?”
Crank nodded. “I might draw a line at some things, though.”
Saul peered at him, eyebrows arched. “Such as?”
Crank snorted. “You ain’t tying me up, for one thing. And you’d better not be hiding shit like nipple clamps in the nightstand drawer.”
Vic laughed. “Sounds to me as though Crank has been doing some research.”
Saul guffawed. “Is that what we’re calling porn these days?” He leaned in and kissed Crank on the mouth, and Vic’s cock stiffened at the low moan that tumbled from Crank’s lips. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I had something far more… sedate in mind.” He turned his head to stare at Vic. “Wanna watch me fuck our mate senseless?”
Vic’s breathing hitched, and then he smiled. “Sure, but after that thirty seconds, what’ll we do with the rest of the night?”
“Oh, you guys are so funny,” Crank snapped. Then he stood and started stripping off his clothes. “Let’s get this show started. I want to see him get all hot and bothered, knowing ten minutes after he gets home, he’ll be on his hands and knees between us for hours on end.”
“There’s nothing I’d like more than to watch the pair of you.” Vic smiled. “Other than be there to join in.”
VIC STROLLED across the Sant Angelo Castle bridge flanked by statues of angels, thankful he’d taken Delore’s advice and come early: There were few tourists accompanying him as he approached the arched gateway to the round fortress set below the battlements, a many-sided tower to the left. The early morning sun sparkled on the surface of the Tiber, and he wished he had time to linger, to gaze into the still waters.
The museum was the oldest building Vic had ever had the occasion to visit. He knew its construction dated back to 139 CE, and that within its walls lay the remains not only of Hadrian, but also Marcus Aurelius, Commodus….
Crank would love this. Gladiator was one of his favorite movies.
He reached the gate and spoke with one of the security guards who stood inside the ramparts. Delore had been as good as his word, and Vic was escorted into the museum.
“ Aspetti qui, per favore. Il signor Orsini sta arrivando. Sarà qui a breve. ”
Vic waited as instructed, listening to the low murmurs of the tourists who followed the signs to the ancient spiral walkway that led up to Hadrian’s tomb. From his brief research, he knew Roman walls were still visible from the outside. He didn’t want to see ornately decorated halls, their ceilings covered in paintings, the glint of gold everywhere. Vic couldn’t wait to gaze on the only antiquities that interested him, ones that could teach him something about the origins of shifters.
Something new.
“Mr. Ryder.”
Luciano Orsini was short in stature, dressed in a dark suit. What little hair remained was white as snow, stark against his black skin. Wrinkles lined his forehead and cheeks, and his bright eyes appraised Vic. He sniffed, and his smile lit up his face.
“Welcome, brother.”
Vic gave a short bow. “Thank you for agreeing to this. And my apologies for having to keep the conversation in English.”
“No matter—I speak several languages. And all oral historians are welcome here. The pity is that few take advantage of that invitation. If you would follow me?” Orsini led the way out of the building, across the courtyard, and down a flight of steps past a niche containing a statue of Hadrian. The lower level was a curved wall, and set into it were small wooden doors and windows, appearing for all the world like a row of terraced houses. Above each door was a terracotta-colored painting of a figure etched into the white wall. Orsini walked past them, under a stone archway, and stopped at an iron gate, beyond which a dark passageway headed lower. He opened the gate, and once Vic had followed him inside, he locked it.
“No one is allowed into the archives except for myself and the occasional visitor.” He smiled, his wrinkles deepening. “We don’t want tourists down here.”
Vic followed him down a flight of narrow, worn steps. The air was cool, a relief after the heat above. At the bottom of the stairs was a simple wooden door.
Vic stared at it, and Orsini chuckled. “You expected something more ornate? Such finery is reserved for the museum above us.” He opened the door, and Vic found himself in a small atrium. In front of them was a steel door.
“The archives are kept in a hermetically-sealed chamber. We must pass through two such doors.”
Finally they stood in a long, windowless room lit by electric lamps, its floor covered with stone flags made shiny with the wear of time. Some of the walls were covered with wooden doors, and around the perimeter of the room were stone caskets. Orsini pointed to them. “Those contain the artifacts.”
“How long have you been the archivist here?”
He smiled. “There has been an Orsini here for more than a thousand years. My family can trace its origins back to the year 998. Each new generation has taken on the noble task of protecting our heritage. My ancestor was a Roman nobleman, and at one point an Orsini married a descendant of Septimius Severus, the Roman emperor who ruled until 211 CE.”
“A noble task for a noble family,” Vic observed.
Orsini beamed. “A diplomat as well as an historian.” He indicated the two armchairs at the end of the room, bracketing a small table. “Please, sit with me. I know why you’re here, so we should talk.”
Vic sat, and Orsini joined him. Vic knew what his first question would be.
“Then shifters have existed for more than a thousand years?” Vic had known there were writings out there that referred to shifters; he’d just never seen any of them.
Orsini leaned back, his fingers steepled. “Longer than that, we believe. No one knows for sure, and there have been many different theories spouted as to our origins. I read an article recently where someone postulated that the eruption of a super volcano seventy thousand years ago introduced something new into the atmosphere, something that caused certain genes to mutate. Others claim we are the creation of a goddess. And there are even those who believe we simply ‘appeared’ because we were always fated to exist.”
“But there’s never been any proof to these theories,” Vic surmised.
“We have found sketches done on animal skins that would indicate the existence of shifters. Only last year, cave paintings were discovered in Indonesia depicting man-animal hybrids, hunting wild pigs and dwarf buffaloes. Therianthropes, scientists called these hunters. Some had the head or body parts of birds, reptiles…. And the paintings are believed to date back to forty-four thousand years ago.” He smiled. “So while such depictions may have been the result of taking hallucinogenic substances, or some supernatural encounters, they may also be the first portraits of our shifter ancestors.” Orsini sighed. “We may never know, and to be frank, our time would be best occupied studying events from our more recent history, instead of speculating on our ancient past.”
“You’re talking about the Fridans and the Gerans.”
Orsini nodded. “And before you ask, I follow neither group. I prefer to follow the path of truth—when I find it.”
“So we do know when Ansger and Ansfrid existed?”
“Yes. We can date them to the year 1000. We can even give an approximate date—1046—to the now-famous argument that caused them to break away from each other.” Orsini paused. “But that is where the mystery begins, because that date was not when the two splinter groups came into existence.”
Vic went very still. “Then when was it?”
Orsini regarded him in silence for a moment. “Would it surprise you to learn there is no true record within these walls of any conflicts between shifters until around nineteen hundred? Beyond the usual petty squabbles, of course.”
What the—
“That can’t be right,” he murmured.
“I assure you it is. Of course, there may be artifacts that haven’t come to light yet, and they might paint a different picture, but….”
Vic leaned forward. “So what happened in nineteen hundred?”
Orsini frowned. “As far as we can tell, someone resurrected the brothers’ disagreement.”
“ Resurrected ?” Vic’s stomach roiled.
I don’t like the sound of this.
Orsini gave a nod, his face grave. “Not only that, they embellished it. We know this from the Missal of Godwin.”
Vic frowned. “What’s that?” He’d never heard of it.
“The oldest known document in shifter history. It details the argument between the brothers.” Orsini peered at him. “Would you like to see it?”
“It’s here?” Vic’s heartbeat raced. “Yes!”
Orsini rose and went over to the nearest casket. “It was written in 1050 and refers to Godwin’s visit to the brothers that took place four years before that. It’s the oldest known European document to use paper instead of parchment—that we’ve found so far.” He lifted the lid, and Vic caught his breath at the sight of the pages captured under glass, their aged beige surfaces covered in black writing, and occasionally in red. He recognized the language as Latin.
“Can you read it? My Latin is about as good as my Italian,” Vic managed to croak.
This is amazing.
“Certainly. Although I might paraphrase.” Orsini chuckled. “Whoever Godwin was, they wrote in a remarkably long-winded style.” He removed a pair of glasses from his breast pocket, put them on, and peered at one of the pages.
“ My Lord Ansfrid is beloved of his people, counting among those he loves both humankind and versipelli.”
Vic blinked. “I’ve never heard that word. Is that Latin for shifters?”
Orsini nodded before continuing. “But my Lord Ansger shows his countenance to versipelli alone, shunning the company of humans.” He fell silent.
“Please, don’t stop.” Vic stared at him. “That isn’t all of it, surely?”
“I understand your confusion. Those few lines are hardly the basis for such a vicious split, correct?” Orsini closed the casket. “Now let me show you this. It purports to be written by Ansger himself.” He led Vic to another casket, which contained only one document, a single sheet of browned paper covered in identical writing. He leaned over to read from it, taking his time.
“For so long as you choose to mix the blood of humans and versipelli, my brother, you will bring about our destruction. Mankind is weak, but we are strong. Mankind’s place is beneath our feet, but our destiny is to rule. Mankind has tried to eliminate us already, and your weakness for their company would bring us to the brink of extinction. You have chosen your path, my brother, and I have chosen mine. Peace is not the answer, only war. And if you continue along this path, then my war will be against not only mankind, but against you and any who choose to follow your example.”
Vic shivered. “That sounds more like what I’d expected.”
“I would agree. This document came to us quite by chance. It was stolen from the Spanish house of a Geran leader about fifty years ago. The thief in question was a Fridan, and he had no idea what he had his hands on, so he brought it here, thinking we’d give him a reward. My father was still alive then, and he paid the thief handsomely for it. To think we had actual proof of what caused the rift between the brothers, and why nothing has healed that rift to this day.” Orsini paused. “My father was a man of integrity who believed in the good of all men—humans and shifters—but I was by nature more suspicious. He accepted the document as being accurate, and it was placed in the archives, where it sat for twenty years. In time he forgot about its existence, but I did not.” Orsini gave a graceful shrug. “I cannot tell you why, even to this day. I simply knew I did not accept its validity. So… when I took over my father’s position as archivist, I decided to have it tested. Yes, it was dated, and yes, it seemed genuine, but something in me still did not believe that.” He gave a half smile. “Except my methods for establishing its provenance seemed a little unorthodox at the time.”
Vic was intrigued. “What did you do?”
“I meet a great many shifters in my work here. Most of them come because they know many of their ancestors came from Europe. And roughly thirty years ago—I may be out by a year or two—I met a professor from your country. We spoke of his students, how he spotted those who were shifters, how he took care of them. And then he spoke of one in particular, a young man with incredible gifts.”
“What kind of gifts?”
“He had the power to send his thoughts into the minds of others, and to read what lay in their thoughts too. He could also see events taking place that were nowhere near him. And finally what was of vital interest to me, he possessed the ability to glean information about a person or an object by touch alone.”
Vic smiled. “One member of the team I work with? His mate has similar abilities.”
Orsini’s eyes widened. “Mate? Oh, we must talk further of this. But tell me, how old is this mate? Might he be the same man that I invited to come here?” Orsini was visibly buzzing with excitement.
He shook his head. “Seth is in his early twenties. It couldn’t have been him.”
Orsini’s face fell. “I see. I had to ask. Such gifts are rare. No, this man would be in his early sixties by now.” His features tightened. “And if I had known the danger I would place him in, I would never have extended that invitation.”
“What danger? What happened to him?”
“Forgive me. I digress. He came to the archive, and I let him hold the document you see here. He told me what I’d already guessed. That it had not been written more than a thousand years ago.”
Vic scrutinized the paper. “But… it looks the same.”
“Yes, it does. It is a really amazing effort on someone’s part. But once he confirmed my suspicions, I sent it to be tested scientifically.”
“And?” Vic had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“As far as we can tell, this was created in the early twentieth century.”
Vic’s head was spinning. “A forgery? But… why?”
“To cause a rift. Someone had obviously read the Missal of Godwin and decided to exploit it, to use it for their own ends. It had the desired effect. This document was created, news of it was deliberately spread, and thus the Fridans and the Gerans came to be.”
“But if it’s a forgery, then tell people! Let them know they’re being manipulated.” He pointed to the sheet. “This… if this got out, it would cripple the Gerans.”
Orsini let out a sorrowful sigh. “It is one document . And we know from our sources that many similar documents exist. If this is a forgery, then I have to believe they are too. I would be one lone voice adrift in an ocean of others.”
“But what happened to the shifter who came here? You didn’t finish that part of the story.”
“He spent a morning with me, he left, and when I tried to get in contact with him, I learned he’d disappeared. No one heard from him after his arrival in Rome, not even his wife. He simply vanished from the face of the earth.” Grief contorted Orsini’s features. “I did that. Because I have to assume someone learned of our meeting, learned what had passed between us and didn’t want that knowledge to be made public.”
“You think the Gerans got to him.”
Orsini nodded. “It was too big a risk to let him tell others about the forgery.”
The light dawned. “That’s why you haven’t told anyone about it, isn’t it? You’re afraid the same thing will happen to you.”
He glanced toward the door. “I never leave the museum. I have an apartment in one of the little houses we passed on the way here. I dare not set foot outside this place, because I don’t know who would be waiting for me.”
Orsini’s words hit home, and it was like a sucker punch to Vic’s gut.
“Oh Gods. What was his name? The shifter who disappeared?”
No, don’t say it. Please.
Orsini lowered his gaze. “He was a tiger shifter named Jake Carson.”