Chapter 13: In the Shadow of Robert F. Kennedy

March, 1994

March that year started slow but tense. Tense enough in Washington, D. C. that even mundane humans began picking up on it. My security detail, both American and those we brought with us, was doubled for no apparent reason that first week in March. Andre Anderson spent forty-five minutes of an hour visit to my Watergate apartment arguing me into submission on the subject of adding Anais Rajasthan to my “staff.” The other fifteen minutes was spent coming up with a plausible story as to who she was and why I needed her. We settled on me learning Russian on top of all of my other headaches. And Russian was a headache. I felt like I was back in kindergarten because to learn Russian you have to also learn the Cyrillic alphabet. We would have had Katya Mystislavova teach me but ... well, she was Russian ... and crazy. We decided there was no way Ambrose, Edgar, or the Americans would be happy about that.

And that was about as exciting as things got for the first two weeks of the month. Because of how tense the security was, I only managed to sneak out to spar at the warehouse twice. I didn’t use the Cardinal as cover because I did not want to abuse our relationship like that. Besides, I might really need to later and I didn’t want anyone becoming suspicious of Cardinal Hardt.

I was tense because I knew both Rafael von Feldberg and Angel Diego Valera y Guerra de Sangrecito were still in town. Rumors had von Feldberg ensconced in a rather posh Georgetown terraced house with his minions occupying houses on either side as well as an abandoned office building not far away. Valera was in a warehouse near the Potomac in Alexandria. Why both Vampires were simply waiting in place was beyond me. If nothing else, trying to keep all of those people and monsters fed without alerting mundane humans to their presence had to be straining their creativity. Not that I know anything about the logistical nightmares of keeping an army of monsters camped out in place for any length of time. That’s just not something the English school system covers.

My tense peace ended on the Ides of March when I got home from CSIS. There was a letter waiting for me. At first, I thought it was an invitation to Mickey’s wedding. The envelope was thick, textured, and off-white. When I opened it, the letter inside was on parchment-like paper with gracefully flowing penmanship I would have called calligraphy until I realized it was merely old. It read:

“Bloody fucking hell,” I whispered to myself after reading it through twice.

I was really glad neither of the boys was present. Not only would they have asked what was wrong, they would have wanted to (nay, insisted that they) accompany me if I managed to figure out how I was going to get there. I don’t know what von Feldberg meant by “Security contracted through capable neutral parties” but I was pretty sure said neutral parties would neither be amused by a passel of Secret Service agents nor would they allow them entry to the stadium until the “festivities” were concluded.

I picked up the phone and called Jerome. “Good evening, Alice. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” the monk asked when he finally came to the phone.

“The other shoe has dropped, finally,” I told him with a sigh of mixed relief and irritation. “Can you and Andre, and whoever else he wants to bring, come over. I got an invitation to a party you all should read.”

“A party, you say?” he said slowly. “And we are invited? Clergy don’t usually get invited to the fun parties. We usually have to crash.”

“There is a catch. This party will be themed. Anyone wearing accessories not matching the Medieval Times theme won’t get in,” I replied steadily. “Get with Andre and come over. I’d rather not discuss it any further over the phone.”

“Fucking hell,” Andre whispered after he read the invitation twice. He looked at me as he handed the invitation to Mathia Eugenia. “Did I read that right? Two Vampire Lords and their minions are going to have a medieval mêlée in the middle of a football stadium in the middle of the capital city of the United States of America without anyone else knowing or interrupting?” He was incredulous and looking at me as if he wanted me to say it was all a joke.

“Wow. Whoever wrote this did a great job keeping it innocuous and vague enough that if it were read by some mundane they would get nothing out of it,” Mathia said admiringly, adding wryly, “And I imagine that whatever they have as security is strong enough magically to make sure nobody, mundane included, get into the stadium until it is all over and cleaned up.”

“That is the other part that bothers me,” Jerome said with a frown as he finished reading over Mathia’s shoulder. “Anything powerful enough to serve as security for a territorial fight between Vampires as old as Feldberg and Sangrecito is something I think the Exarch would put a quarantine zone around for all Order personnel.”

“Demons and Dragons are the two that come to mind first,” Andre said, sounding as if he reluctantly agreed. Then he shrugged. “But we are in the Americas and there are some powerful creatures that, if you can get their attention and come up with a suitable tribute/bribe, they could serve as security for something like this. Thunderbirds come to mind, but they generally detest Vampires and their ilk.”

“It won’t be Demons,” Mathia said with certainty, eyes flicking to me mischievously. “After Belfast, most Demons won’t go near Alice. Balor was no minor imp and she was only thirteen and just beginning to come into her power. Besides, if von Feldberg wants Alice there on his side, it won’t be Demons.”

“Ummm,” Jerome mumbled almost to himself, his eyes lost in thought.

After a minute of silence, I snapped, “‘Um’ what, Jerome?”

He started and his eyes darted to mine, his face looking flustered. “Well, what do you know about Dragons?” he asked tentatively.

“Big, scaly, fire-breathing, hoarders,” I said sarcastically. “What’s to know?” All three of them groaned, making me think we were about to discuss the shortcomings of my monster-slaying education.

Andre shook his head sadly. “I am just going to go into rookie lecture mode and leave commentary for another occasion,” he said darkly. “Dragons are powerful magical beings with massive intelligence, durable and heavily armored bodies, and they tend to be hermitic. Very few Dragons live in cities and most that do are solitary. They tend to drive away other Rudelles, tolerating very few. There are more powerful beings in this world, but they tend to be even more aloof and hard to find.”

“The reason I mention Dragons is because there is a rumor going around that a Dragon Prince came to town about two weeks ago,” Jerome told us, shrugging apologetically at Andre’s look of ire. “I haven’t mentioned it because it is still just a rumor. Dragon Princes rarely travel to the U. S. and even more rarely do they bring their entire court, a rumor suggests this one has.”

I must have been looking even more blankly at them because Mathia smiled sympathetically. “A Dragon Prince is very powerful and is oddly sociable, collecting various beings around him or her that are referred to as his or her Court,” she explained. “They mostly live and control the large population centers of East Asia and their courts often reflect that, though Western and American Rudelles are sometimes represented. Think of the old oriental human courts and you come close to the types of menageries Dragon Princes surround themselves with.”

“Any idea where this one if from, Jerome?” Andre asked, as if the answer was important.

Jerome shook his head apologetically, again. “No, but I doubt it is any of the Chinese or Korean Dragon Princes,” he replied firmly, “if only because they all tend to be suspicious of each other and look for openings to nip off bits of territory should one weaken. None of them leave their territories unless the others do as well.”

“Let’s just go with the idea that it is a Dragon Prince doing security,” I said to forestall an academic debate on Dragons. “What does that mean for me?”

All three gave me a long, measuring look before exchanging glances. Andre inhaled deeply and slowly let the breath out. “So, I take that to mean you plan to go as an ally of von Feldberg.”

He wasn’t really asking. “Provided I can think of a way to sneak out without my various shadows and find transportation to and from the stadium. I can drive, but until my license paperwork clears the suddenly glacial bureaucracy at the State Department, I have no car,” I replied crossly, irritated anew at the restrictions on my activities.

Andre smiled, then giggled like a naughty child thinking up more mischief to get into. It was a strange sound and sight coming from so hard a man. “I have an idea about getting you out but nobody outside of this room will like it,” he said, the giggle plain in his tone. “How do you feel about heights?”

I got to practice rappelling down the back side of the Vatican Embassy, much to the dismay of 67-year-old Pro-nuncio Agostino Cacciavillan and his staff, on Wednesday night. The poor Pro-nuncio (read: Ambassador) almost looked like he wanted to have an apoplectic fit at the thought of me sliding down the outside of his embassy on a rope. Andre somehow finagled permission from the elderly clergyman to invite me there for dinner. I went straight there from CSIS, ate a quick meal, and then got two hours instruction from the very experienced Andre as he taught me by having me rappel out the fourth story (actually more like attic) window of the embassy’s rear. The lights were conveniently in need of replacing that night but it was still more than a little exposed as I bounced down the back of the stately building on Embassy Row.

And Andre was right; the Exarch was not going to be happy when he heard about this. Karl, either, for that matter.

Besides Andre and Jerome, the rest of Andre’s team and Jericho were also there that night to tell me they would be going with me Friday night. The stubborn asses refused to be talked out of it. Nothing I could think to say swayed them in the least.

“You need someone there to watch your back, my Lady,” Andre finally said with both discussion-ending force and respectful formality. “You can have no conception as to your importance and the Exarch would hang me from the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica if I let you go fight for a Vampire Lord against another Vampire Lord without protection.” The rest of them nodded vigorously at that.

That is how I wound up securing a grapnel to my window at 10 p.m. and letting fifty feet of rope drop to the ground below where I could see a very nervous Jerome awaiting me. Tyrone arrived at 9 p. m. Friday night and had a late dinner with me. He was going to stay and pull the rope up after I left and let it back down when I returned, assuming it was still dark. If it took long enough for the sun to come up, then I would simply jog up like I had somehow slipped out for a pre-dawn run around the Watergate complex.