“What are you doing?” Raven’s anguish was directed at the priest. “Stop them! Don’t let them hurt her.”
“Come now.” Father leaned across the line.
William’s arm snaked around Raven’s waist, his mouth finding her ear. “It’s a trap.”
“Raven! Help!” Cara shouted.
William tightened his grasp and continued to whisper, “If you follow her, I shall follow you. And they’ll kill me.”
“Then do something,” she pleaded.
The Prince’s gray eyes swung to the white-haired man who stood in front of them. “We came to you in peace. We surrendered the human at your request. This is how the Curia treats their charges?”
“Give me Raven, and we will have peace.” Father leaned farther across the line, his hand mere inches from hers. “And send your cursed fog away.”
“It isn’t mine,” the Prince remarked grimly, looking the priest squarely in the eye.
Raven watched as the soldiers continued to drag her sister toward the basilica. She saw Cara struggle, her shouts and screams echoing across the piazza.
“I trusted you!” She pushed Father Kavanaugh’s chest. “Let her go. Right now!”
The priest grabbed her arm and began to pull.
William had her by the waist. He planted his feet.
A tug of war ensued, with Raven’s body forming the rope.
The priest began reciting words in Latin, waving the relic he held in his other hand.
Both Curia and Florentine soldiers approached, keeping a healthy distance but wielding their weapons. The fog continued to swirl around the Florentines.
“Let go,” Raven whispered, her eyes moving to the priest’s. “I’m not coming with you. If anything happens to Cara, you’ll regret it.”
Father Kavanaugh ignored her, his gaze focused on the Prince and the relic’s obvious lack of effect.
It was at that moment, quite by chance, that the priest lowered his eyes and saw William’s foot resting over the line.
Chapter Twenty-Four
IN A MOVE SO QUICK it could not be detected by human eyes, the Prince drew his foot back into the surrounding fog.
He pried Raven’s arm from the priest’s grasp, his body a blur, and shuffled her behind him.
Father Kavanaugh froze.
“You asked for the lives of two humans.” The Prince glanced behind the priest to see Cara being taken up the stairs that led to the massive doors of the basilica. “I delivered one of them to you, unharmed and unspoiled. The other belongs to me.”
“Impossible,” the priest whispered, fear causing his face to pale beneath his white beard.
“The Roman supports me, the Prince of Florence, and the assertion of my right to keep the pet of my choice. You have our answer.” The Prince lifted Raven into his arms and disappeared into the fog, the Florentines following hard on his heels.
Father Kavanaugh seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. “Raven! Raven!”
The Prince and his soldiers flew in the direction of the Tiber, the fog accompanying them. Once they reached the river’s edge, the fog lifted. They turned north and raced out of the city.
Chapter Twenty-Five
FATHER JACK KAVANAUGH paced the hallway outside the Superior General’s office in the Vatican, praying nervously.
As soon as he’d left the piazza, the head of the Curia had summoned him. He’d barely had time to issue instructions to the soldiers guarding Cara. She’d been transferred to the infirmary, where medical officers would examine her for signs of trauma.
Jack was fearful of what they’d find.
He should have been grateful that the General had afforded him a face-to-face meeting. The General kept a punishing schedule that was filled with intelligence briefings and assemblies from dawn until well into the evening. He rarely, if ever, met with anyone individually, other than those in the highest positions inside the Vatican. Jack was not one of them.
However, nothing like gratitude lifted from his heart, only whispered supplications. He was worried about Raven and already formulating a rescue plan. He simply needed the General’s permission.
The door to the General’s office swung inward.
“Ave.” The General’s secretary, a high-ranking Curia member, called out in Latin.
“Maria,” Jack responded, accepting the invitation to enter.
The room was simple and unadorned, save for a large medieval crucifix hung on a side wall. Beneath it was a bench on which the General could kneel and pray, eyes lifted to the savior.
The secretary ushered Jack inside and toward an empty chair in front of the General’s massive desk.
The General, dressed in black robes, was seated behind the desk, which was piled high with paperwork and files. He was a Spaniard, a priest in his sixties who had worked in intelligence for most of his career before being elevated to the position of Superior General three years before.
He peered at his secretary over the rims of his spectacles.
The secretary bowed and exited through a side door.
“Father Kavanaugh,” the General addressed him, his Spanish accent thickening on the English words.
“Your eminence.”
The General extended his hand, and Jack took it. “You came to us from America. I trust you are finding your way.”
Jack shifted in his chair. “I am, thank you.”
“Good.” The General sat back. “Describe what happened in the piazza.”
Jack switched to Italian, the language of the Vatican. “Two young women, who I have known since childhood, have fallen under the influence of the Prince of Florence.