CHAPTER 9

~~1770~~

Carlisle walked across the stone courtyard of the Palazzo del Commendatore in Rome as the heat from the day rose up from the stones and evening spread across the sky. Pigeons flew overhead and cooed from the rooftops and the sounds of the street just outside the main entrance to the palazzo drifted towards Carlisle as he neared the archway.

Carlisle had been working evenings at the Ospedale di Santo Spirito for six years, teaching classes to the physicians in training, and he had moved into a three-room apartment in the palazzo because the administrator of the hospital and Carlisle had strong mutual respect. The clock on the portico of the palazzo struck seven in the evening as he neared the front door of the chapel that split the braccio vecchio. He could hear the turmoil inside the hospital long before he stepped over the threshold.

For just a few moments, however, he ignored the noise around him, and he knelt before the altar, looking up at the octagonal chapel dome above him. "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and do not forget all his benefits – who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the Pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good as long as you live so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's."

Settling in Rome had been a deliberate choice. Carlisle had worked with the Knights of Santo Spirito before in more exotic locations and had heard that the church had been helping the poor in this hospital for centuries. Almost every pope had added to its facilities and resources. Additionally, a city that was so consumed with spirituality fed Carlisle's growth. He had never felt so at home.

Finally, Carlisle could no longer ignore what was happening around him. He lowered his eyes back to earth and then stood up and walked back toward the two hallways. He looked to the left down the hall into the west end of the braccio vecchio and heard some nurses struggling with a trauma patient, doctors arguing about a diagnosis, and several patients taking their last breaths. To his right, however, past the east end of the braccio vecchio, he caught a strong new scent in the braccio nuovo. If he was right, there could be a serious problem brewing. Carlisle turned right without any further hesitation.

The closer he got, the more certain he was. There were all kinds of foul smells that swirled around Carlisle in the narrow hallways of the hospital, but when he entered the large main ward he knew that at least six patients among the dozens of beds were ill with a specific and virulent disease. Giuseppe, a young student of Carlisle's, ran up to him.

"Doctor Cullen! I just arrived but during the day we got four more patients." Guiseppe was tall and thin and Carlisle could always detect the scent of his girlfriend's perfume on his hair and clothes.

Carlisle walked over to the beds and began to examine the patients: two children, a young woman, and a thin, older man. "From the same area of the city?"

Giuseppe blinked, "I – I don't know, sir."

The patients were ranging in severity, all had evidence of a systemic infection, and one had dark urine. Carlisle turned back to Giuseppe. "Find out where they live. Compare them with the two from yesterday evening." Then he walked out of the ward and up the grand staircase toward the office of the Knight of Santo Spirito.

Carlisle went directly into the offices of the administrator of the hospital. The office, consistently a picture of controlled chaos, was filled with books and dust. Bright sunlight pierced the dim room from a circular window on the far wall. The Giovanni Brambilla sat bent over his desk and barely glanced at Carlisle when he entered.

"We may have a new crisis of Roman fever," Carlisle said urgently.

Brambilla looked over his glasses at Carlisle and his bushy eyebrows lifted. He was only in his fifties but his face had aged and his hair had grayed while he was head of the hospital. "You are certain?" he said calmly.

Carlisle nodded. "I have one of the students researching the place of residence of the six patients I am concerned about, looking for a common source."

Brambilla stood up slowly and stretched his knees before he walked over to his book stacks. He ran a finger over dozens of books and then finally pulled out one small volume. "This is by a physician called Ramazzini. You should read it. He recommends the use of chinchona bark in the treatment of Roman fever."

Carlisle took the book and looked back to at Brambilla. "I had not heard of this. Do we have any chinchona bark?"

Brambilla smiled. "The theory is fifty years old, but not popular. I knew a good friend of Ramazzini. I have kept a store of chinchona ever since." He sat back down. "Some of the apothecaries may also have some stock. Have your students look into it." He picked up his quill again and resumed writing.

"Thank you, sir," Carlisle turned to leave.

"Mister Cullen," Brambilla called after Carlisle without looking up, "I will cancel your lecture for this evening. Please take charge of this affair until you are satisfied that it is contained." Brambilla had a naturally serene personality but Carlisle also knew that he had complete faith that Carlisle would not rest until the crisis was over.

"Yes, sir," Carlisle said and walked back out. He spent the entire evening documenting the symptoms and progress of the six patients to confirm the diagnosis. Giuseppe found more chinchona bark and they immediately began treatment. Three of the six unconscious patients were alone, but they interviewed family members of the other three. All of the families were from different apartment buildings and obtained water from different fountains. There appeared to be no connection between the cases. When Carlisle left the following morning, he instructed Giuseppe to take more detailed histories on all of the patients about their recent activities.

The dim morning was overcast and a light fog muted sight and sound: but as Carlisle walked toward the front archway of the palazzo his unnaturally sensitive ears heard the soft mumbling.

"Don't know why… why am I pulled here? Who can help me here? I'm in the open… they'll find me… I can sense them… they are coming… they are coming…"

Carlisle paused in shock. Not only was the whispering in English, but the speed of the whispers and the low pitch told him long before he caught the scent that it was a vampire. The only others he had heard speak that way were Charles and Makenna. Carlisle sensed paranoia, but not maleficence. The visitor was agitated and Carlisle decided he wanted to announce himself rather than scare him. "My friend, how can I aid you?" Carlisle whispered quickly in English.

The visitor stopped mumbling to himself, and now Carlisle heard him scrambling to stand up. Carlisle ran as quickly as he could while still appearing human and stopped just inside the entrance to the courtyard to catch the visitor. He hadn't needed to run. The visitor was unable to move quickly – he was missing a leg. He was also swaying unsteadily in a way Carlisle did not imagine was possible for an invulnerable and immortal vampire.

The visitor's face screwed up with rage under a curtain of chin-length, unkempt, dark hair and he pointed accusingly at Carlisle. "You speak English! ARE YOU ONE OF THEM?? YOU LOOK LIKE ONE OF THEM!!"

Carlisle put up his hands. "Friend, I do not know who you are referring to. Please, let me help you."

The visitor slowly lowered his finger, and his face relaxed only a little. "No… you don't sound like one of them. But you look like one of them…" Then he swayed again slightly. Carlisle thought he would catch himself, but then Carlisle saw that the visitor was missing not only his left leg but also his left arm. Carlisle moved swiftly to catch him before he fell.

Then Carlisle started to carry him toward his apartment but the visitor was waving his remaining arm toward the ground. "The blanket! The blanket!"

Carlisle reached down to grab the dirty pile of rags which the visitor seemed to treasure and found within it the dismembered arm and leg. Carlisle sighed with relief. "Well, my friend, I don't know what ability rules your senses, but now at least I understand why you were drawn to me." He looked directly into the visitor's eyes. "I can help you; I just need you to trust me."

The visitor's brow creased as he looked back at Carlisle's angelic face. "Trust?"

Carlisle could not help but smile, so he turned and picked up the arm and leg wrapped in the blanket and then carried his visitor inside the entrance of his section of the palazzo.

The wide stairs wound upward to the apartment level with a scrolled iron handrail. Carlisle hurried up to the main hallway, his light steps barely audible on the pink marble tiles. A row of windows on the left let in what little illumination was available that foggy morning, and on the right were the apartments. At the end of the hall Carlisle deftly swung open his door.

His apartment was relatively luxurious, consisting of three rooms: the main parlor, a kitchen hearth and bathing room to the left of the front door, and a bedroom to the right. Each room had large windows that faced the street, but because Carlisle had a corner apartment the bedroom also had a private balcony that faced a narrow alley and had a lofty view of the city.

Carlisle deposited his visitor on a silk couch in the parlor and went to his locked cabinet to retrieve his fifty-year-old notes on vampire healing from Makenna. First, he had to completely remove any concentrated vampire venom around the dozens of bites he found on his visitor. Vampires can survive dozens of bites at once, but the venom in addition to the injury would cause healing to take even longer. Carlisle used his billows to create suction in a glass bell he placed over the wounds. It wasn't as easy as it seemed in principle. The bites were partially healed already. The process was more excruciating for his patient than he had predicted and Carlisle had to hold a pillow over his face to help muffle the screaming.

When Carlisle finished he had only two hours before dusk and his evening shift. He quickly retrieved some fresh animal blood and kept in water chilled by saltpetre. Since he had learned of the technique of mixing citrus juice with blood to preserve it, he had been able to bring back a glass jar full for emergencies. He fed his visitor some blood to feed his overtaxed system. The vampire was in a barely conscious state and protested the taste of animal blood but accepted the nourishment.

Carlisle looked down at his patient as his face relaxed again. He was physically probably the oldest vampire Carlisle had ever met. He had to have been in his mid-forties when he was transformed, yet Carlisle could see the same magnetic attractiveness that the change brought to every vampire. He was not overtly beautiful but he had a square jaw and long lashes, and when his narrow eyes were open their dark depths were captivating and haunted.

Carlisle decided that his visitor had taken enough abusive treatment for one evening and leaned over him. "I have to go to the hospital for about ten hours. Rest and recover, and I will reattach the limbs when I return."

The vampire opened his eyes, nodded, and then closed them again.

When Carlisle arrived at the hospital his sense of smell told him immediately that there was now an epidemic developing. He had to stop it. He rushed into the wards and found the doctors frantically running around and the nurses practically sprinting.

Carlisle strapped on his apron and stepped up to Giuseppe. "What happened?"

"You were right; our first patients are recovering, but now we have thirty more!"

"All of them at once?"

Giuseppe nodded. "The devil himself is behind this."

Carlisle stared at his student for a moment. Then in a moment of irrational fear he turned his head and scanned the area just to be certain there were no other vampires nearby. Carlisle frowned at himself. There was obviously no way a vampire could be responsible for an outbreak of Roman fever, but he realized he was feeling uneasy about his visitor. He shook his head and put away that thought.

Carlisle worked all night and ended up staying all day. The intake was so busy they never sat down. Through questioning the patients Carlisle and Giuseppe still could find no common connection between the patients. They were from different areas of the city, they used different waters for their washing and drinking, and they even shopped in different markets.

"It appears we have a mystery on our hands," Brambilla said calmly as he walked stiffly toward Carlisle with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sir, we can find no evidence of a connection," Carlisle threw down his notes.

"And yet, we have an epidemic," Brambilla shrugged.

"No family connection, no residence connection, no diet connection, no water connection, no market connection, no church connection. What else is there?" Carlisle threw up his hands.

Brambilla mused quietly for a moment. "What about joy?"

"Joy?" Carlisle lifted a brow.

Brambilla looked down at Carlisle and smiled. "Entertainment, leisure. Everyone must find a way to relax."

Carlisle bolted upward. "The minstrels." He ran to the end of the row and knelt next to the first of two minstrels who had come in the previous evening. "Where do you perform? Where do you set up every evening?"

The man was shaking with fever but whispered, "Pi…Piazza Navona…"

Carlisle immediately stood up again and went to a young woman who was conscious two beds down. "Where do you go to watch the performers in the evening?"

"Piazza Navona," she said quietly. Carlisle asked three others; their answer was the same. Carlisle ran to throw on his coat. He had just over an hour to sunrise.

"I will go with you." Giuseppe began to take off his apron.

"No, Giuseppe, it may be dangerous." Carlisle put up a hand.

Giuseppe ignored his teacher's concern. "I will see this through."

Carlisle could see the light of adventure in his student's eyes and relented.

They took a carriage past Sant' Agnese in Agone and then walked. They spoke with everyone they passed. They looked everywhere for standing water – barrels, broken fountains, old rainwater – and found nothing. They sat on the Fontana del Nettuno and Carlisle worried that he was going to run out of time. He stared at the gods fighting the serpents of the sea and the horses frozen in time in the rippling water, and then he saw a single mosquito flying toward him. It landed on him, but of course Carlisle had no blood to tempt it. He smashed it before it could fly over to Giuseppe. He stared at the dead insect. One I cannot track far, but this is an outbreak; there must be thousands nearby. He listened harder, and immediately he heard it: a swarm.

Carlisle got up and ran across the piazza toward the sound, scattering pigeons in his wake, with Giuseppe right behind him. The sound led him to the Palazzo Pamphilj, and outside the kitchens was a trough used for washing, covered with mosquitoes. Carlisle cast a tightly woven net over it to prevent any more from escaping, and Giuseppe tossed lye on the entire swarm.

Carlisle returned home that morning to find his visitor completely recovered from the venom fever. "Why would you leave me with that mud to drink?" he grimaced as he pointed to the half-empty glass bottle.

"I am Carlisle." Carlisle did not expect him to answer just yet but wanted to offer his name first. Carlisle smiled as he removed his coat and scarf. "That, sir, is what I drink all the time."

The visitor sniffed the air. "But you've been around humans. I can smell them all over you, and everything in here smells like humans too. It's like you're around them all the time."

Carlisle stopped to look down at the perplexed vampire and gave him another amiable smile. "I don't feed on humans; I heal them." Then he ignored the stunned expression on his visitor's face and proceeded into the kitchen where he opened the corner stove and started to stoke the fire. "The unfortunate side effect of removing the venom is that you will be more lucid for the reattachment," he called back to his guest.

"What exactly are you planning to do?" the vampire asked apprehensively.

Carlisle returned to the main parlor. "I have to make the fire hot enough to join the limbs back onto you but not hot enough to destroy them. It's a delicate balance." The visitor frowned and turned his head away. "Can you tell me how this happened?" Carlisle asked. The vampire did not look back at him and remained silent. Carlisle went back to the fire and continued to stoke the flames. An hour later, when the fire was finally hot enough he retrieved the dismembered limbs, which were twitching slightly, as if they knew what was coming.

"Carlisle," the vampire called from the couch. Carlisle put down the leg and went to his patient. "Do we really have to do this?"

Carlisle looked at him compassionately. "That is your choice. But you are going to live through the venom fever, and it will be very hard for you to hunt without your limbs."

The vampire thought for a few moments and then looked back at Carlisle. "Harder to run too." His eyes became more intense. "They are coming, you know."

Carlisle's brows knit. "Who is coming?"

The vampire's eyes were distant and unfocused. "They want you: I can feel it."

Carlisle frowned, "I don't know who you think I am, but I am of no value to anyone but my patients."

The vampire's eyes shifted back to Carlisle. "You must fix my limbs, but then you must come with me!"

Carlisle looked into the vampire's frantic eyes. "Friend, I don't even know who you are."

The vampire shook his head. "You don't want to know who I am, trust me."

Carlisle smiled slightly. "I thought you trusted no one."

The vampire appraised Carlisle and then nodded. "I am called Alistair."

"Alistair, it is a pleasure. You are the first Englishman I have met in my travels."

Alistair snorted. "I've met plenty. I care nothing for them."

Carlisle appreciated this slightly misanthropic tendency and felt a strange affinity for this character. "And who attacked you, Alistair?" Carlisle said directly.

Alistair held Carlisle's eyes, "The vampire coven that has ruled our world for twelve centuries: the Volturi." Carlisle's face fell slightly hearing the name, and Alistair was satisfied he had instilled the necessary fear. "If you have heard of them, they knew about you long before you knew of them. And as I told you, they are coming for you. I can feel it."

"But why would they attack you? A single vampire among thousands?" Carlisle replayed in his mind what Charles and Makenna had told him. They attacked covens, not singles, unless they broke a law… "Did you break their laws?"

"Laws, bah! They have no authority but fear. They are not MY masters, no vampire rules me," Alistair growled. "They wanted me for something. They tried to capture me. Sent their best after me. But I can get away." Alistair smirked.

Carlisle understood, remembering Charles's warning. You have a gift they want.

Alistair looked back at Carlisle. "Carlisle, you are unique too. I can feel it; though I don't know exactly what you have in you, I was drawn to your power. You MUST flee with me!"

Carlisle shook his head and leaned forward slightly. "Alistair, I appreciate your concern, but this is my home. I have commitments, and I will leave when I choose to. No vampire coven rules my destiny either." Alistair frowned at Carlisle as his own words were reflected back to him, and Carlisle smiled. Then he stood and held a pillow out in front of Alistair. "Are you ready?"

Alistair took the pillow and set his jaw. "Do it." Carlisle walked back over to the trembling limbs and put Alistair's leg into the fire, and Alistair screamed in pain and then threw the pillow over his face, which partially muted the inhuman cries.

Setting the limbs back in place was relatively easy but it took Carlisle's bellows a long time to get the stony flesh hot enough. The process essentially slowly burned Alistair alive to restore him to wholeness.

Even after the limbs were back in place and Carlisle had wrapped them tightly to hold them until they were completely healed, Alistair fought against the residual pain. To keep Alistair's mind off the agony Carlisle began to tell him stories of his life and adventures. He left out most of his human life but spoke extensively about his time with humans as a vampire.

Finally, Alistair growled, "Why are you so fascinated with living with humans?"

Carlisle smiled at Alistair's ill humor. "I'm not sure how I feel about living with vampires."

Alistair frowned. "Hmph. Well we agree on that point, Carlisle. The lot of them can all go to hell."

Carlisle looked down at Alistair with tremendous sympathy. It was probably the strongest feeling he had toward a vampire. "Tell me what they did to you, Alistair."

Alistair turned and stared at Carlisle with wide eyes. "What is your gift, Carlisle?"

Carlisle shrugged. "I don't know what you mean, Alistair."

Alistair seemed to scan over Carlisle's entire body and frowned deeply. Finally, he appeared to decide to drop the topic. "Carlisle, I have been places and done things that you cannot comprehend at this moment." His haunted eyes looked up at Carlisle's furrowed brow. "I can tell you that I have worked tirelessly to prevent vampires from destroying humanity. But – I am still a killer."

Carlisle stared at Alistair. "Did you face the Volturi?"

Alistair smirked again. "I don't face anyone. I whisper, sidle, and undermine. I work in the shadows. I don't know why I do most of the things I do. I don't know where I am going half of the time." Alistair frowned and groaned slightly against the pain. Then he looked back at Carlisle with pained eyes. "All I know is I was being drawn to Rome with a force I had never felt before. In all of my time, I have never had such a strong pull on my path. But as I approached the city, I was attacked. I am certain one of them was a Volturi – Felix. I'll never forget his stench." Alistair growled. "The other, he was too skilled, and I never caught a face or scent. They left me in a ditch, they don't have the courage to simply kill me, so they just maimed me and left me!" Alistair shouted, and his limbs shook. Carlisle put a hand on Alistair's chest to calm him. Alistair looked back at him. "It appeared to be too sloppy an attack to be ordered by the Volturi. But Felix does not do anything of his own accord." Alistair's brows lifted as he whispered, "They must been watching you, and were leaving to return to Volterra, but they sensed my approach. They tried to stop me from reaching you because -- they are coming back."

"Why would they try to stop you from meeting me?" Carlisle was stunned.

Alistair chuckled. "The Volturi must want you all to themselves. And they fear the hand of destiny," Alistair pointed to himself, then he scanned Carlisle again and grinned as he nodded toward Carlisle and whispered, "as well as the future."

The next evening when Carlisle left for work, Alistair lay essentially in a state of exhausted repose, recovering from the trauma of the treatment. Carlisle left him to his thoughts.

Carlisle began his evening in the chapel again. He was troubled by his encounter with Alistair but he thanked God for bringing Alistair to him. Then he prayed that whatever destiny God had laid out for him that he would do God's will.

With his head still bowed, he heard Brambilla walking down the hall to find him. Brambilla sat in a pew and waited as Carlisle finished his prayer at the altar, and then Carlisle joined him.

"Giuseppe has been singing your praises and telling the story of your amazing discovery of the nest all afternoon," Brambilla smiled.

Carlisle chuckled and nodded.

"I'm leaving within a month," Brambilla said quietly.

Carlisle turned to stare at him. "Why?"

"I have been asked to become director of the Josefinum school and hospital in Vienna."

Carlisle raised his eyebrows. "The Emperor is letting you leave?"

Brambilla chuckled, "Joseph will be in good hands without me. He understands that I will be carrying on his good name in Vienna." He turned toward Carlisle, "I have recommended that you be joined to the order and take administration of the hospital."

Carlisle stared at Brambilla. "Giovanni, I cannot accept."

Brambilla smiled. "Carlisle, you have abilities, and leadership beyond any other here. You know how much good you can do if you take on this hospital. You may carry this hospital into the next century."

Carlisle stared at Brambilla, and Brambilla did not look away. Carlisle knew the look on Brambilla's face: for some reason when men of God recognized Carlisle for what he was, it did not concern him as much. Brambilla's eyes wrinkled with amusement. "God told me you were coming, Carlisle. And whether you accept my offer and stay, or if you go, you have done His work. And I know you will continue His work, no matter where you are."

Carlisle turned his gaze back to the altar and tried to hear God's wishes. Was this the response to his prayer?

Just as he was about to ask for God's guidance he caught a scent, and he turned his head quickly. It was new, and it was close. Carlisle stood up. Yet again, it seemed his responsibilities as a vampire would interfere, but this was the first time Carlisle considered that God might have something to do with his destiny as a vampire.

"Giovanni, I must leave. I will return when I can." Carlisle ran out of the chapel and to his apartment. Alistair was right.

Carlisle knew before he ran inside his apartment that Alistair had fled, and he found the note in the kitchen.

Carlisle – You have saved my life. That is a debt I can never repay. I am drawn away, and by now I am sure you know they are here. Do not trust them. Do not aid them. Your gift is the strongest I have ever seen. They will try to keep you.

Good luck – Alistair

Carlisle expected as much the moment he caught the scent of the vampire watching him at the hospital. He shook his head and smiled. Alistair was, so far, the vampire he had connected with the best. Carlisle folded up the note and put it in Hawthorne's box, silently wishing that he might see Alistair again someday.

Carlisle walked out to his private balcony and looked out over Rome. Evening church bells were ringing, and Carlisle contemplated his future. It seemed that wherever he went, the vampires came to him. He was not really trying to avoid them, he simply wanted to live as he wished. But now he knew that would not be possible until he faced the oncoming challenge.

Carlisle threw out his right hand, and without needing to look for his target he locked his fingers around the throat of the vampire that had appeared at his side only a moment before. Carlisle had sensed him following him from the hospital and waiting outside his window, which was why Carlisle had walked out onto the balcony. Carlisle turned his head to the newcomer. "I am Carlisle."

The new vampire was the same size as Carlisle, had chin-length dark hair and dark eyebrows, and he smiled even though Carlisle still held his throat in an iron grip. "Yes, I know, Señor Cullen. My name is Eleazar."