Book Of Shadows II: Sanctuary
Chapter IX
"Witchcraft is any human activity attributed to the help of evil spirits."
--Malleus Maleficarum
Luis Menendez dropped his last bottle of beer onto the pavement, listening as it feel with an empty tinkle of glass. Rosie was probably worried about him—he hadn't been home in several days—but to return there was certain death, for both of them. He couldn't get her involved in this mess, whatever it was.
We were so sure, he thought bitterly, wiping his mouth with the back of a grimy sleeve. We thought we could escape the past, but it is haunting us. It will never let us go…
Alexander was dead, he knew that much, and he hadn't heard from Miguel in two weeks. Their last conversation had been brief, the other man's voice filled with anxiety as he warned Luis that they had been found, and that Cortez was already dead.
What made things worse was that he had no idea who was after them. It could be anyone—the Italians, their former boss in Spain—there were many who would be more than happy to see he and his friends conveniently put "out of commission."
Up ahead, he noticed a man walking toward him down the dimly lit street, his face hidden by a large, black umbrella. But it wasn't raining. Luis looked up at the sky, a thin strip of inky blackness peeking from between the dilapidated rooftops. The light pollution made it impossible to see any stars, but it didn't even look cloudy…
When he lowered his gaze, the man was much closer. Luis' eyes widened in surprise—and fear—as the umbrella was lowered, revealing a face he though he had blocked from his memory for two long years.
"Buon notte," The man said, a thin smile on his lips that did not reach his dark eyes. Luis shoved past him and began to run, the man's voice shouting after him as he went.
"You're going the wrong way, my friend! You will find no sanctuary down there!"
But Luis did find a hiding place, after all. Amidst the apartments was hidden a small, decaying church, its hallowed ground strewn with litter and other refuse. It was such an easy thing to miss, hidden in the shadows of the high-rises, that he was sure the man would never think to look for him inside.
Robin was jolted from her bored stupor by the sound of running footsteps, heading in her direction. She looked around, peering into the dark, until she spied a man running frantically toward the church, brushing by her without seeming to notice she was there.
"Amon, there's someone here," she said, speaking into the headset she had been given.
"Is it the witch?" his curt voice snapped into her earpiece.
"I'm not sure, I didn't see." She thought she detected an irritated grumble as she slowly entered the ramshackle door of the church. A man standing near the altar turned and looked at her with wild eyes, his clothes covered in grime and his hair matted.
"Stay away from me! Who are you?" He asked, his voice high and frantic. Robin did her best to project a sense of calm and harmlessness.
"I won't hurt you," she replied softly, taking a small step forward. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought him here, signorina." A voice answered from behind her. Robin whirled around, the other man forgotten as she took an involuntary step away from the one standing in the doorway.
"So you're the witch," she replied, her voice surprisingly calm. She vaguely heard Amon shouting in her ear, wanting to know what was happening, but she knew that if she replied, the man would know she was not alone. The man registered surprise at being called a witch, but he did not refute her accusation.
"I suppose you could say that," he replied coolly, taking another step forward. Robin noticed he was holding an umbrella in one hand, and a small, lacquered box in the other. He was older, and she could tell automatically that he was of Italian origin. Hadn't Miguel Rodriguez mentioned their infiltrated deal had been with the Italians?
"You are a Hunter, I can tell," the man said, and now it was Robin's turn to be surprised. She let him walk around her, pressing herself back against one of the broken pews to get away from him, and waiting until his back was turned to reach into her pocket and pull out her glasses. "So, naturally, you call me a witch. But we are really not so different."
Did he also know she was a Craft-user, Robin wondered? And why hadn't the others arrived yet? Perhaps they were waiting for her to do something.
"You Hunt witches because you are seeking to restore order to the world. Witches are not only "evil," we defy logical human reasoning—we do not exist, outside of myths and fairytales, or so most people think—therefore our very presence causes chaos. You Hunt us because it is just, and right, because not only we have done something wrong, our very existence is wrong. But the men I have killed also do not deserve to live. My only son was killed, because of him, and they run like fools and get away! I watched my son die in my arms, and spent the next two years mourning him in jail. What I do is right, and just."
"No," Robin replied, making the man pause as he walked toward the altar. "What you are doing, is nothing more than revenge." The man turned, sneering at her disdainfully as he set down his box and umbrella.
"These men are criminals, and yet they are allowed to roam free. Just as you feel you must deal out justice to us witches, so must I deliver justice to them, since no one else will."
"You're wrong," Robin asserted firmly. "Witches exist, but they may not know what they are. They may live normal, everyday lives, until they are awakened to their power. It is only then, when they use that power for their own ends, defying the laws of man and God, that they must be Hunted. It is our job to see they are dealt with, it is not yours to judge and execute these men."
"I will show you a secret, girl, something you Hunters refuse to acknowledge about us witches," the man said, picking up his box. He stroked a finger along its shiny black surface, reverently, almost lovingly. Behind him, the frightened, bedraggled man was crouching in the corner, underneath the elaborately carved wooden crucifix.
"It is said that King Solomon had the power to control demons, to subdue them and have them do his bidding."
"Those demons were witches, that is why witches must be Hunted."
"No, child. For King Solomon was not the only one who had this power. Witches were gifted with it as well." Robin's verdant green eyes widened at his words. The Church and SOLOMON said witches and demons were one and the same, how could this man's words be true?
"Long before your Church came along with is doctrines, witches were at the height of their power. Our Goddess, Pandora, gifted us with this box, which contained spirits, spirits we could harness and control. My clan has kept this box, hiding it through the centuries of burning and persecution. And now I am using it to exact justice upon those who have done wrong!" Without warning he lifted the lid to the box, emitting a high-pitched buzzing noise.
Robin quickly covered her ears, crouching down as the remaining windows of the church shattered, the beautiful stained-glass rendering of the Virgin Mary falling to pieces on the floor. The other man screamed and dove under the altar, waving his arms as if trying to fend off some unseen attacker. The man made as if he was tipping his hat toward her, and strode towards the door, but Robin immediately conjured a wall of fire across the entrance. He backed away, turning to stare at her in shock and indignation.
"All your righteous talk of witches, and you have the Craft yourself! Such hypocrisy won't be tolerated!" The man reached for his box, which he had dropped on the floor in his surprise, but before he could reach it someone leapt through the nearest window, tucking into a roll as they hit the floor, then rising from behind a pew to fire a shot at the man.
"Amon!" Robin cried, receiving a swift glance from the Hunter's stormy eyes as they stared over the barrel of his gun.
"Robin, burn the box!" he shouted, and she swiftly complied. The man let out a harsh, guttural cry as he watched his precious artifact go up in flames, and Robin noticed that the man under the altar had stopped screaming.
The Italian leapt up, his calm face now a mask of rage as he let out a fierce snarl and leapt toward Robin. She backed away quickly, but he latched onto her skirts with one claw-like hand. Suddenly he jerked back as one, two, three Orbo bullets pierced into him. Robin couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as he fell to the floor.
The next morning, the Hunters were once again gathered in the briefing room, each sitting in front of a monitor as Michael recited information.
"The witch we captured was identified by SOLOMON Headquarters in Italy as Vincenzo Dioniso. Not only was he a member of the elusive Pandora clan, an ancient group of witches SOLOMON has been Hunting for centuries, but he was also a member of the Italian mafia. His son was killed in a busted weapons deal with a Spanish crime ring two years ago."
"The same one that involved Cortez!" Doujima chimed in brightly.
"The same one," Michael confirmed. "Apparently he escaped SOLOMON's notice while in jail, and upon his release, came to Japan to seek revenge."
"And the third victim?" Amon interrupted inquiringly.
"Luis Menendez, the third accomplice. He had some major lacerations and a significant amount of blood loss, but they think he'll pull through."
Robin was no longer listening, thinking instead of what Vincenzo Dionisio had revealed to her. Was he right about the witches controlling spirits? The box had been evidence in his favor, but that was nothing more than a pile of ashes now. As was some of her confidence in the beliefs she had been raised with.
"How long was she alone with Dionisio?"
"About fifteen minutes."
"Pandora is an old clan, with a lot of information. We have no way of knowing what he might have said to her. Continue to monitor the girl closely."
"Yes sir."