Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

Chapter 15- The Red Shoes

Radu dreamt. It had been so long since he had slept, well and truly, that he could not tell past from present, dreams from reality. He was thirteen again, and reading a fascinating treatise on the development of the Empire when a familiar voice called, "Where art thou, Radu?" He glanced out the window, knowing what he would see. An angelic face with copper eyes, framed by golden hair, was wearing an expression of mild disapproval. "Always reading books! Come out! Cross swords with us!"

"Your Excellency…" Radu murmured, not daring to raise his voice or disobey. He left the library immediately, managing to restrain himself from giving the books a last, longing glance. His sword was quickly found, and he ran to the lawn at a speed an Awoken Methuselah would have been proud of.

His Excellency began speaking, but Radu, for once, paid him no mind. His attention was drawn to the deep red liquid staining His Excellency's left knee. Quickly, he knelt to inspect the wound. " Oh! Your Excellency, you are injured!"

"We are fine. We were snagged on a branch earlier."

"Please be careful! If something were to happen to Your Excellency, the Duchess of Moldova would scold me…"

"Radu!" Startled by His Excellency's forceful tone, Radu raised his head. The sunlight, even filtered by the prete, gave His Excellency a glowing aura. The sight as he smiled, and said, "Why dost thou talk as if thou were a servant? And so, call us by our name. Call us Ion! Tovaras," … it was…

'Blinding'. Ion's friendly young face had faded out of existence, to be replaced by the harsh lights of the Cabral Elissa. "What a happy dream," adult Radu murmured, lifting his head from where it had been resting on his arms. His twelfth cigarette had come close to burning his fingers in his slumber. He discarded it and drew another from the pack, lying on the table with scattered blood tablets and a glass of the red liquid they produced.

'And now it must only be that. A dream,' he thought, aloud scoffing "Pathetic." 'But in that dream, I can still look you straight in the eye.' Radu wondered if this was sadness. This emptiness in his heart, this physical ache… was this the emotion he had longed for? His anger had burned so brightly… had it burned away a part of him?

"Smoky in here…" said a familiar voice, and Radu's eyes widened in shock. "Hey… That… Could you put it out?" the voice continued. "The Rosenkreuz Orden needs only one smoker, Flamberg." Radu turned abruptly, though he knew who was speaking. "What are you doing here?" he asked, sour expression on his handsome face.

'A dream. In reality… Satan stands before me. A beauty. "And it is no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light."' For, proud Methuselah that he was, Rasu could not deny the beauty of the mere Terran standing before him. Or that Terran's evil. "Dietrich."

"I came to see how you were doing, my sword of fire, my flamberg," Dietrich replied, raising a hand. "To be exact, how you were doing with this." He snapped his fingers. "By the way, and isn't amusing? Cardinal Sforza and the Earl of Memphis. In the event that you fail at their assassinations, you are to activate this and obliterate the both them." The Terran snatched the cigarette from Radu's fanged mouth. "This is the word of the Orden," he concluded.

"The goal of the Orden," Radu ground out, "is to drag the Empire and the Vatican into conflict." He instinctively crossed his arms in a defensive gesture. "To that end, the messenger and the Cardinal each must be killed by a Terran and a vampire, respectively. At the very least, I will make the murders appear that way."

"The death of the messenger… will that be too much for you? Ion is… your friend, after all." Radu was shocked by Dietrich's words, and did not look at him. Had he done so, he would have seen a sadistic smile warping his comrade's face. "That which we call fate is often so bitter. No?" Dietrich's sick glee was nearly palpable. "To think that Augusta chose him as the messenger when you first 'for the sake of the Methuselah's future' joined the Rosenkreuz Orden… It felt like a deal with the devil, did it not? There are aspects I'm sure you regret. It's because you are… timid and kind…"

By this point, Radu was trembling with rage. "You talk too much- A mere Terran… you dare insult me!" Flames exploded in the palm of the Methuselah's right hand. To his increasing indignation, Dietrich didn't move, save to twirl a lock of his brown hair in his fingers. "A mere vampire, you dare ignore my warning? How about we," pain, blood splattering face and clothing, "rid you of that impertinent hand of yours?"

"Wha? This!" exclaimed Radu, staring at the stump that had once been his right arm. Blood gushed freely from the wound. "You can recover from that much, can you not?" The brunette's dispassionate voice made Radu look up from his wound. Dietrich stood, smiling slightly, in a group of black-covered figures, holding large axes. One was bloody. "My autojaeger's axes are not silver, but merely iron. But, vampires… oh, you must excuse me… 'Methuselah' are incredible creatures, aren't they?" Delicate white hands lifted a black helmet marked '39' and discarded it. "Their life force is formidable. See? You can even do this…"

"Ah! That is… It couldn't be!" Radu's voice was soft, but it couldn't have been more disgusted. Dietrich did not deign to look at him, staring instead at his autojaeger- a reanimated Methuselah corpse. "You are very convenient! You're still useful, even after you're dead." Hearing the Terran prattle on about how he'd desecrated the corpse of a Methuselah, Radu found the sadness of before, that indescribable ache, leaving him. It was replaced by the one emotion he could understand- anger.

"Monster!" Radu roared, unable to keep his fangs retracted. "This is unforgivable, Puppet Master!" That caught Dietrich's attention. " 'Unforgivable?' I know full well that you are a member of the proud nobility," he said, as he raised a hand… and sunk it into Radu's flesh. "But in the hierarchy of the Orden, rank 8=3 'Marionettenspieler' is higher." In an agonizingly slow motion, the Terran withdrew his hand, continuing to speak. "Rank 6=5. Isn't that right, 'Flamberg"? Radu Barvon." Radu was grateful he'd been drinking a lot of blood lately. If he hadn't, the bacilli surely would have activated, he'd attack his… superior… out of instinct, and be killed. A small, detached part of his mind wondered how it was that Dietrich managed to stay clean of blood while inflicting him with grievous, gushing wounds. But the Puppet Master was still speaking, so he shut out that thought and paid attention. "Shouldn't you amend your way of speaking to me?" Dietrich leaned in close to Radu, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Say, it hurts, doesn't it? So how about an 'I'm sorry'?"

Trembling with both shame and pain, Radu closed his eyes so he would not have to see the triumphant Terran's face. "E-excuse… me…"

"Hmm? What?"

"Please… forgive me… my rudeness." Dietrich smiled sweetly at Radu's humble words. "What a good boy." Then he knocked the Ifrit to the ground. "Now, mind you don't get too formal. No matter what kind of human- oh, excuse me… vampire you may be, everyone makes mistakes. Even I do. Rarely." The Terran was clearly enjoying himself. He planted one booted foot under Radu's chin and entangled his fingers in the other man's blue-black locks. "It will be really difficult for you to kill your… friend. But, within the Orden, there are those who question your loyalty." Dietrich moved his foot in order to crouch down to Radu's level. His hand remained in place. "Now, shouldn't you take the opportunity to show your sincerity? I'll give you one more chance to kill the Earl of Memphis. And if you fail again, I will activate this immediately. Erasing not only Ion, but all of Carthage. Yes?" The mouth that spewed such evil words was smiling gently. "The poor thing. There's no way to save him now, is there?"

"Understood," said Radu in a weak, emotionless voice. Ion's smiling face lingered in his mind. "I understand."

"Good boy. Here." Dietrich's voice, on the other hand, was light and playful as he waved a disc in a clear case in Radu's face. "Then we'll make up. Take this. Its other part is at the airport, okay?" Rising from his crouch, the artificial light of the grave silhouetted Dietrich in such a way that Radu could not help but to compare him to the Ion of his dream. 'Both so beautiful. One so pure, the other the epitome of evil. Both I have called comrades.' As if he read the Methuselah's mind, Dietrich said, "And as a token of our friendship… how shall I put it? Perhaps one day you'll kill me, just like that little boy." The Puppet Master faded out of Radu's sight, but his last words lingered. "Good luck, now. I'll be rooting for you. Your Excellency, Lord Baron."

When he was sure he was alone again, Radu crawled pathetically to where his decapitated hand lay. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the control of the Iblis, he held the limb together, hoping it was not to late. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, muscle and bone began to regenerate, to become one once again. His hand twitched, and he dug his fingers into his palm hard enough to draw blood. "Ha ha ha… why now? Why am I hesitating now?" The blood burst into flames. "Me… the dirty traitor?" Insane laughter echoed around the grave.

Of all Caterina Sforza's many talents, acting was perhaps the one she used the most. Right now she was outwardly cool and collected, even cold, to the man who had disturbed her rest. Inside though… 'Something must be done about Demon. I'll kill Abel for worrying me like this. Though that may not be necessary, the Inquisition could already have killed him… or the vam- Methuselah, or he could die in the war that is surely to come from this delicate political situation… I insulted an Imperial messenger!' …her thoughts were spinning so fast a lesser person might have fainted. And she still managed to keep up with the potentially dangerous conversation. "Is that so. Thank you for the hard work. Did you kill the vampire that attacked me? Or is he in custody?"

"My Lady, no. I have not yet made an arrest. After they hid at the inn…well, it is unfortunate, but they escaped." The Director of the Department of Inquisition was the picture of professionalism. There was not a stray thread on his uniform, nor a strand of his long blue hair out of place. He was not fazed by the presence of one of the highest-ranking officials of the Vatican, nor her beauty. Which was really unfortunate for Caterina. "What a fascinating mistake. That you, the Director of the Department of Inquisition, would allow a vampire to get away from you. Indeed. It seems somewhat out of character, Petros."

"I am embarrassed to be reprimanded. However, the opposition had unlikely allies. Our loss is their fault, not our mistake."

"Allies? Are they vampires, too?" Caterina embodied surprise and curiosity. Petros was undeterred. "No, humans. Oddly, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen years of age and a young man in his twenties. Though this is unconfirmed information, they were said to be wearing the garments of a nun and a priest, of all things." Caterina saw what Petros did not, that Tres had prepared himself to shoot. The conversation had become deadly. "Your Grace, does this bring anyone to mind?"

"Really. If I knew of such goings on, I'd have no need to interview you, would I?" The cardinal's perfect lips were pulled into a cold smile, and the look in her eyes dropped the temperature of the room several degrees. Still, the knight maintained his demeanor, bowing and saying, "If I have discomfited you in any way, I apologize. I am a mere soldier, and do not possess grace of speech."

"I haven't the slightest expectation of decorum from you. And? The vampire you let escape is where?"

"Hut! My subordinates are on their trail. The girl, man, and vampire were seen with a Bedouin. It is possible they have hired a local to help them escape. I myself will go, and we will have them by tonight," Petros said, straightening from his bow and assuming a military posture. 'A Bedouin?' thought Caterina. 'It must be Stone. Hopefully she will be of assistance, even injured.' Out loud, she told Petros, "Be careful. I pray for your success, Brother Petros. God Bless," while thinking, 'Go now. Just like that. We have no need of you, so you need not come back.'

"As you command!" As he turned to the door, Petros paused. "Your Grace, if I may ask you one thing?"

"Go on."

"How is the sister that was attacked by the Ifrit? I would very much like to properly meet the woman who managed to wound the vampire that killed my men." Caterina didn't even pause before answering, "Sister Stone is recovering. She is currently aboard the Iron Maiden II, where she is being cared for by a fellow sister. She has requested time to visit her family, and considering her recent actions, I will likely grant her permission."

"I see. Thank you, Your Grace." With that, he left. Caterina sighed deeply, then moved to stand by the window and gaze out at the night sky. "Really. All this hypocrisy, hidden in amateur theatrics. I hate it, personally. It makes me just like my elder half-brother." A video screen next to her flickered, and the face of Sister Kate appeared. "W-what should we do, Lady Caterina? At this rate the Empire's messenger will be captured by the Inquisition. And if that happens…"

"Calm down Sister Kate. Have you received a message from the communicator I gave to Demon?"

"Yes… I was simply told that negotiations are still possible."

"Good. The information that Abel and the sisters are accompanying the messenger is of use to us. Continue trying to locate them from the air. Before the hands of the Inquisition grasp them… we must rescue them."

"Negative." Both women turned to the last remaining Killing Doll. Caterina was the first to reply. "…I'm sorry? Father Tres?"

"Negative. Under the current circumstances, the success rate of the rescue strategy is 0%. Father Nightroad and the other three should be abandoned, Duchess."

"Mr. Tres! Are you saying that we should leave Abel and the others to die out there?" Sister Kate was clearly outraged, and more than a little frightened. "Positive. This is a trap. It is being laid by the Inquisition… no, the Head of the Ministry of the Papal State. They wish to denounce the Duchess of Milan as an accomplice of the Empire. They most likely know that the Empire's messenger is accompanied by those of the State Special Services Annex. However, if they simply arrest them there is a chance that the Duchess of Milan will deny any association. In order to prevent that, what they most desire, is to arrest us in the act of rescue."

"So Brother Petros came to announce that he was leaving for battle…" Sister Kate's voice trailed off. "Positive. To make the Duchess of Milan impatient and invite further action on her part."

"Oh!"

"Sister Kate. There will be no changes in your orders. You will rescue the three escapees. Hurry." Tres protested Caterina's decision, "A change of orders. This stratagem puts the Duchess of Milan at too much risk…"

"Tres. If the Department of Inquisition murders a messenger sent from the Empire, it will lead to the final war between the Empire and the Vatican, the vampires and the humans. Our priority lies in saving the messenger, not in my position or my person."

"Then I request permission to deploy, Duchess. I will also participate in the rescue mission."

"Father Tres, you are still blind. It will only endanger the mission."

"Negative. I anticipated My Lady's rejection of my analysis. So I, too, have readied a battle plan. I request cooperation, 'Iron Maiden'." Kate could only reply to the cyborg with an ever-so-intelligent, "Huh?" but he went on as if she had not spoken. "First rendezvous with me before commencing your orders. After that, there is something I would like to borrow from you."

Syeira was remembering quite suddenly why the sisters' driving instructor had told Esther to only drive when absolutely necessary. She was having a hard time staying in her seat, even wearing a seat belt. Esther twirled the wheel recklessly, her foot pressing hard on the gas.

She also remembered that Esther had been the leader of the Partisans, the insurgent group in Istavan, and decided that under those circumstances the fact that the seventeen-year-old nun could steal cars and drive like a stunt man wasn't really surprising. 'I should probably be grateful she wanted to drive. If it had been me, that tank would have caught us ages ago.' Said tank had been pursuing the fugitives' car for the past few blocks, and the Earl of Memphis was looking very nervous while Abel was looking at a map, trying to find them an escape route. He was clearly in pain, but Syeira was unsure if she could help him or not. To use her healing powers on another being required skin-to-skin contact. He was wearing gloves and a very covering priest's robe, so she couldn't casually lean against him or grab his hand. Also, Abel, being an artificial human and a Crusnik was much more in-tune with his body than most. He would certainly notice if his healing speed was suddenly accelerated… unless she could somehow block the electronic signals from his nerves from reaching his brain, while allowing the brain to keep necessary functions such as the heartbeat going.

'Do all that in a moving vehicle? It should be impossible, but I'm not one to back down from a challenge.' Syeira chuckled to herself. That and the critical glances she'd been casting his way caused Abel to look at her strangely. "Am I missing something here?" he asked over the noise from the tank. The Earl was also intrigued. "Didst thou laugh?"

"Sorry, just a funny thought." Esther turned to stare at her. "A FUNNY THOUGHT? AT A TIME LIKE THIS?"

"Miss Esther! Keep your eyes on the road! Please watch the right side. Soon you'll see a small alley. That tank will not be able to follow us through such a small space."

"Right, Father!" Esther said, just as the tank announced, "STOP! OR WE'LL SHOOT!"

"Esther! There's something going on behind us!" Syeira was surprised by the informal way in the Earl addressed the nun. Could something have happened between the two in the three days she had been searching for them? She had no time to ponder this development, as Esther cried out, "Please hold on tight, all of you!" and made her sharpest turn yet. " 'Heaven helps those who help themselves!' Amen!" Esther succeeded in turning the car in the opposite direction and flying past the tank. "YES! Take that!" she yelled. "How about that? They can't catch us now!" Syeira dimly heard the sole Methuselah passenger asking if all Terrans drove like that, but she didn't pay Ion much attention. The sharp turn had thrown Abel, who stupidly wasn't wearing a seat belt, almost into her lap. She had extended a hand to keep their heads from colliding and touched the side of his face. It was the perfect opportunity to begin healing him, so she did. Falling into a Trance, she was only aware of her patient and herself, until they were roughly torn apart and the breaking of the Trance caused her to fall unconscious.

After successfully completing such a daring maneuver, Esther looked back towards the tank in the rearview mirror, and saw Father and Sister Lili in a rather compromising position. His head was on her lap. He was blushing furiously, but making no move to right himself. She had her eyes closed, a look of complete calm on her face despite their harrowing situation.

Seeing them like that, something snagged her heart. She began to feel a bit sick to her stomach, and thought, 'I thought I spoke too harshly to Father earlier, but I was wrong. He really is just a feeble-minded idiot. What is a 'crusnik', and why won't he tell me?' Angrily she turned her eyes back to the road, and they widened in disbelief. Something was coming at them- something very, very fast. She jerked the wheel to the right and barely avoided death. But the object could not be entirely evaded. It hit the side of the car and the next thing she knew she was trapped in an upside-down wreck. His Excellency was next to her, unconscious. Lili was still in the back seat, also unresponsive. And Father… he'd been thrown from the vehicle. "Fath-"

"And so we meet again, heretics!" Standing above Esther, lance pointed at her head, was an armor-clad knight.

AN: Hi everybody! It's been a long time, hasn't it? Of course, my opinion on reviews hasn't changed- they are awesome, as is everyone who sends them in! So click the little button! You know you want to!