V

V

Sometimes the month following Carnival would be chilly, but this year, spring came early. Weather like this caused an acqua aha. During high tides, the sea waters overflowed the canals and drenched the city streets.

"This must be it," Asthe said.

She splashed through deep puddles as she scanned for the number to the correct ward. After rounding a few corners, she walked up to the front desk, not even bothering to remove her sunglasses even though it was nighttime. "I would like to visit a patient," she said.

"What is the patient's name?" the nurse asked.

"Abel. Father Abel Nightroad." Her voice cracked as she spoke.

The hospital was empty at this time of night, except for the most dedicated family and friends. Asthe's footsteps echoed in the silent hallways.

She came to a tiny, bleak room and paused. She could hear faint voices inside.

"... dead . . ." one said.

"Trying . . . save the girl . . ." another said.

Without knocking, Asthe opened the door. "Abel?" she whispered.

Mourners stood around the bed. They turned to regard Asthe.

"Miss, do you know our son?" an elderly woman asked.

Asthe saw the dead body of a young man, but thankfully it wasn't the priest. Tears stung her eyes. Asthe recalled the deceased young man's face, and the young girl sobbing at his side . . . The young man had tried to save his girlfriend during her fight with Endre last night.

"I-I'm sorry. Wrong room," she stammered.

"Will you stay and pray with us?" the old woman asked.

"Oh, I ..." She fumbled for the words.

What should I say? He's dead and it's my fault.

Perhaps oddly, most vampires valued life as much as humans did. They were not killers by nature; they just hunted food to survive. And with their incredibly long lifespans, a funeral was a morose affair, packed with hundreds of mourners who had come to know the deceased over many decades. Any Methuselah's death was a great tragedy.

"Um . . . I'm sorry," she said finally.

"It's okay. Anyone can wander into the wrong room," the old woman consoled. "There is another young man in the room next door," she offered.

"O-okay. Thank you. Pardon me." Asthe excused herself and left quickly. Her legs felt like jelly as she walked to the adjacent room.

"Hey there, Asthe," she heard.

She peeked into the open room and saw that a familiar smile awaited her.

"I'm so glad to see you. Did you come here for me?" asked Abel.

"You seem chipper," she said honestly.

"Thanks. It only hurts if I move." He laughed. "The doctor says the piece of glass that scratched me was inches from my heart. I'm lucky to be alive."

"I see . . .That's good." Asthe paused.

He'd lost a lot of blood for just a simple scratch, but she didn't question him since he was alive and well.

"What's wrong?" Abel asked.

"Well, you know, the Terran .. ."That was the wrong way to start the conversation, so Asthe began again. "So,Terran also mourn death?" she asked.

"Yes. We're very similar in that respect. We laugh when we are happy. We cry when we are sad. And sometimes, we act out of revenge. We are no different," Abel said.

She decided to leave the rest unsaid. Instead, she murmured, "I can't find Endre."

"Unfortunate," was his only reply.

It had been over twenty hours since they'd fought. She couldn't find him, but what chance did she have? She had no connections in this world. The count had been networking for some time.

It all seemed very funny to her now. Asthe had always looked down upon the Outers—humans that weren't part of the Empire—but she didn't know a thing about them. Propaganda comprised so much of their education that they weren't much use in the real world. Even if she could speak their language, she couldn't talk about the simplest things.

"I'm such a fool," she whispered.

The priest had been so good to her, but she'd mocked him. He'd helped an outsider get settled in comfortably, kept in touch with his agency, and set things up so that they almost caught Endre. It was her fault that she'd ignored his advice and caused such tragedy.

"I'm such a fool!" she said more forcefully.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied, wiping away a tear. She forced a smile and shook her head.

She couldn't bring up the real reason for her visit now. The body in the other room was evidence that she didn't have the right. Thinking this would be her final conversation with Abel, she said what she truly felt. "Father, I mocked you." She bit her lip, resisting the urge to ask for his help again after she'd put him in a hospital bed.

"I'm really sorry. Thank you for everything," she said finally. Asthe bowed and turned to leave.

Who knows how long it will take to find Endre? She would probably be killed if she did catch up with him on her own, but Augusta's orders were absolute. It was her honor and duty to carry out this mission. She was at rest with her cruel fate.

"Wait, Asthe," Abel pleaded.

Asthe looked back hesitantly. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Abel was removing his pajamas."I'm trying to change clothes. Turn around; it's embarrassing to have you stare at me."

"Idiot! You're in no condition to move yet!" she scolded.

"You don't want to see your partner in pajamas, do you?" he asked.

"Of course not! But . . . ?" Asthe trailed off. "Partner?" she asked. "You're still willing to help me?"

"Of course I am," he said resolutely.

Asthe didn't know how to respond.

Abel gave her a thumbs-up, then rubbed the back of his neck, chagrined. "Sorry. Guess I wasn't supposed to say 'partner,' huh?"

Asthe was taken aback by this Terran. She wanted to hug him, but she didn't know how that vampire custom would go over in the Vatican's world. So she stuck out her hand and offered it to Abel.

"Thank you . . . partner," she offered.

He placed his hand in hers and shook it with a rather firm grip for a man at death's door. "You're welcome . . ." They stared into one another's eyes for a moment, then awkwardly dropped their hands. "Where will Endre go?" Abel asked.

"He'll definitely head for Rome," she replied.

"We should check the airports and train stations. But why Rome? Any reason?" Abel asked. Just then, the door swung open. Asthe instinctively shielded Abel and drew her sword. The smell of gunpowder filled the small hospital room.

"Tres!" Abel yelled at the figure in the hallway.

Tres entered the room, gun drawn.

"Asthe, this- is Tres, er . . . Gunslinger. Luck is on our side! If he's with us, then we're practically invincible. Tres, this is Asthe, she's from . . ." Abel was cut short.

"She is Astharoshe Asran, Duchess of Odessa, undercover agent for the New Human Empire—I'm aware," Tres said coldly. The android never wasted any time with redundant greetings. "Situation update, as of now: Vatican AX Agency has ceased support for the duchess of Odessa ... cooperation is over. Duchess, you are to return to your homeland immediately," Tres recited.

" 'Sleep under the lagoon, Venice. The sea god brings darkness in the flow of night. The breaking waves sing eternal death.' Maurice Barres," Kampfer quoted. His recall of poetry was unmatched.

The misty sea breeze lifted his long black hair. Thin, drifting clouds covered the two moons.

"It will be quite windy come midnight. We are fortunate," Kampfer said. He turned to his companion and grinned. "You will arrive safely, Your Excellency."

"Even if I succeed, the whole plan will fail if you fail, Kampfer," Endre warned. His voice sounded like that of a choir boy's, but his rancid smell contrasted sharply with his youthful beauty. The thick scent of blood mixed with the salty air. In the darkness, sharp fangs reflected pale moonlight.

"What do you think of my disguise?" Endre asked.

"It looks wonderful, Count. Nobody will suspect. Shall we go? It's about to rain," Kampfer suggested.

"I hate saying goodbye to Venice, Kampfer. It really is a wonderful town," Endre opined.

"You must say goodbye in more ways than one." Kampfer winked, tossing his cigar overboard. It trailed a line of smoke before splashing into the sea. A wave rolled over it, extinguishing the red-hot ash.