The Patient Dervish: Shadownotes, #3

By LJK Oliva

Istanbul.

 

Coveted city of emperors and sultans, and home to an ancient mystery both men and monsters have died to protect. From the twisting back streets of Old City to forgotten Roman cisterns deep underground, Rev. Emil Stone and Misha "Puzzle" Kaslov follow clue after clue to unlock the greatest secret they've ever chased. Pitted against scholars, Sufis, clerics, and terrorists, Emil and Puzzle find themselves questioning the motives of their supposed allies… and their own orders. They soon face an unthinkable possibility.

 

Perhaps some secrets aren't meant to be uncovered.

 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Shadownotes is a companion series to Shades Below, but can also be read on its own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Oliva
• Release date: May 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393015659

LJK Oliva

L.J.K. OLIVA writes gritty urban fantasy in the Shades Below ShadowVerse. She spent much of her childhood exploring the creeks and storm drain tunnels near her house, and remains fascinated by the places no one notices. After all, that's where magic lives. When not poking the thing that lives in her closet, L.J.K. enjoys exploring the shadows of the San Francisco Bay Area and searching for faeries in every creek within driving distance. She hasn't found any yet, but thinks that's because they're better at hiding than she is at looking. She's still waiting for one to slip up.

Book preview

1

Fountains Abbey - North Yorkshire, United Kingom

It was sunrise when Reverend Emil Stone finished what had become his usual predawn walk.

The first rays of light painted the skeleton of Fountains Abbey golden orange, glittering over the waters of the nearby River Skell. The old ruins felt much as they must have a century ago, the air clear and bracing, the grounds devoid of tourists and local day-trippers. This time of day, it was just him, his thoughts, and God.

Not that his thoughts, or God, had done him much good lately.

Emil pulled his heavy wool coat tighter. It had been weeks since his stay in New Orleans, but the Yorkshire climate still felt chillier than he remembered. A shiver coursed over his shoulders. He couldn’t quite blame it on the weather.

Returning to one’s origins was supposed to offer perspective, but so far, he had yet to find any. He still couldn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror. He still woke before dawn to walk when tattered shreds of memory chased the sleep away.

He was still avoiding his Peer.

Misha had accompanied him here without complaint, though Emil was sure his story about origins and perspective hadn’t fooled his partner in the least. Misha knew him better than anyone. He’d have guessed the real reason they were back where everything started, the reason they’d stayed for so many long weeks.

Emil was running away.

Dew clung to the lush lawns that surrounded the abbey, dampening his boots as he trudged across the Abbey Green. If he were a tourist, he’d have approached from the opposite side, marveled at the vacant, glassless windows and grass-carpeted nave left open beneath the sky.

Emil was no tourist.

He strode to one of the surviving church walls. Carved into the weathered stone was the outline of a labyrinth, scarcely big enough to accommodate his hand, so faint the unassuming eye would miss it altogether. Emil placed his palm over it.

Aperio.

The wall shimmered, then the world around him fell away like a discarded blanket. In its place stood the Abbey in all its grandeur. Stone walls rose tall and solid where previously only their bones had remained. A covered arcade hemmed him in from one side, the Chapel from the other. Beyond their gabled rooftops, Emil glimpsed the other monastery buildings, clustered around the Abbey Church like attending altar boys.

He slipped into the covered arcade. His footsteps, so quiet on the grass, echoed off the stone floor. The familiar scent of age and old wood washed over his senses. Some of the tension leaked out of his shoulders.

A gravelly voice spoke behind him. Emil. Just the man I wanted to see.

Just like that, the tension returned. Emil didn’t move. Forgive me, Magister. I was about to go find some breakfast.

What a coincidence. I’ve just had food brought to my study.

His tone brooked no argument. Emil braced himself and turned.

The man behind him looked as though he’d already been awake for hours. His dark suit was immaculate, and he had not so much as a whisker out of place. His gray eyes were sharp and inscrutable. Come, join me. We have much to discuss.

What Jacob Pierrepoint wanted, Jacob Pierrepoint got. Emil nodded stiffly. After you.

Despite the undercurrent of urgency in the Magister’s tone, Pierrepoint didn’t speak again until they reached the old Abbot’s Quarters. He pulled open the heavy door and echoed, After you.

Pierrepoint had converted the quarters to his own private sanctuary. Bookshelves packed with leather-bound volumes spanned the full length and height of each wall. Everything else was a collage of old leather, dark wood, and ancient Oriental furniture.

Carved into the far wall was a fireplace. In front of it sat two high-backed armchairs, a small coffee table between them. True to Pierrepoint’s word, a breakfast tray waited on top of it.

Emil shook his head. Not hungry after all, I guess.

Pierrepoint’s forehead furrowed. He crossed over to a large antique desk in the center of the room and motioned to a small but sturdy-looking chair. Have a seat, Emil.

Emil obeyed as Pierrepoint took his place behind the desk. The Magister folded his hands in front of him. Emil braced himself again. Since his return from New Orleans, he’d grown all too familiar with the expression on Pierrepoint’s face: caution, concern. Pity.

At last, Pierrepoint spoke. There’s been a break-in at the Hagia Sophia.

Emil blinked. Sir?

A few days ago, members of an unknown group threatened the director of the Hagia Sophia Museum. Pierrepoint’s expression was unreadable. They demanded he hand over an object of power being stored there.

It was Emil’s turn to furrow his brow. What object of power?

Exactly. The director didn’t know, either. He contacted the Turkish Minister of Culture. The Minister of Culture contacted us. Pierrepoint stared at an indeterminate point on the far wall. In all my years as Magister, never once have I heard even a rumor of an object of power at the Hagia Sophia.

Emil shrugged. Then this group must have been mistaken. If such a thing existed, it would be on The Ministry’s register.

That’s what I thought. Pierrepoint’s gaze returned to him. His eyes grew thoughtful. But the world is a big place, Emil. It’s impossible for us to have a record of every single object from every single country, past and present, in this planet’s long history. Which means it’s up to us to pursue every lead, however remote.

Emil raised an eyebrow. Chasing ghost stories, Magister? Is that what we do?

Pierrepoint chuckled darkly. Come now, Emil. Chasing ghost stories is all we’ve ever done. That, and hunting monsters. The amusement faded from his face. Speaking of which…

There it was. Emil stiffened. I’m fine.

Kidwell’s betrayal shocked us all, but you were closer to him than anyone. If I’m to send you back into the field, I need to know where your mind is. Pierrepoint’s tone was careful. Is there anything about what happened that you’ve left out? Anything still weighing on you?

Weighing on him? Emil resisted the urge to laugh out loud. A man he’d once trusted had betrayed him. Stolen his will. Hijacked his mind. Weighing on him?

He kept his thoughts behind a careful mask of neutrality. Nothing.

Pierrepoint didn’t look convinced. How is Puzzle?

Emil lifted one shoulder, dropped it again. Haven’t seen much of him. You know how Peers are between missions. All training, all the time.

For a moment, Pierrepoint’s eyes looked far away. Then he blinked. Well. That is their duty, I suppose.

Emil shifted in the hard chair. If there’s nothing else, I should tell him we have an assignment.

Pierrepoint waved a hand. Go. And keep me informed. Something about this doesn’t feel like a straightforward break-in.

The seriousness on his face froze the retort on Emil’s lips. I’ll bear that in mind. We’ll be in touch, sir.

He made his way to what had once been the Abbey’s glorified wine cellar.

Through the Cellarium's heavy door filtered the sounds of grunts, shuffled movement, and the occasional thwack of stick against flesh. Emil opened it just wide enough to squeeze through. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. Gradually, the shadows cleared, and he faced a room the approximate size of a football field.

At The Peers’ request, The Ministry had left the Cellarium partially deconstructed. Small arched windows lined one moldering wall. Pairs of men scuffled over a dirt floor in various forms of combat, weaving expertly between the central row of columns and beneath the naked ribs of the vaulted ceiling. The smell of sweat and dust hung heavy in the air.

As Emil scanned the various faces, the shadows near the door moved. He jolted, but it was only the cellarer. The older man approached. Emil recovered quickly. Gilmartin. I didn’t see you there.

The man’s lips peeled into a sly grin. That’s why they gave me this job: I blend into the walls. He looked Emil up and down. You’re up and about early this morning. Is that mud on your boots? You been out walking the grounds?

Emil shrugged. It’s good for the blood, I hear.

Gilmartin made a sound halfway between a wheeze and a snort. You want something good for your blood, you bring yourself in here every so often; the lads would be glad for a new sparring partner. You’ll be looking for Puzzle, I expect?

He was, but he hardly needed Gilmartin’s help locating him. After all their missions together, he could spot Puzzle’s distinctive style a mile away. Sure enough, a familiar flash of movement caught his eye. He waved Gilmartin off. Don’t worry, I found him.

Misha Puzzle Kaslov and another man were deep into a sparring round at the far end of the space. Morning sunlight poured through a large window behind them. As Emil approached, their violent dance took them past it. Pale light caught the sweat glistening on Misha’s bare back.

Emil lingered in the shadows, mesmerized. Both men were armed with sticks, but the fighting style was nothing he recognized. Not that that was any surprise. What did surprise him, however, was that Misha’s partner seemed to be getting the better of him.

Misha lashed out with his stick. The other Peer sidestepped it neatly, then lit a solid blow across the backs of Misha’s thighs.

Emil cringed. Misha danced off the hit and lunged forward with an underhand swing.

Again, he caught nothing but air. His partner’s answering blow cracked across his back. Emil heard Misha’s lungs empty with a whoosh. He rebounded before Emil could blink.

Swing, dodge.

Dodge, swing.

The rest of the room faded. The sun played over Misha’s back, highlighting the muscles jumping beneath his skin. Sweat poured down his face, clinging to his eyelashes, gathering above his upper lip. His tongue darted out and whisked it away in a flash of pink.

Emil swallowed hard. A place inside him that had been cold and still since New Orleans began to stir. Instantly, a memory flashed through his mind, yet another piece of the shattered psyche he was still reclaiming.

He was sitting. Where he was or how he’d gotten there, he couldn’t quite remember. He started to move. Stopped.

He didn’t want to move. He wanted to be right there.

Hunter Kidwell’s face swam into view. His smug smile said he already knew he’d won. His hand skated up Emil’s leg.

You’re mine, Emil.

Mine, Emil.

Emil.

Emil?

Emil jerked. The world came back into focus. He took a deep breath, then another, and willed the rush of oxygen to calm his racing heartbeat.

Misha stood in front of him, blinking away sweat. Concern flickered in his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was even. You all right?

Emil fumbled. Of course. Fine. He was here for something, but couldn’t quite remember what it was.

Haven’t seen you the past few weeks. Misha’s eyes traveled over him, lingering in some places, darkening in others. Emil could guess what he was seeing: mussed hair, gaunt cheeks. Skin that was noticeably paler than usual, despite his morning walks.

He shrugged, hoping it looked casual. I’ve been busy.

Doing what?

Studying, Emil said lamely. Misha gave him a dead stare. Emil scrambled for something plausible. You train your body. I train my mind.

Misha looked down at himself, then back up at Emil. He arched an eyebrow.

Emil’s face heated. Perfect. Now Misha thought he was thinking about his body.

Misha shifted his hands to his hips. The movement felt slow, deliberate. His carved muscles gleamed. A bead of sweat slid down the center line of his stomach.

Emil didn’t let himself notice. We have an assignment.

Something glinted in Misha’s eyes. Emil couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or disappointment. Where?

Emil started back towards the door. He called over his shoulder, Istanbul.

2

The noon call to prayer rang out over the surrounding buildings as Emil approached the Hagia Sophia, Misha at his side.

Where are we supposed to meet this director?

Emil tore his eyes from the grand old structure’s iconic dome, looming large and imposing above the crowded street. He said he’d be waiting out front to get us past the box office.

Misha frowned. They sell tickets to a church?

It’s not a church anymore. It’s a museum now.

The crowds thickened as they approached the ancient building. A red Turkish flag adorned with a white star and crescent waved out front. Columns lined the sidewalk; some standing, some toppled, all overgrown with grass and riotous flowers. Emil scanned the people clustered around the grand entrance.

Something headbutted his ankle. He looked down. A small black dog sat on the sidewalk, its hindquarters delicately lifted an inch or so off the pavement. It gazed up at him with fathomless black eyes, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

Emil offered a hand for inspection. Hello there.

The dog sniffed him politely, then nudged its head under his palm. Its fur was silky and smooth, not what he would have expected from a street dog. He glanced at its neck, but there was no sign of a collar.

Misha let out a surprised grunt. Emil looked up in time to see a man in a black cassock and white clerical collar steadying his Peer.

Forgive me! I was not paying attention. The man looked sheepish.

Emil straightened, and the black dog trotted off with a soft wuffle. Are you all right?

Misha’s nod looked forced. Fine. He bumped into me, is all.

Don’t mind him. A second voice just over his shoulder sent Emil’s nerves skittering. Brother Amias gets distracted around old churches.

Emil whirled. The man behind him stood a step too close for comfort. He also wore a clerical collar, tucked into a black button-down shirt. Pale blue eyes glinted at him from behind thin, wire-rimmed glasses.

The priest took a careful step back. I apologize. I’ve startled you.

No! The word came out too quick and too loud. Emil could feel Misha’s tension, and willed his heartbeat to return to normal. No, not at all. I’m just… ah…

Misha’s fingers closed around his elbow, squeezed. Like I said, it’s fine. Enjoy your church. He steered Emil around the second priest and up the sidewalk.

His touch was like a brand. Emil felt it in more places than just his arm. The second they were at a safe distance, he twisted free. Misha’s hand dropped away easily.

Emil scanned the crowd milling around the entrance with fresh intensity. A man caught his eye and raised a hand. Relief flooded through him. I think we’ve found our director.

Z. Nedim Öztürk looked every bit the part, from his frameless glasses to his dark blue suit. A lighter blue button-down shirt was open at the collar, suggesting he was ready should the need arise to explore some hidden tunnel or secret chamber. Salt-and-pepper hair and a matching mustache gave him a distinguished air.

He stepped forward to meet them. Reverend Stone?

Emil clasped his offered hand. Öztürk bey. Thank you for meeting us. This is my colleague, Puzzle.

If the use of Misha’s field name threw him, Öztürk hid it well. He shook Misha’s hand. Thank you both for coming. I am sure you understand this situation has me concerned, as well as confused.

I can imagine. Emil cast a pointed look at the throngs of tourists around them. Is there someplace private we can talk?

Öztürk huffed a laugh. I’m afraid privacy is difficult to come by here, but I can take us someplace quiet, at least.

Emil nodded. Quiet will do nicely.

He and Misha fell into step behind Öztürk. Their host led the way through a pair of massive doors. Emil sucked in a breath as energy fizzed over his skin.