Read Online Blood Ties by C.C. Humphreys - Free Book Online Page B

of the rain on the roof filled the room. It had found some crack above, because drops were beginning to fall, spattering off the table, bouncing off the body’s forehead, off the bright little leather cap. Yarmulke, his grandfather had called it. His had been frayed, dull, barely clinging to the wisps of hair there, always slipping off as his grandfather pulled and twisted it, babbling his nonsense. His mother said he’d been a brilliant scientist in his day, more, an alchemist, a seeker for the Philosopher’s Stone. There had been no trace of the philosopher in the drooling child Gianni had known.
    There was a cry from outside, fear strong enough to pierce the pounding rain, a woman’s terror. Gianni was at the door, through it, in a moment. The deluge was still so intense it took his eyes a moment to adjust. He saw the knife man first, feet hovering over the ground, swinging by his neck from one of the olive trees. Next, through the falling sheets, a huddle of bodies. Wilhelm was crouched between the writhing legs of the girl, slowly folding the skirt up. Two others held her arms, while the rest of the Cubs were scattered around, looking or not, fascinated, disgusted.
    Gianni crossed the space in three strides, his hand making a fist, catching the German on his ear in a sharp blow. The men clutching the girl let her go and she scrabbled to pull down her skirts, a cornered animal, backing up against the wall.
    ‘But, Gianni,’ Wilhelm said plaintively, ‘she’s only a heathen whore.’
    Gianni remembered when he’d scouted the house, the girl giving him some water to drink, the darkness of her eyes reminding him for a moment of his sister’s, though set in a face as dull as Anne Rombaud’s was lively.
    ‘Have you forgotten your vows, Wilhelm? Do you not all know the sin that lust is?’
    Wilhelm rubbed at his ear. His voice was petulant. ‘I haven’t taken my final vows.’
    Gianni smiled. It seemed so absurd, the German sitting and sulking in the mud, in a rainstorm, the body of a man he’d killed dangling ten paces away. Smile turned to a laugh and he said, ‘But Willie, look at her – she’s not even Jewish.’
    Then everyone was laughing, except for the German and the girl, the sudden welcome release of it, laughing as fat droplets bounced off their soaked, grey cloaks. Boys again, laughing in the rain.
    Something made Gianni turn. He saw the figure, standing with his back to the gate, which was still barred and locked, as if the figure had just passed through its solidity. The hood of a cloak was thrown back, a shaven head bare to the rain. The moment Gianni looked at him, the figure slowly raised a finger, crooked it twice towards himself.
    Over his shoulder, Gianni said, ‘Throw the bodies into the house. Burn it.’
    He had taken three steps away when Piccolo called, ‘What about the girl, Gianni? She has seen us.’
    She had. But if the shaven man’s summons meant what Gianni thought it did, then this would be the last time he hunted with his pack. They had never left witnesses before; but if no one lived to speak of what they had done, what terror would there be for their enemies? Would not the heathens sleep untroubled by the howling of wolves in the night?
    He turned back, looked at each of the boys in turn. In a way, he would miss them. Even Wilhelm.
    ‘Tell her the name we hunt by, then release her. Let the Jews of Rome remember the Grey Wolves. Let them live with that name in fear.’
    When he approached the figure at the gate, the man with the shaven head bowed once in greeting.
    ‘He has summoned me?’
    Another nod.
    ‘Then take me to him.’
    The man unbarred the gate, stepped aside to let Gianni precede him. As he stepped through, Gianni glanced back at the house, saw the first tongue of fire lick at one of the windows. The rain, fierce a moment before, suddenly slackened and, in the next instant, died. God’s blessing on God’s cleansing flames , he thought, and then he