Read Online In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2 by Robert J. Crane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert J. Crane
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be surprised that the Goddess of the frigging Hunt would survive an extermination of our species, should I? She knows hunters, so she knows how to avoid being prey, right?
She dropped off that rooftop like some character out of a superhero movie. Like a female Hawkeye. Or like that Japanese Hawkeye in the last Wolverine movie. Arrows a flyin’, my ass being saved—yeah, it was hero-type stuff. And she was clearly a total badass, too.
So Giuseppe wanted to introduce me to one of “my kind,” as he put it, here in Rome. So he plans an intro to a—she’s gotta be like a hired killer or something with that skillset. She can’t just be carrying a bow around Rome for shits and giggles, can she?
She’s the Goddess of the Hunt. I suppose she can do just about whatever she damned well pleases.
But the intro goes wrong, and Giuseppe’s inquiries get him killed by … someone. Someone scary enough that the huntress doesn’t want to get involved. She whacks like seven-eight of their guys, but she doesn’t want to get into this.
Stupidly, Alpha Male charges ahead where the Goddess of the Hunt fears to tread. Because my rallying cry is “MORONS FORWARD!” or something of that sort. Mercy.
I say none of this to Dr. Perugini, because a) she’s not going to believe me, and b) none of this makes me look cool, especially the part where I’m not the Big Damn Hero doing the saving. Also, there are a lot of tourists around us and most of them speak English. Call me self-conscious, but I don’t want anyone thinking I’m crazy. There is still a widely accepted cult of skepticism about the existence of metahumans, even after the Minneapolis incident.
We go through a corridor of tapestries, and one of them has a Jesus that the tour guide swears is watching. I picture someone behind the wall like in the old movies, eyeballs staring out, then dismiss that thought as utter nonsense. Then I move, and I swear the tapestry’s eyes move with me. No, I am not a fan of the “Jesus is watching” tapestry. It’s like he can sense my impure thoughts about Dr. Perugini and he is not pleased. Come on, man, your dad supposedly intelligently designed her. Like this wasn’t predictable.
I manage to center my thinking back on the search for this priest, Father Emmanuel, just about the time we get to the Sistine Chapel. They get pretty serious about keeping out people in shorts and short skirts, and I glance at Dr. Perugini. She raises her eyebrows almost imperceptibly at me, and I suddenly realize why she changed her clothes before she came here; they wouldn’t have let her in wearing what she’d had on before. I watch a couple of American northerners get culled from the pack for non-regulation clothing, and we pass on through into the Chapel.
It’s about this time I realize I need to talk to Perugini about what to do regarding this priest. The problem is, you’re not really supposed to talk in the Sistine Chapel. This doesn’t seem to stop most people, though, and I’m kind of embarrassed for them. There’s a security guard whose primary function seems to be to loudly shush people every thirty seconds or so, as the crowd within the Chapel goes from a buzz to a roar in between his invocations. I’m not a huge rule-nazi, but this is just pathetic, and it makes me despair for the species.
The guide gives us ten minutes, and Perugini sits on a bench on the far end of the main room. She leaves space for me to join her, so I do, sitting down as I stare up at the frescoes. There’s a lot going on up there, some pretty impressive stuff. I note the rule that you’re not supposed to take pictures, but people are disregarding that left and right as well. Jeez, people. Is nothing sacred anymore? Uhh … literally, I guess, given the location.
Perugini speaks as we’re leaving the Chapel, and now I see a conversion station for those who have been moved by the frescoes to join Christianity. No Bibles on the table, though, which is totally
She dropped off that rooftop like some character out of a superhero movie. Like a female Hawkeye. Or like that Japanese Hawkeye in the last Wolverine movie. Arrows a flyin’, my ass being saved—yeah, it was hero-type stuff. And she was clearly a total badass, too.
So Giuseppe wanted to introduce me to one of “my kind,” as he put it, here in Rome. So he plans an intro to a—she’s gotta be like a hired killer or something with that skillset. She can’t just be carrying a bow around Rome for shits and giggles, can she?
She’s the Goddess of the Hunt. I suppose she can do just about whatever she damned well pleases.
But the intro goes wrong, and Giuseppe’s inquiries get him killed by … someone. Someone scary enough that the huntress doesn’t want to get involved. She whacks like seven-eight of their guys, but she doesn’t want to get into this.
Stupidly, Alpha Male charges ahead where the Goddess of the Hunt fears to tread. Because my rallying cry is “MORONS FORWARD!” or something of that sort. Mercy.
I say none of this to Dr. Perugini, because a) she’s not going to believe me, and b) none of this makes me look cool, especially the part where I’m not the Big Damn Hero doing the saving. Also, there are a lot of tourists around us and most of them speak English. Call me self-conscious, but I don’t want anyone thinking I’m crazy. There is still a widely accepted cult of skepticism about the existence of metahumans, even after the Minneapolis incident.
We go through a corridor of tapestries, and one of them has a Jesus that the tour guide swears is watching. I picture someone behind the wall like in the old movies, eyeballs staring out, then dismiss that thought as utter nonsense. Then I move, and I swear the tapestry’s eyes move with me. No, I am not a fan of the “Jesus is watching” tapestry. It’s like he can sense my impure thoughts about Dr. Perugini and he is not pleased. Come on, man, your dad supposedly intelligently designed her. Like this wasn’t predictable.
I manage to center my thinking back on the search for this priest, Father Emmanuel, just about the time we get to the Sistine Chapel. They get pretty serious about keeping out people in shorts and short skirts, and I glance at Dr. Perugini. She raises her eyebrows almost imperceptibly at me, and I suddenly realize why she changed her clothes before she came here; they wouldn’t have let her in wearing what she’d had on before. I watch a couple of American northerners get culled from the pack for non-regulation clothing, and we pass on through into the Chapel.
It’s about this time I realize I need to talk to Perugini about what to do regarding this priest. The problem is, you’re not really supposed to talk in the Sistine Chapel. This doesn’t seem to stop most people, though, and I’m kind of embarrassed for them. There’s a security guard whose primary function seems to be to loudly shush people every thirty seconds or so, as the crowd within the Chapel goes from a buzz to a roar in between his invocations. I’m not a huge rule-nazi, but this is just pathetic, and it makes me despair for the species.
The guide gives us ten minutes, and Perugini sits on a bench on the far end of the main room. She leaves space for me to join her, so I do, sitting down as I stare up at the frescoes. There’s a lot going on up there, some pretty impressive stuff. I note the rule that you’re not supposed to take pictures, but people are disregarding that left and right as well. Jeez, people. Is nothing sacred anymore? Uhh … literally, I guess, given the location.
Perugini speaks as we’re leaving the Chapel, and now I see a conversion station for those who have been moved by the frescoes to join Christianity. No Bibles on the table, though, which is totally
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