Meridian Six

Me.

A soft knock on the door announced the acolyte's return. "The Chatelaine will see you now."

I nodded and followed her out into the corridor. I'd considered wandering around earlier while I waited, but I didn't want to be rude. The corridor's ceilings hung low over sconces lining the walls, giving off a warm glow. Funny, from the outside this building seemed condemned, but inside it was clean and peaceful.

"Are we below ground?" I asked, noting the lack of windows.

She nodded meekly over her shoulder.

I waited for more information, but she didn't offer any. The sisters, I guessed, probably built this sanctuary in abandoned tunnels dug during the Blood Wars. I'd heard how the humans and vampire rebels had dug warrens under the cities for quick escapes during skirmishes. Now, the dirt walls had been plastered over, but the echoes of old fear clung to the air like the musk of turned earth.

We reached a door, and the acolyte knocked. "The Chatelaine is waiting."

"Thank you, Sister--"I let the word hang there for her to fill in.

She avoided my eyes and scuttled off. Her red robes swirled around her ankles as she rounded the corner. I wondered briefly how she ended up living in abandoned tunnels below the city, offering succor to fugitives like me.

"Six?" The Chatelaine's voice pulled me out of my musings. I took a deep breath, raised my chin and marched into her inner sanctum.

She sat behind a battered wooden desk. A single low-watt bulb hung from the ceiling. The threadbare tapestries stretched across sections of the walls did nothing to dispel the chill. One depicted a unicorn bleeding in a cage and another a knight fighting a dragon.

"Nice," I said, more to get the conversation going than out of any real appreciation for the artistry.

"Functional," she countered. "They help insulate against the dankness."

I took the seat she offered. The ancient metal chair creaked in protest. I cringed as the sound echoed through the cave-like room.

The Chatelaine stared into a vid-screen, an alien bit of technology for such an ascetic setting, but, then, she was a vampire. And vampires loved their tech.

I couldn't see what she was looking at, but whatever it was, she found it damned interesting. Warning bells went off in my head. Noticing my sudden stiffness, she turned the screen toward me.

My own face stared back at me. My stomach fell as I read the ticker beneath the old photo. "Fugitive still at large. The Troika is offering a reward of ten thousand charns for her capture--dead or alive."

"Meridian Six, age twenty-three, daughter of rebel sympathizer, Alexis Sargosa," she read, her brows rising. "Wanted for violation of Troika code 439."

My stomach churned, and my hands grew damp. Given the conditions of the rectory, it was possible the Chatelaine was mentally tabulating the repairs she could make with that kind of reward.

I lifted my chin, waiting for her to make the next move.

"Code 439?" she said. "That's assault, correct?"

I gave a jerky nod to confirm that was, indeed, the crime assigned to Code 439, but I didn't feel the need to confess my innocence. After all, if things had gone as planned the charge would have been murder instead.

The nun's eyes took on a speculative gleam. My fingers slid down my leg toward the shard of metal I'd strapped to my ankle using a bit of bandage the nuns had left in my room. They'd been smart not to leave me with any glass or cutlery, but the metal bracket had torn away from the bed frame easily and its sharp corners could inflict some pain.

"Keep your weapon where it is, child. The Sisters of Crimson are no friends of the Troika, no matter how well they pay."

I paused and looked at her. "Ten thousand Cs would buy a lot of food for your acolytes, sister."

"True, but then I would have a debt on my soul I'm not prepared to repay."

"If you knew all of this I'm surprised you let me in here to begin with. Some consider me quite dangerous."

Her lips lifted in a slight smile. "Especially the Troika."

"What makes you say that?"

"Ten thousand charns seems a bit steep for assault," she said, leaning back in her chair. "No, I think they want you for another reason."

I looked down. How much should I tell her? Even if I knew I could trust her, I'd be risking her life by sharing information she shouldn't know.

"Let's just say I have intimate knowledge of a few skeletons in the Troika's closet," I said.

"Oh, I bet you do." Her lips twitched. "So they made up the code violation then?"

"Not necessarily." I didn't elaborate. I crossed my arms to let her know that was all I had to say about the matter.

"Fair enough," she said. "I suppose you've already guessed that a crowd of Troika guards have gathered outside?"

"I figured as much."

"You got a plan?"

"Run like hell."

"In other words, you've got no plan at all." She leaned forward with her elbows on the desk. If she hadn't been wearing the robes of a holy order, her expression would have reminded me of a conspirator. "Lucky for you, I do."

Three.

The Chatelaine walked ahead of me down a musty corridor hidden behind one of the tapestries in her office.

"Are you sure the Troika doesn't know about these tunnels?" I asked.

"The Troika's influence ends at my door. They may control everyone else, but they're too superstitious to screw with the keepers of the sacred knowledge."

"You sure don't talk like a religious leader."

She turned to look at me, a wicked smile on her face. "I wasn't always a Sister of Crimson. It was only after the war killed my family that I took the blood vows. Before that, I led a somewhat more ... dissolute existence."

"Like what?"

"Even the holy have secrets, child." She winked and held the torch higher. "Things get tight through here. Watch your head."

We walked a bit farther in silence. But I had questions and if I didn't ask them now, I might not have a chance. "Aren't you worried about what will happen when I don't walk out by the deadline?"

"The twenty-four hour thing is more of a self-imposed rule. Our leaders instated it when some of our guests began overstaying their welcome. The Troika has no say in our laws, so long as we continue to absolve them of their sins they leave us alone."

"Why are you helping me?"

She stopped and turned awkwardly in the narrow space. "Look, don't misunderstand. I'm not in the business of liberating all fugitives who seek our aid. My priority is protecting my Sanguinary and my acolytes. If you have information that can hurt the Troika, I'm damned well going to help you get it out there. Many of us want things to return like they were before the Troika took over."

"How do you know I'm not lying about having information on them?"

She looked me in the eyes, and an emotion I couldn't name overcame me. Something unfamiliar, yet powerful. I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Don't let my coarse talk and practical manner fool you, child. I am a believer. And I believe the goddess put you on my doorstep for a reason. It is not my place to question this. It is my duty to follow my gut and further Her plans." The light in her eyes suddenly made sense to me.

Sister Agrippa had faith.

I only believed in three things: my right fist, my left fist, and my gut. The vein of mysticism running through the Troika's top echelons made me uneasy. But if the sister's belief in the divine was the reason she was helping me, I wasn't going to refuse.

"Besides," she continued, "I knew your mother." She walked ahead, leaving me slack-jawed. I sped to catch up.

"You did?"

The Chatelaine cleared a cobweb that spanned the width of the tunnel. "Long ago. Before the wars."

"How?" I asked, impatient.

"We met at school. She was one of the few Sapiens to be decent to the fanged kids when we were integrated into human schools. After graduation we lost touch. I heard she met your father and got involved in the One Species movement while I went on to ... other things." She looked off into the shadows of the tunnel, as if it was a portal to the past. "Alexis didn't have blood in her veins--she had fire. "

The admiration in Agrippa's tone made my skin feel too tight.

"I heard she passed away during the battle of New York," the sister said after a few moments of tense silence. "I was sorry to hear that. Anyone ever tell you that you could be her twin?"

I swallowed hard against the unwanted rush of emotion rising in my throat and shook my head. The Troika hadn't been real interested in reminiscing about my mother.

She glanced at me sharply, like she wanted to interrogate me about my upbringing, but we'd reached the end of the corridor. "We're here." She pointed to a red door set in the dirt wall.

Red means life.

She knocked once, twice, a pause, twice more. Obviously a code. A panel slid back in the door, and two eyes peered out. "Password?" The voice sounded female, but husky enough that it might have been male.

The Chatelaine leaned forward and whispered something I couldn't hear. The door opened almost immediately.

Over the sister's shoulder, I got the impression of shadows milling around the dim space. The scent of unwashed bodies punched me in the nose.

The sister turned to me. "I must leave you here. They'll take care of you."

"What? You can't--I have no idea who these people are."

"They're friends. Members of the resistance."

"Who've you brought us, Chatelaine?" The male voice had the sharp-edged confidence of one used to being answered.

The light was so dim, I couldn't make out his face except for the outline of long hair and the stock of a shotgun jutting over his shoulder.

"This is Carmina, daughter of Alexis Sargosa." I glanced sharply at the nun. This was a fine time to finally start using my real name. "The Troika call her Meridian Six."