Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (37 page)

Bernard bowed his head, acknowledging this truth.

“Great,” Jordan mumbled.

Bernard stared at them. “But I tell you this because it also offers you a way to reach him.” He turned to Rhun. “You yourself have brought the
key
that will unlock Hugh’s heart.”

March 19, 8:55
A
.
M
.
CET

Castel Gandolfo, Italy

Jordan watched the cardinal lower the phone atop his desk.

“It is done,” Bernard said, then crossed back to his chair on legs that were still shaky. “The key will be brought here.”

Jordan glanced at Rhun, waiting for some explanation. Erin knelt next to Rhun’s seat, checking the bandages on his stump. The gauze was stained with fresh blood from the recent fight. Rhun had once told Jordan that all sensations were heightened in a Sanguinist, including pain. If that was true, Jordan could only imagine the agony Rhun must be suffering now.

“Okay, Cardinal,” Jordan said, “how about you tell us more about how Hugh’s place is guarded, what we might be facing?”

Bernard rubbed his chin. “To understand that, you have to understand Hugh’s philosophy. I had many long talks with Hugh on this very subject before he abandoned the order. When it came to
blasphemare
—or
strigoi
, for that matter—he came to believe that they were all God’s creatures, whose only sin was that their innocence had been stolen from them.”

“He might have a point,” Erin said. “It’s not like either really had a say regarding their corruption. It was usually forced upon them against their will.”

“It does not matter,” Bernard argued. “We are all born with Original Sin, a sin that stains our innocent souls because of the defiance committed by Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It is only through the holy rite of baptism that this sin is cleansed from us.”

Erin didn’t look swayed by this argument.

“At the time,” Bernard continued, “I thought Hugh’s arguments were only theoretical in nature. Then when he left, wandering the world, I heard not a single word from him. I assumed that he had perished, as so many do without the protection of the Church.”

“But he survived,” Jordan said.

“One day, I received a letter from him. He told me that he had settled in the mountains of France, that he had found his peace in caring for the lost and broken creatures of the world.”

“That includes both
blasphemare
and
strigoi
?” Erin asked.

Bernard nodded. “I told no one. Hugh only wished to be left alone—to live on his mountain like St. Francis of Assisi. I only tolerated it because he forbade killing on its slopes. Not even those under his protection are allowed to kill unless provoked to defend their hermitage.”

Jordan didn’t like the sound of that. “Even with this supposed key in hand, how do you propose we get through that gauntlet?”

“You must go to his mountain, not to lay siege, but as supplicants.” Bernard stared hard at Jordan, then Rhun. “Which means you must take care not to
harm
anything that confronts you on that mountain, no matter how sorely you are pressed. If you fail doing that, not only will Hugh refuse to see you, but you’ll likely be struck down before ever leaving those forested slopes.”

“So we’re supposed to climb a mountain full of monsters,” Jordan said, “and turn the other cheek when they try to attack us.”

Bernard held up a finger. “And you must come bearing a gift, one that Hugh will never be able to refuse.”

What could that be?

“Once you have his attention,” the cardinal stressed, “it will be up to you to convince him to help you, to prove your mission is a worthy one, one that serves the interests of all—not just the Sanguinists, but
all
God’s creatures.”

“So a walk in the park,” Jordan said. “And we only have a day or so to convince him to help us save the world.”

Bernard frowned, looking confused.

Erin explained. “From a painting we saw in Edward Kelly’s lab, we think we have until noon or so on the vernal equinox to stop Lucifer from breaking free of his chains.”

Jordan checked his watch as she explained more details about this deadline. “That leaves us roughly twenty-seven hours.”

“But it might not be
this
year’s vernal equinox,” Erin offered. “That mural was painted centuries ago. Who knows for sure what inspired it?”

Bernard wasn’t buying it—neither was Jordan, for that matter.

“Matters grow worse around the world with every passing hour,” the cardinal said. “The balance between good and evil is tilting toward ruin. Even the stars are aligning against us, suggesting tomorrow’s equinox is important.”

“What omen?” Erin asked.

“Have you not heard?” he asked.

“We’ve been busy,” Jordan said.

“There is to be a solar eclipse . . . only a partial one.”

Erin frowned. “The sun painted in that mural was bloodred. Maybe the artist was trying to signify an eclipse.”

Before it could be discussed further, a knock sounded from the front of the apartment. They all turned as the entry door swung open down the hall.

One of the guards stepped halfway through and called to them, his voice oddly nervous. “Father Korza, this visitor says he was summoned by you. That you wanted to see
both
of them.”

The guard stepped aside, revealing the first visitor: the pudgy shape of Friar Patrick entered. Rhun stood up, raising his arm in welcome.

So who else had the friar—

A snowy shape bounded past the friar’s legs, almost bowling the man over.

Jordan blinked in surprise at the sight. The creature was a half-grown lion, the size of a German shepherd, with snowy fur, silvery claws, and golden-brown eyes.

As the lion charged toward them down the short hall, Jordan shifted to protect Erin. But the cat immediately pounced on Rhun, knocking him to the floor, licking the priest’s face.

Jordan heard a most peculiar sound.

Rhun was laughing.

Then the cub looked up at Jordan and bounded in one leap, sniffing around his ankles, up his legs. Jordan had to push the inquisitive lion’s nose from his crotch.

“Yeah, hello to you, too.” Jordan swung to Bernard, remembering his story about Hugh de Payens’s love of animals. “Let me guess. Here is your
key
to your friend’s heart.”

Bernard gazed upon the animal with clear longing. “This beast is so much more than that.”

Jordan dropped down to one knee and rubbed his fingers into the scruff of its immature mane. He would be a stunning adult. The cat responded, bumping his head against Jordan’s forehead.

When their heads touched, a jolt shot through Jordan’s body. The scarring across his shoulder and chest flared with fire.

What the hell?

The golden eyes locked on to his, and Jordan couldn’t look away, sensing a kindred spirit, one similarly touched by the angels.

Bernard was right.

You certainly are much more than you seem, little guy.

Then the lion growled at him, baring fangs.

9:04
A
.
M
.

Rhun reached for the young lion, surprised by his sudden aggression toward Jordan. But before his fingers could grab the animal, the cat twisted and bounded away. Trailing a growl, the animal stalked back out into the hall. The hackles along his snowy back stood on end.

Friar Patrick watched his behavior and held up a hand. “Leave him be! He’s caught some scent!”

The lion turned off the hall into one of the dark bedrooms.

“I was just in there to get a blanket,” Jordan said. “Room’s empty.”

In case his friend was wrong, Rhun retrieved his
karambit
from the floor and followed the hunting cat. The others hovered behind him.

“Patrick,” Rhun called to the friar, “fetch the guards.”

The lion padded low to the ground, tail swishing angrily. He led the way to a standing antique wardrobe on one side of the bed. The growl died as its gaze remained fixed on the doors.

Something’s in there.

Rhun waited until he heard the guards join them, then edged past the cat.

Jordan came up on the cub’s other side, his sword in one hand. He reached his free hand to the wardrobe’s handle. He glanced to Rhun, his eyes questioning.

Rhun nodded.

Jordan tugged the door open—and a small, dark figure burst out at them. It shouldered hard into Jordan, knocking him back against the bed’s frame. Rhun lashed out with his curved blade, slicing flesh, but only dealt it a glancing blow.

The attacker moved with the preternatural speed of a
strigoi
. But Rhun caught a flash of a white collar. A Sanguinist.

Bernard shoved Erin to the side, then spun—grabbing one of the guard’s swords and swinging full around, catching the lurker in the neck. The head went flying into the hall, while the body toppled to the floor. Rhun glanced around the room to make sure there were no other threats.

“Lights!” Bernard shouted and pointed his sword. “Open those hall drapes!”

The two guards stripped the heavy silk from the windows. Fresh sunlight flowed into the hall.

Bernard crossed and turned over the head to view the face of their attacker. The cardinal fell back a step in shock. “It’s Father . . . Father Gregory.”

Rhun drew Bernard away, pulling him toward the office, away from the head of his former assistant. Rhun called to the guards. “Search the rest of the apartment. And the body. Look for any black marks upon his skin.”

The others followed Rhun back into the office, even the cat.

Erin stood, hugging her arms around her chest, her eyes shining with the knowledge that nowhere was safe any longer. Rhun wished that he could comfort her, but she was right.

Bernard spoke, his voice slightly trembling. “Could . . . could it be the drops of Lucifer’s blood? Maybe he was afflicted like I was. Gregory did bring them to me.”

“No,” Erin said with certainty. “Your assistant would’ve been freed when I destroyed the stones. Like you were. I think it more likely that he brought you those stones on purpose last night knowing the evil would claim you. Some other darkness held him in thrall.”

Confirmation came when one of the guards returned to the door. “The other rooms are clear. But we found a black handprint on the base of Father Gregory’s spine.”

“Legion,” Erin said.

“So his evil still lives.” Rhun had feared as much.

“Apparently so.” Erin stared down the hall. “And if he was spying on our conversation, we have to assume he now knows as much as we do.”

Jordan crossed to her side. “Then we need to get to Hugh before Legion reaches him.”

Bernard nodded. “You have one advantage.”

“What’s that?” Jordan asked.

The cardinal stared down at the lion. “He is a blessed creature.”

Surprised, Rhun glanced to Patrick.

“I did not divulge our secret,” the friar said.

“That is the truth, Rhun,” Bernard said, as if Rhun would trust the cardinal. “But nothing is far from the eyes and ears of those loyal to me, both here and at the Vatican. Besides, a lion on the papal premises is not something to pass unnoticed. Especially this one.”

Bernard placed a hand on the cub’s head, but the animal shook it off.

A clear sign of good judgment
.

“He is a creature utterly new,” Bernard said, “and that is why he will fascinate Hugh de Payens.”

The lion rubbed against Rhun’s thighs, a loud purr rising from his chest. Rhun touched his silky head. Smiling, Erin held out a hand. The cub sniffed, then bumped his nose playfully into her palm.

“Where did you find him?” she asked.

Rhun told a quick version of the story, ending with, “I believe it was that angelic fire that spared the cub in the womb and blessed his current form.”

“If you’re right,” Jordan said, his gaze thoughtful upon the beast, “then that would mean it was that same fire that healed me, a gift from Tommy.” He looked down at the cub. “Sort of makes us blood brothers, little fella.”

Rhun stared between Jordan and the lion. Both were indeed blessed from the same font. Perhaps there was a reason they were brought together in the same room. He took hope from that small bit of providence.

But at the same time, he felt a trickle of fear, knowing their adversary was still out there, the dark mirror to the brightness found here. The enemy had managed to infiltrate the very heart of their order, to poison it.

So whom could they trust?

Rhun stared at Erin and Jordan, knowing one certainty.

I can place my trust in them, in their hearts
.