Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (47 page)

. . . arguing with his sister about who would get the front seat of the car . . .

. . . fighting hard to drag a wounded friend to safety as bullets flew . . .

. . . refusing to give up on a cold case, to find justice when all others gave up . . .

A new word formed out of those fleeting glimpses, defining his nature, a core from which to build more.

Stubborn
.

He accepted that as himself and used it to struggle, to twist and kick, to search beyond the promise of the song, to want more than peace.

His thrashing stirred the fog—clearing it enough to catch a pinprick of reddish light in the distance. He moved toward it, sensing enough of himself now to add a new word.

Longing
.

The fiery mote grew larger, occasionally wavering, sometimes disappearing entirely. But he focused on it, anchoring more of himself to it, knowing it mattered, even when the faint notes told him it didn’t.

Finally, that ruby particle grew close enough, steady enough, to discern a new noise: a drumbeat. It thrummed against the chorus, a counterpoint to those soft notes. That drum pounded and galloped, full of chaos and turmoil, everything that the music wasn’t.

A new word formed, defining its messy perfection.

Life
.

He felt himself born again with that thought, a birth accompanied by lancing pain that shot through the fog and gave him limbs, and chest, and bones, and blood. He took those new hands and covered his ears as they formed, too, shutting out those sweet notes.

Still, that red drumbeat grew louder and louder.

He recognized it now.

A human heartbeat, fragile and small, simple and ordinary.

He opened his eyes to find a face staring down at him.

“Erin . . .”

9:55
P
.
M
.

“The hero awakes,” Elizabeth said, trying to sound disdainful, but even to her own ears, her words appeared thankful, even happy.

How could they not?

Joy suffused Erin’s face as she kissed Jordan. The woman’s relief shone from her skin; tenderness glowed from her eyes. Rhun had once looked upon Elizabeth in such a manner. Unbidden, her fingers rose to touch her lips, remembering. She forced her hand back down.

After almost two hours in the makeshift surgery, Jordan now rested on a small bed in a back room of the farmhouse, his body swaddled in bandages, his face a map of sutures. The doctor had done good work, but Elizabeth knew the true healing went beyond those many stitches.

Rhun stirred on a lumpy chair in the room’s corner, disturbing the young lion curled at his feet. He had let the cat join them inside as they set up this bedside vigil. Christian and Sophia had prayed over the man, until eventually they drifted outside, to stretch those pious knees of theirs and to make further plans.

Rhun rose now, touched Erin on the shoulder, then turned toward Elizabeth. “I will share the good news with Sophia and Christian.”

As he left, Elizabeth stepped over to Erin, standing behind her with her arms crossed. The archaeologist’s love for her man was revealed in her every touch, her every whisper. Erin said something that raised a smile on Jordan’s face, crinkling his sutures, causing him to wince, but not stop grinning.

Despite all the good cheer, Elizabeth studied the crimson lines wended across his body, over his face.

It is true that you still breathe, but you are not well
.

But she kept such gloomy thoughts to herself.

The doctor returned, having apparently heard word about his patient, and set about examining Jordan: shining a light in his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, placing a palm on his forehead.

“
Incroyable
,” the man muttered as he straightened and shook his head.

A door slammed, and Rhun rushed in with his fellow Sanguinists. Earlier, they had all consumed wine, even Elizabeth. She felt restored now and saw the same vitality shining in the others, but beneath that, she read the anxiety in their faces, the impatience in their postures and movements.

They knew the truth.

The world was falling into darkness this night, with dreadful stories of bloodshed and monsters being told on the television, on the radio. Warnings and panic were growing by the hour.

They dared not tarry very much longer.

Christian spoke hurriedly as he entered with Rhun. “Our Citation jet is fueled and waiting. We can be at the tarmac in fifteen minutes and wheels up immediately after that. If I push the engines to the red line, we can reach Katmandu in under seven hours. We’ll be coasting in on fumes by then, but we should be able to make it.”

That plan depended on one crucial detail.

Christian asked it now, dropping to sit at the foot of the bed. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” Jordan answered.

Rhun faced the doctor. “How soon will he be fit enough to travel?”

The man looked aghast at Rhun, swore sharply in French, then answered, “Days, if not weeks!”

“I’m ready now,” Jordan said, struggling to sit up—and actually succeeding. “I can sleep on the plane.”

Erin turned to Rhun, worry shining in her eyes, clearly begging him to discourage Jordan, to agree with the doctor.

Instead, Rhun turned his back on her. “Then we leave now. Be ready.”

Only Elizabeth glimpsed Rhun’s face as she brushed past her. She saw how speaking those words to Erin had left him demolished.

And upon seeing that look, a part of Elizabeth was crushed, too, recognizing how much Rhun still loved that woman.

So Elizabeth let Rhun go—both from the room and from her heart.

There is another who needs me more
.

March 19, 10:04
P
.
M
.
CET

Rome, Italy

Tommy ran across the dark street toward the glowing dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. The square in front of it was normally full of tourists, wandering around and gawking at everything, but tonight it was empty due to the curfew. Scores of patrols traveled the city, a mix of armed men and Sanguinist priests in civilian clothing.

But they were losing this night.

Sirens echoed over the city, punctuated by screams. Fires burned out there, casting up ribbons of smoke from countless spots.

Tommy tripped on a curb and fell to a knee. He was hauled immediately back to his feet by one of his three Sanguinist guards. They were moving him from his apartment by the river to Vatican City.

For your protection
, he had been told.

He had tried to object, fearing that Elizabeth wouldn’t know where he was being moved. He had tried calling after sunset, growing scared as the chaos grew, but the lines were busy, overloaded.

Ahead, somebody had set up barricades across the entrance to St. Peter’s Square. Metal plates had been bolted in place, standing ten feet tall. Armed snipers stood in special bulletproof cages on top. Giant lights shone out from the base of the barrier, illuminating the surrounding streets.

The city was under siege.

But by whom?

Earlier, he had watched BBC news, glued to the television, seeing reports of nighttime attackers all across Europe and beyond. Troops patrolled the major cities, especially after dark. Rome wasn’t the only city falling under martial law.

To Tommy, it sounded as if the
strigoi
had gotten stronger and were out of control.

As his small group reached the barricade and were whisked through, Tommy gawked at the sheer number of Swiss Guardsmen and robed Sanguinists inside, both on the walls and up on the balconies surrounding the plaza. More armed men rushed in after them, before the gates were resealed.

It seemed the Church was pulling back a majority of its soldiers, protecting itself, leaving everyone else pretty much on their own.

Tommy was marched across the square toward the basilica. Even those massive doors had been covered in new metal plates.

“You’ll be safe in St. Peter’s for the night,” one of his guards tried to reassure him.

Maybe . . .

Worry for Elizabeth burned through him. She was out there. Somewhere. Who knew what trouble she faced? Tommy selfishly wanted her at his side. Only then would he truly feel
safe
. But he also knew there were some things even Elizabeth couldn’t protect him against.

He coughed into his hand, hacking loudly, doubling over in pain.

He stared at his palm.

Blood.

SIXTH

Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?

—Matthew 23:33

March 20, 10:48
A
.
M
.
NPT

Airborne over the Himalayas, Nepal

Erin held her breath as their helicopter climbed toward the knife-edge of the snowy mountain. The icy wall ahead soared to an elevation of twenty thousand feet, the outside limit of their aircraft’s ability to fly. When they reached the crest, their rotors kicked up swirls of snow, as wind batted the craft back and forth. The helicopter seemed trapped, balancing on that icy razor—then the nose dipped and they slid down the far side of the mountains.

Erin let out a loud breath, rolling her neck from side to side, trying to let go of the tension.

“Landing in ten,” Christian radioed back from the pilot’s seat, his voice irritatingly calm.

They had just crossed over the last range of mountains—the Ganesh Himal—and descended now toward a long valley. Giant sharp peaks surrounded them on all sides, which explained why this place had remained untouched by the modern world for so long. According to the ancient map that Hugh de Payens had supplied, a river should be meandering through the valley’s center, but below, Erin only saw a glaring blanket of uninterrupted whiteness. The river was likely frozen over and covered in snow this time of year. Maybe in summer this valley was a lush and verdant place, but right now it looked like an inhospitable wasteland.

Definitely no Garden of Eden
.

Working circulation back into her legs, Erin stomped her heavy snow boots. The steel ice crampons clanged against the metal floor. Even though she was warmed by the cabin heater and decked out in winter gear, the cold of these mountains found its way down to her bones.

Or maybe it was simply the fear.

She glanced to the others, huddled in white parkas. While the cold-blooded Sanguinists had no need for such insulated gear, the snowy color offered good camouflage for this wintry terrain. Even the lion cub, with his white ruff and fur, seemed built for this expedition.

Everyone stirred, readying themselves for what was to come.

Erin craned her neck by the window and stared up at the sun. It hung in a bright blue sky, marred by a few smudges of cirrus clouds. It was a little more than an hour until noon.