Blood Infernal

16

Seated at the back of the helicopter, Elizabeth held on to her safety harness with both hands. Rivers, trees, and towns had passed under their tiny aircraft with dizzying speed. Her window showed a toy world, and she was the child who looked down upon it, ready to play.

Within her blood, burning wine pushed against the dark strength. Still, she felt whole again, right for the first time in months.

This is who I am, who I am supposed to be.

Perhaps she could even forgive Rhun for all that he had cost her, because he had showed her the way here, led her to this moment.

Throughout the flight from Venice, Rhun cast long looks at her, as if he expected her to disappear. Across the cabin, Erin and Jordan had drifted off to sleep quickly, while Sophia and Christian sat together in the cockpit, piloting their craft along never-ending rivers of air.

This was an amazing time to be alive.

And I will drink it all in.

She searched the lands rolling ahead, knowing they would soon be in Prague. She wondered if she would recognize it or if it would be foreign to her, as so much of Rome had been. In truth, she did not care. She would learn and adapt, flow through the changes to come for all eternity.

But not alone.

She pictured Tommy’s small face. In the past, he had taught her much about these modern times. In turn, she would teach him the wonders of the night, of the pleasures of blood, of the march of years that would never touch them again.

She smiled.

Who needs the sun with a future so bright?

The radio crackled in the headphones she wore. Christian’s voice woke the others, stirring Rhun straighter. “We’re coming into Prague.”

Rhun noted the smile still on her face and matched it with one of his own. “You look well.”

“I am well… so very well.”

Rhun’s dark eyes were happy and kind. It would pain him when she abandoned the order. She was surprised to discover how much that thought bothered her.

She turned her eyes back to the window. Their helicopter skated over modern structures of glass and ugly buildings, but farther ahead, she recognized an older section of the city with red tile roofs and twisted narrow streets.

As the helicopter followed the flow of the wide Vltava River, she recognized the brick bridge that forded it, spanning the water in a row of majestic arches. She was happy to see not all had changed. It seemed Prague still retained many of its towers and landmarks.

“That’s the Charles Bridge,” Erin said, noting her attention.

Elizabeth stifled a wry smile. It had once been simply called the Stone Bridge. She watched people strolling along its span. In her days, horses or carriages once thronged the bridge.

So some things have changed.

As the helicopter headed toward the heart of the city, she drank in the sights, searching for streets and buildings that she had known in the past. She recognized the twin spires of Týn Church near the town square. The tower of city hall still bore the majesty of the Orloj, the city’s famous astronomical clock.

Erin had followed her gaze. “It’s a marvel, that medieval clock. It’s said that the clockmaker was blinded by order of the Councilors of Prague, so that he would never build another.”

Elizabeth nodded. “With a hot iron poker.”

“Harsh,” Jordan said. “Not much of a bonus for completing the job.”

“They were harsh times,” Elizabeth said. “But it is also said that the clockmaker took his revenge, that he crawled into the tower and destroyed the delicate mechanism by touch alone — then died in that tower. The clock could not be repaired for another hundred years.”

Elizabeth stared at the clock’s fanciful face. It was good that some of the past was still preserved and revered. Though the clockmaker had died, his masterwork had survived the march of years.

As will I.

Christian radioed back to them. “We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

Elizabeth’s phone vibrated deep in her pocket. She covered it with her palm, hoping Rhun hadn’t heard it past the roar of the engine and the muffle of the headphones. It had to be Tommy. But why was he calling? Fearing the worst, she shifted impatiently in her seat, wishing she could talk to the boy. But to do so, she needed a moment alone.

As the phone’s vibrations ended, she clasped her hands together, squeezing hard, wishing this aircraft would land. Thankfully, it didn’t take long. As Christian had promised, they were soon on the ground. After some moments of wrangling, she found herself outside, following the others across hard pavement toward a long, low building.

The air was colder than in Venice, but she still burned. She held her palm open toward the midafternoon sun. As a strigoi, her skin would be blistering, burning to ash, but it seemed the holy blood protected her. But not completely. There remained enough darkness inside her that the sunlight still stung. She withdrew her hand and tilted her face down, shading her features in the shadows of her wimple.

Rhun noted her reaction. “You’ll grow accustomed with time.”

She frowned. Even the daytime was not wholly open to a Sanguinist. Such a life was one of constant accommodation and pain. She longed to shake loose such restraints and limitations… to be truly free again.

But not yet.

She followed the others into the airport terminal. She scowled at its unsightly utility, impersonal, gray, and white. Men in this modern age seemed frightened of color.

“May I have a moment to wash the dust from my hands and face?” Elizabeth asked Rhun, seeking to find a private moment to return Tommy’s call. “I found the journey most disorienting.”

“I will take her,” Sophia offered. The small woman spoke a touch too quickly, displaying her distrust.

“Thank you, Sister,” Elizabeth said.

Sophia led her down a side hall to a many-stalled bathroom and followed her inside. Elizabeth crossed to the sink and washed her hands in the warm water. Sophia joined her, splashing water on her face.

Elizabeth used the moment to study the dark-skinned woman, wondering what she had been like before becoming a Sanguinist. Did she have a family that she left behind in the passing of years? What atrocities had she committed as a strigoi before taking the holy wine?

But the woman’s face remained a stoic mask, hiding whatever pain haunted her past. And Elizabeth knew there must be something.

We are all haunted in our own ways.

She pictured her son, Paul, remembering his bright laughter.

It seemed the passage through life was but a gathering of ghosts. The longer you lived, the more shadows haunted you. She stared at herself in the mirror, surprised by the single tear coursing down her cheek.

Rather than wipe it away, she used it.

“May I have a moment by myself?” Elizabeth asked, turning to Sophia.

Sophia looked ready to object, but then her face softened, seeing the tear. Still, she glanced around, plainly looking for windows or another exit. Finding none, she touched Elizabeth on the arm, then retreated. “I will wait outside.”

As soon as Sophia was gone, Elizabeth retrieved her phone. She left the water running to mask her voice and quickly dialed Tommy’s number.

It was answered immediately. “Elizabeth, thanks for calling back. You caught me just in time.”

She was relieved that he sounded calm. “Is everything well?”

“Well enough, I guess,” he said. “But I’m so excited that I get to see you soon.”

She frowned, not understanding. The boy could not know that she intended to join him as soon as she could escape these others. “What do you mean?”

“A priest came by. He’s taking me to Rome.”

She went stiff, her voice going hard. “What priest?” Her mind was on fire, struggling to comprehend this news. It was unexpected and felt wrong, like a trap. “Tommy, do not—”

“Hold on,” Tommy said, cutting her off. She heard him talking to someone in the background, then he was back. “My aunt says I have to get off the phone. My ride is here. But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He sounded so eager, but dread filled her.

“Do not go with that priest!” she warned, her voice sharp.

But the line went dead. She dialed his number again, pacing the bathroom. The phone rang and rang, but he did not answer. She clenched a fist around the telephone, imagining reasons why they might have taken him.

Maybe they were whisking Tommy to safety because of all of the strigoi attacks.

She cast this hope aside, knowing the Church had no interest in the boy any longer.

So then why were they taking him? Why was Tommy suddenly important to them again?

Then she knew.

Because of me.

The Church knew Tommy was important to her. Someone was taking control of the boy, intending to use him like a pawn, a way to attach a leash around her neck. Only one priest would use such an innocent boy as leverage. Even imprisoned, that villain must still be exercising his power.

Cardinal Bernard.

She slammed her fist against the mirror. It shattered outward in rings from the point of impact.

Elizabeth glanced at the door, knowing Sophia waited out there. It was a rash act, one born of rage. But if she was to save Tommy, she must be smarter. Before Sophia came in to investigate, she turned off the water and hurried toward the entrance.

As she exited, Sophia eyed her suspiciously.

Elizabeth straightened her wimple and brushed her hand down her rosary. A tingle of pain crossed her fingertips from the silver. She used that sting to steady herself.

“I… I believe I’m ready to continue,” she said.

They returned to the others.

Erin had a map opened on her phone, another wonder of this modern age. “We’re not too far from the old palace. Most of the alchemy labs are in its shadow.”

“The laboratory that we seek is not there. We must go to the town center, by the Orloj,” Elizabeth said, intending to bide her time.

I will wait and watch.

Her time would come.

As would Bernard’s.

Erin hiked her backpack higher as they headed toward the terminal exit, very conscious that she carried the Blood Gospel over her shoulder. She worried that she should have left the book in Rome, where it could be locked up safely, but with the book bound to her, she refused to let it out of her sight.

It felt like a part of her now.

Ahead, Rhun walked alongside the countess, as graceful as a panther in his dark jeans and long black coat. Elizabeth, in turn, glided with a measure of command in her step. The two made a handsome couple, and a pang of jealousy struck Erin with unexpected force. It surprised her. Did she want to be the woman at Rhun’s side, even if such a thing were possible?

She looked up at Jordan. His blue eyes scanned the room, always looking for danger, but his shoulders were down and relaxed. Golden stubble covered his square jaw. She remembered the scratchy feel of those whiskers against her stomach, her breasts.

Jordan caught her looking, and she blushed and looked down at the floor.

As they stepped out into the cool afternoon, Elizabeth shifted her wimple to better cover her face. Rhun’s jacket was hooded, but he didn’t bother to pull it up.

Erin leaned toward Christian. “Why does the sunlight seem to bother Elizabeth more?”

“She is new to the cloth,” Christian explained. “I don’t know if it’s simply the passing of time or the many years of penance, but I do know that Sanguinists become more inured to the light as they get older.”

“How could you not know exactly how it works?” Erin asked, surprised by the Sanguinists’ lack of curiosity about their own nature. “You can’t check your brain at the door. What’s wrong with finding out what’s been done to you?”

Sophia answered from Christian’s other side. “ ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding,’ ” she quoted, a touch sharply. “That is not to be questioned.”

“Being a Sanguinist is not a scientific process of discovery,” Christian added. “Our journey is about faith. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Not the proving of such things.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you had all asked more questions earlier, we wouldn’t be in such a mess now.”

No one disagreed, and Christian pointed ahead to a small coffeehouse with an outdoor patio. “How about a little refueling? We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

Only Erin and Jordan needed that refueling, but Christian was right. A little caffeine would be good… and a lot would be even better.

Christian went inside to place an order, while Jordan pushed two small round tables together under a patio umbrella. Christian returned shortly with a tray holding two coffees in wide-lipped ceramic mugs and a pile of pastries. Before placing the tray down, he leaned forward and inhaled the steamy aroma from the cups.

He sighed with appreciation.

Erin smiled, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sophia’s lips pinch with disdain. The Sanguinists considered any trace of humanity a weakness. But Erin found the lingering traces of Christian’s humanity endearing, making her trust him more, not less.

Erin held the mug in her palms, letting it warm her, to steady her. She stared around at the others. “What’s the plan from here? It feels like we’re tapping through the dark, like a blind man. It’s time to change that. It’s time we started asking the hard questions. Like understanding the nature of Sanguinists and strigoi. That seems to be critical to our quest.”

Jordan nodded, looking pointedly at Christian and Sophia. “The less we understand, the more likely we are to fail.”

“I agree,” Elizabeth said. “Ignorance has not served us in the past, and it will not serve us now. There are things that the Church should know. They have had two thousand years to study such matters, yet they cannot answer the simplest questions. Like what animates a strigoi?”

“Or another question: How do you change when you take the vow of a Sanguinist?” Erin added. “How does the wine sustain you?”

Her questions erupted into a brief, but heated discussion. Rhun and Sophia took the side of faith and God. Erin, Jordan, and Elizabeth argued for the scientific method and reason. Christian played reluctant referee, trying to find common ground.

In the end, they all ended up even farther apart.

Erin shoved her empty mug away. All that was left on her plate were pastry crumbs. Jordan had taken only a single bite of his apple Danish, but it looked like he’d had enough — if not of the pastry and coffee, then at least of the conversation.

“We should be going,” he said, standing up.

Sophia checked her watch. “Jordan is right. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Erin bit back a sharp retort, knowing it would get them nowhere.

Surprisingly, Elizabeth offered a more conciliatory response. “Perhaps we’ll discover the answers to these questions in John Dee’s laboratory.”

Erin stood up.

We’d better find them… or the world is doomed.

17

Rhun stood beside Elizabeth in the center of Prague’s old town square. Clouds had rolled in, and a light rain had begun to fall, pebbling against the cobblestones. She had stopped, staring up at the golden face of the astronomical clock, the famous Orloj. Then she turned her attention to the surrounding buildings.

“So exactly where is this guy’s lab?” Jordan asked.

“I just need to get my bearings,” Elizabeth said. “Much has changed, but fortunately for us, much has not.”

Rhun studied the clock’s many overlapping dials and symbols. It was already almost four in the afternoon, which left them another two and a half hours of daylight.

Erin huddled in a light blue jacket. “I would’ve thought John Dee’s lab would be somewhere in the Alchemist’s Alley, off by Prague Castle.”

“And you would have been wrong,” Elizabeth said, in a troublesomely haughty tone. “Many alchemists had workshops in that alley, but the most secret work was done not far from here.”

“So then where was Dee’s laboratory?” asked Sophia.

Elizabeth paced slowly away from the clock tower and into the square. She turned in a slow circle, like a compass trying to find true north. Eventually, she pointed down a narrow street that led off the square. Tall apartment buildings flanked both sides.

“Unless it has been destroyed, his laboratory lies that way.”

Erin’s brow creased with worry. Rhun understood her concern. If it was gone, they would not only have made this trip for naught, but they would be lost, with no way forward.

Elizabeth headed off, forcing them to follow her. Sophia hurried to keep abreast of her, while Rhun hung back with the others.

Erin stared around, clearly taking in the history, but her mind was on a more recent event.

“Back in 2002,” she said, with a wave of her arm, “Prague was hard hit by a flood. The Vltava River broke its banks and flooded the capital. When those waters receded, sections of the city streets — including this one, if I’m not mistaken — collapsed into medieval-era tunnels, revealing long-lost rooms, workshops … even alchemy labs.” Erin looked at them, then at the wet stones under her feet. “Over the years, probably a million people walked over those tunnels without knowing what was there. It caused quite a stir in the archaeological community at the time.”

Ahead of them, Elizabeth uttered a single harsh syllable that Rhun recognized as a Hungarian curse. They all hurried to join her. She had stopped next to a wooden sign hanging over the street. Next to it, two dark blue doors stood open. Her eyebrows were drawn down into a scowl. She looked ready to rip the sign off its metal hinges.

On one of the doors, a bright silver circle enclosed a symbol of two flasks connected by tubes. The words Speculum Alchemiae Muzeum Prague were written around it.

“It’s a museum!” Elizabeth spat. “This is how your age guards its secrets?”

“Apparently so,” Jordan said.

Rhun moved closer. Pear-shaped flasks hung from a wrought-iron rack attached to the doors. A golden shield on the front labeled each one’s contents: Elixir of Memory, Elixir of Health, and Elixir of Eternal Youth.

Rhun remembered similar fanciful potions from his childhood.

Christian planted his fists on his hips, looking dubiously at the museum. “John Dee’s papers are here?”

“They were here,” Elizabeth corrected. “This used to be an ordinary-seeming house. It had a great room in front, and a sitting room in back, where alchemists would receive guests and talk about their works. Including scholars such as Tycho Brahe and Rabbi Loew. Old men with white beards hunched over crucibles and alembics. And of course, charlatans, too, like that damnable Edward Kelly.”

Rain ran into Rhun’s eyes, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “What were they working on?”

Elizabeth shook drops from her wimple. “Everything. They searched for many things that would prove foolish and elusive, like a philosopher’s stone capable of turning base metals to gold, but they also discovered much of real consequence.” She stamped her small foot on the cobbles. “Discoveries that were later lost. Things the likes of which your modern mind cannot ever comprehend. And now you have turned it into a child’s amusement show.”

“Well, we came all of this way,” Christian said, slipping past her. “We might as well have a look.”

Everyone followed, drawing her with them despite her protests.

Two women welcomed them from behind a counter. The older one, a salt-and-pepper brunette, toyed with a necklace she was beading, while the younger one, likely her daughter, swiped at a glass display with a long feather duster.

Rhun surveyed the room. He ducked from the dried herbs hanging from an arched ceiling. All around, wooden shelves lined the walls, crowded with all manner of old books and more glass and pottery. He noted a large wooden door to the right of the counter. It was currently closed.

Elizabeth swept past him and went straight for the front desk, confronting the older of the two women. “Is it possible to see the receiving room?” she demanded. “And perhaps the rooms beneath?”

“Naturally, Sister.” The woman peered at Elizabeth over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses, studying the mix of nuns and white-collared priests with a bit of amusement. “We give tours.”

Elizabeth looked aghast, but Christian pushed forward. “I’d like to buy six tickets,” he said quickly. “When is the next available tour?”

“Right away,” the woman said.

The older woman took the euros Christian handed her and gave them each a large rectangular ticket.

The younger woman smiled at Jordan. She had kind brown eyes and looked about twenty-five. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a bun and tied with a purple ribbon. The color matched her shirt and a tight skirt that ended high above her knees.

Elizabeth stepped between her and Rhun, eyeing the woman’s tight garments with distaste.

“My name is Tereza,” the young woman said, trying her best to ignore Elizabeth’s scathing glare. “I’ll be your guide through the alchemist’s laboratory. If you’ll please follow me.”

Using a heavy key, the woman unlocked the door. As she swung it open, a waft of dank and moldy air rolled out. Rhun felt a prickling along his neck as he caught a whiff of something else. He remembered his days spent in the Egyptian desert, recognizing here the same sense of malevolence that he had hunted in the sands.

He searched around but found no evidence of danger. The other Sanguinists showed no such misgivings.

Still, Rhun moved closer to Erin.

With the tour guide leading them, Erin followed Rhun through the door and into a dark hallway. Jordan trailed behind, giving off a resounding sneeze at the dust. Or maybe he had mold allergies. Still, Rhun jumped at the abrupt noise, pushing Erin against the wall with an arm that felt like a bar of steel.

Jordan noted the protective gesture. “Be ready if I burp,” he told Rhun. “That’s much more dangerous.”

They continued onward. Erin studied the oil paintings lining both walls, likely reproductions.

Up ahead, Tereza waved an arm, while walking backward. “These paintings are of—”

Elizabeth interrupted her, thrusting out her arm toward various oils. “Emperor Rudolf II, Tycho Brahe, Rabbi Loew, and Rudolf’s physician … whose name escapes me at the moment. Not their best likenesses.”

She then walked right past their guide and into one of the rooms off the hall, as if she knew where she was going.

“Sister! Wait!” Tereza hurried after Elizabeth, and everyone followed them.

Elizabeth stopped in the center of a medium-size room, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were praying, but Erin couldn’t imagine that was true. Her haughty gaze swept the room.

Overhead, a round chandelier held two horned masks and cast an orange-tinted light on a bearskin rug that lay before a marble fireplace. Erin’s attention was drawn to an antique case full of old books, skulls, and specimens in glass jars.

Intrigued, she moved closer.

This is what it must have looked like four hundred years ago.

Elizabeth stepped over to the granite-topped desk along one wall, then to a curtained window behind it. She stopped and surveyed the room. “Where is the bell?”

“The bell?” Tereza looked nervous.

“There used to be a giant glass bell in front of this window. Large enough for a man to stand inside.” Elizabeth dropped to one knee and examined the tiles underfoot. “It left grooves on the floor. John Dee kept his device here instead of in his main laboratory below because he needed the sunlight for his experiments.”

Erin joined her, running her fingers across the floor. “Are these tiles new?”

Tereza nodded. “I think so.”

Elizabeth stood with a huff and wiped her hands on her damp habit. “Where was the bell taken?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tereza said. “So far as I know, there was never a bell.”

Tereza turned slightly away, muttering something under her breath. It sounded like a Czech expletive. Elizabeth answered her sharply in the same language, making the guide gulp.

Jordan stepped to Tereza’s side, touching her arm reassuringly. “How about we let this nice young woman tell us what she does know? After all, we paid for the full tour.”

Elizabeth looked like she was going to say something, but instead, she clasped her hands behind her back. She glanced over to the spot where she’d expected to find the bell, a calculating expression on her face.

Tereza took a deep breath, then tried to find her groove again. “Th-this room is where the alchemists would have received guests, but it wasn’t a simple sitting room. If you’ll note that each corner of the room bears alchemical symbols for Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.”

Erin turned slowly to examine each symbol. Off to the side, Elizabeth drifted over to the fireplace, keeping her back to the guide. She leaned against the mantel, as if she were about to be sick.

Tereza continued more boldly, apparently glad not to have the irritable nun at her throat any longer. “The energy from these forces was channeled through the chandelier in the center of the room. Those energies were used for all manner of occult and alchemical purposes. If you’ll come over to this case, I can show you …”

Erin stepped away, slipping toward Elizabeth who had turned away from the fireplace.

“What were you doing?” Erin asked softly.

Elizabeth kept her voice low. “Dee had a secret compartment in that marble mantel. The green diamond was once hidden there, when the stone was intact. I just checked it.”

“Did you find anything?”

Elizabeth opened her hand to reveal a scrap of paper in her palm. “Just this.”

Erin noted a row of unusual symbols on it.

“It’s a name written in Enochian,” Elizabeth explained.

Erin stared at the strange letters. She knew that John Dee had created his own language, but she’d never learned it. “What name?”

“Belmagel.”

Erin frowned at Elizabeth, not recognizing the name.

“Belmagel was an angel to whom Edward Kelly supposedly spoke with during his scrying sessions with John Dee. Dee eventually had his doubts, and the two men had a falling-out, but Emperor Rudolf was a fierce and unfaltering admirer of Kelly.”

“So who do you think left that scrap of paper?”

“Only Rudolf, Dee, and I knew of the existence of that compartment. Rudolf was very secretive about it. He even had the original designer killed to ensure that he never revealed its presence. If Dee had left something there, Rudolf would have taken it after the man died, so I assume that this note must have been left by Rudolf himself.”

“What else do you know about this Belmagel?” Erin asked, nodding to the paper.

“Kelly supposedly communed with two angels. Sudsamma was a good angel, a being of light. Belmagel was a dark angel, born of evil.”

Maybe this was a clue. Her group was searching for the most evil angel of all — Lucifer.

“If Rudolf left this, it may have been a message to me,” Elizabeth explained. “Something only I would understand.”

“What was he trying to tell you?” Erin asked.

Elizabeth gave a small, frustrated shake of her head. “It must have something to do with that charlatan, Kelly. Perhaps this was hidden to direct me toward the man, to his house.”

“Where did he live?”

“He had many houses. Who knows if any of them are still standing today?”

Erin stared toward one person who might know. She lifted her arm. “Tereza, a question, if I might?”

The guide turned toward her. “What would you like to know?”

“Edward Kelly was an associate of John Dee. Do you know where Kelly lived and if that place still exists?”

Her eyes widened, clearly delighted to have an answer. “Certainly. It’s quite an infamous place. It’s named the Faustus Dum, or the Faust House, and it can be found in Charles Square, though it’s not open to the public for tours.”

Erin glanced to Elizabeth. The countess gave a small nod of acknowledgment, plainly knowing the place. From the darkening of her expression, she wasn’t pleased about this location.

As Tereza returned to her lecture with the others, Erin spoke quietly with Elizabeth. “What do you know about the Faust House?”

“It was a place of much infamy. Before Kelly moved in, Emperor Rudolf’s astrologer, Jakub Krucinek, resided there with his two sons. Later, the younger one killed the older one because of a supposed treasure hidden in that house. Kelly himself rigged the place with all sorts of trickery. Doors that would open by themselves, staircases that would fly around, handles that would shock you if you touched them.”

She made a sharp scoffing sound, then continued. “The man was a fraud and a swindler. But the house … it’s authentically malevolent. It’s why the house was associated with the Faust legend.”

“The scholar who made a pact with the devil?”

“Some say Faust himself lived there, that it was in that very house that he was sucked away to Hell, drawn straight through the ceiling.”

Erin eyed the countess doubtfully.

She shrugged. “Legend or not, strange occurrences have been associated with that place. Mysterious disappearances, loud blasts during the night, strange lights.”

Erin pointed to the paper with the Enochian writing. “Could Rudolf have left that secret message to you, directing you to the Faust House? The green diamond had a connection to a dark angel and so does that place.”

“Perhaps …”

Tereza spoke louder, stepping to a bookcase. “And now for the next stop on our tour.”

The guide shoved the bookcase to one side, revealing a set of steps leading down.

Jordan exclaimed loudly, sounding boyishly excited, “Cool! A secret passageway.”

Tereza stood at the threshold of the secret stairs. “This passage leads down to an alchemist’s private laboratory. If you’ll look down near the floor, you’ll see a large metal ring just inside. It is said that the Rabbi Loew chained his infamous golem there when it misbehaved.”

Erin smiled at the idea, but the Sanguinists looked down at the ring skeptically. Apparently, they believed in strigoi and angels but not in giant clay men brought to life by alchemists. She guessed they had to draw the line somewhere.

Tereza led them down the stairs.

Erin trailed with Elizabeth, who nudged the ring with her toe as she passed it. “Such nonsense,” the countess whispered. “Dee chained a wolf to that ring, a beast that answered to no one but Dee himself. On the day Dee died, Rudolf had to kill the animal to get into this room.”

Erin followed last down the stone steps. The stairs were narrow so that everyone had to go single file. At the base of the stairs, a tunnel ran ahead, and Tereza directed them onward. But Erin paused to examine a metal door on the left. It had a square opening at eye level, like the door to a prison cell. Through the opening, she could see another tunnel.

“Behind that door,” the guide called back, noting Erin’s attention, “is a tunnel that leads to the old town square. We discovered that tunnel and others a few years back following a great flood. It took some time to clean out the mud.”

Jordan glanced back at Erin, clearly remembering her recounting of that flood.

Tereza continued. “In the furnace room up ahead, we discovered a tunnel that leads under the river and runs all the way to Prague Castle.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Rudolf used that tunnel — and others — to come and go under the city, so that no one knew where he was.”

Erin could not help but be fascinated by these stories, trying to imagine that time when science, religion, and politics blurred together, wrapped in mysteries and legends.

They continued down the tunnel. Jordan had to keep his head ducked from the low ceiling. The passageway finally ended at a small room with a round metal stove in the center. The stove held metal flasks with long spouts, while a limp set of bellows rested in front of the stove’s opening. Soot covered everything: roof, walls, and even the stone tiles on the floor were black.

This must be the furnace room that Tereza had mentioned. At the back, another doorway led off to a neighboring dark room. Their guide pointed toward it. “In the next room is where the alchemists worked on transmutation — changing base metals to gold.”

Elizabeth muttered. “Such foolishness. Who could believe you could change simple metals to gold?”

Jordan heard her, glancing back with a grin. “Actually, it is possible. If you bombard a certain kind of mercury with neutrons. Unfortunately, the process costs more than the gold it produces. Plus, the gold ends up being radioactive and decays in a couple of days.”

Elizabeth gave an exaggerated sigh. “So it seems modern man has not given up his old obsessions.”

“The furnace and the larger flasks are original,” Tereza said, continuing her dialogue about the old alchemists’ attempts to brew an Elixir of Eternal Youth. “We found a vial of that elixir bricked up in a secret safe in the wall of this room. Along with a recipe to make it.”

Now it was Erin’s turn to scoff. “You can make it today?”

Tereza smiled. “It is a complicated process, with seventy-seven herbs, gathered by moonlight, infused into wine. The brewing takes a full year, but yes, it can be done. In fact, it is being made by monks in a monastery in Brno.”

Even Elizabeth looked surprised by this bit of trivia.

Erin studied this five-hundred-year-old time capsule of the alchemists’ world. She moved through the room, examining the furnace and glassware. She spied a small door behind the furnace.

Must be that tunnel to the castle.

Rhun suddenly appeared at her side, clutching her arm. She turned, only now noting how the Sanguinists had gone stone-still, looking up. Even Elizabeth cocked her head, her nose high.

“What is it?” Jordan asked. His hand instinctively went to his waist, where he normally holstered his machine pistol, but due to the Czech gun laws, he hadn’t been allowed to pass through customs with any firearms.

“Blood.” Rhun whispered, gazing toward the tunnel that led up to the rooms above. “Much blood.”

18

The blood is hot upon my tongue…

Legion knew it was not actually his own tongue. His body — rooted deep inside the black vessel of Leopold — lay sprawled in the back of a rumbling vehicle. The windows were darkened, shadowing the burn of the late-afternoon sun. He sensed sunset was near, but until then, he must hunt from afar, peering out other eyes, directing his will into those who bore his mark.

Closer at hand, the Sanguinist woman — Abigail — controlled the vehicle, this great rumbling black horse that spewed clouds of poison in its wake. She seemed oblivious of the sun. The wine of the Sanguinist protected her from the light, its holiness acting like a shield.

Legion was determined to brand more like her, to create forces that could move in light and darkness, swelling his ranks for the war to come.

Blood called to him again, drawing his awareness back to the slave who feasted on the old woman in the small room, a space full of dried herbs, dust, and books. He extended his senses farther, seeing out of three more pairs of eyes. Three more slaves, who were bound to his will, skulked through dark tunnels, closing in on the prey hidden below.

Legion had gathered these and others to this city, to destroy that ancient prophecy imbued into the body of the trio: the Warrior, the Woman, and the Knight.

He would allow them no rest, no safe refuge.

The mortals he intended to kill, but the one called Korza…

You will be my finest slave, a weapon to wield against Heaven.

But first, Legion needed to flush that Knight out into the open.

He lifted his hand, watching the whorls of blackness swim across his palm. He sent out a command to those who bore his mark.

Kill them… but save the Knight for me.

Standing in the furnace room, Jordan pulled Erin behind him. Rhun, Sophia, and Christian drew blades and kept watch on the far stairwell that led up to the museum.

“What are you doing?” Tereza asked, noting the weapons, covering her throat with her hand.

Erin took the woman’s other hand. “Stay close.”

Jordan stepped over and grabbed the only weapon in view: an old iron fireplace poker that lay propped up against the furnace stove.

Not the machine pistol he missed, but it would have to do.

Elizabeth noted him arming himself and did the same. She picked up a flask by its spout and shattered the bulbous base, creating a glass dagger.

Tereza gasped at the damage, but she kept to Erin’s side.

“Smoke,” Rhun said by the door.

Jordan shifted enough to peer over his shoulder. From the stairwell on the far side of the tunnel, a roll of sooty blackness flowed from the steps into the tunnel. The upstairs must be on fire.

“My… my mother,” Tereza said. She began to step forward, but Erin restrained her.

And with good reason.

From out of that pall of smoke, a dark figure appeared. It dropped into a crouch, revealing a large shaven-haired man with a muscular physique. He clutched a long knife in one fist. His white T-shirt was stained with the crimson of fresh blood. He bared fangs, sniffing at the air, hunting for them.

As he did so, Jordan spotted a five-fingered black brand on his throat, marking him as an enslaved strigoi, like the one who had attacked them in the cavern in Cumae.

Sophia hissed with recognition.

The strigoi lowered his gaze at the noise — then lunged forward, moving with incredible speed.

Rhun leaped forward into the tunnel, meeting the charge of the creature. The priest held a silver karambit in each hand, the curved metal blades looking like long claws. He slashed out as the beast reached him — but found only empty air.

The strigoi feinted low, then spun, striking out with his knife. But at the last moment, he turned its blade and smashed the steel hilt into the side of Rhun’s head. The blow knocked Rhun against the tunnel wall, clearly dazing him.

The strigoi barreled past him, going straight for Sophia and Christian.

Elizabeth shifted forward, concern ringing in her voice. “Rhun…”

Jordan pushed Erin and Tereza farther back. A moment too late, he realized the error of his defense. The creak of old hinges sounded behind him. He swung around in time to see a dark shape burst forth from the small door that led to Rudolf’s secret tunnel.

The strigoi ripped Tereza from Erin’s grip and tore into the young woman’s throat, drowning her surprised scream with blood. Another strigoi followed on that one’s heels, going straight for Erin with a long blade in hand.

Jordan was already moving by then. He reached Erin, spun her by the arm behind him, and blocked the strigoi’s blade with the length of his poker. As steel rang off iron, one thought rose in Jordan’s mind.

I shouldn’t have been able to move that fast.

He had no time to comprehend this mystery, only be thankful for it.

The strigoi snarled, drawing back his blade and crouching in surprise. Behind him, the other beast finished with Tereza and joined his partner, hissing blood at Jordan. For the moment, they seemed cautious of Jordan, wary of his speed and strength.

Then Christian and Sophia joined him, flanking him to either side. Christian lifted a long sword, while Sophia carried two daggers, one in each hand.

Three against two… I like these odds better.

Then a third strigoi appeared from the furnace-room tunnel, a massive giant, an ogre of a beast.

So much for those odds.

To the side, Erin grabbed a pair of metal tongs, readying herself to help. “We must get out into the sunlight!”

Easier said than done.

And the sun was close to setting.

Crashes behind him told him that Rhun and Elizabeth were still struggling with their first adversary in the tunnel. So that way was blocked. Plus the stairs leading up were on fire anyway.

Jordan concentrated on the three enemies before him. Beyond them, smoke billowed into the room through the small door, bringing with it the scent of burning wood and gasoline. It seemed their ambushers had set fire to that tunnel, too, ensuring no one escaped that way.

The huge strigoi, clearly the leader of this bunch, pushed past the other two. His face was a map of scar tissue, his fangs yellow. He lifted a broadsword and whirled it in a circle, so fast it became a silver blur.

Christian stepped forward to face the attacker — then one of the smaller strigoi leaped low, moving with that preternatural speed, and tackled Christian to the ground. The other hurtled into Sophia, knocking her against the furnace.

Jordan lifted his poker, realizing the giant had used his dramatic swordplay as a distraction, allowing the smaller two to ambush the Sanguinists, eliminating the larger threats.

Leaving only Jordan and Erin.

So then let’s see what you’ve got, big fella.

Jordan lunged at the armed strigoi. He struck the whirling blade a resounding blow. He felt the impact from his shoulders to his heels.

Then again, so did the strigoi.

The giant dropped the ringing blade and fell back a step. A sneer curled its lip — then it hurled itself at Jordan. It felt like being hit by a truck. Jordan crashed backward into a table, shattering glassware.

Teeth sank into Jordan’s forearm, fangs grinding down to bone.

But rather than crippling pain, Jordan felt a blaze of fire erupt along his arm.

The strigoi screamed, releasing Jordan’s arm. It stumbled back, clawing at its face. Jordan watched as flesh blistered and burned, black blood boiling out. It fell, convulsing to the floor as that conflagration spread, swiftly burning through its body.

Jordan stared down at his wounded arm, then over to the giant.

My blood is poison.

Rather than fear, calm suffused him, growing even stronger, reducing the movement in the room to slow-motion. Sounds became muffled. The light took on a golden hue, turning everything hazy.

The strigoi battling Sophia panicked at what had happened to the giant and fled toward the burning tunnel. Christian took advantage of the surprise to cleave the other’s head clean from its shoulder.

Jordan picked up a piece of broken glass from the table, and without a thought, he was upon the fleeing strigoi. He grabbed it by the back of the neck and sliced its throat open from ear to ear, then let the body drop.

Jordan turned to find Erin yanking on his arm, coughing from the smoke, trying to get him to move.

“It’s all coming down!” she yelled at him, her voice sounding like they were both submerged under water. “The rooms above are starting to collapse into the basement level.”

He followed her, collecting Christian and Sophia along the way.

Out in the tunnel, Elizabeth held the first strigoi in a bear hug from behind, while Rhun lashed out with his knife. To Jordan’s eyes, the priest’s arm moved slowly, the blade in his hand catching each mote of light. The splash of black blood seemed to hang in the air.

As that last body fell, Erin drew Jordan along. She pointed past Rhun, toward the door near the base of the stairs. “We have to make for the tunnel to the old town square!”

As he watched, an oak rafter broke away from the roof and crashed to the stone floor, scattering fiery embers. More smoke washed into the tunnel.

“We’re too late!” Erin yelled.

Erin choked on the smoke, her lungs burning, her eyes weeping. Then Rhun was there, sweeping his jacket over her. Luckily, the Sanguinists did not need to breathe.

“Stay low,” Rhun warned her.

She obeyed and lifted the edge of her rain-soaked collar, breathing through the damp fabric. Ahead, Christian and Sophia led the way, using their strength to forge a path through fiery timbers and tumbles of stone. More debris rained down as the rooms above collapsed into the tunnel.

Farther down the passageway, Elizabeth crouched by the door to their only exit, clearly struggling to get the way open. Beyond the woman’s shoulders, flames filled the stairwell, turning it into the mouth of a massive fireplace.

Erin glanced behind her, coughing hoarsely. Jordan walked leadenly in her wake, seemingly oblivious to the smoke and heat. She remembered what had happened to the huge strigoi, picturing that flesh boiling forth with blood. She had observed such damage before, when angelic blood touched a strigoi.

Was that further proof of Jordan’s angelic nature? And what did it mean for the man she loved?

A loud tearing of metal drew her gaze forward.

Elizabeth had ripped the door off its hinges. “Hurry!” she called out, brushing fiery embers from the shoulders of her habit. The countess immediately set off into the waiting darkness, vanishing away.

Erin feared the woman might very well use this opportunity to escape.

And I wouldn’t blame her.

They all rushed into the tunnel and fled along it, chased by the smoke.

Shoulder to shoulder, Christian and Sophia kept the lead, following Elizabeth’s path, clearly watching for any new dangers, any new attack.

Rhun continued to shadow her, followed by Jordan.

As the light faded behind them, Erin dug into her pocket and removed a metal flashlight. She clicked it on, and a small beam of light pierced the darkness.

She coughed hard, her lungs still aflame, bobbling the light. A crashing rumble echoed from behind. She pictured that alchemists’ tunnel collapsing completely.

Finally, a door banged up ahead, and light flowed into the tunnel.

Sunlight… glorious sunlight.

She sped toward it. With each step, the air was fresher, cleaner, colder.

Once close enough, Erin spotted Elizabeth holding the door open for them.

So she hadn’t fled.

They tumbled gratefully out into a sunlit alley — bloody, half-burnt, but alive.

She immediately swung around to face Jordan, concerned that he had not spoken a single word during their entire escape from the tunnels.

She touched his cheek, but his blue eyes were unfocused, staring off into some middle distance. Panic rose up inside her, but she fought it back down.

She kept her palm on his burning cheek. “Jordan, can you hear me?”

He blinked once.

“Jordan… come back.”

Jordan blinked again, a shudder passing through him. Slowly focus returned to his eyes. He stared down at her. “Erin…?”

He sounded unsure, as if he didn’t truly know her.

“That’s right,” she said softly, wounded and scared. “Are you okay?”

He finally shook himself once like a dog, then swept his gaze across the others. “I’m fine… I think.”

“Perhaps he was disoriented from the smoke,” Elizabeth offered.

Erin wasn’t buying it. Whatever was wrong with him, it had nothing to do with the smoke. She took his arm, parting his torn sleeve to examine the ragged bite mark. Already the wound had begun to heal, the flesh knitting together as if he had been attacked days before, not mere minutes.

More disconcerting, she discovered a red line that curled from his biceps down to the wound, forming curlicues around the edges of the healing flesh. She tugged the remains of his sleeve higher, revealing the source.

It extended from the old scarring from when Jordan was struck by lightning. When he was a teenager, he had that fractal pattern tattooed over as a reminder of his close call, creating an almost flowery decoration.

But this crimson tendril was new.

She ran her finger along it, feeling the heat along that trail. “Your tattoo is growing…”

Jordan pulled his arm back and shook his sleeve down.

“Tell me what’s happening,” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, turning slightly away. “It started back when Tommy touched me, healed me. At first, it was just a burning sensation.”

“But since then?”

“It’s been stronger since that strigoi stabbed me in Cumae. And stronger again when I was bitten just now.” Jordan wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She took his hand. At least, he let her hold it.

As if he sensed her distress, Rhun touched her gently on the back.

“We must leave,” Elizabeth warned as sirens wailed in the distance. “The sun will soon be down.”

But where could they go?

Legion studied the burning building as the fires set by his forces spread. He watched red flames dance against a gray sky, remembering this place. It was in a room in this structure that he had been trapped inside that green diamond. Through the tracery of smoke from the six hundred and sixty-six inside him, he drew out snatches of memory of that time.

… an old man with a white beard walks on the other side of green glass…

… sunlight burning skin and bone, leaving nothing but smoke…

… that smoke being chased by brightness into the dark heart of a cold stone…

Beyond the confines of the vehicle where Legion hid, the fire continued to roar, consuming all, turning the painful history into so much ash and smoke.

How fitting.

He sent a command to Abigail. The vehicle growled and glided away from the curb, turning from that fire. Through the eyes of his slaves, he had watched his enemy vanquish his forces below. He did not know the fate of the trio of prophecy, but he had left them with only one path to follow. A single open tunnel. If they survived, the enemy would be flushed into his trap.

Already he had summoned additional forces to Prague, a gathering storm waiting to be unleashed. Legion awaited only one last element. He stared through the darkened window, toward the glaring orb of the sun, sitting low on the horizon.

The day may be theirs, but the night will be mine.

19

Rhun hurried across yet another street, following Erin, who had pulled up a map of Prague on her phone. A chill wind swept down the narrow thoroughfare, as a storm closed in over the city. He smelled distant rain, the crackle of electricity.

Ahead the street ended at a large grassy square dotted with fountains. A verdigris-stained copper sign announced their destination in broad Gothic letters.

“Charles Square,” Erin translated as they stepped into the open.

A sprawling town hall with a tall tower rose to one side, but it was the large Jesuit church, rising in baroque spires, that drew Rhun’s attention. It was the Church of St. Ignatius. Rhun would not have minded spending time there, giving them all a chance to recuperate. Christian had a bandaged arm; Sophia nursed several prominent scrapes and bruises. Even Elizabeth had lost her wimple and bore a ragged scratch across her cheek, which she hid with a fall of dark curls.

But they didn’t have the time to tarry.

As the group crossed the square, the orange sky faded toward red, then indigo, as the sun was near to setting. If more strigoi ranged this city, they would come out before long. Someone had surely sent those strigoi into the tunnels to ambush them, and that threat remained.

En route here, he had watched for anyone hunting their trail, but the city was bustling with springtime tourists. Even now, he heard the heartbeat of people wandering the city, eating at its restaurants, shopping in its stores. He attempted to listen for more furtive sounds, rising from those without heartbeats: quiet footsteps, cold breath. Though he did not hear evidence of such creatures, that did not mean they were not there, skulking in the shadows, biding their time for the sun to fully set.

Rhun glanced to St. Ignatius. As soon as their team was done investigating this last spot in the city, they could take refuge in the nearby church.

“That should be the Faust House,” Erin announced. “There on the southwest corner of the square.”

The structure climbed four stories: gray stone on the first floor, a salmon pink above, with faux Corinthian columns decorating its façade. Once close enough, gold lettering above the arched entrance read FAUSTUS DUM, confirming this was indeed the infamous Faust House.

Elizabeth believed Rudolf had left that message as a code meant for her, directing her to this home. If so, something important might be hidden here, too.

But what?

As they drew near, Rhun continued to maintain a wary vigil as rain again began to fall. They stopped on the opposite side of the street from the house. Cars sidled past, drivers hurrying home before the full storm hit.

As thunder rumbled in the distance, Jordan stared up at the building, looking more himself again, though Rhun noted his heartbeat had subtly changed after the attack, sounding more like a heavy drum tattoo, underscored by a faint ringing. Maybe that aberration had always been there, and whatever transpired during that attack had brought forth that change more prominently.

“That Kelly guy must have been doing pretty well to afford this place,” Jordan said.

Erin nodded. “He did have the backing and patronage of Emperor Rudolf. Plus, the ground was supposedly cursed.”

“What?” Jordan looked sharply at her.

“I Googled this place on my phone during the hike here,” she explained. “In pagan times, this ground was used as a gathering place for sacrifices to Morena, the goddess of death. Such a history is probably why the legend of Dr. Faust became incorporated with this house. And likely added further support for Edward Kelly claiming he could commune with Belmagel, an evil angel.”

Jordan craned his neck further. “Whatever. All I see is a pricey house with a lot of lightning rods.”

Elizabeth stood at his shoulder, shading the rain from her eyes with a slim hand. “What is a lightning rod?”

Jordan pointed to the red-tiled roof. “Do you see the weather vane? And that rod next to it? Both are designed to attract lightning and then channel it down to the ground, where it will be discharged safely into the earth.”

Elizabeth’s eyes shone. “What a clever idea.”

As if on cue, a blast of thunder crackled across the rooftops, booming loudly, reminding them that time was short.

“How are we going to get inside?” Erin asked. “Looks like all the windows on the first floor are barred.”

Rhun pointed higher. “I’ll climb up, force one of those upper windows open, then come back down and let you in through the front door.”

“What about alarms?” Sophia asked.

Christian shook his head. “Place is centuries-old, likely not modernized. At best, they probably only have the second-story windows wired, trusting the lower-level’s bars to do most of the security work for them.” He pointed higher. “You’ll probably have no problem if you can reach those smaller windows on the third level. I doubt those are armed.”

Rhun nodded at his analysis. He took quick account of his surroundings. At least, the rain had chased most people out of the open square. He waited until no cars were moving along the street, then hurried across to a drainpipe that ran along a shadowy corner of the façade.

He threaded his fingertips around the pipe and swiftly scaled its length to the third story. Gripping the capital of one of the ornamental Corinthian columns, he edged his foot to the right, sliding across the wet façade of the house like a lizard to reach the closest window.

Once there, he waited until another rumble of thunder burst forth — then used his elbow to crack through the lowermost pane. Glass tinkled to the floor inside. He waited to see if any shout was raised. The house stayed silent.

Still, Rhun proceeded with caution. He reached through the broken glass, undid the latch, and slowly pushed the window open. The inside smelled like mildew and concrete — but something else set his skin to crawling. He remained where he was, listening, but when no alarm sounded, he rolled inside.

Even before his feet hit the floor, he felt the strength drain from his body. He landed in a crouch, remembering Erin’s story of this place being built on accursed ground.

It seemed some legends were true.

Rhun grabbed his cross, to center himself. The air in the house was ice cold, and it crackled with malevolence. He searched for any overt threat but found nothing. Light from streetlamps outside revealed an empty room with high white ceilings and smooth plaster walls.

He whispered a prayer of protection — then headed down to let the others in, ignoring a stronger urge to flee this place.

As Rhun held the tall wrought-iron door open, Elizabeth stepped through, pushing ahead of the others who were huddled under the entrance archway. She sensed the ungodliness of this place as soon as the way opened. It drew her like a moth to a flame — but rather than being burnt as she stepped inside, she felt a surge of power flow into her, the unhallowed ground calling to the darkness in her blood.

She noted Rhun sagged on his legs, hanging on the door handle to keep upright.

This unholy place has plainly sapped him deeply.

She saw the same effect as Christian and Sophia entered. It was as if a heavy weight had been dropped upon their shoulders.

So why am I unafflicted?

She stared around, wondering if it was because she was new to the holy wine, but she suspected it was something else, a testament to her true heart.

To hide that, she placed a palm against the wall and leaned upon it, as if beset by the same unholy malaise.

Rhun came to her side, offering his arm. “It is the accursed ground,” he explained. “It fights against our strength because it is born of Christ’s blood.”

She nodded. “It’s… it’s just dreadful.”

Jordan gave Elizabeth a suspicious look as he passed them, as if he knew of her deceit.

Sophia spoke with a strained voice. “Let us hurry about our task then.”

“Where should we start looking?” Erin asked, looking to Elizabeth for direction, suspecting that she had been here before. “Do you have any idea?”

Jordan clicked on a flashlight, revealing a wrought-iron chandelier and white plaster walls. They stood in a large entryway looking into a grand hall, with a curving set of stairs beyond.

Elizabeth let go of Rhun and headed across the hall. “Kelly’s damnable angel, Belmagel, appeared to no one else.” She glanced back to the others. “Because, of course, it was all farcical nonsense. Kelly was a charlatan looking for financial gain from the foolhardy. But what I do know is that Belmagel only appeared to Kelly in a room upstairs. If Rudolf left that message for me, perhaps that is where we should look first.”

Erin kept to Rhun’s side, protectively, concern for him plain upon her face. “This unholiness that you’re feeling?” she asked. “Does it emanate from any certain point, or is it everywhere?”

“I felt it stronger upstairs,” Rhun admitted.

“Worse than this?” Christian muttered under his breath, looking supremely unhappy.

Rhun nodded.

Elizabeth felt it, too, as she reached the curved set of grand stairs. It was like a breeze flowing down those wooden steps. While it seemed to buffet the Sanguinists back, she had to fight to stop from running giddily upward into its embrace.

“We should follow that unholy trace,” Erin recommended. “Whatever has accursed this place might be significant to our cause.”

“Or it could take us straight into trouble,” Jordan added.

Elizabeth continued to guide them, mounting the stairs first. She climbed slowly, feigning weakness by clutching the carved rail, pretending to have to pull herself up. She did her best to match the pace of the Sanguinists behind her. But with every step, she felt dark strength flowing up from the oak planks underfoot.

Impatient, she distracted herself by examining the passing walls. They were rich ochre and decorated with paintings from the Renaissance. At first glance they seemed to be ordinary court paintings, but a closer look revealed demons dressed in the garb of lords and ladies leering out at her. One demon held an innocent child in his lap; another feasted on the head of a unicorn.

At last, they reached the topmost story. Here the air hummed and crackled with malice. She longed to throw back her head and drink it in. But instead, she kept her hand on the burning silver cross, and her face blank.

“This way,” Elizabeth said. “Kelly kept his own alchemy lab just ahead. It’s where he purportedly summoned Belmagel.”

She led them through a double set of doors to a large circular room with bare plank floors. A stained wooden table had been pushed against one rounded wall.

“Smells like brimstone in there,” Rhun said, hesitating at the threshold, leaning on the doorframe.

“Sulfur was a common alchemical compound,” Elizabeth explained, as she moved deeper into the room with Erin and Jordan. “Apparently whatever Kelly worked on in here has seeped into the very bones of the house.”

It was a reasonable explanation, but even Elizabeth doubted it was true.

It is the evil of this place that infects the house.

She began to wonder if she had been wrong about Kelly. Maybe he had successfully summoned something dark into this space.

While Jordan examined the desk, opening various drawers, Erin circled the walls, noting a series of three frescoes painted on the smooth plaster, examining the Latin inscriptions below each one.

Once done, the woman returned to the room’s center and motioned to them with her arm. “These alchemy symbols are similar to those we saw in Dee’s receiving room.” She crossed back over to one — a circle holding wavy blue lines — and read aloud the Latin found below it. “Aqua. Water.”

Intrigued, Elizabeth moved to the second, a ring dappled with green, like leaves in summer. “This one says Arbor. Latin for tree or garden.”

Jordan stepped over to the third, not far from the desk. His circle dripped with crimson lines. “Sanguis.” He gave them an ominous look. “Blood.”

Erin pulled a camera out of her backpack and began to take pictures of all three. She spoke as she worked. “Over at John Dee’s place, there were four symbols, representing Earth, Wind, Air, and Fire. Not only are these marks different, but there’s no fourth symbol.”

Elizabeth searched around. The only other decoration on the walls was an elaborate mural. She shifted over to it, bending down to examine it closely, to see if that missing fourth symbol was hidden somewhere in this lush painting.

The mural depicted a verdant valley surrounded by three snowcapped mountains. A river ran through the valley and emptied into a dark lake. Curiously, a red sun hung at the top of the picture. Underneath the fresco were the Czech words jarní rovnodennost.

She ran a finger over the words, translating aloud. “Vernal equinox.”

Erin joined her. “What’s that coming out of the lake in the center?”

Elizabeth looked closer. From the water’s dark surface, limbs and demonic visages seemed to be boiling forth under that red sun.

“Looks like all hell’s about to break loose,” Jordan said, staring pointedly at Erin.

Erin straightened, looking sickened. “Could this be where Lucifer breaks free? This valley?” She touched that red sun. “It looks to be hanging at high noon. On the vernal equinox.” She stared over to the others. “Could that be a warning? A timeline we must meet?”

“When’s the equinox?” Jordan asked.

Christian answered from across the room. Even the effort to speak seemed a strain. “March twentieth. The day after tomorrow.”

“Talk about cutting it close.” Jordan frowned at the mural. “Especially since we don’t know where that lake is — that is, if it even exists.”

Erin glanced again at the three colored circles, as if she expected to find an answer there. And perhaps she would. Elizabeth could not deny the woman’s fierce intelligence.

“Why only three symbols?” Erin muttered.

“The badge for alchemy is a triangle,” Elizabeth offered. “Maybe that’s why there are only three symbols.”

Erin turned in a slow circle, plainly drawing an invisible triangle between the trio of frescoes. “Back at Dee’s place, the four symbols were painted to funnel their supposed energies into the chandelier, the one with horned masks that hung in the room’s center. Surely some focal point like that must have once been here.”

Elizabeth nodded. “If the three symbols form an alchemical triangle, we should be hunting for something that lies in the center of all three.”

With the assistance of the others, they walked off those invisible lines between the frescoes. Erin stood in the center. “The floor,” she said. “It’s wood. Maybe there’s a secret compartment below. Like at John Dee’s place.”

Christian came forward, drawing his sword. “The planks are old. I should be able to pry them up.”

Erin moved aside, crossing her arms nervously. “Be careful not to damage any—”

A thunderous crash of iron and broken glass echoed up from two stories below.

Everyone froze.

Elizabeth heard the traipsing of many feet, amid softer snarls and hisses. She glanced beyond the room’s threshold to one of the front windows. Darkness claimed the world beyond the glow of the streetlamps. Thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning traced the underbelly of black clouds.

The sun had set, and the storm was upon them.

Then a new noise burst forth — one readily heard even by Erin’s and Jordan’s weaker ears.

The moaning howl ululated up from below, full of bloodlust and fury. It was echoed by another, then a third.

It seemed the strigoi forces had not come alone this time.

Jordan recognized the tainted character of that howling, marking a dread beast, one all Sanguinists feared. “Great. They’ve brought a pack of grimwolves.”

Legion stood on the rain-swept street, his palms raised toward the stone building before him, as if basking before a fire. But it was not heat he warmed himself against this cold night.

A malignancy flowed from that edifice, pulsing forth from its poisoned heart. He wanted to consume it — and with it, every soul inside.

He watched his forces — a dozen strong — flow into the building. Through his connection to them, he felt their limbs fueled by that evil, growing stronger the deeper they forged.

Earlier, before the sun had set, he had set watchers upon the end of that dark tunnel near the old town square. Through those enslaved eyes, he had spied upon his prey scampering back out into the sunlight, escaping the fires set by his strigoi forces, taking the only path left open to them.

Taking them to me.

He had used those many eyes, hidden in shadows and dark rooms, to track the group’s path from the old square to this new one, to this grand malevolent structure — where they were now trapped.

He knew from that flicker of spirit — Leopold — still burning inside him that the Sanguinists would be weakened, including the Knight, whom he intended to mark and bind to his will this night. To ensure the prophecy’s doom, he would also slay the Warrior and the Woman and let their blood be a sacrifice on this unholy ground.

He raised his face to the storm.

There is no sun to protect you now.

From the entrance, fiery light bloomed, drawing his attention back down. He watched through multiple eyes, flitting from one to another, alighting nowhere for long. He was one and many at the same time, seeing all.

… furniture broken into kindling…

… combustible oil cast everywhere…

… one flame becomes many, sweeping through the lower floors…

He intended to drive his quarry to the roof, to claim the Knight there amid flames and smoke. There would be no escape this time.

To ensure that, he reached out to another of his marked, one closer to his black heart than any other slave, the leader of the wolves. He pulled his awareness more fully into that great beast, savoring its dark lusts, the power in its muscular limbs. He howled through its massive jaws, shrieking his threat into the night.

He sent one command deep into the wolf’s blood.

Hunt.

20

“Hurry,” Erin urged, smelling smoke rising from the lower stories. She knelt on the floor with Jordan and Elizabeth, roughly in the center of the three alchemical symbols: aqua, arbor, and sanguis.

Moments ago, Rhun and Christian had whisked away, vanishing down the stairs before the howling of the grimwolves had even faded. Sophia kept a post by the door, wielding two swords.

Erin had her own responsibility.

Find out what was hidden here.

Elizabeth edged a dagger between the planks and deftly popped a floorboard free, flipping it far with a twist of her wrist. She then used her fingers to rip boards to either side. She moved swiftly, her strength incredible, even when weakened by the unholy ground.

Erin shone her flashlight into the hole created, revealing floor joists, dust, and rat droppings. Motes floated up into her bright beam as she cast her light around. “Nothing’s here.”

Elizabeth looked as frustrated as Erin felt.

What are we missing?

Elizabeth rose to her feet, studying the symbols, trying to solve this mystery.

Erin stared up at her — then jolted bodily as inspiration rocked through her.

Up…

“The chandelier… over at John Dee’s place! That’s where the energies of those symbols were directed. Toward the ceiling. It’s not the floor we need to be searching.”

Jordan joined her, squinting toward the ceiling. “I don’t see anything up there.”

She didn’t either, but she felt a thrill of certainty.

“Remember the story of Dr. Faustus,” Erin said. “A legend tied to this place. According to the story, he was whisked up through the ceiling, taken by the devil. What if that story had its roots right here?”

Elizabeth stared up. “I can make out a faint outline of a square. Though I never witnessed it myself, I heard that Kelly had secret doors and stairs throughout his homes.”

So why not one in the ceiling?

Jordan looked less convinced. “Even if there’s some attic up there, who knows if it’s important?”

“It is,” Elizabeth said. She dropped to a knee and drew in the dust. “This entire room screams its importance. The circular room, the triangle, and now the square above.”

She inscribed the layout of all three in the dust, forming a symbol.

“This is the mark for the philosopher’s stone!” Elizabeth breathed.

Erin’s heart beat faster, staring up, trying to make out that square. “The philosopher’s stone was supposed to turn lead into gold, and also to create the elixir of life. It’s the most important element in alchemy. Something must be up there.”

Jordan hurried to the abandoned desk. “Help me with this!”

Before Erin could move, Elizabeth was there, beside Jordan, shoving the desk to the center of the room with little other help.

Once in place, Erin clambered up, reaching toward the roof, but she was still too short. Even Jordan tried, but he was two feet shy from brushing his fingertips against the ceiling. But at least, she could make out that outline of a square herself now.

Erin turned to Jordan. “I’m going to need you to—”

The clash of steel on steel cut her off, echoing up from the lower levels. After setting the fires below, ensuring no retreat that way, the enemy must have started its assault on the stairs, forging upward — only to discover Rhun and Christian guarded those steps.

But how long could their defense last?

The answer came immediately: a pained scream rose from below.

Elizabeth spun toward the noise, recognizing its source. “Rhun…”

“Go,” Erin ordered, but Elizabeth was already across the room and through the door, shoving past Sophia, rushing to Rhun’s aid.

Sophia pointed to them as she grabbed the room’s door handle. “Find what’s up there!” she ordered, then stepped to the hallway and slammed the doors closed behind her, leaving Erin and Jordan alone.

“Boost me,” Erin said breathlessly, staying on task to stave off paralyzing panic.

Jordan lifted her, and she climbed onto his shoulders. Wobbling a little, she pushed against the center of the square above, but it didn’t give.

Screams and snarls echoed through the guarded door.

“Hurry,” Sophia called from the far side.

“I got you,” Jordan reassured her. “And you got this.”

I’d better.

She took a steadying breath, pushed off the top of Jordan’s head, and braced her shoulder against the ceiling. She shoved hard. Dust and crumbling plaster rained down as one corner of the square budged, raising one inch.

So it is a door!

She repositioned herself closer to the edge that gave way and pushed again. The door lifted higher, enough for her to wedge her foot-long flashlight lengthwise into the crack, propping the way open.

“Got it…”

She grabbed the edge of the opening and pulled herself through the narrow crack, worming on her belly past her flashlight, careful not to dislodge it. Once through, she swung around and used her legs to raise the door even higher.

“Don’t know how much longer I can hold it!” she called down.

“I can jump for it.”

He proved a man of his word. His fingers snatched the edge of the opening and he pulled himself through, clambering up next to her. He then used his own muscular legs to hold it, while she found a stout iron bar nearby to prop it open.

Panting from the effort, Erin retrieved her flashlight and played the beam across the secret attic space. Dust coated everything. From the higher rafters, all manner of ropes and pulleys hung.

She moved away from the open hatch, brushing aside a drape of rope, stirring up a snowstorm of dust motes. “All this must be some of Kelly’s secret mechanisms, used to move doors and stairs.”

“Too bad none of it is functional,” Jordan said. “Maybe we could’ve used it to make our escape.”

Reminded of the threat, Erin accidentally bumped a toothed metal gear from its hook. It clattered to the floor. The noise was explosive in the confined space.

She continued deeper. The attic space appeared to be half the diameter of the room below. It didn’t take long for her flashlight’s beam to reveal a tall object, upright in a corner, filmed by grime and age.

There was no mistaking its shape.

“The bell,” Erin said.

She stared at the large artifact, at the protruding length of glass pipe, remembering Elizabeth’s story of hundreds of strigoi dying inside, their smoke collected and funneled down that pipe. She was momentarily fearful of approaching it, knowing its awful history. But she set such superstitions aside and moved over to it.

“Rudolf must’ve had it hidden here after John Dee died,” she said.

“So was that the emperor’s message for Elizabeth, to show her how to find this blasted thing. Why? So she might continue the work that Dee had started?”

“I hope so,” Erin said.

Jordan glanced sharply at her. “Why would you wish that?”

With the cuff of her sleeve, Erin rubbed away the centuries of filth and dust from the glass. Once she had cleaned a large enough window, she peered through the thick greenish glass.

“That’s why…”

Jordan leaned next to her. “There’s a whole pile of papers inside there.”

“If Rudolf brought John Dee’s bell here,” she said, nodding to the stack, “he would’ve certainly also included the old alchemist’s notes.”

“Like its operation’s manual. Makes sense.” Jordan ran his palms over the bell’s surface, searching for a way inside. “Look! There’s a door over here. I think I can get it open.”

He yanked at the catches and bands and the door came off in his hand.

She reached inside the bell and grabbed sheaves of paper, dragging them out.

“Most of this looks like it’s written in Enochian,” she said, stuffing the papers into her backpack, next to the case that held the Blood Gospel. “Hopefully, Elizabeth can translate it.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Together, they moved back to the hatch — only to hear a blast of shattered wood.

As they stared below, a broken door skittered across the floor. Sophia flew into view, deftly sliding on her feet, turning to face the entrance, her blades raised.

“Stay there!” she shouted to them without looking up.

The reason stalked into view.

Through a roll of black smoke, a hulking beast lumbered into view, its head low, teeth bared, a mane of dark hackles shivering along its neck and spine.

A grimwolf.

Jordan swore and kicked the iron bar that supported the hatch door.

It crashed down.

Trapping them in the attic.

Pinned down on a wide landing of the stairs, Rhun held his position, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. He had failed to even see the blade that had wounded him. His blocks and counterstrikes felt slow and clumsy. In his weakened state, he felt like a child playing at war against these curse-strengthened soldiers.

And in turn, they seemed to be toying with him.

They could have killed him by now, but they held off.

Why? Was it purely out of malice or some other reason?

Three strigoi closed a triangle around him. They were all bigger, muscle-bound, covered with scars and tattoos. Each carried a heavy curved falchion. None was particularly skilled with his weapon, but they were faster and stronger than Rhun. First one, then another would dart forward and slice Rhun’s arms, his chest, his face. They could have killed him at any time, but they chose instead to play with him, like a cat with a frightened mouse.

But I am no mouse.

He took their cuts, watched their actions, and searched for any weaknesses.

Smoke billowed up from the stairs below. Christian fought somewhere down there, but Rhun had lost sight of him after attempting to pursue a grimwolf that had bounded past him a moment ago. He had heard it crash through the door a floor above, heard Sophia’s shout. Still, he could not break free of these three to go to the others’ aid.

At least not by myself.

A sharper cry and the ringing of steel told him Christian still lived. But what about Elizabeth? She had come to his rescue a few breathless moments ago, flying down the stairs like a black falcon, taking down two opponents, including the strigoi who had incapacitated Rhun’s right arm. She and her two combatants had vanished into the smoke.

Did she still live?

Distracted by this thought, he moved too slowly as the largest of his opponents lunged yet again. His sword cut a swath across Rhun’s ribs. Another came at him from his injured side. Rhun had no way to—

Suddenly, that second attacker vanished, yanked back into the pall of smoke. A gurgling scream echoed out. The other two strigoi closed ranks, as a small, dark figure stalked into view, climbing from the lower stairs to the second-floor landing.

Elizabeth.

She carried a broadsword that dripped black blood. The blade looked absurdly huge in her dainty hands, but she held it easily, as if the weight did not concern her.

The largest of the strigoi charged toward her, his falchion cleaving through the air faster than Rhun’s eye could follow. But she melted away at the last second, pirouetting on one toe, swinging her sword around, and cutting her attacker cleanly through his throat. The creature’s headless body went tumbling down the steps behind her.

Rhun used the distraction of her dance to lash out at the remaining strigoi, planting his karambit through the back of its neck, severing the spine with a deft twist of his wrist. As the body went limp, he kicked it over the landing’s rail.

Elizabeth joined him, both arms soaked in blood, her face spattered. “Too many,” she gasped. “Scarcely made it back.”

He thanked her with a touch on her free hand. She squeezed his fingers.

“Working together,” she said, “we could still make the front door.”

Rhun sagged against the wall. Blood trickled from a hundred cuts. If he had been human, he would have been dead a dozen times over. As it was, he felt terribly weak. He pointed an arm up.

“Erin and Jordan,” he said. “We cannot abandon them.”

The howl of the grimwolf reminded him of the danger.

Elizabeth put an arm around his shoulders, holding him up. “You can barely stand.”

He could not argue about that. Rescuing the others would have to hold a moment longer. He pulled his wine flask from his thigh and drained it in one long swallow. Elizabeth stood sentinel next to him, patient and silent in the smoke. He remembered a long ago day when they had walked across fields enveloped in a late-spring fog much like this. She was yet human, and he was yet the Sanguinist who had never fallen.

He closed his eyes and waited for his penance.

It tore him back in time to his worst sin. Memories washed over him, but he had no time for penance now, and he fought it, knowing that it would claim him all the stronger with his next drink of wine.

Still, snatches of the past flashed through his body.

… the scent of chamomile in Elizabeth’s long-ruined castle…

… firelight reflected in those silver eyes…

… the feeling of her warm flushed skin against his as he claimed her…

… her body dying in his arms…

… his foolish, dreadful choice…

He returned to himself, with the taste of her blood still on his tongue: rich, salty, and alive. He gripped the cross around his neck, praying through the pain, until the taste of her was gone.

He then stepped free of Elizabeth’s arm, standing straighter, feeling renewed strength in his veins. Her silver eyes met his and it was as if she saw straight through him to that night and the passion and pain they had shared. He leaned toward her, his lips touching hers.

A chunk of the ceiling crashed down across the upper stairs, chasing them both back. Fiery embers billowed up, surrounded him, lighting in his cassock and on his hair.

Elizabeth beat them out with both hands. Anger flashed across those silver eyes, then resignation. “We cannot return upstairs… at least not from inside the house. We will best serve your friends if we leave this place now, then climb to the roof from the outside.”

Rhun acknowledged the logic of her suggestion. He must get to Erin, Jordan, and Sophia before this cursed building came down, turning this place into their fiery grave.

He pointed below, into a maelstrom of fire and blood, praying he wasn’t already too late. “Go.”

21

Legion strode across the flat roof of the malevolent structure, while overhead the vault of the sky crackled with lightning. Below, fires burned through the house, flames blew out its lower windows, and smoke choked up into the rainy night. Under his feet, the evil of this place flowed through his bones of his vessel, filling him with power and purpose.

Over the rooftop, he tracked his prey, closing in on them: two heartbeats, marking the only two humans within the fiery structure.

The Warrior and the Woman.

As he had planned, the enemy had fled the flames he had set, chased ever higher.

Toward me.

If the two humans were nearby, the Knight would not be far from their sides. But as this immortal did not have a heartbeat to track, Legion could not be certain of his exact whereabouts. So he intended to hunt down these two and await the Knight.

And he did not hunt alone.

Heavy paws padded alongside him, splashing in the pools of rainwater. The wolf growled with each boom of thunder, as if challenging the heavens.

Legion shared the beast’s senses, staring equally through its eyes, straining with its sharper ears, smelling the lightning in the air. He reveled in its wild heart. Even corrupted by black blood, the wolf reminded him of the beauty and majesty of this earthly garden.

Together, they homed in on those two heartbeats underfoot. He intended to slay the Warrior first, listening even now to the strange beat to that one’s heart, how it pealed like a golden bell — bright, clear, and holy. He also remembered how the Warrior’s blood had burned through one of Legion’s enslaved. He must not be allowed to live.

And the stone the Warrior possesses will be mine.

But the Woman… she could yet prove useful.

Leopold had supplied Legion her name: Erin. And with that name came more details of the prophecy concerning her, this Woman of Learning. Leopold’s respect and admiration for the woman’s keen mind was easy to read. Merged as one, Leopold equally knew Legion’s purpose, flickering with the knowledge that Legion needed all three stones. Leopold believed that she of all people possessed the skill to find those last two stones. And though he could not possess the Woman and bend her to his will, he would find other ways to persuade her, to make her submit.

At last, they reached the spot on the roof directly above those two beating hearts. Legion sent his desire to the wolf. Powerful paws began to dig through the clay roof tiles, then sharp caws tore away the green metal nailed beneath.

Once there was only a thin sheaf of wood remaining, Legion touched the wolf’s flank, sending it appreciation and respect.

“This prey is mine,” he whispered aloud.

The grimwolf submitted, lowering its muzzle, ever faithful. Legion felt his love for the great wild beast echo back to him. Knowing it would guard him with its very life, Legion stepped to the ravaged section of tiles and stamped his powerful heel through the last of the wood, breaking the way open — and dropped heavily through the hole.

He crashed to the floor below, landing on his feet, not even buckling a knee.

He found himself facing the Warrior, who carried an iron bar in his hands. The Woman huddled past his shoulder, holding a beam of light in her grip. Both were unsurprised, ready, having heard the wolf digging, but still Legion enjoyed the looks of horror on their faces as they gazed upon his dark glory for the first time.

He smiled, showing teeth, revealing Leopold’s fangs.

Legion felt the flutter of recognition in the Warrior’s heart — and the confusion.

But one emotion was strongest of all, shining in both of their faces.

Determination.

Neither would yield this night.

So be it.

All that truly mattered was the Knight, and the one called Korza was not yet here.

The Warrior pushed the Woman — Erin — farther behind his golden heart, as if his body alone could shield her from Legion. Her light skittered to the side when she moved. The beam struck a tall object to Legion’s left, reflecting off its mired surface, shining brightly from one section that was recently polished.

The emerald hue caught Legion’s eye, igniting fury deep inside him.

It was the hated bell.

The smoke of the six hundred and sixty-six roiled inside him, recognizing the infernal device. They writhed up like a black storm, stirring memories into a whirlwind. Legion’s awareness splintered, between past and present, between his own recollection and that of the many.

… he crawls across the smooth sides of a green diamond, searching for an opening…

… he fails six hundred and sixty-six times…

Before Legion could fully recover from the shock, the Warrior fell upon him. Impossibly strong hands grabbed his wrists. As that sun-blessed flesh touched his shadowy skin, a golden fire burst forth between them, flaming up his arm to his shoulder.

For the first time in eternity, Legion screamed.

Erin clapped both hands over her ears, dropping her flashlight, falling to her knees at the assault. Tears rose in her eyes, as she fought not to pass out.

Must help Jordan…

Steps away, Jordan grappled that ebony-faced monster. He slammed his opponent’s body hard against the wall, knocking the air from those lungs to stop the ear-shattering wail.

The impact jarred loose roof tiles from the hole above, sending them crashing to the attic floor. She looked up — to find a pair of eyes glaring down, shining crimson, marking the corruption inside the massive beast.

A grimwolf.

For the moment, the hole was too small for its huge body, but the wolf dug at the edges, widening the hole, plainly intending to come to its master’s defense. On the far side of the attic, Jordan continued to wrestle with their shadowy assailant.

Erin retreated until her back was pressed against the grime-slick surface of the glass bell. Her hands searched the floor for a weapon, but only found the metal gear she had knocked off its hook earlier. Her fingers closed on it, useless though it may be.

Still…

With her back against the bell, she scooted up until her fingers could reach a long glass pipe that protruded from the bell’s side. She swung around and smashed the gear through the base of the pipe, where it connected to the larger bell. Its length broke free and clattered to the ground, shattering into shorter pieces.

She snatched up the longest and thickest.

With the glass spear in hand, she faced the wolf. The beast was almost through. Reacting to her challenging stance, it shoved its head as far as it could, snapping toward her, saliva flying from its snarling lips. But its massive shoulders still restrained it.

At least for the moment.

Intending to take full advantage of that moment, she pushed off the bell and headed toward where Jordan grappled with their adversary. It looked as if he were wrestling his own shadow. They were on the floor, rolling and thrashing, moving with a speed that defied her eyes.

She gripped her spear, fearful of striking out, lest she impale Jordan by mistake.

And what exactly was he fighting?

She had caught a look at the enemy’s face when he first crashed down. His skin had been black, darker than coal, and it had seemed to suck in the feeble glow of her flashlight. She remembered seeing a similar shadowy figure on Cardinal Bernard’s computer, from the video of the attack at that disco in Rome, but the feed had been too fuzzy for true details.

Not any longer.

She had recognized those features now, blackened though they may be.

Brother Leopold.

Jordan got a fleeting advantage in his fight and pinned that mystery to the floor under him. On top, Jordan let go of Leopold’s black wrist and grabbed his throat.

Erin noted how the freed wrist had turned pale, matching Jordan’s palm and fingers, as if those shadows had fled from Jordan’s touch. As she watched, the darkness filled back in, flowing like oil over the pale wrist.

Then Erin heard Jordan gasp, pulling her attention to Leopold’s face.

As Jordan gripped the man’s neck, those shadows bled away from the hand that gripped that black throat. Darkness receded across Leopold’s chin, over his mouth and nose, revealing the monk’s pale features.

His face contorted in agony, his lips struggling to speak.

“Kill me,” Leopold wheezed.

Jordan glanced over his shoulder to her, unsure what to do, but refusing to let go.

Erin rushed forward, hoping for some explanation. “What happened to you?”

Desperate blue-gray eyes stared toward her. “Legion… a demon… you must kill me… can’t hold—”

His voice died away as a smoky oil began to swim across his eyes. The freed hand lashed out and grabbed Jordan by the throat — and twisted hard.

Bones snapped in Jordan’s neck.

No…

A savage growl erupted behind her. A glance revealed the grimwolf plunging its bulk through the hole, coming to finish them off.

Elizabeth raced across the rain-slick rooftop, trailing Rhun. Though unholy power fueled her limbs, she could not keep up with him now. He was a black raven sweeping ahead of her, his speed stoked not by damnation but by fear and love.

The pair of them had managed to fight their way out of the house, collecting the severely wounded Christian along the way. Once outside, they had barricaded the door, trapping as many of the strigoi inside as they could. Christian still kept a post down there, protecting their rear.

But once the pair of them had reached the roof — following the sounds of fighting and the heartbeats of Erin and Jordan — they had spotted a grimwolf burrowing through the tiles, trying to reach the attic.

Rhun reached the beast ahead of her, slamming into its flanks, knocking it away from the hole. She did not slow and leaped over them, swinging her sword low as she flew, lopping off one of the beast’s ears as it raised its head.

She landed, skidding on the wet tiles, turning to face the grimwolf as it howled its rage.

To her right, Rhun rolled to his feet, baring his silver karambit. As if sensing the weaker of the two, the beast lowered its head and shifted its weight to face Rhun.

Elizabeth took a step forward, intending to dissuade the wolf of this action — when a shift of shadows drew her attention to the left. A dark figure appeared through the veils of rain, as if brought down from the clouds. The newcomer wore a black habit that matched what was left of Elizabeth’s.

“Sophia…?” Rhun called out, but he was mistaken.

Lightning flashed, and in its quick light, Elizabeth found an older face beneath a damp nest of gray hair. The nun carried a curved scimitar in one hand.

“Abigail?” Elizabeth struggled through her surprise.

What was that sour-tempered Sanguinist doing here?

Lightning burst even brighter, revealing a new feature on the old nun’s face: a black handprint emblazoned on her wet cheek.

Abigail rushed Elizabeth, moving with that unnatural speed of the possessed.

Elizabeth’s blade barely parried Abigail’s first blow. The cantankerous old nun spun to the side with a speed and grace that Elizabeth admired as much as she feared. Abigail raised her blade again, her eyes as dead as a corpse’s.

Rhun tried to come to her aid, but the grimwolf slammed into him. The two rolled across the tiles. Yellow teeth gnashed at Rhun’s face, while the silver karambit flashed.

Abigail lunged, moving swiftly, no longer slowed by the holiness of the Sanguinists. Instead, she was strengthened by an evil much darker than Elizabeth’s own heart.

Elizabeth feinted right and managed to slice Abigail’s left shoulder.

The nun gave no sign she was hurt. Her sword lashed out again and again. Elizabeth did her best to parry the flurry of blows, but Abigail’s strikes were quick and sure.

The last thrust cut deep across Elizabeth’s thigh, striking bone.

Her leg buckled under her.

The nun moved toward her, as implacable as the sea.

Erin heard the fighting and howling from the rooftop. A moment ago, a dark shadow had knocked the grimwolf away from the hole above, protecting her. Only one person was that foolhardy and brave.

Rhun…

Taking courage from his efforts, she closed upon Jordan and the possessed form of Leopold. Jordan remained atop that monster, but the demon’s black hand throttled him, turning his face purple, setting his eyes to bulging.

Jordan saw her approach, and with all of his remaining effort, he rolled to the side, dragging Leopold’s body up and around, presenting the former monk’s back to her.

She wanted to hesitate. Leopold had been her friend; he had saved her life more than once in the past. But she hurried forward instead, raising her only weapon: the spear of broken glass.

She stabbed downward with the strength of both arms, impaling Leopold through the back, aiming for that dead heart.

A pained gasp burst from Leopold’s throat. The choking hand loosened from Jordan’s throat. Leopold’s body toppled to his side, as if a string had been cut. His fingers twitched once and went still.

Though freed now, Jordan remained on his back, his face turned away. Erin dropped to her knees next to him. His neck was bruised to the bone. A hard knot protruded from his cervical area. His spine had been broken.

“Jordan?” she called softly, her hands out, too afraid to move him.

He did not answer, but another faint voice did. “Erin…”

She turned to see Leopold staring at her. The darkness had bled from his face, draining along with the black blood that flowed from his impaled chest. She knew Sanguinists could control their own bleeding, willing it to stop.

Leopold did not, plainly wanting to die.

Grief welled up inside her, knowing there was goodness inside the former monk, misguided though it might have been.

“You saved me before,” she whispered, remembering those dark tunnels under St. Peter’s.

A cold hand touched her wrist. “… saved me.” He gave her a small nod of reassurance.

A sob escaped her.

Even in death, he sought to comfort her.

His voice became as faint as a breath. “Legion…”

She leaned closer, hearing the urgency even now.

“Three stones… Legion seeks them…”

“What are you talking about? What stones?”

Leopold seemed deaf to her, already far gone, speaking across a vast gulf. “The garden… defiled… sewn in blood, bathed in water… that is where Lucifer will…”

Then those blue eyes went glassy, those lips forever silent.

Erin wanted to shake more answers from him, but instead she touched Leopold’s cheek.

“Good-bye, my friend.”

Collapsed on the rooftop, Elizabeth cursed her wounded leg.

Abigail loomed over her, smelling of wet cotton. Lightning flashed off her raised blade. Her dead eyes stared down at Elizabeth, not coldly, but with the gaze of an uncaring predator.

Across the roof, Rhun battled the grimwolf, both bloodied, but still fighting.

Unarmed, Elizabeth braced herself for the attack. Regret flashed through her. Her death would seal Tommy’s fate. She had been unable to save her own children, and she would not save this child either.

Then the wolf howled, a sound unlike any heard before.

A noise full of rage and pain and shock.

She saw the grimwolf barrel into Rhun, knocking him far, then turned and fled — straight toward Elizabeth and Abigail.

“Run!” The word was spoken with a familiar authority, coming from above her.

Elizabeth looked up at Abigail. The nun’s eyes were sharp now, shining with fury. Her cheek was free of any blemish, the mark vanished from her flesh.

Abigail grabbed Elizabeth, dragged her up, and shoved her to the side. “Go!”

Elizabeth stumbled away as Abigail raised her scimitar and faced the beast as it reached them. The grimwolf slid on its paws, claws gouging and shattering clay tiles. It stared at Abigail, looking momentarily dumbfounded at this threat from a former ally. But confusion quickly stoked to rage — and it leaped at the old nun.

Abigail swung her blade. Much slower now, she missed, and teeth snatched her arm. Still, she forced her legs to push, dragging the massive beast by sheer strength. She reached the roof’s edge and flung herself and the beast over its lip.

Elizabeth hobbled forward in time to see their bodies strike the pavement four stories below. Abigail looked like a broken doll, limbs akimbo, neck twisted. Black blood washed into the gutter. The grimwolf somehow survived the fall. It rose up drunkenly, then loped off into the shadows.

Below, Christian stumbled into view on the street below. A pair of strigoi was on his heels, but like the wolf, these beasts took flight, dropping their weapons and fleeing into the night.

Across the way, Rhun rushed to the ragged hole dug by the grimwolf and dropped into the attic below, checking on the others.

Alone on the roof, she remained standing, wondering what had so suddenly turned the tides of this war. She pictured the mark vanishing from Abigail’s cheek. The woman had clearly broken free of her possession.

Is that why the others had fled, too?

But something struck her as odd. Elizabeth had briefly locked gazes with the grimwolf before it attacked and fled. She had read the intelligence shining there — far more than any ordinary beast should possess, even one so corrupted.

But what did that mean?

She shuddered, fearful of the answer.

“I can’t get Jordan to respond at all,” Erin told Rhun, glad to have him at her side. “And look at his neck.”

Jordan lay stretched out on the floor next to Leopold’s body. The bruising had faded, but there remained a disturbing crook to his cervical vertebrae. She gently checked his pulse. It throbbed steadily under her fingers, as slowly and evenly as if he were merely asleep.

“Jordan!” she called, afraid to shake him. “Come back!”

Jordan showed no response, his open eyes just stared straight ahead.

Rhun looked equally concerned. He had already examined Leopold, pressing his silver cross against the monk’s forehead. The silver didn’t burn into the skin, suggesting the evil had truly fled him.

But where it went was a concern for later.

A muffled shout rose from below, coming from under the attic floorboards. “Erin! Jordan!”

Erin straightened, twisting to stare toward the attic’s trapdoor, suddenly remembering. “Sophia is still down there.”

With a grimwolf.

But that wasn’t the only threat.

Erin noted the smoke rising through the planks from below. Rhun stepped over and hauled the trapdoor open and flung it wide. A wash of heat rolled up, bringing with it a fresh clot of smoke.

She coughed, holding the crook of her arm over her nose.

Rhun reached down and helped haul Sophia into the attic. The small Sanguinist was soaked in blood — some her own, some the grimwolf’s. She did her best to straighten the shreds of her clothing.

“The wolf fled,” Sophia said, her eyes still panicked-looking. “Don’t know why.”

Erin stared over at Leopold, guessing what had changed.

A trampling of feet overhead drew their attention up to the hole. Everyone tensed, expecting more trouble, but then Christian poked his head through.

“Time to go,” he warned. “Whole place looks like it’s about to go.”

Working quickly, Sophia and Rhun hauled Jordan up. They passed him up to Christian, who caught his shoulders and dragged him to the roof with the help of Elizabeth.

Rhun turned to Sophia. “Help them get Jordan to the street. Erin and I will follow. We can make for St. Ignatius. We should be able to find refuge there.”

With a nod, Sophia leaped up, caught the edge, and vanished.

Rhun turned to Erin.

“What about Leopold’s body?” she asked.

“The fires will take care of it.”

Regret panged through her, but she knew they had no other choice. Rhun helped get her through the hole to the roof. The cold air and clean rain helped push back her sense of hopelessness.

Jordan will heal.

She refused to believe otherwise. She searched the roof, but the others had already vanished, climbing down with Jordan’s comatose form. Not wanting to leave him out of her sight for long, she hurried toward the edge with Rhun.

“I’ll carry you down,” he said, already reaching an arm toward her.

She turned to him with a grateful smile — when the roof collapsed under her.

She plummeted into hot, smoky darkness.

22

Rhun fell with Erin.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her hard against his chest. He wrapped his limbs protectively around her as they crashed through fiery timbers, smoke, and raining plaster. Then they struck a floor that was still intact. He did his best to roll, to bleed away the force of that impact.

He ended up on his knees, cradling Erin’s limp form. She was dazed. Blood ran from a deep scalp wound across her face. Flames and smoke roiled around him, but he recognized the round room where they had landed: Edward Kelly’s old alchemy room.

He lifted Erin, feeling her lungs laboring in the smoke, hearing the fluttering of a weakening heart as she suffocated. He stumbled, half blind, toward the wall, intending to follow it to the door, then to a window.

Overhead, a crack sounded as another roof beam gave way. Something huge crashed through from above. Flames lit its greenish hue, glowing through the glass.

The bell.

Instinctively, Rhun raised his arm against its evil, protecting Erin, shielding her with his body. The bell struck his arm, his back, and drove him to the floor. Thick glass shattered over him, cutting into his arm, his shoulder, slashing muscle and breaking bone.

Pain blinded him as he cried out.

Erin heard, stirring with a jolt under him. “Rhun…”

He rolled off her, slicing up more of his flesh. “Go,” he moaned.

She crawled free, but instead of following his order, she grabbed his good arm and tried to drag him away from the ruins of the bell. Before she could, the fire-weakened floor gave way under the weight of the broken bell. As burning boards fell away under him, he twisted and saw the limp form of Leopold tumble from the attic above and follow the wreck of the shattered bell, chasing it down into the fiery pit of the house.

Rhun’s body slid to follow, but Erin dragged him away from the gaping hole, keeping him in this round room. Pain consumed him, but he forced himself to fight through it, to stay in this room with Erin. He could not leave her. He might yet be of service to her.

Smoke boiled into the room from the hole left by the bell. Wind drew it up through this makeshift chimney to the roof. Most of the floor had already been burned through. Flames roared beneath them.

Erin held him, cradling him this time. She had dragged him to the wall. Rhun wished that she had left him and escaped.

“Leave me,” Rhun forced out, turning his face toward the door, toward the faint glow of a streetlamp through the smoke. “Make for the window…”

Cold blood gushed down his side. He had been in enough battles to recognize a fatal wound. But perhaps Erin could climb out that window, scramble down the front, and escape to safety. She did not have to die with him.

Still, she did not let go of him. Instead, she yanked off her leather belt, fastened it around his shoulder, and pulled it tight.

Rhun gasped as new pain flared.

“I’m sorry,” she said, coughing. “I had to stop the bleeding.”

Rhun looked past the belt’s tight constriction.

Below the leather strap — his arm was gone, severed by the broken bell.

Erin pressed her wrist against Rhun’s lips. “Drink,” she ordered.

The tourniquet had slowed the hemorrhage to a trickle, but he would not survive long without a fresh source of blood.

Rhun turned his head weakly to the side, refusing.

“Damn you, Rhun. You need the strength found in my blood. Sin now, repent later. I won’t leave you, and I can’t move you on my own.”

She shook him, but he had sagged against her, unconscious.

She tried to slide him toward the door, but his bulk was too much for her. She could barely breathe; her eyes wept with stinging tears, born equally of smoke and frustration.

A few feet away, a floor joist cracked and gave. Another section of floor fell into the fire below. Heat blazed against the side of her face, as hot as the mouth of an open furnace. Flames roared at her.

Then the smoke shifted by the door, swirling open to allow a dark shape to fly into the room.

Christian fell upon her like a dark angel. He must have followed her heartbeat. He went to grab her, but she pushed Rhun into his arms.

“Take him,” she coughed out.

He obeyed, tossing Rhun over one shoulder, and hauled her up with his other arm. He dragged her stumbling form along with him toward a wash of fresher air. Her heels crackled across broken glass to a third-story window. Christian must have crashed through it to reach them.

“How are we going to—?” she started.

Whipping around, Christian scooped her up and threw her headlong out the window.

She plummeted with a scream trapped in her throat. The ground rushed toward her — then Elizabeth and Sophia appeared below. Hands caught her before she struck the cobblestones, softening her landing, but she hit the pavement hard enough to jar her teeth.

She twisted to see Christian strike the ground yards away, rolling across the cobblestones, then smoothly to his feet, Rhun in his arms.

Relieved, Erin remained on the wet cobblestones, coughing. Between coughs she drew in as much of the fresh outside air as she could. Her lungs ached.

A shape loomed over her, then dropped to a knee. “Erin, are you okay?”

“Jordan…”

His eyes shone brightly at her. He had come back to himself again. Fresh tears rose to her eyes, but concern still rang through her.

“Your neck?”

He rubbed the back of his collar, looking sheepish. “Still hurts like a motherfu — I mean, it hurts bad.”

He smiled at her.

He had healed.

Again.

“C’mon,” he said, changing the subject. “We need to go.”

He lifted her to her feet, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her knees trembled, barely holding her upright. She stared up at him, drinking in the sight of him.

“Don’t do that again,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

But he didn’t seem to hear her.

Instead, he drew her toward Christian, where Elizabeth helped the Sanguinist with Rhun’s body. Rhun already looked dead, his head hanging loose, his limbs lifeless. Blood still dripped from Erin’s makeshift tourniquet.

Sophia swept up to Jordan’s side. “We must get him to St. Ignatius. To our chapel there. Hurry.”

The small woman led them quickly across the dark, rain-swept square. Erin stumbled after them, Jordan holding her up. The Faust House raged behind them as the fire ate its secrets.

Ahead, firelight flickered off the golden halo surrounding the figure on top of St. Ignatius Church. Sophia skirted to the side of the baroque façade and headed for a section of wall sheltered under a large tree. A small marble basin protruded from the wall, like a font that might hold holy water at the threshold of a church. The nun bared a seeping laceration on her arm and let her blood drip into it.

Stone scraped against stone, and a small door opened for them.

Elizabeth took Rhun in her arms and carried him in first. They all followed, but Sophia lingered behind at the gate, where she whispered, “Pro me.”

Erin glanced back, remembering Cardinal Bernard had spoken those same words to lock himself in the chapel at St. Mark’s, so that only a trio of Sanguinists could open the door. Sophia must have done the same, fearful of Legion’s enslaved forces that might still be nearby, especially any that might be Sanguinists.

Even here, their group might not be safe.

The door closed behind Sophia, and darkness swallowed them all.

A rasp of a match sounded, then a candle bloomed ahead of Erin. Christian used that flame to ignite more, slowly illuminating a simple stone chapel. She moved into it. A whitewashed-brick roof arched above their heads, while plain plaster walls surrounded them. The scent of incense and wine enveloped her, offering comfort and promising protection.

Between rows of rough-hewn pews, an aisle led to a white-clad altar crowned by a portrait of Lazarus receiving his first wine from the hands of Christ. His brown eyes blazed with certainty, and Christ smiled upon him.

Christian strode to a cupboard beside the altar and removed a white metal box with a red cross on the front. A first-aid kit. He tossed it to Jordan, while Sophia went behind the altar to a silver tabernacle. She opened it and pulled out flasks of blessed wine, the equivalent of first-aid kits for the Sanguinists.

Elizabeth draped Rhun’s limp form on the floor before the altar. She tore away the remains of his jacket and shirt, exposing his arm and chest. Hundreds of deep wounds shone dark against his pale skin, but none were as serious as his severed arm.

Elizabeth examined the tourniquet, then her silver eyes met Erin’s.

“You did well,” the countess said, “thank you.”

Erin heard true appreciation in the woman’s voice. No matter how much she strove to deny it, Elizabeth cared about Rhun.

Erin nodded, covering a deep cough with a fist. Jordan moved to her side and drew her to a pew. As she set down her backpack, he opened the first-aid kit, searched through it, then removed a pair of small water bottles. He passed her one. While she took a long drink, he used the other to dampen a cloth.

He gently wiped Erin’s face clean. His hands slid gently across her body, checking for serious wounds, his touch awakening feelings that were completely inappropriate in a chapel full of priests. She found herself staring into his eyes.

Jordan matched her gaze, then bent down, and gave her a long, slow kiss.

As much as she wanted to believe this gesture of affection was one of passion, she could not help but feel he was also kissing her good-bye. When he finally leaned back, his brows crinkled ever so slightly. He wiped away the fresh tears from her cheeks, plainly not understanding their source.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

She swallowed, nodded, and wiped at her eyes. “Just too much…”

She tried to take a deep breath, but a sharp pain in her chest stopped her. She might have a cracked rib. But her injuries were minor compared to Rhun’s.

The Sanguinists knelt around his body.

But were they trying to heal him… or were they also saying good-bye?

Elizabeth dripped wine into Rhun’s mouth, as frustration rankled through her, trembling her fingers. Wine splashed down his cheek.

Christian reached and steadied her hands. “Let me,” he whispered, slipping the silver flask from her burning fingertips.

She let him, rubbing her palms on her knees, trying to wipe away the holiness of the wine and sting of the silver. She stared aghast at the ruins of Rhun’s body. They had stripped him nearly naked, leaving little more than the loincloth that Christ wore on the cross above the altar. But even Christ had not suffered so severely. She read the map of Rhun’s agony in the hundreds of cuts and torn skin. Her gaze ended at the stump of his arm. It had been severed between shoulder and elbow.

Tears rose to her eyes, blurring her sight, as if trying to erase the horrible image.

She wiped them angrily away.

I will bear witness… for you, Rhun.

While Christian continued to trickle wine between Rhun’s bloodless lips, Sophia bathed a wine-infused cloth over his wounds, cleaning them, burning them with holiness. Each touch caused Rhun’s skin to twitch in pain.

Elizabeth found his hand, holding him, wanting to take this agony from him, but at least it was evidence that Rhun still lived, buried somewhere deep in his ravaged body.

Come back to me…

Sophia picked up a flagon of wine and poured it over the ragged stump of Rhun’s arm. His body clenched upward, lifting his buttocks off the stone, his mouth open in a scream. His hand tightened on Elizabeth’s fingers. Her bones ground together, but she accepted that pain if it would help him even a little.

Finally, his body sagged back to the floor.

Sophia sat on her heels, her face a mask of concern.

“Will he recover with the wine?” Elizabeth asked.

“He needs rest,” Sophia said, but it sounded like the nun was trying to convince herself.

“He needs to drink blood,” Elizabeth said, letting a note of fury enter her voice. “You all know this, yet you’re doing nothing but torturing him.”

“He must not drink,” Sophia said. “Sinning in this chapel would strip him of the strength of the holiness of these grounds. Such an act could kill him faster.”

Elizabeth did not know whether to believe her or not. She considered taking his body and running from this place. But the holy ground weakened her, and these other two Sanguinists had drunk deeply of their wine, taking additional strength from Christ’s blood.

And what would I do with Rhun alone on those empty streets?

If he must die, let it be in a place he loved.

And beside those who loved him.

She squeezed his hand.

A voice spoke behind her. “Elizabeth is right,” Erin said. “Rhun needs blood if he’s going to live.”

Christian looked up sadly at her. “Sophia spoke the truth. He must not drink, the sin would—”

“Who says he has to drink?” Erin said, dropping to her knees among them. She carried a dagger in her hand. “What if I bathe his wounds with my blood? I would take that sin — if it is a sin — onto myself.”

Christian exchanged a hopeful look with Sophia.

“No,” Sophia said, her voice firm. “Blood sin is blood sin.”

Christian looked less sure.

Erin shrugged. “I’m doing it.”

Elizabeth felt a surge of affection for the woman’s pluck.

“I won’t allow it,” Sophia said, moving to stop her.

Christian blocked Sophia with an arm. “We have nothing to lose for trying.”

“Except his eternal soul.” Sophia tried to shove him aside, but Elizabeth joined him, bodily keeping the nun from Erin.

Elizabeth met Erin’s eyes. “Do it.”

With a nod, Erin drew the blade across her palm. The archaeologist winced at the pain, but remained steady. The smell of fresh blood — pushed forth by a strongly beating heart full of life — filled the small chapel.

Elizabeth felt the two Sanguinists stir, gasping at the scent. Their still-wounded bodies called for them to drink the life offered in that crimson pool in Erin’s palm. Elizabeth smelled it, too, drawing its sweetness inside, but she had not denied herself for as long as these others had. She could withstand it.

And this blood is not meant for me.

Erin leaned over Rhun’s naked form. She dipped her fingers into the darkness pooled in her palm and reached down to gently paint her hot blood over Rhun’s cold skin. Again Rhun’s flesh twitched with each touch, but it was not pain that shivered through him.

It was pleasure.

His lips parted, letting out the softest moan.

Elizabeth remembered hearing that same note in her ear, long ago, remembering him atop her, clasping to her.

Erin continued her labors, working meticulously, missing no wound. Finally, she stared down at the ragged stump of bone, muscle, and slowly weeping black blood. Erin turned toward Elizabeth, as if asking permission.

She gave the archaeologist the smallest nod.

Do it.

Erin massaged her forearm with her good hand, milking more blood into her palm. Only after trickles of crimson spilled from her overfilled fingers did she grasp the end of Rhun’s arm, pouring her life over that savage wound.

Rhun convulsed, his back arching high, while Erin kept her grip on his arm.

A cry escaped him, a gasp of ecstasy so raw that Sophia turned away from it.

Or maybe the nun shied away from the harder evidence of Rhun’s pleasure. The loincloth did little to hide his rising ardor, revealing the man inside the beast, the lust that the white collar of his station could never fully restrain.

Elizabeth remembered that, too, falling instantly into the past, feeling him deep inside her, swelling there, the two of them becoming one.

As Rhun crashed back down to the stone floor, Erin finally let go. Rhun lay there, his entire body quaking softly, spent but clearly stronger for it.

The many small cuts had closed.

Even the ruins of his arm had stopped bleeding, the flesh already hiding bone.

Christian let out a long sigh. “I think he’ll make it… with more rest.”

Even Sophia acknowledged this. “The wine should help him the rest of the way to healing.”

Erin stayed kneeling. Jordan came to her and tended to her life-giving wound, bandaging it up. Erin leaned into his tender ministrations.

“His arm,” Erin asked, her gaze still on Rhun. “Will it… will it…?”

Jordan finished for her, his voice firm. “Will it grow back?”

“In time… many months, if not years,” Christian said. “For that miracle, he will still need much more rest.”

“What does that mean for our quest?” Jordan said.

No one had an answer, only more questions.

“We don’t even know where to go,” Sophia said, defeat in her voice. “We learned nothing from all this bloodshed.”

Erin shook her head. “That’s not true.”

Eyes turned to her.

She spoke with certainty. “I know what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” Christian asked.

“Give me a moment.” Erin stood up, helped by Jordan, but she pushed free of his arms. She needed some distance from him, from everyone. She shuddered, remembering what she had felt when she had held Rhun’s arm. For a few breaths, she had felt his aching passion, the strain of his lust, the wracking pleasure of her blood suffusing through him, dissolving her into him, the two becoming one.

She closed a fist over her bandaged palm, cutting off that memory.

Jordan touched her shoulder. “Erin?”

His blue eyes looked at her with concern. She paced away, needing to keep moving.

I did what I had to… nothing more.

Still, a pang of guilt shot through her. She and Rhun had shared another intimacy in this church in front of everyone.

She crossed to her pack and opened it with trembling fingers. She reached inside and let her palm rest on the case holding the Blood Gospel. She took strength from its presence, then pulled out the sheaves of papers she had recovered from inside the bell. She stacked them on the pew.

“I believe these are Dee’s old notes,” she said. “But I can’t say for sure as they look to be written in Enochian.”

Elizabeth rose and joined her. “Let me see.” She gave them a cursory look, flipping through. “These are indeed Dee’s. I recognize the handwriting.”

“Can you translate the Enochian?” Erin asked.

“Of course.” Elizabeth settled into the pew. “But it will take time.”

“For now, can you skim through for any reference to the green diamond?”

“Yes, but why?”

Christian echoed her question. “Erin, what do you know?”

She faced him, letting the grief center her. “Very little. But before Leopold died, he broke free of the demon that possessed him.”

“What demon?” Sophia asked.

Erin took a deeper breath, remembering that only she had heard Leopold’s final words. “He called it Legion.”

Christian glanced to Sophia. “There was such a demon mentioned in the Bible.”

Sophia nodded. “Christ cast it out, but not before confronting it, demanding its name. ‘And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.’ ”

“For we are many,” Erin repeated, considering those words. “Could that be this demon’s nature? To possess many.”

“It certainly seemed capable of enslaving others to its will,” Elizabeth said, as she began to peruse the stack of old papers. “Even Sister Abigail.”

“But not us,” Jordan said, waving to Erin. “I grappled with him, but he couldn’t possess me.”

“It could be that he can only control those who are already tainted,” Sophia said with a worried expression. “A weed needs soil to grow in. Perhaps he needs that darkness to be already there before he can root into someone.”

“If this demon is like a weed,” Christian asked, “could he have survived the death of Leopold?”

“I don’t know,” Erin admitted. “But Leopold said that Legion was seeking three stones.” She looked pointedly at Jordan. “He sent one of his enslaved down into that temple in Cumae. Maybe he wanted the remains of that green diamond.”

“Maybe,” Jordan agreed. “Or maybe he just wanted to kill me. Heck, he came pretty damned close.”

“No, I think he wanted the stone.”

“Why do you sound so sure?” Christian asked, then added with a soft smile. “Not that I’m doubting the Woman of Learning.”

“Leopold’s last words, just before he died. He mentioned something about a garden defiled… one sewn in blood, and bathed in water. It sounded like that was where Lucifer would rise.”

“But what garden?” Christian asked. “What does that mean?”

“Perhaps the Garden of Eden?” Sophia offered.

Erin looked off into space, mumbling, “It can’t be just a coincidence.”

Jordan touched her shoulder. “What?”

She faced the others. “Those three frescoes in Kelly’s alchemy room. Arbor, Sanguis, and Aqua. Representing garden, blood, and water.”

Christian rubbed his chin. “Symbols that mirrored Leopold’s last words.”

“And Legion is seeking three stones,” Erin added. “Perhaps they mirror the same. Arbor, Sanguis, and Aqua.”

Jordan pulled out the two halves of the emerald-hued diamond. “You think this might be arbor. It is green like a garden.”

She nodded. “And we know it’s not a simple diamond. There’s that strange symbol infused into it. Plus it was capable of holding the smoky spirits of over six hundred strigoi.”

“And eventually Legion himself,” Christian added.

Erin touched the diamond with a fingertip. “Maybe that’s why Leopold described the garden—this stone — as defiled. It was polluted with evil.”

“If you are correct,” Elizabeth said from the pew, “then there must be two more gems. Sanguis and Aqua.”

Erin heard a tick in the countess’s voice and turned toward her. “Do you know anything about them?”

“I do not,” Elizabeth said, but her expression remained thoughtful. “But perhaps we should ask the man who sent John Dee the green one.”

Erin turned to her. “Who was that?”

Elizabeth held up a yellowed sheet of old paper with a smile. “This is a letter to Dee from the man who sent him that stone.”

Erin crossed to see it, but she found the page was written in Enochian.

Elizabeth used a finger to underline a set of symbols.

“This is his name,” Elizabeth said. “Hugh de Payens.”

The name struck Erin as familiar, but she could not place it. Exhaustion made it harder to think.

Christian stepped closer, his face pinched. “That cannot be.”

“Why not?” Jordan asked.

“Hugh de Payens was a Sanguinist,” Christian explained. “From the time of the Crusades.”

Erin suddenly remembered the man’s name and his prominent place in history. “Hugh de Payens… wasn’t he the one who, along with Bernard of Clairvaux, formed the Knights Templar?”

“One and the same,” Christian said. “But he actually formed the Sanguinist Order of those Knights. Nine knights bound together by blood.”

Erin frowned, reminded yet again that the history she had been taught was nothing but a play of shadows and lights, and that the truth lay somewhere in between.

“But Hugh de Payens died during the Second Crusades,” Christian added.

“Who told you this?” Elizabeth asked. “Because the date of this letter from Dee is dated 1601, four centuries after the Second Crusade.”

“I heard this story from Hugh’s fellow founder of the Knights Templar, Bernard of Clairvaux, a man who witnessed that noble death.” Christian lifted an eyebrow toward Erin. “Or, as you better know him, Cardinal Bernard.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “Bernard is the Bernard of Clairvaux?”

It made a certain sense. She had known the cardinal had fought during the Crusades and had been in a high-ranking position in the Church ever since.

“It sounds like Bernard has not been entirely truthful,” Elizabeth said with a wry smile, tapping a finger on the letter. “Again.”

“That can wait for now.” Erin nodded to the paper. “What does the note say?”

Elizabeth’s eyes scanned down the page, translating the archaic letters. A smile grew on her face. “It seems Hugh wished me to have the stone if anything happened to John Dee. The alchemist must have shared the nature of my work with his secret benefactor.”

“So if Dee failed,” Jordan said, “that guy wanted you to finish his work?”

“It would seem so. The plan was for Edward Kelly to take possession of the stone upon Dee’s death, to protect it and bring it to me. This must be why Emperor Rudolf gave the stone and the bell to Kelly.” Elizabeth scowled. “But that greedy charlatan kept them both for himself. He probably secretly sold the diamond. It is worth a king’s ransom.”

“Still, after that,” Erin said, “the cursed gem somehow found its way through history back to you.”

“Fate is not to be thwarted,” Elizabeth said.

Erin had to force herself not to roll her eyes. “Does that letter say anything about the other two stones?”

“Not a word.”

“So, a dead end,” Jordan said.

“Unless Hugh de Payens still lives,” Erin said. “We know he didn’t die when Bernard said he did. So maybe he’s still knocking around.”

Jordan sighed loudly. “If so, how do we find him?”

Erin put her fists on her hips. “We ask his oldest friend. Bernard of Clairvaux.” She turned to Christian and Sophia. “Where is the cardinal?”

“He was sent to Castel Gandolfo,” Christian said. “Awaiting his sentence.”

“Let us pray,” Sophia added, “that they haven’t already put him to death for his sins.”

Erin agreed.

They couldn’t afford for anything else to go wrong.

23

The wolf digs through smoke and fiery embers.

Its massive paws churn up mud and push aside broken beams. Rough rocks rip its pads to bloody shreds. Sparks fall and burn through its thick pelt.

A knot of blackness grips the thunder of its heart, drawing it ever deeper.

There are no words, no commands, only yearning.

The source of that black desire waits below, curled tightly around the tiniest flicker of flame, nestled within the cold carcass that holds it safe.

The wolf burrows toward it.

One craving draws it ever deeper into the fiery ruins.

Free me.