Blood Infernal

29

Jordan stood in the open meadow, as the helicopter’s engines whined down behind him. He took in a deep draw of the pine-scented breeze flowing down the tall mountain before him. Winter snow still frosted its granite pinnacle, while below verdant spring forest fringed its slopes, glowing in every shade of emerald under the afternoon sun.

“Got to say,” Jordan concluded, “crazy or not, this guy picked a beautiful patch of God’s green earth to make his home.”

Erin joined him, moving stiffly through the clover and grass. The fall through the roof in Prague had clearly taken its toll. She needed more time to heal — time they didn’t have. He looked at the sun, knowing they hoped to be out of these mountains before the sun set.

He glanced behind to his fellow teammates. The Sanguinists looked little better than Erin: Rhun moved awkwardly with his missing arm, Sophia had a slash across her face, and Christian’s long sleeves hid bandages.

The last member of their group appeared to be the strongest of the Sanguinists. Elizabeth had shed her religious garb for hiking boots, pants, and a knee-length black leather coat. She could easily be mistaken for some day hiker, eager to tackle this mountain. They had brought the countess along because of her past history with Hugh de Payens. They needed every advantage.

Including bringing along the team’s mascot.

Rhun had freed the lion from a crate in the back of the helicopter, and it gamboled across the field, chasing a blue butterfly. Jordan noted Rhun’s soft smile as he took in the carefree nature of the young lion, how it erased the lines of tension and pain that had marked the priest’s face during the flight. Jordan had never seen anything that made Rhun as relaxed as that big cat.

Christian finished securing the aircraft and headed over to them. “This is as close as we can get. According to Bernard, Hugh de Payens allows no modern vehicles past this point.”

It was a sobering reminder that they were in the middle of enemy territory.

The plan was for Christian to remain behind with the aircraft, both to guard against anyone tampering with the helicopter and to be close by if a quick evacuation off the mountain became necessary.

Erin stared up at the mountain, shadowing her eyes from the glare off the snowy peak. “Where do we go from here?”

Rhun pulled out a map, and they clustered around it. He tapped a point on the topographic map, a fair distance up the mountain, where a river coursed down its face, tumbling from the snowline into a series of pools and waterfalls.

“The exact location of Hugh’s hermitage is unknown, but Bernard believes it lies somewhere in this area. We’ll head there and hope for the best.”

“I wager this Monsieur de Payens already knows we’re here,” Elizabeth said. “Our arrival in the helicopter was not a quiet one.”

“That’s why we’re adhering to the Boy’s Scout motto,” Jordan said. “Be prepared.”

For anything.

Jordan hiked the shoulder strap of his Heckler & Koch MP7 machine pistol higher on his shoulder. He also had a holstered Colt 1911 sidearm, loaded with silver ammunition, and a silver-plated dagger strapped to his ankle.

While Jordan took to heart the warning from Bernard—no killing—he didn’t want turning the other cheek to be his only option in a fight.

The others were equally armed. Erin had her own Colt 1911, and the Sanguinists had all manner of knives and blades sheathed on their bodies.

“Let’s move out,” Jordan said. “Before we burn any more sunlight.”

As a group, they marched across the meadow toward the tree line, led by their enthusiastic mascot. The chirping of birds greeted them when they entered the shadowy woods. Within yards, the beeches grew so thick that at times they had to turn sideways to pass between their gray trunks.

Here was definitely an old-growth forest, untouched for centuries.

Hugh had clearly protected his lands against any molestation.

As the canopy grew higher and the shadows thicker, there was no escaping the primeval feeling of the forest. It was as if they were traipsing through some natural cathedral.

It would also be easy to get lost.

The lion rubbed his chin against various tree trunks, as if leaving scent markings to help find their way back. Otherwise, the cub acted more like a kitten: kicking up leaf litter and bouncing through bushes. Still, when an owl hooted overhead, the lion jumped a foot in the air and landed in a rustle of leaves and cracking twigs.

The cat was plainly tense, too.

Or maybe he’s just picking up on our anxiety.

They marched for a little over a mile, climbing over logs, and weaving through beeches and the occasional silver pines, never moving in a straight line for long. If they kept up this pace, they should reach the site on the map within the hour.

After another ten minutes, Jordan discovered an old deer trail.

Should be able to make even better time on it.

“Over here,” he whispered, afraid to raise his voice — less because of any fear of alerting the enemy, and more out of a strange reverence for this forest.

They headed along it, moving more quickly now.

Then a twig snapped ahead and to the left of the trail, sounding as loud as a gunshot.

He pushed Erin behind him and turned toward the sound. The Sanguinists flanked him, while the lion stuck to Rhun’s legs, giving off a growling hiss.

Ten yards ahead, a giant shaggy dog bounded onto the trail and faced their group. Its black fur was more shadow than substance, the perfect camouflage for this forest.

Except for the unnatural crimson glow of its eyes.

A blasphemare.

The beast’s shoulders rose higher than Jordan’s hip. As it lowered its head and pulled back its ears, it revealed a long powerful neck and muscular body. It looked more bear than dog.

A well-fed bear.

Even its dark coat looked polished.

This was no stray animal.

Though it was freakishly large with a black coat, Jordan recognized the breed as a Great Pyrenees. Originally bred to herd sheep, they were usually gentle creatures, but they were fiercely protective of their masters and their territories.

Other shadows moved to either side of the trail, clearly letting themselves be seen.

He counted four more out there.

So a pack.

The first order of business was getting Erin somewhere safe.

Jordan shifted slowly, interlacing his fingers. He turned to offer Erin a hike up. “Get into that tree,” he warned.

Erin didn’t bother with any false bravado and gave a quick nod. She planted her boot in his hand and pushed off him as he shoved her higher still. Reaching up, she snagged an overhanging limb of a stout beech tree, pulled herself up, then clambered higher.

Jordan never let his gaze leave the dogs.

The pack stirred, but didn’t approach.

Jordan swung his machine pistol to his shoulder, while knives and blades bristled from the Sanguinists, silver shining in the dappled shade.

After a long tense stretch, the pack began to move in unison, as if obeying some silent whistle. The first dog stalked down the trail, aiming for Jordan. The others split off, flanking toward the Sanguinists.

“Remember that we are not to harm them,” Rhun warned.

“Okay, I promise not to bite him first.” Jordan kept his machine pistol up, pointed straight at the snarling dog’s face.

Unimpressed by the threat, the pack leader stepped closer, panting out foul breath, its muzzle rippling up into a snarl.

Jordan’s finger tightened on the trigger.

He had a choice to make.

Kill it, wound it, or make peace with it.

Jordan remembered his training as a soldier.

He lowered his weapon.

Obey your orders.

His heart pounded as he held out the back of his hand to the animal. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered softly. “I promise.”

With a shift of muscles, the dog jumped at him, snapping at his hand, catching his fingers.

Jordan managed to yank his arm back. Blood dripped heavily from his fingertips.

But, at least, I still have fingers.

He watched his adversary closely. Maybe his blood was poisonous to the dog, as it had been to the strigoi back in the tunnels under Prague. The dog simply curled a corner of its lips and licked its chops.

No such luck.

The dog lunged at him, leaping for his throat.

Jordan dropped onto his back, brought his feet up, and caught the dog in the stomach. He kicked it up and over his head. By the time the dog landed and turned back around, Jordan was standing up and facing it again.

Saliva dripped from the beast’s fangs as it padded in a slow circle around him, its steps noiseless on the thick mat of dead leaves.

Jordan touched his palm against the butt of his machine pistol — then let his arm drop again.

Can’t shoot it.

“Good boy,” Jordan called out, stepping toward the dog again, his hands open, showing no threat.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the Sanguinists fending off attacks from the other dogs with various nonlethal means of defense, which mostly involved running and leaping.

But how long could that last?

As if knowing its target was distracted, the dog launched himself straight for Jordan’s chest and knocked him to the ground. He managed to raise an arm to protect his throat, but teeth sank deep into the meat in Jordan’s forearm. Contorting to the side, he grabbed the dagger from his ankle sheath.

He had taken enough punishment in the name of peace.

The dog growled, grinding harder to the bone. Red eyes stared down into Jordan’s. He didn’t see anger or malice there, only a savage determination.

Bernard’s words echoed in his ears: harm nothing that you find on his mountain.

Their mission was to get Hugh’s help. Whatever happened to Jordan was insignificant compared to that. He let the dagger drop from his fingers.

Beyond the dog’s ears, he spotted Erin sprawled flat on a tree branch. Her brown eyes were wide with horror. She aimed her pistol at the dog.

“Don’t shoot!” Jordan croaked out past the pain.

To ensure she obeyed, he heaved to the side, rolling the dog under him, shielding it with his body. He had to protect the dog. If the dog died, the mission would fail.

But no one told the dog this plan.

The snarling muzzle unlatched from his arm and snapped at his face. Jordan yanked his head back.

Bad move.

Yellow teeth fastened on to Jordan’s exposed throat.

Erin screamed as the dog shook its head, its teeth ripping deeper. Blood gushed from Jordan’s throat and poured down the muzzle of the dog under him.

She kept her pistol trained but was still afraid to shoot, of hitting Jordan by mistake.

A frantic search told her that the three Sanguinists had their own troubles. Each one battled a dog of his or her own, and none of them could get free to help Jordan.

Below her branch, the beast growled and rolled, throwing Jordan under him like a rag doll. Jordan no longer moved, his head lolling from the monster’s jaws. She steadied her aim, having a clear target now. She remembered Jordan’s earlier warning.

Don’t shoot!

To hell with Hugh de Payens and his rules.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Then a flash of white speared through the shadows under the trees and struck the much larger dog in the flank, slamming the beast off Jordan.

Rhun’s lion.

Shadow and light battled in a tangle of limbs, then the dog rolled free, back to its feet, facing the cat with a growl. The cub looked so small. Still, the cat hissed and raised a paw, exposing silver claws.

Apparently unimpressed, the dog advanced one stiff-legged step — then the cub lashed out, striking as fast a cobra, raking claws across the dog’s black nose. The pack leader yelped and backed away. Dark blood welled up from four ragged lines across its nose.

The cub shifted to stand before Jordan’s body. His snowy fur stood on end, and a deep growl rumbled from his chest. He lifted a threatening paw again, clearly ready to fight some more.

With a whimper, the dog turned and fled away, melting back into the shadows of the forest. The rest of the pack followed its example, breaking off from their various battles and vanishing away.

Erin clambered quickly out of the tree, falling next to Jordan, collapsing to her knees beside him. The cub stalked on the far side, looking equally scared. The cat leaned his small muzzle down and nudged Jordan’s face. A small flash flared between them, like a static-electric shock in a dark room, only this was distinctly golden, reminding her of the pair’s angelic nature.

C’mon, Jordan, you can heal from this.

She wiped at his neck with the cuff of her sleeve. The cub licked Jordan’s cheeks and forehead. Already the blood had stopped flowing. As she watched, the torn flesh began to knit together. The crimson tendrils that had spread outward from his tattoo and had encircled his neck grew thicker yet again, weaving through the damage, healing his flesh.

She touched his cheek with her fingertips. His skin felt impossibly hot. No one could survive long with a fever like that.

“Jordan.”

He opened his eyes, their hue as blue as a sky peeking between dark clouds.

She knew everything about those eyes — how the ring around the outside of his iris was a darker blue, like denim, but the rest of his iris was much lighter, with pale lines running through it like tiny rivers. Those eyes had laughed with her, cried with her, and promised her a future together. But now they looked at her as if she were a total stranger.

“Jordan?”

He groaned and pushed to a sitting position, one hand patting the cat absently. His other hand rose to touch his neck. Under the residual blood, the tattoo looked like a vine strangling a tree. Through the ripped sleeve of that same arm, she saw the damage there had healed, too. As she stared, a crimson tendril bloomed into a curlicue on the back of his hand.

Erin reached for that hand, but he pulled away from her and stood.

Rhun rushed up to them. “Is Jordan all right?”

Erin didn’t know how to answer that.

Elizabeth and Sophia joined Rhun. The Sanguinists looked roughed up, but not nearly as wounded as Jordan. Perhaps their dogs had been playing with them versus trying to rip out their throats.

Elizabeth frowned at the forest, straightening the shreds of her jacket sleeve. “Why did the dogs abandon their fight?”

Erin kept her gaze fixed to Jordan. “The cat … I think he scared them off.”

Rhun stroked the lion’s head, mumbling his thanks.

Erin shifted in front of Jordan, forcing him to look at her, gripping his strong shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He finally glanced down at her, blinked a few times, then nodded. His eyes focused on her, seeing her. He touched his neck, looking vaguely bewildered.

“I’m fine.”

She hugged him, squeezing him hard to her chest.

He was a moment slow in responding, but his arms finally wrapped around her, too. “I’m even better now,” he whispered to the top of her head.

She smiled into his chest, while also holding back a sob.

Elizabeth brushed leaves from her skirt, looking impatient.

Erin broke away, but she kept one hand in Jordan’s grip, doing her best to ignore the burn of his palm and fingers, fearful that he might not come back the next time.

She took a moment to rub the lion’s velvety ears, knowing who had truly saved Jordan’s life. “Thanks, little guy.”

In the distance, a dog howled out of the deeper forest, reminding them that they weren’t out of danger. Not even close.

“Time to go,” Jordan said. “If those dogs are retreating back home, we might be able to follow their tracks.”

“He’s right,” Rhun said. “If these beasts are the emissaries of Hugh de Payens, then perhaps they were sent to bring us to him.”

“Or they’re simply wild blasphemare who came to kill us,” Erin added bitterly.

But with no better plan, they set off with Rhun in the lead. His eyes watched the ground, likely picking out prints in the damp loam or noting snapped twigs. He would occasionally lift his nose, drawing in the scent of the cursed pack.

“At least we got our own personal bloodhound,” Jordan whispered beside her.

But where is Rhun taking us, what new horrors were on this mountain?

30

Rhun tracked through the forest, doing his best to ignore the throbbing ache of his stump. He took measure of those around him after the battle, knowing he would need to lean on them.

Now more than ever.

Elizabeth walked easily behind him, having sustained only a small wound on her hand. He had seen how swiftly she had fought against the blasphemare, a reminder of how fierce a warrior she was. Still, he sensed a reluctance from her to be here, an edgy impatience that was new. Like Jordan, she had grown withdrawn, her mind elsewhere. He had tried to question her about it on the flight, but she dismissed him.

Still, he sensed something had happened back at Castel Gandolfo, something that both angered her and worried her at the same time.

She was hiding something.

But aren’t we all?

Behind him, the leaves rustled as Erin and Jordan trod more heavily through the forest, unable to move as lightly as the Sanguinists. Rhun listened to the beat of Jordan’s heart, hearing again the undertone of a war drum. Whatever held him in its grip, it did not seem to frighten Jordan. Instead, it seemed to lend him strength and peace. The same could not be said of Erin, who could scarcely take her eyes from Jordan, evaluating him with every step, her heartbeat threaded with fear.

Trailing them, Sophia guarded their rear, her small form shadowing them like some elfin spirit. But Rhun knew the slight woman was as sharp as she was lithe, both deadly with her blades and quick to read an opponent’s weaknesses. Back in Prague, she had tangled with a grimwolf all by herself and lived to walk away. Few could make that claim.

Flanking Rhun to the left, the cub darted through the silvery-gray trunks of the beeches, as much on the scent of the blasphemare pack as Rhun was. The forest air was thick with their tainted smell, but oddly the rank odor did not set him on edge as it usually did.

Something is different about these creatures.

Clearly, the shade of the deep forest provided ample cover for the dogs, reminding Rhun how numerous such beasts were in the past, when the deep places of the forest remained dark even under the bright sun. Since his own mortal days, so many wild places had fallen before the axe and plow of civilization. And so many creatures, blasphemare and natural alike, had vanished with the trees.

The beech forest gradually gave way to silver pine as they climbed higher up the mountain. Somewhere to his left, a stream tumbled over rocks, smelling of snowmelt and ice. The sound of running water grew louder as they went, roaring up into what could only be a vast waterfall up ahead.

Finally, a glimmer of sunlight sparkled through the shadowy bower, drawing them forward. Rhun sensed the pack splitting off, melting back into the thicker trees, their duty apparently done.

They brought us here for a reason.

Rhun continued toward the light. Ahead, the lion pranced more brightly on his paws, showing no fear at what might lay ahead.

The trees quickly grew thinner, spaced more widely apart. A meadow opened ahead. Grasses waved along the rolling slopes, like an emerald sea. Small white flowers glowed out there, pristine and clean in the sunlight.

After so long in darkness, that brightness stung. Rhun squinted against it, while Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath. She was still more sensitive to the light. As they stepped out of the forest, she pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, shadowing her features.

Rhun looked around. The open space formed a rough oval of green, dotted with white blooms of gentian flowers. A handful of gray boulders poked through the grass like wary sentinels. Meandering through them was a silvery stream, flowing from a tall waterfall on the far side where sheets of water plummeted from a sheer cliff into a wide blue pool.

The team gathered at the forest edge, all eyes searching for threats.

Rhun nodded ahead. “This is the place Bernard marked on the map, where he believed Hugh de Payens built his hermitage.”

“Nothing’s here,” Jordan said. “Place is empty.”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “That’s not true. Bernard was not mistaken about this location… a rarity for him.”

Rhun heard the spike of bitterness in her voice when she mentioned the cardinal.

She pointed to the towering cascade. “Beyond the veil of the waterfall, I can make out the outline of a structure.”

Erin squinted. “Are you sure?”

Even Rhun could not discern anything and cast a doubtful glance at Elizabeth.

“Over there!” she said with an exasperated sigh.

She leaned closer to Rhun, aiming her arm, allowing him to follow her graceful finger. She outlined the watery shadow of an arched doorway in the rock behind the falls, halfway up the cliff face.

Once pointed out, he saw it as well.

Two windows flanked that door, with a larger round window centered above them.

It looked like the façade of a church, sculpted out of the rock behind the waterfall. Its bottom edge hovered two stories above the blue pool. It would be a precarious climb to get up there, especially through the pounding of that water.

Rhun became all too aware of the ache in his stump, reminded of how impossible such an ascent would be for him with only one arm.

Erin took a step farther out into the meadow. “I see it now, too!”

“We should proceed as a group,” Jordan warned, drawing Erin back, wisely reining in the woman’s eagerness. “While this Hugh guy has let us get this far, let’s not take any unnecessary risks.”

Rhun bowed to the wisdom of the man’s words and waved them all onward toward the waterfall. No one spoke as they marched across the field, marking the team’s tension. Rhun was sure eyes were watching their approach across the meadow. As they neared the waterfall, its roar grew deafening, which only heightened Rhun’s apprehension.

Reaching the small lake, they assembled along its edge. The water was a pristine blue, clear enough that Rhun spotted dappled trout deep below the rippling surface, flitting for cover as his shadow fell over the pool.

He searched the base of the rock behind the falls for any carved steps, for some way to reach the façade of the church far above their heads. He spotted no way to gain access without a slippery climb through a heavy cascade of water.

Jordan voiced all their concerns, shouting to be heard above the roar. “How do we get up to that friggin’ place?”

It was Elizabeth’s keen eyes again that discovered the answer, pointing down instead of up, into the pool’s depths. “The mouth of a tunnel is hiding in the rocks below the falls. Perhaps there is an underwater passageway there that leads up to the church above.”

Erin eyed the water with clear trepidation, crossing her arms. Rhun knew from past experience that the archaeologist was not a strong swimmer and had a fear of water.

Erin swallowed. “There’s got to be some other way into this place. I doubt those dogs swim in and out through that tunnel. Especially here, exposed to the sunlight.”

Rhun agreed with her. Hugh de Payens had been here for centuries. The mountain was probably riddled with tunnels and hidden entrances and exits. But his team did not have time to hunt them down.

Jordan sighed. “Hugh guided us to this meadow with his dogs. Something tells me this is another test. We find our way inside through that underwater tunnel, or we don’t go in at all.”

“Then we swim for it,” Erin said, uncrossing her arm and steeling her face.

“As a group,” Jordan said. “All or nothing.”

The big man stripped off down to his pants, even kicking off his boots. Rhun was taken aback at the transformation of his blue tattoo, following the new crimson lines that extended from it, wrapping his neck, entwining down his arm. It was a darkly beautiful design, as if the angels themselves had inscribed his flesh.

And maybe they had.

Rhun and the others followed his example, shucking off jackets, and shedding heavier clothes.

Once done, Elizabeth stood next to him, wearing only her pants and bra, showing no shyness, her back straight. She ran one hand through her dark curls, pushing them back from her face and tying them with a bit of string. Her breasts were firm and white under the thin silk, and her pale skin shone even in the shadow cast by the overhanging rock.

Rhun remembered how it had felt to have that smooth skin pressed against his, his lips against hers. He had wanted to devour her then, possess her wholly.

He still did.

Still, he averted his eyes, turning his attention to their pile of discarded clothes and abandoned weapons. They would go unarmed to this meeting. Perhaps this was why Hugh had led them to this entrance — to force them to strip down.

Rhun recovered only one weapon.

He took his silver pectoral cross from the pile and hung it back around his neck. It burned hot against his bare skin. Elizabeth stared at him. He felt suddenly self-conscious with his bandaged stump exposed. But she looked at the cross, instead, then went and recovered her own, donning it as he had done. The silver left a pink line against the pearly whiteness between her breasts. It burned her skin as much as it did his, but she did not remove it.

“Let’s go,” Jordan said and plunged straight in, coming up like an otter.

“Wait,” Erin said and grabbed her backpack from their discarded clothes. She turned to Rhun. “Can you take this? I don’t want to leave it abandoned here, but I’m not really a strong enough swimmer to take it myself.”

Rhun knew her bag held the Blood Gospel, sealed in an airtight and waterproof case. She was right not to leave it unattended, especially here. He pulled the pack over his good shoulder. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“Thank you.”

Erin swallowed, faced the pool, then waded in, gasping at the cold.

Rhun and his fellow Sanguinists joined her. The water was snowmelt, barely above freezing — but at least the icy chill numbed the ache from his stump.

The party set off across the pool toward the thunder of the falls. Even the lion cub jumped in and swam steadily beside him. Its giant feet pushed through the water like paddles. Its heartbeat was quick and steady. The animal showed no fear of the water.

Erin, on the other hand, fought to keep up, splashing more than moving, her heart racing. Rhun dropped back next to her, as did Sophia.

“I didn’t learn to swim until I was one hundred and five!” Sophia shouted to Erin. “So I’m still not very good at it myself.”

Erin gave the nun a quick smile and kept swimming.

Rhun appreciated the gesture, but unlike Erin, Sophia did not need to breathe. Whereas Rhun had seen Erin nearly drown once before. He knew she would not stop going, even past the point of no return.

Ahead, Jordan and Elizabeth had reached the falls. Elizabeth glanced up at the cascade, as if taking her bearings, then dove. Jordan followed immediately.

Rhun did a one-armed sidestroke next to Erin until they reached the falls, too. He treaded water with Sophia to let Erin catch her breath. Her lips were set in a hard line, going blue from the cold.

Rhun glanced to Sophia. The thunder of the cascade made talk impossible, but he got a small nod back from the woman, acknowledging his request.

Keep Erin safe.

Erin gave them a weak smile of bravado and upended herself, her pale feet shining in the sun for a moment before she vanished underwater.

Rhun and Sophia followed her down, lashed by the turbulent water.

Rhun quickly found it vexing to swim with only one arm, eventually settling for only kicking his legs. Still, he easily kept up with Erin.

He felt something bump his leg, felt a snag of claws in his pants. A glance revealed the cub digging down after them. It seemed the cat was not going to let them go alone.

They reached the mouth of the tunnel that Elizabeth had spotted. He saw no sign of the other two. Erin hesitated, but the cub shot past her and entered first, his paws snagging the rocky walls and propelling him deeper.

Perhaps taking courage from the cub, Erin followed.

But how much farther could she truly go?

Erin’s lungs burned as she swam after the cat.

Though, in truth, it felt more like crawling, as her hands clawed the walls and her toes pushed off along the bottom of the tunnel.

How far did this passage run?

It was a question that terrified her.

Her chest already ached for breath. She doubted she had enough air left to return to the pool, to sunshine and fresh breezes. It left her with only one way to go from here.

Forward.

She kicked, following the paddling rear end of the cub. The filtering sunlight behind her quickly faded to a gloomy murk, but the cat’s snowy fur glowed ahead of her, like a will-o’-the-wisp in the dark. She placed all her trust in the cub. It needed to breathe, like she did. If it turned around, she would, too.

So she continued, commanding her cold arms to pull and her numb legs to kick.

Then suddenly the lion’s hind legs disappeared upward into darkness.

She felt the tunnel dissolve around her into a larger space, as dark as pitch.

Blindly, she headed up.

Seconds later, her head broke the surface. She gasped in a new breath, then another, taking in the small cavern around her, illuminated by slivers of daylight seeping through cracks in the roof.

Jordan and Elizabeth climbed out on a ledge on the far side, next to a plain wooden door set into the granite wall. The cub paddled over and scrabbled at the edge, until Jordan helped pull his sodden form out of the water.

Jordan spotted Erin and waved one arm, while holding out the other. “I got you.”

Yeah, well, you could’ve got me sooner… or at least, hung around.

Like some others.

Rhun and Sophia surfaced behind her.

Still, as much as it stung that he had abandoned her, she knew it wasn’t his fault. Whatever was happening would eventually pass, and he would be his old self again.

Now if only I could truly believe that.

She hurried to the ledge, and Jordan pulled her up as if she weighed nothing. He quickly hugged her, the feverish heat of him welcome for the first time. She shivered and shook in his embrace, remaining there until the cold tremors in her limbs warmed away.

To the side, Sophia helped Rhun onto the ledge, compromised as he was with only one arm.

“We must find a way to open this door,” Elizabeth said, running her palms over it.

With her teeth still chattering, Erin moved over. If there were warm towels and a roaring fire behind it, she would kick it down herself.

She examined the door alongside Elizabeth. It was made of a single thick wooden plank, sanded smooth as glass, with no visible hinges or lock on this side.

“Looks like it can only be opened from the other side,” Erin said.

“Or we batter it down from this side,” Jordan offered.

She suspected such an action would win no favors from the owner, Hugh de Payens. “I think we must wait,” she said. “Show patience.”

“So then we wait,” Rhun said. He dropped to a knee to fondle the cub’s ear, who looked none too happy with his wet status.

Jordan stepped to the door. “Or we do this.”

He raised his fist and knocked on the thick plank, then stepped back, cupping his lips. “Hello!” he hollered, his voice booming in the small cavern.

Erin held her breath, but after there was no response, she let it sigh out.

“Maybe no one’s home,” Jordan said with a shrug.

Another member of their party tried.

The cub leaned back his head and let out a massive roar.

Erin jumped slightly, wincing at the noise, shocked that such a huge outburst came from such a small creature.

It sounded like a challenge.

When the echoes died away, a deep voice intoned, seeming to rise from everywhere. It made Erin’s skin crawl.

“Only the lion may enter.”

A scraping sound came from beyond the thick plank, as if a bar had been drawn back. The door swung slowly inward.

Erin tried to see past the threshold, but it was too shadowy, the space lit by flickering torchlight.

Still on one knee beside his cub, Rhun pointed to the door. “You can do it.”

The lion rose timidly, then turned and gently gripped Rhun’s wrist with his teeth. The cub tugged Rhun toward the open door.

“Doesn’t look like the little guy wants to go into that creepy place by himself,” Jordan said. “Can’t say I blame him.”

Rhun tried to resist, but the cub refused to unlatch from him.

The voice returned, slightly softened by amusement. “It seems your companion will not enter without you, priest. So you may all enter, but you may not proceed beyond the first room.”

Jordan patted the cub. “Good going, bud. And here I thought I might get to sit this one out.”

Led by Rhun and his cat, the group edged one by one over the threshold.

Erin studied the antechamber beyond the door. Two torches hung from iron brackets, revealing a space the size of a two-car garage, carved out of the granite of the mountain. An archway opened on the far side, but plainly they weren’t allowed to pass through there.

At least, not yet.

From that archway, a figure stepped out to join them. “Be at ease,” he greeted them, but he kept a wary distance. “I am Hugh de Payens.”

His appearance and demeanor surprised Erin. She had expected to confront a medieval hermit, someone dressed in simple rough robes, someone like Francis of Assisi. Instead, the man wore khaki-colored pants and a thick woolen sweater. He looked like a farmer or a fisherman, certainly not a former priest.

She studied his round face, his wide brown eyes, his mop of curly black hair. In spite of his cautious expression, he looked kind. He held his thin hands clasped loosely in front of him, plainly carrying no weapons.

“It has been long since the Order of the Sanguines has troubled itself with me,” he said, his voice rough and deep, as if he didn’t use it often. He stared at Elizabeth, then gave a slight bow of his head. “And I see you’ve brought someone from my distant past. Be welcome, Countess Bathory.”

“It is Sister Elizabeth now,” she corrected him, touching the cross on her chest.

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Truly?”

She gave him a demure shrug.

“Then these are strange times indeed,” the man said. “And it seems Countess… rather Sister Elizabeth is not your group’s only intriguing companion.”

Hugh de Payens approached, staring down at the cub. Once close to the cat, he eyed Rhun. “May I?”

Rhun backed a step. “He is his own master.”

“Well spoken,” Hugh said, holding out a hand for the cub to sniff.

The lion looked back at Rhun, who gave him a small nod. Only then did the cat lean forward and huff at the man’s outstretched fingers. Seemingly satisfied, the cub licked the hermit’s hand.

Hugh beamed at the lion. “Remarkable,” he murmured. “Something wholly new. A creature tainted not by darkness, but rather illuminated by light. May I ask how you came by him, Father Korza?”

Rhun looked surprised that Hugh knew his name, but Erin suspected the man knew much more than his pleasant demeanor implied. One didn’t survive for centuries, hiding from the Sanguinist order, without honing some talent at subterfuge

“I killed his mother in the desert in Egypt,” Rhun explained. “She was an injured blasphemare.”

Hugh straightened. “I imagine she was one of those unfortunate beasts caught by that holy blast in the desert.”

“That’s right,” Rhun said slowly.

Even this surprised Erin. Only a handful of people knew about that event. Most of them were right in this room. So this hermit was more attuned to current events than anyone would have guessed.

“After I slew his mother, the cub came to me,” Rhun explained. “I brought him away to keep him safe.”

“By the rules of your order, you should have killed the child. Yet, you did not.” Hugh shook his head in mock disapproval. “Did you know that the Buddhists consider lions to be bodhisattvas—sons of the Buddha? They are thought to be beings who have attained a high level of spiritual enlightenment. They stay in this world to free others from their suffering. You are fortunate indeed, Father Korza, that this beast chose you. Perhaps it’s because you wear the crown of the Knight of Christ.”

Hugh eyed Erin and Jordan. “And travel with the Warrior of Man and the Woman of Learning.”

Jordan spoke up. “How come you know so much about us?”

His question was ignored as Hugh ran his fingers along the cub’s side, eliciting a steady purr. Only then did he rise again and face Jordan, but instead of answering his question, he held out a hand.

“May I see the gemstone you carry in your pocket?”

Jordan took a step back, but Erin grabbed his elbow. There was no reason to keep any secrets, especially as this man seemed to know theirs anyway. And they needed any answers that Hugh de Payens might provide.

“Show him,” Erin urged.

Jordan dug around in his pants pocket and pulled out the two pieces of the broken green stone.

Hugh took them and nudged the two halves together in his palm. He held the stone up to the torchlight, as if to verify the design infused into its surface. “It’s been centuries since I last saw this stone, when it was intact, uncorrupted.”

He lowered his hand and passed the pieces back to Jordan. He paused only long enough to cock his head, staring at the design twined across Jordan’s skin. “It seems you are indeed a fitting bearer of this particular gem,” he said cryptically.

Erin used this statement as a way to broach the reason they had traveled here. “We are looking for two more stones. Very much like this one.”

Hugh smiled at her. “You are mistaken. The other two are nothing like this one.”

“So you know of them?” Rhun moved closer. “We believe that they are key to—”

“To fulfilling your latest prophecy.”

“Will you help us?” Erin asked.

Before Hugh could answer, the cub let out a mewling cry of simple hunger.

“It seems there are more immediate concerns to address first.” Hugh gestured toward the archway that led farther into the mountain. “Join me in my home. I have dry towels, along with food and wine for those in need of nourishment.”

He rubbed the lion’s head with one knuckle. “And of course, meat and milk for you, my friend.”

Erin followed Hugh de Payens, as he led them deeper into the mysteries locked within this mountain.

But can we trust him?

31

Rhun dropped his hand on the lion’s head as they followed Hugh through the second doorway, which revealed a winding staircase heading up, cut through the same stone. As the group ascended, they passed landings leading to other levels, each sealed with stout doors. He pictured the labyrinth of tunnels that likely coursed through this mountain.

But their host led them ever upward, holding aloft a smoky torch.

The stairway ended at another door, this one wood strapped in iron.

“Open!” called Hugh through it.

The thick portal swung wide. Rhun followed Hugh over the threshold into what appeared to be a church. To the far left was the tall door they had spotted through the waterfall. It was presently closed, but he still heard the muffled roar beyond, picturing what it must look like when those massive double doors were thrown open upon that cascading veil, the waters lit by the eastern sun when a new day dawned.

Through the windows on either side and above the door, he could catch some glimpse of that spectacle, but the glass was stained, the work of a true master. The circle over the door displayed a perfect rose, its petals blooming in every shade of red. The smaller flanking windows showed flowering trees, their bowers full of doves and ravens, their shadows hiding deer and wolves, lambs and lions, all living in harmony.

Rhun stepped farther in the room, but he cautioned the others to hang back.

They were not alone.

In the deeper shadows at the other end of the church stalked the four shaggy dogs that had attacked them in the forest. Other beasts stirred back there, crimson eyes glowing, revealing their accursed natures. He spotted a pair of grimwolves, a black leopard, and hulking on one knuckle was a mountain gorilla.

“Do not be afraid,” Hugh said, standing to the side with the torch. “You are my guests… until I say otherwise.”

Rhun moved out with the others, but he kept everyone back from that dark menagerie, whose eyes watched their group with equal suspicion. He frowned at the state of this small cathedral. The nave held no pews, and the stone floor was spread with straw. A dozen cots lined the walls, while smaller side chapels were penned off, revealing troughs and thick beds of loose hay.

Sophia nudged Rhun, nodding toward tall, thin figures hovering near marble statues.

Strigoi.

At least a dozen.

The strigoi had no weapons that he could see, save perhaps those garden tools leaning against the walls — rakes, hoes, and spades.

“You need fear no one here, Father Korza,” Hugh tried to reassure him.

Rhun hoped that he was telling the truth. He glanced around at the building itself. Rather than raw rock, the walls were covered in white bricks, soaring up into great gothic vaults. Huge wrought-iron chandeliers hung down, dripping with candlewax.

Even up there, creatures stirred.

Hugh noted his attention, lifted an arm and whistled.

A shred of black shadow broke away and swept down, landing on his wrist.

It was an ebony-feathered raven with glowing eyes. Its beak was a spear, its claws true talons. Hugh used a finger to gently ruffle the feathers along its neck. The bird bowed, rubbing back in turn.

“This is Muninn.” Hugh glanced upward, searching the roof. “Huginn is up there, too. Or perhaps he’s off hunting.”

Erin must have recognized the names. “Odin’s ravens,” she said. “They were said to be able to fly around the world, bringing information to the Norse god, keeping him informed of everything. You’re not suggesting these are—”

“The same ones? No, my dear,” Hugh said with a smile. “It just amuses me to call them by those names. And the pair is but two of a great flock that haunts these forests, a mix of blasphemare and natural birds.”

“Amazing,” Erin said, her gaze searching the ceilings.

Rhun suspected she wasn’t looking for more birds, but her attention was captured by the decoration across the vaulted roof. The ceiling was white, but red stars and blue wheels had been painted across its surface, forming an elaborate, fanciful design.

“The frescoes above,” Erin muttered, confirming Rhun’s guess. “They’re extraordinary. They look Middle Eastern — with the wheels and stars — but not quite, somehow.”

She wandered off a few steps to better take them in.

Jordan kept to her side. Elizabeth trailed after them after Rhun quietly signaled her to do so.

Sophia waved to the beasts and strigoi. “How did they come to be here?”

Hugh looked lovingly upon his flock, as Muninn hopped to his shoulder. “It is my experience that creatures seek out their true masters. To reach my sanctuary, many blasphemare and strigoi traveled hundreds of miles. I did not call them. They are drawn to me, just as this sweet lion was drawn to Rhun.”

Rhun rubbed the cub’s head. “But how do you keep them from killing in these mountains?”

Hugh lifted his arms. “Because, like you, they have made peace with their nature. Instead of being ruled by their savage blood, they control it. They are no longer killers.”

Sophia looked little convinced by the man’s words.

Rhun could not blame her. “How does one find peace outside the bounds of the Church?”

“Acceptance and mindfulness,” Hugh answered. “I was taught certain techniques during my travels long ago, ways to open your mind and develop patience and love. I can teach them to you, if you like. All are welcome here.”

Hugh motioned gently behind him. “Francesca, would you join us? I’ve found truths are best heard from the lips of those who have experienced them firsthand.”

A slim woman parted from the shadows only yards away. Rhun had not even known she had been there. She was likely once beautiful, with long pale blond hair and supple limbs, but there was a gentle frailty about her thin frame. She smiled at Hugh, love shining from her eyes.

Rhun noted the hint of fangs, the lack of a heartbeat.

“Tell them,” Hugh said.

“We were first taught awareness,” she whispered reverently. “Awareness of our nature, of who we are. To know we are one of God’s creatures.”

Sophia made a scoffing noise. “You are predators, preying upon the weak.”

Francesca smiled sadly at her. “No one judges a lion for bringing down a gazelle. It is the lion’s nature, and the lion need feel no guilt or shame.”

Hugh moved to a stool and sat down. A three-legged gray fox scurried over and jumped onto Hugh’s lap. A clean white bandage had been fastened around its stump, and Rhun felt a twinge of sympathy for it. When Hugh stroked its back, the fox leaned against him, showing no fear, not even of the lion, whose ears had perked up at the sight of the injured animal.

“But how do you sustain yourselves?” Rhun asked.

“Somewhat with wine,” Hugh answered. “Like you.”

“Monsieur de Payens, can you still consecrate wine, even after turning your back upon the Church?” Elizabeth asked.

“A priest bears an indelible mark upon his soul,” Rhun explained, “which means that one remains a priest and can consecrate wine even after one leaves the Church.”

Sophia picked out a guileful detail to the man’s explanation. “You said wine somewhat sustains you. What else does it take?”

“Blood, of course.” Hugh showed no sign of shame or guilt at this admission. “As Francesca has told you, we are all predators and must accept our natures.”

Rhun felt sickened, remembering how Rasputin’s followers mixed wine with human blood to survive. They remained killers. It seemed Hugh had fallen into the same sinful trap. He remembered too well the taste of Rasputin’s blood-damned wine.

Hugh held up a hand. “Understand, we take as little as we need to survive — but we also have a right to survive. As I mentioned awareness is but one half of a whole. Mindfulness is just as important.”

Francesca nodded in agreement, explaining, “While we accept and are aware of our nature, we must be mindful not to lose control. We meditate, learn to separate need from desire, taking only what is necessary and right.”

“How can any killing be right?” Rhun asked.

Francesca folded her thin hands. “We only take the blood from those who are suffering or those who inflict suffering upon others.”

“Our purpose is to end suffering,” Hugh expounded. “We find those who are in terrible pain and wish to die. Those who are so wracked with disease and will never recover. We end their lives with mercy, grace, and joy.”

As a priest, Rhun had spent time with the dying. While he balked at such a concept as killing as an act of mercy, he knew how man had created technology to stave off death, but so often it seemed these methods were used to extend suffering, to prolong an inevitable end to an unnatural length.

Hugh sighed. “And when we can find no others, we sometimes take the lives of those who inflict suffering on the innocent. Rapists, murderers. But in truth, we rarely need to resort to such means. Like I said, we sustain ourselves on as little blood as possible.”

Jordan spoke up, reminding them that this was not why they had come. “All well and good, but what about those other two stones?”

“I am in possession of one of the stones,” Hugh admitted. “But it must be earned. To prove you are worthy to bear it from here.”

“Earned how?” Jordan asked.

“Your Woman of Learning must show her worth.” Hugh’s eyes settled on Erin. “She must prove her grasp of awareness to find where the stone has been hidden — and demonstrate her mindfulness to discover where it must be taken.”

Great, Erin thought sardonically. Should be a walk in the park.

On the helicopter flight, she had read up on Hugh de Payens and his history with the Knights Templars, but she likely hadn’t learned even a tenth of what she might need to know to face his challenge.

Hugh stood up from his stool, sending the injured fox back to his den in the shadows. “So, Woman of Learning, what can you tell me of this place?”

She glanced around the surrounding chapels, vaults, and walls, noting the crosslike shape typical of all great churches, but her gaze settled on the most unique detail: the roof.

“Medieval churches aren’t my specialty,” she admitted. “But some of these decorations are similar to those at St. Christophe’s Chapel in Montsaunes, France, a building built by the Templars, the order you founded.”

“I remember that chapel’s construction.”

She took this as a positive sign and studied the frescoes above more attentively. Was this the test of her awareness? Was she supposed to decipher the riddle up there?

Tilting her head, she searched for clues. Amid the kaleidoscope of red stars and blue wheels overhead, other fanciful designs had been painted there: moons, suns, and a variety of geometric shapes. She saw influences from both Islamic and Egyptian culture. That multispoked wheel definitely looked Buddhist. Her eyes began to blur at the sheer volume, the disharmony of its design.

Staring up, she suspected this was done purposefully, to make the viewer miss the forest for the trees. It would indeed require awareness to ignore the chaos and see through to the inner truth.

She stared up and slowly stripped each culture’s iconography from that vast fresco, turning it in her mind’s eye, judging it on its own. Unfortunately, she found nothing significant in this exercise. She wondered if these were examples of the cultures that Hugh had visited after leaving the Church. Cardinal Bernard said Hugh had traveled much of the globe before settling in France.

But how does that help me? She closed her eyes. What am I not seeing?

Then she knew.

She opened her eyes, clearing those symbols off the roof, looking for the truth hidden behind the noise, behind the cacophony of mankind.

The forest behind the trees.

Once the fanciful decorations were stripped away in her mind’s eye, only one display was still left painted up there, in the background of the clutter.

The stars.

They were eternal.

“Paper,” she said, holding out an arm. “And a pen.”

Rhun rummaged through her pack and passed her a notebook and a ballpoint. She set about mapping those stars, noting the constellations. Several were larger, more prominently displayed. The stars painted in those constellations were six-pointed, not five like the others.

As she worked, she heard Jordan confront Hugh. “Why can’t you just tell us?”

“It is a test,” Hugh repeated adamantly. “The trio must show themselves to be worthy.”

“Then what’s my test?” Jordan pressed.

“You already passed it. In the forest, you sacrificed yourself without a fight, proving you were a Warrior who could achieve his goals through peace and nonviolence.”

“Then what about my test?” Rhun asked.

“It came with you.” Hugh bowed his head toward the cub. “You, a Knight of Christ, took pity and mercy on a creature you believed to be born of darkness, defying the edicts of your order to kill it on sight. For such mercy, you came away with a miracle of light and grace.”

And now it’s my turn.

Erin suddenly wished she had gotten a simpler test. But she was the Woman of Learning. She must figure this out on her own.

She did a final comparison between the star map painted on the ceiling and what she had copied down. Satisfied, she headed back to Hugh with notebook in hand. She felt like a student coming to the front of the class to solve a problem on the blackboard.

“It’s the stars,” she said. “That’s what you wanted me to be aware of through all that noise above.”

Hugh smiled, but remained silent.

I’m on the right track.

She remembered a Hermetic principle often associated with the Knights Templar: As above, so below. Stars had been a tool for navigation since the beginning of civilization, to use the positions of the stars above, to find meaning down here on earth.

She worked it out aloud, pacing. “I’m supposed to figure out where on earth this sky would be visible, but to do that I would need to know which date this particular sky would appear.”

She studied her page in the notebook. The more prominent constellations depicted above were those associated with spring: Cancer, Leo, Virgo…

So this must be a spring sky.

Then she remembered what had been painted beneath the mural at Edward Kelly’s house, the one showing a mountain lake and all hell breaking loose. Elizabeth had translated the Czech writing below: vernal equinox.

Perhaps that was the answer, but she wanted confirmation. She frowned, remembering seeing Latin words painted on the ceiling. She half-ran, searching anew, stirring up the straw on the floor. She felt eyes on her, both from her party and those that glowed a deep crimson. Finally, she found the inscription, one painted in red on the eastern side of the church, the other in blue on the western side.

Two words.

Aequus and Nox.

She closed her eyes with relief.

Equinox.

She joined the others, her legs shaking. “It’s the spring equinox. That’s the date.” She waved her notebook to encompass the star map. “So I have to figure out where in the world this particular night sky is visible during tomorrow’s equinox.”

From his back pocket, Jordan pulled out his cell phone, slipping it from a waterproof plastic bag. “I’ve got an app for that. Any good soldier keeps a means of navigation handy.”

Erin glanced to Hugh to make sure it was kosher to use this technology.

He shrugged.

She held her page open for Jordan. “Can you map this?”

“I’ll try.” He took a snapshot with his phone, then spent some time fiddling with the application program, apparently trying to find a match. “Already I can tell that the constellation of Leo is in the wrong place up there. At least for the skies over France.”

“Then find out where it’s right,” she urged.

She noted Hugh looking quizzically at her, as if she were missing something.

So the teacher wants me to earn extra points.

She pursed her lips and returned her attention to the ceiling, picking through the constellations, especially focusing on the spring ones. Three of the lesser spring constellations were connected together, woven by flowing lines.

Hydra, Crater, and Noctua.

“The snake, the cup, and the owl,” she mumbled, naming the shapes they represented. She had no trouble understanding the significance. The snake likely represents Lucifer, the cup could easily be the Chalice mentioned in the prophecy, and the owl had been the symbol of knowledge across many cultures, going back eons.

She glanced to her pack. The Blood Gospel was prophesied to have all the knowledge of the universe locked between its covers. She returned her attention above, noting the smaller lines that formed fanciful curlicues and whorls around the three constellations, weaving them together.

“They’re connected together into one whole,” Erin said.

A glance revealed a broad, congratulatory smile on Hugh’s face. She wanted to smack that smug look off him and get some real answers.

Luckily Jordan interrupted, holding up his phone. “Got it!”

She moved closer.

“Here’s the night sky over France.”

She looked at the screen, seeing that he had labeled the constellation Leo.

“We’re at about latitude forty-three,” he explained. “This time of year, Leo should be at the westernmost edge of the sky, but clearly it’s not in the star map on the ceiling.”

She looked to the roof, recognizing how different that star map was up there. “Then where on the planet does it match this sky?”

“Far to the east, about twenty-eight degrees north latitude.”

“Could it be Tibet?” Erin asked. “Or maybe Nepal?”

Jordan whistled his appreciation and held up his phone for her to see, revealing the name that his phone app had pulled up.

“Keep in mind,” Jordan cautioned, “this is a rough approximation. But that’s the region of the world referenced above. Basically it could be anywhere in the Himalayas.”

Erin pictured the mural painted on Kelly’s wall, showing a trio of mountains surrounding a dark lake. It must be somewhere in the Himalayan range of Nepal.

But where?

“How did you already guess Nepal?” Rhun asked her.

“Because of the wheels and the stars on the ceiling. They’re Buddhist symbols. Of all the cultures depicted above, they’re the most numerously represented.” Erin talked quickly now, certain of what she was saying. “That wagon wheel over there is Buddha’s wheel of transformation. The rim is limitation, the hub represents the world, and the eight spokes are the Noble Eightfold Path, which is what you need to tread to end suffering.”

Erin turned to Hugh, challenging him. “That’s where you learned your meditation techniques, wasn’t it? You went east, during your travels before you settled in France. You learned these techniques from Buddhists monks.”

Hugh bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Rhun frowned. “But how could Buddhists help you deal with your cursed nature?”

“Because the monks were strigoi themselves.”

Shock rang through the Sanguinists’ faces, even Elizabeth’s, but hers settled into a look more curious than horrified.

Hugh looked up at the lit windows. “After I left the Church, I wandered for many years, trying to make sense of what I was. I followed legends of eternal monks rumored to reside in the Far East, immortals like ourselves. I endured great hardship to find them, but always I was directed onward, until eventually I reached a valley between three peaks where I would learn much about my nature and the nature of the world.”

Into the stunned silence that followed, Elizabeth spoke. “And you left a record of that, didn’t you?”

Hugh lifted his brows in surprise, likely a rare expression for the man. “I did.”

Elizabeth turned to Erin, as if she should know this, too.

Then she did.

Three peaks.

Everything fell into place in her head.

32

“What is Elizabeth talking about?” Jordan asked Erin, noting a familiar expression dawning over her features, one of understanding. She had figured something out.

She took the phone from his fingers. “You have copies of my photos on here, don’t you? From back in Venice.”

“Yeah…”

She flipped through the files, pausing at one recent picture that showed her half-naked, stepping from the bathroom. He had secretly snapped it when they were at Castel Gandolfo. He couldn’t resist taking it.

I mean, look at that body.

She glanced over to him, giving him a quick smile, but that wasn’t the picture she was looking for. Finally, she found it and lifted the phone. “There were three peaks painted on Edward Kelly’s wall. At the time, it reminded me of something Elizabeth had shown us in Venice, but then things got a little crazy in Prague.”

Erin faced Hugh. “There’s a famous mosaic at the cathedral in Venice, which I understand from your history was your favorite city in Italy. You spent a lot of time there.”

“How could I not?” he admitted. “It is a rare city, one blended into the sea itself. It speaks to the dichotomy of man’s relationship with the natural world. Venice is an example of man’s struggle to both circumvent nature and be a part of it.”

“And the basilica there,” Erin continued. “St. Mark’s. Elizabeth said that this particular mosaic was commissioned by alchemists in Prague, the very men to whom you gave your green diamond.”

Erin showed everyone a picture of one of the basilica’s mosaics. It showed a triptych of a black devil confronting Christ in three different ways.

Jordan remembered it himself now. “The Temptations of Christ.”

“You were behind this commission, weren’t you?” Erin said. “The three peaks of that valley of the monks, that’s what Kelly had painted on his wall, something you must have shared with those alchemists when you gave them that diamond, something you also had represented in a mosaic of a timeless city, in a basilica that would stand for centuries. You made a record of that valley in the gold glass tiles.”

Jordan still didn’t understand what she meant.

Erin zoomed in on the third temptation—it’s always the number three—and expanded the view under Christ’s sandals. He was standing on a set of mountains, with a snow-globe-shaped bubble under his feet, like he was walking on water.

“You are correct,” Hugh said. “Such knowledge could not be lost to time. It is too important.”

“What’s so important about it?” Jordan asked Hugh.

Erin answered instead. “That dome of watery light under Christ’s legs, it holds three chalices.” She stared hard at Hugh. “Those three chalices represent the three stones, don’t they?”

“They do,” said Hugh.

“That’s where you first saw them,” Erin said, “where you found them. Arbor, Aqua, and Sanguis. The gems of Garden, Water, and Blood.”

“It is indeed. In that most holy valley, one of divine enlightenment.”

“Enough riddles,” said Rhun. “Where are these mountains?”

Hugh ignored him. “You have proven yourself adept enough, Woman of Learning. Those mountains surround a place known as the Holy Hidden Valley of Happiness.”

Erin closed her eyes and gave an amused shake of her head.

“Do you know this place?” Sophia asked.

“Only by reputation. I wish I could say that such knowledge came to me from study and research, but it actually came from reading an article in a travel magazine. A pure coincidence.”

“No,” Hugh said. “There are no such coincidences.”

“So what then?” Erin asked disdainfully. “My coming upon this article was fate?”

“No. There is no such thing as fate. We are masters of our own destinies.” Hugh waved to encompass the shadowy audience, stirring the raven still perched on his shoulder to an irritated ruffle. “It was your awareness and inquisitive nature that made you see and read that article, when others might have skipped it. It was your mindfulness that made you remember it. You have always been that way, Erin Granger. I suspect that was what drove you to abandon your family, to take a path away from one of blind obedience to the father’s faith, to discover your own road to knowledge and wisdom. Fate, luck, coincidence… none of these matter. You are simply a Woman of Learning. That is your true nature. That is what brought you to me.”

Erin had shifted closer to Jordan during this revelation, plainly shaken not only by this man’s knowledge of her past, but also by how quickly he exposed the essential core of her being.

Jordan pulled her closer, feeling her tremble, beginning to understand how even monsters and beasts could bow down to this guy.

“Where is this valley?” Rhun pressed.

Erin answered, “Tsum Valley in Nepal. It was only recently opened to tourists due to its sacred history. It is said to be the home of Shambhala, a legendary Buddhist kingdom. Or as it is more commonly called in Western culture: Shangri La.”

Jordan knew that story, but only from movies. “That’s supposed to be a place lost in time, where no one ages or dies.”

This made him wonder: were these strigoi monks the basis for that legend?

“But there’s a more important story about Shambhala that bears more directly on our situation,” Erin said. “I read that the second Buddha, Padmasambhava, blessed the valley as a place that would be rediscovered when the earth was nearing it destruction, when the world grew too corrupted to survive.”

“That pretty much sounds like right now,” Jordan said.

“And this valley truly exists?” Rhun asked.

“It does,” Erin said. “The valley has long been a sacred Buddhist place. Monks and nuns still live there, and all killing is forbidden on its slopes.”

“Like here,” Jordan added, wondering if Hugh had set up this hermitage as his own personal Tsum Valley.

“The monks who taught me,” Hugh explained. “They lived in a monastery in that valley, built between two great trees, trees as eternal as the monks themselves. Under one bower the monks sat to meditate. That tree was called the Tree of Enlightenment. Under the other, the monks drank their wine. That tree was called the Tree of Eternal Life.”

Erin stepped free of his arm. “In other words, the tree of knowledge and the tree of life. From the biblical story of the Garden of Eden.”

Even Elizabeth looked aghast. “Are you claiming this place — Tsum Valley — is the actual location of the Garden of Eden?”

Sophia scowled. “How could the Garden of Eden be in the Himalayas?”

“There is a school of thought that places it there,” Erin told her. “Some scholars think that the legends of Shambhala are similar enough to the stories of Eden that they might be the same place. Like Eden, Shambhala was said to be a garden where there was no death and only the pure could remain.”

“The Nazis sent an expedition to Tibet in the 1930s,” Jordan added, drawing upon his knowledge of World War II. “To look for the origin of the Aryan race, a race of supermen. Those immortal Buddhist strigoi would definitely fit that bill, too.”

All eyes turned to Hugh for confirmation.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I am merely saying that the valley has two trees. I cannot presume to know where the Garden of Eden was, or if it ever existed.”

“Still,” Jordan said, drawing them back to the more pressing issue, “from Edward Kelly’s mural, that valley is also where all Hell is supposed to break free.”

He pictured that lake and the dark shadows boiling out of it.

Hugh gave him a small nod. “The monks told me that this garden was at an intersection between good and evil. That they were guardians of that gateway.”

“And what about the three stones?” Erin asked.

“According to my teachers, that trio of gems hold the power to open and close that portal between worlds. But as modern man began to encroach farther and farther into their territory, threatening to expose them, the monks feared that they might not be strong enough to guard those stones. So they gave me two of the gems, to disperse them apart in the wider world.”

“In other words,” Jordan said, “don’t keep all your eggs in one basket.”

“Timeless wisdom,” Hugh concurred.

“But why did you hand such a powerful artifact to John Dee?” Elizabeth asked.

“A foolish conceit in hindsight,” Hugh said with a sigh. “As the world of scientific inquiry rose out of the ashes of the Dark Ages — as alchemy became chemistry and physics — I thought I could discover more about the stones myself.”

Jordan knew Cardinal Bernard had fallen into the same trap just recently, dabbling with those drops of Lucifer’s blood. It was no wonder these two characters had once been best buds. They shared a similar nature.

“John Dee was a wise man and a good one,” Hugh continued. “I thought that he was using the stone to contain evil, imprisoning it drop by drop. I could not fathom where that might lead. After he died, I tried to recover the gem, but the greed of Edward Kelly drove the man to sell it. From there, I lost track of the stone.”

“So our goal must be to take your stone and the one in Jordan’s pocket and bring them back to that valley,” Erin said. “Where the monks are still safeguarding the third one. But why?”

“I only know what I have told you,” Hugh said. “Perhaps the monks will know more.”

“And don’t forget,” Jordan reminded everyone, glancing to the windows, happy to see the sunlight still shining through the waterfall, “we’re not the only ones looking for those stones.”

Legion was still out there.

“But why does that demon care?” asked Sophia. “What is his role?”

Rhun looked dour. “With those stones, he could possibly open the portal in that valley and unleash Hell’s forces upon the world, freeing Lucifer in the process.”

Erin nodded. “And apparently it’ll be up to us to use those same stones to find a way to secure that demonic horde in its place, to bottle Hell back up.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Jordan said with exaggerated bravado. “Of course, first we’ll need that gem you hid here, Hugh.”

The man opened his arms wide. “You are free to seek the stone in my church.”

“If Erin passed the test,” Elizabeth asked, her eyes flashing angrily, “why not simply give her the stone?”

“She must find it on her own.”

Jordan stared at Erin. “Sorry, babe, looks like it’s time for part two of your test. So take out a Number Two pencil and begin.” He looked to the shine of the lowering sun, knowing they had about an hour of daylight left.

And you’d better hurry.

Erin scowled at Hugh de Payens.

No wonder he and Bernard were such close friends.

They both were masters of secrets and manipulation.

She faced her challenger. “Let me guess. Aqua, the stone of Water, is still up at that mountain lake. Which means you possess Sanguis, the gem of Blood. It only makes sense the monks would send that particular one with you, a Sanguinist.”

“The gem was never meant for me,” Hugh answered. “You must decipher the riddle so that you may retrieve the stone that belongs to you.”

Belongs to me? What did that mean?

She shoved that thought aside for now and turned to face the church. If Hugh had hidden it somewhere in here, it would be somewhere significant.

“Sanguis… blood…” she muttered to herself.

Rhun watched her, his worried fingers rising to touch his pectoral cross. The crucifix rested over his silent heart, the silver burning his skin, the pain meant to eternally remind him of his oath to Christ and the Church. She stared a moment at his bandaged stump.

Was that not enough pain for any god?

She returned her attention to the church, recognizing it was laid out as a cross.

Like Rhun’s crucifix.

A thought rose inside her. She paced it off, striding through the straw. She moved to the center of the church’s cross, to where the transept intersected with the nave.

She stared back at Rhun, seeing the burn over his heart.

She stood now in the heart of Hugh’s church.

And wasn’t the purpose of a heart to pump blood?

The Sanguis stone had to be here.

Erin glanced directly over her head, back to the ceiling. Did Hugh hide it somewhere up there?

No, she decided, that riddle’s been solved.

A previous principle echoed in her head.

As above, so below.

She stared down to her toes, then dropped to her knees. She leaned down and swept the straw from the floor, searching. She scuffled around until she found a stone with a distinct scalloped indentation.

Like a cup.

“It’s under here,” she said hesitatingly, then louder and more certain. “You’ve turned the Sanguis into the heart of your church, Monsieur de Payens! You’ve hidden it here.”

The others rushed over, stirring a flight of dark birds across the bricked vault.

Hugh followed.

Rhun reached her first, lowering beside her. He held his palm over the chunk of stone she had found. “She is right. I can even feel a whisper of holiness rising from here.”

Sophia joined him, warming her hands with that glow. Of all the Sanguinists, only Elizabeth hung back, her arms crossed, showing little interest.

Even the lion trotted over. The cub had kept close to Hugh, mostly eyeing the bird on the man’s shoulder with a natural feline curiosity. The cat licked its chops a few times. Still once near, the cub pawed at the cupped indentation, batting at whatever it felt.

The motion drew Erin’s attention back to that small feature. She ran a finger along the scalloped rim, reminded that blood was likely the key here, too.

“This is a Sanguinist gate, isn’t it?” Erin stated. “The only way it can be opened is with the blood of a Sanguinist.”

“You are truly a remarkable woman,” Hugh admitted. “With a mindfulness that is impressive.”

She stared at him, sensing there was still more. “Something tells me opening this particular gate isn’t that simple.”

“Indeed, such gates can be locked in many unique ways.”

Erin remembered Bernard shutting them out with the pro me command.

“Even I can no longer open it,” Hugh admitted. “I’ve secured it with a command few Sanguinists still remember. Not even my dear friend Bernard.”

Erin nodded. At least that made sense. It was locked in such a way that no one could force Hugh to open it under duress.

“I am too tainted to open it now,” Hugh said. “It will take purity to unlock the holy stone.”

“Purity?” Erin asked.

“It will only open for a Sanguinist who has never supped of blood before drinking the wine and accepting Christ’s offer.” Hugh stared at them. “It will take the blood of the Chosen One.”

Erin turned to Rhun.

Rhun backed from the gazes of the others.

I am no Chosen One… at least, no longer.

It was true that he had not tasted human blood before becoming a Sanguinist. He remembered being attacked at his sister’s gravesite by a strigoi, only to be saved by a trio of Sanguinists who brought him before Bernard. There, on his knees, Rhun had taken his vows, drank the wine, and accepted his mantle to join the order.

But I am far from pure now.

“It can only be you,” Erin pressed him.

“It cannot be. I have sinned. I have tasted blood.”

“But you were forgiven your sins in the desert,” she said quietly, touching his bare shoulder. “It is you.”

Elizabeth frowned at him. “You are the purest of us all, Rhun. What is the harm of trying? Does the fear of failure, of being found wanting, frighten you so? I thought you were of stronger mettle than that.”

Rhun felt shame rise in him. Elizabeth was correct. He was scared, but he also recognized that he could not shirk from this task if there was even a chance it might do good.

He reluctantly knelt on the cold stone and bowed his head. He gripped his silver pectoral cross. The searing in his palm reminded him of his unholy nature and how it ruled him. But he must try anyway. He held his palm above the indentation in the stone, and realized that he did not have another hand to hold the knife to slice his own palm.

How far I have fallen… a Knight with only one arm.

Sophia came to his aid, accepting a small knife from Hugh. She pricked the center of Rhun’s palm. Dark blood welled up from of the wound. Rhun turned his wrist, squeezing a fist, and spattered his cursed blood into the hollow of the stone.

Once done, he crossed himself and went through the ritual, ending with mysterium fidei.

Everyone stared.

Still, the stone did not move.

I have failed.

Despair drove him down, crushing him with certain truth.

My sins have doomed us all.

33

Elizabeth stared down at Rhun, his back bowed, his head hanging. He was the very sigil of defeat. She sighed at the fragility of these Sanguinists, leaning upon their faith like a beggar’s crutch. Knock it away by casting doubt, and they fall so easily.

Sophia played the Greek chorus in this drama. “Rhun was our only hope. He was the only member of our order — going back millennia — who never drank blood before accepting Christ’s gift.”

That is not true.

At least, the archaeologist fought. “There must be another way. If we took chisel and hammer to the floor…”

“I will not allow the church to be desecrated in such a manner,” Hugh said. “And in any such attempt, the gem will be dumped into a river that flows through the heart of this mountain, where it will be lost forever.”

“So you booby-trapped your secret vault,” Jordan said. “Gotta say, you covered your bases well.”

As Elizabeth watched Rhun’s lips move in futile prayer, she pitied him. He had given everything for his God, and his sacrifice had been wasted. In the eyes of the Lord, he was judged as impure as any feral strigoi. This failure was his reward for centuries of service to Christ.

So Rhun would certainly find it particularly galling at who would save them now, who could open this vault when he could not.

“Step aside,” Elizabeth said, slipping the knife from Sophia’s fingers.

Elizabeth knelt beside Rhun and used a fistful of straw to scrub his blood from the receptacle in the stone.

Rhun watched her. “What are—?”

“Quiet,” she scolded.

Still on her knees, she cut her palm and studied the blood as it pooled. In its glossy surface, the reflection of her own face shone back at her.

Sorry, Rhun, I know how this will pain you.

She chanted the proper Latin words. “ ‘For this is the Chalice of My Blood, of the new and everlasting Testament.’ ”

She then turned her hand and let her blood drip into the indentation on the floor. It quickly filled the shallow reservoir. Once it was full, she chanted the final words of the incantation. “Mysterium fidei.”

With a soft scrape, the stone sank into the floor, then moved to the side.

She heard the gasps of disbelief.

Only Erin laughed.

The others turned to her.

“I get it,” Erin said. “Elizabeth was made whole when Rhun returned her soul in the desert. Then back at St. Mark’s, when Bernard stripped her of that new soul by making her a strigoi again, she wasn’t allowed to drink any blood. Instead, she was forced to drink the wine that very night.”

“And I’ve not touched a drop of blood since then,” Elizabeth added, as she turned to Rhun. “By the dictates of the Church, my being remains pure. I am the Chosen One. And here is your proof.”

She shifted aside to allow a beam of sunlight from the church’s windows to fall inside the hollow. Fiery light reflected back from the surface of a dark red gemstone hidden inside, setting its facets ablaze. The brilliance seemed to pour forth from the stone’s heart.

Though her eyes were dazzled, Elizabeth gazed deep into the crimson stone, stunned by its beauty. She had beheld many gems in her lifetime. In her mortal life, she had been one of the richest women in the world. But none of those gems had held the same fascination as this one.

She was not the only one so captured.

Jordan crashed to his knees, the light dappling his face, looking like fresh blood.

“It sings,” he moaned.

Jordan’s heart sang to the fiery stone, and it answered in a holy symphony, drawing him ever deeper into its melody, into its light. Around him, the world faded to shadows before such brilliance.

How could it not?

Distantly he heard the others chattering, but their words were mere undertones before the glory of that singing.

“Can’t you hear it?” he asked, trying to get them to listen.

A sharper voice cut through the melody, ringing between the individual notes. “Erin Granger, take the stone! Cover it from the light before he’s lost to it forever!”

He recognized the voice of the hermit.

Then moments later, the radiance dimmed, muffling that eternal song. The world found its substance, weight, and shadows. He saw a woman wrapping the gem in white linen, dousing its fire. Her eyes looked upon him with fear and worry.

Another carried a bag to her, and she stuffed the treasure into it. The sound of the zipper closing was loud in the quiet church.

Jordan’s arms lifted toward the woman, toward the pack. He ached to take the stone from its hiding place, to bare it to the sunlight, to hear its song to the end.

The woman took another step back. “Did any of you hear singing?” she asked.

A chorus of denial answered her.

Slowly, more of the world grew solid around him. But if he strained, he could still hear a faint whisper of that song from the pack, even an echo from his own pocket. That echo was a darker emerald, full of verdant life, and the promise of root and leaf, flower and stem.

“Jordan,” a sweet voice said at his ear. “Can you hear me?”

Yes.

“Jordan, answer me. Please.” Then softer as she turned away. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He is unbalanced.” The hermit again.

“What does that mean?”

“He was touched by angelic blood. While it protects him and heals him, it also consumes more of his humanity each time it saves him. You can see a map of this war written on his skin. If the angelic force prevails, he will be lost to you forever.”

A hand touched his forehead, as icy as snowmelt against his hot skin.

“How can we help him?” Her name is… Erin.

“Do not let him forget his own humanity.”

“What exactly does that mean? What do we do?”

He heard a change in that faint song, drawing his attention away. It was a whisper of minor chords, a darker thread woven through the song, inserting deeper notes of warning.

He forced his lips to move. “Someone’s coming.”

Silence followed, letting him listen more closely.

“Impossible,” the hermit started again. “I have guards posted all around. In the shadows of the forest, in the dark tunnels. They would have warned me. You are safe.”

The black notes beat louder in his head.

The lion growled, its white fur bristling with warning.

Jordan stood, strode to a wall, and grabbed a long-handled weapon.

“Put down the hoe,” the hermit said. “There is no need for violence.”

Jordan turned to face the deep shadows at the rear of the church.

Too late.

He is here.

Legion stepped into the dark tunnel from the shadowy bower of the old forest. Others led him, those he found lurking in the woods, those of a corrupted nature who had thought to find peace on this mountaintop. Instead, they ended with Legion’s palm resting upon their cheek, where he branded them, claimed them. He took in their memories, their knowledge of the lair of the hermit, learning the secret ways into that mountain.

Earlier in the day, after gaining knowledge of this place through the eyes and ears of Father Gregory, Legion had left Prague, his still-weak body carried by those who bore his mark. A trio of branded Sanguinists had secured a vessel, a helicopter with windows shaded against the sun so he could be whisked over lands bright with the new day.

They had landed on the far side of the mountain from where the enemy’s helicopter sat. From there, this old forest protected him from the sun’s touch. As he had climbed, he had basked in the scent of the rich loam, the mold of decaying wood, the sweetness of leaf and bark. His eyes drank in the dark emerald of the canopy, the soft petals of flowers. His ears heard every rustle, chirp, and scurry of life, reminding him of the paradise this world could be, if untouched by the molestation of man.

I will return this to a true garden, he had thought. I will reap and weed and burn until it is paradise once again.

In that forest, he had discovered the hermit’s guardians — both beast and strigoi—those loyal to a man who promised a path to serenity. It only took a touch to free them from such conceit, to make them his own, so no alarm would be raised.

Legion entered their tunnels now, amused that the enemy had sought such a refuge, surrounding themselves with the corrupted, those who could so easily be turned against them. He continued into the mountain, spreading with every touch, a storm growing within the dark heart of this mountain.

With every step deeper into the hermit’s lair, his eyes multiplied, his voice expanded. His enslaved called others to him. They came to him, like moths to his cold flame, swelling his ranks further.

He followed his forces ever deeper — until he heard familiar heartbeats.

The Woman’s frantic flutter, the Warrior’s thunderous beat.

Here was the pair who came so close to destroying his vessel.

Fury fired through him as he lifted an arm.

Go, he commanded.

His storm raged through the tunnels, preparing to break upon those below. He knew the others had already obtained the second stone. Its fiery song had echoed up to him as he fell toward it. Knowing that the stone had been found, he no longer needed any of these others, not even the Knight.

Legion cast out his final order, filling his desire into his army’s silent hearts.

Kill them all.

With the cub at his side, Rhun snatched a scythe from among the garden tools.

Sophia grabbed a wood axe in one hand, a hammer in the other.

Elizabeth raised a shovel.

Rhun turned, just as figures boiled out of a tunnel at the rear of the church, falling upon those strigoi and blasphemare gathered there, like a wave crashing on rocks.

If not for Jordan’s warning moments ago, they would have been unprepared, ambushed before they could react.

One of the attackers broke through the fighting, flying through the air toward Erin. She was down on one knee, pulling up the backpack holding the stone and gospel, protecting them both.

Rhun swept to her side, swinging high with the scythe, cleaving through the leg of the beast and knocking its body away. The strigoi crashed to the floor, black blood pouring from its severed limb. Still, it struggled to come at them, clawing and kicking, a furious scream ripping from its throat, exposing a black handprint branded on its pale cheek.

The mark of Legion.

Then Jordan appeared, moving as swiftly as a striking hawk. He swung down with his hoe and split the creature’s skull.

Rhun pulled Erin to her feet, as Jordan spun away, breaking his weapon over the back of a blasphemare panther. Then he twisted around to stab the splintered end through the animal’s eye. Before Rhun could even react, Jordan turned and ripped the scythe from his hand.

Rhun did not protest, retreating instead with Erin, knowing he had to keep her and what she carried safe.

Sophia and Elizabeth guarded his sides, while Jordan took the fight to the enemy as more beasts and strigoi flooded into the back of the church. Their numbers were overwhelming. It was a fight they could not win.

Then light burst brighter behind Rhun’s back, accompanied by a great roaring.

“To me!” Hugh shouted.

Rhun glanced back to see Hugh drag the second of the church’s double doors open, revealing the thunderous cascade of water beyond the threshold. Rhun also noted how shadowy that light appeared. While a few minutes of the day remained, Hugh’s church faced east. With the sun setting to the west, the shoulder of the mountain shadowed the threshold. The light was too meager to offer true protection.

Proving this to be true, another strigoi broke through and came at them.

But a flash of white shot through the air and tackled the thin form to the floor, raking its face and throat with silver claws, as if trying to erase Legion’s mark from that flesh.

Hugh grabbed Rhun’s elbow and shoved a rolled sheet of leathery vellum at him. “An ancient map, etched on calfskin. It will show you the way to the valley.”

Rhun accepted the scroll and shoved it through the belt of his pants to secure it. He then grabbed Erin around the waist, knowing there was only one way to survive this assault.

“We must jump,” he said.

Erin twisted in his grip, facing the dark church and the war inside. “Jordan…”

Rhun spotted the man, a rock in the middle of a black maelstrom. Jordan moved with incredible speed and ferocity, bleeding from a thousand cuts, spattering that darkness with his holy blood, burning and cutting a swath around him with his scythe.

But even the Warrior of Man could not stand long before such a storm.

As Rhun watched, Jordan collapsed to one knee, about to be swamped.

“We’ll get him,” Sophia said, waving to Elizabeth.

Hugh whistled, and from the shadows, the pack of black dogs appeared. “Defend them,” Hugh ordered, pointing to the two women. “The Warrior of Man must not fall.”

The pack took off with Sophia and Elizabeth.

Rhun tightened his hold on Erin. “They will not fail,” he promised her.

She stared up at him, her eyes shining with fear, but she trusted him enough to nod.

Across the way, a new figure emerged into the church, darker than the shadows, a black sculpture of a former friend.

Erin spotted that monster, too.

Legion wearing Leopold’s skin.

So the demon still lived.

Rhun did not wait and took the only path left to them.

He pulled Erin close, backed to the thunderous roar, and leaped out of the mountain.

Erin gasped at the icy cold, only to have the air pounded from her chest by the force of the water. She tumbled as she plummeted, but Rhun’s one arm was iron around her shoulders, his legs were steel around her lower waist, his cheek against hers.

Then they hit the pool below with an impact that jarred her every bone. They plunged deep, to where the waters grew dark. She sucked in water, choking. Then she felt herself propelled upward. Rhun kicked with his legs, but he kept his arm around her, never letting go.

They breached the surface, greeted by the roar of the falls.

She coughed out water, gasping great gulps of air.

Rhun dragged her toward the shoreline. She finally caught enough breath to kick and paddle on her own. They crawled on hands and knees out of the pool. She turned, sitting on a hip, staring upward. With the sun almost set behind the mountain, the waterfall was dark, hiding the church behind it.

“Jordan,” Erin choked out.

Rhun stood and staggered to their pile of clothing and gear. Erin recognized the wisdom of his action and followed, her limbs shaking from cold and fear. She grabbed her Colt 1911. The steel butt in her grip helped settle her.

Rhun recovered his silver karambit. “The sun will be down in minutes. We must go.”

“What about Jordan and the others?”

As if summoned by her words, a tangle of figures burst from the dark cascade. They fell through the air and crashed into the pool below, plunging deep. Erin rushed to the shore, searching the water, watching a storm of bubbles rise — then from the depths, a figure burst forth.

Elizabeth.

She dragged up the limp form of Jordan, rolling him to his back. He wasn’t moving. Blood spread around him, staining the blue waters like an oil slick. Lacerations and scratches crisscrossed his chest. White bone shone through one huge gaping wound.

Then Sophia popped into view behind them, pulling up the waterlogged form of the young lion. The cat paddled and thrashed, momentarily panicked, hacking out water. But the cub regained its wits and followed the others.

Erin waded in with Rhun to help pull Jordan out.

Jordan’s eyes stared up, shining blue but clearly seeing nothing.

Was he dead?

Then his chest heaved once, then again.

“He still lives,” Elizabeth said. “But his heart weakens with every beat.”

“She’s right,” Rhun said. “Even his miraculous healing might not be able to save him without help.”

Erin wished she had their senses, to hear his heart, to be even that much closer to Jordan.

Sophia pointed toward the dark forest and the lower slopes. “We must get off this mountain. Already the path is shadowed enough to allow Legion’s forces to hunt us down.”

A loud watery splash jerked them all around.

A massive black shape leaped into view through the falls, thick limbs outspread. Everyone backed away. Jordan remained sprawled on the banks of the pool, his blood still seeping into the water.

The huge figure hit the water not far from the shoreline, crashing only waist-deep, its muscular legs showing no effect from a fall from that height.

Erin lifted her Colt, pointing it at the chest of the blasphemare. She had spotted this creature earlier in the church, one of Hugh’s menagerie.

The black-coated mountain gorilla waded toward Jordan.

“Don’t,” Sophia said, pushing Erin’s arm down. “He remains uncorrupted. He was at Hugh’s side when we leaped out of the church.”

The gorilla scooped Jordan up and gently draped his bloody body over its shoulder. The beast made a chuffing noise, nudging the muzzle of his face forward.

“Hugh must have sent him to help us,” Sophia said.

“Then grab weapons,” Rhun ordered.

Sophia and Elizabeth quickly armed themselves. Erin took the strap of Jordan’s machine pistol and hung it around her neck.

For you to use when you’re better, she promised Jordan.

They fled across the meadow as a group, led by the gorilla, which loped ahead of them, knuckling his way through the grasses.

“What about Hugh?” Erin asked.

Elizabeth looked back, her face oddly mournful. “He would not abandon his flock.”

“He also intended to buy us time,” Sophia said, hurrying forward.

As they reached the tree line, screams rose behind them. A tumble of dark shapes burst out of the falls, like ants boiling out of a flooded hill.

Looks like we’re out of time.

34

Legion lifted his palm from the woman’s cheek, brushing the fall of blond hair from her face. He watched as her eyes became his. He could now see through her eyes to view the glory of his own face. He knew her name now, too, as her memories filled him.

Francesca.

Through scores of other eyes, he spied upon his hunters as they chased down their prey in the forest outside, heard their howls echoing down the mountain slopes.

Legion remained in the church, facing his own target.

By now, he owned all the beasts and strigoi in the chapel.

Save one.

The hermit faced him, his back against the wall, bloody but standing firm. No trace of fear marked his smooth face. His brown eyes gazed calmly into Legion’s.

“You can stop,” the man said. “Even now. Peace and forgiveness is not beyond anyone. Even you, a spirit of darkness.”

“You seek to absolve me,” Legion said, mirth rising inside him. “But I am beyond sin and damnation, so need no forgiveness. But for you”—he held up a hand—“let me take away your pain, your suffering, even your false sense of peace. You will find true serenity in mindless obedience. And in doing so, you will share with me all you know, all you told them.”

“I will tell you nothing.”

The hermit turned away, as if to shun his offer. But instead, the man’s hands grabbed hold of a giant wooden lever hidden in a crack. With a tremendous heave, he hauled it down. A loud crash echoed from below, setting the floor to quaking — then it gave way beneath them both.

Legion lunged forward as great sections of brick and loose stone broke away under his feet. The hermit leaped high to snatch the thick iron braids of a wall sconce. Legion followed, catching the man’s boot with a black hand.

As he hung there, the remainder of the floor crashed into a vast pit hidden below the church, taking with it all his remaining forces. A great cloud of brick dust and exploded bits of broken timbers burst upward, bringing with it the rumbling sound of water. It echoed from far below, marking some subterranean vein of this peak, a great river that washed into the roots of the mountain.

If Legion fell below, he would be trapped forever in the bowels of the earth, imprisoned as surely as he had been in the heart of that green diamond.

Terror bubbled up inside him.

Legion stared upward, finding the face of the hermit shining down at him.

Don’t, he willed to the man.

But Legion’s fingers only clasped leather, not skin. The hermit’s will was still his own. And using that will, the man uncurled his fingers and let go.

Together, they plummeted into the darkness below.

“Keep going!” Rhun shouted to the others.

A moment ago, he had heard a muffled explosion, a great grinding of stone and splintering woods. He did not know what that meant, only that his group was still hunted, pursued by a howling, slathering mix of strigoi and blasphemare.

Rhun kept beside Erin. Ahead, the gorilla lumbered with Jordan over one shoulder, moving quickly down the side of the mountain, barreling through bushes, shouldering aside saplings like twigs. His bulk broke a path through the dense forest before them, like a boulder rolling downhill.

Sophia had borrowed Jordan’s weapon and strafed behind them as they fled. Silver rounds ripped through pine needles and shredded leaves from trees. Elizabeth haunted their path to his left, lashing out with a sword and knife. To the right, the cub protected their flank, moving like a ghost.

Still, they were losing ground quickly.

The enemy threatened to crash over them at any moment.

Sophia appeared next to Rhun, throwing her smoking weapon across her back.

“Out of ammunition.” Fear shone in her face. “We’ll never make it. We’ll have to—”

A booming shout cut her off. “EVERYBODY DOWN!”

Rhun obeyed, recognizing the voice. He threw Erin into a thick pile of leaf litter and piled on top of her. The others dropped low. Even the cub slid to Rhun’s side and mimicked him. A white tail slashed angrily through the leaves.

Only the gorilla continued its course, pounding down the slope.

In the beast’s wake, Christian stepped into view several yards down slope. He crouched low, balancing the butt of two machine guns on his thighs — and opened fire.

The silvery barrage tore apart the forest, raining bits of wood and leaves over them. The chattering roar deafened Rhun. Even when it finally ended, his ears still rang with the noise.

“Go!” Christian yelled, tossing the spent weapons aside. “That’ll only buy us a little time! Make for the helicopter!”

They gained their feet and paws and ran even faster.

Finally, they burst out of the forest into the open meadow. The helicopter rumbled ahead of them, the engines already warmed and ready, the rotors slowly spinning.

By now, the sun had fully set.

They needed to be off this mountain.

The gorilla waited for them by the aircraft, leaning on one thick arm, huffing loudly, plainly exhausted. They joined the beast. Sophia and Christian helped lift Jordan into the back cabin. Erin clambered up with him, hovering over him.

Rhun stepped to the gorilla and placed a palm on his massive shoulder. “Thank you.”

A part of him had still questioned the work of Hugh, believing the redemption for such cursed creatures to be impossible.

No longer.

The gorilla nudged Rhun in the chest, as if it understood.

Then it turned and headed back toward the forest, its gaze raised toward that distant waterfall, intending to return, to protect the man who had offered the great beast not only a home — but also his heart.

Rhun looked to that mountain as he climbed into the helicopter.

May the Lord keep you safe.

Legion lay broken across a nest of broken timber and shattered chunks of the church floor. The jumble of debris had caught on a craggy ledge along one wall of the cavernous pit, building into this precarious perch. He had crashed here, not by luck, but by sheer strength of will. He had spotted the buildup as he fell and hurled his body toward it, hoping it would hold him.

And not just him.

He had never let go of the hermit’s boot as he plummeted. The man’s body lay sprawled beside his own, even more broken. His adversary’s neck was twisted at a wrong angle; his blood seeped through the stones and trickled into the river far below.

But faint life still remained.

Perhaps enough.

Legion carefully rolled to his side, grinding bones.

I will know what you know.

He reached to the man’s pale cheek as brown eyes stared back at him, weak but defiant still. Legion ignored that gaze and placed his palm upon his victim. With a touch, he sensed how feeble the flame remained inside the hermit, barely a flicker.

Was it enough?

Concern grew in Legion as he pulled his hand away. As he feared, his palm had left no mark. The hermit was too close to death to hold his brand. Legion tried again, but his darkness could find nothing substantial enough to claim.

The hermit closed his eyes, a smile playing across the old priest’s lips, believing he had bested Legion.

You are wrong.

Legion crawled higher. While he might not be able to claim the man as a demon, there were other paths to knowledge.

My vessel is still a strigoi.

He bared those fangs. As if sensing the predator at his throat, the man’s eyes reopened, showing fear as understanding came too late.

Legion sank his teeth deep into that cold flesh. He drank fully of that fading font, building a blood bond between the two of them, between predator and prey, between strigoi and victim. With each drop, Legion drew more of the man’s life into him, sopping up the last of the man’s strength, willing him to share all that he knew as they became one.

Even as that knowledge was gained, Legion continued to feed, draining his victim in great draughts until there was nothing left. Only then did he sprawl back and cast his will to those who still survived, calling for rope to haul him up, for more blood to heal him.

He smiled into the darkness.

He had learned something from the hermit, something not shared with the others. Whether this was done purposefully or from simple disregard, he did not know.

Still, he would use that knowledge against his enemy.

But first I must be free… and reach the valley ahead of them.

35

Erin held Jordan’s slack hand as their helicopter landed hard in a cow field on the outskirts of the French village of Lasserre. Moments ago, their aircraft had hurtled out of the mountains and into the foothills, sweeping over this darkened hamlet, a quaint settlement of stone homes, stretches of vineyards, and small farms.

Once on the ground, Christian popped from behind the helicopter’s stick and went around to unfold a stretcher from a cargo hold. Sophia and Elizabeth helped get Jordan’s body off the backseat and onto the padded board outside. Erin followed them, trying not to stare at the amount of blood soaked into the aircraft’s seat and pooled on the leather.

Jordan, don’t die on me.

On the flight, Erin and Elizabeth had used a first-aid kit to clean and bandage the largest of the wounds. The countess had moved deftly, apparently experienced with treating battle wounds. But they ran out of supplies before they could finish covering his wounds. Afterward, Erin had wrapped his body with a red emergency blanket, but she checked beneath it periodically, quickly realizing even the smaller cuts weren’t healing this time. Jordan was dying.

Terrified, she climbed out and joined the others. She searched around, noting a small homestead beyond a fencerow. All its windows blazed with light.

Why did we land here?

“Jordan needs a hospital,” Erin demanded, expressing her confusion and frustration. “A team of doctors.”

“This’ll have to do.” Christian hauled up one end of the stretcher. “Nearest hospital is too far.”

Sophia took the other end, while Rhun secured the lion in his crate in the helicopter. Christian didn’t wait and headed toward the house. Erin had to run to keep alongside Jordan in the stretcher.

“Then where are we taking him?” she asked.

“A retired doctor lives here,” Christian called back to her. “A friend to the order. He’s expecting us.”

As they neared the front door, a grizzled old man opened it for them and gestured them inside. He wore brown corduroy pants and a blue plaid shirt. He had a shock of thick white hair and whisky-brown eyes under shaggy eyebrows. His lined face was grave when he looked at Jordan.

The doctor barked at them in French.

The Sanguinists hurried the stretcher through a rustic hall and into a back kitchen. Erin kept pace behind them.

In the kitchen, a cast-iron stove took up one corner of the room. Heat radiated from its surface, and a pot of water steamed on the stovetop. A stack of folded rough-spun towels sat on a chair, and on top of them rested a cracked leather medical bag. It looked like a movie prop and not something that could help them.

The Sanguinist lifted Jordan from the stretcher and onto the kitchen table.

Seeing Jordan under these brighter lights, Erin felt faint. The crimson lines had spread much farther by now, stretching across his chest, up his neck, and onto his face. Angry-looking curlicues looped over his chin and up to his lips. The lines stood out in stark contrast to his ashen face.

But at least, the smaller cuts did appear to be finally healing.

Then the doctor peeled back a patch of bloody gauze, and Erin’s stomach clenched. A deep slash extended from Jordan’s right shoulder to his left hip. It still gaped open, revealing bone and bloody muscle.

The doctor’s gnarled hands moved quickly as he washed Jordan’s chest with one of the towels, handing it to Erin when he was finished. She held the warm, bloody cloth in her hands, not sure what to do until Sophia took it away.

“Will he be all right?” Erin asked.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” the doctor answered in English. “But I’m more concerned about the big wound there. It’s not bleeding much, but it’s not clotted either. It’s as if the blood vessels have closed down.”

“What can you do to help him?” Erin hated the note of hysteria in her voice. She took a deep breath to drive it down, needing to stay calm, for Jordan.

“I’m going to stitch up the arteries and close the wound. But he’s burning with fever. I don’t understand why. With this much hemorrhaging, his temperature should be plummeting. I’ll have to get it down.”

“No,” Erin and Rhun said at the same time.

“The fever is not caused by any disease,” Rhun explained.

“It’s something beyond physiology,” Erin added, trying to find the words to explain the inexplicable. “Something in his blood, something capable of helping him heal.”

At least, I hope so.

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t understand — and I’m not sure I want to — but I’ll treat him like a normal patient and see if he comes round. I can’t do anything else.”

As the doctor worked, Erin pulled the remaining chair next to the table and took Jordan’s hand. It burned in her palm. She ran her fingers through his short blond hair, his scalp soaked now with fever sweat.

Christian joined the doctor. “Let me help, Hugo. You know my skill.”

“I would welcome it,” the doctor said. “Fetch the instruments out of that pot of boiling water.”

Erin wanted to help, too, but she knew her place, holding tight to Jordan’s hand. Physically, the doctor was doing all he could, but she knew Jordan’s wounds went deeper than that. She traced her finger along the whorled line on the back of his hand, both hating that mark and praying for the power that ran through it to save the man she loved. She knew that same power could consume him completely, steal him from her as readily as death, but was that a bad thing for Jordan? He might be transcending his humanity and becoming wholly angelic. His transformation had never seemed to bother him like it bothered her. How could she weigh her selfish desires to keep him against his chance to become an angel?

The warning from Hugh de Payens echoed through her: Do not let him forget his own humanity.

But what did that mean?

Jordan drifted within an emerald fog, lost to himself, lost to everything but a faint whisper of melody. It sang softly to him, promising peace, drawing him ever deeper into its sweet embrace.

But the smallest sliver of him remained, a single note against that mighty chorus. It coalesced into a hard knot of resistance, around a single word.

No.

Around that word, memories aggregated, like a pearl forming around a grain of sand.

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

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

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

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

Stubborn.

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

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

Longing.

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

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

A new word formed, defining its messy perfection.

Life.

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

Still, that red drumbeat grew louder and louder.

He recognized it now.

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

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

“Erin…”

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

How could they not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she kept such gloomy thoughts to herself.

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

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

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

They knew the truth.

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

They dared not tarry very much longer.

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

That plan depended on one crucial detail.

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

“Been better,” Jordan answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is another who needs me more.

36

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

But they were losing this night.

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

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

For your protection, he had been told.

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

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

The city was under siege.

But by whom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe…

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

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

He stared at his palm.

Blood.