The Blood Gospel

AND THEN

Brother Leopold threw bills into the front seat for the taxi driver, enough to cover the fare and a small tip. As a humble man of the cloth, he had no room in his life for extravagance.

The man touched his cap in thanks as Leopold shut the door and ducked into a neighboring alley. He scanned the sunlit street. No one had followed him from Vatican City. He had redirected the driver over and over, insisting on abrupt turns, trips down blind alleys, and repeatedly doubled back. Even after all of that, he’d had the driver drop him several blocks away from his real destination.

He had waited so long and worked so hard, he would not fail in the last moment. If he did, then He whom he served would destroy him. Leopold was not so foolish as to think himself irreplaceable.

He walked down the narrow street and approached the glass-and-steel skyscraper with a silver anchor painted on the top panes of glass. It was the logo of the Argentum Corporation. The anchor concealed a cross in its design, the Crux Dissimulata, the symbol used by ancient Christians to show their belief in Christ to other Christians without having to fear reprisals. Today, too, it hid allegiances.

It housed the head of the Belial, He who forged a pact between strigoi and humans and wielded both to His own ends. But He was neither man nor beast — instead He was so much more, a figure cursed by Christ’s own word to live forever.

All because of a single betrayal.

Leopold trembled at the very thought, knowing he had betrayed the Church many times over, wearing a pious cloth over his traitorous heart as he did His bidding.

But how could he not?

He reached to the logo at the entrance and touched the cross buried in the center of the Argentum symbol, drawing strength in the knowledge that His cause was true and righteous. He was one of the few who walked the right path.

With renewed determination, he entered the building and gave his name at the front desk. The hard-eyed security guard checked him against a list and an online database before ushering him into the VIP elevator. It would stop at only one floor, and only if he had a key.

After the elevator doors slid closed, he lifted his pectoral cross over his head, then pulled off the longer part of the cross to reveal a hidden key. He stuck the key in the elevator lock. A green light told him that it worked. He let out a sigh of relief. He’d never used it before.

The elevator doors opened onto a receptionist in a smart black suit behind an imposing desk. Leopold whispered a quick prayer for protection and stepped out.

“Yes?” Amethyst earrings glittered when she raised her head. She had widely spaced brown eyes and full lips. A face from a Renaissance painting.

“Brother Leopold.” He leaned nervously on her tall glass desk. “I was summoned.”

She pressed a button with one long purple nail, then spoke into her phone. A one-syllable answer came back.

Yes.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

She rose and led him down a long polished hallway to a brushed aluminum door, her hips swaying as she walked.

She opened the door and stepped back.

He must go in alone. The sound of running water filled his ears.

He entered a vast room into which clear Roman sunlight shone through floor-to-ceiling windows.

A large rectangular fountain dominated the center of the room. Purple water lilies shone against gray slate. Water trickled over a round emerald-green stone. The sound was probably meant to be soothing, but the pattering grated on Leopold’s nerves.

Leopold studied the man who had summoned him. He was facing away from the fountain toward the window, probably gazing on the Tiber River far below. His gray hair was cut short, displaying a tanned neck above the collar of an expensive shirt, powerful muscles discernible through the fine linen. Even now, His back remained unbowed by the weight of a millennia-long life.

He turned at Leopold’s approach and raised a hand, releasing a small iridescent-winged moth. It fluttered from His palm and landed on a wide glass desk, revealing the insect to be a miniature automaton made of brass, watch gears, and thread-thin wire.

Leopold glanced away from the moth to find quicksilver eyes appraising him.

Intimidated, he dropped to his knees under the weight of that gaze. “It is done,” he said, touching his cross, but he found no strength there now. “We have succeeded. The great doom begins.”

Footsteps approached him.

Leopold cowered, but he dared not move.

Fingers as strong as stone touched his shoulder, but warmly, gently, lovingly. “You’ve done well, my son. The book is opened, and the trumpets of war will sound. After millennia of waiting, my destiny has come full circle. I sent the Nazarene from this world — it is now my duty to restore Him to His rightful throne. Even if it means bringing an end to this world.”

Leopold let out a quaking sigh, his heart rejoicing. A finger lifted his chin. He stared at the face above, limned against the bright sunshine of a new day, a face Christ had once looked upon with equal love and devotion.

Before cursing him for eternity.

Turning his very name into a word for betrayal.

Leopold’s lips silently formed that name now, both in adulation and promise.

Judas.