Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (14 page)

Rhun was not ready to explain about the cub’s
blasphemare
origins, so he danced around the subject. “He was abandoned. I found him next to the body of his dead mother.”

“Many creatures are alone, yet you don’t drag them to my stable.”

“He’s . . . different, maybe special.”

Patrick waited for more of an explanation, but when it didn’t come, he clapped his hands to his thighs and stood up. “I can give him a few weeks. But just in case, I’ll start making inquiries about a permanent home for him.”

“Thank you, Patrick.”

The phone rang on his desk. The friar frowned at it. “Sounds like someone else needs my attention.”

As Patrick answered the call, Rhun bent down to give the cub’s nape a quick ruffle, then headed toward the door, but as he exited the office, Patrick called back to him.

“It seems I’m mistaken, Rhun. It seems someone needs
your
attention.”

Rhun stepped back into the office.

Patrick lowered the phone’s receiver. “That was the cardinal’s office. It seems His Eminence wants you to head immediately to Venice.”

“Venice?”

“Cardinal Bernard will meet you there himself.”

Rhun felt a shiver of unease, guessing the source behind this summons. Elisabeta had been sent to Venice after events in Egypt. There she was watched over and guarded at a convent, a prisoner of its walls.

What has Elisabeta done now?

Rhun recalibrated his plans. With the lion dropped off, he had intended on heading straight to Rome, to deliver the satchel of black stones, those drops of Lucifer’s blood mined from the Egyptian sands. But this sudden change required securing the stones first. He didn’t want such malevolence anywhere near Elisabeta.

He stepped to the friar’s desk. Patrick must have read his expression. “What else do you need me to do, my son?”

Rhun removed the leather bag from his pocket and placed it on the desktop. The friar recoiled, sensing the evil. “Can you secure this in the cardinal’s safe here at the castle? No one must touch what’s inside.”

Patrick eyed the satchel with distaste, but he nodded. “You come with many curious possessions, Rhun.”

Rhun clasped the friar’s hand. “You’ve relieved me of two burdens today, my old friend. I appreciate it.”

With the matter settled, he headed out, but he felt little relief. He did not know what to expect in Venice. He knew only one thing for certain.

Elisabeta would not welcome his visit.

SECOND

The Jews therefore strove among themselves, saying, How can this man give us his flesh to eat?

Then Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in you.

Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.

—John 6:52–54

March 17, 8:40
P
.
M
.
CET

Airborne above Venice, Italy

As the helicopter swept over the Adriatic Sea, Jordan checked his watch. They’d made good time getting here from Rome. Ahead, the city of Venice glowed against the black backdrop of its lagoon, like some jeweled crown abandoned in the Italian waters.

Aboard the aircraft, he and Erin were accompanied by a trio of Sanguinists. Up front, Christian crouched over the controls, while Sophia and Bernard shared the back cabin with them. The addition of the cardinal on the trip had surprised Jordan.

Guess Bernard got tired of sitting around Rome
.

Still, the cardinal and the others were skilled warriors. Jordan certainly didn’t mind the extra muscle, especially after the attack in that underground temple. Even now his belly burned, a fire stoked by some miraculous healing ability. The same heat coursed through the old scar tissue that twined across his shoulder and upper torso from the lightning bolt that had struck him as a teenager.

Erin leaned against that shoulder now. He held her fingers. Every so often during the flight, she had cast him a worried glance. He couldn’t blame her, even Sophia and Baako were spooked by his near death.

The helicopter gave a strong jolt, drawing Jordan’s attention out the window as the city of Venice came into view. Christian swung the aircraft into a turn, tilting for a better view.

“Right below us,” Christian radioed back through the set of headphones they all shared, “is St. Mark’s Square. That red-and-white tower is the Campanile and that building that looks like a gothic wedding cake is the Doge’s Palace. Next to it is St. Mark’s Basilica. The order has its own domain below those sacred grounds, much like at St. Peters. That’s where we’ll spend the night after we question Elizabeth Bathory about that symbol.”

Erin squeezed Jordan’s hand, leaning over him, taking it all in. “Venice has stood like this for close to a thousand years,” she said. “Imagine that . . .”

He smiled at her enthusiasm, but he had to force it a bit. He still felt strangely disconnected. And it wasn’t just his dampened reaction to the woman he loved. Today he had missed both lunch and dinner, and he still wasn’t hungry. And even when he did force himself to eat, the food tasted bland. He ate more out of duty than any true desire.

He rubbed his thumb along the new scar on his belly.

Something has definitely changed
.

And while he should be bothered by it, even scared, instead he felt a deep calm, as if whatever was happening was meant to be. He couldn’t put it into words, so mostly avoided talking about it, even with Erin, but it somehow felt
right
.

Like he was becoming better and stronger.

As Jordan pondered this mystery, Christian flew them away from St. Mark’s Square and landed the aircraft on top of a nearby luxury hotel. As the chopper powered down, Jordan did a quick weapons check: sidearm, machine pistol, and dagger. He glanced around at the others, waiting for Christian to give them the all clear so they could climb out.

Erin looked excited, but he also noted the shadows under her eyes. For an ordinary civilian, she had been through too much in too short a time. She had never really had time to recover, to internalize all that had transpired over the past year.

From the pilot’s seat, Christian waved them permission to exit, but Sophia held them back, plainly wanting to leave first. During the flight here, the small-framed Indian woman had sat with her eyes half-closed, radiating a sense of peace. Whether that stillness came from her faith or an unnatural ability to remain unmoving, Jordan wasn’t sure. Now she opened the door and flowed out to the helipad with a surprising grace.

Bernard followed her, showing no less poise. As the cardinal stepped free, a gust of wind billowed open his dark coat, revealing the crimson garb of his station beneath. His gaze swept the rooftop for any threats. Though Bernard had spent the trip here in prayer, with his gloved fingers folded piously on his lap, he didn’t look any more settled now.

Then again, the target of this cross-country trip, Elizabeth Bathory, would likely prove a challenge to them all. Especially for the cardinal, who had a long and bloody history with the woman. The two of them had an enmity that spanned centuries.

Christian came around, ducking under the chopper’s slowing blades, to offer a hand to Erin as she exited. The fading rotor wash blew Erin’s blond hair into a gauzy halo as she glanced back to Jordan. Her amber eyes glowed under the stars, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were slightly parted as if waiting to be kissed.

For a moment, her beauty cut through that burning fog that filled him.

I do love you, Erin
.

That will never change, he silently swore—but deep inside, he wondered if he could keep that promise.

8:54
P
.
M
.

In her room at the convent, Elizabeth lay fully clothed atop her hard bed and watched the play of city lights that reflected off the canal and dappled her ceiling. Her thoughts were half a world away, with Tommy.

She touched the phone hidden in the pocket of her skirt. As soon as she was free, she would figure out how to help him. Her own children had been stolen from her. She would not let that happen to Tommy. No one took what was hers.

She turned her head toward the window, to where she had hidden the stolen key to Berndt’s boat in a small hole in the stucco. For the moment, she must simply wait, try to keep her breathing even, her heartbeat slow. She could not let the handful of Sanguinist nuns who mingled with their mortal sisters here at the convent sense her anxiety, to suspect her plot to escape these walls this very night.

The convent imposed a midnight curfew on its guests, and as usual, Abigail would keep a post at the front desk until the convent’s gates were barred shut. After that, the old nun would retire to her room at the back of the house. But Elizabeth could not count on her sleeping. Elizabeth remembered how the night always poured energy into her
strigoi
body, demanded that she go outside and feel moonlight and starlight on her skin. The Sanguinists must have a similar experience, no matter how much they tried to control their pleasures with prayer.

A door slammed closed down the corridor.

Another tourist returning to bed.

As it was spring, the convent’s guest quarters were full, which was a good thing. With so many beating hearts in this wing, Abigail would find it difficult to pick out the rhythm of Elizabeth’s among so many. Those extra heartbeats might be enough to allow her to escape.

And I must escape
.

She reviewed her plan in her head: remove the boat key from the window, creep down the carpeted corridor carrying her shoes, unbar the iron gate at the side of the convent, and circle the house to Berndt’s boat. From there, she would cast off the lines, let the current drift her some distance before starting the craft’s engine, and be on her way to freedom.

Her plans after that were troublesomely vague.

Before she fell among the Sanguinists last winter, she had buried a great stash of money and gold outside of Rome, a treasure she had gathered from the bodies and homes of those she had preyed upon after waking up in this era after centuries of sleep in a sarcophagus full of holy wine.

Rhun had trapped her in that stone coffin as surely as he had her imprisoned here.

One hand rose to touch her room’s wall, determined to let nothing stop her from reaching Tommy before it was too late for the boy. Once free, she would find a
strigoi
and persuade it to turn her—then she would bring that same gift to Tommy’s bedside.

Then you will live . . . and be forever at my side
.

Her ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. A large party approached, too many to be a family of tourists.

Had the nuns somehow grown wise to her plans?

She sat up in bed as hard knuckles rapped firmly on her door.

“Countess,” a male voice called out with an Italian accent.

She immediately recognized the barely veiled authority in that voice. It set her jaw to aching.
Cardinal Bernard
.

“Are you awake?” he asked through the stout door.

She toyed with the idea of pretending to be asleep, but she didn’t see the point—and she was curious about this unexpected visit.

“I am,” she whispered, knowing he would hear it with his acute senses.

She rose to receive them. Her skirts rustled against the cold tile floor as she unlatched the door. As usual, the cardinal was bedecked in scarlet, a vanity that amused her. Bernard must always let everyone know of his elevated status.

Behind his shoulder, Abigail scowled at her. She ignored the nun and nodded to Bernard’s other companions, most she knew well: Erin Granger, Jordan Stone, and a young Sanguinist named Christian. She noted someone conspicuously absent from this entourage.