Innocent Blood (30 page)

39

December 20, 6:02
A.M.
CET

Mediterranean Sea

As the boat fled toward the lights of the oil platform, Rhun studied Christian’s pale face. He was young, relatively new to the cloth, making him brash and irreverent, but Rhun could not fault his faith and his bravery. He clenched a fist of frustration, refusing to lose another companion so soon after Nadia’s death.

Bernard poured little sips of wine from his leather flask through Christian’s slack lips, but most spilled down his hollow cheeks. He was still too weak to swallow.

“What if I gave him some of my blood?” Erin asked. “Like we did with the countess. Wouldn’t that help revive him?”

“We will consider that only as a last resort,” Bernard mumbled.

Erin looked little satisfied with that answer.

Rhun whispered to her. “The taste of blood for one as young as he risks freeing the beast inside him. We dare not risk it, especially here where we have so little means to control him. Let us see what we find at the oil platform.”

“What we will
find
will surely be more enemies,” Bernard added and pointed to the flask hidden and tied to Rhun’s upper thigh. “We ourselves should drink, restore our strength to its fullest.”

Rhun knew Bernard was correct, but he hated taking penance in front of others, knowing it often left him weeping and confused. He did not wish to display such weakness.

Still, he knew he must.

As Rhun freed his holy flask, Bernard upended his own and drank deeply, unabashedly. Bernard seemed at peace with his sins. He did his penance and was always calm moments afterward.

Rhun prayed for the same today as he lifted the flask to his lips and drank fully.

The cemetery loomed around Rhun as he lay on his back atop his sister’s grave. The beast straddled him, their limbs entangled like lovers. The monster’s blood filled his mouth.

Rhun had come to his sister’s grave this night to mourn her passing, only to be waylaid by this beast, a monster wearing fine breeches and a studded leather tunic. Fangs had torn into Rhun’s throat, draining his blood into this other’s hungry mouth. But instead of dying, his attacker had offered Rhun a wrist, sliced open, pouring with the beast’s black blood.

He had resisted—until cold, silken blood burst to fire on his tongue.

Bliss welled through him, and with it, hunger.

He now drank fully from that crimson font, knowing it was a sin, knowing that the pleasure that pulsed through every limb in his body would damn him for all eternity. And still he could not stop. He longed to stay locked in this man’s embrace forever, drowned in ecstasy with every fiery swallow.

Then his head cracked painfully against his sister’s headstone. He watched the beast yanked off him. Rhun moaned, reaching again for him, wanting more of his blood.

Four priests pulled the monster from Rhun’s aching body. Their silver pectoral crosses glinted in the cold moonlight.

“Run!” shouted the beast, attempting to warn him.

But how could he ever abandon such a font of bliss and blood?

His arms remained up, stretching to the other.

A blade flashed silver across the beast’s throat. Dark blood exploded from the wound, staining his fine white shirt, soiling his leather tunic.

“No!” Rhun struggled to rise.

The four priests dropped the man’s body to the ground. Rhun heard it hit the scattered leaves, knew without knowing how that the man was gone forever. Tears rose in his eyes at the loss of such ecstasy.

The priests sat Rhun up and wrenched his arms behind his back. Rhun fought with the ferocity of a cornered lynx, but they imprisoned him with an implacable strength for which he was no match.

He twisted, his sharp teeth seeking their necks.

His body ached for blood, any blood.

They carried him through the night without a word. But for all their silence, Rhun heard more than he ever had before in his life. He listened to each leaf crumble under their boots, the soft hush of owl wings overhead, the scurry of a mouse into its hole. Rhun’s mind strained to fathom it. He could even hear the tiny beasts’ heartbeats
:
the mouse’s swift and frightened, the owl’s slower and determined.

Yet when he turned his ear to the priests around him, he heard nothing.

Only a dreadful silence.

Was he so cut off from the grace of God that he could not hear holy heartbeats, only those of soulless beasts in the field?

Despairing his fate, he went limp in the priests’ hands. His lips formed desperate prayers. Still, all the while, he wished only to tear out these priests’ throats and bathe his face in their blood. The prayers did nothing to quiet this bloodlust. His teeth continued to chatter with longing.

Desire burned hotter than anything he had ever felt, fiercer than any love for his family, even his love for God.

The priests carried him back to the monastery, where moments before he had left as an innocent, a seminary student about to swear his holy vows. They stopped in front of a clean, bare wall that transformed into a door. During his years here, he had never known of its existence.

He had known so little of everything.

The priests bore him below to where a familiar figure sat at a desk holding a goose quill
:
Father Bernard, his mentor, his counselor in all things. It seemed Rhun’s lessons were not yet finished.

“We bring him to you, Father,” said the priest holding his right arm. “He was felled in the cemetery, but he has tasted no other blood.”

“Leave him to me.”

The same priest refused. “He is in a dangerous state.”

“I know this as well as you.” Bernard rose from his desk. “Leave us.”

“As you wish.”

The priest released Rhun’s arm, dropping him to the stone floor, and headed away, drawing his brethren with him. Rhun lay there a long moment, breathing in the smells of stone, mildew, and old rushes.

Bernard remained silent.

Rhun hid his face from his mentor. He loved Bernard more than he had ever loved his own father. The priest had taught him of wisdom, kindness, and faith. Bernard was the man Rhun had always aspired to become.

But right now all Rhun knew was that he must slake his thirst or die trying. In one bound, he closed the space between them, knocking them both to the floor.

Bernard fell under him, his body strangely cold.

Rhun lunged for his neck, but his prey moved with an unearthly speed, rolling from Rhun’s grasp and standing next to him. How could he be so quick?

“Be careful
,
my son.” Bernard’s rich voice was calm and steady. “Your faith is your most precious gift.”

A hiss started low in Rhun’s throat. Faith meant nothing now. Only blood mattered.

He sprang again.

Bernard caught him and bore him down to the floor. Rhun struggled, but the older man pinned him against the tiles, proving himself far stronger, stronger than the beast who had changed him, even stronger than the priests who had carried him.

Father Bernard was as hard as stone.

Was this strength proof of God’s might against the evil inside of Rhun?

But his body raged against such thoughts. Throughout the long night, Rhun continued to battle this priest, refusing to listen, trying always to gain a mouthful of his precious blood.

The old man would not be taken.

Eventually, Rhun’s body weakened—but not from exhaustion.

“You feel the approach of dawn,” Bernard explained, holding him, pinning him. “Unless you accept Christ’s love, you will always weaken with the morning, as will you die if the pure light of sun shines upon you.”

A great weariness grew inside of Rhun, weighing down his limbs.

“You must listen, my son. You may view your new state as a curse, but it is a blessing for you. For the world.”

Rhun scoffed. “I have become an unholy beast. I yearn for evil. It is no blessing.”

“You can become more than what you are.”

Bernard’s voice held simple certainty.

“I wish nothing more than to drink your blood, to kill you
,
” Rhun warned, as his strength ebbed even further. He could barely lift his head now.

“I know how you feel, my son.”

Bernard finally loosened his grip, and Rhun slid to the floor.

On his hands and knees like a dog, Rhun mumbled to the tiles. “You cannot know of the lust inside of me. You are a priest. This evil is beyond your ken.”

Bernard shook his head, drawing Rhun’s eye. His white hair shone in the light of the dying candle. “I am like you.”

Rhun closed his eyes, disbelieving. He was so tired.

Bernard shook Rhun until he opened his eyes again. The old priest drew Rhun’s face to his own, as if to kiss him. Bernard parted those lips in invitation—but long sharp teeth greeted Rhun.

Rhun gaped at his mentor, a man whom he had known many years, a man who was never a man—but a beast.

“I have hungered as you have, my son.” Bernard’s deep voice filled Rhun with calm. “I have indulged evil appetites.”

Rhun struggled to understand.

Father Bernard was good. He brought comfort to the sick and dying. He brought hope to the living. Without him, most of the priests in this very monastery would never have found their way to God.

“There is a path for us,” Bernard said. “It is the most difficult road that any priest can walk, but we can do good, we can serve the Church in ways that no others can. God has not forsaken us. We, too, can live in His grace.”

With those words, Rhun slipped toward a deep well of sleep, letting this lasting hope tame his bloodlust and offer him salvation.

Rhun came out of his penance, to find the cardinal leaning over him, those deep brown eyes shining with that same love and concern.

Bernard had saved him back then.

Still, Rhun now knew the misery that had followed that one act of mercy, picturing Elisabeta’s eyes, her cunning smile, the deaths and suffering that followed in her wake.

Perhaps the world would have been better served if Bernard had let him die.

40

December 20, 6:07
A.M.
CET

Near Naples, Italy

Elizabeth clutched Tommy to her side, feeling him tremble every now and then, likely still picturing the fire and explosions. She had never seen such a battle: two adversaries flying about like hawks, smoke screaming from impossible cannons in their bow, booms that shook even the air. The fighting exhilarated her, awed her—but it had terrified the boy.

He leaned against her shoulder, seeking comfort.

She remembered the other vessel exploding and rolling into the sea, sinking like a scuttled ship. She pictured Rhun torn to pieces—but oddly she found no satisfaction in the vision, only disappointment.

He should have died at my hands.

She also could not discount a sense of hollowness at his loss. She explored that emptiness now, knowing it was not grief, at least not entirely. It was more like the world was barren without him. Rhun had always filled her life, even back at the castle, before she was turned—with his frequent visits, their long conversations, their long pregnant silences. After that bloody night, he continued to define her, having given birth to her new existence. And ever since then he had plagued her shadow—even into this modern world.

Now he was simply gone.

“We’re almost there,” Iscariot said, waving a hand to the screen before them.

She drew her attention forward. The screen showed a dark coastline, littered with a blaze of lights. Farther to the east, she noted the skies had begun to pale with the approach of dawn. She felt its approach in the lassitude that weighed her down, making her feel sluggish.

Their craft suddenly veered away from the mass of lights that marked the city of Naples. It swung toward a shadowy stretch of coastline, overlooked by a tall hill, with a thin sandy beach at its base. The crown of the hill was scooped out, marking it as one of the many old volcanoes that dotted this region of southern Italy, but its slopes had long turned to thick forests, sheltering deep lakes.

“Where are we?” Tommy asked, stirring from her side.

“Cumae,” Elizabeth answered, staring across the top of the boy’s head to Iscariot.

“We’re going to visit an old friend,” Iscariot added cryptically.

Elizabeth had little interest in anyone whom Iscariot considered a
friend
.

As their craft reached the shore, it swept low over the sandy beach, stirring dust into a cloud. They lowered back to the land as sand rose around them in a cloud.

She felt Tommy stiffen in her arms. He must know his destiny was close at hand and rightly feared it. She remembered Iscariot’s instructions to her, that she was supposed to keep the boy calm, to play nursemaid to him.

She tightened her arm around his thin shoulders—not because it was her duty, but because the boy needed such comfort.

At last, the craft bumped to the ground. The sand sifted and settled, opening a view to the ocean on one side and the steep slope of cliffs on the other.

Iscariot cracked open his door, washing in the smell of salt and burning oil.

They all climbed out.

Once Elizabeth’s feet felt the sand, another note struck her keen senses.

A whiff of sulfurous brimstone.

She faced the seaside cliffs of that ancient volcano, knowing what lay far beneath it, protected by an ancient sibyl.

The entrance to Hades.

Standing beside her, Tommy stared dully out across the dark seas, likely picturing the deaths far out there, wondering about his own fate. She took his hand and gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. She would play her role as ordered, biding her time until she could make her escape.

As Elizabeth turned her own eyes out across those empty waters, she was again struck by the hollowness of her loss. And not just Rhun. She pictured her estates, her children, her family. All gone.

I am alone in this world.

Tommy leaned against her. She gripped him in turn. He glanced at her, moonlight shining in his eyes, his gaze full of fear but also gratefulness that she was near.

He needed her.

And I need you,
she suddenly realized.

Iscariot joined them, stepping forward amid a flutter of emerald wings, the moths released from a hold in the side of the craft. She refused to shy from the unspoken threat and kept her back stiff.

“It is time,” he said and took Tommy’s shoulders.

He turned the boy to face the cliffs—and his destiny.

6:12
A.M.

Erin held Christian’s heavy head in her lap as Jordan idled their listing boat toward the dark dock of the oil platform. The three of them were alone on the boat. Rhun and Bernard had slipped into the water when they were a hundred yards off and swam to the dock on their own. From a distance away, she saw a small scuffle of shadows, a strangled cry—then Rhun had flashed a signal that it was safe for them to continue to the dock.

Jordan nudged the boat forward.

The pair of Sanguinists had made it clear that she and Jordan were to hang back until the way ahead was clear. Rhun’s and Bernard’s keen senses would pick out and dispatch any threats.

“Keep down,” Jordan warned her as they fell under the shadow of the platform above. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other on a rifle, the weapon dropped by one of the men Bernard had killed earlier. She ducked her head low over Christian, watching Jordan.

Jordan’s eyes surveyed every strut and catwalk above, clearly not fully trusting the Sanguinists to keep them safe. The weight of the massive structure seemed to press down upon them. Far above, electric lights blazed, but the lower area was mostly dark, a shadowy world of concrete pillars, steel stairs, and a crisscrossing maze of ramps and bridges.

The Zodiac limped past the bulk of a huge luxury hydrofoil docked in a neighboring berth.

Jordan looked at it closely—and perhaps a bit enviously. “Guy’s got bank,” he mumbled, with a weak attempt at levity.

She gave him a quick smile to let him know that she appreciated the gesture. A minute later, the Zodiac bumped to a stop at a steel dock.

Jordan held out an arm, his palm down, urging her to remain low. He watched closely for several long breaths, then waved her up.

Erin shifted higher. The salty wind felt good against her face.

Jordan hopped off, shouldering his rifle and quickly tying off the boat. He then crouched next to her in the boat. They were to await Rhun and Bernard’s return.

It did not take long.

A shadow shed from above and landed silently on the steel treads of the dock. Rhun joined them, followed a moment later by Bernard. Both had knives bared and bloody. Erin wondered how many men they had killed tonight.

Bernard sheathed his blade and helped Erin to haul Christian quickly from the boat, then the cardinal carried his body from there.

“The way up should be clear,” Rhun said. “But we must take care when we reach the structure on top.”

He led them to a long metal staircase that corkscrewed around the neighboring concrete pillar and rose to the platform above. Once on the stairs, Rhun passed Jordan a machine pistol. He must have confiscated it from one of the guards.

Jordan shouldered his rifle and took the more agile weapon.

“Don’t fire unless you must,” Rhun warned. “My blade is more silent.”

He nodded, as if they were talking about their golf swings.

As they climbed higher and higher, Erin concentrated on hanging tightly to the cold slippery metal rail. Winds whipped at her in sudden gusts. She came across one landing slick with blood and stepped gingerly around the stain, trying not to picture the slaughter.

Ahead of her, Jordan’s boots ascended more confidently. Behind her, the cardinal seemed to have no trouble climbing while carrying Christian over his shoulder.

Rhun had disappeared above again, but his presence was plain. She heard a soft thud somewhere over her head. Moments later, they reached the top of the winding stairs. The electric lights seemed too stark and cold after the shadows below.

Rhun stood over the body of another guard.

Jordan joined him, crouched low, his pistol high.

Erin huddled with Bernard at the top of the stairs while the other two made a fast canvass of the immediate area. Up this high, the winds crashed against her, whipping her hair, snapping her leather jacket.

Finally, Rhun and Jordan returned.

“Place is a ghost town,” Jordan said. “Must keep only a skeletal crew here.”

Rhun pointed to the towering superstructure. “There’s a doorway over there.”

They sprinted as a group across the open decking. The structure ahead appeared to be a rendition of an old sailing ship’s forecastle, down to the tall windows, faux rigging, even a bowsprit with a figurehead. It looked like a ship cresting upward out of a steel sea.

Rhun led them to a door. He creaked it open, revealing a long corridor. He ushered them across the threshold, shutting the door behind them, but he held them at the entrance.

He lifted up a hand and shared a significant glance with Bernard. Erin guessed that they must have heard something, possibly a heartbeat or some sign of a life. With a nod from Bernard, Rhun rushed forward like a hound loosed upon a fox. He vanished into the shadows. Distantly a door slammed, accompanied by a crash of what sounded like pots and pans.

Rhun returned a moment later, slipping out of the darkness and waving them onward.

Jordan glanced hard at Rhun.

“A galley cook.” Rhun lifted his arm, revealing a green bottle of wine. “And I found this.”

Bernard quickly took it.

Erin knew the wine could be consecrated and used to help Christian heal. She hoped that it would be enough.

“I hear no one else,” Rhun said. “Not a scuff, breath, or heartbeat.”

Bernard concurred. “I believe we are alone here.”

“Let’s be careful anyway, just in case,” Jordan warned.

As they headed down the corridor, Erin realized the significance of the lack of any living presence. “Does that mean that Tommy isn’t here?”

Or Iscariot or Elizabeth.

She pictured the helicopter that had attacked them.

Had the others been aboard it? If so, where had they been headed?

“We must search thoroughly to make certain,” Rhun said. “And if they are not, we must try to find where they’ve gone.”

“And why Judas absconded with the First Angel to begin with,” Bernard added, shifting Christian’s weight on his shoulder. “How is the boy a part of his plan?”

His plan for Armageddon,
Erin reminded herself.

The passageway ended at a large salon, lined by bookcases on both sides with arched windows overlooking the sea below. A large ship’s wheel stood before the windows. From the display cases holding nautical bric-a-brac, it looked like a museum.

Rhun crossed to a large hearth set amid the shelves and held out his hand. “Still warm.”

“The boss clearly left in a hurry,” Jordan said. “He must’ve been on that other chopper.”

But why?

“I will tend to Christian here,” Bernard said, carrying his body to the fireplace and lowering him to a couch. “Go learn what you can.”

Erin was already moving, spotting a set of elevator doors to the right, framed in a frilly grille of brass. Other doors stood closed along the walls, likely leading to a maze of rooms and corridors. Ignoring them, she crossed instead to the ship’s wheel. It marked the symbolic post of the captain of this steel-locked ship. The towering windows offered a commanding view of the sea, looking east toward the distant coast, where the stars had begun to fade with the approach of the new day.

Sensing time was running out, she glanced to the right, to the nearest door. Perhaps the captain kept his most precious spaces close to his command post.

She headed to that door and found it locked.

Jordan noted her frustration as she tugged on it.

“Allow me,” Jordan said. “I have a key.”

She turned to him.
How—?

He lowered his rifle, aimed at the lock, and fired.

The blast made her jump, but the result made her smile. The handle was blown off, leaving a hole through the door.

She easily pushed it open, revealing a private study lined by walnut wainscoting in a high Victorian style, with a botanical mural intricately painted on the wall, depicting lifelike flowers, leaves, and twining vines, mixed with butterflies and bees. It looked less decorative than instructional, like something one would find in a Renaissance text on botany.

Erin made straight for the massive writing desk, a solid affair with well-turned legs and a leather top covered with papers.

Jordan followed her inside.

Rhun stepped to the doorway, drawn by the commotion.

“Be careful,” he warned. “We don’t know—”

Suddenly the delicate paintings along the wall burst to life. Leaves fluttered from branches, flowers spun delicately from stems, a scatter of butterflies and bees wafted off the wall.

The entire motif was a deadly collage.

It filled the air in a dazzling kaleidoscope of movement and color.

And swooped toward Rhun.