Erin found her voice again. “Are you claiming that this is the Elizabeth Bathory? From the late 1500s?”
The woman bowed her head, as if acknowledging this truth.
Emotions ran across Erin’s face—a mix of relief and disappointment. They both knew how convinced the Church was that the Woman of Learning would arise from the Bathory line.
“I don’t understand,” Jordan said. “Is this woman a Sanguinist?”
The countess answered, “I will have no part of that dreary order. I place my faith in passion, not penitence.”
Rhun stirred. Jordan remembered the priest’s story from when he was new to the Sanguinist fold. In a moment of forbidden passion, Rhun had killed Elizabeth Bathory and the only way to save her was to turn her, to change her into a strigoi. But where had this woman been for the last four hundred years? The Church had been convinced the Bathory line had died with Darabont.
Jordan could guess the answer: Rhun must have hidden her.
It seemed the priest had kept quiet about more than just biting Erin.
Bernard spoke. “I believe that those gathered here are our best weapons in the upcoming War of the Heavens, a battle prophesied by the Blood Gospel. Here stands the world’s only hope.”
Countess Bathory laughed, the noise both amused and bitter. “Ah, Cardinal, with your love for the dramatic, you should have been better served by becoming an actor on a wider stage than the pulpit.”
“Nevertheless, I believe it to be true.” He turned and confronted the woman’s disobliging manner. “Would you rather the world end, Countess Bathory?”
“Did not my world come to an end long ago?” She glanced to Rhun.
Nadia pulled out her blade from its sheath at her hip. “We could make it a permanent end. After the murders you committed, you should be executed on the spot.”
The countess laughed again, a musical tinkling sound that raised goose bumps on the back of Jordan’s neck. “If the cardinal truly wished me dead, I would be a pile of ashes in St. Peter’s Square. For all your stern words, you need me.”
“That’s enough.” Bernard raised his red-gloved hands. “The countess has a duty to perform. She will serve as the Woman of Learning—or I will thrust her out into the sunlight myself.”
11:22 A.M.
Erin steeled herself against her wounded pride.
That was a clear vote of no confidence from the cardinal.
Was Bernard really so certain of Bathory and so uncertain of her?
She had one advocate in her corner. Jordan slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Screw that. Erin proved that she is the Woman of Learning.”
“Did she now?” Countess Bathory ran her pink tongue along her upper lip, revealing sharp white fangs. “Then it seems I am not needed after all.”
Erin kept her face blank. Over the centuries, Bathory women had been singled out for generations, trained to serve as the Woman of Learning. She had no such pedigree. Although she had been part of the trio that had recovered the Blood Gospel, it had been Bathory Darabont who actually succeeded in opening that ancient tome on the altar of St. Peter’s.
Not me.
Bernard pointed a hand at the countess. “What can explain her presence here except the fulfillment of prophecy? A woman believed to be dead, but resurrected by Rhun, the indisputable Knight of Christ.”
“How about poor judgment?” Christian said, coming to Erin’s corner. “And blind coincidence? Not every fall of a coin is prophecy.”
Jordan nodded firmly.
Rhun spoke, his voice hoarse. “It was sin that brought Elisabeta to this moment, not prophecy.”
“Or perhaps a lack of experience with sin,” the countess countered with a spiteful smile. “We could spend many idle hours speculating as to why I am here. None of that should obscure the fact that I am here. What do you wish of me, and what shall you pay for my cooperation?”
“Is it not payment enough to save the earthly realm?” Nadia asked.
“What do I owe this earthly realm of yours?” Bathory straightened her back. “Against my will, I was torn from it, ripped away by the teeth of one of your own. Since that time I have spent far longer locked away than free. From this moment on, I will do nothing that does not benefit me.”
“We don’t need her,” Jordan said. “We have Erin.”
Both Nadia and Christian nodded, and gratitude at their trust filled her.
“No,” Bernard said firmly, ending the discussion with his sternness. “We need this woman.”
Erin clenched her jaw. Again she was being cast aside.
The countess stared at Bernard. “Then explain this role of mine, Cardinal. And let us see if you can buy my help.”
As Bernard explained about the prophecy, about the looming War of the Heavens, Erin reached down and took Jordan’s warm hand. He tilted his head to look at her, and she lost herself for a moment in those clear blue eyes, the eyes of the Warrior of Man. He squeezed her hand, making a silent promise. Whatever happened, she and Jordan were in this together.
The cardinal finished his explanation.
“I see,” Bathory said. “And what manner of payment might I expect if I help you find this First Angel?”
Bernard bowed his head toward the countess. “There are many rewards to be had by serving the Lord, Countess Bathory.”
“My rewards for serving the Church have been scant thus far.” The countess shook her head. “The glory of service does not content me.”
In this one instance, Erin agreed with Bathory. The countess had certainly gotten a raw deal—turned into a strigoi, imprisoned first in her own castle, then in a coffin of wine for hundreds of years.
Everyone the woman knew was long dead. Everything she cared about was gone.
Except Rhun.
“My desires are of utmost simplicity.” The countess held up one imperious finger. “First, the Sanguinists must protect my person for the rest of my unnatural life. Both from other strigoi and meddling humans.”
She held up another finger. “Second, I must be allowed to hunt.”
She unfolded another finger. “Third, my castle shall be restored to me.”
“Elisabeta,” Rhun whispered. “You do your soul a disservice by—”
“I have no soul!” she declared loudly. “Do you not remember the day you destroyed it?”
Rhun let out a quiet sigh.
Erin hated to see him look so defeated. She hated Bathory for causing it.
“We can reach an accommodation,” the cardinal said. “If you choose to live in a Sanguinist enclave, you will be sheltered from all who wish to do you harm.”
“I shall not be locked away in some Sanguinist nunnery.” The countess’s voice rang with anger. “Not for Christ, not for any man.”
“We could give you a suite of apartments in Vatican City itself,” Bernard countered. “And Sanguinists to protect you when you leave the Holy City.”
“And spend eternity in the company of priests?” the countess scoffed. “Surely, you cannot imagine I would succumb to such a dreadful fate?”
A corner of Christian’s mouth twitched toward a smile, but Nadia looked ready to explode.
“The Church has other properties.” Cardinal Bernard seemed unperturbed. “Though none so well defended.”
“And what of my hunting?”
Everyone fell silent. The train rattled against the tracks, carrying everyone south.
Bernard shook his head. “You may not take a human life. If you do, we shall be forced to take you down like any other animal.”
“How then will I survive?”
“We have access to human blood,” Bernard said. “We could supply you with enough to satisfy your needs.”
The countess examined her cuffed hands. “So am I to become a cosseted prisoner, as was my fate in centuries past?”
Erin wondered how long she had spent locked in her own castle before Rhun imprisoned her in a coffin and spirited her to Rome. Certainly long eno
ugh to know what it meant to lose your freedom.
The cardinal leaned back. “So long as you do not kill, you may roam the world, live your life as you see fit.”
“Tied to the Church for protection.” She shook the chains that bound her. “Ever dependent upon you for the very blood that sustains my meager existence.”
“Do you have a better deal?” Nadia scoffed. “Cardinal Bernard is offering you a life of ease, when you have earned only death.”
“Yet could not the same be said for each Sanguinist in this room?” Her silver eyes locked on Nadia. “Or have none of you tasted sin?”
“We have turned from our sins,” Nadia said. “As must you.”
“Must I?”
“If you do not agree,” the cardinal said, his tone brooking no argument, “we will throw you from the train into the sunlight and assume that is God’s will.”
The countess’s eyes locked onto Bernard’s face for a full minute.
No one in the car spoke or moved.
“Very well,” the countess said. “I accept your gracious terms.”
“If she gets to name terms,” Jordan spoke up, “then so do I.”
Everyone stared at him, their faces incredulous.
Jordan pulled Erin closer to him. “We’re in this together.”
Bernard looked ready to balk.
Christian faced the cardinal. “Even if Erin is not the Woman of Learning, she still has much knowledge. We might need her. I’m certainly not part of any prophecy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t serve.”
Erin realized he was right. It didn’t matter whether or not she was the prophesied Woman of Learning. What mattered was that if she could help, she would do it. This quest wasn’t about pride, it was about saving the world.
She stared down Bernard. “I want in.”
Jordan tightened his grip on her shoulder and looked at the cardinal. “You heard her. That’s nonnegotiable. Or I walk. And I have no aversion to sunlight.”
Nadia inclined her head in Erin’s direction. “I support this, too. Dr. Granger has proven herself loyal in battle and deed. While this one”—she yanked on the countess’s silver chain—“has proven the opposite.”
A wrinkle appeared in the cardinal’s forehead. “But the fulfillment of prophecy is clear about—”
Rhun raised his head, facing Bernard. “Who are you to pretend to know the will of God?”
Erin blinked, surprised by his support, from the priest who had resurrected Elizabeth Bathory to replace her.
The cardinal lifted his hands, palms out in a conciliatory gesture. “Very well. I concede. It would be foolish of me to dismiss Dr. Granger’s knowledge and keen mind. I’m sure she could assist Countess Bathory in her role as the Woman of Learning.”
Erin couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or terrified.
So, leaning against Jordan, she settled for both.
14
December 19, 11:55 A.M. CET
South of Rome, Italy
The train rocked as it continued south to points unknown.
As trees and hills rolled past the window, Jordan rested his chin on top of Erin’s head. She smelled like lavender and coffee. Her shoulder and side pressed against his. He wished the chairs weren’t bolted to the floor so he could pull her even closer.
Time alone with her would be great, without priests and prophecies. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
Ideally, he would prefer that Erin stayed as far as possible from this mess, from Sanguinist priests and strigoi countesses. But that wasn’t going to happen either. He had spoken up for her because he knew how much she wanted to go. Additionally, if the Vatican sent her home, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
But can I protect her here?
After Karen had been killed in action, time had stopped for him, and it hadn’t started again until he met Erin. He would always know that Karen had died alone hundreds of miles away from him. He would never let that happen again to someone he loved.
Someone he loved . . .
He had never spoken that word aloud, but it was there inside him.
He kissed the top of Erin’s head, intending to stay close to her no matter what.
Erin hugged him tighter, but he saw her eyes studying Rhun. The priest sat with his head bowed in prayer, his thin hands clasped in front of him. Jordan didn’t like how Erin had been acting around Rhun ever since he bit her. Her eyes seldom left him when he was near. Her fingers often touched the two puncture scars on her neck—not with dread but with something akin to wistfulness. Something had happened in that tunnel, something she also hadn’t spoken aloud about yet. Jordan didn’t know what it was, but he sensed she was keeping more secrets from him than just those damned bloody visions.
But there was nothing he could do to draw her out. Whatever she was working through was clearly private, and he would give her that latitude. For now the best plan was simply to get this mission done—then get Erin as far from Rhun as possible.
To that end . . .
Jordan stirred, keeping one arm tightly around Erin. “Anybody have any idea where we can find the First Angel? Or even begin looking?”
Erin sat straighter. “It depends on who the First Angel is.”
Seated at a neighboring table, the countess lifted her hands, rattling her handcuffs. “Does not the Bible teach us that the First Angel is the Morning Star, the first light of day, the son of the dawn?”
“You’re talking about Lucifer,” Erin said. “He went by those names, and he was indeed the first angel to fall. But the Bible mentions many other angels before him. The first angel mentioned in Genesis came to the slave Hagar and told her to go back to her mistress and bear her master’s child.”
“True.” The countess had the coldest smile that Jordan had ever seen. “Yet how could we hope to find an angel without a name?”
“That’s a good point,” Erin said.
Bathory inclined her head, accepting the compliment.
Jordan noted both Rhun and Bernard studying this exchange between the two women. Christian also caught Jordan’s eye, as if to say, See, I told you they would work well together.
In the shadows, Bathory closed her silver eyes, as if in thought. Long black lashes rested against her ashen cheeks.
Erin stared out the window toward the sunlight, as the train rattled past winter fields dotted with giant round bales of hay.
The countess opened her eyes again. “Perhaps we had best focus our search on angels that have names. The first angel mentioned by name in the Bible is Gabriel, the primary messenger of God. Could that be the First Angel that we seek?”
The priests at the table looked uncertain. Erin remained curiously quiet, gazing out the window.
“Gabriel the messenger?” Nadia raised an eyebrow, still standing behind Bathory holding the countess’s leash. “In a war, I would think the archangel Michael would be a better ally.”
Jordan surveyed the train car, suddenly recognizing the strangeness of this discussion. Even if they settled on a biblical angel, how were they going to find one and bring it the book?
“Don’t angels live in another dimension or something?” Jordan asked. “One that humans can’t get to? How are we supposed to reach an angel there?”
“Angels dwell in Heaven.” Rhun had returned his attention to his folded hands. “Yet they may travel freely to Earth.”
“Then I don’t suppose you guys have some sort of angelic phone?” Jordan asked, only half joking. After all he had experienced since learning of strigoi and Sanguinists, who knew what other secrets the Church was keeping?
“It is called prayer,” Cardinal Bernard said, frowning at his flippancy. “And I have spent many hours on my knees praying for the First Angel to reveal himself. But I do not think that this angel will do so. Not to me. He will reveal himself only to the trio of prophecy.”
“If you are right, my dear cardinal,” Bathory said, “then we should begin praying to Lucifer im
mediately. For surely only a fallen angel would reveal himself to the likes of your flawed trio.”
Erin finally spoke, still staring out the window with that faraway look that meant she was in deep thought. “I don’t think we’re looking for Gabriel or Michael or Lucifer. I think we are searching for the First Angel from Revelation.”
The countess laughed, almost clapping her hands. “The angel who sounds the trumpet and ends the world. Ah, what an enticing theory!”
Erin quoted from memory. “The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth: and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.”
Armageddon.
Those were the stakes.
Jordan tried to picture hail and fire mixed with blood and sighed. “So where do we find him?”
Erin turned back to face the car. “I think the answer is found in an earlier passage from Revelation, from before the trumpet sounds. There is a line that reads, And another angel came and stood at the altar. Then after another few lines, it continues, The smoke of the incense, which came with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God out of the angel’s hand. And the angel took the censer, and filled it with fire of the altar, and cast it into the earth: and there were voices, and thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake.”
Jordan grinned. “Well, at least that part is easy enough to interpret.”
And he meant it.
He enjoyed the look of surprise on the Sanguinist priests’ faces.
“It doesn’t take a biblical scholar to figure that one out,” Jordan continued. “Smoke from the angel’s hand? Incense? Thunder? Earthquake?”
The others eyed him with confused expressions. The countess merely looked amused. He was supposed to be the muscle, not the brains.
Erin touched the back of his wrist, allowing him to reveal what she had already figured out.
He took her fingers and squeezed them. “That sounds exactly like what happened at Masada. Remember the boy who survived? He had said he thought he smelled incense and cinnamon in the smoke. We even found traces of cinnamon in the gas samples. And the boy also mentioned that the smoke touched his hand before everyone died from the gas and the earthquake.”
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