Nadia heard it, too, catching his eye.
Jordan looked from one to the other, his handsome face contorted with confusion.
Ambrose put on his most supercilious expression and opened the door.
In walked Erin.
Bathory’s collar had left wounds and trails of dried blood on her throat. Dirt smudged her face and hands, and she looked exhausted. The young man following her looked worse.
But she was alive.
4:40 P.M.
Jordan swept Erin into the best hug she’d had in a very long time. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. She wished that she could rest there for a very, very long time.
“How did you get here?” Rhun spoke. “And who is your companion?”
Erin disentangled herself from a grinning Jordan. “This is Nate Highsmith. He was part of my team in Caesarea. Bathory captured him and brought him to Rome.”
Nate shook hands all around, casting a suspicious, jealous glare at Jordan after that unmistakably warm hug.
Jordan didn’t seem to notice, remaining all smiles. He kept looking at Erin, and she couldn’t help but smile back. When Bathory had dragged her away and left Jordan and Rhun in Rasputin’s clutches, she had feared she might never see either of them again.
Jordan quickly caught her up on what had happened in the past few hours.
In turn, she explained how she and Nate had escaped by following the tunnels out of Nero’s Circus and into Vatican City. Once here, she had demanded to see Cardinal Bernard, whereupon the Swiss Guard took them into immediate custody.
“The ruins of the Circus!” Rhun said. “Of course. That cursed warren of tunnels would offer the perfect shelter for the Belial.”
“Why?” Jordan asked.
“It’s underground, and protected from the light, so Bathory’s strigoi can roam freely during the day,” Rhun said. “But more important, the circus is the most unholy place in Rome, its sands forever tainted by the blood of the Christians who were martyred there. That unholiness would strengthen her forces and weaken ours.”
Cardinal Bernard gestured to one of the guardsmen and Ambrose. “Send troops to the circus. Sanguinists and humans. They must sweep the tunnels and retrieve the book. And inform His Holiness.”
The soldier and the priest nodded and left.
The Cardinal walked Erin and Nate through the events again, matching details. It took him a long time, but eventually he looked like he believed they were telling the truth.
“Describe the book to me again.” The Cardinal closed his eyes and steepled his fingers.
“It’s better if I draw you a sketch,” Erin said, and waved for paper and pen.
Nodding, the Cardinal passed her some papal stationery and a pen. Working quickly, she began drawing a crude representation of the images atop the book.
“It’s a block of lead about the size of a Gutenberg Bible,” Erin said, and quickly described the strange imagery that was etched into it: the skeleton and the man, embracing each other and bound by a braided rope, along with the inkwell-like indentations and the Greek symbols.
“Alpha and Omega,” the Cardinal muttered as she finished. “That stands for Jesus, of course.”
“I’m not so sure.” Erin hated to pick a fight, but something told her that the Cardinal was wrong.
“Of course it does! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last. From the Book of Revelation.” His brown eyes looked angry.
“But Alpha and Omega are also the first and last letters in the Greek alphabet.” Something moved around in the shadows of her mind. “The first and the last.”
As she finished her sketch, something nagged at her about the drawing—then she suddenly knew the answer. A cold certainty spread through her. She had seen a similar image as the one depicted on the book throughout the Apostolic Palace. That iconic symbol was found everywhere—even at the top of the piece of stationery in her hand.
She stared at the others, her eyes widening. “I think—”
Just then, a Swiss Guardsman slammed open the door behind her, making her flinch. He came running inside, his cheeks bright with panic. “Your Eminence, someone has broken into the papal tomb in the necropolis!”
Erin twisted around, meeting the guard’s eyes. “And they did something with the bones of Saint Peter, didn’t they?”
He took a full step back in surprise. “S-someone stole them.”
The Cardinal gasped, while Rhun and Nadia leaped to their feet.
“Of course they did!” Erin practically shouted, her heart racing. “Of course!”
All eyes turned to her.
“I know how to open the book!” she exclaimed.
She remembered the look on Bathory’s face when they had been talking about the transformation of the book, and about how alchemical ingredients were needed in order to catalyze the transformation of ordinary lead into the golden word of Christ.
Bathory had already figured out the Alpha and Omega.
All heads turned to Erin.
“Go ahead,” Jordan said.
“The book has the clues to open it on the cover.” Her voice trembled. “And Bathory figured it out.”
“You’d better explain quickly,” Jordan said.
Erin bent to the stationery and circled the papal seal at the top.
It depicted two keys—the gold and silver keys of Saint Peter—crossed at the middle and bound by loops of crimson rope. The papal seal and the image on the book bore an uncanny resemblance to each other—but instead of keys representing the popes, the book had two figures crossed in a similar fashion.
Erin explained: “Saint Peter hid the book two millennia ago. He must have seen the design on the Gospel, a design that was to become better and better known as the centuries passed—moving out of secrecy into the open sometime during the twelfth century when the crossed keys began to appear as heraldic symbols of the popes. But the source for that design must have come from the images inscribed on the Blood Gospel and borne by Saint Peter.”
She tapped the papal seal. “The keys represent the papacy. So do the figures. The skeleton and the man.” She pushed hair back off her face. “Alpha stands for first. Under that is the drawing of a skeleton.”
“Yes?” Rhun leaned in close, dark eyes staring at her as if he could read the answer in her face.
“That symbol represents the bones of the first pope.”
“Saint Peter!” the Cardinal said. “That’s why they stole his bones.”
“To be used as the first ingredient in opening the book. I believe some of Saint Peter’s ground-up bone is meant to fill that first inkwell-like hole on the cover.”
Jordan stirred. “Piers might have been trying to tell us that in Germany. He kept saying ‘book’—and ‘bones.’ ”
“Exactly.” She tapped the other half of the picture. “This depiction of a living man represents the current pope. The Omega pope. The last pope.”
“So they need the current pope’s bones, too?” Jordan asked, looking squeamish.
She shook her head.
“Then what do they need?” Rhun asked.
“What does a man have that a skeleton doesn’t?” She started listing. “Life. Flesh. Blood.”
“Blood?” Jordan interrupted. “Piers mentioned that, too, but in German. Blut.”
“The second ingredient …” Erin’s hands turned to ice as the full realization dawned on her. She looked at the others. “They need the blood of the current pope.”
4:48 P.M.
Rhun and Nadia ran behind Bernard, flanking him, forming their own triad. No longer concerned about revealing their unnatural heritage, they moved at top speed, shadows sweeping the halls of the Apostolic Palace. The humans fell behind. But this was no affair of theirs.
Rhun sprinted down the long hall that led to His Holiness’s bedroom. Walls covered in rich wood flashed by. Crucifixes and dark religious paintings hung throughout the hall. A fortune in art, but that would
not be enough to save an old man’s life. Only they could do that.
Grant, O God, Thy protection, and in protection, strength.
The pope’s bedroom door stood open, spilling light into the dark hall.
Shadows flickered inside.
Bernard ran into the room without pause or a knock, he and Nadia in formation close behind him. A wave of blood assaulted his senses. They were too late.
His Holiness lay on his side on the floor. Blood flowed from his opened neck onto his holy white cassock. On the floor next to his body lay a straight razor, probably his own. Near his old white head were his red papal shoes, neatly lined up next to his bed. His usually carefully combed hair was tousled, his lined face pale with shock, his warm blue eyes closed.
Ambrose was kneeling by him. Blood coated his palms. He was trying, ineffectually, to stanch the wound.
Bernard joined Ambrose on the floor, Nadia stepped into the adjoining bathroom, and Rhun assessed the bedroom for threats. Thick velvet curtains were drawn tight, the simple brass bed rumpled and empty, the chair pushed straight into the antique desk, bookshelf orderly behind it.
Rhun understood.
They had taken him in his bed as he rested, and with little struggle.
Rhun closed his eyes and reached out with other senses. The only heartbeats in the room belonged to Ambrose and His Holiness. The only smells were familiar ones: Ambrose, His Holiness, the other Sanguinists, paper, dust, and a trace of incense. And, overlying it all, the old man’s spilled blood.
He returned his attention to His Holiness. His face had lost even the small amount of color it had when they’d arrived. His breath rasped out through his partially opened mouth.
“I came to tell him and he … he …” Ambrose stuttered. “He needs a doctor. Get him a doctor!”
Bernard pressed a firm palm on the pope’s wound. Nadia nodded once to let the Cardinal know that the bathroom was clear, then ran from the room, as fleet as the wind.
Ambrose wiped his hands down his black cassock. His heart tripped along in fear or shock. He looked so pale and lost that Rhun pitied him.
Rhun dropped his hand to Bernard’s shoulder. “We must take him to the surgery. Perhaps his physician can help him there.”
Bernard’s shocked eyes met his.
“Bernard!” he said sharply.
The Cardinal’s eyes cleared. “Of course.”
Bernard kept one hand tight against His Holiness’s throat and slid the other under his shoulders. Rhun put his own arms under the pope, too. The slight weight would be easy to bear. The old man’s heart stumbled, weakness in every beat. Without help, he did not have long to live.
Rhun and Bernard lifted the wounded man and bore him toward the emergency surgery. Nadia would bring the physician there.
This time their progress down the hall was slow. Rhun had time to see the ancient paintings, framed in heavy wood. This was the wall of saints, and each picture told a story of pain and martyrdom.
Swiss Guardsmen pounded down the hall, arriving with Erin, Jordan, and Nate.
“His Holiness is grievously wounded.” Bernard spoke in the formal Italian of his long-ago boyhood. Rhun had not heard that accent for many years. Bernard must be still in shock.
The guards parted like water to let them through.
As Rhun had hoped, Nadia waited at the surgery, a disheveled man in a white coat next to her. He looked as if she had dragged him from his bed, running every step.
He blanched when he saw whom they carried.
They stepped past him into the sleek modern surgery. Stainless-steel surfaces gleamed and modern machines waited under plastic covers. On the wall was only a simple round clock and a heavy iron cross.
Rhun and Bernard laid His Holiness gently on the clean white bed. Bernard still held his wound closed. “A razor did this,” he explained.
A second doctor rushed in.
“Everyone must leave,” the first doctor said. “Only medical staff allowed.”
As the physicians began to administer to His Holiness, Rhun prayed that they would find a way to save him. There was nothing more for the Sanguinists to do.
He stepped out into the hall. Drops of the pope’s blood gleamed against the wooden floor. “Where did Nadia go?”
“She took a division of the guardsmen back down the hall,” Jordan said. “To look for the guy who did this.”
If the attacker could be found, Nadia would find him. Rhun leaned against the wood paneling. Bernard reached an arm around his shoulders, and he leaned against him. A successful papal assassination had not occurred in centuries.
“What does this mean for Bathory, Erin?” Jordan asked.
Her eyes told Rhun all he needed to know. “It means that Bathory has both ingredients necessary to open the book.”
57
October 28, 5:05 P.M., CET
Vatican City, Italy
Standing outside the surgery room, Erin wished that she had better news. The Belial had the book and the means to open it. Would that be enough for them to transfigure it? Had evil already won?
Nate slumped and sat on the floor next to her. Fresh blood soaked his pant leg. She had never seen him so pale. He leaned his head back against the wall.
Jordan pulled a water bottle out of his coat pocket and pressed it into the kid’s hands.
Nate downed it in one long swallow. How long had it been since he’d had a drink? It had never even occurred to Erin to ask if he was thirsty, and she’d basically had him sprinting from the moment he had been tossed into her cell.
Bernard made eye contact with a Swiss Guardsman. He pointed at Nate. “This man must be taken to medical care. The woman, too.”
“Take Nate now,” Erin said. “I’ll follow along in a minute.”
Bernard hesitated, then nodded in agreement. The guardsman helped Nate to his feet.
“I’m fine.” Nate pulled himself up straighter, but his back began to slide down the dark oak paneling.
“Of course you are,” she said. “So am I. But let’s just humor them. I’ll be right behind you.”
Nate raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn’t protest as two guardsmen herded him down the hall. The kid was tough. He’d be fine. She tried not to think of watching Heinrich being carried away. She would see Nate again soon.
Jordan pulled out his first-aid kit. “Sure you don’t want to go with the kid?”
“The neck looks more dramatic than it is,” she said.
“Looks pretty dramatic.” Jordan pulled out an alcohol wipe, the smell all too familiar to Erin.
She gritted her teeth when he reached for her, but the touch of his hands on her neck was featherlight.
“So what’s next?” His familiar blue eyes looked into hers.
Her heart sped up. “Next?”
“What will Bathory do now? Where will she open the book?” From the way he asked, it sounded as if he thought she knew the answer.
She tried to talk, not to think about how close he stood, how gently he touched her throat. “The book cares very much about how it is to be opened and where.”
“You make it sound like a person.” Jordan stroked hair back from her neck and cleaned the side, stroking the wipe down from her jawline to her collarbone.
She shivered and shifted her feet to cover the movement. “I wonder if it doesn’t have some kind of awareness, some part of its maker tied to it.”
“I agree.” Bernard straightened the scarlet zucchetto he was wearing atop his white hair. “Always that has been my interpretation of the prophecy. And the book must be opened in Rome. But where in Rome?”
“If holy ground is important to the Sanguinists,” Erin said, sensing she was onto something, “it matters to the book, too. What’s the holiest place in Rome? Saint Peter’s tomb.” She stepped away from Jordan. She needed to think, which meant moving clear of his warmth, his musky scent. “But if the Belial wanted to open the book down there, they would have taken the pope’s blood first, then
the bone so they could open it right there where the bones are.”
“Makes sense,” Jordan said. “Why break in twice, once to steal the bones and once to open the book?”
A bell tolled. Rhun and Bernard exchanged a glance.
“What does that mean?” Jordan pulled out a roll of gauze.
“The Swiss Guard are sounding the alarm,” Bernard answered. “They are evacuating tourists from Vatican City.”
“Then Bathory doesn’t have much time.” If only she had a better idea of where that witch might be. Then a ray of hope dawned. “Wait! The basilica. It’s built above Peter’s tomb. The holiest part of the holiest church in Rome.”
Before she even finished her sentence, Rhun and Bernard vanished from her side, like a pair of apparitions. They fled down the hall with eerie speed. No one watching them would think for a second that they were human.
Jordan shook his head. “Guess they’re giving up the secret identity thing.” He lifted an eyebrow and held out a hand. “Feel like one more run?”
She nodded and let him pull her to her feet.
He broke into a jog after collecting his Heckler & Koch submachine gun, which Nadia had been kind enough to return from Germany, along with his Colt pistol. Erin followed Jordan through the spacious halls of the Apostolic Palace and toward the square. No one tried to stop them.
They bounded down a flight of stairs, taking two at a time, to the wide hall that led to a bronze door and out to St. Peter’s Square.
Ahead, two Swiss Guards in formal blue-, red-, and yellow-striped tunics and tights swung the doors open for Rhun and the Cardinal.
Jordan sped up, trying to catch them.
“We’re with those two!” Jordan yelled.
“Let them pass,” the Cardinal called over his shoulder, already out onto the square.
The guardsmen stood aside as the couple ran through.
Behind them, the doors slammed closed with a resounding thud. No one would be allowed to enter again so easily.
Erin hurried down the steps, already out of breath. Marble pillars rose on either side of her, climbing more than twenty-five feet into the air. The scale of everything made her feel like a child who had broken into the home of a giant.
The Blood Gospel Page 42