Erin let the tiny quilt flutter in the wind, holding it between just her thumb and index finger. Then she let it go. The scrap of fabric floated away into the bustle and life that was Rome.
She turned back to Jordan. “It’s about more than spirituality and miracles. It’s about logic, too, and having a questioning heart. We will find this First Angel.”
Jordan pulled her close. “Of course we will. We found the book, didn’t we?”
“We did.” She leaned her head against his chest, listened to his steady heartbeat. “And because we did, we have hope.”
“Sounds like a good day’s work to me.” Jordan’s voice was husky.
The sun broke over the horizon. Gold rays heated her face.
She tilted her head up toward his. He ran the back of his hand along her cheek, cupped the nape of her neck.
Then she stretched up to kiss him. His lips were warm and soft, different from Rhun’s, natural. She slipped her hands under his shirt, sliding her palms along the heat of his skin. He moaned and pulled her in closer, his hands now on her back.
Eventually, she pulled back. Both she and Jordan were breathing hard.
“Too fast?” Jordan asked.
“No.” Erin reached for him again. “Too slow.”
AND THEN
Late Autumn
Rome, Italy
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.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book has many fingerprints on it beyond the two authors on the cover. First let me thank my critique group: Sally Barnes, Chris Crowe, Lee Garrett, Jane O’Riva, Denny Grayson, Leonard Little, Scott Smith, Penny Hill, Judy Prey, Dave Murray, Will Murray, Caroline Williams, John Keese, Christian Riley, Amy Rogers, and especially Carolyn McCray, who helped get this story off the ground by asking challenging questions. And, of course, David Sylvian, for being at my right hand at every stage of production and beyond. I must also give a shout-out to Joe Konrath for all his efforts to make this story that much better. Last, of course, a special nod to the four people instrumental to my career: my editor, Lyssa Keusch, and her colleague, Amanda Bergeron; and my agents, Russ Galen and Danny Baror. And as always, I must stress that any and all errors of fact or detail in this book fall squarely on my own shoulders.
Rebecca here. I’d like to thank everyone who worked hard helping to get the book and me out into the world, including my fantastic agents Elizabeth Evans, Mary Alice Kier, and Anna Cottle; and Lyssa Keusch at Harper. This novel, and my other novels, have been much improved by the wonderful Kona Ink writing group of Kathryn Wadsworth, Judith Heath, Karen Hollinger, and David Deardorff. It was a difficult journey, and I couldn’t have made it without the support of my steadfast Ironman husband and brilliant son, the family weapons expert. Thanks also to Jim, for inviting
me to come play.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JAMES ROLLINS is the New York Times bestselling author of thrillers translated into forty languages. His Sigma series has been lauded as one of the “top crowd pleasers” (New York Times) and one of the “hottest summer reads” (People magazine). Acclaimed for his originality, Rollins unveils unseen worlds, scientific breakthroughs, and historical secrets–and he does it all at breakneck speed. Find James Rollins on Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter, and at www.jamesrollins.com.
REBECCA CANTRELL’s Hannah Vogel mystery novels have won the Bruce Alexander and Macavity awards and have been nominated for the Barry and RT Reviewers Choice awards; her critically-acclaimed novel, iDrakula, was nominated for the APPY award and listed on Booklist’s Top 10 Horror Fiction for Youth. She and her husband and son just left Hawaii’s sunny shores for adventures in Berlin. Find Rebecca Cantrell on Facebook, and Twitter, and at www.rebeccacantrell.com.
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OTHER WORKS
BY JAMES ROLLINS
Bloodline
The Devil Colony
Altar of Eden
The Doomsday Key
The Last Oracle
The Judas Strain
Black Order
Map of Bones
Sandstorm
Ice Hunt
Amazonia
Deep Fathom
Excavation
Subterranean
BY REBECCA CANTRELL
A Trace of Smoke
A Game of Lies
A City of Broken Glass
A Night of Long Knives
CREDITS
COVER DESIGN AND ILLUSTRATION BY RICHARD L. AQUAN
COVER PHOTOGRAPHS: STORM CLOUDS © BY CHRISTINA BOLLEN/ALAMY;
BATS © BY JOHN CANCALOSI/ALAMY
COPYRIGHT
THE BLOOD GOSPEL. Copyright © 2013 by James Czajkowski and Rebecca Cantrell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollins books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information please write: Special Markets Department, HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-199104-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-224787-2 (international edition)
EPub Edition © JANUARY 2013 ISBN: 9780062235756
13 14 15 16 17 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part II
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part III
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Part IV
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Part V
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
And Then
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Works
Copyright
Credits
About the Publisher
The Blood Gospel Page 48