Blood Infernal

by James Rollins

  “His name was John Dee.”

  Erin stared harder at Elizabeth. John Dee was a famous English scientist who lived during the sixteenth century. Through his skills with navigation, he helped Queen Elizabeth set up the British Empire. But later in his life, he would become world renowned as an astrologer and alchemist. He lived during a time when religion, magic, and science stood at the crossroads.

  “What was he working on that involved the green diamond?” Erin asked.

  “One of Dee’s life goals—one that would discredit him in the end—was his quest to speak with angels.”

  Angels?

  A year ago Erin would have scoffed at the idea, but now—she glanced over to Jordan—she knew how real they were.

  Elizabeth continued. “Dee worked with a young man named Edward Kelly, who claimed to be a scryer.”

  “What’s that?” Jordan asked.

  “A fortune-teller,” Erin explained. “They used crystal balls, tea leaves, and other means of predicting what was to come.”

  “In Kelly’s case, he possessed a black polished mirror, said to be constructed of obsidian from the New World. In that mirror, he claimed the angels appeared to him, or so he convinced John Dee. Dee transcribed the words of those angels using a special language that he invented.”

  “Enochian,” Erin said.

  Elizabeth nodded. “In time, Dee lost his faith in Edward Kelly and wished to speak to the angels himself. To that end, he sought to open a portal to the angelic world through which he might speak to those beings and share their wisdom with mankind.”

  “But what does any of this have to do with the green stone?” Jordan asked.

  “Exactly,” Erin muttered.

  “The stone held the power to open that portal. It was full of a dark energy, one strong enough to pierce the veils between our worlds. On the day that Dee was to open the portal, a calamity occurred, and he and his apprentice were found dead in the laboratory. Emperor Rudolf hid the stone so that none could unleash its power again.”

  “How did you learn of this?” Erin asked.

  The countess smoothed the folds of her skirt. “Because Emperor Rudolf II told me.”

  Christian frowned skeptically. “You knew the emperor?”

  “Of course, I knew him,” she snapped, clearly angry. “I come from one of the most royal houses in Europe.”

  “I meant no offense, Sister,” said Christian.

  Elizabeth quickly collected herself, refolding her hands at her waist, looking like she was trying her best to be that humble nun again. She did a poor job.

  “The emperor wrote me a letter,” she explained. “He knew that Master Dee and I were the only ones in the known world engaged in the same kind of research—exploring the nature of good and evil.”

  “How does any of this help us move forward on our quest?” Jordan asked.

  “Dee knew much more about this diamond than he was willing to share in letters,” she said. “Like that symbol. I suspect he knew its significance. If we could find his old papers, his private notes, we could learn the truth.”

  Erin nodded. At least it’s a place to start.

  Rhun stared at Elizabeth. In fact, his gaze rarely left her features. “What has you looking so worried?”

  Erin tried to read that same anxiety in the woman’s stoic face, but failed. Then again, Rhun knew her better than anyone.

  “From small details in the emperor’s description of the state he found Dee and the boy’s bodies, I fear that Dee’s portal did not open unto the holy angels, but unto the darkest angel of all—Lucifer himself.”

  Elizabeth stared up at the black figures above their heads, tempting Christ. Silence filled the vast church as the implications of her statement slowly settled in on them all. The countess finally turned to them again.

  “No matter what,” Elizabeth warned, “we must keep the stone in one piece.”

  Jordan exchanged a look with Erin.

  “Show her,” Erin said.

  Jordan slowly pulled the two broken pieces of diamond from his pocket. Elizabeth shrank back from the glittering green shards. Even Erin could read the raw fear on her face. It was unmistakable now.

  “It is free,” she whispered.

  “What is free?” Erin asked.

  “There is nothing left for us to do,” Elizabeth said, ignoring the question, her voice low and frightened. “Except to plan for Lucifer’s return.”

  10:38 A.M.

  Rhun stared at Elisabeta in disbelief, searching for deceit but finding only authentic fear. “Lucifer?” he asked. “You truly think his return is close?”

  “The strigoi have changed, have they not?” Elisabeta’s eyes bored into his. “Possessing more speed, more strength?”

  Jordan nodded, rubbing his belly.

  “But what does it mean?” Erin asked.

  “It means that the danger facing you is greater than you realize.” Elizabeth touched the broken stones with one finger. “It has escaped its prison.”

  “What has escaped?” Rhun asked, drawing her hands away. If any evil remained in that stone, he didn’t want Elisabeta near it.

  “The gem was filled with dread forces, an energy amassed and distilled across many years as John Dee harvested them.”

  “Harvested whom?” Erin asked. “What energy are you talking about?”

  “The essence of over six hundred strigoi. Dee collected their dying energies at the moment of their death and funneled them into the heart of the diamond.” She turned to Rhun, clutching his arm. “You’ve slain enough strigoi to have seen the dark smoke that drifts free upon their deaths.”

  Rhun slowly nodded, glancing to Erin and the others, seeing recognition in their expressions. They had all witnessed it at one time or another.

  Erin spoke, “In your journals, it showed you killing a strigoi in a glass coffin. You illustrated that smoke rising from their bodies.”

  “That was as far as I could carry my experiments. But Dee learned to trap those essences using a glass apparatus of his own invention—and to collect them. Somehow, he discovered this green stone could contain such concentrated evil.”

  Jordan looked down at the two heavy shards in his hands. “And now those forces have been let loose.”

  “The act of shattering this stone,” Erin said, “could it be what the Blood Gospel’s prophecy was referencing, that the shackles of Lucifer have been loosened?”

  “Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, “but it is surely the reason that the strigoi have grown more powerful of late.”

  “Why is that?” Rhun asked.

  She turned to him. “Do you truly not know?”

  Rhun simply frowned.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered what it is that gives you your long life, your strength?” Elizabeth asked.

  “A curse,” he said.

  “That is a simple answer,” she said. “Surely the Church has scholars who have delved more deeply into this mystery than that.”

  “If so,” said Christian, “we don’t know about it. So tell us.”

  Elisabeta shook her head as if she could not believe their folly. “From my experiments and from Dee’s research into angels, we came to believe that all strigoi are fueled from a single angelic force—a dark angel.”

  Rhun stared up at the figures of Lucifer above.

  Elisabeta followed his gaze. “Have you not seen how the smoke of a dying strigoi does not drift up, but worms down?”

  He slowly nodded. “Returning to Hell.”

  “Returning to its source. To Lucifer himself.”

  Rhun lifted his hands, staring at his flesh, thinking of that Satanic energy inside, restrained only by the grace of Christ’s holy blood. To the side, Christian looked equally aghast, both of them for the first time perhaps understanding their truest natures.

  Thankfully, Erin directed the line of inquiry in a more practical direction. “Elizabeth, you said before that it was free, that it had escaped its prison. What do you think was r
eleased from that diamond?”

  “I cannot say for sure, but Dee had collected a specific number of strigoi spirits. Six hundred and sixty-six, to be precise.”

  “The Biblical number of the beast,” Erin said.

  “Dee believed, when he reached that number, that those essences would coalesce, come together to give birth or perhaps bind a demon.”

  “The Biblical beast,” Rhun said, beginning to fathom Elisabeta’s earlier terror.

  “Dee believed he could coerce that demon to open that angelic portal, but he failed.”

  “And now it’s loosed upon this world,” Rhun said.

  Elisabeta squeezed her hands together at her waist. “For any hope of stopping it, we must find Dee’s old papers. Only he might have understood what he created.”

  “Where do we begin to look?” Erin asked.

  “His old labs in Prague. That is, if they still exist. Dee knew how to keep secrets. He had hidden compartments throughout his rooms. In the fireplace, false walls, even the caverns underneath his laboratory. We must go to his workshop in Prague and seek out those answers.”

  Rhun looked to Erin and Jordan. It was a tenuous lead, but it was more solid than anything else. “What do you two think?”

  Jordan glanced over to Erin.

  She nodded. “I think it’s worth a shot. And with everything that’s happening, we should head out immediately.”

  “I can get the helicopter warmed up,” Christian said. “But who all’s going?”

  Erin waved to Rhun and Jordan. “The trio, of course.”

  Elisabeta stirred, straightening her shoulders. “I should accompany you, too. I have visited Dee’s workshop and know many of its secrets.”

  Christian raised an eyebrow. “You have just joined our order, Sister Elizabeth. It is common for those new to the cloth to spend months in seclusion, to learn to govern the animal forces within. It is a dangerous time.”

  Elisabeta bowed her head, but Rhun saw a familiar flash of anger in her silver eyes. “If that is the will of the Church, I must obey it. Yet, I do not see how you can succeed on this mission without my aid.”

  A voice rose behind them, revealing someone who had been eavesdropping on their conversation from the shadows.

  “Sister Elizabeth should assist the trio on their quest,” Sophia said, as she stepped out the darkness. “No one else in the Church has her knowledge. Risks must be taken if we hope to succeed.”

  Elisabeta bowed her head. “Thank you, Sister Sophia.”

  “You have taken the wine. If God trusts you, we can do no less.” Sophia nodded to Christian. “But the concerns raised a moment ago are real ones, so I will travel with you. To help you to be alert to temptation.”

  “I would welcome your expertise in such matters,” Elisabeta said.

  Rhun suspected Sophia was joining them, not as a tutor, but as a bodyguard—to keep an eye on Elisabeta. And maybe that was wise. Either way, the matter was settled.

  Christian turned away. “I’ll prepare a flight schedule. Barring any problems, we should be in Prague by noon.”

  As they prepared to follow, Rhun watched Jordan pocket the two halves of the green stone, reminding him what had been released into this world. If Elisabeta’s fears were true, a demon had been set free.

  But what manner of beast was it?

  March 18, 11:12 A.M. CET

  Venice, Italy

  How much longer must I wait . . . ?

  Legion remained hidden under the shadow of an archway. From the darkness, he studied the columned façade of the great church on the far side of the sunlit square. Bright midday sun reflected off its golden surfaces and burned his eyes, but he stayed in place.

  I have waited long, and I can wait longer still.

  As he kept vigil, rooted inside Leopold, he searched out other eyes, those whom he had enslaved with the touch of his hand. Through those distant branches, those other eyes, he saw a hundred other views, from places that were yet in darkness:

  . . . a torn throat of a young girl, pouring crimson over black tar streets . . .

  . . . the wet terrified eyes of a man in a metal box anticipating his death at the sharp teeth of a beast of the night . . .

  . . . another stalks a dark wood, circling a couple entangled together and oblivious to all but their own lusts . . .

  At any moment, he could do more than just see. He could pull his awareness fully into one of those slaves, taking possession of its limbs and body. But he remained where he was, planted firmly in this vessel, his foothold in his world. He searched yet again through the memories cast out by that small flame flickering in the enormity of his darkness.

  Leopold had recognized the sanctified stronghold across the square.

  And now I know it, too.

  St. Mark’s Basilica.

  Legion had come here from Rome, brought by a trembling Sanguinist priest who listened behind the door of one called Cardinal Bernard. From those ears, he had learned that the trio of prophecy would gather here. Though he wanted to know what transpired within those holy walls, he dared not trespass himself.

  Not only was that ground sacred, but the day’s fierce sun threatened to burn him to ash. He had brought nothing with which to cloak himself. Even in the shadows, the sunlight tingled against his skin. The sun would soon chase him into a nearby house or perhaps deep below the sea that fed the canals.

  I can rest under the cool green water during the heat of the day.

  The temptation called to him, to experience that beauty: the sparkle of flitting fish, the dance of emerald veils of seaweed. He wanted to revel within it, to be part of it.

  But not yet.

  Instead, he must linger in this city of foul canals, a patchwork of human depravity and holiness. The trio he hunted had sought sanctuary here. And despite Leopold’s attempts to hide knowledge of them, Legion had slowly gleaned more.

  Two of the trio were, of course, mortal.

  The Warrior and the Woman.

  But the third—the Knight named Rhun Korza—had arrived later than the others. He was a Sanguinist, like Leopold, which meant he was corruptible. Legion was capable of touching that darkness inside the Knight with his own shadows.

  Marking him, binding him to my will.

  Sadly, it was something he could not do with the Warrior or the Woman, who held no such darkness inside, but Legion only needed the Knight.

  Korza would be his way into the trio, his way to destroy the prophecy from within.

  A heavy door slammed across the square, drawing his attention.

  A troop of silent-hearted Sanguinists poured out of that holiness and into the open square. Legion searched their faces, breathing deeply of the smoke cast out by Leopold’s flame. Leopold knew many of them by name and habit.

  But his gaze fixed to one in the center, standing with the Warrior and the Woman.

  Rhun Korza.

  Once he bows to me, we will purge his world, returning it to a paradise.

  But his prey stayed ever in the light, frustratingly so. With no other recourse, Legion followed them along the narrow streets of Venice, keeping to the shadows. Through passing doors, he heard the heartbeats of those going about their dreary human lives—but one heart drew his attention more fully.

  The Warrior should already be dead. Legion remembered possessing the strigoi who had attacked the man: the thrust of the blade into this one’s soft belly, the heavy pour of hot blood against his cold hands.

  But the Warrior’s heart still beat.

  Closer now, Legion recognized a foreign note to its rhythm, as if the trumpeting of a great horn echoed behind those stolid beats.

  It was a mystery, but one that would have to wait.

  The others had reached their destination, hurrying during this last stretch under the merciless sun.

  I have no more time.

  The others rushed into a building, one smelling of oil, as much of this world does now. A bladed machine rested on the roof. Leopold kn
ew this device.

  . . . a helicopter, for flying like a bumble bee . . .

  A trickle of awe filled Legion at the mastery of these mortals over their limited world. Man had conquered much in the centuries that Legion had been imprisoned.

  Even the skies.

  Knowing this, Legion struggled with how he could continue his hunt. The helicopter would soon fly into the sun of a new day, bearing away the trio. He must know where they were headed.

  Already those blades had begun to turn.

  From the building below, a smaller group of Sanguinists exited. It was the escort who had guarded the trio’s passage through the city, preparing to return to their holy roosts. Most headed back from whence they had come, back toward the basilica, but one figure split away, heading another direction.

  Her path took her along a canal, whose closest bank still lay in deep shadows.

  He quickly circled through other patches of darkness to trail her.

  As he ran, he listened to the city, to its shouts and laughter, the growl of its engines, the hammering of its construction. He heard little of the natural world here. No birdsong, no brush of wind through leaves. Mankind had taken over this island—as they had much of this modern world—and tamed it for their uses, destroying the wild gardens, killing the creatures that lived in harmony there.

  While God might tolerate such ruin to his creation, I will not.

  To that end, he closed in on the swish of cloth as his target continued along the canal, oblivious to the hunter behind her.

  He pulled her name from Leopold and spoke it aloud.

  “Sister Abigail . . .”

  The Sanguinist turned toward him. Her hair was as gray as stone, pulled away from a fretful face. She was plainly irritated, and her anger made her react too slowly. As horror widened her eyes, reflecting back his dark countenance, he was upon her.

  He lunged out and touched her cheek, branding his mark into her flesh.

  She immediately sagged against him. He caught her, embraced her. As he held her, he flipped through her memories like a book.

  . . . walking the wet streets of London holding a hand above her head. Mother . . .

  . . . standing before a simple white gravestone. Father . . .

  . . . joyful people dancing in the streets. The Great War has ended, but so many lost. So many wild fields bombed into stripes of death . . .