Innocent Blood(118)
Christian turned the hydrofoil toward it, sweeping his lights across its bulk.
In return, gunfire spat at them, taking out one of their lights, chattering across the bow. Jordan and Erin ducked. Christian gunned the engines, looking as if he intended to ram the chopper as they beached.
“Hold tight!” Christian called out.
Instead, Rhun stepped free of the door, moving to the bow. He heard sand and rock grind under the fins—and the ship jerked to a sudden halt. Thrown forward, Rhun leaped high, using the momentum to fly over the bow rail and across the remaining strip of water. He landed smoothly on the soft sand near the helicopter. He spotted a shift of shadows and fell upon it. The gunman wore a pilot’s leathers and bared the fangs of a strigoi.
Rhun slashed his karambit across the beast’s throat, slicing with the blessed steel down to bone. The pilot fell to his knees, then his face. A pool spread across the sand as black blood attempted to boil the holiness out of the cursed body, taking his life with it.
Rhun did a fast canvass of the ash-covered beach—then waved everyone to shore.
As they clambered to him, Rhun looked from the dead body to the dark sky. With day turned to night, any manner of creature could walk free.
Jordan picked up something glittering out of the black ash. “One of Iscariot’s moths.” He played the beam of his flashlight across other bits of brightness that glittered under the light, like a scatter of emeralds in dirt. “The moth in my hand looks intact. I bet the gears and clockwork couldn’t handle all this ash.”
“Still, be careful where you step,” Erin warned her companions. “They’re likely still full of poisonous blood.”
It was sound advice.
Christian especially searched the ground, looking wary.
Rhun joined him. “How do you feel?”
After a nervous lick of his lips, he said, “Better. A little wine, a little fresh air . . .” He waved sardonically to the dark snowfall. “Who wouldn’t feel as strong as an ox?”
Rhun cast him an appraising look.
Christian straightened, going serious. “I am doing . . . okay.”
Rhun certainly could not fault his handling of the ship. He had gotten them back to the coast in under twenty minutes.
Beyond Christian, Bernard searched the beach, likely looking less for evidence of Iscariot’s whereabouts as for the reinforcements he had summoned while en route. The team could not expect much immediate help, only from those Sanguinists within easy reach of Naples. Rome was too far for them to get here in time.
Erin called out, her voice muffled by her mask. She and Jordan had moved closer to the cliffs. “Footprints! Over here in the sand!”
Rhun joined them, bringing Christian and Bernard.
She pointed as Jordan swept his flashlight. Even dusted with ash, the fresh tracks were plain, crisply impressed into the soft sand. She glanced up, her face streaming with sweat. The very air here burned. “Looks like they headed into that nest of boulders.”
Rhun nodded and took the lead. He forced his way between the rocks until he reached the mouth of a narrow tunnel that broke into the cliff face. Despite the ash fouling the air and caking his nostrils, he smelled the breath of brimstone coming from this tunnel.
Jordan shone his light inside, revealing a long throat of black rock, streaked with yellow veins of sulfur.
“This must lead beneath the volcanic hill,” Erin said. “Likely burrowing toward the ruins of Cumae and the sibyl’s throne to the northeast.”
And below it, the gates of Hell.
Bernard touched Christian’s shoulder. “You remain here with Erin and Jordan. Await the arrival of those I’ve summoned. Once here, follow our path.” He nicked a finger with a blade. “I’ll leave blood for you to follow.”
Erin stepped up. “I agree Christian should stay here, to lead the others, but I’m coming now. I know the sibyl and her local history better than anyone. You may need that knowledge in that maze below.”
Jordan nodded. “What she said. I’m coming, too.”
Bernard conceded, too easily. Rhun wanted to argue more stridently, but he also knew how futile it was to thwart Erin.
They headed inside, leaving Christian to guard their rear, to ready any reinforcements.
Rhun led the way, trailed by Bernard. He noticed how Jordan kept Erin safely ahead of him. Free of the rain of ash, the two had tugged off their masks, breathing easier, but their faces streamed with salt and sweat.
Rhun shifted farther ahead, needing no light. He sniffed at the air as he came to any crossroads. Through the stink of sulfur, Rhun’s sharp nose picked out other scents: older sweat, a familiar perfume, a musky cologne. The distinct trail led him through the darkness as surely as any map.