Innocent Blood(121)

Erin shared a look with Jordan.

Jordan shrugged, keeping his gun pointed at the fighting across the room. Rhun battled alongside both Bernard and Elizabeth to rid the cavern of the last of the strigoi.

“At this point,” he said, “any enemy of Iscariot is a friend of mine.”

Still, Erin hesitated, remembering the oil painting, with Iscariot’s arm around her, looking lovingly upon her.

“Someone has to go in there and save the boy,” Jordan reminded her.

She nodded, hurried over, and using a dagger from Jordan, she sawed at the thick rope that bound the woman’s hands to the iron ring. Jordan continued to guard over her.

The woman’s eyes met Erin’s as she worked, shining with peace amid the bloodshed.

Erin swallowed, knowing whom she sought to free, but needing confirmation. “You are the Sibyl of Cumae.”

Her chin dropped slightly in acknowledgment. “That is one of many names I’ve carried over the centuries. For the moment, I prefer Arella.”

“And you will help the boy?” She glanced to his thin form on the stone.

“I must . . . as I helped another boy long ago.”

Arella’s hands finally broke free, and she brought her palms together as if in prayer, her index fingers inches from her face.

Jordan and Erin stepped back, sensing something building within this other.

A golden light suddenly washed from the sibyl’s body, driving them farther back. A corona of that light brushed against Erin, warming the cold out of her bones, like the buttery warmth of a summer sun, smelling of grass and clover. Erin drank it in. Joy filled her, reminding her of the moment the Blood Gospel had transformed from a simple lead block into a tome that held the words of Christ.

She suddenly found the word to describe what she felt.

Holiness.

She was in the presence of true holiness.

Next to her, Jordan smiled, surely feeling the same. For one moment, in the midst of the battle, there was peace. She leaned against him, sharing warmth and strength and love with him.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Erin asked.

Her grace turned fully upon Erin. “No. Neither you nor the priests can save the boy. Only I can.”

The woman—Arella—drifted from the wall and headed toward the towering pyre of cold darkness. The few wisps of blackness at the edges burned away as her radiance drew closer. Other tendrils withered back into the cloud, as if fearful of her touch.

Then she pushed into the cloud itself, her radiance shining brighter, battering back the darkness that swirled around her. Her glow swept upward to either side, feathering out into the blackness, forming a familiar shape.

Erin pictured the old drawing from the safe.

Wings.

How could such a being exist on Earth?

She realized that it had been far easier for her to believe in strigoi, in the presence of unholy evil made flesh, than to accept the presence of good. But she could not deny what she witnessed now.

Arella stepped to the altar, to the boy’s side.

The darkness closed down around her, tearing away at her brilliance.

A cry rose from the far side. “No . . . Arella . . . no . . .”

Iscariot rose to his feet, blood soaking through his shirt. He backed away, falling into a tunnel behind him and disappearing.

Jordan moved to chase after him, but Erin gripped his arm, wanting him close.

“He knows he’s lost, but the boy may need us.”

Jordan grimaced in frustration, but he nodded, keeping his gun pointed at that tunnel.

Arella knelt on the rough floor. Her wings bent and formed a protective shroud around the boy. Tommy lay on his back with a heavy net covering his body. His skin had a waxen, grayish hue, as if he had already died.

We are too late.

Erin’s throat closed.

But the sibyl touched his pale face, and color bloomed there, spreading from her fingertips, promising at least hope for the boy.

Arella lifted his head from the stone, cradling his neck, exposing a bright silver shard that pierced his pale throat, blood seeping from the wound. Her other hand cast a corner of the net free. It looked as if it had already been ripped loose. Her arm slipped within and gently eased the boy’s thin body out.

But the darkness was not about to let its prey escape so easily. As she gathered him up and stood, darkness coalesced into black claws that drove themselves deep into her light, ripping and shredding.

Arella gasped, falling to a knee.

The back of her dress tore, revealing black scratches across her shoulders.

Erin reached to help, but her arms fell, and she knew that there was nothing she could do.

Arella struggled back to her feet, lifting the boy in her arms. Her golden light was dimmer now, eaten away at the edges into a tattered lace. She hunched against the storm, as it grew ever fiercer about her. The cloud closed tighter, trying to stifle her glow, ripping at her like a shredding ice storm.