Innocent Blood(139)

51





December 20, 4:33 P.M. EET

Siwa, Egypt



Movement drew Erin’s eye to the crater’s edge, to where a giant in brown leather stalked forward, edging into the bowl. The strigoi was black skinned, shaven headed, pierced with steel, dragging a long broadsword behind him. He bent to pinch some of the sand and cast it away in disgust, likely sensing the holy ground. He spit where he tossed the grains, sneering and looking down at them.

At her.

A chill swept through her.

He continued another step, then another into the crater.

He didn’t come alone.

A pair of blasphemare lions padded to either side of him, staying close, their eyes searching, tails swishing grains. Their manes were black rather than tawny, ruffled by the hot desert wind. Their eyes shone toward her with a dread crimson under the ash-covered day. They snarled, showing fangs that better fitted something saber-toothed. Black claws dug deep, kicking sand back in a posture of pure feline threat.

The giant swung his sword in an easy figure eight through the air, the long blade an extension of his muscular arms.

Suddenly Erin wished she had not insisted her group come to Siwa.

Still, she pushed such thoughts down and firmed her grip on her gun. No matter the outcome in the next few minutes, she knew it was right to come here. Her guilt lay not in bringing everyone here but in failing to solve the mystery of these sands in time, the riddle hidden behind Arella’s calm eyes.

Around her, the Sanguinists had drawn their swords. Bernard carried an antique curved blade that shimmered like water, made of Damascus steel, edged with silver, likely deeply blessed. Christian brandished a curved blade, too, but his was modern, a kukri out of Nepal. Agmundr drew a longsword from a sheath across his back. Wingu raised two shorter blades, one in each hand, swinging them with grace and power.

Rhun simply had his karambit in hand, its hooked edge as lethal as any blasphemare claw.

The giant strigoi took a final step forward, drawing the lions at his hips—then stopped again.

From behind him, a familiar silver-haired figure stalked into view. Iscariot had changed out of his usual gray suit into leather armor, bleached white, tailored gracefully to his muscular body.

Jordan swung his machine pistol toward him.

Iscariot noted the motion, and a shadow of a derisive smile etched his features. The man had plainly recovered from the last time Jordan had shot him with that same weapon.

Iscariot lifted an arm and released an emerald-winged moth into the air.

The Sanguinists shifted warily, their eyes upon its flutter. How many of those poisonous creations had he brought with him? With enough of them, he could fell the entire group of Sanguinists without stirring his army.

But the moth flew only a few feet into the crater before spiraling to the ground, shattering a wing to iridescent scales as it crashed. Whether from the contamination of the ash in the air or from the blowing dust of sand, apparently its delicate cogs could not handle this harsh terrain.

Or maybe again it was the holiness found here.

No matter the cause, at least one threat had been neutralized.

Not that it would likely change the final outcome.

Iscariot’s voice carried easily down into the crater. His gaze swept over them, noticing who was missing. “It seems you have lost your two angels.”

Erin willed herself to keep her gaze fixed on the enemy and not let it twitch toward the well where Arella had vanished with Tommy. She hoped that the boy would get away, that the spring led out to some secret exit, some distant pool. Tommy’s immortality should keep him alive, even drowned underwater.

“We may have lost our angels,” Jordan called back. “But I see you found your demons.”

Iscariot laughed and gestured to the Sanguinists. “You have your own demons, Warrior of Man.”

“Friends,” Jordan countered. “Not demons.”

Iscariot frowned at them, clearly having no more patience. “Where are you hiding him?” he asked, leaving no doubt he was talking about Tommy.

Iscariot must know, as long as Tommy was loose, that his plan to unleash Hell on Earth remained threatened.

Silence stretched for several breaths.

Judas’s eyes settled on Erin and remained there. He lifted an arm and pointed to her. “No one is to harm her,” he called out loudly. “She is mine. She will give me my answer.”

A wave of snarling and hissing swept along the crater’s rim.

“Kill the rest!”



4:34 P.M.

Far down the throat of the well, Tommy kicked as hard as he could, heading even deeper. The initial shock after the strange woman tossed him down here and dragged him under had faded. Now he just tried to keep up with her. Despite the sudden dunking, he oddly trusted her.

He didn’t know if she was really an angel, but she’d saved his life, so for now, he would give her the benefit of his doubt.