Innocent Blood(31)

Countess Elizabeth Bathory de Ecsed.

But she had perished centuries ago. Bernard had seen her imprisoned in her castle. He had even visited her there once, pitied her, the learned noblewoman brought low by Rhun’s base desires.

But Bernard bore as much guilt for that crime. Centuries ago, he had put the woman on this cruel path when he set the countess and Rhun together, when he tried to force his will upon divine prophecy. Afterward, Bernard had begged to be the one to take her life, to spare Rhun of such a deed, knowing how much he had loved her, how far he had fallen for her. But the pope had deemed it part of Rhun’s penance to end her unnatural life, to slay the monster that he had created.

Bernard had worried when Rhun returned from Hungary. Rhun had claimed the deed was done, that the countess was gone from this world. Bernard had taken it to mean she was dead, not put away like a doll in a drawer. At the time, as additional penance, Rhun had starved himself for years, mortified himself for decades, shutting himself off from the mortal world.

But plainly Rhun had not killed her.

What have you done, my son? What sin have you committed yet again in the name of love?

As horror faded, another realization took root, one full of promise.

By Rhun sparing her, the Bathory line was not dead—as Bernard had despaired these past months. He pondered what that implied.

Could this be a sign from God?

Had God’s will acted through Rhun to preserve the countess for this new task?

For the first time since the Blood Gospel had delivered its message and cast doubt on Dr. Erin Granger’s role as the Woman of Learning, hope surged through Bernard.

Countess Bathory might yet save them all.

Bernard stared at her beautiful face in wonder, still disbelieving this miracle, this sudden turn of good fortune. He gripped her hair tighter, refusing to lose this one hope.

She could not be allowed to escape.

Rhun appeared at his side, listing a bit on his feet, plainly succumbing to his weakened state again. Even this brief battle had quickly stanched whatever fire the blood had stoked inside him.

Still . . .

“Restrain him,” Bernard ordered the others, fearing what Rhun might do. At this moment, he did not know his friend’s heart. Would he kill her, save her, or try to run off with her in shame?

I do not know.

All he knew for sure was that he had to protect this wicked woman with every force he could marshal.

He needed her.

The world needed her.

The countess must have read that certainty in his eyes. Her perfect lips curved into a smile, both cunning and mean.

God help us, if I’m wrong.





PART II





For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets,



and thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.



—Revelation 16:6





12





December 19, 10:11 A.M. CET

Rome, Italy



Erin shared the backseat of the red Fiat with Jordan. Christian sat up front with the driver. The Sanguinist had his head out the open window, speaking to a Swiss guard in a midnight-blue uniform and cap. The young man carried an assault rifle over one shoulder, guarding St. Anne’s Gate, one of the side entrances into Vatican City.

Normally the guards here weren’t overtly armed.

So why the heightened security?

The guard nodded, stepped back, and waved their car through.

Christian whispered to the driver, and they set off into the Holy City, passing under the verdigris-green iron archway. Once they were moving again, Christian had returned his phone to his ear, where it had been glued ever since their chartered plane had landed at Rome’s smaller Ciampino Airport. Their driver had been waiting for them in this nondescript Fiat and whisked them in minutes to the gates of Vatican City.

Jordan held Erin’s hand in the backseat, staring out as the car slipped past the Vatican bank and post office and circled behind the bulk of St. Peter’s Basilica.

She studied the ancient buildings, imagining the secrets hidden behind their bright stucco facades. As an archaeologist, she uncovered truth layer by layer, but her discovery of the existence of strigoi and Sanguinists had taught her that history had layers even deeper than any she had thought existed.

But one question remained foremost in her mind.

Jordan expressed it. “Where is Christian taking us?”

She was just as curious. She had thought they would be heading straight to the papal apartments to meet with Cardinal Bernard in his offices, but instead their car headed farther out into the grounds behind the basilica.

Erin leaned forward, interrupting Christian on the phone. She was too tired to be polite and irritated by all the subterfuge they’d followed to come here.

“Where are we going?” she asked, touching the Sanguinist’s shoulder.

“We’re almost there.”