Innocent Blood(32)

“Almost where?” she pressed.

Christian pointed his phone ahead.

Erin ducked lower to study their approach toward a building of white Italian marble with a red-tiled roof. A set of train tracks behind it revealed the structure’s purpose.

It was Stazione Vaticano, the one-and-only train station on the Vatican railway line. It had been built during the reign of Pope Pius XI in the early 1930s. Today it was mostly used to import freight, though the last few popes had taken occasional ceremonial trips from here aboard a special papal train.

Erin saw that same train parked on those tracks now.

Three forest-green cars were lined up behind a black old-fashioned engine that puffed out steam. At another time, she would have been thrilled at the sight, but right now she had but one overriding concern: the fate of Rhun. During the trip here, no other visions had come, and she feared what that meant for Rhun.

The Fiat drove straight to the platform and stopped. Christian popped out his door, drawing Jordan and Erin with him. With his phone back at his ear, Christian led them up the platform. The Sanguinist had changed out of his tattered dress uniform and into a priest’s shirt and black jeans. The outfit suited him better.

Upon reaching the train, he lowered his phone and pointed to the middle car with a mischievous grin. “All aboard!”

Erin glanced back toward the dome of the basilica. “I don’t understand. Are we leaving already? What about Rhun?”

The slender Sanguinist shrugged. “At this point, I know as much as you do. The cardinal asked that I bring you both here and board the train. It’s scheduled to be under way as soon as we are on board.”

Jordan put his warm palm against her lower back. She leaned back into it, glad for the touch of the familiar, the understandable. “What else did you expect from Bernard?” he said. “If you look up need to know in the dictionary, you’d find his smiling face there. The guy likes his secrets.”

And secrets got people killed.

Erin fingered the small marble of amber in the pocket of her jeans, picturing Amy’s hesitant smile under a desert sun.

“For now,” Jordan said, “we might as well do what the cardinal asks. We can always come back if we don’t like what he tells us.”

She nodded. Jordan could always be counted on to point to the most practical way forward. She kissed his cheek, his stubble rough under her lips, adding another soft kiss to his lips.

Christian stepped to the door and pulled it open. “To avoid undue attention, the Vatican put out a cover story that the train is being shifted to a maintenance yard outside Rome. But the sooner we’re moving, the happier I’ll be.”

With little other choice, Erin climbed the metal steps, followed by Jordan. She stepped into a sumptuous dining car. Golden velvet curtains had been tied back next to each window, and the compartment practically glowed in the morning sunshine—from the buttery yellow ceiling to the rich oak joinery. The air smelled of lemon polish and old wood.

Jordan whistled. “Looks like the pope knows how to travel. The only thing that would make this picture better would be a steaming pot of coffee on one of those tables.”

“I second that,” Erin said.

“Have a seat,” Christian said, passing by them and waving to a table that had been set. “I’ll see about making your wishes come true.”

As he headed toward the car in front, Erin found a spot bathed in sunlight and sat, enjoying the warmth after the rush across the cold city. She stroked the white linen tablecloth with one finger. Two places were set with silver flatware and fine china decorated with the papal seal.

Jordan smoothed his dress blue uniform, doing his best to look presentable as he sat next to her. Still, she caught the hard glint to his eyes as he peered out the windows, constantly on the watch for any danger, though trying not to show it.

Finally, he settled down. “Hope the food here is better than at that hippie place Christian took us to in San Fran. Vegan food? Really? I’m a meat-and-potatoes sort of guy. And in my particular case, I lean more toward the meat side of that equation.”

“This is Italy. Something tells me you might get lucky with the food.”

“Indeed you shall!” a new voice called behind them, coming from the door to the first car.

Startled, Jordan came close to bursting out of his seat and swinging around, but even he recognized the slight German accent to those few words.

“Brother Leopold!” Erin exclaimed, delighted to see the monk, along with the tray he carried, holding a coffee service.

She hadn’t seen the German monk since the day he had saved her life. He looked the same—with his wire-rimmed spectacles, simple brown habit, and boyish grin.