Rhun finally joined them. “Elisabeta?”
“The demon countess still lives.” Nadia pointed to a mound a few hundred yards away. “But she’s badly burned.”
He hurried toward her cloaked body.
Christian followed with Nadia, filling her in on the status of the team.
“And what of Leopold?” Nadia asked.
Christian’s face grew graver. “He was in the galley car, closer to the explosion.”
“I will continue the search for him,” Nadia said. “You two can care for her majesty. Get her ready to go.”
As Nadia trotted off into the smoke, Rhun crossed the last of the distance to Elisabeta. Nadia had covered Elisabeta with the countess’s traveling cloak. He knelt next to the mound, smelling charred flesh.
Rhun touched the surface of the cloak. “Elisabeta?”
A whimper answered him. Pity filled him. Elisabeta was legendary for her ability to withstand pain. For her to be reduced to this, her agony must be terrible.
“She will need blood to heal,” Rhun told Christian.
“I’m not offering up mine,” Christian said. “And you have none to spare.”
Rhun leaned down to the cloak. He didn’t dare lift it to examine the extent of her injuries. Still, he slipped his hand under the cloak and found her hand. Despite the pain it must cause, she gripped his fingers, holding to him.
I will get you to safety, he promised.
He stared up at the midday skies, the crisp blue smudged by smoke.
Where could they go?
12:52 P.M.
The helicopter came in fast and low and landed in an undamaged part of the field. The pilot cracked a window and waved to the group gathered at the edge of the wreckage.
“That must be our ride,” Jordan said, recognizing the expensive helicopter, a twin to the one that had rescued them out of the desert of Masada all those months ago.
Jordan took Erin’s hand, and together they navigated through the last of the rubble to the helicopter. He was shaky on his feet, but Erin seemed mostly fine. He recalled the blur as Rhun had torn Erin from his grasp and crashed through the window when the train exploded.
Rhun’s quick reaction had likely saved her life.
Perhaps he should forgive the Sanguinist priest for his prior actions, for feeding and leaving Erin to die in the tunnels under Rome, but he still couldn’t muster up enough goodwill to do so.
Ahead, the rotors kicked up dust and pieces of grass. The pilot wore the familiar midnight-blue uniform of the Swiss Guard and gestured to the back, indicating they should climb in.
Erin clambered aboard first and reached a hand down to Jordan.
Forgoing pride, he took it and allowed her to help him inside.
Once buckled in, he glanced out the open door toward the other Sanguinists. Swirling dust obscured all but the approaching forms of Christian and Rhun. Slung between them, they hauled a ragged black bundle, fully covered in a cloak.
The countess.
Bernard followed next out of the dust behind them. He carried Father Ambrose’s body. Behind him, Nadia trailed.
Christian and Rhun climbed inside. Once seated, Rhun took possession of Bathory’s form, cradling her on his lap, her draped head resting on his shoulder.
“No sign of Leopold?” Jordan asked Christian.
The young Sanguinist shook his head.
Bernard arrived and held out his bundle. Christian took it, and together the two strapped Ambrose’s body to a stretcher, their movements quick and efficient, as if they had done this a thousand times before.
And they probably had.
The cardinal stepped back from the helicopter, allowing Nadia to board. She tapped the pilot on the shoulder and pointed her thumb up to indicate that he should take off.
As planned, Bernard would remain behind to explain everything to the police, to put a public face on this tragedy. It would be a tough job, especially as he was clearly still grieving.
The rotors sped up with a roar of the engine, and the helicopter lifted.
Once high enough, it swept over the carnage.
Faces pressed to the windows, everyone searched below and came to the sad and inevitable conclusion.
Brother Leopold was gone.
17
December 19, 1:04 P.M. CET
Castel Gandolfo, Italy
Erin gripped Jordan’s arm as the helicopter sped toward a quaint stone village nestled among pines and olive groves next to a large lake. Its cobalt waters reminded her of Lake Tahoe, stirring a longing to be back in California—protected from all this death and chaos.
Not that trouble couldn’t find me there, too.
She remembered Blackjack, heard the screams of the blasphemare cat.
She knew any lasting peace would escape her until this was over.
But would it ever be truly over?
The pilot aimed for the edge of the lush volcanic crater that overlooked the lake and the village square. Surmounting its stony crest like a crown sat a massive castle with red tile roofs, two leaden domes, and massive balconies. The grounds themselves were just as impressive, divided into private manicured gardens, contemplative fishponds, and tinkling fountains. Avenues were lined by pine trees or dotted with giant holm oaks. She even spotted the ruins of a Roman emperor’s villa.