Innocent Blood(83)

Finally, Christian stopped in front of a well-lit storefront.

“Where are we?” Jordan asked.

“An Internet café.” Christian opened the door, tinkling a bell attached to the door frame. “It was the closest one I could find this late.”

Happy to escape the snow, Erin hurried into the warm building. Inside, it looked more like a convenience store than an Internet café—shelves of food stretched off to her left and a refrigerator case covered one wall. But in the back, two metal folding chairs waited in front of computer monitors and keyboards set on a long card table.

Christian spoke to the bored woman behind the counter. She wore black, with a silver stud in her tongue that glinted as she talked. Christian purchased a cell phone, asking terse questions in Swedish. Once done, he handed her a hundred-euro note and headed for the back of the store.

At the counter, Jordan ordered four sausages from the roller grill, where it looked like they had been turning since the beginning of the millennium. Erin added two Cokes, a couple bags of potato chips, and a handful of chocolate bars to the pile.

She might not get a chance to eat again for a long time.

Jordan carried their dinner on a piled tray to the computer stations. Christian already sat in front of one monitor, his fingers flying, blurring over the keyboards.

Rhun hovered at his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Jordan asked, wolfing down a sausage.

“Checking the contingency plan I worked out with Cardinal Bernard.”

“What contingency plan?” Erin pressed, forgetting the unwrapped chocolate bar for the moment.

“The cardinal wanted our dear countess kept on a short leash,” Christian explained. “In case she broke her bonds and tried to escape. I devised a way to keep track of her.”

Jordan gripped the young Sanguinist’s shoulder with a greasy hand, smiling. “You planted a tracking device on her, didn’t you?”

Christian smiled. “Inside her cloak.”

Erin matched his grin. If they could track Bathory, there was a good chance they could track the boy.

Rhun glared down at the smaller man. “Why was I never informed of this?”

“You’ll have to take it up with Bernard.” Christian ducked his head lower, looking chagrined at his subterfuge.

Rhun sighed heavily, shedding his anger. Erin read the understanding that came to his eyes. The cardinal had not trusted that Rhun might not escape with the countess. After Rhun had hidden Bathory for centuries, Bernard could not be blamed for this bit of caution.

“It may take a few minutes to pick up her signal and gain a fix on it,” Christian warned. “So make yourselves comfortable.”

Erin did exactly that, slipping her arm around Jordan’s waist and resting her head against the warmth of his chest, listening to his heartbeat, appreciating each solid lub-dub.

After ten minutes of keyboard tapping and mumbled complaints about connection speeds, Christian pounded a fist on the table—not in anger, but satisfaction.

“Got it!” he declared. “I’m picking up her signal at the airport.”

Rhun turned with a sweep of his black robe, drawing up Christian, who quickly logged out. The two Sanguinists rushed away, not bothering to hide their preternatural speed from the counter clerk.

Oblivious, the girl had her nose buried in a dog-eared paperback, her iPod earbuds firmly in place.

Jordan hurried after them, grousing. “Sometimes I really wish those guys needed to eat and sleep.”

She grabbed his hand again and jogged with him toward the door, waving good-bye to the girl behind the counter. Erin was equally ignored by the disdain of youth.

She suppressed a smile, suddenly missing her students.



11:18 P.M.

Elizabeth settled into a seat by the airplane’s window. The space was much like the one she had traveled in earlier to come here: rich leather seats, small bolted tables. Only this time, she was not trapped in a coffin. As she touched the scarf around her neck, anger flared inside her.

She stared out the round window. The lights of the airport glowed, each wreathed in a glittering halo of snow. She clipped the unfamiliar belt into place across her lap. She had never worn such a restraint, but Iscariot and the boy had both fastened theirs, so she assumed that she should as well.

She glanced at the child seated next to her, trying to understand what made him so special. He was the First Angel, another immortal, but he seemed outwardly to be just a normal boy. She even heard his heart beating in fear and pain. After bandaging the worst of his outer wounds, his new captors had given him a set of gray clothes to wear, soft and loose so as not to abrade his raw skin.

Sweats, they had called them.

She turned her attention to the mystery seated across from her.