Innocent Blood(95)

Tommy picked at his sweatpants and shirt, stained in spots by dried blood. He plainly could use fresh clothing.

Resigned, Tommy followed after Henrik, but not before casting a worried glance toward Elizabeth. It ached her silent heart.

Once he was gone, Iscariot shifted on the sofa closer to her chair. “Some sleep will do him good.” He caught her gaze with his silver-blue eyes. “But you have many questions for me. Questions better asked and answered with the boy out of the room.”

She folded her hands in her lap and decided to start with the past before addressing the present or future. “I would know more about the fate of my family.”

He nodded, and over the course of several long painful minutes, he told stories of her children, and their children again, of marriages, births, deaths. It was a tale mostly tragic, of a family brought low, a vast tapestry woven from the threads of her sins.

This is my legacy.

She kept her face stoic and buried his words deep inside her. Bathorys did not reveal their pain. Many times she had told her children this, even when she wanted to hold them in her arms and brush away their tears. But she had not learned of comfort from her mother, and she had not taught it to her children. This strength had cost her, but it had also saved her.

Once finished describing her descendants, he asked, “But are you not curious about the modern world?”

“I am,” she said, “but I am more curious about my role in this new world.”

“And I suspect you want to know the boy’s role, too.”

She shrugged, admitting nothing. She let a trace of sarcasm enter her voice. “What kind of monster would I be if I did not care about such a stout lad?”

“What kind of monster indeed.” A hint of a smile crossed his lips.

She read his satisfied expression, letting him believe she was the sort of monster who cared little about such a boy. For she was just such a monster—she had killed many scarcely older than Thomas. But to him she felt a strange kinship, and her kin were sacred.

Iscariot fixed her with a harder stare. “Your role, my dear Countess Bathory, is first and foremost to keep him calm and obedient.”

So I am to play nursemaid.

Keeping ill temper from her voice, she asked, “What do you plan to do to him that you need such soothing services?”

“Near dawn, we will travel to the coast, to the ruins of Cumae. It is there he will find his destiny, a fate he may wish to fight. And while escape is impossible, if he resists, it will go hard for him.”

Elizabeth turned to the flames.

The ruins of Cumae.

A chord of memory rang through her, from her time reading the ancient writings of Virgil and the histories of Europe, as all good noblewomen should. A famous seer had once lived in Cumae, a sibyl who prophesied the birth of Christ. By Elizabeth’s time, the place had fallen to ruin, the city walls long destroyed.

But something else nagged at her, another story of Cumae. Fear etched into her bones, but she kept it from her face.

“What is the boy’s fate in Cumae?” she asked.

And what is mine?

“He is the First Angel,” Judas reminded her. “And you are the Woman of Learning. Together, we will forge the destiny that Christ has set upon me, to return Him to His world, to bring His Judgment upon us all.”

She remembered Iscariot’s earlier admission of such a lofty goal. “You intend to start Armageddon. But how?”

He only smiled, refusing to answer.

Still, she recalled that last detail concerning Cumae. According to Roman legend, the sibyl’s throne hid the entrance to the underworld.

The very gateway to Hell.





35





December 20, 4:14 A.M. CET

Naples, Italy



Cardinal Bernard strode through the nearly deserted airport outside of Naples. Recessed lights cast a bluish tint across the few early morning travelers, lending them a look of ill health. No one gave him a second glance as he passed swiftly toward the arrivals hall. He had shed the crimson of his formal robes for the dark navy of a modern business suit.

But he had not come to Naples as a cardinal or a businessman, but as a warrior.

Beneath the silk of his suit, he wore armor.

Wary of a mole in their order, he had traveled here in secret, slipping out of Vatican City through a long unused tunnel, across the midnight streets of Rome, where he had blended in. He had flown by a commercial airline versus private jet, using false papers. He dragged a suitcase that held two sets of Sanguinist armor, specially prepared for this trip.

Near the airport exit, he immediately recognized Erin and Jordan, hearing their telltale heartbeats before they stepped through the glass doors.

Rhun and Christian flanked the pair.

Jordan reached him first, moving on his strong legs. “Good to see you again, Cardinal.”