The Blood Gospel

His aim was true.

His weight and momentum thrust the silver-tipped piece of the staff through her paw and deep into the hole that had been drilled into the concrete long ago for the gate’s iron rod.

She bellowed in pain, from the wound and the precious silver.

Before the beast had a chance to move, Rhun leaped onto her back and rolled across to her other side, shifting the second piece of the broken staff into his right hand.

He drove it through her other paw and into the other hole on the floor, imprisoning both limbs.

The Ursa collapsed forward, her muzzle knocking under the broken gate into the tunnel. With her forelegs splayed to each side, her body formed the sign of a cross.

Rhun had crucified the bear.

She howled.

He jumped atop her head and drew the unbroken staff from behind his back. Kissing the silver end first, he jammed it through her eye and deep into her brain. She twitched and heaved, dying. He read her demise in the vast chambers of her ancient heart.

Dominus vobiscum.

He bowed his head and made the sign of the cross over the beast’s massive form. As he finished his prayer, the red glow faded from her remaining eye, leaving it black.

After centuries, she was finally freed of her tainted servitude.

Rhun turned to this nemesis, his face defiant, triumphant in his glory.

9:33 P.M.

Jordan’s arms were let free. He stared around, surprised. He swiped his hand down his jacket, as if dusting off the places where Rasputin’s congregants had touched him. Would that Russian monk keep his word and let Rhun and him go? If not, he intended to go down fighting side by side with Rhun.

Rasputin stepped back from the cage’s gate, his blue eyes wide. “God truly loves you, Rhun. You are indeed His most chosen one.”

Rhun knelt down and gathered a rosary, a silver cross, and a flask. Jordan bet they had belonged to another Sanguinist, someone killed by the bear.

Rasputin unlocked the cage.

Rhun’s hatred for Rasputin burned so palpably that the monk fell back a step. His minions retreated as if blown by a fierce wind.

“Where has Bathory taken Erin?” Rhun asked, biting off each word.

Rasputin’s voice cracked. “To Rome.”

Rhun glared, searching the other’s face for the truth. “Are we done here with your challenges to God, Grigori?”

Rasputin tilted his head. “Why do you scold me so, Rhun? Your dear Bernard sought to force the prophecy. He thrust you next to Elisabeta in the past, his alleged Woman of Learning … and her husband, that mighty Warrior. Look how that meddling turned out.” He lifted his hands in supplication of forgiveness. “I merely sought to test the prophecy here today. If you were truly one of the prophesied, God would spare you from the bear.”

“And here I stand,” Rhun said. “But your test is not over, is it? That is why you sent Erin off. You sundered the trio, to test if the three of us would find one another again and fulfill our duties. In this way, you continue to challenge God, as you once challenged the Church.”

Rasputin shook his head. “Not at all. I challenge only you, my friend. The one whom the Church loves as much as it hates me.”

Turning on a heel, Rasputin swept his minions aside with a wave of his hand, opening up a path to freedom.

Jordan waited for Rhun to reach him. Together, they walked through the gauntlet of Rasputin’s dark flock. With each step, Jordan’s bite wounds throbbed. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He tensed, waiting for an attack from behind, a final betrayal by Rasputin.

None came.

“Find your woman, Rhun,” Rasputin called after them. “Prove that the Church placed its faith in the correct bloodstained hands.”

Rhun swept down the tunnel toward the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, not seeming to notice that his own blood pattered onto the frozen ground behind him.

PART V

And they sang a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood …

—Revelation 5:9

54

October 28, 2:55 P.M., Central European Time

Rome, Italy

Erin jerked awake, chased by nightmares. She batted at the darkness around her, but it wouldn’t go away. Only now did the full desperation of her plight wash back over and fill her with an icy dread that did little to settle her waking panic. She stretched her eyes wider—not that it did any good. The place where they had imprisoned her was so dark that it made no difference whether her eyes were open or closed.

She pressed her palms against her cheeks, surprised that she had fallen asleep. But the exhaustion and total sensory deprivation here must have finally overwhelmed her.

How long have I been asleep?

She remembered the flight from St. Petersburg by private jet last night. They had kept her hooded the entire time, but she had overheard enough of the conversation around her to know that the destination was Rome. The trip had taken about four hours. Once they had landed, another hour’s ride brought them into the predawn city. Erin could hear the sound of honking horns and the shouts and curses in Italian, and smell the Tiber as they crossed one of the city’s major bridges.

If she wasn’t mistaken, they were heading in the general direction of Vatican City.

What was Bathory planning?

What does she want with me?

The SUV that had shuttled them from the private airstrip eventually stopped and Erin had been dragged, still hooded, into a cold early morning. She could see enough under the lower edge of the hood to determine that it was still before sunup.

Then back underground they went, using stairs, tunnels, and ladders—the last especially difficult when blindfolded. They must have traversed the subterranean world of Rome for a full hour. She was familiar enough with the city to know that a good portion of the ancient world still existed below its surface, in a series of interconnected catacombs, wine cellars, tombs, and secret churches.

But where had she ended up?

At the end of the journey, she had been thrust into this dark cell, with the bloody collar still clamped around her neck. She had sat against the wall for ten minutes, hugging her knees, hearing no one, before she tugged off the hood and discovered the collar unlocked. She removed it and tossed it aside gladly. Shortly after that, she must have fallen asleep.

She raised her fingers now and felt the ring of scabs around her neck.

She always had a good internal clock, and now she wagered it must be somewhere around midafternoon in the world above.

She stretched out her other senses and heard the slow drip of water, the echoing giving her some indication that the space beyond her cell was cavernous. The air smelled old and stale, with a hint of mildew. She reached out and slid her palm along the floor. Stone. Her fingertips picked out chisel marks.