The Blood Gospel (Page 48)

Erin bent to inhale the spicy fragrance of a night-blooming flower. Grains of golden pollen dusted the stone tiles below.

Jordan watched her for as long as he could without getting caught. But other passions also drove him. His stomach growled as he stared over at a hand-carved wooden table, laid out with bread, grapes, pomegranates, and cheese. He really wanted a burger and a beer, but he would take what he could get.

Erin joined him, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “This setting—from the lamps, to the plants, to the table—could have come straight out of the Bible.”

Except for the electric streetlights in the distance.

At the far side of the terrace, a figure in crimson stood out against the canopy of green, his white hair in dramatic contrast with the dark sky. That had to be Cardinal Bernard.

Father Ambrose herded them away from the laden table and toward the waiting man—if he was a man. At this point, everything and everyone, in Jordan’s eyes, was suspect.

Reminded of that, he looked beyond the parapet of the garden, trying to get his bearings, to figure out where they were. He spotted the giant golden cupola of a neighboring structure, what Erin had called the Dome of the Rock. She must have a pretty good idea of where they were being kept.

Father Ambrose’s voice drew his attention back to the Cardinal. “May I present to you Dr. Granger and Sergeant Stone?”

The Cardinal held out his hand. The man wore a red skullcap, red leather gloves, and a cassock, like Rhun’s, but his was red.

Jordan saw no ring to kiss—not that he would have—so he extended his arm. But the Cardinal took Erin’s hand first, grasping her fingers between both of his palms. “Dr. Granger. It is an honor.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“‘Cardinal Bernard’ will be fine, thank you.” His deep voice held a kindly tone. “We are not so formal here.”

He shook Jordan’s hand next. “Sergeant Stone, thank you for your services in returning Father Korza to us in one piece.”

“I think we need to thank Father Korza as much as the other way around, Cardinal Bernard.”

Jordan’s stomach growled, again.

The Cardinal moved toward the table. “Forgive the distractedness of an old man. You need a good meal.”

He led them back to the table and seated them. Only Jordan and Erin had plates.

“That will be all, Father Ambrose,” Bernard said quietly.

The younger priest seemed surprised by his dismissal, but he bowed and left.

Jordan would not miss him. Instead, he happily tucked into the food. Erin helped herself to a healthy portion of cheese and bread. Bernard and Korza consumed nothing.

“While you eat, may I tell you a story?” The Cardinal raised bushy white eyebrows questioningly.

“Please,” Erin answered.

“Since the beginning of recorded history, humans have feared the dark.” He picked up a grape and toyed with it. “As long as anyone can remember, strigoi have walked among us, filling our nights with terror and blood.”

Jordan swallowed the bite of bread and cheese, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t need a reminder of the danger posed by the strigoi.

The Cardinal continued: “The founders of the Church knew of their existence. It was not hidden in those days as it is now. The Church created a devoted sect to keep their numbers in check, not only because of the ferocity of their attacks, but also because when a human makes the transformation to strigoi, it destroys his soul.”

Korza’s dark eyes were unreadable. What must it be like to be a priest without a soul?

“How do you know that?” Erin asked.

The Cardinal smiled in a way that reminded Jordan of his kindly grandfather. “There are ways, perhaps too esoteric for this table, that it was determined.”

“Maybe if you use little words,” Jordan said.

Erin folded her arms. “I think you should try us.”

“I meant no disrespect, only that we are pressed for time. I believe it is more important that I make certain you know that which is essential to the current situation, but I can explain about the soul of a strigoi after.”

Erin’s brown eyes looked skeptical. Jordan loved how she stood right up to the Cardinal. Not much seemed to intimidate her.

“The Sanguinists are an order of priests who draw their strength from the blood of Christ.” The Cardinal touched his cross. “They are immortal in nature, but are often killed in holy battle. If killed in such a manner, their souls are restored to them.”

Jordan’s eyes were drawn again to Korza. So his fate was to battle evil until it destroyed him, however long that took. An eternal tour of duty.

The Cardinal’s gaze settled fully upon Erin. “Many of the strigoi massacres are recorded falsely by history.”

Erin’s brow crinkled—then her eyes widened. “Herod’s massacre,” she said. “My dig site. It wasn’t about Herod destroying a future King of the Jews, was it?”

“Most perceptive. Herod did not kill those babies. The strigoi killed them.”

“But they weren’t just feeding on the blood of those children. I found gnaw marks on the bones. It was a savage attack, as if done purposefully.”

The Cardinal put his gloved hand atop Erin’s. “I am sorry to say that is the truth. Strigoi sought to kill the Christ child because they knew that He would help to destroy them. As indeed it came to pass: for it was the miracle of His blood that led to the founding of the Sanguinists and started their battle against the strigoi.”

“Sounds like the Sanguinists got a bum deal out of it all.” Jordan ate a handful of grapes.

“Not at all. While it is not an easy path that we tread, our work serves humanity and opens our only path to salvation.” Cardinal Bernard rolled the grape between his fingers. “For centuries, we kept the number of strigoi in balance, but in the last few decades, strigoi and some humans have formed an alliance called the Belial.”

Erin pulled her arms in close, clearly recognizing that name. “Belial. The leader of the Sons of Darkness. An old legend.”

Jordan stopped eating. “Great.”

“We have never known why they formed.” The Cardinal looked over their heads at the night sky. “But perhaps after today, we do.”

Korza’s eyebrows drew down. “We don’t know that for certain. Even now. Don’t let Bernard’s love of the dramatic influence you.”

“Influence us how?” Jordan asked.