Berndt interrupted her. “Perhaps Elizabeth would care to join me.”
Abigail grabbed Elizabeth’s arm with a grip that would leave a bruise. She did not resist. Bruises might engender sympathy from Berndt in the right circumstances.
“I’m afraid that Elizabeth cannot go with you,” Abigail said in an irritated tone that brooked no argument.
“Of course I may, Sister,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not a prisoner, am I?”
Abigail’s square face flushed hotly.
“Then it’s settled,” Berndt said. “And perhaps afterward we could go for a short boat ride?”
Elizabeth forced herself not to react, fearing Abigail would hear the sudden spike of her heartbeat. Would the missing key be noted?
“Elizabeth has been ill,” Abigail said, clearly struggling for any explanation to keep Elizabeth within the convent’s walls. “She mustn’t overtire herself.”
“Perhaps the sea air will do me good,” Elizabeth said with a smile.
“I can’t allow it,” Abigail countered. “Your… your father would be very mad. You certainly don’t want me to call Bernard, do you?”
Elizabeth gave up toying with the woman, as much as it delighted her. She certainly didn’t want Cardinal Bernard’s attention drawn this way.
“That’s unfortunate,” Berndt said. “Especially as I must leave tomorrow.”
Elizabeth looked sharply toward him. “I thought you were staying another week.”
He smiled at her concern, clearly mistaking it for affection. “I’m afraid business calls me back to Frankfurt earlier that I was expecting.”
That presented a problem. If she intended to use his boat to make her escape, it would have to be this night. She thought quickly, knowing this was still her best chance — not just of escape, but so much more.
She had grander plans, to be more than just free.
While Elizabeth could walk under the sun again, she had lost so much more. As a mortal human, she could no longer hear the softest sounds, smell the faintest wisps of scent, or witness the glowing colors of the night. It was as if she had been wrapped in a thick blanket.
She hated it.
She wanted her strigoi senses back, to feel that unnatural strength flowing through her limbs again, but most of all, she desired to be immortal — to be unfettered not just from these convent’s walls, but from the march of years.
I will let nothing stop me.
Before she could move, the cell phone hidden in the pocket of her skirts vibrated.
Only one person had that number.
Tommy.
She moved back from the German. “Thank you, Berndt, but Sister Abigail is correct.” She gave him a quick curtsy, realizing too late that no one did such things anymore. “I am feeling a touch faint from working the gardens. Perhaps I should take my meal in my room after all.”
Abigail’s lips tightened into a hard line. “I think that is wise.”
“A shame,” he said, disappointment ringing in his voice.
Abigail took her by the arm, the nun’s fingers even tighter now, and led her to her room. “You are to stay here,” she commanded once they reached her small cell. “I will bring your dinner to you.”
Abigail locked the door behind her. Elizabeth waited until her footsteps faded, then crossed to the barred window. Alone now, she retrieved the telephone and returned the call.
When she heard Tommy, she immediately knew something was wrong. Tears frosted his voice.
“My cancer’s back,” he said. “I don’t know what to do, who to tell.”
She gripped the phone harder, as if she could reach through the ethers to a boy she had grown to love as much as her own son. “Explain what has happened.”
She knew Tommy’s history, knew that he had been sick before an infusion of angelic blood had cured him, granting him immortality. Now he was an ordinary mortal, like her — afflicted as he had been before. Though she had heard him use the word cancer, she never truly comprehended the nature of his sickness.
Wanting to understand more, she pressed him. “Tell me of this cancer.”
“It’s a disease that eats you up from inside.” His words grew soft, forlorn, and lost. “It’s in my skin and bones.”
Her heart ached for the boy. She wanted to comfort him, as she often did with her own son. “Surely doctors can cure you of this affliction in this modern age.”
There was a long pause, then a tired sigh. “Not my cancer. I spent years in chemotherapy, throwing up all the time. I lost my hair. Even my bones hurt. The doctors couldn’t stop it.”
She leaned against the cold plaster wall and studied the dark waters of the canal outside her window. “Can you not try this chemotherapy again?”
“I won’t.” He sounded firm, more like a man. “I should have died back then. I think I’m supposed to. I won’t go through that misery again.”
“What about your aunt and uncle? What do they say you should do?”
“I haven’t told them, and I’m not going to. They would make me go through those medical procedures again, and it won’t help. I know it. This is how things are supposed to be.”
Anger built inside her, hearing the defeat in his voice.
You may not wish to fight, but I will.
“Listen,” he said, “no one can save me. I just called to talk, to get this off my chest… with someone I can trust.”
His honesty touched her. He, alone in the world, trusted her. And he alone was the only one whom she trusted in return. Determination grew inside her. Her own son had died because she had failed to protect him. She would not let that happen to this boy.
He talked for a few minutes more, mostly about his dead parents. As he did, a new purpose grew in her heart.
I will break free of these walls… and I will save you.
7
Out of the frying pan, and into the fire…
After safely escaping the Sanguinist library undetected, Erin had met up with Christian and Sister Margaret before being summoned to Cardinal Bernard’s offices in the Apostolic Palace. She followed a black-robed priest down a long paneled hall, passing through the papal apartments on her way to the Sanguinists’ private wing.
She wondered why this sudden summons.
Has Bernard learned about my trespass?
She tried to keep the tension out of her stride. She had already attempted to question the priest ahead of her. His name was Father Gregory. He was Bernard’s new assistant, but the man remained close-mouthed, an attribute necessary for anyone serving the cardinal.
She studied this newly recruited priest. He had milky white skin, thick dark eyebrows, and collar-length black hair. Unlike the cardinal’s previous assistant, he wasn’t human — he was a Sanguinist. He looked to be in his early thirties, but he could be centuries older than that.
They reached Bernard’s office door, and Father Gregory opened it for her. “Here we are, Dr. Granger.”
She noted the Irish lilt to his words. “Thank you, Father.”
He followed her inside, slipping free an old-fashioned watch fob on a chain and glancing down at it. “We’re a touch early, I’m afraid. The cardinal should be here momentarily.”
Erin suspected this was some ploy of Bernard’s, to leave her waiting as a petty show of superiority. The cardinal still bristled that the Blood Gospel had been bound to her.
Father Gregory pulled out a chair for her before the cardinal’s wide mahogany desk. She placed her backpack next to her seat.
As she waited, she took in the room, always finding new surprises. Ancient leather-bound volumes filled floor-to-ceiling bookcases, an antique jeweled globe from the sixteenth century gleamed on the desk, and a sword from the time of the Crusades hung above the door.