The group finally crossed along a dark tunnel that passed through an ancient wall. At its end, St. Mark’s Square opened before them, and she faced the city’s famous basilica.
Golden light illuminated the front of the Byzantine building, a fanciful façade of arched portals, marble columns, and elaborate mosaics. Erin craned her neck to take in its breadth. In the center, at the top, stood a statue of St. Mark himself, above a golden winged lion, his symbol. Flanking the Warrior Saint were six angels.
The entire structure was the epitome of opulence and grandeur.
Jordan had his opinion. “Looks a bit gaudy.”
A laugh escaped Erin. She couldn’t stop it. It sounded like the Jordan she had first met in Israel.
“Wait until you see the inside,” she said. “It’s called the Church of Gold for a very good reason.”
Jordan shrugged. “If it’s worth doing, I guess it’s worth overdoing.”
She smiled at him as they headed across St. Mark’s Square. During the day, the place would be full of pigeons and tourists, but at this late hour, the square was practically deserted.
Ahead, the countess walked regally next to Cardinal Bernard, her head held high and her eyes fixed on some distant point in front of her. Even in a fairly modern dress, she looked like a storybook princess, stepped from the pages of an ancient book. In the countess’s case, it would be a grim book of fairy tales.
As they neared the basilica, Erin pointed to the mosaics at the entrance. “These were installed in the thirteenth century. They depict scenes from Genesis.”
She recalled the story on the tablet in the Sanguinist library — and how that story had been altered. She searched the mosaics above for the serpent in the garden, recalling how that ancient account detailed a pact Eve made with that serpent: to share the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.
Before she could get a good look, an elderly priest stepped out from under a shadowy archway. His white hair was disheveled, and his cassock was buttoned crooked. A ring of keys hung on his belt.
The priest met Bernard at the basilica’s threshold. “This is very irregular. Never in all my years—”
Bernard cut him off, lifting a hand. “Yes, it is an unusual request. I am grateful that you are able to accommodate it with so little notice. If it were not urgent, we would never think to bother you.”
“I am always happy to be of service.” The old priest sounded slightly mollified.
“As are we all,” said the cardinal.
The Italian priest turned, led them to the main door, and unlocked it.
As he stood aside, he warned Bernard. “I’ve deactivated the alarms. So you must notify me when you are finished.”
The cardinal thanked him and hurried inside, drawing their group in his wake.
Erin followed, gaping at the golden mosaics that appeared, covering every surface: walls, archways, and domed ceilings.
Jordan let out a small whistle of appreciation at the sight. “Are my eyes playing tricks, or does it look like everything is glowing?”
“The tiles were designed that way,” Erin explained, grinning at his reaction. “Created by fusing gold leaf between glass tiles. It makes them more reflective than solid gold.”
Elizabeth turned her silver eyes on Jordan, drawn perhaps by his enthusiasm. “They are lovely, are they not, Sergeant Stone? Some of those mosaics were commissioned by my Bohemian ancestors.”
“Really?” Jordan said. “They did an impressive job.”
Erin didn’t like how Elizabeth’s smile widened at his attention.
Perhaps sensing Erin’s irritation, the countess swung to face Cardinal Bernard. “I suspect you did not bring me here to admire my ancestors’ handiwork. What is so urgent that it requires such a nightly sojourn?”
“Knowledge,” he answered her.
By now, they had reached the center of the church. Bernard clearly didn’t want anyone eavesdropping. Christian and Sophia kept to their flanks, slowly circling the group, likely both to guard them and to keep any stray priest who might be nearby from getting too close.
“What do you wish to know?” Elizabeth asked.
“It concerns a symbol, one found in your journals.”
He reached inside his coat and pulled out the worn leather book.
Elizabeth held up her free hand. “May I see it?”
Erin stepped forward and took it herself. She flipped to the last page and pointed to the symbol that looked like a cup. “What can you tell us about this?”
The countess’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “If you’re inquiring about it now, then I trust you have found the same symbol elsewhere.”
“Maybe,” Erin said. “Why?”
The countess reached for the book, but Erin moved it out of her reach. A flash of irritation crossed the woman’s smooth features.
“Let me guess then,” Elizabeth said. “You found the symbol on a stone.”
“What are you talking about?” the cardinal asked.
“You are a gifted liar, Your Eminence. But the answer to my question is written across this young woman’s face.”
Erin blushed. She hated being so transparent, especially when she had no idea what the countess was thinking.
Elizabeth explained. “I’m referring to a green diamond, about the size of my fist, with this same marking upon it.”
“What do you know about it?” Jordan asked.
The countess threw back her head and laughed. The sound echoed across the cavernous space. “I shall not give you the information you seek.”
The cardinal loomed over her. “You can be made to tell us.”
“Calm yourself, Bernard.” Her use of his common name only seemed to irritate the cardinal even more. She was clearly enjoying pushing his buttons. “I said that I would not give you this knowledge, but that does not mean that I shall not part with it.”
Erin frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Simple,” she said. “I shall sell my knowledge to you.”
“You are in no position to bargain,” the cardinal blustered.
“I believe I am in a very good position,” she countered, facing the storm growing in the cardinal’s stance with a steady calm. “You are frightened of this symbol, of this stone, of the events even now transpiring against you and your precious order. You will pay me what I want.”
“You are a prisoner,” the cardinal began. “You—”
“Bernard, my price is a slight one. I’m sure you’ll be able pay it.”
Erin gripped the journal more tightly, her eyes drawn to the countess’s triumphant face, dreading what was coming next.
The cardinal kept his tone guarded. “What do you want?”
“Something of very little worth,” she said. “Only your eternal soul.”
Jordan had stiffened next to her, as if expecting an attack. “What exactly does that mean?”
The countess leaned closer to the cardinal, her black hair brushing his scarlet cassock. He took a step back, but she matched it.
“Restore me to my former glory,” she whispered, her voice more seductive than demanding.
Bernard shook his head. “If you’re referring to your former castle and lands, that is not within my power.”
“Not my lands.” She laughed brightly. “I can get those back myself, should I have need of them. What I require from you is much simpler.”
The cardinal stared down at her, revulsion written on his face. He knew what she was going to ask for.
Even Erin did.
Elizabeth reached toward the cardinal’s lips, toward his hidden fangs.
“Make me a strigoi again.”
10