Jordan stretched a knot out of his back. He had fallen asleep, sprawled across one of the wooden pews of the basilica. He stood now and twisted his spine to and fro, forcing circulation back through his body. He bent down and massaged a spasm in his calf.
I can miraculously heal a mortal wound, but I got nothing for a charley horse.
He hobbled toward Erin, who studied a piece of artwork a few yards away. She stood with Christian, who had kept them company during this long vigil, all of them waiting for word about Elizabeth. From the slight hunch in Erin’s shoulders and the puffiness of her red eyes, he doubted she had gotten any sleep.
Christian could have joined his fellow Sanguinists and participated in the rite, but he remained here, either to guard them from some kind of threat or to keep them from interfering with what was happening down below. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to watch the countess burn to death any more than Rhun did.
All night long, Christian had been straightforward with them, answering Erin’s questions about what was likely going on below. And more important, he also fetched Jordan more beer.
“What are we looking at anyway?” Jordan asked as he joined them.
Erin pointed to the mosaic straight above their head.
He craned his neck. “Is that Jesus sitting on a rainbow?”
She smiled. “Actually, it is. He’s ascending to heaven. Giving this section of the basilica its name: the Ascension Cupola.”
The three of them continued along the nave. Erin questioned Christian about various pieces of art, but clearly there was a greater question hanging above all three of their heads.
Jordan finally asked it. “Do you think she’ll survive the wine?”
Christian stopped, sighing loudly. “She will survive if she truly repents of her sins and accepts Him into her heart.”
“That’s not likely to happen,” Erin said.
Jordan agreed.
Christian had a more compassionate response. “We can never know the heart of another. No matter how much we think that we might.” He turned to Jordan. “Leopold had us all fooled, serving as agent of the Belial within our own folds for decades.”
Erin nodded. “And he was able to drink holy wine without burning to ash.”
Jordan frowned, realizing there was one subject he’d never had the time to address. He had told everyone about Leopold’s body missing from that subterranean temple, but he never elaborated on the stranger aspect of that story.
“Erin,” he said, “there is something I never mentioned about that attack in Cumae. That strigoi who… who wounded me… just before he died, he said he was sorry. He knew my name.”
“What?”
Christian turned sharply to him. Apparently Baako and Sophia had also failed to share this detail with the Sanguinists. Perhaps all of them had been ready to simply dismiss it as a coincidence. Maybe the dead strigoi was German, which would explain the accent. Maybe he knew Jordan’s name because whoever sent that monster down there knew the Warrior of Man was in that buried temple.
Still, he wasn’t buying it.
Jordan, mein Freund…
“I swear the voice that came out of the strigoi was Leopold’s,” he said.
“That’s impossible,” Erin muttered, but she had witnessed enough of the impossible to be unsure now.
“I know how it sounds,” he said. “But I think Leopold was using that body like a mouthpiece.”
Erin remained silent, her gaze distant as she digested this information. “What sort of connection could there be between them to allow that to happen?”
Christian offered one theory. “Maybe when Leopold died, his spirit leaped into this other strigoi.”
Erin turned to him. “Has that ever happened before?”
Christian shrugged. “Not that I know, but since meeting the two of you, I’ve witnessed many things I thought would have been impossible.”
Erin nodded at the truth of his words. She eyed Jordan. “Was there anything else unusual about that strigoi, anything that might explain such a psychic link?”
“Besides being supersized in strength and speed?” he asked.
“Besides that.”
Jordan remembered one last detail. “Actually there was one other odd thing. He had a black mark on his chest.” He mimicked with his own palm. “It was shaped like a hand.”
Erin’s hunched shoulders grew straighter. “Like Bathory Darabont had?”
“That’s exactly like I thought. Some mark of ownership.”
“Or possession,” Erin added.
Christian looked concerned. “They must have finished with the autopsy on that body back in Vatican City. Perhaps by the time we’re back there, they’ll have some better explanation. Cardinal Bernard will likely know what to—”
Christian’s voice died away. Plainly he had momentarily forgotten that the cardinal was no longer in charge of the Sanguinists. He was now a prisoner.
Jordan shook his head. This was the worst time for the order to have a shake-up in leadership. “What will happen to Bernard?” he asked.
Christian sighed. “He will be taken back to Castel Gandolfo and placed on house arrest until he is ready to stand trial. Because he is a cardinal, a conclave of twelve other cardinals must be gathered to pass sentence. It might take a couple of weeks, especially with the increased strigoi attacks.”
“What are they likely to decide?” Erin asked.
“Cardinal Bernard is powerful,” Christian said. “Few will want to speak against him. Because of that — and the fact that there are mitigating circumstances — penance will likely be assigned.”
“What kind of penance?” Jordan asked.
“He committed a grievous sin. Normally a death sentence would be warranted. But the order can also choose to forgive him. Sophia told me that the cardinal has broken our laws in the past, feeding on human enemies during the Crusades.”
“The Crusades?” Erin’s voice rose in pitch. “That was over a thousand years ago.”
“You guys have pretty long memories,” Jordan said.
“It is a difficult calling.” Christian fingered his rosary beads. “And if Countess Bathory has information that can aid you in the quest to reshackle Lucifer, the court may go easy on the cardinal.”
Erin looked down the length of the nave. “So Bernard’s life might depend on the countess surviving her transformation?”
“Seems fitting,” said Jordan.
“Fitting or not,” Christian said, “I’m sure we’ll know her fate soon enough.”
Jordan imagined Bernard was resting no easier this night.
Serves him right.
With both arms shackled in front of him, Bernard braced his legs as best he could against the roll of the boat. The silver manacles seared his wrists each time he moved, filling the dark hold with the smell of his own charred flesh.
I have been imprisoned like a common thief.
And he knew whom to blame for his current state: Cardinal Mario. The cardinal of Venice had always loathed Bernard, mostly because Bernard thwarted his centuries-long campaign to move the center of the Sanguinist order to this decadent city of canals. This harsh trip in the dark hold was the payment for that sin.
Still, this was but an annoyance. Bernard had no illusions of what was to come. While he didn’t know what his exact punishment would be for this greater sin, he would be toppled from his lofty post, falling so far that he could not even guess where the bottom might land. He would certainly be stripped of his title.
Death would be a simpler option.