… sunlight burning skin and bone, leaving nothing but smoke…
… that smoke being chased by brightness into the dark heart of a cold stone…
Beyond the confines of the vehicle where Legion hid, the fire continued to roar, consuming all, turning the painful history into so much ash and smoke.
How fitting.
He sent a command to Abigail. The vehicle growled and glided away from the curb, turning from that fire. Through the eyes of his slaves, he had watched his enemy vanquish his forces below. He did not know the fate of the trio of prophecy, but he had left them with only one path to follow. A single open tunnel. If they survived, the enemy would be flushed into his trap.
Already he had summoned additional forces to Prague, a gathering storm waiting to be unleashed. Legion awaited only one last element. He stared through the darkened window, toward the glaring orb of the sun, sitting low on the horizon.
The day may be theirs, but the night will be mine.
19
Rhun hurried across yet another street, following Erin, who had pulled up a map of Prague on her phone. A chill wind swept down the narrow thoroughfare, as a storm closed in over the city. He smelled distant rain, the crackle of electricity.
Ahead the street ended at a large grassy square dotted with fountains. A verdigris-stained copper sign announced their destination in broad Gothic letters.
“Charles Square,” Erin translated as they stepped into the open.
A sprawling town hall with a tall tower rose to one side, but it was the large Jesuit church, rising in baroque spires, that drew Rhun’s attention. It was the Church of St. Ignatius. Rhun would not have minded spending time there, giving them all a chance to recuperate. Christian had a bandaged arm; Sophia nursed several prominent scrapes and bruises. Even Elizabeth had lost her wimple and bore a ragged scratch across her cheek, which she hid with a fall of dark curls.
But they didn’t have the time to tarry.
As the group crossed the square, the orange sky faded toward red, then indigo, as the sun was near to setting. If more strigoi ranged this city, they would come out before long. Someone had surely sent those strigoi into the tunnels to ambush them, and that threat remained.
En route here, he had watched for anyone hunting their trail, but the city was bustling with springtime tourists. Even now, he heard the heartbeat of people wandering the city, eating at its restaurants, shopping in its stores. He attempted to listen for more furtive sounds, rising from those without heartbeats: quiet footsteps, cold breath. Though he did not hear evidence of such creatures, that did not mean they were not there, skulking in the shadows, biding their time for the sun to fully set.
Rhun glanced to St. Ignatius. As soon as their team was done investigating this last spot in the city, they could take refuge in the nearby church.
“That should be the Faust House,” Erin announced. “There on the southwest corner of the square.”
The structure climbed four stories: gray stone on the first floor, a salmon pink above, with faux Corinthian columns decorating its façade. Once close enough, gold lettering above the arched entrance read FAUSTUS DUM, confirming this was indeed the infamous Faust House.
Elizabeth believed Rudolf had left that message as a code meant for her, directing her to this home. If so, something important might be hidden here, too.
But what?
As they drew near, Rhun continued to maintain a wary vigil as rain again began to fall. They stopped on the opposite side of the street from the house. Cars sidled past, drivers hurrying home before the full storm hit.
As thunder rumbled in the distance, Jordan stared up at the building, looking more himself again, though Rhun noted his heartbeat had subtly changed after the attack, sounding more like a heavy drum tattoo, underscored by a faint ringing. Maybe that aberration had always been there, and whatever transpired during that attack had brought forth that change more prominently.
“That Kelly guy must have been doing pretty well to afford this place,” Jordan said.
Erin nodded. “He did have the backing and patronage of Emperor Rudolf. Plus, the ground was supposedly cursed.”
“What?” Jordan looked sharply at her.
“I Googled this place on my phone during the hike here,” she explained. “In pagan times, this ground was used as a gathering place for sacrifices to Morena, the goddess of death. Such a history is probably why the legend of Dr. Faust became incorporated with this house. And likely added further support for Edward Kelly claiming he could commune with Belmagel, an evil angel.”
Jordan craned his neck further. “Whatever. All I see is a pricey house with a lot of lightning rods.”
Elizabeth stood at his shoulder, shading the rain from her eyes with a slim hand. “What is a lightning rod?”
Jordan pointed to the red-tiled roof. “Do you see the weather vane? And that rod next to it? Both are designed to attract lightning and then channel it down to the ground, where it will be discharged safely into the earth.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shone. “What a clever idea.”
As if on cue, a blast of thunder crackled across the rooftops, booming loudly, reminding them that time was short.
“How are we going to get inside?” Erin asked. “Looks like all the windows on the first floor are barred.”
Rhun pointed higher. “I’ll climb up, force one of those upper windows open, then come back down and let you in through the front door.”
“What about alarms?” Sophia asked.
Christian shook his head. “Place is centuries-old, likely not modernized. At best, they probably only have the second-story windows wired, trusting the lower-level’s bars to do most of the security work for them.” He pointed higher. “You’ll probably have no problem if you can reach those smaller windows on the third level. I doubt those are armed.”
Rhun nodded at his analysis. He took quick account of his surroundings. At least, the rain had chased most people out of the open square. He waited until no cars were moving along the street, then hurried across to a drainpipe that ran along a shadowy corner of the façade.
He threaded his fingertips around the pipe and swiftly scaled its length to the third story. Gripping the capital of one of the ornamental Corinthian columns, he edged his foot to the right, sliding across the wet façade of the house like a lizard to reach the closest window.
Once there, he waited until another rumble of thunder burst forth — then used his elbow to crack through the lowermost pane. Glass tinkled to the floor inside. He waited to see if any shout was raised. The house stayed silent.
Still, Rhun proceeded with caution. He reached through the broken glass, undid the latch, and slowly pushed the window open. The inside smelled like mildew and concrete — but something else set his skin to crawling. He remained where he was, listening, but when no alarm sounded, he rolled inside.
Even before his feet hit the floor, he felt the strength drain from his body. He landed in a crouch, remembering Erin’s story of this place being built on accursed ground.
It seemed some legends were true.
Rhun grabbed his cross, to center himself. The air in the house was ice cold, and it crackled with malevolence. He searched for any overt threat but found nothing. Light from streetlamps outside revealed an empty room with high white ceilings and smooth plaster walls.
He whispered a prayer of protection — then headed down to let the others in, ignoring a stronger urge to flee this place.