Elizabeth’s blade barely parried Abigail’s first blow. The cantankerous old nun spun to the side with a speed and grace that Elizabeth admired as much as she feared. Abigail raised her blade again, her eyes as dead as a corpse’s.
Rhun tried to come to her aid, but the grimwolf slammed into him. The two rolled across the tiles. Yellow teeth gnashed at Rhun’s face, while the silver karambit flashed.
Abigail lunged, moving swiftly, no longer slowed by the holiness of the Sanguinists. Instead, she was strengthened by an evil much darker than Elizabeth’s own heart.
Elizabeth feinted right and managed to slice Abigail’s left shoulder.
The nun gave no sign she was hurt. Her sword lashed out again and again. Elizabeth did her best to parry the flurry of blows, but Abigail’s strikes were quick and sure.
The last thrust cut deep across Elizabeth’s thigh, striking bone.
Her leg buckled under her.
The nun moved toward her, as implacable as the sea.
Erin heard the fighting and howling from the rooftop. A moment ago, a dark shadow had knocked the grimwolf away from the hole above, protecting her. Only one person was that foolhardy and brave.
Rhun…
Taking courage from his efforts, she closed upon Jordan and the possessed form of Leopold. Jordan remained atop that monster, but the demon’s black hand throttled him, turning his face purple, setting his eyes to bulging.
Jordan saw her approach, and with all of his remaining effort, he rolled to the side, dragging Leopold’s body up and around, presenting the former monk’s back to her.
She wanted to hesitate. Leopold had been her friend; he had saved her life more than once in the past. But she hurried forward instead, raising her only weapon: the spear of broken glass.
She stabbed downward with the strength of both arms, impaling Leopold through the back, aiming for that dead heart.
A pained gasp burst from Leopold’s throat. The choking hand loosened from Jordan’s throat. Leopold’s body toppled to his side, as if a string had been cut. His fingers twitched once and went still.
Though freed now, Jordan remained on his back, his face turned away. Erin dropped to her knees next to him. His neck was bruised to the bone. A hard knot protruded from his cervical area. His spine had been broken.
“Jordan?” she called softly, her hands out, too afraid to move him.
He did not answer, but another faint voice did. “Erin…”
She turned to see Leopold staring at her. The darkness had bled from his face, draining along with the black blood that flowed from his impaled chest. She knew Sanguinists could control their own bleeding, willing it to stop.
Leopold did not, plainly wanting to die.
Grief welled up inside her, knowing there was goodness inside the former monk, misguided though it might have been.
“You saved me before,” she whispered, remembering those dark tunnels under St. Peter’s.
A cold hand touched her wrist. “… saved me.” He gave her a small nod of reassurance.
A sob escaped her.
Even in death, he sought to comfort her.
His voice became as faint as a breath. “Legion…”
She leaned closer, hearing the urgency even now.
“Three stones… Legion seeks them…”
“What are you talking about? What stones?”
Leopold seemed deaf to her, already far gone, speaking across a vast gulf. “The garden… defiled… sewn in blood, bathed in water… that is where Lucifer will…”
Then those blue eyes went glassy, those lips forever silent.
Erin wanted to shake more answers from him, but instead she touched Leopold’s cheek.
“Good-bye, my friend.”
Collapsed on the rooftop, Elizabeth cursed her wounded leg.
Abigail loomed over her, smelling of wet cotton. Lightning flashed off her raised blade. Her dead eyes stared down at Elizabeth, not coldly, but with the gaze of an uncaring predator.
Across the roof, Rhun battled the grimwolf, both bloodied, but still fighting.
Unarmed, Elizabeth braced herself for the attack. Regret flashed through her. Her death would seal Tommy’s fate. She had been unable to save her own children, and she would not save this child either.
Then the wolf howled, a sound unlike any heard before.
A noise full of rage and pain and shock.
She saw the grimwolf barrel into Rhun, knocking him far, then turned and fled — straight toward Elizabeth and Abigail.
“Run!” The word was spoken with a familiar authority, coming from above her.
Elizabeth looked up at Abigail. The nun’s eyes were sharp now, shining with fury. Her cheek was free of any blemish, the mark vanished from her flesh.
Abigail grabbed Elizabeth, dragged her up, and shoved her to the side. “Go!”
Elizabeth stumbled away as Abigail raised her scimitar and faced the beast as it reached them. The grimwolf slid on its paws, claws gouging and shattering clay tiles. It stared at Abigail, looking momentarily dumbfounded at this threat from a former ally. But confusion quickly stoked to rage — and it leaped at the old nun.
Abigail swung her blade. Much slower now, she missed, and teeth snatched her arm. Still, she forced her legs to push, dragging the massive beast by sheer strength. She reached the roof’s edge and flung herself and the beast over its lip.
Elizabeth hobbled forward in time to see their bodies strike the pavement four stories below. Abigail looked like a broken doll, limbs akimbo, neck twisted. Black blood washed into the gutter. The grimwolf somehow survived the fall. It rose up drunkenly, then loped off into the shadows.
Below, Christian stumbled into view on the street below. A pair of strigoi was on his heels, but like the wolf, these beasts took flight, dropping their weapons and fleeing into the night.
Across the way, Rhun rushed to the ragged hole dug by the grimwolf and dropped into the attic below, checking on the others.
Alone on the roof, she remained standing, wondering what had so suddenly turned the tides of this war. She pictured the mark vanishing from Abigail’s cheek. The woman had clearly broken free of her possession.
Is that why the others had fled, too?
But something struck her as odd. Elizabeth had briefly locked gazes with the grimwolf before it attacked and fled. She had read the intelligence shining there — far more than any ordinary beast should possess, even one so corrupted.
But what did that mean?
She shuddered, fearful of the answer.
“I can’t get Jordan to respond at all,” Erin told Rhun, glad to have him at her side. “And look at his neck.”
Jordan lay stretched out on the floor next to Leopold’s body. The bruising had faded, but there remained a disturbing crook to his cervical vertebrae. She gently checked his pulse. It throbbed steadily under her fingers, as slowly and evenly as if he were merely asleep.
“Jordan!” she called, afraid to shake him. “Come back!”
Jordan showed no response, his open eyes just stared straight ahead.
Rhun looked equally concerned. He had already examined Leopold, pressing his silver cross against the monk’s forehead. The silver didn’t burn into the skin, suggesting the evil had truly fled him.
But where it went was a concern for later.
A muffled shout rose from below, coming from under the attic floorboards. “Erin! Jordan!”
Erin straightened, twisting to stare toward the attic’s trapdoor, suddenly remembering. “Sophia is still down there.”
With a grimwolf.