Blood Infernal: The Order of the Sanguines Series (26 page)

Christian stepped forward to face the attacker—then one of the smaller
strigoi
leaped low, moving with that preternatural speed, and tackled Christian to the ground. The other hurtled into Sophia, knocking her against the furnace.

Jordan lifted his poker, realizing the giant had used his dramatic swordplay as a distraction, allowing the smaller two to ambush the Sanguinists, eliminating the larger threats.

Leaving only Jordan and Erin.

So then let’s see what you’ve got, big fella
.

Jordan lunged at the armed
strigoi
. He struck the whirling blade a resounding blow. He felt the impact from his shoulders to his heels.

Then again, so did the
strigoi
.

The giant dropped the ringing blade and fell back a step. A sneer curled its lip—then it hurled itself at Jordan. It felt like being hit by a truck. Jordan crashed backward into a table, shattering glassware.

Teeth sank into Jordan’s forearm, fangs grinding down to bone.

But rather than crippling pain, Jordan felt a blaze of fire erupt along his arm.

The
strigoi
screamed, releasing Jordan’s arm. It stumbled back, clawing at its face. Jordan watched as flesh blistered and burned, black blood boiling out. It fell, convulsing to the floor as that conflagration spread, swiftly burning through its body.

Jordan stared down at his wounded arm, then over to the giant.

My blood is poison
.

Rather than fear, calm suffused him, growing even stronger, reducing the movement in the room to slow-motion. Sounds became muffled. The light took on a golden hue, turning everything hazy.

The
strigoi
battling Sophia panicked at what had happened to the giant and fled toward the burning tunnel. Christian took advantage of the surprise to cleave the other’s head clean from its shoulder.

Jordan picked up a piece of broken glass from the table, and without a thought, he was upon the fleeing
strigoi
. He grabbed it by the back of the neck and sliced its throat open from ear to ear, then let the body drop.

Jordan turned to find Erin yanking on his arm, coughing from the smoke, trying to get him to move.

“It’s all coming down!” she yelled at him, her voice sounding like they were both submerged under water. “The rooms above are starting to collapse into the basement level.”

He followed her, collecting Christian and Sophia along the way.

Out in the tunnel, Elizabeth held the first
strigoi
in a bear hug from behind, while Rhun lashed out with his knife. To Jordan’s eyes, the priest’s arm moved slowly, the blade in his hand catching each mote of light. The splash of black blood seemed to hang in the air.

As that last body fell, Erin drew Jordan along. She pointed past Rhun, toward the door near the base of the stairs. “We have to make for the tunnel to the old town square!”

As he watched, an oak rafter broke away from the roof and crashed to the stone floor, scattering fiery embers. More smoke washed into the tunnel.

“We’re too late!” Erin yelled.

5:02
P
.
M
.

Erin choked on the smoke, her lungs burning, her eyes weeping. Then Rhun was there, sweeping his jacket over her. Luckily, the Sanguinists did not need to breathe.

“Stay low,” Rhun warned her.

She obeyed and lifted the edge of her rain-soaked collar, breathing through the damp fabric. Ahead, Christian and Sophia led the way, using their strength to forge a path through fiery timbers and tumbles of stone. More debris rained down as the rooms above collapsed into the tunnel.

Farther down the passageway, Elizabeth crouched by the door to their only exit, clearly struggling to get the way open. Beyond the woman’s shoulders, flames filled the stairwell, turning it into the mouth of a massive fireplace.

Erin glanced behind her, coughing hoarsely. Jordan walked leadenly in her wake, seemingly oblivious to the smoke and heat. She remembered what had happened to the huge
strigoi
, picturing that flesh boiling forth with blood. She had observed such damage before, when angelic blood touched a
strigoi
.

Was that further proof of Jordan’s angelic nature? And what did it mean for the man she loved?

A loud tearing of metal drew her gaze forward.

Elizabeth had ripped the door off its hinges. “Hurry!” she called out, brushing fiery embers from the shoulders of her habit. The countess immediately set off into the waiting darkness, vanishing away.

Erin feared the woman might very well use this opportunity to escape.

And I wouldn’t blame her.

They all rushed into the tunnel and fled along it, chased by the smoke.

Shoulder to shoulder, Christian and Sophia kept the lead, following Elizabeth’s path, clearly watching for any new dangers, any new attack.

Rhun continued to shadow her, followed by Jordan.

As the light faded behind them, Erin dug into her pocket and removed a metal flashlight. She clicked it on, and a small beam of light pierced the darkness.

She coughed hard, her lungs still aflame, bobbling the light. A crashing rumble echoed from behind. She pictured that alchemists’ tunnel collapsing completely.

Finally, a door banged up ahead, and light flowed into the tunnel.

Sunlight . . . glorious sunlight
.

She sped toward it. With each step, the air was fresher, cleaner, colder.

Once close enough, Erin spotted Elizabeth holding the door open for them.

So she hadn’t fled
.

They tumbled gratefully out into a sunlit alley—bloody, half-burnt, but alive.

She immediately swung around to face Jordan, concerned that he had not spoken a single word during their entire escape from the tunnels.

She touched his cheek, but his blue eyes were unfocused, staring off into some middle distance. Panic rose up inside her, but she fought it back down.

She kept her palm on his burning cheek. “Jordan, can you hear me?”

He blinked once.

“Jordan . . . come back.”

Jordan blinked again, a shudder passing through him. Slowly focus returned to his eyes. He stared down at her. “Erin . . . ?”

He sounded unsure, as if he didn’t truly know her.

“That’s right,” she said softly, wounded and scared. “Are you okay?”

He finally shook himself once like a dog, then swept his gaze across the others. “I’m fine . . . I think.”

“Perhaps he was disoriented from the smoke,” Elizabeth offered.

Erin wasn’t buying it. Whatever was wrong with him, it had nothing to do with the smoke. She took his arm, parting his torn sleeve to examine the ragged bite mark. Already the wound had begun to heal, the flesh knitting together as if he had been attacked days before, not mere minutes.

More disconcerting, she discovered a red line that curled from his biceps down to the wound, forming curlicues around the edges of the healing flesh. She tugged the remains of his sleeve higher, revealing the source.

It extended from the old scarring from when Jordan was struck by lightning. When he was a teenager, he had that fractal pattern tattooed over as a reminder of his close call, creating an almost flowery decoration.

But this crimson tendril was new.

She ran her finger along it, feeling the heat along that trail. “Your tattoo is growing . . .”

Jordan pulled his arm back and shook his sleeve down.

“Tell me what’s happening,” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, turning slightly away. “It started back when Tommy touched me, healed me. At first, it was just a burning sensation.”

“But since then?”

“It’s been stronger since that
strigoi
stabbed me in Cumae. And stronger again when I was bitten just now.” Jordan wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She took his hand. At least, he let her hold it.

As if he sensed her distress, Rhun touched her gently on the back.

“We must leave,” Elizabeth warned as sirens wailed in the distance. “The sun will soon be down.”

But where could they go?

5:37
P
.
M
.

Legion studied the burning building as the fires set by his forces spread. He watched red flames dance against a gray sky, remembering this place. It was in a room in this structure that he had been trapped inside that green diamond. Through the tracery of smoke from the six hundred and sixty-six inside him, he drew out snatches of memory of that time.

. . . an old man with a white beard walks on the other side of green glass . . .

. . . 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
.

March 18, 6:08
P
.
M
.
CET

Prague, Czech Republic

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.