James Rollins - Blood Infernal

“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.

He bowed his head. He had served the Order of the Sanguines for nearly a thousand years. Few Sanguinists of his age remained. In all that time, he had never been tempted to retreat to the Sanctuary, to become one of the Cloistered Ones. That was not a path for him or his ambitions.

I belong among the ranks of the Church, serving the order to my fullest capacity .

He lifted his cuffed hands high enough to touch his pectoral cross with his thumbs. The pain was familiar, comforting. It reminded him that he was not done serving.

He must focus on that — rather than how he had been laid low by the likes of Elizabeth Bathory. Fury flashed through him, but he schooled himself, accepting his faults. The countess had recognized the depth of his pride, used the fires of his ambition against him. Her words rang in his head.

Only you have the power to save your world .

She had tempted him — not just with blood, but with her precious knowledge. Stored in her brain were secrets that he had desired as much as he had wanted her blood. He had been too eager to pay her price. She had known what music to play.

And I was but her instrument .

But no longer.

The others did not understand the depth of evil that the countess carried in her black heart, but Bernard did. He had no doubt the wine would consume her, but if it did not, he must be ready.

He knew one way to control her if she survived. She cared for the boy, Tommy.

Control the child, and you control the mother .

He shifted enough to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket. His captors had stripped him of his weapons, but they had left him with this. He dialed a number in the dark. Even in times such as this, there were those who were loyal to him.

“ Ciao ?” said a voice on the other end.

Bernard quickly explained his needs.

“It will be done,” his conspirator said, closing the connection.

Bernard took cold comfort that his plan for the countess would not fail.

This time , I will turn her into an instrument of my purpose .

No matter the cost.

Elizabeth knelt with the chalice poised at her lips, teetering on the brink between salvation and extinction. Above her head, the mosaic of Lazarus stared back down at her, along with Christ, but she found herself looking at those gathered to witness that event. They were Lazarus’s family, his sisters, Martha and Mary of Bethany. The small glass tiles captured their looks of terror, not joy.

Did they fear their brother would not survive the act of drinking Christ’s blood?

Her gaze drifted to another who matched their fear, who held the chalice to her lips. Reflected candlelight shone on Rhun’s tense face, turning his pale skin to silver. She had never seen him look so terrified, save the moment when she had first kissed him in front of the fireplace at her castle, the moment that had set the events in motion that led them both here.

Rhun’s dark eyes stared into hers. This was the moment for a poetic farewell, but she could think of nothing to say to him, especially in front of the gathered Sanguinists.

She focused on Rhun, letting everything else go.

“ Ege’sze’ge’re ,” she whispered over the brim of the cup. It was a common Hungarian toast: To your health .

Rhun’s eyes softened with the hint of a smile.

“ Ege’sze’ge’re ,” he repeated with a small nod.

She tilted her head, and he tipped the cup.

A spill of wine poured over her tongue.

It is done…

As she swallowed, the liquid burnt a fiery trail down her throat. It felt as if she had sipped molten rock. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her back arched in agony, thrusting her breasts against the rough-spun cloth of her nun’s habit. Her arms jerked wide. Fire flowed through her body into her limbs, out to her fingertips. Every vein in her body ran with flame. It was an agony that she had never known.

With that pain, the wine’s holiness spread inside her, draining her strigoi strength. It fought against the darkness in her blood. But the holiness did not win. The evil was not completely burned away. It still pulsed within her, like a banked fire.

She finally gasped out a breath, casting out some of the fire.

She suspected what might come next, bracing herself against it. From Rhun’s account, every time she drank the wine she would be forced to relive her worst sins. He called this experience penance . Its purpose was to remind each Sanguinist that they were fallible and that only His incredible grace could carry them through their sins.