James Rollins - Blood Infernal

“Looks like all hell’s about to break loose,” Jordan said, staring pointedly at Erin.

Erin straightened, looking sickened. “Could this be where Lucifer breaks free? This valley?” She touched that red sun. “It looks to be hanging at high noon. On the vernal equinox.” She stared over to the others. “Could that be a warning? A timeline we must meet?”

“When’s the equinox?” Jordan asked.

Christian answered from across the room. Even the effort to speak seemed a strain. “March twentieth. The day after tomorrow.”

“Talk about cutting it close.” Jordan frowned at the mural. “Especially since we don’t know where that lake is — that is, if it even exists.”

Erin glanced again at the three colored circles, as if she expected to find an answer there. And perhaps she would. Elizabeth could not deny the woman’s fierce intelligence.

“Why only three symbols?” Erin muttered.

“The badge for alchemy is a triangle,” Elizabeth offered. “Maybe that’s why there are only three symbols.”

Erin turned in a slow circle, plainly drawing an invisible triangle between the trio of frescoes. “Back at Dee’s place, the four symbols were painted to funnel their supposed energies into the chandelier, the one with horned masks that hung in the room’s center. Surely some focal point like that must have once been here.”

Elizabeth nodded. “If the three symbols form an alchemical triangle, we should be hunting for something that lies in the center of all three.”

With the assistance of the others, they walked off those invisible lines between the frescoes. Erin stood in the center. “The floor,” she said. “It’s wood. Maybe there’s a secret compartment below. Like at John Dee’s place.”

Christian came forward, drawing his sword. “The planks are old. I should be able to pry them up.”

Erin moved aside, crossing her arms nervously. “Be careful not to damage any—”

A thunderous crash of iron and broken glass echoed up from two stories below.

Everyone froze.

Elizabeth heard the traipsing of many feet, amid softer snarls and hisses. She glanced beyond the room’s threshold to one of the front windows. Darkness claimed the world beyond the glow of the streetlamps. Thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning traced the underbelly of black clouds.

The sun had set, and the storm was upon them.

Then a new noise burst forth — one readily heard even by Erin’s and Jordan’s weaker ears.

The moaning howl ululated up from below, full of bloodlust and fury. It was echoed by another, then a third.

It seemed the strigoi forces had not come alone this time.

Jordan recognized the tainted character of that howling, marking a dread beast, one all Sanguinists feared. “Great. They’ve brought a pack of grimwolves.”

Legion stood on the rain-swept street, his palms raised toward the stone building before him, as if basking before a fire. But it was not heat he warmed himself against this cold night.

A malignancy flowed from that edifice, pulsing forth from its poisoned heart. He wanted to consume it — and with it, every soul inside.

He watched his forces — a dozen strong — flow into the building. Through his connection to them, he felt their limbs fueled by that evil, growing stronger the deeper they forged.

Earlier, before the sun had set, he had set watchers upon the end of that dark tunnel near the old town square. Through those enslaved eyes, he had spied upon his prey scampering back out into the sunlight, escaping the fires set by his strigoi forces, taking the only path left open to them.

Taking them to me .

He had used those many eyes, hidden in shadows and dark rooms, to track the group’s path from the old square to this new one, to this grand malevolent structure — where they were now trapped.

He knew from that flicker of spirit — Leopold — still burning inside him that the Sanguinists would be weakened, including the Knight, whom he intended to mark and bind to his will this night. To ensure the prophecy’s doom, he would also slay the Warrior and the Woman and let their blood be a sacrifice on this unholy ground.

He raised his face to the storm.

There is no sun to protect you now .

From the entrance, fiery light bloomed, drawing his attention back down. He watched through multiple eyes, flitting from one to another, alighting nowhere for long. He was one and many at the same time, seeing all.

… furniture broken into kindling…

… combustible oil cast everywhere…

… one flame becomes many, sweeping through the lower floors…

He intended to drive his quarry to the roof, to claim the Knight there amid flames and smoke. There would be no escape this time.

To ensure that, he reached out to another of his marked, one closer to his black heart than any other slave, the leader of the wolves. He pulled his awareness more fully into that great beast, savoring its dark lusts, the power in its muscular limbs. He howled through its massive jaws, shrieking his threat into the night.

He sent one command deep into the wolf’s blood.

Hunt .

“Hurry,” Erin urged, smelling smoke rising from the lower stories. She knelt on the floor with Jordan and Elizabeth, roughly in the center of the three alchemical symbols: aqua, arbor , and sanguis .

Moments ago, Rhun and Christian had whisked away, vanishing down the stairs before the howling of the grimwolves had even faded. Sophia kept a post by the door, wielding two swords.

Erin had her own responsibility.

Find out what was hidden here.

Elizabeth edged a dagger between the planks and deftly popped a floorboard free, flipping it far with a twist of her wrist. She then used her fingers to rip boards to either side. She moved swiftly, her strength incredible, even when weakened by the unholy ground.

Erin shone her flashlight into the hole created, revealing floor joists, dust, and rat droppings. Motes floated up into her bright beam as she cast her light around. “Nothing’s here.”

Elizabeth looked as frustrated as Erin felt.

What are we missing?

Elizabeth rose to her feet, studying the symbols, trying to solve this mystery.

Erin stared up at her — then jolted bodily as inspiration rocked through her.

Up…

“The chandelier… over at John Dee’s place! That’s where the energies of those symbols were directed. Toward the ceiling. It’s not the floor we need to be searching.”

Jordan joined her, squinting toward the ceiling. “I don’t see anything up there.”

She didn’t either, but she felt a thrill of certainty.

“Remember the story of Dr. Faustus,” Erin said. “A legend tied to this place. According to the story, he was whisked up through the ceiling, taken by the devil. What if that story had its roots right here?”

Elizabeth stared up. “I can make out a faint outline of a square. Though I never witnessed it myself, I heard that Kelly had secret doors and stairs throughout his homes.”

So why not one in the ceiling?

Jordan looked less convinced. “Even if there’s some attic up there, who knows if it’s important?”

“It is,” Elizabeth said. She dropped to a knee and drew in the dust. “This entire room screams its importance. The circular room, the triangle, and now the square above.”

She inscribed the layout of all three in the dust, forming a symbol.

“This is the mark for the philosopher’s stone!” Elizabeth breathed.