James Rollins - Blood Infernal

Erin’s heart beat faster, staring up, trying to make out that square. “The philosopher’s stone was supposed to turn lead into gold, and also to create the elixir of life. It’s the most important element in alchemy. Something must be up there.”

Jordan hurried to the abandoned desk. “Help me with this!”

Before Erin could move, Elizabeth was there, beside Jordan, shoving the desk to the center of the room with little other help.

Once in place, Erin clambered up, reaching toward the roof, but she was still too short. Even Jordan tried, but he was two feet shy from brushing his fingertips against the ceiling. But at least, she could make out that outline of a square herself now.

Erin turned to Jordan. “I’m going to need you to—”

The clash of steel on steel cut her off, echoing up from the lower levels. After setting the fires below, ensuring no retreat that way, the enemy must have started its assault on the stairs, forging upward — only to discover Rhun and Christian guarded those steps.

But how long could their defense last?

The answer came immediately: a pained scream rose from below.

Elizabeth spun toward the noise, recognizing its source. “Rhun…”

“Go,” Erin ordered, but Elizabeth was already across the room and through the door, shoving past Sophia, rushing to Rhun’s aid.

Sophia pointed to them as she grabbed the room’s door handle. “Find what’s up there!” she ordered, then stepped to the hallway and slammed the doors closed behind her, leaving Erin and Jordan alone.

“Boost me,” Erin said breathlessly, staying on task to stave off paralyzing panic.

Jordan lifted her, and she climbed onto his shoulders. Wobbling a little, she pushed against the center of the square above, but it didn’t give.

Screams and snarls echoed through the guarded door.

“Hurry,” Sophia called from the far side.

“I got you,” Jordan reassured her. “And you got this.”

I’d better .

She took a steadying breath, pushed off the top of Jordan’s head, and braced her shoulder against the ceiling. She shoved hard. Dust and crumbling plaster rained down as one corner of the square budged, raising one inch.

So it is a door!

She repositioned herself closer to the edge that gave way and pushed again. The door lifted higher, enough for her to wedge her foot-long flashlight lengthwise into the crack, propping the way open.

“Got it…”

She grabbed the edge of the opening and pulled herself through the narrow crack, worming on her belly past her flashlight, careful not to dislodge it. Once through, she swung around and used her legs to raise the door even higher.

“Don’t know how much longer I can hold it!” she called down.

“I can jump for it.”

He proved a man of his word. His fingers snatched the edge of the opening and he pulled himself through, clambering up next to her. He then used his own muscular legs to hold it, while she found a stout iron bar nearby to prop it open.

Panting from the effort, Erin retrieved her flashlight and played the beam across the secret attic space. Dust coated everything. From the higher rafters, all manner of ropes and pulleys hung.

She moved away from the open hatch, brushing aside a drape of rope, stirring up a snowstorm of dust motes. “All this must be some of Kelly’s secret mechanisms, used to move doors and stairs.”

“Too bad none of it is functional,” Jordan said. “Maybe we could’ve used it to make our escape.”

Reminded of the threat, Erin accidentally bumped a toothed metal gear from its hook. It clattered to the floor. The noise was explosive in the confined space.

She continued deeper. The attic space appeared to be half the diameter of the room below. It didn’t take long for her flashlight’s beam to reveal a tall object, upright in a corner, filmed by grime and age.

There was no mistaking its shape.

“The bell,” Erin said.

She stared at the large artifact, at the protruding length of glass pipe, remembering Elizabeth’s story of hundreds of strigoi dying inside, their smoke collected and funneled down that pipe. She was momentarily fearful of approaching it, knowing its awful history. But she set such superstitions aside and moved over to it.

“Rudolf must’ve had it hidden here after John Dee died,” she said.

“So was that the emperor’s message for Elizabeth, to show her how to find this blasted thing. Why? So she might continue the work that Dee had started?”

“I hope so,” Erin said.

Jordan glanced sharply at her. “Why would you wish that?”

With the cuff of her sleeve, Erin rubbed away the centuries of filth and dust from the glass. Once she had cleaned a large enough window, she peered through the thick greenish glass.

“That’s why…”

Jordan leaned next to her. “There’s a whole pile of papers inside there.”

“If Rudolf brought John Dee’s bell here,” she said, nodding to the stack, “he would’ve certainly also included the old alchemist’s notes.”

“Like its operation’s manual. Makes sense.” Jordan ran his palms over the bell’s surface, searching for a way inside. “Look! There’s a door over here. I think I can get it open.”

He yanked at the catches and bands and the door came off in his hand.

She reached inside the bell and grabbed sheaves of paper, dragging them out.

“Most of this looks like it’s written in Enochian,” she said, stuffing the papers into her backpack, next to the case that held the Blood Gospel. “Hopefully, Elizabeth can translate it.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Together, they moved back to the hatch — only to hear a blast of shattered wood.

As they stared below, a broken door skittered across the floor. Sophia flew into view, deftly sliding on her feet, turning to face the entrance, her blades raised.

“Stay there!” she shouted to them without looking up.

The reason stalked into view.

Through a roll of black smoke, a hulking beast lumbered into view, its head low, teeth bared, a mane of dark hackles shivering along its neck and spine.

A grimwolf.

Jordan swore and kicked the iron bar that supported the hatch door.

It crashed down.

Trapping them in the attic.

Pinned down on a wide landing of the stairs, Rhun held his position, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. He had failed to even see the blade that had wounded him. His blocks and counterstrikes felt slow and clumsy. In his weakened state, he felt like a child playing at war against these curse-strengthened soldiers.

And in turn, they seemed to be toying with him.

They could have killed him by now, but they held off.

Why? Was it purely out of malice or some other reason?

Three strigoi closed a triangle around him. They were all bigger, muscle-bound, covered with scars and tattoos. Each carried a heavy curved falchion. None was particularly skilled with his weapon, but they were faster and stronger than Rhun. First one, then another would dart forward and slice Rhun’s arms, his chest, his face. They could have killed him at any time, but they chose instead to play with him, like a cat with a frightened mouse.

But I am no mouse .

He took their cuts, watched their actions, and searched for any weaknesses.

Smoke billowed up from the stairs below. Christian fought somewhere down there, but Rhun had lost sight of him after attempting to pursue a grimwolf that had bounded past him a moment ago. He had heard it crash through the door a floor above, heard Sophia’s shout. Still, he could not break free of these three to go to the others’ aid.