James Rollins - Blood Infernal

“It’s about time,” she said.

Jordan gave her a mock scowl. “It wasn’t like any of us were up to an interrogation last night.”

True .

“When can we talk to him?”

“At eight o’clock… in about an hour.” He crossed to the bed with the tray, sat down, and patted the mattress. “So how about I serve you breakfast in bed?”

She dropped next to him. “I think it only counts if we’re naked.”

He placed the tray on the nightstand. “I like that rule… and you know how I’m a stickler for rules.”

He began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Elizabeth carefully changed the wine-soaked bandage on the stump of Rhun’s left arm. She removed the old wrap and examined the wound. Already the skin knit over most of the raw muscle, but much still needed healing. She covered the damage with a compress soaked in holy wine, earning a small gasp of pain from Rhun, but still his eyes did not open.

Come back to me, Rhun .

She secured the compress with a fresh wrap, then leaned back. She sensed that the sun had risen an hour or so ago. She had spent the entire night with him in this windowless cell. It reeked of incense and wine, with a hint of hay and brick dust and reminded her of the time she had spent imprisoned here. Still, she stayed, wanting to be here when Rhun awoke.

She scowled at the room, finding it unfit.

The cell contained a simple wooden bed covered with a pallet of straw, a stand holding a lit beeswax candle, a flask of wine, clean white gauze, and jars of ointment that smelled of wine and resin. The room was a match to her own that neighbored this one, not that she had used it this long night.

The scuff of leather on stone drew her gaze to the small door. A short chubby monk with a gray friar’s tonsure entered, carrying fresh wine and more bandages.

“Thank you, Friar Patrick.”

“Anything for Rhun.”

The friar had assisted her in her ministration of Rhun, coming and going throughout the night. Genuine sorrow crossed his face at the sight of Rhun’s still form on the bed. He cared for Rhun, more than simply as a fellow Sanguinist. Perhaps the two were friends.

“You should take some rest, Sister Elizabeth,” he offered for the eleventh time. “I can watch over him. If there’s any change, I will inform you immediately.”

She opened her mouth to refuse — when she felt a soft buzz from the pocket of her skirt, rising from the phone hidden there.

Tommy.

She had used many moments during the night — when she was alone — to try to call the boy, but she only heard the same mechanical voice over and over again, asking her to leave a message. She never had, fearing who might retrieve her words.

“Thank you, Friar Patrick.” Elizabeth stood from her bedside stool. “I believe I shall go rest.”

His expression was a mix of surprise and relief.

She gave him a bow, then turned on her heel and left the room. She crossed to the neighboring cell and closed the stout door. Only then did she pull out the phone. Words glowed on the small screen.

She didn’t understand how to respond to Tommy’s message, nor did she understand the small symbol at the end. But she understood the word trouble .

Fearfully, she gripped the phone and dialed his number.

C’mon, already…

Tommy sat on the closed seat of the bathroom toilet, the shower running noisily nearby. He wore only a towel. He stared at his phone, praying for Elizabeth to respond to his text. He watched the locked door, fearful of the guards out in the hallway of this apartment in the outskirts of Rome. The windows of the place were barred. The only way in or out was past a pair of Sanguinist priests, both wearing civilian clothes, who stood post before his door.

Finally, the phone vibrated in his hand.

He answered it immediately, keeping his voice down to a whisper. “Elizabeth?”

“Tommy, where are you? What’s wrong?” As usual, the woman never bothered with the usual pleasantries that everyone else used on the phone.

“I’m somewhere in Rome.”

“Are you in danger?”

“I don’t think so, but something’s wrong with this whole setup. The priest who came with me from Santa Barbara didn’t take me to Vatican City. He dumped me in some apartment instead. It’s locked up tight… with guards.”

“Can you tell me anything about where they’ve taken you?”

“It’s an old building. Yellow. Smells like garlic and fish. I’m on the third floor. I can see a river from the bedroom window and a fountain with a fish spewing water. Also I think there’s a zoo nearby. At least, I heard lions roaring.”

“Good. I should be able to find such a yellow building. It might take time, but I will get to you.”

Tommy lowered his voice even more. “They say I’m in danger… from you , but I know that’s wrong.”

“I would never hurt you, but I will make them pay if you come to harm while under their care.”

Tommy grinned. He had no doubt that she would come and kick their asses, but he didn’t want to see her get hurt.

As the room grew steamy from the running shower, he listened for a moment to see if anyone noted their conversation before continuing. “I overheard them saying that Bernard wanted me kept under lock and key until you do what they want. I don’t know if that’s true or not. But if it is, don’t give in to them.”

“I will do what I need to do to get back to you. I will free you, and we will find a way to make you well again.”

He sighed, baring his arm. The single melanoma lesion had multiplied, spreading like wildfire up his arm. He had new lesions on his legs and left buttock. With his angelic blood gone, it was like the cancer was making up for lost time.

“It’s not so bad,” he lied. “Just get tired easily, but they let me sleep.”

“Save your strength.”

Yeah, easier said than done .

Knuckles rapped against the bathroom door, making Tommy jump. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, but those Sanguinists could move like ghosts.

“I gotta go,” Tommy hissed. “I miss you.”

“I… miss you as well.”

He pressed the disconnect button, pushed the phone behind the toilet’s water tank, and dashed into the shower. He splashed around loudly before shouting.

“Can’t a guy take a shower in peace?”

“You’ve been in there a long time,” a gruff voice said. “And I heard talking.”

“I’m a teenager! Sheesh. I’m always talking to myself.”

There was a long moment of silence, then his guard spoke in a more fatherly tone. He must have known Tommy was lying, covering something up, but the guy went for the wrong explanation.

“If you are touching yourself in there, young man, it is nothing to be embarrassed about. But you must confess such sins to your parish priest.”

“First of all, I’m Jewish. Second of all, screw you!”

Tommy stood under the spray, his face hotter than the steam.

Okay, now I really do want to die.

Elizabeth headed back to Rhun’s room, resting a palm over her concealed phone. Anger flared inside her, but she banked it. When the time came to rescue Tommy, she must act with icy clarity. Emotion had no place until then.

She intended to confront the cardinal, but first she wanted to check on Rhun.

As she entered, she smoothed her skirt and adjusted her sleeves. She found Friar Patrick kneeling next to Rhun’s bed, holding his hand.