James Rollins - Innocent Blood

She stuck one hand in the pocket of her new fleece robe. Her other arm was in a sling. Her shoulder was almost healed from the lion attack. Jordan had just changed the bandages up in her bedroom and was already back down, dragged below by his nephew Bart. Erin had promised to follow right after, but it was peaceful on the steps.

Finally, Jordan poked his head around the corner, discovered her, and joined her on the steps. He tucked the edges of his new robe between his legs as he sat. Both of their robes had been gifts from Jordan’s mother.

“You can’t hide forever,” he said. “My nieces and nephews will hunt you down. They can smell fear.”

She smiled and bumped him with her elbow. “It looks very merry down there.”

“I know they’re a bit much.”

“No, they’re fun.” She meant it, but his family seemed so normal, so very different from hers. “Just takes some acclimatizing.”

Jordan stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, the simple touch reminding her why she cared so much about him. “Are you telling me that you’ve faced down lions and wolves and bears and all kinds of undead, but you’re afraid to go in there with four little kids, their exhausted parents, and my mother?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her cheek against his flannel-covered chest. His heart thumped steadily under her ear. She savored the sound, knowing how close she had come to losing him. She tightened her arms around him.

He rumbled at her. “You know… we can always move to a hotel, a place with one bed for the two of us?”

She smiled up at him. His mother had insisted that they sleep in separate bedrooms when they arrived yesterday. “It’s damned tempting. But it’s sort of fun seeing you in your native environment.”

A child’s voice piped up from below, demanding, “Where’s Uncle Jordan?”

“It seems Miss Olivia is growing impatient.” He tugged her to her feet. “C’mon. They don’t bite. Except maybe the little ones.”

Her hand felt warm and safe in his as he led her down the last steps and into the noisy living room. He guided her past the decorated Christmas tree to a couch.

“Best to stay out of the combat zone,” Jordan warned.

His mother, Cheryl, smiled at her. She sat in a brown leather chair with a knitted afghan over her knees. She looked pale and frail. Erin knew that she was battling cancer, and no one was sure if she would see another Christmas.

“My son’s right,” Cheryl said. “Avoid the tree until the madness dies down.”

“Grandma!” Olivia shouted, near the top of her lungs. “Can’t we open presents now?”

A similar chorus rose from the other children.

Cheryl finally lifted a hand. “All right already. Dig in!”

Like lions on a downed gazelle, the kids dove into the presents. Paper tore. Squeals of delights filled the air, and one disappointed voice called out, “Socks?”

Erin tried to imagine what kind of person she would be if she’d grown up here.

Olivia dropped a plastic unicorn into Erin’s lap. “This is Twilight Sparkle.”

“Hello, Twilight.”

“Uncle Jordan says that you have stitches. Can I see? How many are there? Does it hurt?”

Jordan saved her from the grilling. “Olivia, the sutures are under the bandages, so you can’t see them.”

She looked crestfallen, as only a disappointed child could look.

Erin leaned closer. “There are twenty-four stitches.”

Her eyes got huge. “That’s a lot!” Then one eye narrowed suspiciously. “How did you get ’em?”

Erin honored her own commitment to the truth. “A lion.”

Jordan’s mother almost dropped her coffee cup. “A lion?”

“Cool!” Olivia extolled, then handed Jordan another plastic pony. “Hold Applejack.”

She ran to get more of her toy horses.

“Clearly you won her over,” Jordan said.

Olivia returned and stacked ponies on Erin’s lap, reeling off names: Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie. Erin did her best to play with them, but it was as foreign to her as aboriginal tribal customs.

Cheryl spoke over Olivia’s head. “Jordan tells me that he’s been assigned to a special protection unit at the Vatican.”

“That’s right,” Erin admitted. “I’ll be working with him.”

“Mom,” Jordan said, “quit trying to worm information out of Erin. It’s Christmas.”

Cheryl smiled. “I just want to thank her for getting you reassigned to somewhere safe.”

Erin thought back to the number of near-death experiences the two of them had survived since meeting at Masada. “I’m not sure safe is the right word. Besides, if it was entirely safe, Jordan wouldn’t want to do it.”

His mother patted Jordan’s arm. “Jordan never takes the easiest path.”

Olivia was done being ignored and tugged on Erin’s sleeve. She pointed an accusatory finger at Erin’s nose. “Do you even know how to ride a horse?”

“I do. I even have a big mare named Gunsmoke.”

She remembered Blackjack and felt a twinge of sorrow at the loss.

“Can I meet Gunsmoke?” Olivia asked.

“She lives in California, where I work.” Erin corrected herself. “Where I used to work.”

Erin had spoken briefly with Nate Highsmith last night, wishing him a happy holiday. He had already met with one of the alternate graduate professors she had suggested and seemed mostly okay with her departure. Now, no matter what happened to her, he would be fine.

“What do you do?” Olivia asked. “Are you a soldier, like Uncle Jordan?”

“I’m an archaeologist. I dig up bones and other mysteries and try to figure out the past.”

“Is that fun?”

Erin looked over at Jordan’s relaxed and happy face. “Most of the time.”

“That’s good.” Olivia poked Jordan’s knee. “He needs more fun.”

With those profound words, the girl headed back to her toy pile under the tree.

Jordan leaned over and whispered in Erin’s ear. “He certainly does need more fun.”

Erin smiled into his blue eyes and spoke the truth. “So do I.”

Far beneath the ruins of Cumae, Leopold floated in and out of dark consciousness. For the past handful of days, he had ridden waves of blackness and pain, rising only to fall, over and over again.

Rhun’s blade had cut deep enough to kill him, but he did not die. Every time he felt certain that he would sink into that final blackness, ready to accept the eternal suffering for his failure — he woke again. He would force himself to drag his body and feed on the corpses left in the cavern with him, along with an occasional unlucky rat.

Such frantic beasts offered little sustenance, but they gave him hope.

He had thought himself sealed down here following the quakes, with no chance of escape. But where a rat crawled, he could dig. He just needed his strength back.

But how?

Beneath him, he heard stones rumble far below, gnashing together like giant teeth, as if calling him to duty. He dragged open his heavy eyelids. The torches had long since sputtered out, leaving the smell of smoke. But it was barely noticeable against the stench of sulfur and the rot of bodies.

He reached to a pocket and removed a small flashlight. Leopold’s numb fingers fumbled with it for long agonizing seconds before he clicked it on.

The light dazzled. He closed his eyelids against it and waited until its brightness no longer cut at his eyes. Then he opened them again.

He searched the floor around the black altar stone. The net that had held an angel was still there. The cracks that had been opened by that same angel’s blood had closed again. The writhing darkness was also gone, bottled back up.