James Rollins - Innocent Blood

“ Helló, az én szeretett, ” Elisabeta said, speaking Hungarian, every syllable as familiar as if he had heard them only yesterday, instead of hundreds of years before.

Hello, my beloved.

There was no warmth in her words, only disdain.

Elisabeta switched to Italian, though her dialect was old, too. “I trust you did not find your brief time in my prison too burdensome. But then again, you took my life, you destroyed my soul, and then you stole four hundred years from me.” Her silver eyes glared out of the darkness at him. “So I doubt you’ve been punished quite enough.”

Every word cut him with its truth. He had done all that to her, a woman he had once loved — still loved, if perhaps only the memory of her former self. He reached for his pectoral cross, found a new one hung around his neck, and prayed for forgiveness for those sins.

“Has Christ been much comfort to you these last hundreds of years?” she asked. “You look no happier than you did in my castle centuries ago.”

“It is my duty to serve Him, as always.”

One side of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “You give me the politic answer, Father Korza, yet did we not once promise to speak truth to each other? Do you not owe me at least so much?”

He owed her much more.

Nadia glared at Elisabeta with undisguised rage. “Do not forget that she left you in that coffin to suffer and die. Or all the women she killed on the streets of Rome.”

“It is her nature now,” he said.

And I made her so.

He had perverted her from healer to killer. All her crimes rested on his conscience — both in the past and now.

“We can control our natures,” Nadia countered, touching the delicate silver cross at her neck. “I control mine every day. So do you. She is fully capable of doing the same, but she chooses not to.”

“I will never change,” Elisabeta promised. “You should have just killed me at my castle.”

“So I was ordered,” he told her. “It was mercy that hid you away.”

“I trust little in your mercy.”

She shifted in her seat, lifting clasped hands to brush a lock of hair from her forehead before settling them again in her lap. He saw she wore handcuffs.

“Enough.” Bernard gestured to Nadia.

She stepped closer to the sofa and pulled Elisabeta none too gently to her feet. Nadia kept firm hold of her. She would not underestimate Elisabeta as he had when he took her from the wine.

The countess only smiled, baring her handcuffs toward Rhun.

“Shackled like an animal,” she said. “That is what your love has brought me.”

Leopold started at one end of the dining car and worked his way to the other. He did what he was ordered to do, closing each set of curtains, pulling the panels tightly together until no scrap of sunlight came through.

The car grew dark, the only illumination coming from the electric lights mounted on the ceiling. He paused outside the door to the last car.

The two humans’ hearts beat louder. He smelled the anxiety rising from them like steam. A twinge of pity flickered through him.

“What are you doing?” Erin asked, but she was no fool. From the way she glanced from the steel door to the closed windows, she must already sense that something dangerous was about to be brought in here.

“You are perfectly safe,” Leopold assured her.

“To hell with that,” Jordan swore.

The soldier reached across Erin to the curtain next to her and yanked it back open. Sunlight poured into the room, bathing her.

Leopold stared at Erin in the middle of the pool of sunlight, trying to decide whether to return and secure the curtain. But from Jordan’s expression, he decided against it. Instead, he rapped on the thick steel door, alerting those inside that all was ready.

Christian stood, as if readying for battle, and placed himself between Erin and the door, standing half in shadow, half in light.

The door opened, and Cardinal Bernard stepped first into the car, wearing his full scarlet vestments. His eyes moved from Erin to Jordan. “First, let me apologize for such clandestine measures, but after all that has occurred — both here and in California — I thought it wiser to be cautious.”

Neither of the two humans seemed overly satisfied by this explanation, plainly suspicious, but they politely remained silent.

That awkward tableau was interrupted as the galley door on the other side of the car opened, and Father Ambrose appeared. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and stepped inside, uninvited. He must have heard Bernard’s voice and come to offer assistance to the cardinal — and to eavesdrop on the discussion.

Bernard strode across the car. The cardinal took Erin’s hand in both of his own, then Jordan’s. “You both look well.”

“As do you.” Erin tried to smile, but Leopold could read the worry from her face. “Is there any news on Rhun’s whereabouts?”

Hope rang there. She genuinely cared for Rhun.

Leopold hardened his heart against the rising guilt inside him. He liked these two humans, cherished their vitality and intelligence, but he reminded himself for the thousandth time that his betrayal served a higher purpose. This knowledge did not make his traitorous acts any easier.

“I’ll explain all in good time,” Bernard promised them. His eyes turned to his assistant. “That will be all, Father Ambrose.”

With a peeved sigh, his assistant retreated back into the galley, but Leopold had no doubt that the spidery priest had an ear close to that door, hanging on their every word. He was not about to be left out in the dark.

Then again, neither am I.

He remembered his promise to the Damnatus, felt again the touch of the dire moth on his shoulder, the flutter of its wing against his neck.

I must not fail him.

Once Father Ambrose was gone, Cardinal Bernard signaled to the shadows beyond the open steel door.

Erin tensed, her fingers tightening on Jordan’s hand. She was suddenly very happy Jordan had yanked the curtains open. Still, despite the streaming sunlight, she felt chilled.

From out of the darkness a black-clad priest stepped into the bright car. He was skeletally thin, a gaunt pale hand held the edge of his hood against the glare. He moved in halting steps, but there remained a certain grace about him, a familiarity in his movements.

Then he dropped his hand and revealed his face. Lanky black hair hung over dark, sunken eyes. His skin was pulled tight across broad cheekbones, and his lips looked thin, bloodless.

She remembered kissing those lips when they had been fuller.

“Rhun…”

Shock pulled her to her feet. He looked as if he had aged years.

Jordan rose and kept to her side.

Rhun waved them all back to their seats. He then hobbled, assisted by Bernard, and fell heavily into the vacant chair next to Christian. Erin noted he kept out of the worst of the bright light. While Sanguinists could tolerate sunlight, it weakened them, and clearly Rhun had few reserves to spare.

From across the table, familiar eyes locked onto hers. She read exhaustion there, along with a measure of regret.

Rhun spoke softly. “I understand from Cardinal Bernard that we have come to share a blood bond. I apologize for any suffering that might have caused you.”

“It’s fine, Rhun,” she said. “I’m fine. But you…”

His pale lips lifted into a ghostly attempt at a smile. “I have felt more vigorous than I do now, but with Christ’s help, I will recover my full strength soon.”

Jordan took her hand atop the table, making his claim on her clear. He glared at Rhun, showing no sympathy. Instead, he turned to Bernard, who stood beside the table.