The sun had set.
Distracted by what that implied, she didn’t see the monk until it was too late. He slammed into her, knocking her hand off Jordan’s belt. The monk muttered what sounded like an apology in Polish, his hands reaching to pat her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Jordan didn’t seem to notice that she was gone as he pushed through the door ahead of her. The two Swiss Guardsmen manning the doors were too distracted by the tourists coming out, but they collected their wits enough to collar her when she tried to follow.
Already inside, Jordan turned back.
“Go on!” she called. He could do more good against Bathory than she could anyway.
He nodded and hurried deeper into the basilica.
“The building is being evacuated, miss.” The guardsman’s polite words contrasted with the hard fingers digging into her arm. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to—”
A flash of gold radiated from inside the basilica, bursting with the blinding brilliance of a supernova. Along with it came a sweet scent, and a hint of music just beyond hearing, causing the ear to strain toward it.
The guard dropped her arm and turned to stare inside.
Needing to bear witness, Erin quickly sidestepped the guard and slipped over the threshold. Once inside, she raced through the portico, knocking aside a tourist who stood as transfixed as the guard.
She hurried through the inner doors and into the main nave. A forest of massive stone pillars rose ahead, holding up the elaborately decorated roof of the basilica. She stared across the expansive floor to the distant papal altar in the center of the church. Golden light flowed from beneath the massive black-and-gilt baldachin that sheltered the altar. The bronze structure seemed to tremble within that glow, like a shimmering mirage above hot desert sands. Or maybe the power behind that brilliance was too much for any man-made structure to contain within it.
Without thinking, Erin ran toward that light, dodging straggling tourists heading in the opposite direction. But already most of the basilica had emptied out, leaving the way open.
It was like sprinting across a football field, except that she was indoors. She knew that St. Peter’s Basilica had the largest interior of any church in the world. She had visited it many times in the past, but she had never
As she got closer, she was struck by the sheer size of the baldachin. Marble plinths as tall as a man supported twisted black Solomonic columns that rose sixty feet into the air. They held up its massive bronze canopy, edged with fanciful borders and topped by statues and a cross.
Under that canopy, in the very center of the basilica, stood Bathory.
Her red hair blazed in the golden light that was blasting from the object in her hands. The brilliance illuminated every alcove and corner of the church. All the statues and frescoes pulsed with a deep, mystical light as if they sought to merge with the radiance flowing from the baldachin.
In Bathory’s hands, the book had transformed from lead to gold.
She sprinted past the last of the statues lining the nave. Ahead, Jordan slowed to let her catch up. He caught her hand, and they ran together down the aisle toward the light.
Farther ahead, Rhun and Bernard stood frozen at the edge of the baldachin.
Stopped by a holiness that frightened even them.
58
Bathory’s blood sang with joy as golden light bathed her body.
She breathed in warmth and love. The pain that had flowed through her veins since she had reached womanhood began to recede. She felt the black mark on her throat fading, washed away by the brilliance. How could any darkness withstand this light?
The lead block warmed within her palms. It pulsed with its own heartbeat, like any living thing. With each passing second, it weighed less and less, until it felt as if it were floating above her fingers.
In her hand, the block had been replaced by pure golden light.
The radiance mesmerized her. It lit her eyes but did not burn them. She could gaze upon it forever, dwell forever in its light, explore its mystery for all time. Far above, the golden sun painted on the bottom of the baldachin outlined the painting of a white dove. The dove flew, free, in the light.
As did she.
But not for long.
The archaeologist and the soldier rushed toward her. The knights circled, closing in. Swiss Guard troops rushed down the nave. She was trapped. They would kill her, spill her blood on the book, steal its light from her.
As if sensing her fear, the radiance died away, fading until only an actual book rested in her palms, weighing down her hands.
She stared at the book, transfixed.
The tome was bound in ordinary sheepskin, its surface unadorned. Her fingertips caressed the worn leather while the scent of ancient sands rose up to her nostrils.
How could such brilliance shine from something so simple and ordinary?
Then she knew the answer.
She pictured Christ’s visage—an ordinary man’s face, hiding a wellspring of divinity.
Tears ran down her cheeks as a heavy ache returned to her blood.
Without touching her throat, she knew that the black mark had returned.
She shook her head to clear the glow that still filled her mind. It felt as if she had just awakened from a deep dream. But she did not have the luxury of distraction.
She stared out across the basilica, knowing what she had to do. She needed a way out and intended to create her own exit.
Moving swiftly, she leaped away from the altar into the apse behind her and retreated back toward the giant black marble throne high on the wall. It was the throne of Saint Peter, surrounded by popes and angels and rays of golden light that seemed cheap in comparison to what she had just witnessed.
Once far enough away from the altar, she reached into her pocket, found the transmitter she had hidden there, and pressed the detonator button.
The blast was a distant echo, like a clap of thunder beyond the horizon. The floor jolted under her feet. She’d planted charges deep in the necropolis below, beneath the very altar where she had been standing.
She watched with satisfaction as the marble floor shattered in front of her, cracking like broken ice under the heavy baldachin. The massive bronze canopy shook—then, as she watched, the entire structure crashed under its own weight through the floor, dropping cleanly through the hole.
Its base struck the floor of the necropolis below with the resounding
So be it.
She waved rock dust and smoke from her eyes and watched as the baldachin came to a shuddering rest, sunk most of the way through the floor. Only the canopy still remained visible in the nave, tilted crookedly.
Her charges had worked perfectly.
On the far side of the hole, a Swiss Guardsman fell screaming into the crater as the edge broke under him.
