The Blood Gospel

“That is true,” Bernard admitted with a bow of his head. “As a Sanguinist, I exist in a state halfway between damnation and holiness. Silver burns me, but does not kill me. Strigoi do not have the protection of Christ’s blood in their veins, so silver is much more deadly to them.” He drew his glove on again. “Holy objects also have some value, although not enough to kill them.”

“Then how do we defend ourselves?” Jordan asked.

“I suggest that you view strigoi as animals,” the Cardinal said. “To put them down, you must grievously wound them with traditional weapons, just like any other animal.”

She looked over at Rhun, who showed no reaction to being called an animal.

Instead, the priest took a dagger and slashed his palm.

She gasped.

His eyes flicked to her face as blood pattered to the table. “You must understand fully,” he said.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“We feel many things more acutely than humans. Including pain. So, yes, it does hurt, but watch the wound.”

He held out his open hand. The blood flowing from his cut stopped as abruptly as if he had turned off a tap. The blood at the edge of his wound even seeped back into his hand.

“And you are showing us this cool little trick because …?” Jordan asked.

“The secrets lie in our blood. It flows on its own through our bodies, a living force. This means our wounds stop bleeding almost instantly.”

Erin leaned closer. “So you don’t need a heart to propel your blood? It does it on its own?”

Rhun bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Erin considered the implications. Was this the origin of the legend of the living dead? Strigoi seemed dead because they were cold and didn’t have beating hearts?

“But what about breathing?” she asked, wanting every detail.

“We breathe only to smell and to speak,” Rhun explained. “But there is no necessity for it. We can hold our breath indefinitely.”

“More good news,” Jordan mumbled.

“So now you understand,” Rhun said. “As Cardinal Bernard warned you, if you cut a strigoi, keep cutting. Do not assume that they are fatally wounded, because they are likely not. Be on guard at all times.”

Jordan nodded.

“A strigoi’s only weaknesses are fire, silver, sunlight, and wounds so grievous that they cannot stop the blood flow quickly enough.”

Jordan stared down at the array of weaponry, clearly more worried than he’d been a moment ago. “Thanks for the pep talk,” he muttered.

The Cardinal spread his gloved hands across several daggers that had been laid out on the table. “All of these weapons are coated with silver and blessed by the Church. I think you will find them more effective than the blade you wear at your ankle, Sergeant Stone.”

Jordan picked up each dagger, testing its heft. He settled on a bone-handled knife that was almost a foot long. He examined it closely. “This is an American Bowie knife.”

“A fitting weapon,” Rhun said. “It dates back to the Civil War and was carried by a brother of our order who died during the Battle of Antietam.”

“One of the bloodiest fights of that war,” Jordan commented.

“The blade has since been silver-plated.” Rhun eyed Jordan. “Wear it well and with respect.”

Jordan nodded, soberly acknowledging the weapon’s heritage.

Erin remembered the knife battles in the tomb. She would never cower helplessly in a box again. “I want one, too. And a gun.”

“Can you shoot?” the Cardinal asked.

“I hunted as a kid—but I’ve never shot anything I didn’t intend to eat.”

Jordan gave her that crooked grin again. “Think of this as shooting something that wants to eat you.”

She forced a smile, still sickened by the thought of shooting someone, even a strigoi. They looked like people; they were once people.

“They will not hesitate to kill you or worse,” Rhun said. “If you cannot bring yourself to take their lives —”

“Now, Rhun,” the Cardinal interrupted. “Not everyone is meant to serve as a soldier. Dr. Granger will be traveling as a scholar. I am certain that you and Sergeant Stone can keep her safe.”

“I do not share your unswerving belief in our abilities,” Rhun said. “She must be ready to defend herself.”

“And I will.” Erin picked up a Sig Sauer pistol.

“A fine weapon.” The Cardinal handed her a few boxes of silver ammunition.

She put the gun in a shoulder holster, feeling ridiculous in her long skirt, like she should be part of a Wild West sideshow. “Can I get a pair of jeans?”

“I will see to it,” Bernard promised, then pointed to a pair of garments hanging on wall pegs: two long leather dusters. “And these are for you also.”

Jordan crossed and fingered the larger of the two coats. “What’s this made of?”

“From the wolf skin of a blasphemare,” the Cardinal said. “You’ll find such leather both stab- and bullet-resistant.”

“Like body armor,” Jordan said approvingly.

Erin picked up the smaller coat, clearly meant for her. It was about twice as heavy as a normal jacket. Otherwise it looked the same, textured like expensive leather.

Jordan pulled his on over his shoulders. It was the color of milk chocolate, and it suited him perfectly. He looked even better in it than he did in his camouflage.

Erin slipped into her jacket, a lighter brown than Jordan’s. It reached her knees, but was full enough to allow plenty of movement. The round collar brushed the bottom of her chin, protecting her neck.

“I also want to give you this.” Rhun pressed a silver necklace into her hand, a chain with an Orthodox cross.

Years ago, she had worn such a cross every day—until finally she had flung it from the horse’s back as she fled the compound. After years of beating God into her, her father had succeeded only in beating God out of her.

“How is this useful?” she asked. “The Cardinal said that holy objects are not that powerful against the strigoi.”

“It is no mere weapon.” Rhun spoke so softly she had to strain to hear him. “It’s a symbol of Christ. That is beyond weaponry.”

She stared at the sincerity in his eyes. Was he trying to bring her back into the fold of the Church? Or was it something more?

In deference to what she saw in his gaze, she hung the cross around her neck. “Thank you.”

Rhun bowed his head fractionally, then handed another cross to Jordan.

“Isn’t it early in the relationship for jewelry?” Jordan asked.

Rhun’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

Erin smiled—and it felt good to do so. “Don’t mind him. He’s teasing you, Rhun.”

Jordan sighed, put his hands on his hips, and asked one last question. “So when are we leaving?”

Bernard answered with no hesitancy. “At once.”