The Blood Gospel

“Is this other one still around?”

“Yes, of course, he is still around. Like you, he cannot die or take his own life.”

“Ever?”

“Until the end of time.”

Tommy took another long look around the room. Would he be a prisoner here forever? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but some part of him knew that Alyosha had told him the truth—but maybe not the full enormity of it.

Tommy understood that on his own.

Immortality was not a blessing.

It was a curse.

40

October 27, 6:55 A.M., CET

Beneath Harmsfeld Lake, Germany

With Piers hauled over his shoulder, Jordan ran several steps sideways, chased down the concrete tunnel by the screams of pursuing strigoi, feral and terrifying.

He yelled back to Erin, who trailed twenty yards behind.

“Hurry!”

“Keep going!” she called back, both irritated and scared.

That was Erin.

To hell with that.

By now, Nadia had reached the far leg and vanished down it, aiming for the air lock with Rhun, limp and poisoned, in her arms. Apparently she felt no obligation to wait for the two, slower humans. And she didn’t seem too fond of Piers either. She probably wasn’t coming back.

Jordan lowered Piers to the concrete and freed his submachine gun. “Sorry, old man.”

Piers opened faded blue eyes. “Meine Kinder.”

My children.

“I’ll come back.” Jordan hoped he’d be able to keep that promise.

Before Jordan could come fully to standing, Piers seized his hand, his grip incredibly strong, still capable of breaking bone. “Icarops. Sie kommen. To help. I send them.”

From the broken doorway of the neighboring vestibule, a black cloud of bats burst forth into the tunnel, churning, squealing, and swooping over their heads.

Thousands poured into the passageway.

Jordan ducked under the wings, overwhelmed by the creatures’ stench, tasting it on the back of his tongue. He crouched with Piers against the wall.

Erin had almost reached him, one arm shielding her face against the winged onslaught.

But this time their fury was not directed at her.

She forged through them, ducking low.

Behind her, the black horde struck the strigoi like a raging torrent. Bats battled monsters in a kaleidoscope of black blood, fur, and pale skin. Amid the chaos, silver flashed like lightning. Some of the icarops fell, but more swooped in to take their places.

Jordan saw one huge bat sweep up and wrap its wings around one strigoi like a monstrous cloak.

Screams rang louder.

Then a jetting flame burst upward in the heart of that dark storm. A whoosh and a crackling filled the air, followed by a terrible screeching. A cloud of foul smoke rushed toward the three onlookers.

Burnt flesh and petroleum.

Flamethrower.

Piers moaned in sympathy for his children as the chorus of screams threatened to burst Jordan’s ears.

But Erin finally reached him.

Jordan grabbed her arm and pushed her around the corner. “Make for the air lock! I’ll be right behind you!”

She nodded, breathing hard.

He collected up Piers and sprinted after her. He prayed that the remaining bats could buy them enough time to get free of this cursed place. After that, the sun ought to protect them.

At least, it was a theory.

They fled toward the open air lock. Out of the darkness ahead, Nadia came rushing toward them, empty- handed. She must have left Rhun at the air lock and come back to help. So she hadn’t abandoned them after all.

“Hurry!” the woman shouted, reaching Erin and grabbing her, almost lifting her off her feet.

A feral scream from behind drew Jordan’s attention. A strigoi—bloody, burned, and missing an eye—came charging around the corner at them, moving too fast, half climbing the walls in its haste to reach them.

The air lock loomed mere yards away.

But he’d never make it.

6:57 A.M.

Erin ground her heels against the inevitable force of Nadia’s pull toward the air lock. She twisted in her grip and lifted her Sig Sauer pistol.

“Jordan! Drop!”

From farther down the tunnel, he obeyed, sprawling headlong, rolling with Piers, keeping the priest protected.

She aimed her pistol at the monster as it leaped toward Jordan.

She took a single steadying breath, not holding it, and squeezed the trigger.

The blast of the pistol cracked like thunder, stinging her ears, setting them to ringing.

The back of the strigoi’s skull burst, smoking from the silver she had sent through its remaining eye. The creature’s momentum carried its bulk past Jordan. The body hit the ground and skidded to Erin’s feet.

She leaped back, but Nadia pronounced its sentence.

“It’s dead.”

Jordan hauled back up, lifting Piers. “Nice shooting.”

There was no condescending grin. He meant it. A surge of satisfaction warmed through her.

Together, they charged into the damp air lock.

Erin hurried over to Rhun, fearful at the sight of his white complexion—whiter than usual. His bared chest still seeped blood. Nadia and Jordan slammed the air lock with a resounding clank and dogged it shut.

The two went to open the outer hatch, hurrying.

Nadia rushed across the tiny room and spun open the handle for the outer door. As it cracked open, cold lake water surged inside before Erin had time to snatch a breath. In seconds the water rose above her head. Jordan switched on his waterproof flashlight, crouching by Piers.

Erin did the same, keeping one fist curled in Rhun’s jacket.

Nadia shouldered the door open as pressure finally equalized, and motioned them all out. She swam over to Erin and Rhun, grabbing her fellow Sanguinist by a wrist.

Freed of responsibility for him, Erin kicked off through the hatch and swam upward. She fought the weight of her leather duster—not to mention the pockets full of concrete fragments. She began to sink, but she refused to give up what had cost her so much to gain. In the distance, she made out the shimmering form of the fountain