Blood Infernal

by James Rollins

  Rhun glanced to St. Ignatius. As soon as their team was done investigating this last spot in the city, they could take refuge in the nearby church.

  “That should be the Faust House,” Erin announced. “There on the southwest corner of the square.”

  The structure climbed four stories: gray stone on the first floor, a salmon pink above, with faux Corinthian columns decorating its façade. Once close enough, gold lettering above the arched entrance read FAUSTUS DUM, confirming this was indeed the infamous Faust House.

  Elizabeth believed Rudolf had left that message as a code meant for her, directing her to this home. If so, something important might be hidden here, too.

  But what?

  As they drew near, Rhun continued to maintain a wary vigil as rain again began to fall. They stopped on the opposite side of the street from the house. Cars sidled past, drivers hurrying home before the full storm hit.

  As thunder rumbled in the distance, Jordan stared up at the building, looking more himself again, though Rhun noted his heartbeat had subtly changed after the attack, sounding more like a heavy drum tattoo, underscored by a faint ringing. Maybe that aberration had always been there, and whatever transpired during that attack had brought forth that change more prominently.

  “That Kelly guy must have been doing pretty well to afford this place,” Jordan said.

  Erin nodded. “He did have the backing and patronage of Emperor Rudolf. Plus, the ground was supposedly cursed.”

  “What?” Jordan looked sharply at her.

  “I Googled this place on my phone during the hike here,” she explained. “In pagan times, this ground was used as a gathering place for sacrifices to Morena, the goddess of death. Such a history is probably why the legend of Dr. Faust became incorporated with this house. And likely added further support for Edward Kelly claiming he could commune with Belmagel, an evil angel.”

  Jordan craned his neck further. “Whatever. All I see is a pricey house with a lot of lightning rods.”

  Elizabeth stood at his shoulder, shading the rain from her eyes with a slim hand. “What is a lightning rod?”

  Jordan pointed to the red-tiled roof. “Do you see the weather vane? And that rod next to it? Both are designed to attract lightning and then channel it down to the ground, where it will be discharged safely into the earth.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes shone. “What a clever idea.”

  As if on cue, a blast of thunder crackled across the rooftops, booming loudly, reminding them that time was short.

  “How are we going to get inside?” Erin asked. “Looks like all the windows on the first floor are barred.”

  Rhun pointed higher. “I’ll climb up, force one of those upper windows open, then come back down and let you in through the front door.”

  “What about alarms?” Sophia asked.

  Christian shook his head. “Place is centuries-old, likely not modernized. At best, they probably only have the second-story windows wired, trusting the lower-level’s bars to do most of the security work for them.” He pointed higher. “You’ll probably have no problem if you can reach those smaller windows on the third level. I doubt those are armed.”

  Rhun nodded at his analysis. He took quick account of his surroundings. At least, the rain had chased most people out of the open square. He waited until no cars were moving along the street, then hurried across to a drainpipe that ran along a shadowy corner of the façade.

  He threaded his fingertips around the pipe and swiftly scaled its length to the third story. Gripping the capital of one of the ornamental Corinthian columns, he edged his foot to the right, sliding across the wet façade of the house like a lizard to reach the closest window.

  Once there, he waited until another rumble of thunder burst forth—then used his elbow to crack through the lowermost pane. Glass tinkled to the floor inside. He waited to see if any shout was raised. The house stayed silent.

  Still, Rhun proceeded with caution. He reached through the broken glass, undid the latch, and slowly pushed the window open. The inside smelled like mildew and concrete—but something else set his skin to crawling. He remained where he was, listening, but when no alarm sounded, he rolled inside.

  Even before his feet hit the floor, he felt the strength drain from his body. He landed in a crouch, remembering Erin’s story of this place being built on accursed ground.

  It seemed some legends were true.

  Rhun grabbed his cross, to center himself. The air in the house was ice cold, and it crackled with malevolence. He searched for any overt threat but found nothing. Light from streetlamps outside revealed an empty room with high white ceilings and smooth plaster walls.

  He whispered a prayer of protection—then headed down to let the others in, ignoring a stronger urge to flee this place.

  6:19 P.M.

  As Rhun held the tall wrought-iron door open, Elizabeth stepped through, pushing ahead of the others who were huddled under the entrance archway. She sensed the ungodliness of this place as soon as the way opened. It drew her like a moth to a flame—but rather than being burnt as she stepped inside, she felt a surge of power flow into her, the unhallowed ground calling to the darkness in her blood.

  She noted Rhun sagged on his legs, hanging on the door handle to keep upright.

  This unholy place has plainly sapped him deeply.

  She saw the same effect as Christian and Sophia entered. It was as if a heavy weight had been dropped upon their shoulders.

  So why am I unafflicted?

  She stared around, wondering if it was because she was new to the holy wine, but she suspected it was something else, a testament to her true heart.

  To hide that, she placed a palm against the wall and leaned upon it, as if beset by the same unholy malaise.

  Rhun came to her side, offering his arm. “It is the accursed ground,” he explained. “It fights against our strength because it is born of Christ’s blood.”

  She nodded. “It’s . . . it’s just dreadful.”

  Jordan gave Elizabeth a suspicious look as he passed them, as if he knew of her deceit.

  Sophia spoke with a strained voice. “Let us hurry about our task then.”

  “Where should we start looking?” Erin asked, looking to Elizabeth for direction, suspecting that she had been here before. “Do you have any idea?”

  Jordan clicked on a flashlight, revealing a wrought-iron chandelier and white plaster walls. They stood in a large entryway looking into a grand hall, with a curving set of stairs beyond.

  Elizabeth let go of Rhun and headed across the hall. “Kelly’s damnable angel, Belmagel, appeared to no one else.” She glanced back to the others. “Because, of course, it was all farcical nonsense. Kelly was a charlatan looking for financial gain from the foolhardy. But what I do know is that Belmagel only appeared to Kelly in a room upstairs. If Rudolf left that message for me, perhaps that is where we should look first.”

  Erin kept to Rhun’s side, protectively, concern for him plain upon her face. “This unholiness that you’re feeling?” she asked. “Does it emanate from any certain point, or is it everywhere?”

  “I felt it stronger upstairs,” Rhun admitted.

  “Worse than this?” Christian muttered under his breath, looking supremely unhappy.

  Rhun nodded.

  Elizabeth felt it, too, as she reached the curved set of grand stairs. It was like a breeze flowing down those wooden steps. While it seemed to buffet the Sanguinists back, she had to fight to stop from running giddily upward into its embrace.

  “We should follow that unholy trace,” Erin recommended. “Whatever has accursed this place might be significant to our cause.”

  “Or it could take us straight into trouble,” Jordan added.

  Elizabeth continued to guide them, mounting the stairs first. She climbed slowly, feigning weakness by clutching the carved rail, pretending to have to pull herself up. She did her best to match the pace of the Sanguinists behind her. But with every step, she fe
lt dark strength flowing up from the oak planks underfoot.

  Impatient, she distracted herself by examining the passing walls. They were rich ochre and decorated with paintings from the Renaissance. At first glance they seemed to be ordinary court paintings, but a closer look revealed demons dressed in the garb of lords and ladies leering out at her. One demon held an innocent child in his lap; another feasted on the head of a unicorn.

  At last, they reached the topmost story. Here the air hummed and crackled with malice. She longed to throw back her head and drink it in. But instead, she kept her hand on the burning silver cross, and her face blank.

  “This way,” Elizabeth said. “Kelly kept his own alchemy lab just ahead. It’s where he purportedly summoned Belmagel.”

  She led them through a double set of doors to a large circular room with bare plank floors. A stained wooden table had been pushed against one rounded wall.

  “Smells like brimstone in there,” Rhun said, hesitating at the threshold, leaning on the doorframe.

  “Sulfur was a common alchemical compound,” Elizabeth explained, as she moved deeper into the room with Erin and Jordan. “Apparently whatever Kelly worked on in here has seeped into the very bones of the house.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, but even Elizabeth doubted it was true.

  It is the evil of this place that infects the house.

  She began to wonder if she had been wrong about Kelly. Maybe he had successfully summoned something dark into this space.

  While Jordan examined the desk, opening various drawers, Erin circled the walls, noting a series of three frescoes painted on the smooth plaster, examining the Latin inscriptions below each one.

  Once done, the woman returned to the room’s center and motioned to them with her arm. “These alchemy symbols are similar to those we saw in Dee’s receiving room.” She crossed back over to one—a circle holding wavy blue lines—and read aloud the Latin found below it. “Aqua. Water.”

  Intrigued, Elizabeth moved to the second, a ring dappled with green, like leaves in summer. “This one says Arbor. Latin for tree or garden.”

  Jordan stepped over to the third, not far from the desk. His circle dripped with crimson lines. “Sanguis.” He gave them an ominous look. “Blood.”

  Erin pulled a camera out of her backpack and began to take pictures of all three. She spoke as she worked. “Over at John Dee’s place, there were four symbols, representing Earth, Wind, Air, and Fire. Not only are these marks different, but there’s no fourth symbol.”

  Elizabeth searched around. The only other decoration on the walls was an elaborate mural. She shifted over to it, bending down to examine it closely, to see if that missing fourth symbol was hidden somewhere in this lush painting.

  The mural depicted a verdant valley surrounded by three snowcapped mountains. A river ran through the valley and emptied into a dark lake. Curiously, a red sun hung at the top of the picture. Underneath the fresco were the Czech words jarní rovnodennost.

  She ran a finger over the words, translating aloud. “Vernal equinox.”

  Erin joined her. “What’s that coming out of the lake in the center?”

  Elizabeth looked closer. From the water’s dark surface, limbs and demonic visages seemed to be boiling forth under that red sun.

  “Looks like all hell’s about to break loose,” Jordan said, staring pointedly at Erin.

  Erin straightened, looking sickened. “Could this be where Lucifer breaks free? This valley?” She touched that red sun. “It looks to be hanging at high noon. On the vernal equinox.” She stared over to the others. “Could that be a warning? A timeline we must meet?”

  “When’s the equinox?” Jordan asked.

  Christian answered from across the room. Even the effort to speak seemed a strain. “March twentieth. The day after tomorrow.”

  “Talk about cutting it close.” Jordan frowned at the mural. “Especially since we don’t know where that lake is—that is, if it even exists.”

  Erin glanced again at the three colored circles, as if she expected to find an answer there. And perhaps she would. Elizabeth could not deny the woman’s fierce intelligence.

  “Why only three symbols?” Erin muttered.

  “The badge for alchemy is a triangle,” Elizabeth offered. “Maybe that’s why there are only three symbols.”

  Erin turned in a slow circle, plainly drawing an invisible triangle between the trio of frescoes. “Back at Dee’s place, the four symbols were painted to funnel their supposed energies into the chandelier, the one with horned masks that hung in the room’s center. Surely some focal point like that must have once been here.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “If the three symbols form an alchemical triangle, we should be hunting for something that lies in the center of all three.”

  With the assistance of the others, they walked off those invisible lines between the frescoes. Erin stood in the center. “The floor,” she said. “It’s wood. Maybe there’s a secret compartment below. Like at John Dee’s place.”

  Christian came forward, drawing his sword. “The planks are old. I should be able to pry them up.”

  Erin moved aside, crossing her arms nervously. “Be careful not to damage any—”

  A thunderous crash of iron and broken glass echoed up from two stories below.

  Everyone froze.

  Elizabeth heard the traipsing of many feet, amid softer snarls and hisses. She glanced beyond the room’s threshold to one of the front windows. Darkness claimed the world beyond the glow of the streetlamps. Thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning traced the underbelly of black clouds.

  The sun had set, and the storm was upon them.

  Then a new noise burst forth—one readily heard even by Erin’s and Jordan’s weaker ears.

  The moaning howl ululated up from below, full of bloodlust and fury. It was echoed by another, then a third.

  It seemed the strigoi forces had not come alone this time.

  Jordan recognized the tainted character of that howling, marking a dread beast, one all Sanguinists feared. “Great. They’ve brought a pack of grimwolves.”

  6:23 P.M.

  Legion stood on the rain-swept street, his palms raised toward the stone building before him, as if basking before a fire. But it was not heat he warmed himself against this cold night.

  A malignancy flowed from that edifice, pulsing forth from its poisoned heart. He wanted to consume it—and with it, every soul inside.

  He watched his forces—a dozen strong—flow into the building. Through his connection to them, he felt their limbs fueled by that evil, growing stronger the deeper they forged.

  Earlier, before the sun had set, he had set watchers upon the end of that dark tunnel near the old town square. Through those enslaved eyes, he had spied upon his prey scampering back out into the sunlight, escaping the fires set by his strigoi forces, taking the only path left open to them.

  Taking them to me.

  He had used those many eyes, hidden in shadows and dark rooms, to track the group’s path from the old square to this new one, to this grand malevolent structure—where they were now trapped.

  He knew from that flicker of spirit—Leopold—still burning inside him that the Sanguinists would be weakened, including the Knight, whom he intended to mark and bind to his will this night. To ensure the prophecy’s doom, he would also slay the Warrior and the Woman and let their blood be a sacrifice on this unholy ground.

  He raised his face to the storm.

  There is no sun to protect you now.

  From the entrance, fiery light bloomed, drawing his attention back down. He watched through multiple eyes, flitting from one to another, alighting nowhere for long. He was one and many at the same time, seeing all.

  . . . furniture broken into kindling . . .

  . . . combustible oil cast everywhere . . .

  . . . one flame becomes many, sweeping through the lower floors . . .

  He intended to drive his quarry to
the roof, to claim the Knight there amid flames and smoke. There would be no escape this time.

  To ensure that, he reached out to another of his marked, one closer to his black heart than any other slave, the leader of the wolves. He pulled his awareness more fully into that great beast, savoring its dark lusts, the power in its muscular limbs. He howled through its massive jaws, shrieking his threat into the night.

  He sent one command deep into the wolf’s blood.

  Hunt.

  March 18, 6:27 P.M. CET

  Prague, Czech Republic

  “Hurry,” Erin urged, smelling smoke rising from the lower stories. She knelt on the floor with Jordan and Elizabeth, roughly in the center of the three alchemical symbols: aqua, arbor, and sanguis.

  Moments ago, Rhun and Christian had whisked away, vanishing down the stairs before the howling of the grimwolves had even faded. Sophia kept a post by the door, wielding two swords.

  Erin had her own responsibility.

  Find out what was hidden here.

  Elizabeth edged a dagger between the planks and deftly popped a floorboard free, flipping it far with a twist of her wrist. She then used her fingers to rip boards to either side. She moved swiftly, her strength incredible, even when weakened by the unholy ground.

  Erin shone her flashlight into the hole created, revealing floor joists, dust, and rat droppings. Motes floated up into her bright beam as she cast her light around. “Nothing’s here.”

  Elizabeth looked as frustrated as Erin felt.

  What are we missing?

  Elizabeth rose to her feet, studying the symbols, trying to solve this mystery.

  Erin stared up at her—then jolted bodily as inspiration rocked through her.

  Up . . .

  “The chandelier . . . over at John Dee’s place! That’s where the energies of those symbols were directed. Toward the ceiling. It’s not the floor we need to be searching.”