The Blood Gospel

Russian voices from above directed their attention back to Rasputin, his figure outlined in the circle of light as he climbed down. Behind the monk’s shoulder, ten of his congregants followed him. Then someone replaced the metal cover over the hole and plunged them into darkness.

A half second later, Jordan’s flashlight flared brightly, and Erin followed suit with her own.

Their twin beams showed them enclosed by a dingy gray concrete tube, with a ceiling so low that Jordan’s head almost touched it. Green-and-brown frozen slime covered the floor and climbed the walls.

Erin fought against gagging. The reek of waste filled her mouth and crawled down her throat. She told herself she could stand it. It must be much worse during the summer.

Rasputin smiled grimly. “Not so pleasant as an ancient tomb, is it?”

Erin shook her head.

“This warren continues to serve as a tomb, I’m afraid,” he said. “Each winter, the homeless children of St. Petersburg flee to the sewers. Tens of thousands of them. We bring them hot food and keep the sewers free of strigoi, but it is not enough. Innocents still die here in the dark, and still your precious Church does not care, Rhun.”

Rhun tightened his lips but did not speak.

Rasputin lifted the hem of his robes with one hand, like a lady with a ball gown, and led them forward. Five of his acolytes trailed at his heels and another five brought up the rear behind Rhun, Erin, and Jordan.

Erin concentrated on watching where she stepped and on not slipping. She shuddered to think of any part of her touching the floor. It was comforting to have Rhun on one side and Jordan on the other, although the three of them could not hold their own against the ten who accompanied them—eleven if she counted Rasputin.

Rhun stumbled and caught himself against the wall.

Jordan shone his light toward him. “Are you all right?”

The acolytes pushed them forward, keeping them moving.

Rhun sniffed the air, as if to double-check something. He called up to Rasputin: “Is that an ursus I scent? Down here?”

Erin sniffed, but didn’t smell anything.

“Not just any ursus.” Rasputin’s answer boomed down the tunnel. “The Ursa herself. Since we’re down here, I think we should pay her a visit, for old time’s sake.”

The monk turned abruptly into a side tunnel, forcing them to follow.

Erin caught Rhun rubbing his right leg. She read worry there, along with fear.

Jordan must have seen it, too, because he took her hand again.

After trudging a few minutes more, she then smelled it, too. She had grown up in the California woods, and she recognized the familiar musky odor.

Bear.

Jordan’s grip tightened on her fingers.

Ahead, Rasputin stopped at the crossing of two tunnels.

Like in the bunker, X marked the spot.

The tunnels came together in a chamber about fifty feet square. Wrought-iron gates blocked each of the four ways into the intersection, forming a massive cage. The metal had been worked into fanciful trees with connecting branches and leaves, like a forest. The pattern continued on the concrete walls with glass mosaics of trees and birds. The deep jewel tones and artistic renderings reminded Erin of the mosaics in the church far above.

In spite of the beauty, she fought down bile. A fouler stench underlay the musk of bear—the stench of rotting meat and old blood.

Jordan played his flashlight’s beam into the cage and picked out a black mound of fur curled atop a nest of gray bones and spruce boughs.

Rasputin smacked both palms against the gate blocking them. “My dear Ursa! Awake!”

The blackness shifted into life—cracking branches and bones underneath it—as it rolled lugubriously to its stomach.

A scarred muzzle rose and sniffed the air. Then the creature lifted itself onto four unsteady legs and lurched upright.

Erin gasped at its sheer size. Its shoulders scraped the arched roof inside. She put the creature’s height at around seven feet at the shoulder, probably fifteen feet when upright, if it could stand.

It shook itself once and came fully awake, turning the black wells of its eyes toward them, revealing a deep crimson glowing out of the bottomless depth. The shine spoke to its corruption and raised all the hairs over Erin’s body.

Then in one lightning-fast leap, it charged at them.

Rhun swept in front of Erin, his arms raised, ready to protect her. She appreciated the gesture, but it would be futile if the bear broke through that gate.

“Darling Ursa,” Rasputin crooned as the bear skidded to a halt before him. “One more meal before your winter’s sleep?”

Erin’s heart raced. Did he intend for them to be that meal? A quick look at Jordan and Rhun told her that they were thinking the same thing. Even the acolytes hung back, maintaining a healthy distance.

Reaching the gate, the bear rubbed its massive head against the iron, revealing gray fur interspersed with black. It was old.