The Blood Gospel

She scrutinized the dusty brown face in the rubble. It looked as human as she did. “A lion’s jaw exerts six hundred pounds of pressure per square inch. To support such power, the tooth sockets harden and thicken around the fangs, as these have done.”

“So what you are saying,” Jordan said, clearing his throat, “is that these fangs aren’t just a weird fashion statement. That they’re natural?”

She sighed. “I can’t come up with another explanation that fits.”

In the dim light of her flashlight, she read the shock on Jordan’s face and the fear in his eyes. She felt it, too, and she would not let her feelings overwhelm her. Instead, she turned to the silent priest for answers. “You called them strigoi?”

His face had closed into an unreadable mask of shadows and secrets. “Their curse bears many names. Vrykolakas. Asema. Dhakhanavar. They are a scourge once known in all corners of the world. Today you call them vampires.”

Erin sat back. Did a memory of this horror lie at the root of ritualistic tooth filing, a macabre mimicry of a real terror forgotten in the modern age? Forgotten, but not gone. An icy finger traced up her back.

“And you fight them?” Jordan’s skepticism filled the tomb.

“I do.” The priest’s soft voice sounded calm.

“So what does that make you, padre?” Jordan stepped into a wider stance, as if expecting a fight. “Some kind of Vatican commando?”

“I would not use such words.” Father Korza folded gloved hands in front of him. “I am but a priest, a humble servant of God. But to serve the Holy See, I and certain other brethren of the cloth have been trained to fight this plague, yes.”

Erin had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she had a most pressing one, one that had troubled her since the priest stepped into the tomb and said his first words.

The Church has prior claim to what lies within this crypt.

Suddenly glad to have a soldier between them, Erin watched the bloody figure over Jordan’s shoulder. “Earlier, you asked about a book that might be hidden here. Is that why we were attacked? Why we’re trapped down here?”

The priest’s face closed. He craned his neck toward the brick roof as if seeking guidance from above. “The mountain is still moving.”

“What—” A great groaning of stone, accompanied by explosive booms of crushed rock, interrupted Jordan’s question. The ground shook—at first mildly, then more violently.

Erin stumbled into Jordan’s back before finding her footing. “Another aftershock?”

“Or the concussive charges weakened the mountain’s infrastructure.” Jordan looked at the ceiling. “Either way, it’s coming down. And soon.”

“We must first find the way out,” Father Korza said. “Before we discuss other matters.”

Jordan moved toward the collapsed entrance.

“We will gain no passage that way.” Father Korza slowly turned in a full circle. “But it is said that those who came to hide the book during the fall of Masada used a path known only to a few. A path they sealed behind them as they left.”

Jordan scanned the solid walls. “Where?”

The priest’s eyes were vacant. “That secret was lost.”

“You’re not holding out on us, are you?” Jordan asked.

Father Korza fingered rosary beads on his belt. “The path is beyond the knowledge of the Church. No one knows it.”

“Not true.” Erin ran both hands along the wall closest to her, digging a nail into the mortar between two stones.

All eyes turned to her.

She smiled. “I know the way out.”

5:25 P.M.

Jordan hoped that Erin knew what she was talking about. “Show me.”

She hurried to the rear of the chamber, dancing her fingertips along rough stone as if reading a book written in Braille.

He followed, patting the stone with one hand, the other still on his submachine gun. He didn’t trust Korza. If the priest had warned them from the start, Jordan’s men might still be alive. Jordan wasn’t going to turn his back on him anytime soon.

“Feel how clean the masonry is along this wall?” Erin asked. “The blocks fit so perfectly that little mortar was even needed. I suspect they only cemented it as an extra measure to secure the vault against quakes.”

“So it’s probably the only reason we’re still alive,” he said. “Let’s hear it for overbuilding.”

A distracted smile played across her lips. He hoped to see that smile again out in the sunlight, somewhere safe.

At the back wall, she dropped to a knee beside the impaled bodies. Her shoulders tensed, and her eyes fixed on the wall, averted from the dead. But she kept going. He admired that. She placed a palm against the ancient bricks and stroked it downward.

“I noticed this earlier.” The ground jolted, and her next words rushed out. “Before the attack. When we were examining the girl.” She took his hand and placed it beside hers on the stones. “Feel the ridges of mortar pushing out between the bricks.”

He touched the cold unyielding stone.