The Blood Gospel

“Why me?” She would keep repeating this until she got an answer that she liked.

“I have followed your work, Dr. Granger. You are skeptical of religion, but steeped in biblical knowledge. As a result, you see things that nonreligious scholars could miss. Likewise, you question things that religious scholars might not. It was that rare combination that made you perfectly suited to bring the Gospel back to the world. And I believe it continues to be true.”

Either that, she thought skeptically, or I was the closest archaeologist you could find. It was late in the year, and most archaeologists were back teaching the fall semester. But what good would it do to point that out? So she held her tongue.

“What about me?” Jordan asked, his voice still ringing with sarcasm. “I’m guessing I’m just a random wild card, since there’s nothing special about me.”

Erin would have argued against that assessment, picturing his tattoo, his story of being dead for three minutes.

Could there be something to all of this?

The Cardinal favored Jordan with a small smile. “I do not know why the prophecy chose you all, my son. But you are the ones who emerged living from the tomb.”

“So what are we supposed to be doing next?” Jordan shifted on his wooden chair.

Erin suspected he was accustomed to being kept in the dark for many of his missions—but she wasn’t. She wanted full disclosure.

The Cardinal continued: “The two of you, along with Rhun, must find and retrieve the Gospel and bring it to the Vatican. According to prophecy, the book can only be opened in Rome.” He rested his elbows on the table. “That is where our scholars will unlock its mysteries.”

“And what then?” she asked. “Do you intend to hide it away?”

If the Blood Gospel existed and contained what he said, it was too powerful to leave in the hands of the Church alone.

“The words of God have always been free to all.” The old man’s brown eyes smiled at her.

“Like when the Church burned books during the Inquisition? Often along with the men who wrote them?”

“The Church has made mistakes,” the Cardinal admitted. “But not this time. If we can share it, we shall share the light of this Gospel with all of mankind.”

He seemed sincere enough, but Erin knew better. “I have dedicated my life to revealing the truth, even if that goes against biblical teachings.”

The Cardinal’s lips twitched up. “I would say especially when it goes against biblical teachings.”

“Maybe.” She took a deep breath. “But can you swear that you will share this book—as much as is safe—with secular scholars? Even if it contradicts Church teachings?”

The Cardinal touched his cross. “I swear it.”

She was surprised by the gesture. That was something. She wasn’t confident that he would keep his word, especially if the contents were antithetical to Church teachings, but it wasn’t like she would get a better offer either. And if this Gospel existed, she wanted to find it. Such a discovery could in some small way pay back the debt of blood—both Heinrich’s back at the camp and all those who died at Masada.

She made her decision with a nod. “Then I am—”

“Wait,” Rhun said, cutting her off. “Before you pledge yourself, you must understand that you may lose your life in the search.” His hand strayed to his pectoral cross. “Or something even more precious.”

She remembered the earlier discussion about the souls—or the lack thereof—of the strigoi. It wasn’t just their lives—Rhun’s, Jordan’s, and her own—that were at risk on the journey ahead.

A deep well of sadness shone in Rhun’s eyes, something from his past.

Was he mourning his own soul or another’s?

Erin silently listed logical reasons why she should not do this, why she should go back to Caesarea, meet with Heinrich’s parents, and continue her dig. But this decision required more than logic.

“Dr. Granger?” the Cardinal asked. “What is your wish?”

She studied the table, spread as it had been for millennia, and Rhun, whose very existence offered possible proof of the miracle of transubstantiation. If he could be real, maybe so could Christ’s Gospel.

“Erin?” Jordan asked.

She took a deep breath. “How could I pass up this opportunity?”

Jordan cocked his head. “Are you sure it’s your fight?”

If it wasn’t her fight, whose was it? She pictured the small child’s skeleton in the trench, curled up lovingly by a parent. She imagined the slaughter that brought that baby to an untimely grave. If there was any truth to the stories told this night, she could not let the Belial get hold of that book or such massacres could become commonplace.

Jordan met her gaze, his blue eyes questioning.

Rhun bowed his head and seemed to be praying.

Erin nodded, her decision firm. “I have to.”

Jordan eyed her a moment longer—then shrugged. “If she’s in, I’m in.”

The Cardinal bowed his head in thanks, but he wasn’t done. “There is one more condition.”

“Isn’t there always?” Jordan mumbled.