Page 52 of The Shadow of the Count
As if time had conveniently forgotten both places so the count could gain a foothold.
Darkness was nearly upon them once they made it to the count’s rented home, and Yvgeny kept muttering dire warnings. He wanted them to come back tomorrow. But if they did, would someone else die?
They set forth as a group to destroying earth, soaking it in blessed water and salt. There would not be another night of pain, if Peter could help it. They worked their way through the mostly deserted abbey, and Clark was frowning by the time they were back at the entrance. “Where is he sleeping?”
Yvgeny looked at the sky outside, scowling. “We need to find the crypt.”
“It’s an abbey. Where would they have put it? Under the ground, yes?” Richard said, the doctor’s eyes wide and panicked.
“They would have moved it there as the city closed in, yes.” Peter had seen it over and over in cities. Burials got moved under the floors. “We need to look for access.”
“Come on then, y’all!” Jeb barked. “The sun’s fixin’ to be gone!” And indeed, they had lost too much time, the sun’s light fading.
They all began the hunt, but it was Peter who found it. “Here! It’s Latin.”
Clark read the stone he stood by, the one with the iron handle in it. “The bones will always lie beneath the world.”
“Hurry, friend Peter. The count is coming! Can’t you feel it?” Yvgeny was almost dancing, and he had to admit, he could feel dank fingers of dread tickling his spine.This was a fool’s errand. None of them were ready for this, prepared for the kind of strength—
Then he gasped, pain ripping at him. “Donnie!”
“Peter! Peter, what’s wrong?” Clark was shaking him, and all he could do was scream.
Jeb lifted him to his feet, dragging him to the door. “Too long. We waited too long. Got to go, gents. Back to the house. The others—”
The doors flew open, and he and Jeb skidded back across the stone floor, his skin coming off against the roughness. A giant beast stood there, blood covering his drawn-back lips.
“You!” The count was there, somehow, in that horrible voice. “You desecrated my home?”
“Not as much as we wanted. Peter! My bag!”
He squirmed, feeling like a worm on a hook. His throat screamed with pain, but he pushed Clark’s bag of tricks across the floor with all of his strength.
Jeb began to shoot, trying to drive the count back, to no avail.
Clark tossed a bottle of liquid at the count, and it broke against his beastly form, which then began to blister and burn.
“Holy water!” Yvgeny shouted. “How dare you defile what was a house of God!”
Yvgeny grabbed Peter, dragging him away, while Jeb and Clark advanced. Richard was crumpled to the ground, eyes huge.It was as if the good doctor was frozen, unable to move an inch.
The gun reports never slowed, and the count never faltered once.
They had to help Clark.
“Yvgeny. We need to—to pray.” His voice was nothing but a whisper.
“Peter, you’re spitting up blood.” Yvgeny put a cloth to his lips.
“Pray with me, Yvgeny. We have to. We have to help Clark.” He reached up to grasp Yvgeny’s hand.
“Yes.” Yvgeny closed his eyes, praying fervently.
Peter would have felt like a hypocrite, but in Egypt, he had learned to use whatever worked. It was not so much his belief that mattered. It was the count’s.
And if Yvgeny and Clark’s prayers worked better than his, so be it. He was doing his best.
He spat blood on the floor, crawling away from Yvgeny, who seemed to be in a trance of prayer, curled into a protective ball. Peter’s mouth kept moving, but he knew action was as necessary as the prayer.
