“NO!” Dehua screamed as she moved to save her sister.
But soon she too was lost under a fury of blows from their enemies.
Schuyler thrust forward with her blade, and her parry was met with the heavy steel of a demon axe. The Hell-born human laughed horribly and slashed, and Schuyler felt a cold and shooting pain as his weapon met its mark, cutting her deeply in the middle of her chest.
The Nephilim raised its axe again to finish her off, but suddenly a sword—shining with the pure light of heaven—appeared and cut the black axe deftly in half. Help at last! The new Venator made quick work of the demons surrounding them, and soon the room was filled with the smell of death and blood. The Nephilim broke ranks and fled. Dehua, blood-ied and scratched, had survived, and she ran to untie Deming.
“How many lost?” their unknown hero asked the twins.
He was tall and dark-haired, with a classically beautiful face—a cleft chin, and a dreamy gentleness in his deep-set eyes.
Deming shook her head. “They burned everything else. I was able to save just one canister,” she said, removing a small golden urn from her pack.
“The Regent of Cairo is taking a felucca to the safe house in Luxor,” the stranger said. “Take the back roads to the river and give this to him.”
The Venators nodded and left to deliver the last of the blood spirits of the Egyptian Coven to its surviving leader.
From the floor, Schuyler groaned. The Nephilim’s sword carried the Black Fire in its poisoned tip. It burned with a dull throbbing ache, as her blood gushed from the wound, pooling underneath her shirt.
“How bad?” the handsome Venator asked, kneeling next to her. “Your blood is red. You are the Dimidium Cognatus.
Gabrielle’s daughter.” He said it matter-of-factly, without prejudice.
“Yes,” she said.
“Where are you hurt?”
She lifted her shirt and showed him where she had been cut—right next to her heart, a deep, ugly wound.
“You are lucky,” he said, pressing his fingers on the wound. “A few inches to the right and the poison would have entered your heart. You would not have survived. Still, we must work quickly.”
He looked at her kindly. His hands were gentle, but Schuyler felt her eyes water from the pain as he ministered to her wound. He produced a small bottle, engraved with a golden cross.
“You’re a healer,” Schuyler coughed. The Venators were organized thus: investigator, healer, soldier, high command.
He nodded and poured a few drops. Schuyler had to bite her hand to stop from screaming. It burned like acid on the wound. But slowly it dissolved the wound and dissipated the poison until there was nothing left but a small scar.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to heal all the way. You’ll always carry that mark,” the healer said. “But things could be worse.” He gave her the bottle. “Here, drink some of it. It will clear out any of the poison left. It’s holy water.”
Schuyler took a gulp. “This isn’t what they have in churches.”
“No.” He smiled. “Red Bloods…” He shrugged. “This is water from the fountain,” he said. “From the gardens of Paradise, a long time ago.”
The water was the purest, cleanest Schuyler had ever tasted. She felt renewed and revived, as if her body was beginning to knit itself together.
She pulled her shirt together and sat up. “Thank you.”
The man nodded. “You’re welcome. The Venators tell me that you came to Cairo looking for Catherine of Siena.”
“Yes. What do you know of Catherine?”
“Unfortunately, I am looking for her as well.” He held out his hand. “I seem to have forgotten my manners. I am known in this part of the world as Mahrus Abdelmassih. I live in Jordan now, but a long time ago I was a healer in Rome. Catherine of Siena is my sister.”
SEVENTEEN
The Demon of Avarice
The rain did not stop, and they drove for hours under the dark and thunderous skies. The road was changing and they were no longer alone, as there was traffic in all directions.