By Thomas F. Monteleone
The former Pope died in his palms, blessing him together with his final breath. He can practice miracles. His mom used to be a virgin. His DNA got here from the Shroud of Turin. Peter Carenza is the success of an old prophecy and a mystery, Vatican-sponsored test. yet is he the second one Coming, or anything a ways, a long way worse?
Believers across the world hail Carenza because the new Pope and have fun as he creates a brand new Church for the hot Millennium. Few humans be aware of the reality -- that blending technological know-how with the works of God has created now not a Savior however the Anti-Christ.
Now the newest -- and final -- Pope scours the area for the human guardians of the Biblical seven seals, which needs to be destroyed prior to the ultimate cataclysm can start. Opposing him are a lone Archbishop, the feminine American journalist who chronicled Carenza's upward thrust to energy, and Peter's mom, a nun who really hears the note of the Lord.
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Extra info for The Blood of the Lamb
When Jenny’s grandfather had died, her mother had sold the house and asked them to take whatever they wanted. The only furnishings Jenny had claimed were a set of antique lamps with glass shades hand-painted with red and pink roses. The lamps had vanished, replaced by more modern lighting, including a brass floor lamp Jim could not imagine ever buying. ” he shouted in the empty apartment. ” His voice filled the place, giving it a sense of occupancy that felt entirely wrong. His voice alone shouldn’t be enough to make the apartment seem full.
He was still tired and confused from his afternoon sleep, his legs hadn’t woken properly yet, and maybe he’d dreamed something weird again—something that still impressed upon him without him being able to remember anything. “Hey,” Jonathan said when he answered. ” “Less than nine inches,” Jim said. ” “Nothing. ” “Jenny. Holly. They must be still with you, because they didn’t take our car. ” Jonathan was silent for a few seconds. Jim heard his agent breathing softly, and he listened for Holly’s conspiratorial giggle as she watched her uncle Jonathan playing a joke on Daddy.
For the few years she had left of her life, she had tried to make light of it, but Jim had felt the distance the woman had placed between herself and her future daughter-in-law, and he knew Jenny had felt it, too. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the shattered platter and the ruined bird on the floor of his parents’ dining room, the shards like the rough edges of broken clamshells. Yet there it was, good as new, on display on top of his china cabinet. It broke him. He stood on tiptoes, reached up on top of the cabinet, and swept the platter onto the floor.
The Blood of the Lamb by Thomas F. Monteleone