Barely holding on to his consciousness, Warren watched in horror as Merihim placed his own arm on the stone floor and chopped off his hand at the wrist. Blood stopped flowing almost immediately.
The demon never uttered a word. He tossed the axe aside and picked up the severed hand with his remaining one. Then he spoke in English, addressing Naomi. “Give him this or you will know my wrath.” He tossed the hand to her.
Naomi tried to grab the hand, but missed. Before it could fall, though, the fingers closed around her wrist and held on. She barely muffled a scream.
Merihim laughed and held up his stump. Black tendrils shot up from his wrist and twisted together. In seconds he’d grown another hand.
Sleep. Heal. I’ll have need of you again.
Warren crashed into the darkness, fearing that he wasn’t going to die, that he was going to live. And if he had to live, he meant to see that the armored man that had cut his hand off was going to pay.
Dazed by the blast, Simon rolled to his feet, somehow managing to hang on to his sword. The armor’s audio dampers saved his hearing and the HUD compensated for the bright lights, then the tunnel filled with dust. The armor filtered the dust out and kept his air supply clean.
He drew the Spike Bolter and examined the blockage that had filled the tunnel. Rock and debris had tumbled down from above, opening into another room of another building. The debris hadn’t quite filled the tunnel. A gap no more than a few inches existed at the top, but nothing moved there.
Turning, Simon ran the other way, quickly overtaking Derek. He gathered Derek’s arm across his shoulders and helped him increase his pace. Together they headed for the other end of the tunnel.
A few minutes later, Simon stood outside the tunnel only a few feet from the River Thames. The mud that stretched out from the bank testified that the river was indeed dwindling. Several boats and ships sat mired in mud as well, even the ones that were broken.
Blood Angels flew silently overhead, staring down for prey. Other demons worked the buildings and boats.
Standing there with Derek’s arm across his shoulders, Simon thought of the men, women, and children they’d left behind in the museum. He didn’t know if the fight down in the vault had disrupted the wards that protected the place or not. He hoped it hadn’t. The thought of those people becoming victims during the night made him sick.
Quietly, the Templar moved out, staying within the shadows. Lisa, one of the female Templar, came back to help Simon with Derek, who faded in and out of consciousness. Evidently the injury was too much for the armor to slap-patch him through.
“Look,” Wertham said, pointing downriver.
Using the magnification application on the HUD, Simon picked the figures out of the darkness. He identified the Cabalists as they made their way out of the glassworks building. They carried someone on a makeshift stretcher, what looked to be a section of carpet cut up from some office floor.
“They’re in league with the demons,” Mercer said. “Just goes to show that you can’t trust them.” He cursed. “We oughta kill them all and be done with it.”
Simon didn’t say anything, but he didn’t think the Cabalists were in with the demons. When they’d found them, they’d been fleeing for their lives. He had no doubts about that.
But he couldn’t explain the Cabalist—Warren—trying to take Balekor’s Hammer from Derek and somehow using it to call forth a demon. Were they using the demon? Or was the demon using them?
He tried to push the matter from his thoughts. He had other things to think about. Provided they made it safely back to the Underground, he was going to make some changes in his life. Sitting back and going on missions for the High Seat wasn’t what he wanted to do. It wasn’t what his father had trained him to do.
Forty-Four
Y ou’re a fool to go out there like this, you know.”
Simon ignored High Seat Booth’s comment and kept packing, throwing a few clothes and rations into the duffel bag on his bunk. There wasn’t much room in the bag, and the way he planned on living was even harder than when he’d been in the South African bush. He was acutely aware of the other Templar in the barracks who were watching him.
“You won’t last a day on your own,” Booth warned. “If not anything else, you should have learned that since you’ve been back.”
Simon rolled the duffel and hoisted it over his shoulder. He turned, but Booth stepped into his path.
“Are you listening to me?” Booth demanded.
Looking down, Simon locked gazes with the man. Booth’s arrogance was palpable. “I hear you,” Simon said, “but that’s not stopping me from going.”
“Then why are you going?”
“There are people out there—”
“I know there are people out there,” Booth interrupted irritably. “I’m not an idiot.”
“They need help getting out of the city,” Simon replied. “Before the demons kill them, or the Burn. Or even winter.”
“The smart ones will figure that out on their own,” Booth insisted. “They’ll abandon the city.”
“They’re not strong enough to do it.” Simon knew that the other Templar were listening in, and some of them looked sympathetic. “And they’re not strong enough to survive the attempt without help.”
“So what are you going to do?” Booth put his hands on his hips and glared at Simon.
Simon was tired of dealing with Booth. It was primary school all over again. Booth was loud and he was a bully. He still didn’t like it when things didn’t go his way.
For the last two days, Simon had recuperated and made his plans. And he did have plans, despite Booth’s doubts. Maybe they weren’t as well thought out as Simon had hoped they would be
