For a moment, Tulane glared at him, then broke eye contact and looked away.
Warren didn’t let the other man’s animosity bother him. He was more worried about surviving the coming encounter. Part of whatever the arcane spell was that tied him to Balekor’s Hammer also told him others were searching for it as well. He didn’t know if he would live to see morning, but he was going to do everything within his power to see that he did.
Thirty-Eight
T he deadest light of the day came at dusk. Light drained from the sky, leaving the world monochromatic gray and black, the two colors blending into each other effortlessly. Mornings came with some color that intensified, but evenings only got darker until it was night.
Dusk was also the most dangerous time of day. Many predators naturally came out at that time to hunt, staking out water holes and game trails. They went where prey gathered.
As it turned out, many of the demons held that same predatory inclination. And much of their prey gathered inside buildings, hunkered around fires too small to stave off the bitter winter cold.
Crouched in the shadows of a manufacturing plant not far from Queen Anne’s Docks, Simon watched as Darkspawn and Gremlins hunted through the streets. He’d seen only the bodies of humans, and some of those had been freshly killed. Sickness twisted in his stomach and he barely kept it at bay.
Gazing out along the Thames, Simon spotted more demons along the London Bridge. Cars littered the bridge, many of them burned-out hulks. Several boats and ships floated out on the river as well, creating a mire of vessels that would make navigation through them almost impossible. Dense fog eddied at the river’s edge, thicker than was normal at this time of year. Light snow fell in tight, dry flakes no bigger than shirt buttons.
Blood Angels circled over the river, occasionally dropping down to the ships. They rose again almost immediately, clutching corpses in their claws.
“What are they doing with the bodies?” someone asked.
“Prolly eating them,” another said.
As a Blood Angel descended toward a boat, the vessel suddenly powered up and sped away. The demon changed directions in mid-descent and took off in pursuit. It screamed, and the piercing shriek could be heard plainly where Simon was concealed.
Three other Blood Angels leaped from London Bridge and shot toward the fleeing boat as well. They closed rapidly, wings drumming fiercely.
Simon increased the magnification on the HUD, locking onto the frantic figures taking up defensive positions onboard the boat. The crew raised their weapons, but they were standard military arms, light machine guns and machine pistols that did nothing to the demons. The tracer rounds stopped dead against the demons’ hides.
Ignoring the gunfire, the Blood Angels swooped to the deck and began rending the crew. Claws flashed and the dead dropped to the ground.
The boat’s pilot abandoned his post and leaped over the side. He hit the water and went under just before the boat slammed into a cargo ship and exploded into a ball of flame. The sound of the explosion reached Simon after the flaming debris started descending into the river.
The pilot surfaced several yards away, coming up long enough for a breath of air, then diving back under to swim some more. A Blood Angel skimmed the water toward his last position. When the man surfaced again, the demon was there. She grasped him by the head and one shoulder, claws digging in cruelly. The man kicked and fought but to no avail. Almost effortlessly, the Blood Angel carried her prize into the dark sky.
The remains of the boat burned for a time before sinking below the river’s surface. Flames clung to the side of the cargo ship, but the metal sides quickly burned clean. Within minutes, the Thames was once more dark.
None of the Templar spoke. And the demons kept taking corpses.
“The river level’s dropping,” Wertham said. “It’s five, maybe six feet lower than it was before the Hellgate opened.”
Accompanied by a small group of Templar, Simon surveyed the Thames. Their objective lay close to the river’s edge and they were currently only twenty yards distant. He couldn’t tell any difference in the river.
“Are you sure?” Naughton asked.
“I am,” Wertham replied. “I fished this river every day for the last thirty years. I didn’t spend all my time in the Underground the way some did. I had my fishing business. And I’m telling you the river is lower than it’s ever been. It must have something to do with what the demons are doing.”
Reports had continued to come in concerning the changes being made in the landscape around St. Paul’s Cathedral. The Burn—which was what the Templar had taken to calling the manifestation—was growing larger every day, consuming everything in its path. Part of it had overlapped the Thames.
“You think the demons are behind this?” Naughton asked.
“I can’t think of another reason,” Wertham answered.
“That’s impossible. Even if the Burn was capable of affecting the river, the Thames feeds into the North Sea. They can’t be draining an ocean.”
Simon heard the nervousness in the man’s voice. None of them knew for certain what the demons were capable of.
“Could be they’re draining the water from the locks,” Wertham said. “There are forty-five locks along the Thames. If the locks were closed, they could drain the river.”
“They wouldn’t close the locks,” Cedric Southard said. Like Simon, Cedric was young, but he was black and intense, normally quiet.
“And why not?” Naughton asked.
“Because that would shut off people’s escape routes,” Cedric replied. His dark red and gold-trimmed armor glimmered slightly in the shadows. “The river’s still the fastest way out of London and the interior of England.”
Simon knew that was true. But if the locks weren’t closed, they had to accept that not only could the demons drain the River Thames, but they were capable of draining the oceans of the world, too.
“And if they drain the river,” Cedric
