“Everybody go easy inside,” Derek advised. “We may have innocents lurking.”
The Templar acknowledged that, then Mercer gripped the chain in his mailed fists, pulled, and shattered a link. He stripped the chain from the doors and pushed them open.
Thirty-Nine
W arren stepped into the darkness that filled the manufacturing plant. His physical senses relayed images of detritus and abandoned equipment, the sounds of the wind outside the building and the cries of the demons and their prey, the smell of must, and the biting cold that permeated the warehouse.
But it was other senses, ones that had grown steadily stronger since they’d left the Cabalist redoubt, that conveyed more to him than he’d ever believed possible. The new senses overlapped his accustomed ones, though, creating some confusion.
From the corner of his eye, he saw shadows of work and workers that had once filled the plant. The heavy steel pots that had carried molten glass in the past glowed cherry-red but held only shadows. The large furnaces were empty and blazing at the same time. Warren heard the whisper of voices, jokes, and curses, intermingled in the heavy silence enhanced by the layer of snow on the building. Heat mixed in with the cold, so hot and fierce that Warren wanted to take his coat off.
The past and the present were coming alive around him, intermingling so tightly that Warren had to work to focus on what was real. The problem was that it was all real. It just wasn’t all right now.
“Is something wrong?” Naomi asked.
Warren forced himself to concentrate on the present, on the winter and the abandoned premises. “No. I’m just making sure.”
“Do you know where the Hammer is?” Tulane asked.
Warren did. The feeling that had brought him here wasn’t lost in the confusion of present and past. “Below us.” He pointed toward the east wall, the one closest to the six-story building across the alley.
“Below?” Tulane gestured at his security men.
The guards spread out at once, searching the premises with infrared goggles instead of using the night sight Warren had learned. Most of Tulane’s guards were unskilled in the ways of the Cabalist. They were selected because of their guard experience and weapons proficiency. Still, some of them were progressing in the Cabalist teachings.
Warren closed his eyes. Immediately an image of the warehouse mapped inside his head. He saw the floor plan as though from the side. A glowing purple tendril sprang from him and tracked directly north, away from the pull that he was certain revealed the presence of Balekor’s Hammer. He watched as the tendril moved through a door, down a flight of steps, and to a wall in the basement.
There was no door, but Warren saw the hammer in a room-sized safe built into an adjoining room.
Opening his eyes, Warren said, “Wait. We’re in the wrong building.”
Tulane glared at him. “You said the Hammer was in here.”
“I was wrong,” Warren said, but at the same time he didn’t know how he could be wrong.
Several of the Cabalists exchanged worried glances. None of them had been happy about returning to the city, much less the downtown area where the demon activity was still so prevalent.
“Which building is the right one?” Exasperation sounded in Tulane’s demand.
“Next door,” Warren said. “The Hammer is in—” Pain lanced through his head, so intense it temporarily made him blind.
Stop! Merihim’s voice thundered inside Warren’s head.
Dropping to his knees, unable to keep his balance, Warren threw up. Head pounding, stomach wracked, he noticed that no one tried to help him. The Cabalists all stepped back as if he were going to blow up. Considering the pressure inside his head, he thought that was entirely possible.
One of the security guards returned to Tulane and told him that the basement was practically empty and that there was no sign of a hammer or any other tool in the room.
“Not this building,” Tulane said. “It’s next door.”
“The museum?” The guard sounded confused.
Naomi continued to watch Warren. He felt her eyes on him.
You can’t enter the museum, Merihim said. That way is protected from me. And—now—from you.
Tulane and the guards started to leave.
Stop them!
The pain snapped Warren to his feet before he knew it. He threw out his left arm, the one mottled with all the demon scales, and cast the power from him. Flames blossomed in front of the door, drawing Tulane and the guards up short.
“No,” Warren commanded hoarsely, and he knew it was Merihim’s voice as much as his own.
The security guards yanked their weapons to shoulder and prepared to fire. One word from Tulane, and Warren knew that was exactly what they were going to do.
“You can’t go that way,” Warren said. “It’s protected.”
Tulane studied Warren, and Warren could almost read the man’s thoughts. Tulane was considering telling his guards to shoot.
“If they do,” Warren whispered menacingly, “you won’t live to see if they succeed.”
Tulane frowned. But he didn’t give the order to fire.
“We can get to the Hammer from here,” Warren said.
“How?”
“Through the basement. That way isn’t protected.” Head throbbing, feeling Merihim’s power bubbling inside him, Warren turned toward the door leading to the basement. For a moment he thought Tulane might have him killed then, but he heard their footsteps fall in behind him.
The basement steps spiraled down into a room almost as large as the one overhead. The stink of must and disuse grew stronger.
More sure-footed now, Warren walked toward the wall. It was featureless except for a few cracks. A huge furnace filled the opposite wall, but it was cold and dark with disuse.
You must hurry, Merihim said. There are others who search for this prize as well.
“Who?” Warren asked.
Don’t concern yourself with them. Concentrate on your task here.
Surveying the huge wall, Warren couldn’t see an entrance or a secret door. He pressed his palms against the rock and mortar. He could feel the Hammer on
