“Not in the city.”
“We can’t stay here,” one of the women said. “The demons can’t enter this place, but it doesn’t stop them from waiting for us outside. When we go out to try to find food, they hunt us. Staying here is just a slow death.”
“The coast,” Derek said. “There are still ships that take refugees to France.”
The man shook his head. “We’d never make it. Not as poorly equipped as we are for the winter, or in the shape we’re in. We’re too weak.”
Simon looked at all the people and felt torn. All of the people in the museum were doomed, trapped by their vulnerability and needs. Staying in the museum was going to be a slow, horror-filled death, and none of them would escape.
Unless they die in the next few minutes, he couldn’t help thinking.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I wish we could assist you. But we can’t. We’ve got our orders.”
“Are you part of the military?”
“No.” Derek paused, looking away from the man and the other unfortunates. “It would be better if you leave now. Safer.”
“We can’t. You can’t ask us to do that. We’ve got old people and children among us.”
“I’m sorry.” Derek started forward then, aiming for the back of the museum. The schematic they had of the building showed the entrance to the basement there.
Trying not to think about the people barely living through the freezing cold around him and the fact that they were about to possibly endanger them all, Simon followed. He wondered what his father would have done, then wished that he’d have been able to ask him.
“Do you think this place is warded?” Wertham asked as they descended the steps leading to the basement.
“I don’t know,” Corrigan told him. “I’ve heard of such things, but I don’t know if that’s possible.”
Simon didn’t either, and he wondered if that was part of the protection hiding the Templar Underground from the demons.
“Warding doesn’t matter,” Mercer growled. “Demons have ways of getting past wards. None that have ever been put up have remained effective.”
Trying not to think about that, Simon kept watch. The basement was large, stuffed with boxes and crates that contained remnants of exhibits that had once filled the museum. A few more of the displaced Londoners squatted there as well, but they quickly gathered their belongings and headed up the steps when the Templar arrived.
They don’t trust us, either, Simon realized. That troubled him more than he thought it would.
Derek spent some time at the west wall. “There’s supposed to be a trigger. Ah, there it is.” He pressed on a section of the wall.
With slow, easy grace, a ten-foot section of the wall pivoted to a ninety-degree angle, basically becoming two doorways leading into the darkened room beyond. The Templar followed a spiral staircase around and down, reaching the other door in short order.
The new door was filled with symbols. Even with his meager magical ability, Simon sensed the power locked into the door.
It’s probably throughout that room, he told himself.
Derek tried the door but it was locked. He stepped back and called to Wertham. “These are supposed to be your specialty.”
“They can be,” Wertham agreed. He took his gloves off and placed his bare hands on the metal door, then started chanting. As he spoke, the symbols lit up. Less than a minute later, the bolts holding the door closed shot back with metallic snicks.
Wertham seized the door and opened it, then stepped back out of the way. Shelves of artifacts stood barely revealed. Simon made out weapons and works of art, models, vases, and other fragile things the museum owner had put together after so much work and dedication. The man had obviously cared about what he was doing.
Almost immediately, Simon saw the movement taking shape in the shadows. He shifted from the light-multiplier application to a true infrared, spotting the hole in the back of the room because it stood out in sharper relief, glowing a little from heat.
Demonic roars came through the opening. Magnifying and enhancing the images, Simon saw dozens of demons bearing down on a group of Cabalists, who were just then starting to run for their lives.
“Look out!” Mercer cried, drawing his sword. He stepped into the room after Derek, who had gone at once toward the Hammer in a special case on the wall.
Balekor’s Hammer gleamed a rich dark purple, like it had been roused from slumber.
The other Templar drew their weapons as well. They didn’t even have time to get set. Through the hole, Simon saw a young black man charging toward them. He was dressed all in black, but he didn’t wear the horns and tattoos of the other Cabalists he was with.
Before any of them could get set, the young black man threw out a hand. Simon saw a vague rippling take shape in the air before him, then an incredible force blasted the wall into pieces.
Forty-One
R ock and mortar pelted Simon as he was blown off his feet and driven backward. He flailed as he flew backward into another Templar. Both of them went down, buffeted by the waves of force that slammed through the vault.
“Get back!” Derek shouted. “Back up the stairs or we’re going to be trapped!”
Shoving himself to his feet, Simon took a firm grip on his sword and peered through the gaping hole in the wall. The vault had evidently butted up against the basement of the building across the alley, crossing under the alley. The wall on that side of the room had shattered and been strewn across the floor.
The Cabalists rushed into the vault, adding confusion to the threat of sudden death. Several of the Templar aimed their hand weapons at the new arrivals and backed them off, not certain if they were attacking with the demons or merely under attack themselves. The answer came quickly enough when the demons fired and two of the security people with the Cabalists went down. The
