“Where are they?” Warren asked. When he looked at the balcony window, he sawthat from the pink sky that sunrise was only minutes away.
At the Tower of London.
Cold dread balled in the pit of Warren’s stomach. He’d been there before.Located in the London Borough of Town Hamlets, the Tower of London had always been an auspicious place. Public executions and royal imprisonments had taken place there, and the White Towerwhich was actually the whole complexwas thesupposed site of a number of supernatural events and powers.
It wasn’t a place for demons to congregate.
“Go,” the voice said in the back of his mind. “I have seen the future ofthis. Everything is as it should be.”
Warren sincerely hoped so. “I thought you needed me to kill Toklorq beforeyou confronted Fulaghar,” he told Merihim.
The demon stood out on the balcony in the waning night. He looked fierce and terrible, his trident clenched in one hand.
It’s too late for that. As it turns out, Fulaghar’s search for the book Goetia wasn’t foolishness after all. The book exists, and at present it’s inthe hands of the Templar. Fulaghar has gone there to get it back. Merihim turned to face Warren. You and I are going to put an end to him so that I can claim my rightful place as a Dark Will.
In seconds, Warren joined the demon.
Merihim slid the trident across the air and sliced open a hole. Warren felt the energy pouring forth from it. Then Merihim pushed him into it and followed.
Simon stumbled and nearly fell as one of the Templar dragged him up the steps from the Tower Hill tube station. His jaw pained him terribly, and from the way it wouldn’t move properly when he tried to work it, he suspected that it wasbroken. It was everything he could do to keep it clamped shut so that it didn’tproduce even more agony.
He was dressed in his armor, but it was powered down by Booth’s command. Forthe first time ever, the armor felt heavy and unwieldy on him. It also felt dead because the suit’s AI was offline. They’d shackled his arms behind him and lefthis helm open because they’d wanted Nathan to identify him.
Despite everything that had happened, Simon still hoped that Nathan’s bettersense had returned and he had decided not to pay the ransom anyway. If he had, it was probably going to get them both killed. Simon was certain that Nathan hadn’t had the real manuscript to show Booth.
“Lord Cross.”
Carefully, still having to match the stride of the Templar who had hold of the chain around his neck, Simon turned around. His head felt so heavy that he almost fell over his own feet.
Professor Archibald Xavier Macomber trudged in Simon’s wake. Booth’s Templarmarched in single file order along Tower Wharf. The Burn had eaten into what had once been beautiful landscaping and trees.
Macomber looked worse for wear. Evidently Booth hadn’t been overly gentlewith him either. Bruises marked his face.
“I’d heard that you were here,” Macomber said tiredly. “I have to admit, I’dhoped that you were still free.” He smiled a little. “I’m not a big believer inlast-moment rescues like on the vids and holos, but I’d held out for that one.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Simon’s words were thick and slow through hismanagled, swollen jaw.
“My God,” Macomber said. “Your face looks horrible.”
“It can’t look as bad as it feels,” Simon assured him.
The Templar pulling Simon yanked on his chain, nearly driving him to his knees from the pain.
“I was told that Booth is going to be getting the Goetia manuscript,”Macomber said.
“It was burned,” Simon said. “What he’s getting is a… fake.”
Macomber looked troubled. “Then it will probably be bad for both of us.”
Simon didn’t bother to disabuse the professor of that notion.
“Booth ordered me along to prove the veracity of the manuscript,” Macombersaid.
Simon nodded, but kept up with the Templar ahead of him. He gazed around at the grounds. The Tower of London held a lot of the city’s history.
It had first been erected in 1078 when William the Conqueror had the White Tower constructed. The other buildings had followed, but so had the places of execution and prisons.
During its lifespan, the Tower had provided space for an armory, treasury for the Crown Jewels and more, an observatory, public records offices, and menageries. The most famous animals that called the Tower home were the Ravens of the Tower.
For hundreds of years, there had always been at least six Ravens in the Tower. A saying had sprung to life that if the Ravens ever left the Tower, it would crumble to rubble and disaster would befall England.
After the battle at St. Paul’s, Simon had heard that the Ravens had left theTower. He’d also been told that Blood Angels had stalked them and killed all ofthem. He didn’t know which to believe. The Ravens’ wings were kept clipped tokeep them from flying away, and they’d been under the care and scrutiny of theRavenmaster, one of the people selected from the Yeomen Warders.
As they walked along the river, Simon peered into the depths. Only a few inches of foul water remained, and already familiar white shapes could be seen in the mud and the shallows.
“Are… are those bones?” Macomber asked.
“Yes,” Simon said. There were bones, cars, boats, and ships all mired in thevestiges of the once-mighty Thames. In another few years, possibly only a handful, the Burn would drain it completely and leave it only a cracked and broken ruin.
“I’d heard when the moat that had been around the Tower was drained in 1830human bones were found.”
Simon didn’t know if that was true or not. He concentrated on putting onefoot in front of the other and not falling down. Ahead of him, safely ensconced between four Templar guards, Booth set the pace in full armor. The High Seat’ssteps were a lot easier with operational armor.
“I was also told that the mortar used on
