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 the other side of the wall even though he didn’t know how he could do that.

  “You’re certain the Hammer is there?” Tulane asked.

  “Yes.”

  Tulane barked a command to the security men. Half of them shouldered their weapons and approached the wall with knives, but it was quickly apparent they weren’t going to be able to get through the wall quickly.

  Kelli came to stand at Warren’s side. She hadn’t uttered a word in hours. No emotion showed on her face. Not even a flicker of interest at what they were doing. Warren took her hand and held it, drawing the warmth from her.

  “Do you know what you’re doing to her?” Naomi asked quietly.

  Feeling defensive, Warren said, “I’m not doing anything to her.”

  Naomi’s dark eyes studied him. “If not for you and your control over her, she wouldn’t be here.”

  “If not for Malcolm, I wouldn’t have met you,” Warren said. Sometime during the testing phase, Malcolm had left the house. Warren presumed the man had gone back to London, or had other duties at the house. “If not for you and Tulane, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’d be here,” Naomi said. “The demon wanted you here.”

  One of the security team leaders told part of the team to go back upstairs and search for hammers and chisels, anything they could use to chop through the wall.

  “The demon could have had me come here without ever meeting you,” Warren pointed out.

  “You came to us for other reasons.”

  “What reasons?” Warren felt frustrated. All of his life had been dictated to him by someone. First it had been his parents. Then it had been foster care. Lately it had been his flat mates, with their needs and disregard for him.

  Naomi shook her head. “I don’t know.” She paused. “Do you hear Merihim?”

  Warren hesitated.

  “You do, don’t you? You hear his voice.”

  “And what if I do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone who could talk to demons.”

  Warren laughed bitterly at that. “But all you people want to do is talk to them.”

  “That’s not true. We want to learn their secrets, that’s true. But talking to a demon, listening to it without the proper safeguards, is dangerous. In all my studies, that’s been one of the constants. Our literature and culture are filled with tales of men and women who have sold their souls to demons. Do you think that’s all fiction?”

  Uneasiness flickered through Warren. “I haven’t made any trades, deals, or bargains.”

  “Are you sure?” Naomi gazed quietly at him. “When you were burning, when you were falling, don’t you think it’s possible you did?”

  Warren couldn’t remember those incidents. Everything had happened too fast and been too filled with pain.

  “Somewhere in all that confusion and agony,” Naomi said, “are you sure you didn’t reach out to something to save you?”

  “I didn’t. I would have remembered something like that.”

  “Would you have?” Naomi took a breath. “Demons are filled with trickery, Warren. That’s their nature.”

  “And you want to be like them,” he accused.

  “No. I want to understand how they use the power they do. I can do a lot of good with it.”

  Warren sneered at her. “Is that why you’re here? To do good?” He shook his head. “Everybody is out for whatever they can get. It’s not about power. It’s about power over others. That’s what Tulane wants.”

  If Tulane heard the accusation, he gave no sign of it. The security men who’d gone upstairs returned with a few hammers and crowbars. They attacked the wall again, pulling out rocks they chopped free.

  “You don’t have to face this alone,” Naomi said.

  Warren tightened his grip on Kelli’s hand. “I’m not alone.”

  “She wouldn’t be here if you weren’t controlling her mind.”

  “I’m not controlling her.” Warren looked into Kelli’s vacuous gaze and saw that she looked right through him. George’s words screamed into his mind again.

  “You are,” Naomi replied. “And you may kill her.”

  She’s dead anyway, Warren told himself. She’ll never make it out of the city. She’s too weak. He felt guilty at once for his thoughts. But he didn’t feel guilty for having her with him. He’d been alone all his life. Now that he had the power to change that, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t use it.

  “Do you want to kill her?” Naomi asked.

  Warren looked away from her, staring into the cloud of mortar dust that had formed in front of the wall. He held Kelli’s hand in his, afraid to let her go.

  “You’re afraid,” Naomi said.

  Warren ignored her.

  “I can see it in you,” she continued.

  Looking at her then, Warren demanded, “Are you going to tell me you’re not afraid?”

  “No, I’m not going to tell you that. The truth is, I am afraid. But part of me is starting to be afraid of you.”

  Warren felt a surge of savage joy crest inside him at that unexpected announcement. But it died the moment one of the security guards poked his head into the hole that had been made in the wall.

  “We’re through,” the man said. “There’s a room over there. Filled with a lot of stuff.”

  Excitement flared within Warren. He released Kelli’s hand and started forward. He felt Balekor’s Hammer on the other side of the wall. It felt powerful, almost overwhelming.

  Tulane was there first. The Cabalist reached into a pocket and removed a flash. Switching the beam on, he peered into the room. Then he stepped back, nodding at the security guard commander.

  “Make the hole bigger.”

  Scratching noises drew Warren’s attention. For a moment he thought it was coming from inside the room on the other side of the wall. Then he realized that it was a trick, an echo created by the size of the room. He turned back toward the furnace.

  The scratching grew in intensity, coming from the hollow depths of the furnace. Several of the security guards faced the furnace as well and drew their weapons.

  Light suddenly streamed from behind Warren. He turned back to the hole and the room on the other side of the wall, spotting a rectangular opening and a metallic figure that stepped into the room.

  Then horrendous cries rose up from inhuman throats.

  Spinning back around to the furnace, Warren watched as demons invaded the basement through the furnace’s chimney. Looking like insects, they poured from the furnace in flailing masses and formed a skirmish line.

  Get the Hammer, Merihim commanded.

  Driven by pain, Warren turned back to the hole in the wall and instinctively put his hand out before him. He pushed, and he sensed more than glimpsed the waves of nearly invisible force that leaped from his hand.

  The wall exploded, caving inward in a rush of mortar and stone. The armored figure inside the room was thrown backward.

  Warren went forward as the demons rushed the Cabalists.

  Forty

  F rom the darkness of the Turnbull Museum, frightened eyes studied Simon. He stared back at them over the Spike Bolter, adrenaline surging through his system. All of the Templar stood ready to fight.

  “Don’t fire!” Derek shouted. “Don’t fire! These are noncombatant!”

  Simon lowered his weapon, looking out over the museum. With the moonlight slivered through the swirling snow and the dusty windows, the fugitives hiding in the building would have been barely visible. Except for the night-vision capability of the HUD. But he was willing to bet that the people inside the building could barely see each other. He didn’t know what the people must have thought of them as they came through the door.

  The snow swirled in through the open door, white against the darkness, then disappeared on the floor as it melted almost at once. The cold came as well, more active and biting than it had been with the door closed. Several of the people taking shelter inside the museum pulled their coats and blankets more tightly around them. There were at least three dozen of them that Simon could see, but he felt certain there would be others scattered throughout the building.

  Derek held his hand up, freezing the Templar into position. Then he cursed, frustrated by the turn of events that had put innocents in harm’s way.

  “What are these people doing here?” someone asked.

  “Taking shelter,” someone else answered.

  Derek stepped forward, dropping his hand. His voice broadcast through the armor. “You people can’t stay here,” he said.

  Simon knew Derek was remembering what had happened at the Thornton house with the book. The hammer they were after was known to have powers. All of the people inside the building would be in danger if they stayed.

  A thin man in his fifties, gray and bent with age, stood to face them. “We can’t go out there. This is the only safe place we’ve found. The demons don’t come in here.”

  Looking around, Simon noticed there were no dead bodies like there were outside the building. Nor did the museum show signs of violence or combat. Most of the exhibits were long gone, leaving only empty shelves and floor displays, but they were largely undisturbed. Maybe thieves had come in over the years to pick over what had been left, but not demons. There was plenty of room for the makeshift beds that littered the floor.

  “The museum must be warded,” Derek said over the armor’s privacy channel. “Someone laid a spell over this place and invoked some kind of sanctuary.”

  “Are you the knights?” the man asked quietly. He held a long kitchen knife in one hand, but he must have known it wouldn’t have done any good against armor or the demons. “Are you Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table? Come to help us in our time of need?”

  Derek didn’t say anything, but he remembered the boy asking the same question. Those stories, though forgotten to some degree, had resurfaced now. He was surprised at that.

  “I was always told that Arthur Pendragon would return some day,” the man went on hopefully. “That when England was in her greatest need, he would once again take up Excalibur.” He looked at the Templar. “Are you here to help us?”

  Derek hesitated, then said, “That’s just a story. We’re not part of that.”

  “I see.” The man’s shoulders rounded and he pulled a frayed blanket around his shoulders.

  Demons screamed outside the door. Simon stepped back long enough to close the door and preserve what little heat remained within the museum. The people all looked so vulnerable.

  “Do you have any food?” a woman asked. “Food is always hard to come by.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m not asking for myself, but for my boys.” She moved the blanket and revealed two small boys hidden there. Both the boys looked frightened near to death. “I hate watching them go hungry, and we’ve all gone hungry for days now.”

  Simon sheathed the Spike Bolter and reached for the rations they carried out into the field in ammo compartments of the armor. They were primarily energy bars and soy-sub. The Templar only carried self-heats outside the city.

  “It’s not much,” he apologized. He added the water containers that fed through the suit’s drinking tube as well.

  The woman smiled her thanks at him, then quickly started sharing the meager amount with other parents with children. The rations went quickly.

  Other Templar came forward and handed their rations over as well.

  “You’re a bunch of fools,” Mercer snapped. “If we get pinned down somewhere and can’t make it back for a few days, you’re going to go hungry.”

  “I can miss a meal or two,” Wertham said. “I’ll not knowingly leave children to go hungry.” Raw emotion twisted his words. “That’s not something I’ll do. And it’s not something I thought I would ever be asked to do.”

  A few more Templar, shamed by the words, stepped forward and gave up their supplies as well. Derek put his in as well. Only Mercer and three others didn’t volunteer theirs.

  “You’d better hope High Seat Booth doesn’t hear about this,” Mercer threatened.

  Derek turned to Mercer. “If the High Seat does, we’ll know who told him.”

  Mercer held his commander’s gaze for an insolent moment, then turned away.

  “Can you take us out of here?” the man asked.

  “Where would you go?” Derek asked.

  “I don’t know. Isn’t there somewhere safe?”

  “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.