Things have been going well, almost too well: Father Ray’s plan has run as if on rails, and she has had reason to bask in the warm satisfaction of the Lord at a job well done. But Schiller is prideful and has allowed success to go to his head, thinking that he could take his time and that Elevating his own person could somehow be made part of the Lord’s plan for this apostate land. Anneka knows better and has tried to steer him towards the path of righteousness, but it hasn’t been fast, or easy, to get his attention, and now they are paying the price.
Who were those women spying on the initiation ceremony at the back of the chapel? She barely noticed them at the time, her mind skittering away from them like a willful child avoiding her chores. Her initial suspicion that they are just confused partygoers, easy enough to silence, is clearly wrong, disproven by the shockingly rapid collapse into silence of the entire Middle Temple chorus (who have been a constant whisper of praise in the back of her mind ever since her own Elevation). They must be spies in the house of the Lord, hostile witnesses to the Gospel work. And then they ran towards the chaotic mass of feeders at the orgy (a messy and wasteful arrangement for cleaning up the leftovers, in Anneka’s opinion), and the feeders died. Black magic indeed! Anneka mustered the new initiates—barely serviceable, still suffering from blood loss and shock—then hastened after them, gathering the Lord’s power even as the ward around the estate powered up. But they’re devilishly hard to find, and at the back of her head she can hear Father Ray on the jittery edge of panic, shouting orders at the other congregants that barely make sense. He’s frightened, and he’s putting on an ugly display of cowardice in front of the flock, and Anneka is unsure whether she is more angry at him or the unwelcome intruders. Until the congregation grows large enough to open the way again and bring forth the Lord in all his majesty to fill the mortal vessel that is Raymond Schiller’s body he is, indeed, vulnerable to the infidels and heretics—and she, his chosen handmaid, is vulnerable beside him.
Anneka storms back through the service corridors towards the Grand Hall at the front of the house. As she erupts from a concealed doorway she finds the premises in chaos. Guests are milling around aimlessly, demanding explanations from harried police officers who are trying to herd them away from the doors and windows. Other officers are taking up firing positions behind whatever cover comes to hand, as if expecting armed intruders. “What is the meaning of this?” she demands of the inspector in charge.
“Get back, we have shooters—” The man barely looks at her other than to push her back with the rest of the flock.
Furious, Anneka reaches out and touches him with the majesty of the Lord’s will. He stumbles and groans and she grabs his elbow, forcing him to stand. “Report. Obey,” she instructs him, nostrils flaring at the stink of burning skin and ash rising from the ward he’s wearing.
“Urk—shooters on the loose, my men are deploying to defend—probably terrorists got wind of the PM and half the cabinet—”
Anneka releases him and frees him from the attention of the Lord and he drops like a stone, soul torn. She bends down and scoops up his weapon, a Glock semiautomatic. Then she opens her senses wide and calls out to Father Ray. “There are armed intruders within the perimeter, Father. The police are confused and obstructive. I require support.”
She senses his fear and confusion through the communion of the hosts, under his actual speech. “Take those you can and defend the front. We must leave no witnesses behind! I must flee as soon as the way is clear; the Lord warns that the old enemy is approaching, and if it catches me that will be a lesser ending—”
He’s losing it, she can see, and she sniffs as she walls him out. Schiller is good when the going is good, but goes to pieces when faced with real opposition. Anneka considers herself to be made of sterner stuff. She spreads her awareness out across the grounds, taking stock. Up front, half a dozen armed police take aim from cover, waiting for the unseen hostiles who made their presence known barely two minutes ago to reveal themselves. (Presumably the hostiles are doing likewise, both sides engaged in a lethal game of hide-and-seek.) Back in the house she can feel her three brothers and sisters in the Lord sweeping cautiously through the access passages and service areas. They are debating extending the sweep to the upper floor, and she nudges approval at them. Out in the grounds she senses the other two swinging around the lawn and flower beds from the east, near the stable block. That is where her people are weakest. She signals her intention to join them, then stalks back towards the crowd of alarmed partygoers clogging up the ballroom behind the entrance, drawing a glamour around herself to hide her pistol and render the disarray of her robe unnoticeable. Behind her the dead police inspector’s body sprawls across the checkered tile floor, a trickle of blood leaking from ears and eyelids. He has gone to meet his maker, and in what little consideration Anneka holds for him she feels a brief, bitter stab of envy, for her Lord will know his own.
*
Mo waits, heart in mouth, as Overholt and her minions sweep through the morning room. She keeps a tight grip on Cassie’s ankle even as a shod foot kicks underneath the draped tablecloth, narrowly missing her. But the searchers are in too much of a hurry. They don’t systematically check under the furniture before they move on; or perhaps Mo’s invisibility is working in her favor. She hunkers down low, imagining herself into the semblance of a mouse that has wandered in from the garden, frightened and lost and frozen in place in its effort to avoid the attention of predators.
It takes less than a minute but the wait for the Inner Temple initiates to leave feels like forever. Cassie quivers with fear or perhaps an unreleased, restless febrile energy. “We’re trapped,” she says quietly, voice pitched for Mo’s ears only. “There is a net-of-summoning around the palace, newly erected while we were below. What do we do?”
Mo sits up under the tablecloth. She taps her earpiece. “CANDID to MADCAP, please copy.” She glances at the other woman. “It’s a defensive grid. Which means we’re winning—we just have to stay alive until our backup arrives. Whatever it is. CANDID, MADCAP, please copy.”
“MADCAP, CANDID. Sitrep.”
“Both in hiding indoors. Schiller’s got some kind of perimeter ward and his Inner Temple are searching the building and grounds for us. Tongue eaters are all down and there are a bunch of feeders in the night on the loose. If we make a break for the car we may be spotted. Please advise.”
“Alex is in the driveway. As soon as the defensive ward drops he’ll be straight in. Your special backup is still on the way, got delayed in traffic. ETA twenty minutes, estimated. A chopper is en route to collect TEAPOT as well; confirmed ETA forty minutes. If you can hide out that long—”