"You've got Mom's pentacle with you, right?" I asked him. I had a matching pendant on a silver chain around my own neck-which, other than Thomas, was my mother's only tangible legacy.
"Of course," he said. "I'll find you. Where now?"
"St. Mary's," I said.
"Figured."
Thomas started driving. I broke open my double-barreled shotgun, which I'd sawed down to an illegal length, and loaded two shells into it. Tessa the Mantis Girl had rudely neglected to return my.44 after the conclusion of hostilities at the Aquarium, and I have rarely regretted taking a gun with me into what could prove to be a hairy situation.
"Here," I said when the truck got within a block or so of the church. "Drop me off here."
"Gotcha," Thomas said. "Hey, Harry."
"Yeah?"
"What if they aren't keeping the little girl on the island?"
I shook my head. "You'll just have to figure something out. I'm making this up as I go."
He frowned and shook his head. "What about those goons from Summer? What are you going to do if they show up again?"
"If? I should be so lucky." I winked at him and got out of the Hummer. "The real question is, what am I going to do if they don't show up, and at the worst possible time to boot? Die of shock, probably."
"See you soon," Thomas said.
I nodded to my brother, shut the door, and trudged across the street and into the parking lot of St. Mary of the Angels.
It's a big church. A really, really big church. It takes up a full city block, and is one of the town's more famous landmarks, Chicago's version of Notre Dame. The drive leading up to the delivery doors in the back of the church had been cleared, as had the little parking lot outside it. Michael's truck was there. The ambient glow of winter night showed me his form and Sanya's, standing outside the truck, both of them wearing long white cloaks emblazoned with scarlet crosses over similarly decorated white surcoats-the Sunday-go-to-meeting wear of the Knights of the Cross. They wore their swords at their hips. Michael wore an honest-to-God breastplate, while Sanya opted for more modern body armor. The big Russian, always the practical progressive, also carried a Kalashnikov assault rifle on a sling over his shoulder.
I wondered if Sanya realized that Michael's antiquated-looking breastplate was lined with Kevlar and ballistic strike plates. The Russian's gear wouldn't do diddly to stop swords or claws.
I'd made some modification to my own gear as well. The thong that usually secured my blasting rod, on the inside of my duster, now held up my shotgun. I'd tied a similar strip of leather thong to either end of the simple wooden cane that held Fidelacchius, and now carried the holy blade slung over my shoulder.
Michael nodded to me and then glanced down at his watch. "You're cutting it a little fine, aren't you?"
"Punctuality is for people with nothing better to do," I said.
"Or for those who have already taken care of the other details," murmured a woman's voice.
She stepped out of the shadows across the street, a tall and striking woman in motorcycle leathers. She had eyes that were the warm brown shade of hot chocolate, and her hair was dark and braided tightly against her head. She wore no makeup, but even without it she was a knockout. It was the expression on her face that tipped me off to who she was-sadness mingled with regret and steely resolve.
"Rosanna," I said quietly.
"Wizard." She strode toward us, somehow arrogant and reserved at the same time, her hips rolling as she walked. The jacket was open almost all the way to her belly button, and there was nothing but skin showing where it was parted. Her eyes, however, remained on the Knights. "These two were not a part of the arrangements."
"And it was supposed to be Nicodemus that met me," I said. "Not you."
"Circumstances necessitated a change," Rosanna replied.
I shrugged one shoulder-the one bearing Fidelacchius. "Same here."
"What circumstances are those?" Rosanna demanded.
"The ones where I'm dealing with a pack of two-faced, backstabbing, treacherous, murderous lunatics whom I trust no farther than I can kick."
She regarded me with level, lovely eyes. "And what is the Knights' intended role?"
"They're here to build trust."
"Trust?" she asked.
"Absolutely. I can kick you a lot farther when they're around."
A very small smile touched her mouth. She inclined her head slightly to me. Then she turned to Sanya. "Those colors hardly suit you, animal. Though it is more than agreeable to see you again."
"I am not that man anymore, Rosanna," Sanya replied. "I have changed."
"No, you haven't," Rosanna said, those warm eyes locked onto Sanya's now. "You still long for the fray. Still love the fight. Still revel in bloodshed. That was never Magog. That was always you, my beast."
Sanya shook his head with a faint smile. "I still enjoy a fight," he said. "I simply choose them a bit more carefully now."
"It isn't too late, you know," Rosanna said. "Make a gift of that toy to my lord and my lady. They will accept you again with open arms." She took a step toward him. "You could be with me again, animal. You could have me again."
Something very odd happened to her voice on the last couple of sentences. It became...thicker somehow, richer, more musical. The individual sounds seemed to have little to do with meaning-but the voice itself carried a honey-slow swirl of sensuality and desire that felt like it was going to glide into my ears and start glowing gently inside my brain. I was only on the fringe of it, too, and had gotten only a watered-down version of the promise contained in that voice. Sanya got it at full potency.
He threw his head back and laughed, a rich, booming, basso laugh that bounced back and forth from the icy stones of the church and the cold walls of the buildings around us.
Rosanna took a step back at that, her expression showing surprise.
"I told you, Rosanna," he rumbled, laughter still bubbling in his tone. "I have changed." Then his expression sobered abruptly. "You could change, too. I know how much some of the things you have done disturb you. I've been there when you had the nightmares. It doesn't have to be like that."
She just stared at him.
Sanya spread his hands. "Give up the coin, Rosanna. Please. Let me help you."
Her eyelids lowered into slits. She shuddered once and looked down. Then she said, "It is too late for me, Sanya. It has been too late for me for a long, long time."