Part 23 (1/2)

He'd thought about telling her to stay with the others, but he hadn't been able to. In his weakened condition, he didn't want to be alone in the company of strangers. Not even ones that seemed sincere about helping him. Kelli wouldn't be much help if there was a problem, but she was familiar.

”It's a Blood Angel,” one of the men seated on the floor around them answered. ”A h.e.l.lish thing, it is. Clever and deadly.”

”Oh.” Kelli pulled the blanket a little tighter.

Warren watched the demon lazily flap its wings. Then it dove and disappeared once more into the forest of tall buildings that made up downtown London. Low clouds and the noxious fog streaming from the h.e.l.lgate obscured the view.

”Liam,” Malcolm called from the front of the vehicle.

”Yes.” Liam was young, his face littered with tattoos and piercings. He dressed all in black and had three horns jutting up from his narrow head. Scabs crusted the horns, showing that they were new additions freshly grafted on.

”Are there any more of them about?”

Liam stared into the distance. Warren felt the energy surrounding the young man and knew that Liam was seeing with something other than his normal vision.

”No,” Liam replied. ”They've gone from this immediate vicinity. We're safe enough for the moment.” Malcolm gave the driver orders to pull back onto the road. The panel van jerked into motion and pulled out from beneath a tree.

The demon patrols were the heaviest at night, Warren had known. And they targeted vehicular traffic, drawn by the sound as well as the scents given off by the exhaust.

Warren rested, leaning back against the van wall. Malcolm had offered to take him to a Cabalist retreat, so he could be shown what they had to offer him. Knowing that only a fight remained for him to have at his flat, and that he was going to need to learn more in order to survive, Warren had agreed.

But the choice hadn't been an easy one. He didn't like change in his life, but so many things already had.

He was afraid he was one of them.

Less than an hour later, they were deep within the Mayfair district, out beyond the reach of the city. Residences out here were separated by vast tracts of land, much of it unimproved. Several of the houses had horse farms.

The twisted, bare limbs of trees stripped by the harsh breath of winter lined the crooked road. Warren guessed by the narrowness of the road that they were on a private lane.

A moment later, the van slowed, then turned and pulled toward the ma.s.sive wrought-iron gates of an estate. The driver brought the vehicle to a stop.

One of the men in the cargo area got out. He trotted forward and opened the ma.s.sive gates so the van could pa.s.s through.

Looking through the front winds.h.i.+eld, Warren stared at the immense snow-covered grounds inside the high stone walls. Surely t.i.tled gentry lived here.

”What is this place?” Warren asked.

”The home of one of our benefactors,” Malcolm answered. ”He's one of the strongest in our group. His name is Hedgar Tulane. You'll be meeting him in a little while.”

Warren knew the name. ”Tulane? The communications mogul?” From what he remembered, Tulane owned a few communications groups that included television, radio, and newspapers.

”Yes.”

”He's a Cabalist?”

”Yes. As was his father and his father's father before him.”

That had been a closely guarded secret. Warren knew that if such a thing had gotten out it might very well have meant the end of the man's status, and his business profile.

The van bucked across the trail leading to the main house, a ma.s.sive four-story structure that almost resembled a palace sitting in the snow. No lights showed in any of the windows.

A moment later, the driver pulled to a stop before the house. The windows remained dark and the door remained closed. Warren had expected a houseman at the very least to greet them. They always did on the vids.

”Doesn't appear to be anyone home,” Kelli announced.

”No one aboveground,” Malcolm agreed. ”Wouldn't do for us to be so exposed, now would it?”

A man opened the cargo door.

Warren got out, stepping into the cold wind. Even inside the van, he'd been warm from the heater and from having the wind blocked from him.

Malcolm took a torch from his coat pocket and led the way. Armed men stood guard over the door, so cloaked in shadows that Warren hadn't seen them until he was almost upon them.

Hooves thudded against the snow-covered earth. The sound was so loud and surprising that Warren truly expected to find himself under attack.

When he looked, though, it wasn't snarling demons that had created the sounds. Instead, five horses stood at a corral fence only a short distance away. Warren had no idea what kind they were. When they breathed out, though, plumes of gray fog flared through their nostrils. They stamped the snow into mud.

”Horses,” Kelli said. Her voice held a note of awed pleasure.

”Yes,” Malcolm agreed. ”As long as they remain alive and there are no attacks by the demons out here, we'll have fresh meat.”

”What?” Kelli gasped in disbelief. ”You're eating the horses? That's inhuman. They're...they'rehorses.” Warren looked at her, mildly astonished that after all the death and destruction she'd seen inside the city that she could be concerned over the welfare of horses.

”Better we eat the horses than the demons eat them,” Malcolm replied. ”Horse meat isn't so bad after a while, and if the cook knows how to tenderize the cuts, it's more than palatable.” Then he went through the door.

Kelli looked at Warren in disgust. ”You didn't say anything about them eating horses,” she accused. Warren didn't bother pointing out that he hadn't known. He turned and followed Malcolm through the door.

Inside the house, Warren was impressed by the size, and the obvious wealth that filled the numerous rooms. His boots echoed against the tiled floor, letting him know how cavernous the rooms were.

They pa.s.sed through the foyer and Grand Ballroom and walked into a study just off to the right. Books filled shelves. Beautiful exhibits of Asian history filled more shelves. Warren had no doubts that much of it was expensive.

Malcolm walked to the large fireplace that took up most of one full wall. When it was lit and there was a fire burning in the hearth, Warren felt certain the heat would have filled the room easily.

Pressing his hand against a sequence of stones framing the fireplace, Malcolm waved to them to join him inside. Warren and Kelli did so. Standing in the fireplace, though, Warren felt inordinately foolish.

Then the fireplace jerked into motion, spinning around on hidden pivot points. Immediately behind the fireplace was a set of narrow stairs that descended into the earth.

Malcolm took the lead at once, descending into the inky blackness with his torch lighting the way before him. ”This way,” he urged, standing on the narrow steps that curved down into the darkness.

Warren hesitated. But there wasn't a choice. Going back to the flat might have been possible, but he wasn't ready to deal with what was going on there. He set himself, took a final breath, then followed Malcolm.

”Hedgar Tulane's forebears took advantage of the natural caves under his ancestral home,” Malcolm said as they went down the spiral stairs cut from the cave itself. ”They had to have a bit of modification done here and there, but for the most part they just made the most of what was already here.”

Even with his newly acquired ability to see in the dark, Warren wasn't able to see much. The smooth texture of the cave walls around them spoke of much usage.

”The Tulanes used this place back in World War II, during the raids,” Malcolm said. ”Of course, the people who were allowed here weren't shown all of the secrets. They've always protected their Cabalists beliefs from unbelievers. But there was some overlap of that during the Second World War. Hitler's minions were after many of the same powerful talismans our organization pursued.” He stopped and played his torch over the large pool of water to the left. ”Watch your step here. It's actually quite deep. And cold.”