“That’s all I needed to see,” Weast said from the vestibule, and my head snapped up.
Weast. My eyes narrowed as five Order agents filed in after him, all in black and all holding shimmering rods. Two more came in the back. Glenn wasn’t among them, and I felt a spot of satisfaction. Bis puffed up to the size of a Rottweiler, hissing like a demented cat as he tried to keep them out . . . failing. The softhearted kid wouldn’t hurt anything other than the occasional pigeon for dinner, and they knew it.
“When the I.S. told me the baku had gone to ground at the church, this was not what I expected to find,” Weast said as he looked at Trent slumped in my arms, but I was more interested in the men and women surrounding us. Weast’s amulet began to smother my connection to the lines, pissing me off.
“Get out of my church,” I said, pulling in the line as if it were sunshine. But the more I gathered, the less there was, and I finally let go, hating that amulet of his as I stared at him.
Weast motioned for them to take us, and I lurched to my feet, grabbing Trent under his arms and backing up to find a wall. Hodin was gone, vanished like the chicken-ass demon he was. The bottle was on the floor, and I took it. Not that it would do me any good now. “Damn it, Trent, wake up!” I shouted, my pulse leaping when his eyes opened.
“I was to be the leader of the dewar,” he said, and I dropped him in horror.
Trent’s head hit the floor with a thunk. I scrambled back as he stood, hoping that I’d been mistaken. But it wasn’t Trent. Not really. And my heart dropped to my gut when his green eyes narrowed, the power of the boardroom tempered by a soul older than the pyramids. “I have what I want,” he said to Weast as he stood, and I quailed at the weird accent in how he was saying his vowels. “Leave me alone, and I will leave you alone.”
Oh, God. The baku has Trent, I thought as Bis landed on my shoulder, his ears drooping, ashamed that he’d failed to keep the Order out. Trent had fallen unconscious, and the baku had taken him. Hodin had said that Trent’s aura was as tattered as mine, that he’d been fielding attacks. But I hadn’t thought . . . I never dreamed . . .
“Truce?” Weast mocked, one hand holding a glowing rod, the other hovering at the butt of his unsnapped sidearm as we were slowly surrounded. “It’s not that simple.” Weast looked questioningly at the agent checking Landon for a pulse, motioning him to drag him to the door when the man shrugged. “Morgan, take your gargoyle and get out of the way, or you’ll end up a zombie, too.”
Trent a zombie? I thought as the ring of agents passed me and began to tighten their circle around a wary Trent. Not likely.
Trent made a sudden dart for the last remaining window, pinwheeling back to avoid being touched by one of those glowing wands. Snarling, he threw a ball of unfocused magic, then lunged for an opening, only to fall back when more agents stopped him. Stymied, he swore in words that seemed to thicken the air. Power dripped from his fingers until Weast focused on him, his hand holding that glowing amulet. Angry, Trent retreated, his connection to the ley lines muted. Step by step, they tightened the circle, glowing batons forcing him back.
It was like hunters around a lion, and I touched Bis’s feet on my shoulder, sickened.
“What should we do?” Bis said, and I glanced askance at the agent still standing beside me.
“Find Jenks. Tell him what happened. I’ll finish up here,” I said, launching him.
The agent moved, but not fast enough, and I swung my foot up and slammed it into his head, knocking him into the wall and dreamland. When I turned, Bis was gone.
I took a slow breath and looked over my church. The Order had Trent circled, their shouted words making him flinch and jerk. Turning him into a mobile prison for the baku wasn’t going to happen, and when Weast strode forward, fingering what had to be the curse to turn him into a zombie, I panicked. But when I pulled on the ley line, it slipped through me like water.