back sharply, and with a swift, easy movement, Caul slashed Mirabilis’ throat. Blood sprayed dark in the murky half-light.
Mirabilis gurgled, choking, scrabbling at the air for a moment before dropping to his knees. Caul threw him backward, and the knife came down again with swift efficiency. Emily saw Stanton and Miss Pendennis throwing themselves at Caul, grabbing at him to make him stop, but Caul was too huge, too strong. Even as they hung off him, trying to pull him away, Caul butchered the old man. The knife in his hand tore open Mirabilis’ chest from throat to belly. A foul odor rose. Caul plunged his hand into Mirabilis’ chest, pulled out the old man’s shuddering heart, slashed it free with a short movement from the knife. Arterial blood sprayed black in the dim flickering light. Caul raised the heart high.
I claim this place!
Caul’s voice boomed against the walls of the Great Trine Room, echoing and thundering.
I claim mastery of the Great Trine!
The explosion of light that came from Caul’s gory up-stretched fist was blinding; it outlined each of the colleagues in white-hot brilliance, sending them staggering, then spinning away from him on the blood-streaked marble floor. Caul stood wreathed in brilliance, restored and rejuvenated as if he’d bathed in the blood of a whole regiment of Sergeant Booths. He threw his head back and laughed—a rich Italian-scented laugh, high and fluty.
Then, another voice.
“No.”
Resounding, old, powerful, the voice shook the walls to their foundations, cutting Caul’s horrible laughter short.
The word came from Ben. He stepped out from behind his desk. He came to stand before Caul. His hands were held in front of his chest, his fingers almost touching. He did not look like old Ben anymore, though; he looked like someone much greater. Emily realized suddenly that she had seen his face before.
“Benedictus Zeno.” Caul broke the silence, making the air vibrate cruelly. His voice was touched with recognition and surprise. “I had no idea you were still alive. And working as a servant for the Institute. Is that how old credomancers are put out to pasture?”
“Leave this place!” Ben commanded, taking two menacing steps toward Caul.
Caul thrust Mirabilis’ heart out before him, squeezing it so that gory drops splashed onto the marble at his feet. Ben winced, faltered. His shoulders sagged slightly.
“You transferred the power of the Institute to Mirabilis a long time ago. You cannot take it back that easily.” Lifting his knife, Caul slashed out at Zeno. With a great deal of effort, old Ben was able to tear himself free of whatever magic bound him; he moved, but not quickly enough to avoid Caul’s knife, which slashed across his upper arm. With a strangled cry, he bent, blood seeping through his fingers.
“I have taken the heart of the Heart!” Caul lifted the gory trophy high over his head once again. “I have claimed the Trine from within. Mirabilis’ power, the power of the Institute, is now mine.” He gestured to Rocheblave, who was watching him with consternation and awe.
“Mr. Rocheblave, I require your assistance in the name of the United States Army. If you want to live to see the sun rise, you’re going to help me. Tie them all up.” He gestured to Miss Pendennis. “The fabric in her petticoat should be sufficient to your needs. Zeno first, and make sure you gag him. He’s still the father of modern credomancy, after all. Then the High Priest. Don’t worry about retribution, neither he nor that whore goddess he serves will be a threat after I’m done with them.”
Rocheblave moved to comply. Miss Pendennis surrendered her petticoat rather than have it taken from her, and Rocheblave quickly tore it into long strips. As he was doing this, Emily noticed Zeno whispering something furiously to Stanton and reaching toward him with a bloody hand.
“You must!” Zeno said, clasping Stanton’s hand weakly as Rocheblave came up behind him and pulled the two of them apart.
“Stanton!” Caul barked, lifting a hand. “I am your Sophos now. Sit down and don’t make another move.” Stanton grimaced, but sat quickly and did not move again.
Rocheblave moved behind Heusler now, pulling his arms back and wrapping cloth around his wrists.
“You’re making a bad mistake, Caul,” Heusler said, his voice taking on a new quality of menace. “If you kill me, Her retribution will be unimaginable. Give the stone to me now, swear your allegiance to Her, and perhaps I will intercede on your behalf.”
But Caul showed no signs of hearing Heusler’s