Why did he say yes?

  This was supposed to be a quick trip. Confer with Miranda. Collect the Crystal. Done! Even without Miranda, the part about collecting the Crystal should have been easy. Now Ian had a meeting with the high priest! And even if he survived that, now he was embroiled in some kind of demonic infestation and extermination thing. This was, probably, Miranda’s fault.

  Too bad she was dead. That made it harder to yell at her. Or, for that matter, to ask her what was going on. She probably had more information than anyone else, except her own experiments had probably killed her. Wonderful.

  The office of Brother Taggart Carys, the high priest, was splendidly decorated. It was cleaner and brighter than Ian’s lair in Blackwing Manor, and in better repair. Everything was white, yellow, or various shades of blue, and the light from the large windows made everything sparkle. It was almost painfully bright to look at. But Ian thought there was something oddly familiar about it. He wouldn’t have used the word “ostentatious” for his own home, but then he was a Villain. This was a high priest of a holy temple, and here the grandeur seemed inappropriate and, well, ostentatious.

  The other problem was that Brother Taggart Carys was not the high priest. “When I was here, fairly recently, the high priest that I met was, uh, that Gray guy?”

  “Graham,” Brother Taggart answered.

  “Yes! I herd Sister Miranda died. Did Brother Graham die too?”

  “Not at all. But he’s taking a pilgrimage. I am acting high priest while he is away.”

  “I see.” Ian wondered if Brother Taggart had redecorated, or if the room was always like this. He had the sense not to ask. “Oh! I do see. It can’t be long into your tenure, and there’s a demon infestation. You’ve called for an expert on demonology because you want to prove that you can handle it.”

  “Well, hm,” said Brother Taggart, shifting some papers on his desk.

  “Or you’d like it handled discreetly, with no proof that it happened in the first place?”

  “Yes, that! That’s the one.”

  “I understand completely, sir. But demonology does fall under the church’s purview. Have you no such expert in house?”

  “We… had two.”

  “Would they be Sister Miranda and the high priest?”

  “They would indeed.”

  Ian nodded. “Understood. But holy powers are highly effective against demons. I assume these are just imps, because if there was an ‘infestation’ of something worse I’d expect more screaming.”

  “You are very astute, Mr… ?”

  “Blackwing, of the Blackwings of Blackwing Manor.”

  “Not familiar with it.”

  “The keep on the cliffside along the coast to the west. It’s really quite well—”

  “Oh! Creepy Keep.”

  “It is properly called Blackwing Manor.”

  “Of course, Mr. Blacking.” Taggart looked at him more closely, a discomforted expression on his face. Perhaps identifying himself so precisely was a poor decision, but eventually the stand-in high priest slumped in his chair and sighed. Oh good, he didn’t have any other options.

  “Now I must ask, if these are just imps, why do you require an exorcism? Demons are quite vulnerable to holy magic, and imps are not terribly durable. Surely some of your holy mages cold simply pop them? Now I know you church folk don’t like killing even when it’s necessary, but they’re demons. They’re already souls from Hell. They’ll just go back where they started.”

  “Well, uh,” Taggart shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat several times, “You know, most of the priests here aren’t actually holy mages. Her Light shines only on a select few. And, well, magical blasting isn’t the most common type of spell for holy mages to master. We do have some healers. They did try—”

  “No!”

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  “I’m afraid so.”

  “That’s undead!”

  “I know it is.”

  “Demons aren’t quite like living things from the mortal realm, but they’re still alive.”

  “I know they are.”

  “If anything, as creatures of pure spiritual matter healing magic would tend to… tend… oh dear.”

  “Are you able to help us, Mr. Blackwing?”

  No. “Where is the incursion point?”

  “The basement, near the vaults.” That was where he needed to go, and getting there without Miranda without getting questioned would have been difficult. Now he had a way, at least.

  “Of course I can.”

  Ian turned to leave. “Sister Martha will point you in the right direction.” Oh. Right. Of course. He wasn’t supposed to know the way. He nodded at the junior priest. “And one of our acolytes is down there. He should be able to help you, if he’s still alive.”

  Ian paused. “An acolyte?”

  “A young priest in training. He is one blessed with holy magic, though so far he only knows a little healing.”

  “A child?”

  “He’s in his twenties,” said the high priest.

  “Seventeen,” said Sister Martha.

  “Nineteen?”

  “Twenty-one?”

  “Somewhere around there,” Taggart concluded.

  “You left a child down there, facing the demons by himself, who only knows a little healing magic?”

  “He’s also skilled with nonmagical medicine,” said the high priest defensively, “which may be why her light shone upon him to grant him that power. You disapprove?”

  “Not at all, Brother,” said Ian, motioning for Martha to lead on, “It sound exactly like something I would have done myself."

  Martha led Ian to the basement door, opened it, and then stood well back out of the way.

  Ian looked her over. “What is the Boy’s name?”

  “Boy?”

  “This acolyte. So I can identify him.”

  Martha hesitated. “Jay. Jason. No, Jamie. Yes, it’s Jamie.” She started to sweat and laughed nervously under Ian’s glare.

  He wasn’t sure what he was upset about, really, He wouldn’t have cared either, but they were supposed to care. Turning from her, he saw that the basement seemed to be lit. “Is the light from torches or is it magical?”

  “Uh… I’m not sure, the acolytes—”

  “Is there anything you can tell me?” After a moment’s silence, he shook his head. “I have an associate who may come looking for me, a human woman named Montague. Do point her in my direction if you see her.”

  As Ian made his way down the stairs, he heard the chittering of tiny giggles coming from every shadow. There were a lot of imps. He pointed at a shadow. He hadn’t seen anything there, but imps were creatures of darkness and simply not very bright. “You, come out.”

  An imp stepped into the light, sneering, and bowed to him. “Master Blackwing.”

  “I’m not your master. Who is?”

  The imp laughed, its red eyes blazing with mischief. “We serve no mortal master, but—”

  “Incorrect.” Ian zapped the imp, dismissing her from the mortal world with a sharp cry and a puff of foul-smelling, dark smoke. He snapped his fingers impatiently. “Who’s next, or shall I just blast you all? I don’t have holy magic, but I hardly need it for one of you, now do I?”

  There was an imp lurking in a shadow on the ceiling. Ian jabbed it with his staff. “You next, then,” he said. “Who is your master?”

  “Why you, of course, Master Black—”

  “No. I want information, not groveling. Who summoned you? Or screwed something up and let you in?”

  “A holy priest, though not so holy.”

  “Clearly. Sister Miranda?”

  “She opened the first doorway, indeed.”

  “Are you implying that there’s an open doorway?” That explained the infestation. And meant the chances of something larger and more dangerous than an imp arriving in this realm increased by the second. “This increasingly sounds like it’s not my problem.”

  “Oh but Master Blackwing, join us and we can all be their problem! Just—”

  “Nah, I’m set. Just don’t get in my way.” Ian left the imp and headed towards the vault.

  “You dare refuse, mortal??” shrieked the imp, “Mortals like to think they’re in control when they traffic with dark powers, but let me remind you who is in charge!”

  “Not an imp,” said Ian dismissively, trying to remember which identical corridor he was looking for.

  “Oh, but it is our immortal master.”

  “No demon is immortal, some are just old. That’s because they’re too smart to get in a fight, not because they’re unkillable.” That was mostly true. He waved a hand and sent a shock of magical force towards the imp who had dared threaten him.

  It dodged. And then it opened its mouth in a piercing, whistling, hissing shriek. “Am I supposed to be afraid of yowling?”

  “Not of the sound, no,” said the imp, bobbing up and down with laughter. Ian zapped it. But now he was surrounded by sounds of scurrying and scrabbling from the darkness. Oh. There really were a lot of imps down here. It was unusual for there to be enough imps congregated in one place in the mortal realm to form a swarm, but when they did they could be quite dangerous. If enough of them were close together, he couldn’t zap them all before they got close enough to sting.

  Ian ran through an open doorway, then turned sharply and went through another. He wasn’t sure were they were coming from, but maybe if he—drat. The mass of them had kept up with him, covered the doorway he’d just come through, and this was not a corridor but a room, a little study with table and chairs and a bookshelf. A room without another exit. Ian turned and threw spells into the mass of tiny demons, but the visible effect was minimal.

  And then as they closed on him, a shimmering field of light surrounded him. He looked down. Hiding under the table was a Boy, human, mid to late teens. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were shadowed. “How long have you been down here alone?” Ian asked him. His exhaustion was almost tangible.

  “Dunno. Haven’t slept. Can’t see the sun from down here.” He wore the white and blue vestments of the church, with yellow trim. On a more experienced priest with fancier vestments those would be more of a gold color. He had a medium skin tone and straight, dark hair under his cute little hat. Ian was vaguely reminded of a kitten, but he wasn’t sure why. The acolyte didn’t look much like one.

  “You must be Jamie.” Ian considered. “Or possibly Jay or Jason?”