Chapter 12

Margaret sat in the lab, waiting for the search spell to finish its work, and finished reading the book about the Gideon Chain that Angel had given her. The reading turned out to be so exciting that yesterday the girl sat over the book until two o'clock in the morning and was interrupted only when her eyes were already closing. She still had goosebumps running down her spine, when she thought about WHAT exactly her mentor had given her. Especially since she tried not to think about everything else.

"Margaret?"

The girl looked up from the book. Redfern walked over to the table and nodded at the sparkling spell.

"It will finish soon."

"Yes. I decided to wait here, I'll finish reading at the same time."

He glanced at the cover of the book, sank into a chair and asked:

"What have you decided?"

"I don't know," Miss Sheridan admitted. "It's too… too comprehensive. Nowhere is it said how I will change if I use it."

"But you will be reliably protected."

"Do you think it's worth it?"

The mentor sighed.

"I didn't manage it. Therefore, it seems to me that everything that can protect you should be used."

"Then why didn't you use Gideon Chain yourself?"

Angel averted his eyes. Margaret looked at his hook-nosed profile, and the tenderness was blooming in her soul like a heavy bud. It had first appeared during Roismann's imprisonment never left her again.

"I'm not quite human anyway," Angel said finally. "I do not want to aggravate."

"Why do you think so? Because of what happened to you on Liganta? Or..." the girl pulled herself together and finished: "Or because you are from such a family?"

The memory flashed before her again: their faces as if reflected in each other. But no, he can't...

"Both," the mentor said dryly.

"Then why are you offering the Chain to me? Since you think I also have Redfern blood in me..."

"It's not that it's Redfern blood," Angel muttered, "It's that it's my blood."

Margaret's heart pounded so hard that it rang in her ears. Finally! Finally he said something she didn't even want to ask! Although, of course, she wanted to, she just didn't know how to ask a question...

"Why did you decide so?" Miss Sheridan asked as calmly as possible.

"I returned to the Riada in eighteen hundred and one - when I again met with, so to speak, the family after almost two hundred years. I started a relationship with a woman. I don't even remember her name or face or surname, but she was from a wealthy family - industrialists or merchants working with manufacturers."

"You had a relationship, but you don't remember her?" the girl asked in surprise. Redfern chuckled.

"It was not the relationship that is written about in your novels. Then she disappeared, but I did not attach any importance to this," he stared at Margaret from under his brows and said through set teeth: "And now I think that in vain. Apparently she got pregnant."

A strange expression appeared in his dark eyes - amazing, as if she was looking in a mirror. Margaret looked at him, fascinated. She understood what he had told her and what she was supposed to feel, but... she did not feel. She was only surprised that she had not noticed the obvious similarity before.

"Do you remember your paternal relatives?" Angel asked.

"Not very. Dad's relatives stopped communicating with him when he married my mother."

"Oh, I see. She is lower than him in origin. It's amazing why everyone is still so worried about this."

"Don't you care?" Margaret teased him. "You're an aristocrat, and I'm half a peasant's daughter. My mother was the daughter of a village blacksmith," the girl added proudly.

"I'm too many years old to worry about such nonsense," the mentor chuckled. "But that means you don't know anything about your father's family?"

"The Sheridans," Margaret shrugged. "They were industrialists before the Revolution, but they lost everything. They supported the regime... I mean, imperial power. In my opinion, almost all of them left for Deir when it was over. It seems that his grandmother, Charlotte, wrote to Dad about this. She could very well be your lady."

"When was your father born?"

"In the twenty-second year."

"Yes," Angel said after a pause. "Probably…"

Dad was also tall, thin, with dark eyes and wavy brown hair. His face did not look like Angel at all, but the girl, tilting her head to one side, still tried to find similarities.

"No," she finally said, "Dad doesn't look very much like you."

"I'll see you damned first it!" the mentor shuddered.

"Why?"

He looked at her intently and asked:

"Why doesn't it scare you?"

"And why should it?"

"Jesus," Angel muttered, and Margaret could hear almost despair in his voice. "However, what was I expecting… The Redferns really only love each other. Although I never thought that myself…" He trailed off abruptly. His eyes flashed eagerly.

"I know," Miss Sheridan said, "that I should apparently wring my hands, cry sadly to heaven, and at the same time repent of sinful thoughts, but I don't want to. And I think that I could not want with all the efforts."

"So you have too much of our blood in you. Who would have thought, after so many years..." Angel got up and bent over Margaret, leaning against the back of her chair. Miss Sheridan turned pink as she smelled his cologne again so close. His hand almost touched the girl's hair.

"But still," Angel said quietly, "you must understand what that means."

"I understand," Margaret said. "And I don't care at all."

His eyes darkened and he suddenly kissed her; more precisely, he grabbed her, pressed his lips to her lips and squeezed her in his arms so that the girl's heart skipped a beat - and then she really didn't care. She would not have been able to let him go, even if all the saints of Ilara were screaming in indignation in chorus. Heat rolled over her like a fever, and Angel, too, was so hot, as if lava flowed in his veins, not blood. They kissed each other almost blindly, and finally Angel caught her in his arms. Margaret froze for a moment - and there was a loud ringing. Angel, breathing hard, pressed his forehead against her hair and muttered:

"Maybe to hell with him?"

"No," Margaret managed with difficulty, although she wanted to throw a chair at the table, "we finally found him."

"Damn him to death," the mentor hissed and carefully put the girl on the floor. A red light pulsed violently on the table above the Farenza model. Margaret bent over the city. The warlock had built a nest for himself on the outskirts, in the quarter that overlooked the bay.

"Gotcha," Angel said predatory. "Contact your uncle. I want to see a small auto-da-fe... or a big one."

***

The evening twilight enveloped Farenza, but in Urquiola's house all hell was let loose. Longsdale, Miss Oettinger and Jen scurried about the laboratory, armory, library, Nathan preparing a firearm - cleaning and loading with ordinary bullets and "archangels." Nearby, he had already spread belts of potions and grenades. The pyromaniac in the large mirror rushed from corner to corner like a tiger in a cage. His eyes burned, the wings of his nose swelled up predatory, and, frankly, in such a familiar form, the Commissar liked Redfern much more.

"Oliviera is the quarter where about four hundred years ago there was a port, where Caliphate ships with olives, olive oil, wine and citruses arrived," the pyromaniac said. "Now the port is no longer there. But the buildings of the port warehouses remained, and the warlock settled in one of them. It overlooks the bay. Be careful!"

"I know," the Commissar grumbled. "This guy will try to escape by sea. We will block the exits to the water; if we find boats, we will drown them."

"Better to burn it," Margaret said. "The sorcerer is able to raise a submerged boat and sail away on it."

The pyromaniac stopped, stared hungrily at the weapon, and muttered:

"What would I not give to be there with you!"

"Don't even think!" Margaret said sternly. "Angel, you are not going to go there?"

"Of course not, I'm not an idiot, damn it. But I cannot help you - the distance between the castle and Farenza is too great. But I will watch you."

"How can we be without your supervision," Nathan grunted; however, deep down, he regretted that the pyromaniac could not join them. No one knew what trump cards were in the sleeve of the warlock - neither his personality, nor the number of accomplices, nothing is known. Brannon, after hard deliberation, abandoned preliminary reconnaissance: the consultants believed that the warlock was watching the area around the lair, and the risk that he would discover reconnaissance was very high.

"We'll take him in pincers," the commissar said. "I, the consultants and the witch will approach from the city's canals, and the cardinal and his people - from the sea. Hopefully, we will have the numerical superiority and the effect of surprise."

"And Vivene?" Redfern asked.

"She'll back us up from the rear," Brennon replied evasively. He didn't want his wife to be involved at all. It's enough what she's already done. Nathan was still worried that the crack had caused Valentina harm that he might not notice. No, it's better for her to stay away from the warlock.

"She's your only real advantage," Redfern said sharply, thought for a moment and added, "Except for the witch. However, vivene cannot kill people, so..."

"But, Uncle, what if the warlock unleashes the plague on you again?"

"It won't kill us in a second. It's a pity that we have to go at night. Better view in the afternoon."

Redfern sighed.

"The less magic around you, the more likely it is that he will not notice you. But at the same time - the more magic, the greater your chances of surviving. I would have dropped something like a bomb on his lair..."

"But there are people living around, so mass killings are canceled," Brennon reminded him dryly. This was the third time the pyromaniac had come forward with this proposal, but the Commissar was not going to give vent to his bloodthirstiness. Jen looked into the office and announced:

"We are ready. Vivene wants to say a few words to you before leaving. Go, I'll take everything to the boats for now."

"OK, thanks."

The witch did not find any traces at the place of the crack, which she was very upset, and therefore burned with a thirst for activity. Brannon patted her on the shoulder and went up to the bedroom. Valentina rose from the chair, and he knew immediately that she was alarmed.

"Are you sure you need to go with them?" the wife asked.

"Yes, I have to. I'm not so useless with a good revolver in my hands, and I can swing a saber."

"Nathan," she said gravely, "I cannot raise the dead."

The Commissar took her hands and asked softly:

"Why do you think about it? I don't argue that it's dangerous, but we have already taken such guys – and we coped well with Roismann."

"But Roismann didn't try to get to the other side. I'm afraid for you," Valentina added quietly. "I know that you will leave, but I didn't save he once already... Even I cannot instantly rush there, and your lives sometimes flow away for moments."

Nathan kissed her and held her close. His wife hugged him tightly, and he said as gently as possible:

"I know, Valentina, I know. I promise I'll be careful. Eventually, we may find an empty den and return with nothing."

"No," Vivene sighed, "it won't be good at all. You better catch him." She pulled away and smiled. "Go, I'll wait for you here."

"What if he decides to attack the house?"

"Then I will immediately solve your problems," Valentina responded with a grin. "He cannot harm me, and I think he knows about it. So don't be afraid for me."

I wish I wasn't afraid, Nathan thought, going down the stairs. Outside, two boats awaited him, one in which Jen, Miss Oettinger, and the puma sat, in the other Longsdale and the hound. The commissar climbed up to them, and the boats set sail. Brannon's watch showed the beginning of eight.

They reached Oliviera in a little over an hour, and by that time it was completely dark. Longsdale and Jen brought the boats under the cover of some sort of boat shed, and the consultant gave Brennon the binoculars.

"There are night vision glasses here. Look over there – this is the building."

The abandoned port warehouse was the same black cube as the rest, and was no different from them. Not a single light burned around, there was not a single person, and not even a hint of some kind of sapient life.

"What do you think?" The Commissar asked. The hound snorted sternly, the puma rumbled in displeasure.

"The water reeks of the undead," Jen said. "They took a warehouse in a semi-ring. You won't be able to get to it by water, unless you kill all the creatures."

"Can you determine what these creatures are?"

The witch closed her eyes. Her skin glowed faintly in the night, like amber.

"Looks like water ghouls like marabbekki. Sir, I can lure them out and burn them all, but such a performance is hard to miss."

"Do you have enough strength?" Nathan was worried. "I remember when the ghouls attacked my sister's house, you had a hard time."

"It was before initiation," Jen smiled predatory. "Now I will burn every single one. But you can forget about secrecy."

"We can gett close from the air," Miss Oettinger suggested. "We use infisibility and lefitation spells. We'll lant on the roof."

The hound wagged his tail, but the puma clearly did not like the idea.

"There is still a risk that we will be detected," Longsdale shook his head. "The warehouse is surrounded not only by the undead, but also by a perimeter that notifies the guests."

"And the dome? Dome like what the pyromaniac did over Martha's house - no?"

"There is no dome, but this is understandable - such things are so noticeable in magical terms that it is easier to hang a red flag over the building and blow fanfare."

"Then let's go from the air. We are waiting for Savarelli, we will contact him when he arrives, and go ahead," the Commissar decided. "As soon as we enter, Jen will take on the ghouls. Hopefully the rampage outside will distract the warlock from what's inside."

"Rampage!" In anticipation, the witch licked her lips.

They didn't have to wait long. Soon, four black shadows glided across the waters of the bay – boats with inquisitors and the cardinal in addition. Nathan put on a headband with an earpiece, which he had left after the raid on Roismann. He handed the second one to His Eminence, which brought him almost childish delight.

"I can see you," Brennon informed the cardinal dryly.

"It's okay," the servant of God responded cheerfully. "Smugglers roam around here at night. A few boats won't surprise anyone."

"Yeah, of course. Especially when you consider that our client is on nettles and needles and probably twitches from every sneeze."

"Or not," Longsdale said thoughtfully. "Maybe he's sure he deftly lured us into a trap. We don't know what he knows about us."

"This is bad," Nathan muttered and brought the cardinal up to date. Savarelli approved the plan, and the boats of the consultants moved towards the inquisitors. The hound's fur began to glow like tongues of flame, and the reflections slid over the scales that covered the huge cat. If it's a cat at all.

"Sir," the witch said, "maybe I'll fly there for reconnaissance? Just in case."

"Come on," the commissar nodded. "But be careful."

Jen fluttered up the boat. Miss Oettinger muttered a spell and the girl disappeared. It was only by the slight movement of the air that Brennon realized that the witch had flown away. He watched the warehouse intently as they approached the Inquisitorial boats, but nothing was happening there. Finally, after about ten or fifteen minutes, Miss Oettinger's boat swayed on the waves, and Jen's voice said:

"There is a signaling. If someone steps on the roof or tries to open the door to the attic, everything will immediately howl and strike with a magical current."

The Commissar informed the cardinal about everything, and he swore savagely.

"I can remove the signaling charm," Longsdale said.

"And if you get caught doing this? No," Nathan thought and asked: "And if Jen throws some ghoul on the roof, the signal will work? If so, under the guise of a false alarm, can we get inside?"

The consultants exchanged glances, then exchanged glances with their familiars.

"Yes," Miss Oettinger decided. "But we must act quickly".

"We'll cover everyone with invisibility and lift them into the air," Longsdale said. "Then Jen will make a false alarm. While the spell will beep, we need to have time to get into the room."

"Great," Brannon nodded. "Get started."

In a couple of minutes, the boats of the Inquisitors, and Miss Oettinger with her puma, and Longsdale with the hound disappeared from sight. For a moment Nathan had the feeling that he was left completely alone, and then the boat took off into the air and glided towards the warehouse. Brannon never got tired of this feeling - and he wished that people could fly by themselves at any distance. This is much better than swimming!

He looked through his night-vision binoculars at the water. A flock of undead swam in the muddy waves, looking like a school of large fish from above. An invisible Jen dived into the canal and emerged, holding the fiercely wriggling ghoul on its weight. For a second or two, nothing happened, and then the witch threw him into the roof with a swing. At the same instant, a sparkling strip surrounded the warehouse, sparks of magical current flashed on the roof, and Nathan swallowed. Judging by how quickly the undead roasted, humans would be burned to the bone in a second.

"Door!" Longsdale whispered.

The rooftop fireworks went out and the low door leading to the attic slowly opened. A man with a lantern in his hand looked out. He led it back and forth, then went out onto the roof and bent over the charred ghoul.

"Go ahead!" Brannon hissed. One of the boats took off and threw a man into the water with a powerful blow. The undead happily swarmed around the victim, and the desperate screams died away even before the inquisitors, Commissar, consultants, and familiars were on the roof. Longsdale removed the invisibility spell. The hound and the puma were the first to rush to the door and dive inside.

"Yes," Miss Oettinger said after a second, and the people rushed to the entrance to the warlock's lair. The consultants let everyone in and were the last to dive into the darkness of the attic. At almost the same instant, the roof guard flashed again with a myriad of purple sparks. Nathan slammed the door and asked quietly:

"All here?"

"Yes," the inquisitors and consultants responded in a discordant chorus. The hound and the puma blinked silently - in the impenetrable darkness, their eyes shone with yellow and bright orange lights.

"Then let's get started," the commissar decided and took out a flashlight.