Chapter 13

The light coming through the windows was dim by the time Annabeth returned. She stalked into the bank ahead of the archbishop and eleven priests. Her face was red, and her hands shook where she pressed them to her thighs.

That’s not good.

An aging priest separated himself from the group and approached the table. He held his hand out to Annabeth.

“I’m Father Morgan. Help me up, Lass.”

Annabeth stabilized him while he climbed onto the table.

“Did anyone touch it?” he asked.

“No, Father,” Jhon said. “Annabeth helped me reach close to it with this.” He held up his pen and demonstrated the telescoping part.

“Burn that,” Father Morgan ordered. “Right now.”

Jhon turned to Badluck. “Do you have a metal container and some flammable liquid?”

Badluck reached under the table and retrieved a steel waste container, then reached inside his jacket for a dented bronze flask.

Jhon opened his mouth to ask if the contents were flammable, then shut it again. Badluck was every bit as obsessive about doing things the right way as his employer. Jhon dumped the few papers in the waste bin onto what he hoped was a neat pile on the floor, then placed his pen in the bin, unscrewed the cap on the flask and poured the contents over the pen.

Badluck produced a lighter and struck it.

“No, laddy,” Father Morgan said, “he needs to burn it.”

Badluck put out the lighter and offered it to Jhon.

“Will this do, Father?” Jhon knew enough about disposing of tahlis’ to know to ask for more information.

“Aye,” Father Morgan said, “the flame needs to come from your own hand. Other than that, there’s nothing special about it.”

Jhon bent and struck the lighter. Vapor in the bin caught the instant the flame reached the rim.

Father Morgan nodded, then pulled a string of black beads from his pocket. He murmured a mostly inaudible prayer, then advanced his grip one bead along the string. Jhon bowed his head and recited some words of his own, settling in for an evening of waiting.

* * *

“This is new,” Father Morgan said. “Help me down, Lass.”

Annabeth lifted him off of the table and set him on the floor, and he shot her a partially amused glare.

“New?” Jhon said, straightening from his position leaning against a cabinet.

“What does that mean?” Badluck asked.

“It means that someone has rediscovered the making of occult things,” Sabin said. “We must disable it, and we must determine who made it.”

He pulled Jhon aside, then nodded toward Annabeth. “How is she?”

“Steadfast, your holiness,” Jhon said.

“No lapses?” Eyes like coals burned into Jhon’s.

“No, your holiness.”

“Our time together this evening has not been pleasant. She is defiant.”

Jhon nodded. “I have noticed that as well, Archbishop. I am working with her as best I can.”

“Hmm. I heard you met the Prime Minister.” His eyes bored into Jhon’s.

Not a hint of a smile, or a frown. What is he looking for?

“Yes, Archbishop.”

Sabin leaned toward Jhon. “That is an ill thing, my son. Had I known you were going to visit, I would have sent a message of my own along with you.”

Was that a hint of a smile? It had to be.

“Yes, Archbishop. I will attempt to inform you, should I have cause to visit again.”

“No need, Jhon Bonga. Through God’s grace the message I wished to convey, was conveyed.” Jhon clamped a hand over his mouth, but some of his guffaw escaped around the edges. Sabin patted him on the back. “Relax, my son. I am here to aid you.”

“Yes, Archbishop. Thank you for coming.”

“Go stand next to your...ward.”

“Yes, Archbishop.”

The priests moved the chairs away, then lifted the table and moved it away as well. Then they formed a ring under the invisible thing. Each man withdrew a sash. One was silk. Most appeared to be black cotton. The archbishop’s was tan, coarser, and older, than any other.

Camel hair?

They knelt, first the archbishop, then a man across the circle. The priests bowed their heads in unison and began to pray. Jhon prepared for another wait, but instead the bank faded from his sight.

Lord Bannister bared his teeth and leaned forward, eyes wide with fervor. “I see you, Fallen One.”

Wake up, Jhon, it’s just a dream. Dream? That doesn’t make any sense, I was just in the bank.

He shook his head to clear it, but Bannister was still there.

It’s been a long time since I had a vision. This one wasn’t quite as bad, but still jarring.

And with that thought the records room snapped back into place around him.

Annabeth glanced at him, then cocked her head. “Are you alright?”

“You didn’t see anything just then?”

“I saw you twitch.”

“Arris Bannister made this thing, Annabeth. There is little time. Fetch him. Bring him to the office. If possible do not let anyone see you.”

“Yes, Director.” And she was gone, racing down the long hall toward the main doors.

The archbishop walked over to Jhon, and Sir Wellington joined them. “That was unexpected,” Sabin’s voice thrummed through the room.

“Did I make a mistake, Archbishop?” Jhon stared into his eyes.

“You mean by sending Annabeth?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Father Morgan said, slowly, as he joined them. “It was not without risk, but this is an opportune event.”

“Perhaps you could explain, Father Morgan,” Sabin said.

“Passing this test would tell us much about her,” Father Morgan said. A ball of ice formed in Jhon’s stomach.

The archbishop nodded. “It would indeed.” He raised his voice to the room, “Who saw the dark wizard?”

“I did.”

“Me too.”

On around the room.

Everyone but Annabeth.

Jhon clenched his fists.

Sabin reached out and touched his shoulder. “What will be, will be, Jhon Bonga.”

That’s what I am afraid of.

* * *

They returned to the bureau, and the day ground on. Jhon tried to nap and failed. Jacob Halloway dispatched eight agents--his entire available field staff--to monitor Lord Bannister’s home. They checked in every hour, on the hour, to say that everything was normal.

Annabeth did not check in.

He wanted to go into the field and look for himself. Failing that he wanted to drink until he wasn’t worried. Technically the priests wouldn’t have judged him for the drink, but Sabin was there, watching him. Looking for weakness.

“Did you see the fight?” Jhon wanted to break the tension, to turn his thoughts anywhere but towards Annabeth. Twelve priests turned to face him, blank, almost offended expressions on their faces.

“No,” Sabin was the only one who spoke.

Minutes ticked by. A rivulet of sweat ran down from Jhon’s armpit to his waistband. Then one on the other side.

“Would anyone like something to eat? I can have food brought in,” Jhon said.

“We fast at times like these,” Sabin.

“Sorry. I knew that.”

The clock on the wall opposite Jhon’s desk ticked off the seconds. Apparently on this day there was about one second every hour or so.

“You are more distressed than the situation warrants,” Sabin said.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Jhon shot him an outraged frown. “How can it be wrong for me to worry about my child?”

Sabin shook his head, exhaled, and said with a soft tone, “You have done no wrong, Jhon Bonga. She will return, or she will not. Your worry will not change the outcome. Be at peace. Pray for her success.”

Jhon stood and gestured to the other priests. “May I speak freely, Archbishop?”

“Yes. All here wish only the best for all concerned.”

“Your protection has always come with strings, and this string seems poised to snap.”

Sabin stood and went to Jhon and clasped his hand. “I have been far too harsh with both of you in the past. For that, I am sorry.”

Jhon pulled his hand free. “She struggles. Mightily. You believe she is sinful and unruly, and she is. She is also strong enough to kill me at any time, yet here I stand, alive and unbruised.”

“I was born to discipline, Jhon. My parents taught me, and I drank it up. I assumed that good children would be like me, and Annabeth is wild and impetuous.” He turned and gazed out of the window. “We have not seen each other in a couple of years.”

“Close to three,” Jhon said.

“I have had an epiphany. God does not honor me when I read my chapter a day. He does not look down in pride when I do my calisthenics. Those things are part of me and have been since the beginning. We are not impressed when a fish swims.

“God honors me when I show kindness to His other children. That is my struggle, to decide when mercy should overcome judgement.”

“And if she joins this man, instead of bringing him here? Will you sentence her to the flames? Will you sentence me?” Oddly, with that question Jhon found the clarity that Sabin had encouraged. His heart slowed, and the sweat began to dry.

Sabin turned and looked Jhon in the eyes. “I will judge you both as kindly as my duty allows. Moreso, in the opinion of my superiors.”

“Forgive me, Archbishop, but that does not sound like you.”

“No,” Sabin whispered. “It does not.”

It was after dinner time when Abraham Little poked his head into the conference room where Jhon was keeping the company of twelve priests.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir--”

“Please, Abraham,” Jhon said. “Interrupt.”

“Yes, sir. There is a Member of Parliament, one Arthur Bannister here to see you.” The words came out softer than usual.

Even Abraham can feel the tension here.

“Thank you, Agent Little, please show him in.”

Abraham glanced around the table. “In here, sir?”

“Yes, please.”

Arthur Bannister entered the room with his head slightly bowed and his hands behind his back. He gasped when he saw Archbishop Sabin, then slumped.

“Please, MP Bannister, tell us what brings you to my bullshit agency,” Jhon said. Bannister twitched.

“Have you boys been arguing?” Sharon Tbela slipped into the room behind Bannister.

“This is private business,” Bannister said, coming back to life in a moment. “We will not need a secretary.”

Tbela’s eyes narrowed. “Then I won’t invite him.” She pulled out a chair next to Father Morgan and sat.

“Agent Sharon Tbela is the head of my research division, MP Bannister,” Jhon said. “She has clearance to know everything that happens inside these walls, whether you like it or not.” Then he turned to Sharon.

“I have heard good things about your management style,” Archbishop Sabin said. “It greatly disappoints me that they were so understated.” He winked at Jhon, then turned his coal black eyes on Bannister. “You’ve come for confession. Out with it.”

Bannister cleared his throat.

“Out with it.” All kindness left Sabin’s voice, replaced with holy fury.

“Yes, Archbishop. My brother has disappeared.” He ducked his head. Jhon shook his head.

Really? You came into a room with eleven priests and an Archbishop, and you think now is a good time to hold back details?

Sabin lunged to his feet, sending his chair tumbling. “I said out with it.”

What I wouldn’t give for his voice.

“His…laboratory…was broken into.” Bannister seemed careful with his word choice or was searching for a logical explanation for his brother’s dark interests. “There is blood, not much, but enough to be worrisome, and Arris is nowhere to be found.” He shuffled his feet, eyes flickering around the table, then down at his shoes.

“Your brother constructed a magical device, with the aid of dark forces, and installed it in Halfhall Bank. He has been using it to defraud the bank, the wealthiest families in the country, and the government,” Jhon said. Bannister winced at every point.

I thought I might be overreaching, but that still isn’t all of it.

“I didn’t know. Not until today--”

“You knew and did nothing.” Sabin raised his voice once more.

“I…I tried to stop him.”

“That’s better,” Father Morgan said. “You did the right thing when you tried to stop him. Tell us all about it, lad.”

Looks like we’re playing ‘good priest, bad bishop.’

Once the core details were out, Jhon left the interrogation of Arthur Bannister to the priests and Tbela’s research team. He should have stayed, should have found every word of it fascinating, but worry for Annabeth clouded every moment.

The afternoon ground down, and the sun slipped below the horizon. Jacob Halloway’s field team spread out, looking for any trace of Agent Toy in the region around Bannister’s mansion. A whole day of ‘nothing to report’ turned into a night of ‘nothing to report.’

Jhon gave up pacing the building and checking all the good vantage points to a position at the rear of the building, where she was most likely to return.

* * *

“She’s here.” Sharon yelled from the front of the building.

Why would she come in the front?

Jhon rode a wave of adrenaline to the front of the building, and from the sounds of running feet, he wasn’t the only one. Annabeth looked pale, even for her. The hair was burned off of the right side of her head, and her clothes were in tatters.

She tossed Arris Bannister on the floor in front of Jhon. “I got him.”

“You look terrible, Annabeth,” Jhon twisted his head around, “Is Abraham still here?”

“Still here, sir,” Abraham said.

“Get her some first aid,” Jhon collected himself, hoping the panic didn’t sound too much in his voice. “Please?”

“Of course,” Abraham’s voice came from down the hall.

Good man.

“How are you, agent?” Sabin stepped in front of Jhon.

“Bedraggled, Archbishop, but I recover quickly,” Annabeth said. Jhon watched as the fatigue drained out of her, and her back straightened.

Be careful how hard you push her, Archbishop.

“Did he tempt you, Agent Toy?”

“Yes, Archbishop.”

“Did you pass the test?” Sabin leaned forward, studying her.

“I did, Archbishop,” Annabeth said. Sabin nodded to himself.

“Go in peace, my child. I believe the tall man named Abraham has medical care waiting for you,” Sabin patted Annabeth on the arm, then turned and followed the priests dragging Bannister down the hall toward the interrogation rooms.

Jhon’s entire body relaxed.

He has never had a kind word for her. Never. And he called her, ‘my child.’