Death of an Adept

Still smirking, he took a blood pressure cuff from the bedside table and applied it to Adam's right arm, sobering as he took his reading and then felt for a pulse, first in Adam's wrist, then in neck and groin.

No longer smiling, Angela watched as Mallory removed the cuff and stuffed it into his pocket, then unplugged Adam's old IV and capped off the cannula in his wrist.

"Two units - that's a lot to lose, in his condition," Angela said, as Mallory picked up the two bags of blood. "Is he going to be all right for the ceremony?"

"Oh, he'll last," Mallory assured her. "I don't dare sedate him any further, but we'll give him a unit of dextran en route. That ought to improve his blood pressure a bit. Keep an eye on him. I'll be back in a minute."

When he had gone, Angela settled on the side of the bed again beside her victim, smiling again as she brushed her fingers lightly along one shaven cheek.

"Mmmm, soft as a baby's - " She broke off and laughed wickedly, showing her teeth. "Dear Adam Sinclair, I'm going to let you in on a little secret before Derek comes back to work his wicked ways on you again. I thought you might like to know what Francis has planned for you. I hope you'll appreciate the delicious irony." She gave another tinkling laugh before deigning to enlighten him further.

"In consideration of the number of times you've interfered with us in the past, we put a great deal of thought into deciding how best to incorporate your participation into our little performance tonight. You will die - I don't think you ever doubted that - but the actual moment of your death will be framed within the context of a Satanic Mass - with suitable adjustments, of course, since the ritual ordinarily calls for a young virgin of the female persuasion. It seemed a fitting end for a Christian Adept - to see all your holy symbols profaned, and to know that your Patron is powerless to save you.

"Of course there are - other details that needn't concern you yet," she went on, smiling again. "Let's just say that a prize like you should suffice to buy Francis exactly what he wants: Satan's own authority to command all lesser demons, including Taranis. I just thought you'd like to know," she concluded, as Mallory returned with one of Richter's mercenaries.

Already drifting perilously close to shock, Adam was also reeling with numb rejection of this revelation as Mallory and his assistant set about finishing his preparation. After releasing his restraints, the two men hauled him up into a sitting position so that Angela could pull a white robe over his head, the three of them then working his arms through the sleeves and tugging its folds into something approaching alignment.

"All right, he's ready," Mallory said. "Let's get him out of here."

Adam would have struggled if he were able, but even holding his head up was too much effort. Praying that intent would count on some level, he continued trying to visualize spiritual resistance, unable to prevent them dragging him to his feet, the two men shouldering his sagging weight between them. Angela gathered up the quilt and followed as they hustled him out the open door and along a dimly lit corridor, toward another open door and his impending fate.

Chapter Thirty-Four

BACK at Strathmourne, the grey afternoon had merged in-distinguishably into a greyer dusk by five o'clock, and full darkness by six. Earlier, Duart had brought his men into the kitchen by shifts, for a hot meal, and Philippa had insisted that members of the Hunting Lodge sleep by turns, in hopes of conserving precious energies for a last-minute breakthrough regarding Adam's whereabouts; but as seven o'clock came and went, and the standby crew fretted, an even deeper depression had begun to settle on the occupants of the house.

They had by no means given up their search, but they had yet to find a focus. In the library, Philippa had resumed attempting to scry in the crystal ball with Adam's skean dubh and Julian's locket, assisted by Julian and both Houstons. Harry had taken up a post to watch them, straddling a straight-backed chair and with chin resting on his folded forearms laid across the back, his distracted gaze ranging idly over the map of Scotland spread on the table beneath Philippa's crystal. McLeod was stretched out on the couch, arms folded on his chest, eyes closed behind his aviator spectacles. The general was pacing back and forth before the library window.