It was a classical tactical move, Brodie had told her. She went in, seemingly alone, and when the enemy closed in behind her to seal the entrance of the trap, her backup would close in behind them—catching them in their own snare.

Of course, they would expect the tactic. So they were going to get it.

Sarah opened the hatch to get out the kerosene lamp she’d brought with her, then brushed her cold hands down her thighs one at a time, took a deep breath, and concentrated on enclosing her mind with the strongest walls she could build. Then she walked steadily into the church.

There was nothing easy about picking a door lock in pitch darkness, even with a lockpick. In fact, it was difficult as hell, especially with chilled, nearly numb fingers. Tucker had the feeling it was taking him too damned long to do it, but he gritted his teeth and kept working on it.

He was conscious of Sarah on the edge of his awareness, a spot of warmth he wanted to pull around him like a blanket, but kept his attention fiercely on what he was trying to do. He had no clear idea what Sarah had been through since he had left their bed at the hotel, but that brief glimpse into her mind told him that it had been rough for her, and he wasn’t about to add to her burdens.

So he had to get his ass out of this room before somebody came back here to check on him, and he had to make damned sure none of those bastards got their hands on him.

Simple enough.

But the reality made the odds against those simple goals rather high. He was still fighting his way out of the drug-induced haze, for one thing, so concentrating or even thinking clearly was a problem. He was also stiff from lying immobile for such a long time, and strength was only slowly returning to his muscles.

Dexterity was also a problem; he dropped the lockpick twice and had to feel around on the cold stone floor for it. It occurred to him that if he lost the thing he’d really be up a creek, so he tried to be more careful.

He didn’t realize what a strain the physical and mental effort was until the door finally opened and he had to hang on to the knob and just breathe for a few minutes.

It was as dark outside the room as in, though he could faintly discern a glow maybe two shades lighter than the darkness way down the corridor that stretched out straight ahead. The temptation to move toward the light was strong, but Tucker remembered his instructions and, after he’d closed and relocked the door behind him, turned right and plunged into more darkness instead.

He found the storage room on the left just where Sarah had said it would be, and for the first time wondered how on earth she knew that. Of course, she seemed to know a hell of a lot about many things, more with every day that passed, but he still wondered.

Life with Sarah was going to be very interesting.

He slipped into the room, his senses flaring out in an attempt to get some idea of what was in here with him, and closed the door softly behind him only when he was reasonably sure he was alone. From the door, he began moving very slowly along the wall clockwise. It was distinctly unsettling to be feeling his way around in pitch darkness, but it was better than just standing or sitting and waiting with no idea of what was around him.

He found out quickly enough that most of what was around him was boxes and trunks, and numerous piles of rotting furniture and apparently scrap wood.

The furniture was easy enough to identify by touch, and it cost him only one splinter and a bruise on his shin. It was much harder to make himself reach into trunks and boxes when he couldn’t see what he was about to touch, but he steeled himself and did it.

He had no intention of making things harder for Sarah, but he was also not used to feeling helpless—and he’d been helpless too long. If he could find anything that might help him get himself and Sarah out of here in one piece, then he intended to find it.

Most of the stuff in the boxes and trunks was unidentifiable; a couple of sharp, metallic edges made him glad his tetanus boosters were up to date, and he once encountered some squishy stuff he didn’t even want to think about, but mostly it seemed to be household objects and the like that might once have been packed away down here as charity contributions no one had been able to use.

Tucker agreed that most of the stuff was useless, to him anyway, and he was feeling very frustrated when he pried open a smaller box, earning himself another splinter and a jab from an undoubtedly rusty nail, and this time found bottles. Several of them.

It took him only a moment or two to realize what he’d found, and when he did, he knew he had two-thirds of a dandy weapon. If he could only find the other, necessary, third.

“My kingdom for a match,” he muttered.

“I think I can oblige,” said a voice out of the darkness.

The inside of the church was dim and dusty and very quiet. Sarah paused only a moment among the few remaining pews, then made her way to the back where she knew the stairs would be. She found them easily enough, the door waiting open for her, and again it took more courage than she thought she had to make herself walk down into that black maw.

She paused only long enough to light the kerosene lamp. It had been chosen with care, because it would give off plenty of soft light all around her rather than a beam of brilliance as a flashlight would. Even so, it threw as much shadow as light as she went down the narrow stairway, and those shadows made her skin crawl once more.

Shadows. You’re here. Close. But she thought there was only one or two of them beneath the church, which surprised her for only a moment. Of course I can’t get out of the trap. So two—one to grab me, and one to guard Tucker. And all the rest guarding the door.

The smells of musty age closed around her, damp and moldy and dank, and she found herself breathing through her mouth rather than her nose. It got colder with every step she took, and despite her warm sweater and jeans, she was chilled before she reached the bottom. At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in the large, square room that was the original cellar of the church, her lamp showing her what she had felt her way through before. Numerous doorways and halls opened off this central room, some of them cut into the rock the building sat upon while others tunneled through earth.

Sarah made her way immediately across the central room to the narrow table holding all the pillar candles. Without so much as a glance toward any of the rooms or corridors around her, she set her lamp on the table, reached into her pocket for matches, and began lighting the cobwebbed candles.

She was nearly done when a gust of air from somewhere nearby caused the flames to waver wildly, then blew half the candles out. She dropped the match, and it sputtered out on the stone floor.

“Waauur.”

Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin, and stared incredulously at the large black cat that had leaped onto the far end of the table and sat watching her with a slowly lashing tail.

“Pendragon?” Surely, it couldn’t be…

“Waauur.”

Despite her amazement, she didn’t have much doubt that this was the cat she had left behind in Richmond. He was just too distinctive looking, those eyes too blue and collar too individual for her to be mistaken. What she couldn’t begin to imagine was what he was doing here. And how he’d traveled so far.

Another brief gust of air made the candles waver again. Pendragon hissed softly, then leaped from the table and vanished into the shadows near the stairs. Before Sarah could do more than stare after him, a voice spoke mockingly no more than three feet away from her.