“Kristen-” Serrin began in a slightly weary voice, but she would not be stilled.

“You’re very good to us,” she said to Geraint, “but there’s something wrong. You don’t look at Serrin straight on. You look guilty. And you” she continued, giving Serrin an accusing stare, “you’ve been edgy ever since Geraint asked you to come. It’s because of Michael isn’t it?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Serrin said flatly. “And you’re spoiling a very pleasant dinner.”

“Is it because of what happened? Because he married me to get me out of Cape Town with you, and you didn’t? That’s so bloody silly! You’d know why he did that if you weren’t a man,” she said exasperatedly.

“Actually, we all know why I did it, and sometimes men just do things and don’t talk about them,” Michael said firmly, but not unkindly. “Things are just understood, Kristen. Maybe you’re making something out of nothing.”

Her eyes flashed angrily, but she sat back a little in her chair, unwilling to pursue the point. Michael knew that she had touched on something; he too had sensed the awkwardness between Geraint and Serrin, in their over-politeness and slightly strained exchanges. He also fell that it was something better not brought out into the open.

The returning silence was disturbed by a sudden rustling sound from the heavy, silk-lined drapes at the far end of the cavernous dining room.

“What the-” Serrin began, and then his eyes grew as wide as the dinner plates set before him. He shot out of his chair, fumbled for a medallion about his neck, and began a hurried, rapid recitation.

He’s spellcasting, Michael realized. He can’t, not in here, the building has a hermetic circle better than- The windows blew in with a rush of flying glass, and a storm-force gale howled into the room. Plates and glasses went flying from the table and Geraint, being closest to the windows was nearly flung from his chair. Michael lunged across and grabbed his arm even as Kristen clung to Serrin. Geraint freed himself from Michael’s grasp and with a Herculean effort managed to struggle to a chest of drawers two meters behind him and wrench a drawer open.

Michael saw the gleam of gunmetal as he clung on to the solidity of the huge dining table for support. That’s not going to do you any good here, he thought. It seemed like the massed legions of Hell were about to arrive in person at any moment.

The howling winds suddenly stopped, absolutely and in a split second. Everything was shockingly still. The drapes didn’t even flutter back to their initial positions, they just hung in space, frozen in time. Then they parted and the figure strode into the room from the night air outside. There was no balcony outside for the woman to have climbed in from, but then she wasn’t exactly flesh and blood.

“Get behind me,” Serrin hissed and Michael guessed he must have created a magical barrier around himself He needed no second invitation What was left of the crockery on the table went flying as he threw himself across the table and went sprawling at the elf’s feet. Kristen was at Serrin’s side, hugging him close. Geraint had no time to make that safety, and stood facing the figure with the machine pistol in his hand and a determined stare. He didn’t even bother to shoot.

The woman was clad almost head to toe in plate mail armor, and carried an ornate kite-shaped shield lacquered with white, a red Maltese cross adorning its face. A slender, scabbarded sword hung at her side. She wore no helm, and her long dark hair tumbled down her back. She was beautiful, but cold and expressionless her blue eyes seeming to stare through and beyond the scene of mayhem before her, Soundlessly, she stepped into the room and walked in a direct line toward the table. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge their presence. They stood and watched in amazement, stepping back a little from her as she approached. When she reached the table, an antique scroll of parchment seemed to appear in her hand, bound with red silk and bearing a wax seal. She let it fall onto the table, then turned around, walking just as silently back toward the blackness of night. She didn’t lift a hand to disturb the drapes, which seemed to enfold themselves around her as she stepped out into the air and vanished.

Geraint’s gun dropped from his hand and he gawked disbelievingly at the place where she’d been. Michael getting to his feet, was the first to recover his senses and reach for the scroll.

“That’s impossible,” Geraint said flatly. “The magical protections on this building Would keep Lucifer himself out.” The sound of rustling parchment being carefully unfolded, came from just over his shoulder.

“That was a powerful sending indeed” Serrin confirmed, giving Kristen a reassuring squeeze, his eyes were like a raptor’s. If he’d been uncertain about what Michael had asked him to do, his curiosity and stubborn determination were roused now. The arrival of the spirit and whatever it was that Geraint and Michael were involved with, could hardly be coincidental.

“This is a warning,” Michael told them, dispensing with a complete recitation. “Written in medieval Latin. I can’t translate the whole thing for you, but the gist of it is to keep our noses out or we’ll be damned for all eternity.”

“Colorfully put,” Geraint said sarcastically regaining his composure.

“No, I mean literally damned for all eternity,” Michael said wryly.

“And keep our noses out of what, exactly?” Serrin enquired.

“Doesn’t say,” Michael said offhandedly putting the scroll back on the table.

“Maybe not, but you know and I think I’d like to know everything too,” Serrin said pointedly. Kristen nodded emphatically for her share of revelations as well. “But first, I’m going to see if I can trace that spirit. Excuse me a moment.” He wandered off toward Geraint’s study, away from the confusion and animated voices as the others began to discuss what had happened.

Geraini looked at the scroll closely. It was entirely written in Latin, and he couldn’t comprehend it. “Get a full translation in the morning,” he said.

“Is that a good idea?” Michael said. There might be something there we don’t want anyone else to know.”

Geraint looked wearily at him. “Are you kidding? The Foreign Office translators spend their entire lives translating documents filled with information we don’t want other people to know. No problem there”

“Hmmm,” Michael mused. “Look, there’s something I need to do. My version of a head camera. Be back in the world of the living inside a few minutes.” He walked over to where his computer system sat safe and undisturbed due to the security bolting and cables that had held it firmly to a table weighing a couple of hundredweight, and jacked into the Matrix.

Geraint used the telecom to call some fast-response building and repair firms he’d dealt with when government security installations had been hit by terrorists, animal-rights maniacs, or ether disgruntled factions. Dealing with the interior decor could wait. The police might need some reassurance or insist upon a call to the Metropolitan Commissioner, but he could do that later if the need arose.

Once he put the phone down, Kristen ushered him into the kitchen and steered him purposefully to one corner.

“What’s happening, Geraint?” she demanded.

“I have no idea,” he said truthfully. “That was a bolt from the blue.”

“Not just that. What is it with you and Serrin?” He avoided her gaze and said nothing. Her right foot tapped on the floor. She was much smaller than him, but for all the world she looked like a feral predator and he like hapless prey unable to escape.

“You’re getting into some kind of trouble here and I need to know what’s happening,” Kristen insisted. She stood with hands on hips, defiantly awaiting a reply.

“It’s before he knew you,” Geraint said quietly and a little hurriedly, hoping that Michael and Serrin were still busy with their own self-absorbed activities. “Something we were involved with.”