"Or perhaps," Ito said, "when the Codex Arcanum was lost or destroyed, it took much of the world's magic with it."
Fagin smiled. "And that is Ito's theory, based on his interpretation of Nostradamus. In any case, what we are seeing now suggests that our magical ice age is drawing to an end."
For a moment no one spoke. Rule thought about the power grid, the stock market, the banking system… air traffic control. The Internet. Cars. Buses. Medical technology. Laboratories. All of them vulnerable to sudden surges of magic. "How well does silk insulate against magic?"
It was Sherry who answered, her voice soft. "Not well enough."
No one spoke for a moment. Then Ito scraped his chair back. "I'm sorry to leave, but my wife is flying here to join me, and I need to pick her up."
Lily checked her watch. "It's later than I thought. If you're through with me for now, I'd like to see if Ruben's still here. I need some help prying information out of the Secret Service."
"I don't think he goes home much." Fagin pushed his chair out. "I'd like a word with him myself. Shall we hunt him up? We can compare notes on our mutual Gift on the way."
She looked at Rule. She didn't say a word. He knew what she wanted.
He sighed. "About the poison…"
"Yes." Sherry's frown was sharp. "We need to talk about that. Patrick?"
Lily touched Rule's shoulder lightly, then rose. "Have you ever touched a magic that seemed—well, evil?" she was asking Fagin as the door closed behind them.
Rule soon decided he might as well have left with Lily. Sherry and the archbishop didn't seem to require his presence. Patrick Brown paced, paused, threw up his hands. He spoke of souls, demonic intrusion, and quasi-magical energies, while Sherry just kept talking, wearing away at the man's arguments the way water wears away stone.
After five or ten minutes of that, Rule agreed with his wolf. He'd sat here long enough. Abruptly he stood. "I'm going in search of vending machine calories and some of the sludge they call coffee here. Would either of you care to risk your stomach lining on a cup?"
Sherry chuckled. "I don't heal as well as you do. No, thanks."
The churchman stopped moving and grimaced. "We've ignored you. Sorry. I get caught up… but I have a question for you. You said the holy water caused pain. How much?"
"Like cauterizing a wound."
His eyebrows shot up. "Have you experienced that? Never mind—none of my business. A high level of pain, then." He didn't look happy about that. His eyes flicked to Sherry. "How quickly can you call a coven?"
"Maybe by tonight. Tomorrow night at the latest. We won't need to work full-coven, and my healer is a local."
He nodded reluctantly. "Then I'll defer to your technique. We'll try my method if yours doesn't work as well as you expect."
"That's what I've been saying." She was brisk as she reached into the large purse by her chair and pulled out her phone. "I'll start calling."
"Wait a minute," Rule said. "You're calling a coven? Isn't that overkill?"
Her gaze lifted to him. "It may have sounded like Patrick and I can't agree on the color of the sky, but we do agree about one thing. It is vitally important to get that poison out of you as soon as possible."
"Most of it's already gone, and more holy water—"
"Is unlikely to work on its own," the archbishop said. "I'm surprised it worked at all, frankly. You must have a great deal of trust in the woman who used it, and she must possess a great deal of faith."
"Cynna?" Rule hoped he didn't sound as incredulous as he felt.
"Holy water does have some intrinsic power, but it's slight. Mostly it acts as a conduit for faith. Since you aren't Catholic, her faith would have to be unusually strong for the holy water to affect the poison."
Rule hadn't really adjusted to the idea of Cynna being Catholic. That she might be truly fervent unsettled him. "Why wouldn't more holy water eliminate the poison entirely?" Not that he was crazy about the technique. He'd probably have to be held down—a humiliating prospect—and that required lupus strength, which meant a delay until his bodyguards arrived. But at least it would be quick.
"It's complicated." The man frowned, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "We've been calling the substance in your wound poison, but that's misleading. It's actually a bit of the demon itself—a demonic artifact, or intrusion."
"That's why it's important to remove it as soon as possible," Sherry said, holding her phone to her ear. Rule could hear it ringing on the other end. "You may not be losing much blood now, but… Oh, Linda, hi. This is Sherry."
Patrick Brown took it from there as Sherry spoke to one of her coven members. "But there are potentially other problems. As I understand it, magic permeates your physical being. Yes?"
"Basically."
"You have demon magic lodged in your body, interfering with your innate magic to prevent your healing. That much we know. It's also quite possible that it's interfering in other ways we're unable to detect. Any such other effects could be negligible or serious. You might grow horns or tentacles, begin to crave blood, or fall down dead. We simply don't know. But the longer the demon stuff stays in your body, the greater the chance of additional adverse effects."
Rule was glad Lily had left the room. She was already worried about him. "All right, I'm picking up on the urgency. I still don't see why you won't try holy water again."
Brown sighed. "It seems you're strongly attached to your guilt."
"What?" His scalp twitched, trying to flatten ears that didn't lay down in this form.
"That wasn't an accusation. Being human means being subject to the ills of guilt and temptation. I assume that is true for a lupus, also."
Rule gave a tense nod.
"Demons lack souls, yet they can have a terrible effect on ours. Demonic intrusions act on us through magic but bind to us through spirit. The binding agents are temptation, guilt, or both."
"You're saying that I'm holding on to the poison myself."
"More that guilt creates a sticky place for it to adhere. If you were of my faith, I'd advise you to attend confession. Since you aren't, I suggest you search your conscience. If you can make peace with yourself and the Creator, however you think of Him—"
"Her." The wolf wanted to bare its teeth. He had no great sins on his conscience. "We worship the female aspect of the One."
"So do we," Sherry said, punching in more numbers on her phone. "Male and female both, actually. Our healer wants to check you out first, but if she gives the go-ahead we'll hold the ritual at midnight."
"Midnight."
"Tradition has its… hello, Stephen. I need to know if…"
Patrick Brown was looking at Rule with a damnable degree of sympathy. "Guilt doesn't always exist for rational reasons, you know. We may feel terrible guilt for events beyond our control. Survivor's guilt, for example."
"This all has something to do with holy water, I presume."
"Through a mechanism involving guilt, your body has been fooled into accepting the demon's substance as part of it, rather the way a human body is fooled into feeding cancer cells. Holy water affects the demonic, but it would affect your body, too, because of this misidentification. If it worked at all, it could cause lasting damage. I'm surprised it didn't the first time."
Rule's hip throbbed quietly. After a moment he said, "There's a scar." A scar was nothing in itself, but was there other, less visible damage?
Sherry thanked someone, disconnected, and immediately punched in another number. Rule felt Lily drawing nearer. A moment later, he heard her and Fagin talking on the other side of the wall. At first their words were indistinct; then Lily's voice rose, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding."
Fagin's low rumble was soothing. "… just a theory… my family… old stories and folklore."