"Taking the children to her mother's house," Forthill said. "She should be back soon."

I let out a breath of relief. "Anna Valmont?"

"Guest room. Sleeping."

"I need to call Martin," Susan said. "Excuse me." She stepped aside into the small study.

"Coffee, doughnut?" Father Forthill asked.

I sat down at the table. "Father, you've never been closer to converting me."

He laughed. "The Fantastic Forthill, saving souls one Danish at a time." He produced the nectar of the gods themselves in Dunkin Donuts paper sacks and Styrofoam cups, taking some for himself as well. "I've always admired your ability to make jokes when faced with adversity. Matters are grave."

"I sort of noticed," I said through a mouthful of glazed doughnut. "Where's Michael?"

"He and Sanya went to St. Louis to investigate possible Denarian activity. They were both arrested by the local police."

"They what? What for?"

"No charges were filed," Forthill said. "They were arrested, held for twenty-four hours, and released."

"Sand trap," I said. "Someone wanted them out of the way."

Forthill nodded. "So it would seem. I spoke to them about two hours ago. They're on their way back now and should be here soon."

"Then as soon as they get here, we have to go get Shiro back."

Forthill frowned and nodded. "What happened to you last night?"

I told him the short version-all about the art auction and the Denarians, but I elided over the details afterward, which were none of his chaste business. And which would have embarrassed me to tell. I'm not particularly religious, but come on, the man was a priest.

When I finished, Forthill took off his glasses and stared hard at me. He had eyes the color of robin's eggs, and they could be disturbingly intense. "Nicodemus," he said quietly. "Are you sure that is what he called himself?"

"Yeah."

"Without a doubt?"

"Yeah. We had a nice chat."

Forthill folded his hands and exhaled slowly. "Mother of God. Harry, could you describe him for me?"

I did, while the old priest listened. "Oh, and he was always wearing a rope around his neck. Not like a ship's hawser, a thin rope, like clothesline. I thought it was a string tie at first."

Forthill's fingers reached up to touch the crucifix at his throat. "Tied in a noose?"

"Yeah."

"What did you think of him?" he asked.

I looked down at my half-eaten doughnut. "He scared the hell out of me. He's - bad, I guess. Wrong."

"The word you are looking for is 'evil,' Harry."

I shrugged, ate the rest of the doughnut, and didn't argue.

"Nicodemus is an ancient foe of the Knights of the Cross," Forthill said quietly. "Our information about him is limited. He has made it a point to find and destroy our archives every other century or so, so we cannot be sure who he is or how long he has been alive. He may even have walked the earth when the Savior was crucified."

"Didn't look a day over five hundred," I mumbled. "How come some Knight hasn't gone and parted his hair for him?"

"They've tried," Forthill said.

"He's gotten away?"

Forthill's eyes and voice stayed steady. "He's killed them. He's killed all of them. More than a hundred Knights. More than a thousand priests, nuns, monks. Three thousand men, women, children. And those are only the ones listed in the pages recovered from the destroyed archives. Only two Knights have ever faced him and survived."

I had a flash of insight. "Shiro is one of them. That's why Nicodemus was willing to trade me for him."

Forthill nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. "Likely. Though the Denarians grow in power by inflicting pain and suffering on others. They become better able to use the strength the Fallen give them. And they gain the most from hurting those meant to counter them."

"He's torturing Shiro," I said.

Forthill put his hand on mine for a moment, his voice quiet, calming. "We must have faith. We may be in time to help him."

"I thought the whole point of the Knights was to deal out justice," I said. "The Fists of God and all that. So why is it that Nicodemus can slaughter them wholesale?"

"For much the same reason any man can kill another," Forthill said. "He is intelligent. Cautious. Skilled. Ruthless. Like his patron fallen angel."

I guessed at the name. "Badassiel?"

Forthill almost smiled. "Anduriel. He was a captain of Lucifer's, after the Fall. Anduriel leads the thirty Fallen who inhabit the coins. Nicodemus wasn't seduced into Anduriel's domination. It's a partnership. Nicodemus works with Fallen as a near-equal and of his free will. No one of the priesthood, of any of the Knightly Orders, of the Knights of the Cross, has so much as scratched him."

"The noose," I guessed. "The rope. It's like the Shroud, isn't it? It has power."

Forthill nodded. "We think so, yes. The same rope the betrayer used in Jerusalem."

"How many Denarians are working with him? I take it that they probably don't get along with each other."

"You are correct, thank God. Nicodemus rarely has more than five or six other Denarians working with him, according to our information. Usually, he keeps three others nearby."

"Snakeboy, demon-girl, and Ursiel."

"Yes."

"How many coins are running around the world?"

"Only nine are accounted for at this time. Ten, with Ursiel's coin."

"So Nicodemus could theoretically have nineteen other Fallen working with him. Plus a side order of goons."

"Goons?"

"Goons. Normal hired hands, they looked like."

"Ah. They aren't normal," Forthill said. "From what we have been able to tell, they are almost a small nation unto themselves. Fanatics. Their service is hereditary, passed on from father to son, mother to daughter."

"This gets better and better," I said.

"Harry," Forthill said. "I know of no tactful way to ask this, so I will simply ask. Did he give you one of the coins?"

"He tried," I said. "I turned him down."

Forthill's eyes stayed on my face for a moment before he let out a breath. "I see. Do you remember the sigil upon it?"

I grunted in affirmation, picked up a chocolate-covered jelly, and drew the symbol in the chocolate with a forefinger.

Forthill tilted his head, frowning. "Lasciel," he murmured.

"Lasciel?" I said. It came out muffled, since I was licking chocolate off my finger.

"The Seducer," Forthill murmured. He smeared his finger over the chocolate, erasing the sigil. "Lasciel is also called the Webweaver and the Temptress," he said, between licks. "Though it seems odd that Nicodemus would want to free her. Typically, she does not follow Anduriel's lead."

"A rebel angel among rebel angels?"

"Perhaps," Forthill said. "It is something better not discussed, for now."

Susan stepped out of the little office, a wireless phone to her ear. "All right," she said to the phone, and walked past us, jerking one hand at us to tell us to follow her. Father Forthill lifted his eyebrows, and we went out to the Carpenter family's living room.

It was a fairly huge room divided into several clumps of furniture. The television was in the smallest clump, and still looked about three sizes too small. Susan marched over to it, flicked it on, and flipped through stations.

She stopped on a local station, a news report, that showed a helicopter angle of a building being consumed by a raging fire. About a dozen yellow-and-red fire trucks circled around it, but it was obvious that they were only containing the fire. The building was lost.

"What's this?" Forthill asked.

"Dammit," I snarled, and turned away from the television, pacing.

"It's the building Shiro took us to last night," Susan said. "The Denarians were in some tunnels beneath it."

"Not anymore," I snapped. "They've left and covered their tracks. Hell, they've had what? Six hours? They could be a couple of states away by now."