Warrick rolled his eyes. “Do not waste my time with supernatural nonsense. The bottom line is that you believe the kidnappers intend to harm the child, is that correct?”
“They do indeed. The ritual requires the boy’s soul to be supplanted by that of another. If they succeed, the dead child will take over the boy’s body.”
The duke gave a hollow laugh. “Do not tell me that you actually believe in this magic?”
“Do you?”
Warrick’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Ahhh.” The sound escaped his lips in a long, drawn-out breath. “I understand now. You believe this is all done at my behest, is that it?” A cold smile crept across his face. “I really must commend you, Inspector. Few of your fellow champions of the law have had the courage to accuse me of anything over the years, and none so creatively. I wonder, however, if you should have checked in with your superiors before coming here. Your chief—Reck, isn’t it?—strikes me as a sensible man, far too sensible to have allowed you to come here on a fool’s errand.”
Normally, a warning such as this, from a man such as Warrick, would have given Lenoir pause. Indeed his entire approach to police work had been shaped by ruthless and powerful men. It was their impunity that had poisoned him, turned him into the cynical, pragmatic creature he had become. Their taint had driven him into the arms of the green-eyed man. But all that was past. He was immune now. A dead man could not be bought, could not be hurt. With nothing to gain and nothing to fear, he was the one with impunity.
“I am not concerned about the chief,” Lenoir replied casually, “nor am I impressed by your bluster. Quite frankly, Your Grace, I am disappointed. I had sized you up as a different sort of man from those I am accustomed to dealing with. Thinly veiled threats are the weapon of the manipulative and the affected. I would have thought you more direct.”
Warrick’s expression darkened, and he leaned across the desk. “You are an excellent judge of character, Inspector. I have no need of veiled threats, for I can be very direct indeed. Therefore, I suggest you choose your next words carefully.”
Lenoir swallowed hard, in spite of himself. But when he spoke, his voice was firm. “Tell me what you know, and I will ensure that you have nothing to fear from the Metropolitan Police.” Vincent, of course, was another matter, but that was not Lenoir’s concern. “Continue to withhold the truth, and I will find the boy anyway, and all those associated with this crime will be punished severely. I have no doubt that it will end with executions.” No doubt whatsoever.
Warrick laughed softly, seemingly genuinely amused. “Do you really think you can intimidate me with the law?”
Lenoir returned his gaze implacably. “No, Your Grace, I do not.” He stared into Warrick’s eyes, letting the import of his words sink in.
The duke’s smile waned, but it did not disappear altogether. He regarded Lenoir with a newly appraising look. “You are a hard man, Lenoir. You must be very good at your job.”
“I used to be.”
The duke frowned, but did not otherwise comment on the remark. “In any case, I know nothing of these matters. If a boy has been kidnapped, it was not done on my orders.”
“Then you did not hire these Adali to restore your son to you?”
“Regrettably, there are few Adali of my acquaintance,” Warrick replied dryly. “Nor do I believe in magic, Adali or otherwise. What civilized man does? I doubt this has anything to do with my son at all. It would make more sense for you to focus your efforts on the communities where such beliefs are common. Look into the deaths of local Adali children. God knows they lose a tragic number every year.”
Lenoir considered the duke carefully. If he was lying, he was doing a credible job of it. That proved nothing, of course. “I do not think one needs to believe in magic to try something desperate. When we are desperate, we will try anything.”
“It sounds as though you speak from experience, Inspector.” Warrick’s eyes bored into him.
Lenoir did not take the bait. It was time to bring this conversation to a head. “I am absolutely certain that whoever has taken the boy is attempting to resurrect your child.” It was a lie, of course, and Warrick would probably see through it, but it was still worth trying. “As I told you, my source is credible. Unless you would have the blood of someone else’s son on your hands, I suggest you tell me what you know.”
He knew he had gone too far the moment he said it. Fury swept into Warrick’s eyes like a possessing demon, and he sprang to his feet so suddenly that Lenoir half expected him to leap across the desk. As it was, Warrick retained just enough composure to remain frozen in place, shaking with rage. Lenoir would have stood up himself, but he shrank beneath the force of the duke’s glare.
“Get out,” Warrick said, his voice low and tremulous. Lenoir opened his mouth to reply, but Warrick cut him off, saying, “I swear before God, Inspector, if I have to tell you again, I will do so with a blade.”
The words inspired no fear. Instead Lenoir’s breast flooded with fury of his own. Not at the duke, but at himself, at his own stupidity. He had overplayed his hand, and he would get nothing further from Warrick. The miscalculation might very well cost Zach his life.
Lenoir stormed down the long drive, cursing violently. He had learned nothing, nothing at all that would help him find Zach. Whatever Warrick knew, he would never divulge it now. A hard man, the duke had called him, words spoken with grudging respect. Lenoir had overestimated how far that would get him.
He glanced at the sky. It was still early. He had until dark to think of something, anything, that would keep both him and Zach alive.
CHAPTER 21
For the first time in several days, Zach knew where he was. That should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. If anything, it made him feel smaller, more forsaken, than ever before. That was because his captors had chosen the creepiest place in all of Kennian to stash him.
Zach had never much liked churches. When he was small, the nuns used to force him to attend prayers in the chapel at the orphanage, and every now and then he’d been dragged—literally—to weekend service at the larger of the two churches in the poor quarter. The nuns didn’t make him go anymore, though. They had long since grown tired of the pranks, the outbursts, the embarrassments. Zach had succeeded in making such a nuisance of himself that his immortal soul was deemed not worth the trouble, and that was fine by him. It wasn’t just that church was boring, though it was, or that its rituals were weird, though they were. Zach didn’t like the way church made him feel. He didn’t need to be told that it was wrong to steal, or to lie or cheat or any of the other things he did on a daily basis. God punished him for those things all the time, by making him go hungry, or letting him get beaten. The trouble was, God’s punishments forced him to commit those sins again, which in turn made God punish him more. Zach had asked the priests how he was supposed to break this cycle, and they’d told him to pray.
He wondered if he should pray now. It had never worked for him before; he still went hungry, still got beaten. But maybe God would hear him better if he prayed in a church. Churches were supposed to be Houses of God, after all, though admittedly Zach wasn’t sure about abandoned churches. He gazed up at the peeling frescoes and wondered if God was watching him through the sad eyes of the angels. If not God, maybe the angels themselves were watching, judging, already tallying the sum of his deeds so they would be ready with their verdict when he . . .
No, he told himself firmly, pushing the thought away. It’s just a building. And you won’t be here for long. It wasn’t that hard to convince himself, since he was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to die like this. He’d always figured that if he got it someday, it would be at the hands of some archcriminal he’d been chasing for months. That was how big-shot inspectors went down. They didn’t get snuffed in churches for no reason at all.