Thus suitably attired, Widdershins marched across the road and pounded on the door. The hidden panel had barely scooted open when she announced, “Widdershins. Member. I've every right to be here, and I don't want to hear it. Open the stupid door.”
Eyes blinked, skin crinkled, the panel slid shut, and-after a prolonged stretch in which Widdershins was starting to become convinced that she would have to pick the lock-the door creaked inward. Her chin forward and nose in the air as though she'd never for a heartbeat doubted that her way would be cleared, she cast a single nod toward the woman currently guarding the door, steadfastly ignored Olgun as he softly laughed at her, and proceeded into the guild's twisted hallways.
Her plan, which had begun as something to the effect of “Barge in on Remy or the Shrouded Lord and make them listen” had by now evolved into the much more intricate and political plan of “Knock politely first, then barge in on Remy or the Shrouded Lord and make them listen.” Whether either of these plans would have panned out, in their original or modified forms, became a moot point, however. Just as Widdershins was stalking past the heavy door to the guild's chapel, the iron portal slid open to reveal a handful of flickering candles around the feet of the idol to the Shrouded God.
And, somewhat more importantly, the priestess Igraine Vernadoe silhouetted against that dim and dancing halo.
“A moment of your time, Widdershins.” It was not phrased as a request.
Widdershins gave an instant's thought to blowing it off and continuing on her way, but she decided-even without Olgun's warning-that offending one of the Finders' top-three leaders, particularly one who was already harboring more than her share of suspicions, was not the best path to either success in her current endeavor or a long and happy life in general.
“Sure thing,” she said, turning on her heel and stepping so swiftly into the shrine that Igraine had to retreat a frantic step to let her pass. “Whatcha need?”
“Don't you think this charade has gone on long enough?” Igraine demanded.
“Uh…What?”
“Still playing? How foolish do you think I am, anyway?”
“What are my choices?”
The priestess's skin, naturally dark-hued to begin with, went almost mahogany, and her mouth twisted in a scowl. “I know there's something unnatural about you. I've warned you of this before.”
“Yes, but-”
“And this thing that's stalking Davillon? I know you're involved with it. I've heard the tale you told Lambert.”
“But I-”
“And now we hear that the Church is pressuring the Guard for your arrest? You expect me to believe that's a coincidence?”
“Wait, they're doing what?” Widdershins was rapidly starting to feel that she'd been thrown completely from the saddle of a wildly bucking conversation. “When did that happen?”
“Obviously, they've determined some link between you and these events. Maybe due to your involvement with de Laurent's death, I don't know. But I do know that it's time, and well past time, for you to tell us precisely what's going on in Davillon, and what your part in it might be. At which point, I'll know whether to advise the Shrouded Lord to have you killed or just expelled.”
Widdershins only realized that she'd narrowed her gaze at the priestess when the floor and the ceiling went blurry. “What happened,” she asked softly, “to ‘I have nothing against you personally, Widdershins’?”
“That,” Igraine said, her shoulders stiff, “was before it became blatantly obvious that we had something not only supernatural but murderous haunting our streets-and before we lost several of our own Finders to it. I've told you before, I know there's something off about you, something unnatural. I haven't determined how you're involved in all this, but between what's happening now and your complicity in the demonic attack against the Guild last year, I've no doubt whatsoever that you are involved.”
“Fine! I was just on my way to see the Shrouded Lord, and explain some of this to him. You're welcome to come along and-”
“I think not. You'll tell me-everything, not ‘some of this’-and I'll decide which parts of it need to be brought to his attention, and which fall under my purview as priestess.”
“Uh, no.” Widdershins cast an exasperated glance ceiling-ward and turned toward the door. “Tag along or not, but I'm going.”
Igraine clamped a hand down on Widdershins bicep. “I said-!”
The priestess swallowed whatever the rest of the sentence might have been, very nearly along with her own tongue. Her reflexes augmented by Olgun's power, Widdershins swiveled away from Igraine even as she stepped toward her, yanking the taller woman off-balance. For an instant Widdershins stood with her back toward the tottering Igraine, and then the thief stuck a leg out behind her, between the other woman's own, and shoved with her elbow. Igraine toppled backward with a faint screech-only to find that Widdershins, with blatantly unnatural speed, had actually pulled away and spun around to catch her before she hit the floor.
Except that what Igraine felt in the small of her back, supporting a good amount of her weight, was not Widdershins's hand, but the pommel of her main gauche.
“You realize,” Widdershins said, her tone casual, “that if I hadn't held the dagger point down, you'd be dead now?”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Igraine croaked, staring up at Widdershins's face, and the idol of the Shrouded God beyond. It peered back at them both, as indifferent as ever.
The priestess's weight was beginning to become awkward, given how precariously balanced she was, but Widdershins refused to let the strain show in either her expression or her voice. “So you see how this proves I'm not the enemy here, right?”
“Proves…You attacked me!”
“Actually, you grabbed me first.” Then, before Igraine could protest, “Look, if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead, and I could tell whatever story I wanted, yes? And if I had something to hide, I wouldn't have attacked you at all, because I wouldn't have wanted you to know what I could do. So obviously, since I went this far but didn't hurt you, it can only mean that you can trust me.”
Igraine looked dizzier now than she'd been when she was actively in the process of falling over. “I wouldn't know how to begin to argue with that.”
“Good, because honestly, I don't know what half of it meant.”
“Can I get up?”
“Oh, sure.” Widdershins clasped Igraine's arm with her free hand, moved the fist holding the dagger (the pommel of which had certainly left an impressive bruise in the priestess's back, but otherwise hadn't harmed her in the slightest), and helped leverage the woman to a more or less upright position.
Igraine coughed once, then did what she could to smooth out the new rumples in her cassock of office. “You're awfully fast,” she noted.
“I've been told that.”
“Do you really think that assaulting me was the best way for you to make your case?”
Widdershins blanched, though she tried her best to keep it from her face. What had she been thinking? True, she'd never even considered actually striking with the blade, but even so, she'd just been so furious…