“After all Cevora had done for him, for his family, to turn away over a few years' misfortune? The bastard! Ah, but I knew better, didn't I? I knew the lion could never be tamed. I knew from the old texts that Cevora was a hunter, a predator, from the days before the Pact! And I knew that he had laid upon me the task of shedding the blood of those who had drawn Delacroix from his embrace!”
“And your pet demon, Claude?” she demanded, ignoring the creature's rough chuckle at her description. “How does Cevora feel about that?”
But the Apostle merely shrugged. “Those gods hostile to the Pact were cast down into darkness, and their servants with them-but not all those servants are so content to remain in hell. How does Cevora feel about me calling one of them up? So long as the demon remains loyal to him, rather than its former master, I doubt he cares one way or the other.
“It shouldn't have been necessary,” he continued, a bit more calmly as he realized that even Jean Luc and his hired thugs were gawping at him somewhat askance. “I'd hoped that when you and your ilk were dead, he would turn himself back entirely to Cevora.”
“But he did!” Widdershins protested. “He abandoned Olgun!”
“His heart was never truly in it. I don't think he'd ever have accepted his part in restoring Cevora to his rightful glory. I suppose I should thank you, in a way. Had I not had to eliminate your tawdry little sect anyway, I would never have had the opportunity to do what Cevora demands be done. And speaking of what must be done…” Claude raised a hand, and the demon tensed, awaiting his command.
But Widdershins's mind was racing faster still, spinning over every unanswered question, every detail left unspoken.
And in her mind, she heard a voice. Not Olgun, no; for all their years, he'd never come to her with actual words. She didn't think he could.
No, this was the voice of William de Laurent. And whether his spirit was truly with her still, or Olgun was using another's words as his own, or she was simply recalling what he'd had to say, they resounded within her soul.
A dark power in Davillon. The gods of the Pact.
Sacrifice.
And Widdershins knew.
“You're not murdering me!” she exclaimed, understanding finally how truly mad Claude must be. “You're murdering Olgun!” She felt her patron's outrage mix with her own, the fury of an immortal contemplating his end.
Despite himself, the Apostle of Cevora grinned, and for an instant stayed his hand. The demon grumbled, but made no move.
“Go on,” Claude said, sounding almost eager to see if she'd figured it out.
“Your god is stagnant,” Widdershins continued, stalling desperately for time. “You can't exactly spread his worship. Alexandre has no heirs and his heart's not in the faith, and you've got no pull with Cevora's worshippers beyond House Delacroix. Maybe you sacrifice a few people here and there, but that's a pretty big risk for very little reward.
“But if you kill me…”
“You are Olgun's last living worshipper, Adrienne,” William had told her. “If you perish, so, I fear, does he.”
“He's the sacrifice,” she concluded firmly. “You're sacrificing a god to a god. No wonder the High Church sensed this coming. That must be an enormous amount of power!”
“Bravo, Adrienne. Alexandre really was right about you.”
“Yeah, maybe. I'm no priest, Claude, but even I know that sacrifice is a violation of the Pact, no matter who or what the victim is. I've got to think killing a god is another one, even if he's not part of the Pact.”
“It is,” Claude agreed. “That's why de Laurent had to die.”
Widdershins actually smiled, though it was a smile that could have frozen saltwater. “So it looks like an attack on the Church and the gods of the Pact from outside. I kill the archbishop, my god and I come after you, and you kill us in ‘self-defense' while everyone else in the Church is looking for an enemy that doesn't exist. By the time anyone knows otherwise, Cevora's got his influx of power, and it's not worth the trouble to try to boot his faith out of the Pact.”
This time, Claude actually applauded. “I expect Cevora to be potent enough that the others cannot take action against him-but otherwise, correct again! I never did give you proper credit, I'm afraid.”
“You,” Widdershins told him pointedly, “are insane. Stark-raving. Six heifers short of a herd.”
“So say all who cannot see. I'd hoped to offer Cevora the power of the sacrifice years ago, but of course, you spoiled that by escaping.”
“So sorry to inconvenience you.”
“Indeed. But you're here now, and-”
“No, I didn't mean then. I meant now. Sorry to inconvenience you, but I'm not Olgun's last worshipper. Killing me gains you squat.”
For the first time, Claude seemed shaken. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Claude, what happened to giving me due credit?” The man scowled, but still he listened. “It's been a couple of years,” Widdershins reminded him, as though hammering home a simple concept to an even simpler child. “Do you really think I've kept Olgun a secret from everyone?” She paused thoughtfully, as though mentally tallying sums. “There's at least, oh, eight or ten of us now. After seeing the boons he grants me, how could they not believe?” It was her turn to shrug, doing her best to ignore Olgun's startled bleat. “Not a large following, even compared to his old one, but quite large enough to royally muck up your little plan, yes?”
The Apostle went rigid, and then laughed aloud. “Oh, Adrienne, you had me going for a moment there. But-”
“I'm quite serious, Claude. And either way, can you afford to risk it?”
The scowl returned, tenfold. “I could just let my pet kill you. Cevora would know instantly that you lied, as he fed on Olgun's essence.”
“And if I'm not lying, I'd be dead, and you'd have no way of finding the others.” Widdershins smiled.
Claude drummed his fingers on a nearby chair. “Are you offering to lead us to them, Adrienne?”
She shrugged. “This has always been about survival. You go after them, not me, I renounce Olgun, like Alexandre did, and everyone's happy. Maybe I can even help you in running the Delacroix businesses-for a percentage, of course.”
Please, Olgun…please understand…. Trust me….
“Agreed!” Claude said instantly, holding forth his hand.
Widdershins took it, and for a moment they stared into one another's eyes. Both of them were lying, and both of them knew it. Claude only needed to know how much of what she'd told him was a lie.
“I'm looking forward to it, Claude.” She gestured toward the northwest. “If you leave the market heading that way, you go about seven blocks, make a-”
She stopped at his sudden laughter. “Oh, I don't think so, Adrienne. I'm not remotely that stupid. You'll lead us to your former brethren. Personally.”
Ah, well. It'd been worth a shot.
“Of course,” she told him. “Whichever.”
“And you'll be leaving Alexandre's rapier here, as well.”
Widdershins just shrugged, struggling to keep all emotion from her face. “It's a ways across town; I hope you're all in the mood for a walk.”
The Apostle craned his neck, wrapping his heavy cloak around him to fend off the late-night chill. He watched for a long moment, scowling at the peeling walls and missing shingles.
“A pawnbroker's, Adrienne?” he asked skeptically.
“Why not? The company's not doing well, so they've plenty of extra room for rent. It's as good a shrine as any.”