“I don’t remember, but I’m sure you’re correct,” I admit with a nod. “That leaves us with St. Peter’s in the East. It’s been a while since I’ve visited Oxford, but I know I didn’t visit any of the churches. I’m not sure of the layout.”
“We need schematics for the building,” Gatlin says as he moves around the room pulling together the weapons and gear that were delivered while we were out.
Mathias grabs his laptop off the nearby table. “I’m on it.” Fingers flying, he’s soon lost to the world of technology.
Hawthorne shifts restlessly beside me. “I assume we’re headed there tonight?”
Jamison quickly nods. “We can’t afford to wait.”
With a sigh, Gatlin stops what he’s doing and motions to the hotel phone. “Think your friend Sheraton will bring us some late dinner or rather…” He looks at his watch. “An early breakfast?”
I nod and start to stand, but he lays a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m quite capable of ordering us food,” he assures me in his usual gruff tone. “What would you like?”
“That depends,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. “How are we getting to Oxford?”
Jamison tilts his head. “It’s a relatively short distance. Portal, why?”
I grimace. I’ll definitely need something easy on my stomach. Turning back to Gatlin, I give him my order. “Toast, please.”
He immediately shakes his head. “You need something more than a few slices of bread. We don’t know how long it will take us to find this group or how long we’ll be there.”
“I’m not that hungry,” I insist.
He narrows his gold eyes but says nothing more. “Jamison?”
“Club sandwich,” Jamison orders.
“Omelet,” Hawthorne adds with a look at Gatlin, who nods. “And you know what Mathias needs.”
While Gatlin’s on the phone, Mathias connects a gadget to his laptop. Clicking a few more buttons, he projects the schematics on the wall for all of us to see.
“Clever,” I murmur.
He clears his throat and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Thank you.” Using a red laser, he circles a couple of areas. “Based on the information I found, the nave and chancel were part of the original structure along with the crypt.”
Tapping on his computer brings up another image of a room made of stone with low ceilings. “This is the crypt. As you cansee, it’s the length of the original nave and chancel above it. There’s a problem, though.”
I glance at him. “What?”
“In the 1960s, they changed it from a church to a library and made it a part of St. Edmund Hall. It’s open to Oxford students and faculty,” he informs us. “It seems like it would be too risky for them to store relics and hold meetings there without anyone knowing. Still believe they would use it as their base?”
I think through the original logic and come to the same conclusion. “This has to be it. Crypts were designed to house relics and sacred objects. Maybe there’s a priest hole or a passageway to another building or something.”
Jamison studies me. “What’s your level of certainty?”
I bite my lip, feeling the pressure of their eyes on me. “That’s where we need to go next.” I’m certain of it. “Even if it’s only to get the next key or clue or whatever.”
Hawthorne’s green eyes lock on Jamison. “I agree.”
The elevator dings, and Gatlin, who’s standing guard by the elevator, immediately pulls the gun from behind his back. “Who are you?”
With those words, we all stand to confront the stranger near the elevator with a cart. Jamison and Hawthorne silently slide in front of me, and I take a step back. My body can absorb most magic, but there’s been a few times when it’s proved to be lethal. Thankfully, death isn’t a state that’s permanent for me, but it sure hurts like hell, and it takes time for me to regenerate. Time we don’t have.
Tall, with brown hair and an average face, the man waves a hand toward the cart. “You ordered food, correct?”
Jamison eyes him closely, then glances at Gatlin, who shakes his head.
