On the other hand, in a weird way some of this was starting to make sense, but the sense it made was badly warped, and I knew I was out of my depth. I told Ghost to watch the prisoners; then I walked into the kitchen to make a call. Church answered on the first ring.

I said, “Look, Boss, I know you’re busy—I’m busier.”

“Are you at the safe house?”

“Yes and no. I’m here, but it’s no longer a safe house.”

A slight pause, then he said, “I’m in video conference with Dr. Sanchez and Circe. I’ll cycle you in. Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“Cowboy!” Rudy exclaimed. “How are—?”

“Not a social call, Rude. I’m going to give this to you fast.”

They listened while I told him what had just happened. I heard Rudy curse and Circe gasp when I repeated the word “Upier.” Everyone started asking questions before I even finished. I had to yell to get them to shut the hell up. “Hey, guys—I’m in a compromised safe house with dead bodies and two wounded prisoners. I’m calling for field support, not a panel discussion.”

“Tell us what you need, Captain,” barked Church.

“Sure. Let’s start with this Upier stuff. Do we believe in vampires?” I asked. “The DMS, I mean.”

“No,” said Rudy and Circe.

Church did not answer.

“Boss,” I prompted, “say something, ’cause you’re scaring me here.”

“We have to keep an open mind,” said Church.

“Mother of God,” said Rudy.

“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded. “Answer the question. Do we believe in vampires or not?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Church.

Interlude Seven

Interlude Seven

The Leaping Stag

Newburgh, Yorkshire

January 30, 1193 C.E.

Sir Guy heard a scream as he stepped out of his room. The whole tavern was alive with shouts and yells and the stamping of boots as patrons and staff ran toward the front door.

“What is it?” demanded Sir Guy.

“It’s little Mary!” cried one of the tavern boys. “They’re bringing her in a cart!”

Sir Guy lingered for a moment, lips pursed, smoothing the wings of his mustache with two fingers. He heard a footfall and turned to see Brother Reynard, the little monk Father Nicodemus had sent to accompany him on this mission.

“You heard?” asked Sir Guy.

Brother Reynard nodded. “Is this what we came for?”

“Let’s hope so.”

They went downstairs and outside to join the crowd that was gathering around a rickety wooden cart pulled by a donkey. Sir Guy pushed his way through the throng. “Where is the reeve of this shire?”

A warty little man with a cheap sash of office was bent over the cart and looked up.

“I am, milord,” he said, snatching his hat off his head and knuckling his forelock. “Faville is my name, sir.”