He laughed. "The Fantastic Forthill, saving souls one Danish at a time." He produced the nectar of the gods themselves in Dunkin Donuts paper sacks and Styrofoam cups, taking some for himself as well. "I've always admired your ability to make jokes when faced with adversity. Matters are grave."

"I sort of noticed," I said through a mouthful of glazed doughnut. "Where's Michael?"

"He and Sanya went to St. Louis to investigate possible Denarian activity. They were both arrested by the local police."

"They what? What for?"

"No charges were filed," Forthill said. "They were arrested, held for twenty-four hours, and released."

"Sand trap," I said. "Someone wanted them out of the way."

Forthill nodded. "So it would seem. I spoke to them about two hours ago. They're on their way back now and should be here soon."

"Then as soon as they get here, we have to go get Shiro back."

Forthill frowned and nodded. "What happened to you last night?"

I told him the short version-all about the art auction and the Denarians, but I elided over the details afterward, which were none of his chaste business. And which would have embarrassed me to tell. I'm not particularly religious, but come on, the man was a priest.

When I finished, Forthill took off his glasses and stared hard at me. He had eyes the color of robin's eggs, and they could be disturbingly intense. "Nicodemus," he said quietly. "Are you sure that is what he called himself?"

"Yeah."

"Without a doubt?"

"Yeah. We had a nice chat."

Forthill folded his hands and exhaled slowly. "Mother of God. Harry, could you describe him for me?"

I did, while the old priest listened. "Oh, and he was always wearing a rope around his neck. Not like a ship's hawser, a thin rope, like clothesline. I thought it was a string tie at first."

Forthill's fingers reached up to touch the crucifix at his throat. "Tied in a noose?"

"Yeah."

"What did you think of him?" he asked.

I looked down at my half-eaten doughnut. "He scared the hell out of me. He's … bad, I guess. Wrong."

"The word you are looking for is 'evil,' Harry."

I shrugged, ate the rest of the doughnut, and didn't argue.

"Nicodemus is an ancient foe of the Knights of the Cross," Forthill said quietly. "Our information about him is limited. He has made it a point to find and destroy our archives every other century or so, so we cannot be sure who he is or how long he has been alive. He may even have walked the earth when the Savior was crucified."

"Didn't look a day over five hundred," I mumbled. "How come some Knight hasn't gone and parted his hair for him?"

"They've tried," Forthill said.

"He's gotten away?"