“We do not wish to leave our Priestess in the grip of the false Priestess who has taken her,” said the mouse priest. “We understand that it will be dangerous. We do not mind the risk.”

“None of us do,” added Ryan. “Verity’s not my family, but she’s my friend. Whatever has to be done, I’m going to do it.”

Dominic nodded. “Then perhaps there is a chance after all. But we need to move, and we need to move quickly.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Uncle Mike. “Let’s get started.”

We all stopped interrupting Dominic after that—even the mice were quiet—as we allowed him to get down to the business of properly explaining what he knew. According to Dominic, Margaret had been working on her own when she set the trap that eventually snared Verity: the anti-telepathy charm we took off her unconscious body was laced with a compulsion spell that forced Verity right back into her nasty little clutches. It was a neat trick. I might even have been impressed by it, if it hadn’t been so likely to get Verity killed.

Dominic only knew that Verity had been taken because he’d been with one of the other Covenant agents—Peter Brandt—when Margaret called and asked for backup. Peter had gone without him, and Dominic had followed at what he guessed would be a safe distance. “Thanks to Verity and her maddening insistence on taking the rooftops whenever possible, I had a whole set of routes open to me that they barely realized existed. I was not seen.”

Privately, I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t interrupt. We were out of time for interruptions.

There are times when I wonder how humans get anything done. Talking is so slow compared to the speed of thought. I could have told everyone everything Dominic knew in a few seconds, if I’d been attuned to them all and willing to risk bruising their brains a little bit. And then I realize that thinking like that just proves that I’ll always be a cuckoo, no matter how hard I try not to be, and I have to force myself back into the slow, comforting safety of speech.

“Where’s Verity being held?” asked Uncle Mike.

“An old warehouse that the Covenant purchased during the last purge. Much like this locale,” Dominic indicated the Nest, “it has been in private hands for so long that most have ceased viewing it as a building. It has become a part of the landscape.”

“Well, then, I guess we’re landscapers,” said Uncle Mike. “We’re going to need some muscle for this.”

Slowly, Ryan smiled. “I think I can help you with that.”

Istas looked up at him, her thoughts turning quizzical. Then she smiled as well. “Oh, lovely,” she said. “I do so enjoy spending time with my coworkers in a social setting.”

Ryan was on the phone with Kitty, explaining why he needed to borrow half her staff for a potentially deadly mission, when my own phone started ringing. Phones are tricky. They have no minds for me to read, which makes them a good exercise in telling what people mean from nothing but tone. That also makes them frustrating as hell, and a bad idea when I’m already stressed. I pulled it out of my pocket, checking the display to see who was calling. I was about to press “ignore” when Uncle Mike’s hand landed on my shoulder.

“Take it,” he advised. “You need to talk to him, and it’s not like you’re going anywhere dangerous.”

“Right,” I said, not sure whether I should be annoyed with him for meddling or grateful for the excuse. I pressed “answer” instead, bringing the phone to my ear as I started walking away from the others. If I was going to have this conversation, I was going to have it in “my” room. “Hi, Artie. What’s up?”

“I hadn’t heard from you in a few hours, and you’re not online. You’ve got the Covenant in town, Verity’s not answering her phone, I got worried, hey-presto, I’m calling you.” Artie’s voice was a warm, familiar presence in my ear, conjuring images of afternoons spent lying on his bedroom floor arguing about whether Wolverine’s claws could pierce Captain America’s shield. (They so could, assuming Wolverine cared enough to try. And the fact that I know that is why Artie and I get along so well, and why Verity despairs of me ever going on a real date, with a non-virtual boy.)

Those comfortable thoughts were followed by a chill sliding down my spine, chasing all the warmth away. Artie didn’t know that Verity was missing. Uncle Mike knew, but apart from that, no one in the family had been notified. “It’s good to hear your voice,” I said, with utter sincerity, and closed my eyes as I walked up the stairs. Maybe if I looked at nothing, I wouldn’t feel so bad about lying by omission. Maybe. Probably not, though.

I always tell people not to lie to the telepath. It sucks to realize that my rules don’t swing both ways.

“Yours, too, Sars,” said Artie. He paused. “Everything okay with you? You sound tense.”

“Covenant’s in town, remember? We’re bunking in an undisclosed location with what feels like half the cast of The Muppet Show, since Verity doesn’t want any of us to wind up dead. And Uncle Mike is here, which means everything’s been booby-trapped.”

“I bet Antimony would love it there.”

I laughed at that, opening my eyes. I was at the top of the stairs by then; I needed to be able to see if I wanted to find my room. “She’d be sawing holes in the floor so she could make actual pit traps, and we’d never get our security deposit back.”

“I said she’d love it, not that she’d be useful.” Artie sounded like he was buying my story, which helped me relax even more. “Any chance you’ll be back online tonight?”

“Well . . .” I glanced guiltily down at the slaughterhouse floor. Everyone seemed very busy getting ready for battle. Uncle Mike was deep in conversation with the mice on the table; Ryan was on the phone; Istas was relacing her boots. None of them appeared to have particularly noticed that I was gone. That didn’t mean I was off the hook. “No, I don’t think so. We’re doing a field thing, and Uncle Mike wants me to be there.”

“You’re doing ‘a field thing’? You hate field things.”

“That doesn’t stop Very from making me do them every other weekend.”

“No, but you always complain about them, and you’re not complaining now.” It’s impossible to pick up thoughts through the phone, and for once, I was glad; the anxiety in Artie’s voice was loud enough without any help from my telepathy. “Why aren’t you complaining, Sarah? Are you really okay?”