Mulligan.

The summon slammed into his mind like a real, physical thing, so much so that Mulligan had to take a step back to regain balance. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought the Dark Lord was yelling at him. He walked down the length of the base, like Abigail before him, and bowed his head when he entered.

„It was careless of you to allow Jeremy Taylor to visit your office, and escape. See to it that the professor's assistant is eliminated. Tonight."

„Only the assistant?" Mulligan dared to look up. „Not Jeremy himself?"

„Jeremy will need special treatment," Malachi replied. He sat back down on his throne. Abigail, though she had entered the throne room, was nowhere to be found.

„My lord, where is the Dark Lady gone?" he asked stupidly.

„She has her task, you have your own," Malachi answered and dismissed Mulligan, but not before sending a message to him, one that was heard only by him. I know your thoughts.

Malachi knew what Mulligan had thought about the Dark Lady. Of course he knew. And when he said Jeremy needed special treatment, Mulligan also knew what Malachi meant. He did not need telepathy to tell him what it meant; he needed someone he could trust to deal with the Auror, and that left Mulligan out. A wise move on his part, as far as Mulligan was concerned. But even if Malachi had decided to entrust Mulligan with the mission to kill or kidnap or inconvenience Jeremy Taylor in some small way, the merchant did not think he would have the courage or the motive to try undermining the Dark Lord somehow. For the moment, at least.

For the moment, the blessed of Malachi were probably the only force he knew of that was not on the decline. Muggles and wizards alike had grown complacent, tired, but Malachi was actively recruiting men and women of both worlds. His forces were capable, competent – and yes, Mulligan included himself in that group, on account of his swift kidnapping of Eren. Three hundred well armed, well trained warriors. Greymist needed only say a word, and the full might of his thriving little realm would rise up to fight the stagnant world of wizards and the world of muggles. At this point they were more likely to lose against those billions, but they would inflict some serious damage in the process. And no one could even find Malachi unless he wanted them to. So how could they stop him?

For that reason, Mulligan decided that to be on the side of the new Dark Lord was to be on the winning side. He wasn't the only one. He knew plenty of people old and young who had joined with Malachi out of opportunism or desperation. They, like him, were hoping to assume the rank of nobility when the young man inaugurated his new world order. What men would not do, just to escape anonymity...

It was with great sadness that Mulligan came to the conclusion that Abigail would no longer play at being his secretary. She had been replaced now by someone, some boy who sat there at the desk, at the typewriter, looking half like a machine himself. The merchant shut the door of his office so that he and Eren would have a moment to themselves.

Eren sat bound and unconscious in a chair, and Mulligan saw no reason to delay. He strode to his desk and out of it produced his wand. He waved it in an S pattern and began to intone, „Avad–"

He was interrupted by the typewriter at his desk moving of its own accord. The execution would have to wait a moment and he sighed, putting his wand down and waiting for the message.

Irion's papers. Vault underneath Temple Church. Ten o'clock. You will receive more information as the plan develops.

He took the paper in his hands, frowning. They weren't exactly a talkative bunch, the blessed of Malachi. Their commands were terse even at the best of times, but he thought he understood this one. Some kind of document or documents were locked in a vault beneath Temple Church, and Mulligan would have to be there. He just couldn't yet say in what capacity. He used to be and remained talented in flight, even unsupported flight, and until this point most missions involving his direct presence had him serve as air support to a certain degree. But very well, he would stand by for more information. Now for Eren –

He wasn't in his chair.

Mulligan had scarcely the time to look to his right where he heard a rustle of clothes. All he saw was a fist an inch away from his face, and then darkness.