Jeremy and Hermione, her disguise removed, returned to the surface to find Eren profusely apologizing to some old lady in a wheelchair. She spoke what was definitely not English – Vietnamese, it sounded like – but Jeremy did not need to know the language to know whatever she had said was not very polite. The lady kept speaking as she turned away in her wheelchair, the incessant ranting joining a chorus of dozens of other tourists all trying to be louder than the person next to them, a horrible confusion of tongues. Eren returned to the elevator–casket he was guarding, anger and embarassment plain on his face, and they thought it better not to query him on what just happened with that old lady. „Tell me something good," he demanded.
„Irion's papers are not here. He has taken them home with him."
„That's not good."
„We're well aware," Hermione said. „We'll go pay master Irion a visit. He lives in a small village called Salcott, in a big blue house at the end of Rose Lane."
„Let's go then," Eren said. Hermione and Jeremy concurred and they departed the circular chamber and started pushing their way through the throng of insufferably loud tourists. But when Hermione and Eren exited, Jeremy was not with them.
He felt his call. He felt him. Greymist was inside.
I have dreamt for so long.
I ran through an endless hallway, and every door was locked.
Every door except one, but that door was not supposed to ever, ever be opened.
But I had no choice. I was being chased. I opened the door that should've remained closed.
He walked back through the noisy tourists, back to the circular chamber, back to the stone effigies, all the while holding onto the vial of the Angel which Eren had given him. Did he dare do it? Was he really going to unleash it? In a church?
There he stood, hands at his back. Heavy–looking black work shoes, beige work pants that were worn out at the knees, a dark green bomber jacket over a black hoodie... Jeremy wasn't sure if he had ever seen the self–proclaimed dark lord look the part, but he had to admit the man knew how to blend in. No one ever paid any mind to the blue collar workers. In most places, it just took a hi–viz vest and a clipboard to pass through unnoticed. It begged the question, though. Did Greymist just arrive, or was he inside all along and they just did not spot him?
As Jeremy walked to him, something happened. The noise of the tourists, hitherto omnipresent, was suddenly hushed. He looked back to see that the visitors were, in fact, still there, but the closer he got to the self–proclaimed dark lord the quieter they became, and by the time he was standing beside Greymist and looking down on the six stone effigies, all noise disappeared completely. He squeezed the vial in his pocket a little more tightly as he approached him, the monster, the demon–
„Hello, Remy," Greymist greeted him. Did he know what Jeremy had in his pocket? Was that why he was here? No, Jeremy would've felt him if he tried to probe his mind for information. But then again, there were other ways of knowing.
„Remy? My dad used to call me Remy," Jeremy replied with a smile that was more teeth than sincere joy.
„Yes. And your mother used to call you the hellspawn," Greymist went on, unperturbed by Jeremy's sickly sweet tone of voice or by the fact that the Auror was standing way too close to him, hands in his pockets. For a moment Jeremy wondered if it would be worth it to throw the vial on the ground right now with as much force as possible and then say Greymist's name.
„And what did your parents call you? Oh, that's right..." Jeremy said and trailed off. It wasn't worth finishing the retort. They both knew how it would end. It was a childish game they were playing, yes, but if Greymist would start by letting Jeremy know he knew some details from his private life, then Jeremy felt he had little choice but to respond in kind.
Greymist did not seem particularly incensed by Jeremy's remark. He stared down at the statues of knights and scratched his beard. „I'll have to shave one of these days," Jeremy thought he heard him say to himself.
„Why are you here?" Jeremy decided to be as direct as he could be.
„The man who wants to get down to business," Greymist replied. He sounded impressed, but Jeremy was not sure if the tone of his voice was sincere. He held on to his vial. Pain briefly pulsed through the wound in his side. „Anxious to get down to business, are we? Yes, let us have a nice little chat where I tell you all about my plans and you can figure out a way to stop me..."
Jeremy shrugged. „I'm only asking because you're definitely not here for the pleasure of my company."
„Indeed. For some time now Temple Church has been on my list of places I had to visit. Ever since I read about it in the Da Vinci Code. Such a fascinating church, so many secrets to be discovered..."
„Well, I wish you luck in finding the Holy Grail," Jeremy said, not quite sure what the purpose of this conversation was. Greymist was not the guy to show up just to gloat, so there had to be some other purpose to this meeting. Maybe he just wanted to get some things off his chest?
„Temple Church is a truly fascinating thing," Greymist remarked. „These effigies strike me as a little strange, though. Why would they put six of them on this side, and five on the other? Why not make it a bit symmetrical, if they already had eleven of them?"
Jeremy did not notice it until the other pointed it out. Yes, six effigies... He looked, truly looked, at the one before which Greymist had been standing all this time. It appeared to be winged, and a particularly feminine face stared at him.
They did not make the layout of the eleven effigies symmetrical, because they didn't have eleven effigies.
The vial. The Angel of the Lord. Use it! Now!
„Jeremy," he heard Eren's voice, and turned. Him and Hermione had gone back in after him. „Something wrong?"
He looked back. Greymist was gone, and so was the eleventh effigy. Jeremy felt his heart sink. Abigail had been here, listening. Master Irion's papers were not here. And Hermione had said his address out loud.