Felix slapped his ID card down in front of the museum security guard. ‘CENSOR,’ he snapped. ‘We have a report of possible demonic manifestations on the second floor, near the French Romantic painters. What do your security systems say?’

The security guard’s gaze flicked nervously from the ID card to Felix, then to Irene and the others behind him, all of them stern in their stolen CENSOR uniforms. ‘We haven’t had any disruptions yet,’ he stammered. ‘All systems are normal.’

‘We have our locational readings,’ Felix answered. He tapped one of the devices hanging at his belt. ‘We may still be in time to prevent a full-scale manifestation and threat to life.’

The security guard perked up, clearly visualizing a future which didn’t have him dismissed for missing an outbreak. ‘Can I do anything to help, sir?’

As they’d planned, Jerome took over. ‘Sir, it might be possible to resolve this with minimal disruption. This late at night, there shouldn’t be many possible targets to remove. If we stake out the gallery now and run the new e-warding programs, we can leave the rest of the museum undisturbed.’

‘I don’t know,’ Felix said dubiously. ‘We can’t risk any danger to the public. Even if we’re talking just a few staff, with the museum closed for the night . . .’

‘Let me call my supervisor over, sir,’ the security guard said, eagerly taking the bait. ‘He’ll tell you if it’s possible.’

Felix nodded. ‘Very well. Lang, report in to headquarters. Give them a sitrep.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Irene responded. She took a step away, raising one hand to shield her mouth as she murmured into her headset.

The security guard’s supervisor arrived in less than half a minute. He and Felix broke into a rapid discussion about how best to handle things. And most importantly, how the museum took absolutely no responsibility for anything that might go wrong. Kai, Jerome and Ernst adopted poses of casually menacing professionalism. Ernst’s uniform was visibly straining, designed for someone a couple of sizes smaller. Irene hoped that it would survive the night – or at least, long enough for them to get out of there.

‘All okay so far,’ Irene muttered. ‘How about you?’

‘Acceptable,’ Indigo answered, live from their getaway van. Irene could hear the hum of traffic through the phone, and the distant ebb and flow of CENSOR transmissions being monitored. ‘So far nobody’s noticed my taps into the network – or picked up on the squad you intercepted for their uniforms. Tina should have us in position to collect you in ten minutes. Let us know if you need more or less time.’

‘Understood.’

Felix broke off his conversation and signalled them over. ‘Herr Vogel has approved the investigation. You all know the procedure. Lang, anything to report?’

‘Central says all under control and to go ahead, sir,’ Irene responded. ‘They say call back in ten minutes if there are any issues.’

‘Very good,’ he said, acknowledging their code for pickup time. He glanced at Kai. ‘Bauer, you stay here a moment – see if you can link their security cameras to our system. The rest of you, follow me.’

Herr Vogel insisted on accompanying them up the twin flights of marble stairs, prattling nervously all the way. The regular lighting was off at this time of night, but the security officer had passed round torches. Marble lions crouched at the bottom of the staircases, their muscles smooth curves that gleamed in the torchlight. Painted figures peered down from the ceiling, eternal and unmoving. The entire museum seemed to be on guard, waiting for a moment’s slip. Irene felt a trickle of sweat run down her back under her stolen uniform. So many things could go wrong, so many people might make a mistake. This was why she preferred operating on her own . . .

‘I hear there are problems all over town,’ Herr Vogel said tentatively. ‘People are saying on social media that CENSOR patrols are making widespread arrests.’

‘I can neither confirm nor deny this,’ Felix answered, in tones which confirmed it very clearly indeed. ‘With any luck this won’t take long. Naturally we don’t want to cause unnecessary panic here as well.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Herr Vogel said quickly. ‘We’ll try to keep things under control. If something happens . . . should we assist?’

‘I appreciate your devotion to duty, but the answer is no. Our policy is containment. If this is a demonic manifestation, anyone unprotected may be subject to possession. We can’t risk your staff infecting the general population.’

The little colour in Herr Vogel’s cheeks drained away. ‘I had no idea the risk was so great.’

‘To all Vienna.’ Felix gave him a grave nod, one serious man to another. ‘Fortunately there’s no sign of anyone hanging around outside the museum.’

‘Fortunately?’

‘Cultists.’ Felix looked into the middle distance for a moment, haunted remembrance shadowing his face. The torchlight caught his expression at just the right moment to emphasize his battle-weary air. He was every inch the professional CENSOR officer, someone who’d devoted his life to fighting horrors beyond imagination.

Irene had to admit that Felix was doing an excellent job. And, as far as she could judge, thoroughly enjoying it. She suppressed a jealous thought that she could have played the squad leader just as well. The important thing was getting the job done.

‘Ah, I see. No, the area seems quiet tonight. Nothing on our cameras.’

With luck, it would stay that way. So far things had gone according to plan. They’d triggered CENSOR raids across Vienna, based on false information, via Indigo’s links to CENSOR’s network. They’d then ambushed a CENSOR team with a conveniently sized van and mostly conveniently sized uniforms. And they’d now infiltrated the Kunsthistorisches Museum, while Indigo and Tina remained in the stolen van, circling Vienna, ready to return for the pickup – it had been judged far too dangerous to keep the van sitting outside the museum.

‘Here we are,’ Herr Vogel said, gesturing round the gallery. The walls were dark grey, the floor tiled wood, and a long skylight in the ceiling gazed up at a cloud-filled night sky. Though it was empty, the paintings were full of human faces which seemed to stare at the group from the shadows.

Kai came jogging into the room. ‘I’ve linked up the museum cameras to CENSOR central command, sir. They’ll be able to analyse the feed and pick up anything that we can’t.’

‘Excellent,’ Felix said. ‘Benz, get out the scan tech. Herr Vogel, I must request that you leave this room now. There may be high-energy discharges, and while the paintings will be safe, I can’t answer for your physical integrity.’

Herr Vogel hesitated, then nodded. With an inclination of his head he strode away, leaving them together in the darkened room. Just the cameras left to take care of now . . .

Felix turned to Irene. ‘Check with central command, Lang. Are you getting the camera link feedback?’

‘Can you access the cameras?’ Irene murmured into her headset.

‘Got it and setting a feedback loop,’ Indigo answered. ‘Walk around a bit and gesture with your equipment. I’ll record it and play it back, to distract security.’

‘Central says to run full scans, sir,’ Irene answered Felix. ‘They have full access.’

Irene wandered around, pointing pieces of appropriately mysterious equipment at the walls and paintings. Then Indigo said, ‘That’s enough. Synching – three, two, one, mark. You’re good to go.’

‘We’re clear,’ Irene said, putting the equipment away.

‘Are we?’ Felix asked.

‘We’ll know if they come in here, I suppose,’ Kai answered.

‘Damn. I’ve got to get Indigo to sign up with me one of these days. I never knew dragons could be so useful.’ Felix moved briskly over to where The Raft of the Medusa hung. ‘Irene, Ernst, give me a hand. Jerome, Kai, you’re on watch duty.’

Irene bumped fists with Kai in congratulation, before joining Felix. Felix scrambled onto Ernst’s shoulders, peering at the upper edges of the frame. He drew in a hiss of breath. ‘This is going to be as much of a nuisance as we’d thought. There’s tech behind this.’

‘What kind?’ Ernst asked.

‘Security alarms, what else? But far more than any of the other paintings seem to have. More than the Imperial Treasury had, even.’

‘So there is something unusual about this one,’ Ernst commented. ‘Then again, this is the one Mr Nemo wanted. Ours not to argue.’ He shrugged, making Felix protest and clutch at the wall for balance. ‘Will this stop you getting it down?’

‘Of course not! But I can’t be sure exactly what I’ll set off.’

‘Let’s hope it’s part of the main alarm system,’ Irene said. She touched her earpiece. ‘Indigo, are you picking up all this? Can you deactivate it?’

There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘That might not be quite so simple,’ Indigo said slowly. ‘There’s security in this system which I hadn’t expected. Fiddling the cameras is one thing, but turning off the alarms is something else. In fact . . .’

‘In fact what?’ Irene asked. That didn’t sound encouraging.

‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing. It’ll actually be easier if you handle the alarms at your end.’

Irene reported that back to the team. She decided to keep the It’s nothing to herself. Maybe it was just nothing, and if it wasn’t . . . they’d find out soon enough.

Felix laughed, glancing at the busy team – and it was infectious. Irene herself had to chuckle at a Fae, dragon and Librarian team working so effectively. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said. ‘Irene, as we planned: first alarms, then detach the painting.’ He leapt off Ernst’s shoulder, landing like a cat. ‘Ernst, be ready to hold the painting.’

Irene swallowed. This was where the theft made the final jump from plan to actuality. No time for nerves now. She stepped forward to lay a finger against the frame. ‘All alarms attached to the painting I’m touching, deactivate.’

Her voice echoed in the gallery, amplified by the harmonics of the Language. She frowned at a brief twinge of head pain, but it didn’t last. Next step. Felix had explained the mechanics of how the painting would be connected to the frame and the wall, from his prior ‘acquisitions’ experience, and she’d worked out the most efficient vocabulary. ‘Fastenings holding up the painting I’m touching, detach and release: painting, slide gently to the ground without damage.’

The painting shuddered as screws unwound themselves from brackets and bolts detached themselves, then came free. The whole thing slid down the wall like water down a pane. Ernst caught it with barely a grunt as it started to topple, gently lowering it to the floor.

Felix looked at the wall where it had been, and whistled. There was a wide array of circuitry there – far more than one would have expected. ‘This is serious paranoia,’ he said.

‘Irene!’ Indigo’s voice was sharp.

Irene winced and put a hand to her earpiece. ‘What is it? And please don’t shout.’

‘Whatever you’ve just done has triggered alarms which I can’t shut down – and they’re not just linked to CENSOR, but somewhere else as well. You need to speed up.’

‘We’re out of time,’ Irene reported to the others. ‘Alarms have been triggered that Indigo can’t intercept. We need to get out – now.’

Felix let out his breath in a thoughtful whistle, playing his torch along the lines of the frame. ‘And the other shoe just dropped . . .’

‘Speak plainly,’ Ernst demanded.

‘There’s two canvases here. One’s fastened over the other. What was it Mr Nemo told us again?’

Irene resisted the urge to correct him to ‘there are two canvases’. This was not the time to be a grammar purist. Instead, she cast her mind back. ‘Mr Nemo said he wanted the canvas, whole and entire, and we could leave the frame behind. I suppose “canvas” could apply to both paintings, at a stretch, as an uncountable noun.’ But why was this hidden painting guarded better than the Imperial Treasury? Just how much more didn’t they know? ‘Shall I detach the frame now?’ she asked briskly, substituting efficiency for panic.

‘Go ahead.’ The shadows hid Felix’s face, but his shoulders were tense. ‘And call in Indigo for immediate pickup. Ernst, get the packaging ready.’

Ernst slipped off his backpack and pulled out a large piece of fine, clean canvas. He unfolded it as though shaking out bedsheets, and it fluttered to the gallery floor in a ghostly drift.

Irene was grateful for the time they’d spent beforehand going through the plan. She didn’t have to waste precious seconds looking for the right words. Bending down and touching it, she said, ‘Frame and struts of the paintings which I am touching, come apart, detach and roll away.’

The wood, gilding and ornamentation fell apart immediately in a dry rattling of antique pieces. Irene’s imagination supplied images of ancient bones scuttling across the floor. ‘Paintings which I am touching, float over to the plain canvas lying on the floor and rest on it, face-down.’

She leaned back as they drifted into the air and wished that there was some way to make them move faster. Tension knotted her shoulders, mingling with an incipient headache. All her instincts told her that this was about to go badly wrong – if it hadn’t already. The unexpected extra security was also a fairly good signifier of probable disaster.

‘I feel as if you’re using me like a blunt instrument,’ she remarked, trying to silence her nerves.

‘Yes, but you’re so good at this,’ Felix answered. ‘Normally I’d take more time and enjoy the process, but we need to move. Roll it up.’

‘Paintings and canvas on the floor, roll yourselves gently into a tube.’ As they obeyed, curling into an ungainly Swiss roll, Irene switched to her headset. ‘Indigo, get ready, we’re about to exfiltrate.’

There was a muttered exchange of words at the other end, then Indigo said, ‘We’ll be at the museum entrance in a couple of minutes. We think.’

‘Think?’

‘Roadblocks. Don’t worry about it.’ Tyres squealed.

Irene tried not to do just that. Indigo and Tina would be there. Because if they weren’t, after all she’d been through, she was going to drag the paintings through the streets of Vienna herself and use them to bludgeon anything that got in her way.

Felix fastened the roll with packing tape. ‘Almost ready to go,’ he said.

A few seconds later, Irene and Jerome were leading the way to the great staircase, torches turned off. The others followed, carrying the hefty canvas roll between them. While Ernst could have managed the entire weight on his own, the carefully packaged roll was unwieldy and cumbersome. The museum was silent and dim light filtered in through the skylights – not enough for them to appreciate the decor, but enough to find their way out. Irene’s stomach began to unknot slightly as they approached the staircase. From here it was a straight run to the exit. Almost there, almost there, she reassured herself. The wide stairwell beckoned, a white marble statue of a man with a raised dagger shining corpse-pale at the bend in the stairs.

‘Stop sneaking around,’ Lady Ciu’s voice said. ‘You’re not fooling anyone.’

She glided out of the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, tall and whipcord lean, as poised as any of the museum’s fine statues. Her dark glasses were a band of pure blackness across her face. She carried her swordcane in her left hand, but she wasn’t leaning on it now; her right hand rested on the handle, ready to draw the blade.

Jerome put a restraining hand on Irene’s arm and stepped into the light. He reached for his gun. ‘How convenient,’ he said. ‘I’d been hoping to see you again.’