Craig sent the two lupis with him in through the front doors to report on what they saw. One of them came back out a few moments later. “They’re shooting silver-tipped crossbow bolts,” he reported. “We have two down. I don’t know how many of theirs are down. They’ve built some kind of barricade near the choir section. Glen and his guys appear to be mixing it up back there with them.”
“Silver? Damnit, they might be Fectors! Keep me informed.” The howls and growls of the lupis echoed from the church along with the crashing of furniture and human screams. He hoped this would be over soon because too much noise would bring cops. He chastised himself for not thinking about that. Cathedrals were built of stone and designed to carry sound. Ignorant, medieval country-folk would break out in tears the first time they heard a choir singing in a cathedral. Hearing those beautiful sounds provoked an emotional response when the only ones you had heard up until then were those you spent your entire life listening to in the middle of a field. The Catholic Church got many converts that way.
One of his sentries came back out. “Glen appears to be down—he isn’t moving—and we’ve lost another from Bill’s group. And the noise is getting worse.”
“I can hear it, you fool. Let’s move in and help. We have to finish this now.”