Rook

petal covered in a lumpy purple skin.
    “Sir, there’s no sign of the teams or of any other individuals,” said FitzPatrick. Myfanwy guessed that the background of chanting was grating on all the Pawns’ nerves. Though Lydia had toned it down, even the hushed version they were hearing in the trailer made her ill at ease.
    “FitzPatrick, this is Rook Thomas. Is there any sign of where the sound is originating?”
    “Upstairs, Rook,” said FitzPatrick. “Shall we proceed up there?”
    “Is the ground floor secured?” Poppat asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Then call your stationed troops except those necessary for maintaining sight lines to the front door. And proceed.”
    “Yes, sir.” The Pawns went up the stairs, leaving a pair at the base and another pair at the head of the staircase.
    Lydia cleared her throat. “The Rookery has noted a change in the chanting; they’re analyzing and comparing,” she said, still intent on the monitors in front of her.
    “I didn’t notice anything,” whispered Myfanwy to Shantay. “Did you?” The American Bishop shook her head. The team of Pawns came to the first door, which was ajar. Just as FitzPatrick was leaning forward to push it open with his rifle, several things happened at once.
    The monitor showing the Pawn at the front door flashed as she was jerked inside the house.
    All the other pictures moved rapidly too as the Pawns swung around at the sound of Loza’s scream. Then a wave of material rose up from the floor and covered the cameras.
    There was a brief flurry of screams and gunfire.
    The front door swung shut, slicing neatly through the cables the Pawns had brought with them.
    H oly fuck,
thought Myfanwy in horror.
Holy mother of fuck.
    There was a moment of stunned silence, and Myfanwy took a deep breath.
You are the Rook, so keep calm.
    “Any ideas?” she asked collectedly, though her heart was still pounding. The screams had torn through the room before wireless contact was abruptly lost. The nerd Pawns were typing frantically, licking monitors, and talking with great urgency on headsets and cell phones. It was evident that nobody had yet figured out what was going on or what to do, so Myfanwy sat back patiently and waited for them to come up with answers. A few of them shot nervous looks at her over their shoulders, and she pretended not to notice.
    “Any thoughts, Bishop Petoskey?” she asked Shantay quietly, folding her fingers together to keep them from shaking.
    “Uh, well, this is certainly not like anything I’ve ever seen before,” replied Shantay with a fair bit of awe. “We don’t get these sorts of manifestations that frequently.”
    “Yes, well, I gather this is quite unusual even for us,” Myfanwy said, desperately casual.
    “So what do you intend to do?” asked Shantay.
    “Oh, I’m sure Pawn Poppat will follow his beloved standard operating procedure,” she answered, casting a look over at the Pawn, who was rushing about madly and being very busy indeed. “I don’t like to bother him. It must be difficult enough having an emergency occur in front of the boss without having her demanding to be kept entertained.” In fact, Poppat was bustling over toward her.
    “Rook Thomas, standard operating procedure dictates that at this point we have the house destroyed, either with explosives or with a ring of—” He was cut off abruptly by an excited shout from the other end of the command center.
    “They’re alive!” one of the techno-Pawns shouted. Everybody froze and watched the monitors as he rapidly brought up the screens that showed the vital signs of the team members. Myfanwy remembered seeing them when she came in while Poppat explained that every Barghest had been fitted with extensive monitoring equipment under his armor.
    “They’re all alive?” asked Myfanwy intently.
Is this good or bad?
    “Yes, ma’am,” said the technician. “All the Barghests. According to these indicators, they haven’t had anything introduced into their systems, and while they’re all quite excited—heart rates up and so on—they haven’t been harmed.”
    “How unfortunate,” said Pawn Poppat.
    “Unfortunate?” asked Myfanwy.
    “Well, yes,” said Pawn Poppat. “Because we still have to destroy the site…” He trailed off. Myfanwy turned to the techno-Pawn.
    “Are they… moving?” she asked carefully.
    “No, ma’am.”
    Shit.
    “Are they conscious?” she asked.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Double shit.
    “Ah.” Myfanwy