Less than half an hour later, they stood in the shadow of the Church of Christ the King. Crowley lifted his sunglasses to peer up at the illuminated rose window.

Rosamund was on the pavement to his left. “You can't be serious,” she said.

The sunglasses slipped back into place. Crowley smiled, “I can. It's just not in my nature.”

She sighed and though she said nothing at first, the slight shift of the blunderbuss's weight in her arms said everything that needed to be said. “You left a priceless antique sword inside an Angelican church.”

“I left it in the hands of an angel. Couldn't be safer.” Hopping over the low wall that circled the church, Crowley was at the front door in two long strides. One slim hand dipped into the inner-pocket of his jacket and produced two thin metal picks. Crowley sank into a crouch and carefully wedged both picks into the church's old lock.

“And now you are breaking into the church. We shall add sacrilege to your litany of delinquencies,” Rosamund observed, as she shuffled further into the shadow of the church, the blunderbuss cradled against her chest.

“If God didn't want me inside his house, Rosamund, he would have bought a better security system,” Crowley said, not looking away from the task at hand. “Instead of having his servants spend all of their money on giant, jewel-encrusted gold crosses and... marble statues of flying babies,” he added, as the lock gave a satisfying click.