Hibernian Charm (An Occult Detective Urban Fantasy) (Hibernian Hollows Book 2)

by Dean F. Wilson

  Chapter 14 – Done and Dusted

  As Malik collapsed, it seemed like the case was collapsing too. Melanie ran to him, like a mother to a child, but she only wanted him to live because he had the answers to her many questions, because maybe he could undo some of the horrors he had inflicted.

  “No,” she said, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but it was fleeting.

  Malik coughed, spluttering blood. The look of shock on his face was harrowing. Perhaps he came here to seek the secrets of life and death. Perhaps he thought that he would live forever. He had built his own bastion of magical defences, yet a pebble of metal tore it all apart.

  “Tell me how to undo it,” she whispered to Malik. She could barely summon the strength to talk.

  Malik choked. She thought maybe he was trying to reveal his secrets, or maybe he was trying to utter some last words of defiance. He spasmed in place, then grew limp, giving one last sigh as his soul drifted off. Where it went, none there knew.

  Eckhart came up next to her, his gun still in hand, pointing down, still smoking.

  “Is he … ?”

  Melanie looked up at him, biting her lip. She shook her head. “Why?” she asked. “We had him. We had him, Toby.”

  “Men like him deserve to die,” Eckhart said. “What prison would hold him?”

  “I don't care about that,” she said. “What about the girl?”

  Eckhart shrugged. “Did you really think we could save her?”

  “I hoped we could.”

  “He would never have told you how to set her free.”

  “For his own freedom, he might.”

  “If there's anything I know, Mel, it's that nothing he said would've helped.”

  Maybe Eckhart was right, but he had to say that. With the click of a trigger, he had closed their case. It was over. The culprit was dead, and his victims would be joining him. All of Malik's secrets, his techniques, his spells, went with him to the grave.

  Mr. Constant helped Melanie to her feet, though he was unsteady on his own. His skin was pale, and his hair was unkempt. He never looked so old before. Normally he looked timeless.

  “We did what we could,” the magician said. His voice, though weak, was as reassuring as ever, like a tropical island in a stormy sea.

  “We did what we set out to do,” Eckhart added.

  That was true, for them. Malik had to be taken care of. But for her, she needed answers. She needed a way to set things right. She wasn't sure if it was because of some overriding sense of justice, or if it was because she somehow felt like she was partially to blame. She couldn't get the image of that girl pointing at her out of her head.

  She hobbled away, shrugging off Eckhart's hand. Though he meant well, it was no comfort to her. He had stolen her answers. She had gotten nowhere with so many cases. She thought this was finally the one she could solve.

  She heard a dull ringing, but could not concentrate on it.

  “I'm sorry!” Eckhart shouted over.

  The ringing grew, until finally she realised it was her phone. She took it out and answered it absent-mindedly. It was Don. He sounded worried.

  “Melanie? I've been tryin' to reach you.”

  “Oh,” was all she could manage.

  “You should come back to the station.”

  “Why?”

  “We found another one.”

  Chapter 15 – Third Time's the Charm

  Melanie and Eckhart rushed back to the station, while Mr. Constant said he'd take care of Malik. There would be no police report. The trio pledged each other to silence. The magician was used to that. Melanie wasn't. All that anyone else would know was that Malik was gone. No one cared enough about him to ask where.

  The drive back was full of tense silence, as if their pledge was active then as well. Melanie spotted Eckhart glancing at her from time to time. It seemed like he wanted to talk, to apologise. But there wasn't anything to apologise for. If there was another victim, then maybe Malik wasn't responsible at all.

  Don was quieter than usual in the briefing room. He had a report ready for them, with all those boxes nicely ticked. He also had pictures on the wall.

  “Another child,” he said.

  Melanie's heart sank. Ever since she found out as a teenager she couldn't have children of her own, her work became her life, her family. She swore to protect the innocent. There was none more innocent than a child. That's what made this hurt even more, like the culprit had done this to her own. It was like they knew her, like they wanted to get to her. She knew that Eckhart would say that she was just being paranoid.

  “He's in the early stages, it seems,” Don said.

  “The early stages?”

  “He's lost all feeling in his arms and legs, but he can still move his head, and—”

  “Can he talk?” Melanie interjected.

  Don tapped the papers on his desk.

  “Can he talk?” Melanie repeated.

  “With difficulty, yes.”

  “I want to talk with him.”

  “That mightn't be a good idea. He's very confused. We—”

  “I need to get some answers, Don. We have to ask who did this. If it's not—” She cut herself short, remembering her pledge.

  “If it's not?”

  “If we don't ask him now, we may lose our chance. What if it spreads? What if ends up like the others?”

  “I hate to say it, Melanie,” Don said, “but the reports I've got don't account for 'what if'. They say it's pretty much guaranteed he'll fade away. We don't know of any way to reverse this.”

  “Maybe the perpetrator does.”

  “What if he doesn't?” Eckhart asked.

  “There has to be a way.”

  “The charm,” Eckhart said. “I presume there's one.”

  Melanie had almost forgotten it. She felt her own charm uncomfortably in her pocket.

  Don pulled an envelope out of a drawer, casting it over to Melanie. She opened it, pulling out a clear plastic bag. Inside was a little golden monkey, covering his ears.

  “It seems like it's just random now,” Don said. “This looks like it's of Eastern origin.”

  “It's not random,” Melanie said. “These aren't just a calling card. They're protections.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The bound hand. The blinded eye. The covered ears. Whoever's behind this isn't leaving these as breadcrumbs to find him. He doesn't want to be found.”

  Chapter 16 – Tremble

  They gathered outside the patient's room, building up their courage to enter, to put on those brave faces, which covered up the doubtful and exhausted ones beneath.

  “Sorry, Mel,” Eckhart said. “I think I'll wait outside. I can't see another one like this.”

  Melanie nodded sympathetically. She didn't want to go in either. She hated to think that it was because she felt she was somehow to blame.

  “You always were a softie,” Don said to Eckhart. Of course, everyone was soft compared to Don. It was almost like he didn't have a soul. He was all hard shell.

  They entered the room where the boy was being kept, strapped to a bed. He struggled with the bonds, and the doctors said no tranquillisers seemed to work. All they really had to do was wait. The paralysis would soon stop him squirming.

  “Is he in pain?” Melanie whispered to one of the doctors.

  “He doesn't register any physical signs of pain.”

  “He looks in pain.”

  “We don't account for the magical signs.”

  Melanie looked to Don. “Maybe we should have magicians here, not doctors.” She didn't care that the doctors could hear her. They didn't seem to be helping the child at all.

  “We had all sorts,” Don said. “No one's the wiser.”

  “Can I ask him some questions?”

  The doctors nodded begrudgingly and brought her up to the child.

  “Hi,” Melanie said.

  The boy's eyes widened with a look of terror. His struggles became more forcef
ul. He rolled his head back and forth, mumbling frantically.

  “What's wrong?” she asked the doctors.

  They shrugged, finding nothing in their readings.

  “I'm not here to hurt you,” Melanie told the child.

  Yet, from the boy's reaction, it seemed like he was almost certain she was.

  “I'm trying to find who did this to you.”

  His rambling turned to shrieks. He had lost so much control of his mouth and tongue that none of them could quite make out his words.

  “I think that's enough,” one of the doctors said. “You're scaring him.”

  Melanie knew well how the presence of police officers tended to put people on edge, even people with nothing to hide. Yet, this seemed different. She had to bury the thought that it somehow seemed like the boy recognised her. That wouldn't be so bad if he didn't look at her and tremble.

  Chapter 17 – Comfort

  Melanie still shook on her own when they went to a discreet late-night bar known as the Snug. It was so exclusive, you had to have a pass to get in. An ID badge from the Vowels did just fine.

  “God,” Melanie said, cradling her drink.

  “Well, people usually just call me Toby,” Eckhart quipped.

  Melanie ignored his attempt to lighten the mood. Nothing could lighten it for her.

  “Are you okay?” Eckhart asked.

  “No. I … that didn't help at all.”

  “I'm glad I stayed outside.”

  “I wish I'd done the same, but I had to try.”

  “Doesn't seem like it made anything clearer.”

  “I'm not sure,” Melanie said. “Maybe it's just paranoia at this stage, but I really did get the impression he'd seen me before.”

  “He can't have.”

  “And yet it seemed like he did.”

  “Maybe on TV?”

  “I've never been on TV. Don does the public statements.”

  “It's probably just your nerves are frazzled. That kid would've probably reacted like that to anyone. To Don. To me.”

  “But Don was there, and he seemed fine with him.”

  “Yeah, but Don's probably been in there before.”

  “It was his first time in that room, same as mine.”

  “Mel, I really think you're worrying about nothing.”

  “Am I though? I mean, what if—?”

  Eckhart shook his head forcefully. “Don't say that.”

  “What if it was me?”

  “It wasn't you.”

  “How do you know? I don't even know.”

  “Trust me, Mel, I know it wasn't you. You're not that kind of person. You'd know.”

  “Yet, at Ballyboden Bastion, I found this hidden power with charms that I didn't know I had. When I got into the moment, it seemed like I almost became a different person. I acted on instinct. I didn't think. What if—?”

  “Stop it, Mel. This isn't you.”

  “But that's my point. What if there's another side of me that I don't even know about? There's so much of my family history I haven't even explored.”

  Eckhart sighed. “We all have many sides, but I think I know you well enough by now.”

  “Do you though?”

  Eckhart reached over and placed his hand on hers. “I think I do.”

  She pulled her hand away from him. “Not this again, Toby.”

  “What?”

  “We've been down this road before.”

  “It's a different road every time, Mel.”

  “It's the same road. It always leads to the same place.”

  “It doesn't have to.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Toby, you're a nice guy, and on some levels we click, but on this level … we just don't. We've done this all before. You make a move, and I don't reciprocate, and then you get all dejected.”

  “I don't.”

  “You do. You get mopey, like a scolded puppy. Can't we just focus on our work?”

  “Fine.”

  “See, you're already doing it.”

  Eckhart shrugged. “What am I supposed to say? It seems I can't get anything right.”

  “I'm not asking you to say anything. Just … you know what, let's just call it a night. Today's been stressful enough as it is.”

  She glanced at a text message on her phone from her ex, and decided it was best to hide it with her hand. She might have been paranoid about the case, but Eckhart was paranoid about her ex. Though they were not together any more, they still had an odd, even close, relationship. She got the feeling Eckhart didn't want them to have any kind at all.

  “I'm sorry,” Eckhart said. “I didn't mean to make it worse.”

  “Don't worry about it. I'll see you back at the station tomorrow.”

  “Bright and early,” Eckhart said.

  “I don't know about early,” Melanie replied. “I need to find some answers. I think I might be up all night.”

  Chapter 18 – Divination

  Melanie felt bad about leaving Eckhart alone at the bar, but she knew her presence probably wasn't helping. If past experience was anything to go by, he'd drink himself into a stupor and show up to work the next day as if nothing had happened. He might as well have been a magician himself, because he made it seem like he could make his troubles vanish.

  She arrived home at close to 3:00 a.m. She was so physically exhausted, she could collapse at any moment, and yet her mind was racing so much she knew she'd never be able to sleep. This was always her problem. She was always restless. She attributed this to her ancestors, travelling from place to place, never settling. It seemed for her that she would never settle either. It wasn't just about bricks and mortar. It was about how you thought and acted, how you felt you fit in. She felt she didn't fit in anywhere. She was just passing through, trying to do some good while she was at it. In a way, she supposed this summed up humanity as a whole. And yet, when she thought of whoever was behind these charm attacks, it clearly seemed that not everyone was trying to do some good.

  She pulled the attic ladder down, coughing through the dust. She hadn't been up there in years, not even to get the Christmas decorations down. Her family was so mixed now, they celebrated a bit of everything. Yet she never had time for that. She couldn't even settle in her own home long enough to put up the tree. A pang of regret struck her heart at the inner knowledge that maybe she'd never have a family, that maybe she'd never settle for anyone. By all accounts, Eckhart was a catch. He just wasn't her catch. She wasn't even sure she was fishing at all.

  The attic was full of boxes with faint labels. Many were from her grandparents after they died. She hadn't the heart to throw them out, but hadn't the urge to open them either. Some were family heirlooms, links to her Romani roots, but she didn't feel that connected to those roots, so she felt it would be an insult to her family to use them at all.

  Buried amongst all the boxes was a set of Tarot cards her grandmother used. It didn't take long to find them. They almost called to her, even though they were just card and ink. It was a very old deck, well over a century old, and the images were slightly faded. They reminded her of the photographs of her grandparents. The energy of her grandmother was still on them.

  She took them downstairs and laid out the cards on her coffee table. She paused, looking up and saying a little silent prayer to the dead. She wasn't entirely sure she should even be using these. Her grandmother had taught her how, though her memory of it was fuzzy, but it seemed more like a game to her as a child. Now everything was very real.

  She picked a card as the significator, representing her in the situation. This was drawn from the court cards. She picked the Knave of Wands, feeling it matched who she was. It was a young, feminine figure with a fiery, unyielding temperament. She almost didn't like seeing it. It was like looking in a mirror. For something so crude and simple, it was too perfect a match.

  She shuffled the deck, reciting a verse in her head that her grandmother made her memorise. It was again in that foreign ton
gue that no linguist seemed to know anything about. She wasn't sure it meant anything or all, or if it was just to occupy her mind to ensure she didn't influence the reading.

  She dealt the cards out in the spread she was taught by her grandmother, which had become known by the quaint moniker “the gypsy method.” Mr. Constant had remarked to her before that examples of it, with that very label, were found even in the National Library of Ireland, dating back over a hundred years. She was sworn to secrecy regarding the specific method, and so did not dwell too much even on the form of the spread, lest she inadvertently reveal something even in her sleep. Some called that superstition, but she'd seen enough of the secret world not to disregard the warnings.

  She tried not to read anything into the cards as they were laid out, despite momentary gasps of breath as she saw The Tower card, symbolic of destruction, and The Devil card, symbolic of a binding force. By the end of it, the final card, directly opposing her own, was the Knight of Swords. She had been taught to regard all court cards as potential people in the situation, and there were only two, her as the Knave of Wands, and whoever was the Knight of Swords. In a literal reading, it could represent a fair-haired man in his prime, an intellectual. That wasn't a total surprise. The culprit of the crimes had likely studied magic in some depth, and was clearly cunning. A more symbolic reading suggested she would have to use her own wit to cut through the web surrounding the situation.

  She glanced over the cards, noticing The Lovers at the point of intersection, the turning point of the event. It might have suggested literal lovers or it could have pointed out a sense of division, of the dual nature of the self. Melanie certainly felt divided. She almost felt like she had lost control on the roof of Ballyboden Bastion. It made her fear even more that maybe she really was behind it all.

  She gathered up the cards in various piles, sorting them out in a pre-determined order by the system of rules her grandmother had taught her. This was a more complex reading, delving deeper into the situation, helping her gain some clarity. If anything, it would answer once and for all where she fit into all of this.