Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2)

by Rob Blackwell

“That’s what we’re up against? Seriously?”

  “Apparently so,” Kate replied.

  He stared at her wide-eyed.

  “I suppose on the bright side he should be easier to find. Can’t be too many things like that around. What else do you need?” Tim asked.

  “You’re going to think it’s crazy,” she warned.

  Tim gave her a wry look.

  “Crazier than a man who can breathe fire?” he asked. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “I need you to find me an expert on ghosts.”

  *****

  Sawyer sat in a chair staring at the wreck of his room.

  In his anger, he had destroyed nearly every piece of furniture in the room. It was little loss to him. He had let Elyssa decorate everything because she enjoyed it and Sawyer didn’t care. He had to admit that smashing the expensive antiques she had purchased and carefully moved over the past several decades brought him some joy.

  But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

  He sat there stewing. After one brief attempt to calm him, Elyssa had wisely abandoned Sawyer, leaving him to his impotent rage.

  How had it all gone so wrong? He had finished Quinn, could have destroyed him completely had he not wanted to gloat a little more. As much as he wanted to blame the others—Elyssa, Kieran or his moidin—that error was his and he couldn’t deny it. If it hadn’t been for his damn vanity, this game would now be over. Kate was powerful, that was clear, but if Quinn had died, it would have driven her insane. Sawyer remembered the last Prince of Sanheim who lost his consort. He had spent weeks insisting he was the woman, his identity lost in the confusion of two minds being joined and then forever separated.

  Sawyer privately doubted Elyssa’s death would have the same effect on him. He knew he was stronger for pushing her away. She was a good tool, a useful second-in-command who had never wavered in her loyalty to him. But she wasn’t his soul mate. No, that title belonged to another—one he had betrayed and failed, the one he would still avenge. Whenever his resolve wavered or he felt beaten, he thought of her. Sweet Anne, who never asked for any of this insanity, but had paid the ultimate price for it.

  Sawyer pushed himself out of the chair and paced the room. This wouldn’t do. It was just six days to Halloween and he was cutting it too close as it was. If he didn’t kill Quinn and his annoying girlfriend by then, he would have to wait another whole year to assault Sanheim. Another year of waiting, of watching those simpering moidin wandering around him, of Elyssa’s pained expression every time he shut her out of his thoughts. He wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it.

  Elyssa, he called in his mind. Come to me. Now.

  She obeyed at once and he felt how grateful she was for the summoning. He sensed her relief that his furious rage had passed. It was pathetic. She had no idea. He was just getting started.

  Elyssa entered looking as stunning as ever. Sawyer had only slept with her twice after Anne died—once on the night they killed Jackson and then when they defeated Collins. He hadn’t been able to help it then. The power they took from each defeat of their fellow Princes was overwhelming, a drug that was impossible to resist. She had taken full advantage of his situation, even knowing his pledge on his dead wife’s grave. He had enjoyed himself, but regretted it immediately afterward. He knew what she hoped—that each time, he would forget Anne and just be with her. But he’d never do it. Every time he looked at Elyssa, he saw Anne’s blood on the wall.

  It was her fault.

  Not just hers, though. His, too. But most of all the man who had started all of this madness. Sanheim.

  So help me God, I will end you, he thought.

  He knew Elyssa could hear these musings but didn’t care. Let her share in his guilt. It was only fitting.

  “What do you want, Sawyer?” she asked. She had seemed so bright when she came in, but his thoughts had dampened her mood. He didn’t care.

  “Where’s Quinn?” he asked.

  “Still at the hospital,” Elyssa replied.

  He hadn’t told her to check up on him, but he knew she would anyway. He could hate and despise her all he wanted, but she was a damn efficient lieutenant.

  “I assume the woman is still guarding him,” he said.

  He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. She was all that stood between him and his final victory.

  “Night and day,” Elyssa said. “We could still take her, Sawyer. A full frontal assault and…”

  “With what moidin?” he asked. “I may not be able to hear their thoughts, but even I know they’re in terrible shape. They can’t fight.”

  “They’ll try if you ask them to,” Elyssa said. “They’ll do anything for you.”

  Sawyer waved his hand in disgust.

  “It would be pointless,” he said. “And wasteful. We need to come up with a way around her ability if we’re going to defeat her.”

  “I’ve been having them research the situation night and day,” Elyssa said, with a touch of pride in her voice. “Kieran has some interesting ideas…”

  “Kieran,” Sawyer said and his mouth tightened as he said the name. “He betrayed us.”

  “No,” Elyssa said, though her voice sounded uncertain. “Why would you think that?”

  “Quinn and the girl showed up awfully quickly, don’t you think?” Sawyer asked. “I had hoped to wreak havoc in that town, but they were there just as we showed up.”

  “You think he warned them?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Why? What possible motivation would he have?”

  Sawyer stared at her like she was stupid.

  “Revenge,” he said simply. “What other motivation does a man need?”

  “I thought we were past that,” she replied. “He’s always…”

  “Been surly, abrasive and a touch uncooperative,” Sawyer finished. “He was a useful tool. But if he’s helping them, his usefulness is at an end.”

  “He’s here now,” Elyssa said. “Do you want to question him?”

  Sawyer thought for a moment. And then he smiled.

  “He’s too slippery for that,” he said. “But there is another way. Let’s test him.”

  “How?”

  “He wants to play the rat, let him,” Sawyer said. “Let him know we are gathering the moidin for another attack. Tell him we’ll make our move in a couple days.”

  “Against Quinn?” Elyssa asked, looking confused.

  “No,” he replied. “Tell him we’re planning to attack the town you originally found them in. What was it called?”

  “Waterford,” Elyssa replied.

  “Yes, there,” Sawyer said. “Tell him we’re going to burn it to the ground.”

  And just like that, Sawyer was starting to feel a lot better.

  *****

  October 26, 2007

  Quinn woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. The pain, which had been his constant companion for several days, was starting to ebb.

  He was still worried, however. While he was healing rapidly, it was nowhere near fast enough. At this rate, Halloween would be long gone and he would still be a charred mess.

  He felt his powers growing stronger with each passing day, so it was possible the pace of his recovery would pick up speed. But it wasn’t something he could count on.

  “Stop worrying about it,” Kate said.

  “Well, if I can’t…”

  “You’re either going to get better or you won’t,” she said. “In the meantime, we have work to do.”

  She gestured down at the books that Tim had delivered the day before. He had brought six volumes of Irish, Scottish and Celtic mythology. Quinn was hoping they might be light reading or at least a gripping account of past legends. Instead they were dry, academic renditions of old folk tales. He had trouble staying awake.

  Kate had, not without reason, been sidelined mostly into reading about banshees, trying fervently to find something relevant to her. What she had uncovered was very illuminating. Most texts
just referred to banshees as the guardians of the dead, known to warn family members of an approaching death by wailing in the night. But Kate also uncovered more detailed information, including their ability to take the shape of any dead person, call ghosts to their aid and see inside the minds of those that fear—or are close to—death. This explained why she had seen into Lord Halloween’s mind last Halloween, and also how she could communicate with Maggie Frank and the teenager spraying graffiti in Sterling.

  Meanwhile, Quinn was searching futilely for any mention of a monster with rainbow-colored hair, one who apparently liked a good tune and a hot barbeque.

  “Just keep reading, honey,” she said. “It’s in there somewhere.”

  He picked up a book entitled Ancient Myths of Old Ireland and flipped through it. He skipped over the boring parts about the ancient peoples, old gods and the various lineages of noteworthy warriors. He was almost ready to put it down when he came upon a chapter, “The Legend of Fionn mac Cumhaill.”

  It caught Quinn’s attention because his mother had once told him that she almost named him Fionn. He started reading Fionn’s life story, how he wanted to lead his tribe, the Fianna, but couldn’t do so until he proved himself to the king.

  “But the king was beset with his own problems,” the book said. “For more than 20 years every year at the time of Samhain, the wicked fairy Aillen would burn down the king’s castle. Using his magic flute, he lulled everyone to sleep—making them powerless to prevent his…”

  Quinn looked up in surprise.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  Kate looked at him.

  “Found something?”

  He read the passage out loud and continued.

  “Using his magic flute, Aillen lulled everyone to sleep—making them powerless to prevent the castle’s destruction. Fionn of the Fianna boasted that he—and he alone—could defeat Aillen. The other men of the castle laughed. Fionn was a young man and they were battle-hardened warriors. What hope did he have against such an evil creature?

  “Fionn was insistent that he could defeat the fairy. He asked the king to grant him leadership of the Fianna if he succeeded. The king, desperate, agreed to the bargain. On the night of Samhain, Fionn stood outside the castle with the king’s army. They watched as Aillen approached. His hair was all the colors of the fairy kingdoms—red, green, blue, white and purple—and he carried only his flute. As the army readied their arrows, Aillen brought the instrument to his lips and played a sweet song. Though they struggled against it, all the warriors guarding the castle fell asleep.

  “Except Fionn. The young man had a magic hat pulled over his ears that kept him awake. Enraged, Aillen dropped his flute and unleashed a torrent of fire from his mouth. But Fionn pulled out a silver spear and shield that had belonged to his father. He brought up the shield just in time. The ancient Irish put great stock in silver, claiming it was the only thing that destroyed fairy magic. While the flames burned hot, they could not penetrate the shield. Aillen rushed to attack Fionn hand to hand, but Fionn was too quick. As the fairy ran at him, he launched his spear, catching Aillen in the shoulder. The fairy screamed and disappeared.

  “When the men awoke to find the castle unharmed, he was cheered throughout the land. The king gave him leadership of the Fianna tribe and Fionn went on to become Ireland’s greatest mythical warrior. Some say he still lies in a cave buried beneath Ireland, waiting for the world’s darkest hour to arise and defend it.”

  Quinn slowly closed the book and looked at Kate.

  “Looks like we found Sawyer’s cennad,” she said.

  Quinn stared at her for a moment.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “Aillen was powerful. We have our work cut out for us.”

  “No, not that,” Quinn replied dismissively. “I can’t believe I lost a fight to a fairy. Janus would never let me live this down.”

  “Well, he was an evil fairy, if that helps,” she replied, a smile alighting on her face.

  “It really doesn’t,” Quinn said. “I mean, it has to take the Headless Horseman’s cool factor down a notch, doesn’t it? He was nearly destroyed by a goddamned fairy. It’s like saying he got into a fight with Tinkerbell—and lost.”

  “Come on, Quinn,” Kate replied.

  “Aren’t fairies supposed to be smaller?” he asked. “Like a lot smaller?”

  “Have you been paying attention to the reading at all?” she asked. “In Irish legends, the Fae are different than what we would consider fairies. They’re more like… demons.”

  “That certainly would sound better,” Quinn said. “I could almost accept being incinerated by a demon. But a fairy… I mean, Jesus!”

  “You’re not rocketing past this anytime soon, are you?”

  “Nope,” Quinn replied.

  Kate leaned over and kissed him in his hospital bed.

  “At least we have one answer,” she said.

  “Fat lot of good it does us,” he replied. “Other than destroying my street cred, that is.”

  “I think you missed a critical point,” she said.

  “Which was?”

  “He has a weakness. And now we know what it is.”

  Chapter 30

  October 27, 2007

  Kate paused briefly before going up the small staircase off North King Street. Squeezed between two shops, the stairwell was easy to miss.

  She was still worried about leaving Quinn behind. She had only agreed after Tim had promised to stay with him. That wouldn’t be enough if Sawyer or Elyssa attacked, but it still made her feel better.

  However, she had to complete this interview. They at least understood what they were facing now, but Kate needed other answers.

  Kate pulled out the address Tim had given her and re-checked it. This was the place. She must have passed by it several times in the past, yet never noticed it. Leesburg was like that. Small enough to know well, but it could still surprise you.

  The sign on the door at the top of the stairs was deceptively vague.

  “The Leesburg Science Society,” it read.

  Kate knocked twice before a middle-aged man with frizzy black hair greeted her at the door. He was dressed in a style that Kate thought had gone out of fashion two decades ago—a tweed jacket and bow tie.

  “Ms. Tassel, I presume,” the man said with a slight flourish.

  Without waiting for a reply, the man turned abruptly on his heels and strolled back into the office.

  Taking this as a sign to follow, Kate walked after him, shutting the door as she went.

  “Terry Jacobsen?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes,” Terry said quickly and walked over to an easy chair and sat down. He gestured to a wooden rocking chair a few feet away. “Take a seat.”

  Kate glanced around the room before sitting down. It was one of Leesburg’s older office buildings and betrayed no sign of what Kate thought a ghost hunter’s office would look like. A large painting of a battlefield hung on the back wall, but beyond that, the room was unadorned. Two windows faced the street in front and in the corner stood a folding card table with what looked like old stereo equipment on it. But Kate couldn’t see any speakers, so she was left to guess what it could be.

  “What can I do for you?” Terry said as Kate sat down.

  Kate pulled out her notebook and began digging in her bag for her tape recorder. She and Tim had decided that the best way to approach this was to pretend it was for a story. Indeed, Tim actually was hoping she would write one while she gathered her own information. Kate thought that was hopelessly optimistic. She had no intention of doing anything unless it got them closer to defeating their opponents.

  “Well, as I told you on the phone, we are interested in doing an article on your work,” Kate said. “You’re the only ghost hunter in Leesburg and we thought...”

  “Not to be rude, Ms. Tassel,” Terry interrupted, “but I dislike the term ‘ghost hunter.’ I do many things, but hunting
ghosts is not one of them.”

  “Sorry,” Kate said. “But I thought I heard…or rather my editor...”

  For just a moment, Kate wondered if she misunderstood his work.

  “I do study the phenomena most call ghosts, if that is what you heard,” he replied evenly. “But I am not hunting ghosts. I do not exorcise or exercise them. I do not communicate with them.”

  Kate started taking notes. She desperately wanted to dive in with her deeper questions, but wanted him to be more comfortable first.

  “Then how would you describe your work?” Kate asked.

  “I’m a scientist,” Terry replied. “I’m not some type of so-called psychic. I simply choose to study a subject that many dismiss. Many people would call them ghosts. But ‘ghost hunter’ implies I have something to prove. I don’t. I didn’t get into this thinking I would talk to dead people. I believed that I might be able to scientifically explore one of the great mysteries of all time.”

  “When did you start?” Kate asked.

  “About 15 years ago,” Terry answered.

  “What made you get into this field? What first piqued your interest?”

  “I believe in scientific curiosity,” he replied. “Something I experienced made me curious. Simple as that.”

  “You saw a ghost?”

  “Men don’t see ghosts,” Terry said in a matter-of-fact way, the kind that suggested an argument was futile. “At any rate, the vast majority don’t. Only women see ghosts. So, no, I did not see a ghost.”

  “Men can’t see ghosts?”

  “No,” Terry said. “Too left-brained. It sounds horribly simplistic to say this, but most men are left-brained and most women are right-brained. So that means most men can’t see them. They might—and I stress might—be able to feel something if they walked through a residual field or passed through a sentient, but overall they are not sensitive enough. Go figure.”

  “You kind of lost me,” Kate said. “Residual what?”

  “I’ll start at the beginning,” Terry replied. “When I first started looking into this, I was naturally skeptical. My background is in nuclear physics, though I got tired of doing that around the same time I began this project. I decided I would talk to people, ask them about their so-called ‘hauntings,’ and attempt to discover some type of pattern. My initial thought was to pay more attention to the people in the house to see if perhaps they were the suggestible type, and then determine if there was a character trait in common among them.