by S A Archer
And God knew, they were always scheming.
Supernatural-on-supernatural crime, like what the wizards had done to the fey in the Brightner Building, was bad enough. But it never ended there. Ambition pushed them ever farther, into ever more dangerous territory. Like a drug user looking for an even greater high.
That’s what Granger was thinking, as he dropped out of the chopper and rushed with the assault team on the mansion that belonged to Dylan Eldridge. Peyton seemed surprised that there would be demonic power in the residence of a wizard, but Granger was far from shocked. It fit the escalation of power theory.
He gestured to the teams spilling out from the other copters, and the teams split up to surround the mansion and cover all the possible exits.
“Watch it, people,” he called into the comm system, “there could be civilians.” By which he meant unwary servants or family on the premises. They could be just as hostile, but they couldn’t go in guns blazing like this was a demon hunt through the sewers or in an otherwise abandoned structure.
Granger’s team consisted of three other agents, in addition to Peyton and Patterson. The lot of them charged up the gleaming marble steps towards the series of three sets of French doors that could open the massive room within into a pavilion connecting to the wide veranda. All that glass was a concern. They could be seen coming, for one, and they could get shredded if the windows were shattered in some rush of magic. Worse had happened on his watch.
Team after team chimed in, as access was gained at different locations. Normally, one of the team would drill out the lock, but this was a run and gun mission. Too much demonic magic to think that this was going to be a clean mission. Granger smashed the butt of his rifle against the first glass door, and then used the muzzle to knock out the sharp edges. The team spilled in and spread out quickly, assault rifles raised and at the ready.
And from the growling deeper within the mansion, they were about to need them.
The first bursts of gunfire rose from the hallway to their right. Granger and Peyton took the lead, rushing into the hall before the rest of the team could catch up with them. The screams that accompanied each burst from deeper in the mansion were more bestial than human. Mostly. Now and then a human shrieked, as an encounter went sour. They barely reached the second set of doors along the hall before one of them smashed open.
The demonic squid beast wasn’t one Granger had seen in a while, but it wasn’t his first encounter with the scum. He raised his gun, firing at the center mass. Bullets ripped into the single, fist-sized eye, and into the open beak of a mouth. Granger ignored the flying tentacles, with their razor edged spines, opting for a quick death over disarming it. The tentacles slammed into the drywall, busting out chunks and spraying the dust particles into the air. His gunfire was as rapid as Peyton’s, shredding the tentacles that tried to protect the body. Only wounded, the demon charged. The boom of a shotgun tore it open into a spraying ball of goo.
“Thanks,” Granger glanced back at Patterson, who cocked for another shot.
“Never go anywhere without Bertha. Bertha means business.” Patterson said and he pushed onward.
Three more of the squids took the cue and flew out of doorways further down. Gunfire rattled about them, as the entire team unloaded.
A tentacle smacked across Patterson, smashing him into the wall enough to cave in a section. Another tentacle grabbed Peyton about the throat, lifted him, and then bashed him repeatedly into the ground. Granger jammed his muzzle right into the demon’s eye socket, and destroyed its brains in a single shot.
Peyton dropped to the ground with the body of his attacker. But Granger didn’t get a chance to check on him, or Patterson. Another tentacle wrapped about his leg and snatched him off his feet before dragging him across the hall on his back. The beak of the demon crunched down around his blast helmet and Granger could hear it denting.
A barrage of fresh gunfire, including the shotgun blasts from Bertha, ended the attack.
Peyton and Patterson dragged the body off Granger and helped him to his feet. “Still don’t think wizards work with demons?” He asked, and then spit the sweat out of his mouth. At least, he hoped it was sweat and not demon blood. He didn’t need to be quarantined for a month. Or worse.
“Shocking the bloody shite out of me,” Peyton confessed, reloading his weapon with a fresh clip.
As they got to their feet, and started forward, Peyton gripped Granger’s upper arm and held him back. “Whoa, Wait.”
“What?”
Peyton pointed with his gun towards the ceiling, where a row of narrow holes were drilled. “Wizard booby trap.” Peyton shot at the ceiling, tearing a section out with the blast, and apparently triggering some mechanism. Jets of flame poured straight down, forming a curtain of blazing green fire. It blasted for several seconds, before drizzling out into flaming drops of whatever the fuel had been. “OK, we should be good.”
Granger was still squinting up at the holes, and not trusting them, until Peyton passed beneath without sending a renewed burst. “So, definitely demon and wizard magic going on here. A match made in Hell.”
“No kidding,” Patterson agreed, as they pressed on behind Peyton. The gunfire died down into sporadic bursts, and finally faded into silence.
Granger called for report, getting team captains that gave a tally of demon and human casualties. They’d sustained wounded, but they’d not lost an agent yet.
No humans or fey among the bodies, and no sign of anything living, other than the demons.
“Sweep the upper floors. Do a room by room. My team will check the basement.” Granger called over the comm.
“Why do we always have to check the basement?” Patterson grumbled.
“All the fun stuff is in the basement.” Granger gave a half smirk.
“You have a seriously warped sense of fun.” He muttered, but followed all the same.
Peyton was already waiting at the open basement door, glancing down into the black pit, and the reflective glow that flared now and then. The sound of a heart beat thumped down there. That was never a good sign.
Granger stuck his head into the doorway, and peered down. “Where are the steps?” After about four steps down, the rest were just gone.
“I think whatever is down there must have eaten them,” Peyton whispered back. “I think I hear it digesting.”
“No, lad,” Patterson said. “That’s its belly rumbling for more. Let’s none of us get eaten, right?”
“Right,” Peyton agreed, and gave Patterson a knuckle bump, like that was a vow between them.
Granger knelt down and gripped the door frame. “How far is the drop? That’s way more than just a couple of meters.”
Peyton looked at the team with them. “Anybody got a rope?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The cold stones beneath her gave her back no respite. She felt bruised just from laying too long on the cobbled surface. Even just rolling from her back to her side didn’t improve things. It was already digging into her hip. The weakness was more than just the pain. She’d been drank from, heavily. Her hand covered the spot on her throat that ached like she’d been punched there. But it was the cut on the inside of her forearm that hurt more.
As her senses wavered back into focus, London struggled to lift her head. Beside her, a golden plate with cut selections of fruit had been laid. The scent of candle wax and food mingled with perfume, even this close to the stones of the floor. As uncomfortable as it was, at least it was clean. The sounds of conversations nearby were muted, and quieted more, as she began to stir.
“Eat, and restore your blood,” the male’s voice was far more familiar than she wished it was.
“Bain Greim,” she muttered, jacking an arm under herself to lift up enough to consider the food left
for her. She didn’t doubt the quality or integrity of it. She knew Bain didn’t fight dirty that way. So she picked up a section of peeled orange and slipped it into her mouth, biting into it and letting the sweet juice roll down her parched throat. It burned a little, but that just helped bring her more into focus. “The Ghille Dhu hire vampires now?”
“It worked didn’t it? I could have sent a Changeling, but they likely wouldn’t have returned you alive and relatively intact. Derek is old enough to have control of his instincts and he drank only enough to satisfy his payment before delivering you to me. Quite an excellent deal. I could hardly have turned it down.”
“You could have just called.” She managed to raise enough to sit cross-legged on the floor, going for more of the fruit. She drew the plate into her lap to more easily facilitate the rejuvenation it promised. The food was probably enchanted to do just that, and already her head wasn’t pounding quite so ferociously.
“Why should I summon you, when you already knew the terms of our agreement?” The prince rose from his throne, looking elegant in his black suede britches, shiny leather knee boots, and opened silk shirt that was tied partially closed by the purple sash around his waist. Today, he was more blond than before, but as a shapeshifter, that was probably more a matter of daily mood than a fashion trend. His irises were a faceted emerald green, and fixed on her with more attention than London was comfortable with.
She gave a quick glance around. The main hall of his court had been set for a banquet and it seemed the affair was winding down. Only a few of his court remained here and there, in small conversation groupings that paid them no mind. The guards about the prince never seemed the least bit concerned about London as a security risk and this time they might have been right. She couldn’t feel the weight of her gun beneath her arm, even though the bulk of the holster was still there, beneath her jacket. “Our agreement?” Placing the plate aside, she worked her way to standing. She didn’t like being on the floor as he stalked around her like this.
Each of Bain’s predatory steps was executed with the grace of a jungle cat. “How quickly they forget,” he mused, glancing to one of his guards, who smirked his agreement. Bain turned his attention back to London. “Those lovely gloves you have in your pocket, my dear. Those are what I speak of.”
“So you thought that justified you to my blood anytime you were so inclined?” London dusted herself off, being careful not to overtax the arm that Bain had cut and bandaged. It was a good clean job, from the looks of it. Just like the one covering the vampire bites on her throat.
“The terms were clear,” Bain continued, “I would reveal each of the three secrets of the gloves for a taste of your blood.” It wasn’t so much her blood that he craved, but the Sidhe magic within it that got Bain, and other blood drinkers, interested. Werewolves were the worst, but the competition for that spot was fierce.
“I didn’t need you to tell me the secrets of the gloves. I discovered them myself. Therefore, I didn’t need to return to you.” London crossed her arms and glared at Bain. He meant to intimidate her and it wasn’t his first time attempting it. They went back quite a ways, and every time they pinged off each other, London couldn’t anticipate his mood and logic. He twisted everything to his advantage as much as any Seelie Sidhe, even though she was willing to bet the gold that he stockpiled that he would have been furious to hear that comparison.
“That doesn’t expunge you of your agreement. You still must make payment in full.” Bain strolled past one of his guards, and his hand closed over the guard’s sword hilt. The prince drew it out with the ring of metal, and then continued to circle London.
She frowned at him, refusing to take the bait, even if she knew all too well how good he was with that blade. If he meant to kill her, or cut off bits of her anatomy, he was well capable of doing it. Time to switch tactics. “Shall we call in an arbitrator?” Her fingers glided over the symbol she wore. “I am sure Lugh would have something to say about all this.”
The blade Bain had raised between them now lowered to his side. It was less regal, in a way, more roguish. And she wouldn’t put it past him to drop his royal demeanor if it benefited him. “Do you want him to know you’ve been having dealings with the Ghille Dhu? Does he know all of your spectacularly brilliant past?”
She lifted her chin, a hint of a grin touching her lips. “He knows everything. And as far as dealings with you, should I be ashamed? Are you saying that the court of the Ghille Dhu is disloyal to the Sidhe? Every other fey would insist on providing me, or my patron, with aid with no expectation of payment at all. But you…” She tilted her head. “Do you really want the attention of the Sidhe Champion?”
Bain’s frown didn’t mar his handsome features, but it was a seriously discontented expression.
Giving him an out, she continued. “How about we call the deal concluded? You had two feedings, rather than three. I won’t enlighten Lugh as to your kidnapping tactics and vampire employment. I keep the gloves and we call it even.”
The prince raised the sword once more, and placed the flat of the blade to her shoulder.
London didn’t flinch. Didn’t let a hint of fear show. She knew him far too well to give him even that much, even when the cool metal touched the flesh just beneath her ear. “Bain…” Her voice was a warning, modulated slightly deeper to edge the word with seriousness.
He withdrew the blade, and turned away from her. He returned to the guard and slid the sword back into the sheath. With a flourish, he turned about and dropped onto his throne; all hint of his previous annoyance was gone like Glamour. “I will grant you that amendment to our agreement. It has been fulfilled.” He gave a halfhearted wave to one of his guards, who pulled London’s pistol from his waistband, laid it on its side in the flat of his palm, and offered it to her.
Bain was nothing but regal in his voice and mannerism, as he said, “Give my regards to the Sidhe Champion. The Ghille Dhu are always at the service of the Sidhe.”
“Of course,” London gave a half nod, acknowledging his reply with the proper show of respect for his position. No point in screwing this up now with impoliteness. “And if you would be so good as to return me to where I was before you ‘requested my presence’? It’s an awfully long walk back to Belfast from here.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Peyton repelled down the rope quietly, his head turning from side to side to keep an eye out for anything nasty that might be thinking to rush him. The entire under-cavern beneath the mansion was vast, and probably heavy doses of magic kept the building above from being devoured in the sinkhole. Deep and wide as it was, it could easily take the entire building and a good section of the grounds. Whatever power had been used to carve it out left stalactites and stalagmites throughout the underground chamber.
The remains of the staircase was bashed to kindling and strewn across several meters. Silver plated cages, typical of the kind the wizards used to store the fey, where torn to pieces, and parts thrown everywhere. The fey that they once held weren’t accounted for, except for the blood smeared about.
Peyton kept his rifle aimed before him, towards the center of the cavern where the ground dipped downward into a wide pool, twice as far across as he was tall, glistened with what could have been lava. Given the demons upstairs, he didn’t imagine this was any naturally occurring lava pool.
A single man, kneeling by the lava, was surely a wizard. The robes were a dead giveaway. And Peyton was fairly certain it was Eldridge. He was bent forward, head down and arms embracing about his abdomen as if he’d been in pain, but other than that, he wasn’t moving.
The only thing that was moving about was the creature about the size of an elephant, but with a larger head and a shaggy coat of matted fur. Instead of a trunk, it had a face like a Chinese dragon, all mouth and wild hair. The scent of brimstone and gore assaulted Peyton’s
senses, but he didn’t let it detract from his focus.
Peyton was fairly confident that with the blast shield down, and the reflection of the light from the hell lava off of the glass, that his features would be obscured. He didn’t want the wizard recognizing him, and coming after him, if this didn’t go down the way Granger seem to think it would. He kept his assault rifle raised and aimed not at the beast, but at the man.
The beast was moving around the pool of lava, pacing back and forth on the far side, its head down like a caged lion stalking.
Beside him, Peyton felt the rope moving, and shortly Granger, Patterson, and the rest of the assault team were down in the basement with him. They kept quiet, and moved into position behind the stalagmites.
The blood smears leading from the broken cages dragged across the floor towards the pool and Peyton had a terrible image of the fey getting tossed into it. Or perhaps they had been tossed to the beast to feed its demonic hunger. Either way, it twisted his guts. Almost assuredly he’d been the one to condemn them to this fate. He didn’t know how the afterlife worked for the fey, but it added a dual layer of sickness to his guilt to think that they might not only have been tortured in life, but now would suffer for all eternity in Hell. It wasn’t an easy thought for Peyton, who couldn’t deny that that was probably right where he’d meet them.
But he didn’t plan to die today. He intended to fight with all that he was. Once the assault team was in position, it was Granger that called out to the wizard with authority. “Dylan Eldridge? Time to stand down. Send your pet back into the pit and put your hands on your head.”
