A Mongrel's Curse (Breed Matters Book 1)

by Paul C. Middleton

  "Don't try to summon a ghost in the rain, it washes the salt out of the containment circle. It can't possess the summoner, but it can go wandering looking for someone else. They can be difficult to send back to the afterlife once that happens. Without a body, they wanna go back. Once they get one some do, others don't. Can get you into trouble most places."

  I slowly, without intent, recited the summoning chant for Issy. Fidelma looked increasingly nervous about this whole thing, and Issy naturally found it distasteful. I also warned Issy that she may not be able to see it. Fidelma would because it was her father I was summoning. I could see ghosts anyway and besides, a summoner could usually see the ghost that was summoned.

  Once I was done with the preparations, I called the ghost. It's a fifteen-minute chant, so if you are interested in the details, get them from someone else.

  There was a shimmer as a fog rose within the summoning symbol and took the form of a man in his prime. A shortish fella, say five foot nine, with very broad shoulders. It was evident where Fidelma got her muscular build. The height must be from her Mum. The figure was draped in silvery light and fog, as he turned to speak to his daughter.

  "I am sorry for the pain I have inflicted on you. I never intended to have a child. You were conceived from my weakness. I was already old, and I suspect now the curse would not let me enter death's bliss without someone to inherit it. Nonetheless, the passing on of my curse to you is the darkest deed I could have committed." He stated in a dry, soft voice, filled with guilt, regret, and sorrow. He bowed low and formally towards her. I always found ghosts formal and stuffy, to be honest.

  "That's all well and good, sir, but I may be able to release her from the curse and set you, and your forefathers' heart's at ease if you can but tell me where the remains of the original subject of the curse does lie." About the only reason, I hated talking to ghosts. Their idiom is infectious. Not deliberately, but still I always felt constrained and... stilted when talking to them.

  "That I can tell you. It was brought by a priest in the same convoy that brought my forefathers to this land. It is held on unconsecrated land within consecrated land in the city where they first settled here."

  Okay, that was somewhat cryptic. It could mean Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Hobart or Adelaide. Still, I might be able to get somewhere with that information.

  "I thank you, good sir, and wish you a restful sleep."

  I prepared to send him back to rest when he said "Wait, Curse-breaker and soldier. There is more you need to know about your goals. And yourself. First, know that there are forces already arrayed against the breaking of this curse. Those that wish to perpetuate the belief of Heaven's infallibility move against you. They feel that this must be done, no matter the cost."

  I had a bad feeling I knew who he was talking about. The fucking Reformationists. Now, despite their name they were more of a motley crew willing to work for any Christian group that will offer them support. I knew the Catholics and Anglicans were connected to them, but I hadn't been able to find the proof to have their hunters banned.

  Their "Reformation" was the 'return' of all humans to the worship of the one 'true God' and his 'savior', Jesus Christ. Damn. I'd need to at least warn Sarge that they were active again.

  "A point of Prophecy may also be approaching. If it arrives, you must embrace your blessing and blood for the good of all, even those of us already dead. You are not what you feel, and the mistakes of the past may yet consume the world."

  Great. Prophecies were always funny things. Looking back you could always see where they were right. But looking forward was chancy at best, and if conditions weren't perfect for it, a point of Prophecy could be pushed forward a century or more. Hence the ghost's hedging. May was always an appropriate term when talking about Prophecies approaching.

  "Thank you, honored dead. I shall return ye to thy rest." He nodded acceptance. I took out a silver knife and threw it through the summoning symbol breaking the spell and sending him back to his rest. Issy was looking very thoughtful about everything that had happened.

  I turned to her and asked, "So could you see him?" She shook her head. "Ahh, but you could hear him, couldn't you?" She nodded. Isolde was looking less freaked out than I had expected. Most people's first encounter with any form of necromancy had them damned unsettled. She was looking more thoughtful than anything.

  "Yes. He was cautious about whether that prophecy was about to be fulfilled, wasn't he? Not that that's unusual, but he seemed to think it was a mild possibility."

  "That's the nature of the damned things. They're always right, least the true ones are. The 'when' can shift on a single little thing."

  "We're gonna have to do research. Let's head back to the ute."

  We dismantled the circle and the summoning symbol, I recovered the knife, and we grabbed some food we could eat out of the supplies. Then we headed back down the path. When we were five minutes from where we'd parked I heard a rustle ahead I held my hand up behind me. Both of the lasses stopped. The click of a safety being taken off a gun sounded loudly in the quiet.

  "Down!" I yelled even as I was diving behind the nearest tree. There was a burst of fire from an automatic weapon. Fuck. No-one should have those her in Oz. They wern't just restricted, they were outright illegal to all but the military and the Counter-terror Police. It continued. I hoped that Fidelma hadn't been hit. It was unlikely that they had gold, silver and cold iron laced bullets so Isolde was relatively safe since she hadn't cursed anyone. Yes, they'd hurt like hell, but they couldn't kill her with less specific bullets. I'd stop them from stomping her. With their bare hands, they could still kill her.

  Furies that were young and hadn't cursed anyone required rather specific means to kill them.

  I should have taken the Ghost's warning to heart. They must have been watching the road in for Fidelma. Well, they'd fucked up, I thought to myself as I heard three distinct shotgun blasts from behind me. I waited for the fourth and sprinted in an arc, circling around where that assault rifle firing had come from. Within a minute I was on his flank. The smell of unwashed dog was strong.

  Damn. A werewolf. Stupid fucker, though. As much as he stank, he wouldn't be able to smell me. He was still sending bursts of fire towards Isolde and Fidelma though. I swung further around him, and luck was on my side. I was downwind. Even if his nose were sensitive enough to smell me over his own unwashed self, with the wind in the wrong direction, he wouldn't be able to. What is it with religious fanaticism and a failure to wash?

  He was taking cover against a tree, and an idea came to me.

  Once I was within twenty meters, I charged him without uttering a sound. Angling the spear at a slight upward angle, I pinned him to the tree as the one and a half foot blade sunk through him and deeply into the tree. I hated to do it, once the blade had tasted blood I'd need a new one, but I drew the silver blade and held it to his throat.

  "Drop your gun" I ordered him. When he hesitated, I pressed the flat of the blade against the skin of his neck. He was in human form to use the gun, and it sizzled satisfyingly. He yelped and dropped the gun like it was suddenly red hot.

  "Who are you working for?" I asked. He carefully turned his head to face me. Then without warning, he burst out laughing madly, the fire of insanity in his eye. He grabbed my wrist and drove the blade into his own neck. It cut smoothly through the jugular and windpipe before I could react. I swore. "Fucking canine fanatics are as bad as the regulars. Why can't they wait until they've gloated a bit and I've gotten some damned info out of them? Damned brown faced arsehole lickers!"

  This is why I hate fanatics.

  I yelled out "He's down. Get a torch out, I need to examine his body, see if there's anything useful or informative on it. Fucker suicided. I think he's a Reformationist, but he's definitely a Were, so that makes NO sense. They're for human subjugation or elimination of all supes but angels. Usually elimination."

  Isolde had gone white. I didn't have time to ask her why.
I needed to confirm my suspicions or not and then we needed to get the fuck out. Sarge needed to know if they were active again. I got out my hunting knife and started cutting off his shirt. By the first curse, he stank.

  Fidelma had a grim look on her face but held her torch steady. I rolled him onto his front and ripped the fabric away. There it was, a Cross framed by a Nazi swastika made of angel wings.

  "Why in the blazes do the arsewipe, brain dead, needle fucking Fanatics have to be involved?" I yelled. I cut the tattoo off his back. "We're going." With the tattoo in my hand, I started rushing back to the ute. Yeah, I liked the spear, but he'd almost certainly called in more Reformationists. We didn't have time. When we got to the car, I grabbed one of my zip-lock bags, stuffed the piece of tattooed skin in it and shoved it in the freezer bolted to the bed. Then I got into the car. The lasses were still a distance behind me.

  "Come on, hurry. We are outta time here." I said as I jumped into the driver's seat. When I could hear two people heavily breathing in the back cab, I turned and checked. They had taken their pack off, that was enough for me. I put the pedal to the floor and spun the ute around in a cloud of dust.

  "Buckle up, this is gonna get rough."

  Chapter 10

  I hammered the ute down the back trails making sure I took a different route back to the highway than the one I took out. It was probably a longer route, but because I was barreling down the road, it only took me an hour to reach the highway. My passengers were bruised and shaken, but that was better than shot and injured, or killed. Once we were back on the asphalt, I grabbed my phone out and threw it back to Fidelma.

  "Call Sarge. Put it on speakerphone."

  It rang a few times and then there was a pickup "Sergeant McGuire speaking."

  "Sarge, you got a problem. The Reformationists are back, and now they're going after targets that are definitely banned. I'll explain when I get home in about three or four hours. Be there."

  "Consultant Jardine, I can't. At the moment the churches are claiming you've gone rogue. That you're practicing black necromancy. I know you don't, but the higher ups are 'suggesting' I investigate."

  "Stupid fuckers. They don't know what they're messing with. Besides, black necromancy isn't breaking the law until one of your zombies bites someone or skeletons kills someone. Or they are seen. They get proof I have been then they can put a bounty on me, but the SSC still shouldn't get involved."

  "This is big, Sarge. Alecto's personally involved me. She's pissed enough to curse all the religious fanatics. Ask them if they want the major churches added to the list. That's the best case I can see happening from you investigating me. Worst case, she actually declares war on supernatural enforcement by the government. Worldwide. You'd lose, you know. There are a lot of supes who want governments out of our business. Something like detaining someone who is working under the aegis of an Ancient could even get the Rakshasa to support her, and they hate the Furies. We're talking a major treaty violation right there."

  There was a profound silence. Then some muffled cursing. "What are you into Thal? For fuck's sake - you rarely see..."

  "Open line Sergeant. I suggest you tell your superiors they can shove their job up their arse. Take leave or quit if that's what you need to do to avoid this shit storm. But meet me at my house. Investigating me is not on your list of things to do today."

  "You know I can't quit. Not without... oh, shit, you are serious. That's how deep they're going. Why are the churches... oh right, open line. I'll tell the admin idiot I'll question you at your house. You can explain there."

  "That's what I was suggesting."

  There were mutters across the connection, then it went dead.

  I pushed the legal speed limits as far as I felt I could without attracting the attention of the roadside cops. I just hoped that the Reformationists weren't waiting for us when I got home. What worried me most was I hadn't been joking when I told Sarge what the consequences could be if he interfered. If anything I'd been using British understatement. We could be looking at the first worldwide supernatural war... only far worse. Imagine if World War two had started with the opposing soldiers already embedded within the populations of every city worldwide. Now imagine rather than three or four major factions there are twenty or thirty. And some of them enjoy causing civilian casualties. That was the issue we were facing.

  With the movement of cultures and populations over the centuries, so had supes spread. Wherever a community had belief in them, supernaturals could be found, as well as some places they weren't. With the expansion of the Internet, many types of supernatural could be found practically everywhere. Then I thought about it. That might well be the church's end goal. It was definitely consistent with the Reformationists goals, the destruction or subjugation of all supernaturals.

  "Sleep if you can. Once I have enough info, we're gonna be going flat out. This is gonna get nastier."

  There was something I was missing here, but I didn't have enough information.

  Chapter 11

  We were finally getting close to home. I pulled over three blocks away, in case Sarge or his bosses had done something stupid.

  "Get those guns into the lock-box, Fidelma. I'm gonna sniff around. They probably know what you look like. I doubt they know me." I went to the bag I'd packed and rummaged around in it, finding a grey-blue shirt

  "Right. Try to stay outta sight. I'll call you when it's clear." I threw the keys to Isolde. To be honest, I was concerned the counter-curse wouldn't hold. I knew she had her license, though, and I hadn't seen Fidelma's. When I saw her relax, I realized that she might not have one. After all, driving a ton or two of rolling steel might not be the wisest thing for someone with a curse like hers.

  I walked around the streets towards the house, noticing at least three people I knew worked for the SSC on the block around my house. Fuckers.

  I walked another two blocks past the last of them, turned a corner and rang Sarge. He picked up. "Deal's off. I'm gonna let Alecto know the government felt breaking the treaty was worth placating a bunch of pedophiles and those who protect them. I hope your life insurance is paid. The three SSC constables I've seen you working with before around my house was Damned Stupid." I said in chill tones.

  "I had no choice. The church claims you're trying to break a registered 'punishment curse' on top of everything else. They showed us paperwork and everything to the committee in an emergency meeting. Alecto refused to show." He replied placatingly.

  "And how many times has the church lied to you? And them? As well as anyone else that has investigated them?" I kept walking and typed a message to Issy. 'Move the car three blocks away.' "Besides, I have every right to break any curse. It's in my job title. After I finish this, I'm gonna go clean out your upper management. It'll be easy, since they're under blood oath to remain neutral, but are favoring the fucking churches like they've either paid them a mint or are currently sucking them off. All I'll have to do is say one word to them. Over the phone or in their presence. Warlock."

  Now there's a word with a couple of meanings. Warlocks were a group of humans who started without magical ability but studied and experimented on themselves to gain it. They could be a handful. But the original meaning is 'Oath-breaker.'

  "That's a strong accusation. Prepared to back it up? After all the orders only came from a quorum." Hum. What was his game? I knew calling them Warlock would work. They swore the blood oath. Unless they left their post, it would work. He didn't trust his own orders... that had to be it. A quorum. Three of the council of nine.

  "Sure, you got 'em hiding up your arse or something?"

  "Better. I have them waiting to be put in on a conference call. If even one of them dies after being accused of 'warlock' the order is invalid." Interesting. It showed a suspicion of them. Meant he really trusted me.

  "Sure," I said.

  There was a moment. "Magistrate O'Conner," a fat fuck, but reasonably trustworthy. "Magistrate Caprioli," a devout Catholic
Priest, definitely about to die. "Magistrate Wilkenson" I'd never met that one. A wild card. "Please confirm your presence," said McGuire

  "Magistrate Caprioli has just stepped out. Your orders still stand, Sergeant." A harsh voice said over the phone

  "I am present, Sergeant." Magistrate O'Conner's smooth baritone was easy to recognize over the phone

  "I regret to inform you, Magistrate Wilkenson, that without his presence on the phone within the next thirty seconds, under article fifteen, section b of the Supernatural co-operation and containment act, I will have to order your bodyguards to arrest you and imprison you until the aggrieved party can be present to state his grievance, or thirty days, whichever comes first. When the SSC is ordered to arrest someone on a bare quorum with the weak evidence you have given, that quorum must be maintained until the arrest has taken place. Officer on Council duty, how long has Magistrate Caprioli been gone?" McGuire finished

  The voice belonging to Wilkenson spluttered over the phone in outrage "You have no..." There was the sound of a fist crashing into his stomach.

  "Officer put both of them in protective custody. They are to have no further contact with anyone. If Magistrate Caprioli is spotted, he is to be given the same measures." There was some hushed speaking and some shouts from the mysterious Wilkenson as he was dragged away. "How long was the quorum broken, Officer?"

  There was a rustle of paper. "Half an hour, Sergeant." The officer said in a sick-sounding voice.

  "And the vote?"

  There was more rustling paper over the connection. "O'Conner against. Caprioli and Wilkenson for."

  "Why wasn't I informed? As per the regulations. You knew I was in contact with the supposed suspect."

  "Magistrate Caprioli was meant to be going to the toilet. Wilkenson distracted me by asking about your and Thalias Jardine's history. I felt no harm telling him..."

  "You are going to lose your commission, you know that son? I suggest you pursue..." Something was niggling at my brain. A quorum still only required a majority vote. Not a unanimous one. O'Conner could be an ass, but wouldn't risk his life. He'd only have made up the quorum... Shit. Someone had threatened his family.