The Hounds of Devotion

by Eva Chase

  “The same applies to the others,” I said, “if you were planning on trying to scare them off too. They’ve got the right to make their own informed decision—and I think it’s pretty clear what decision they’re set on.”

  Jemma lowered her head. “I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this when we first came to London. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It’s gotten so… complicated.”

  “Maybe in some ways. In other ways, I’ve found it’s letting me see how simple certain facts are.” I paused, holding in the other words I’d wanted to say more than once, the words that had probably been true for years now if I’d let myself examine my emotions more closely.

  If a man who’d barely known her a few months could say it, why the fuck couldn’t I?

  I eased a little closer, one of my hands coming up to tease into her hair. “I never said this before because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear it, but maybe I should have trusted you more than that. You are the meaning in my life. You may as well make the sun rise. I don’t want to exist if it’s not beside you. You are never getting rid of me, because I love you too goddamned much to ever let you go.”

  She raised her eyes to stare at me. “Bash…”

  I stroked my fingers over her fiery hair. “I mean it. I love you. God only knows how long I have.”

  Her voice came out low and hoarse. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to say that back to anyone. I think that part of me died when my sister did.”

  I smiled at her, at the woman I loved with every fiber of my being, and said with totally honesty. “I don’t really give a damn whether you ever return the sentiment. I’ll fight with you and rise or fall with you anyway. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ Shakespeare was right about a few things. Let’s just hope we get a little more rise before the fall.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jemma

  The stretch of land around Tillhouse’s country cottage was far too open for my liking. Just a broad field with overgrown grass dotted with wildflowers. I lingered for a moment in the shelter of the grove of trees on the other side of the worn wooden fence before clambering over and slipping across the yard.

  In the light of a quarter moon, I could only make out the broader details of the small stone building. No vehicles were parked outside, and no light glinted in any of the windows. By all appearances, I shouldn’t run into anyone during this operation. The cuff clamped around my thigh should stop any shrouded folk lingering around from noticing me too.

  A twinge ran through the muscle there as I stopped near the side of the building. I’d been wearing the cuff more than I preferred the last few days—and my body obviously wasn’t very happy about that fact either. But I couldn’t risk tipping off Tillhouse or the local cultists before I had a new plan in place for taking them on.

  I leaned against the cool stone and peered through the window beside me. Nothing but shadows waited on the other side. I stood still, my ears perked, but the only sound that reached me was the faint rustling of the night breeze over the grass.

  Setting my feet carefully and quietly, I walked around to the back door. Even when the house’s surroundings were totally open like they were here, people so often focused their security on the front door as if it were more vulnerable than the others.

  Tillhouse intended to keep this place as impenetrable as he could, though. A glance through the window in the door showed me the red gleam of a light on an electronic security system. I could just barely make out the company name. It was one of those where you had to type in the right code to disarm it within a certain number of seconds or the authorities would be alerted.

  Too bad for Tillhouse I’d come prepared. I slipped the device Bash had picked up for me out of my purse and kept it tucked under my arm as I went to work on the keyhole. It hadn’t been hard to figure out what kind of security breaker I might need after I’d already penetrated Tillhouse’s office and London apartment. Most people found one company they trusted and stuck with that one across the board.

  It was those investigations that had led me here. I’d found a piece of mail addressed to a nearby PO Box that had fallen behind the sofa in his apartment. Tracking down the name it’d been addressed to had brought up the deed for this cottage. No actual person with that name appeared to exist, so it was almost certainly an alias. For some reason, Tillhouse didn’t want anyone to easily connect him to this Yorkshire property.

  I was hoping that reason would pay off with enough information to get me to my final goal.

  The lock clicked over. I paused, adjusting my headset. “How does it look out there?” I asked under my breath.

  Bash was staked out in our car a few miles down the road—the only road that had access to the lane that led to this cottage. “All clear so far,” he said in my ear. “You know I’ll alert you the second I see anything at all.”

  “Okay. I’m going in.”

  I eased open the door and darted across the tiled floor to the security panel. The plastic side popped open as the system beeped in warning of impending doom. I plugged the breaker device into a port there and jabbed a few buttons on its face.

  The beeping stopped, the pane on the security panel going dark. I let out a sigh of relief and unplugged the device.

  Even though the place was isolated and Tillhouse was a busy man, he must have made a point of getting out here on a fairly regular basis. The inside of the building had an airy flowery scent, not at all stuffy from being shut up. The floor turned to hardwood as I left the back hall, my shoes rasping softly over its surface.

  Sherlock probably would have jumped at the chance to join this search. Breaking and entering was one of his favorite activities, as far as I could tell. I’d bet John would have been thrilled too. But Sherlock had still looked a little pale and shaky when I’d seen him this morning, and frankly, I hadn’t needed any of them to pull this off.

  It was a return to form—me and Bash working alone, making do with the extensive resources we’d accumulated for just this purpose. Perhaps it’d be nearly as difficult to put off the trio as it’d been with Bash, but that didn’t mean I had to involve them in all of my activities. I could include them in moderation, keep them out of the riskier situations. Take a larger share of the responsibility that should have been completely mine.

  I took a quick turn through the kitchen, not expecting the old-fashioned appliances and stylishly shabby wooden table to reveal much. Living rooms often proved more useful, but the one here didn’t offer a single scrap of paper or telling photograph. Onward to the bedroom, then.

  A faint scent reached my nose as I entered that small room—something flat and prickly like an herb left to dry too long. I couldn’t place it exactly, but my pulse sped up at the smell with some memory beyond my consciousness. I peered through the darkened room intently as I started my search.

  After several minutes, it appeared that initial spark of anticipation had been misleading. The wardrobe held only folded sweaters and polo shirts and a row of hanging slacks. Nothing was hidden under the mattress or behind the headboard. I was stepping back with a frown when my gaze caught on a scuffing on the floor just beneath the bed.

  The varnish on the hardwood was worn down quite a bit by the legs of the bed—as if it’d regularly been pushed to the north side of the room. Bracing myself for the squeal of metal against wood, I positioned my hands and gave the whole frame a good shove.

  It moved about a foot on my first attempt—far enough to reveal a line of slightly thicker shadow in the floor. There was a trap door under the bed. My lips curled into a grin. Jackpot.

  I pushed the bed until it was far enough over that I could tug the trap door open. A cooler darkness waited below, laced with a stronger whiff of that herbal scent. I pulled out my phone and shone its light into the depths.

  A ladder led down some eight feet into the cellar. Most of the floor was covered by a rug. A chair and table small enough to fit through the trap
door stood in one corner, and a metal shelving unit that must have been constructed down there stood against the opposite wall.

  Clutching my phone, I clambered down the ladder one-handed. The cool, prickly-smelling air closed around me.

  Tillhouse wasn’t likely to have communed with the shrouded folk down here. They hesitated to go anywhere underground, away from the sunlight. But opening the boxes on the shelf, I found a variety of artifacts he might have used in his own sort of worship elsewhere.

  A blood-stained silk cloth told me he’d participated in the bloodletting ceremony at least once. He had several of the wood-and-wire tokens that the cult often sold to supernatural enthusiasts. Apparently the shrouded folk and their human devotees hadn’t been upfront enough with the MP to inform him that those objects held no power or significance at all. He was a dupe just like the other collectors, just in a much more involved way.

  That didn’t endear Tillhouse to me at all, but it did make me even more nervous about what the shrouded folk might be planning to use him for.

  The contents of the next box sent a jitter of excitement through me. He’d made notes about the commune—he’d even drawn maps. Maybe he’d duped the cult in turn. They wouldn’t have approved of him having this information written down anywhere outside their domain.

  One piece of paper, with multiple eraser marks as if he’d been drawing from memory, showed the layout of some twenty buildings in what must have been the commune itself. Another marked its spot about halfway between two town names I recognized from our Highlands investigations.

  We had them. We knew exactly where they were now. It didn’t matter if Tillhouse had gotten off the hook—when we destroyed his local base of support, he wouldn’t matter anyway.

  Unable to hold back a smile, I snapped pictures of both maps with my phone. Part of me wanted to get the hell out of that tight dark space as soon as possible, but my practical side won out. There were still a few more boxes I hadn’t checked yet. I hadn’t come all this way to rush through the job.

  The next container held another assortment of knickknacks. I set that back in the spot where I’d found it and then reached for another. This one lifted in my hands with much less jostling.

  It held a stack of papers. I shone my light over the sheets as I flipped through them. It only took a scan of the first few before a cold knot of horror began to swell in my gut.

  The papers held notes about diversions of funds, about arranging access to supplies, about coordinating worship ceremonies… not just within the Highlands commune or between it and the other two here, but with ones noted down as Colorado and Arizona, Granada and Luzern.

  If I was interpreting the figures here correctly, the shrouded folk here in Britain had turned Tillhouse into some sort of hub, connecting them with other pockets of the cult all across North America and Europe so they could collaborate more closely than they’d ever been able to from their isolated locations. Fuck.

  While I’d been gathering power to take them on, they’d been gathering more power themselves, for who knew what awful purpose.

  Nausea pooled in my stomach as I took photos of all the papers in the box for further examination. I climbed back up the ladder on legs that had gone slightly shaky. My head had just emerged from the level of the floor when Bash’s voice crackled into my ear.

  “—there? Jemma, if you don’t answer me right now—”

  “I’m here,” I said quickly. “What’s happening?” The cellar depths must have cut off the signal between us.

  “A motorcycle went by about thirty seconds ago. I don’t know for sure they’re heading to your spot, but I’m not sure where else they’d be going. You’d better get out of there.”

  I swore under my breath and flipped the trap door closed. I couldn’t leave the house looking like someone had poked around in it. With a massive heave, I hauled the bed back into its previous spot. Then I fled for the back door.

  When I darted out into the yard, a headlight was just streaking around the bend by the stand of trees. I ran in the opposite direction so the building would hide any sight of me and threw myself down into the tall grass about fifty feet away.

  The light stopped by the lane. In its hazy glow, I saw the helmeted figure on the bike turn their head as if scanning the area. Not Tillhouse, but someone he hired to keep a watch on the place? I might have been safer staying inside.

  After a few minutes, the bike roared off again. My muscles went slack against the firm ground. I rubbed my eyes and patted my phone to make sure I hadn’t lost it somehow in my rush to get out.

  “Bash,” I said into my headpiece, “we’re going to need to round up and rally the trio.”

  Everything revolved around that commune in the Highlands. We had to take it down as swiftly and decisively as possible if we were going to actually put an end to this, and for that five minds and bodies would get us a lot farther than two.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  John

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes,” the commander of the North Highland police said for what felt like the hundredth time. He folded his hands on his desk. “There isn’t much we can do for you. I understand you have quite a reputation that proceeds you, but we still must follow proper procedure if we’re to keep law and order.”

  Sherlock’s lips pursed as if he’d bitten into something bitter, but he kept his voice as even as always. “I realize that. I simply wish to gain access to your historical records so that we might establish a pattern—”

  “And I’ve told you that those records aren’t available to the public. As much as you may have helped the police down in London and wherever else, you don’t work for us, and none of your friends here do either. I’m afraid that’s my final answer.”

  I could tell Sherlock was biting his tongue, but the drawn-out argument had clearly worn at him. He’d been more his usual color when we’d struck out on our mission this morning after a night in a nearby inn, but since then his face had started to gray. At the moment, it was unsettlingly close to the shade it’d been when he’d first gotten out of the hospital. My stomach twisted, and I resisted the urge to glare at the police commander for bringing my partner to that state.

  Garrett had changed colors too—an angry flush, in his case. “Fuck,” he muttered as we left the building and headed to the van where Jemma and Bash were waiting. The long-time criminals in our midst had figured it was better not to put on an appearance for the local constabulary.

  “Do you think Tillhouse has some influence over them to make them so reluctant to share information?” I asked Sherlock. I’d never seen any body of law enforcement be so hesitant to help the great Sherlock Holmes.

  “It could be. Or perhaps there are paranormal vibes in the air.” He made a swishing gesture in the air and closed his hand when it trembled. “It could also simply be the northern Scottish dislike of most things English. Our history with them is not the most cordial, after all.”

  Well, yes, there was that too. Maybe the simplest explanation applied here.

  Jemma took in our faces as we climbed into the van and wrinkled her nose. “No luck then?”

  “The North Highland police force take the privacy of their records very seriously,” Sherlock announced, and immediately sat down on one of the padded benches that lined the walls. It’d only been a few days. I wasn’t sure his recovery was quite complete. He’d have denied any weakness, of course.

  I sank down beside him, and Jemma shoved the box of donuts she’d bought on our way up toward us as if as a consolation prize, licking her fingers from her latest snack. Even though my gut was heavy, I picked up a salted caramel one. Sweets always seemed to sharpen her concentration. It could be worth a try.

  The sticky caramel dissolved into the buttery dough as I chewed. I wasn’t sure the sugar rush jostled loose any useful inspirations, but I did have to say that Jemma had excellent taste in desserts.

  “Why don’t we approach this the same way we did the place in the Lake D
istrict?” Bash asked where he’d turned around in the front passenger seat. His dark gaze passed over us, slightly narrowed as if he was annoyed the three of us hadn’t already gotten to work on it. “Set them up for a crime, then send the police to catch them. It went off without a hitch before.”

  Jemma shook her head with a swish of her red waves across her shoulders. “We haven’t gotten any bites for the feelers I put out, just as I suspected. We gambled on that first attempt to get Tillhouse arrested, and now they’ll be on high alert. I doubt the commune will react to any bait we dangle—for now, they’ll be sticking to people they’re sure of.”

  “They might not need anything from the outside world,” Sherlock put in. “With Tillhouse contributing extra supplies to whatever stores they usually kept, they may be keeping themselves set up for months at a time.”

  “That can’t be the end of it,” Garrett protested, but he hesitated when he looked at Sherlock. The overdose had clearly shaken him up too. He hadn’t been quite his usual passionate, quick-tempered self since we’d discovered Sherlock unconscious. I got the impression he was afraid if he came on too strong about anything, he’d accidentally trigger some unknown sensitivity in the other man.

  We’d all relied on Sherlock an awful lot over the past few years. He’d almost come to seem like a god of detection and deduction. That evening last week had been a horrible reminder of just how mortal and human the man was.

  I’d flushed the rest of Sherlock’s cocaine down the loo before he’d gotten home, and he hadn’t complained, so I’d won at least that minor victory.

  Jemma snatched up another donut and leaned back against the bench. “I still say we could take the slaughtering route. Toss some hydrochloric gas into the place. Electrocute them all. I don’t care. Just get rid of them, and goodbye problem.” She waved her hand.

  I’d have liked to say I was horrified by her suggestion and by the fact that I suspected she honestly would have been fine with simply killing every inhabitant of the Highlands commune. The truth was, after the wrenching shock of finding Sherlock slumped in his bedroom and the agonizing hours waiting to find out if he’d even survive, I couldn’t summon much if any compassion for the people who’d welcomed the creatures who’d tormented him.