The Accords Triptych (Book 2): Bloodstream

by Ian Thomas

  “Well, it has the right structure,” she managed to say, uncomfortable at seeing what the Clan had termed The Ordeal reduced to a mood poem. It was okay when they did it. They had lived through it and all, but for an outside party to place it in such simple, almost clinical terms, was unsettling.

  “Thing is I’d never seen a haiku until that day.” Milton was still standing, disconnected and aware of it. “I’m gonna leave you to read. If you need a break I’ll be over there working on a bawdy limerick.”

  “Thanks,” she said quietly, handing him back the paper.

  Wanting to put the poem out of her mind, she started on the stack of books. No real rhyme or reason to her process, she scanned the first couple of pages until she found one that had a tone she immediately warmed to. A glance at the cover told her she was reading Occult Observations While Cowering.

  VII

  Rowan was worried.

  The last time she had seen Milton he had been a lot less…unkempt.

  Of course the last time she had seen him had been their disastrous date. Two years had passed since Daniel’s death. And while the loss still weighed heavily, there had been enough portents from the ‘other side’ to suggest the time had come. Admittedly the portents were from Daniel’s own restless spirit. The final straw had come when she received an email from Milton containing a limerick from Daniel that would make the Pope blush. They’d never met before but the middle of the limerick went – so hit reply, date this guy – and really who was she to argue with the restive soul of her dead husband.

  Back then Milton had been charming. Cute in a bumbling British kind of way though the toll of being the Clan’s scribe clearly wore on him. He’d loved his life as an aspiring surgeon. Having his mind invaded by nightmarish visions, portents, omens in the shifting, subjective language of rhyme must have been an affront.

  Hence the train wreck she had just witnessed.

  “So Milton’s…still here.”

  “Yes,” came Somerset’s clipped reply as he shut the door behind her. He gestured for her to take a seat.

  “Is he…okay?”

  “Depends on the day,” Somerset said, sitting behind the desk. “I’ve turned a blind eye to much of his excesses. It’s mostly just pot these days but every so often he gets his hands on opiates or barbiturates.”

  “And yet he’s still here?”

  “You didn’t come all this way to talk about Milton, I’m sure.”

  “No, I didn’t…but still. He doesn’t look good.”

  “He’s actually better since Mills arrived.” The man paused, looking away. “Though ‘better’ is subjective.” He caught his reverie before it began. “Tea?”

  “Please,” she smiled.

  “You remember Siobhan. It’s one of her recipes. Quite delightful.” Rowan almost commented about there being little difference between Milton’s weed and some of Siobhan’s stronger herbal teas, but decided this wasn’t the time nor the place.

  As he poured, his ring clinked against the handle of the silver teapot. Rowan studied it carefully aware of what it was. Then her eyes moved to his face. Age was wearing badly on the older black man. His hair was more white than black these days and his face was heavily lined. She’d never actually asked his age but had to figure he was at least eighty. Would he ever take the ring off, she wondered, or would he continue to erode under its own weight as time crawled on.

  “It’s a rather delicate matter actually,” she began, accepting the tea from him. “You’re aware of the Cult of the Eighth House and the recent ritual.” The whole drive up she’d prepped how to have this conversation without the memories affecting her. In truth, The Ordeal was over and dealt with. It was the aftermath which was taking the greatest toll on them.

  But that wasn’t Somerset’s concern. Or business.

  “Yes, McLachlan did well to prevent Mammon’s rise. Hidden strengths I see.”

  “Came at a cost though,” she said.

  “Oh.” Somerset stiffened, poised for her next word.

  “Nothing sinister in the big scheme of things,” she replied quickly, hoping to allay his fears. “No, this is more of a personal matter.”

  While Somerset didn’t seem to unclench in her opinion, she launched into explaining McLachlan’s experience of the false life as best as he had described it to her. “And now those memories have stayed with him. Sometimes overriding his present consciousness.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Now I’ve heard you frown on his vigilantism – despite currently hosting a known hunter under your roof – but there’s a very real danger to him. Especially if he’s in combat.”

  “Chase is not some self-appointed rooftop free-runner with a boy scout complex.”

  “No,” she retaliated in kind, anger threading her words. “He’s a pretty boy media darling who often threatens to expose all of us when he’s not crashing through some ruins or pissing off some dormant spirit.” For the longest time she’d thought McLachlan was over-reacting in his distaste of the Clan Delphae, yet sitting with Somerset she wasn’t so sure the feeling was one-sided.

  “He’s gotten better.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” She was finding it hard to keep her tone amicable. “But McLachlan’s pulled Chase’s butt out of the fire more times than I’m sure he’d admit to.”

  “That may be so but Chase is independent of any single supernatural community.”

  “Really?” she baulked. “He has his own room here. Hell, I saw his named parking space when we pulled in.”

  “In our defense he has one at the Vancouver chapter house as well.”

  “Thanks for bringing up his ego. I didn’t want to but at least it’s on the table.”

  “Still an affiliation with us does not prove anything. Are we not independent of the communities?”

  “I’m asking for a friend.” Rowan sighed heavily, wanting to cut through the posturing and bullshit. “A good friend. You’ve met him.”

  Somerset thought for a minute, absently turning the ring on his finger. “As I’ve told McLachlan there’s very little in the lore about his condition.”

  “Yeah, but there are tomes on demonic possession. I’ve already spent more than one less-than-fun-filled weekend combing through those books.”

  “And still nothing on a demonic stain. I would venture there’d be even less regarding this situation.”

  “You know for the head of an all-knowing, all-studious group of supernatural eggheads, I’m starting to question your credentials.”

  “We’re not Google.”

  “That much I know.”

  “Then from my learned opinion I would venture to say these memories could merely fade.”

  “Could?” she demanded. “He has twenty years of false memories shoved into his head. Important memories. Of love, marriage, children. Those don’t fade. He and you are not the same person,” she challenged angrily.

  “Obviously,” he replied calmly. She noticed he’d tucked the ring hand out of sight. Anyone else would have been a better choice at this, she thought. Even McLachlan. And Somerset’s hit him before. After a long moment of silence, he looked at her. “There are texts on reincarnated souls, how they’ve blocked or assimilated the memories of a past life into the current one. A possibility. But often those involve severing the psychic link to the afterlife.”

  “The problem here is that there is no other side.”

  “Well, there is,” Somerset corrected. When she looked at him blankly, he said. “Hell.”

  “So you think they’re tied to the stain?”

  “Hard to tell. Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Alquin’s already had him on a daily exorcise routine since,” Rowan added, finding Somerset oddly cryptic in his demeanor. Perhaps she shouldn’t have called them eggheads.

  “Exorcism is different. It’s about detaching and expelling a demonic force. These memories don’t sound demonic.”

  “Well, yes, sure but demons trade in falsehoods and
lies. Same territory to me.”

  “I’m sure the princes of Hell would beg to differ. Give me a chance to research this properly. I think if we focus on past life intrusion we may find some relief. There have even been strong cases for hypnotherapy.”

  “Thanks,” she sighed.

  “Hopefully give him one less thing to worry about at least.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her whole body tensed. She even felt the protective crackle of magic at her fingertips.

  “Just that the Cult will be looking for some retribution.”

  “From him? Pretty sure they have a lot more problems in-house than McLachlan.”

  “If you say so.”

  “See, something like that’s gonna get you hit one of these days. And today’s feeling pretty good.”

  “Rowan, you’re being flippant.”

  “What do you know?!”

  “Very little,” he replied honestly, his cards on the table. “For the moment. But as long as McLachlan is stained, they’ll try. New clerics. New distractions. New cups.”

  “What did you say?” she said, her blood freezing.

  He sighed. “When will you realize we’re not just a group of bookworms. We had a forensics team in that factory the second the police secured the scene. We know the Cups of Alniyat were destroyed. We also know they’ve been destroyed before. And remade. He’s free. For the moment.”

  “You’ve never spoken of the Cult before. Well not like this. Not so openly.”

  “Never had a summoning ritual on my back porch before. You do realize that was end of days material right?” he asked condescendingly. “If Mammon had made it into this realm it would have been the end. Of all of us. Of the world as we know it. Of life.”

  “And yet you’re sitting there as if McLachlan’s the bad guy,” Rowan replied, her anger on the back burner while her curiosity took over. “From what I saw he was the one who made it so that didn’t happen. Him. One guy. Who you seem to be vilifying.”

  “Not vilify, just…cautious is all. He himself may not be some all-powerful villain, but he is tethered to one of the worst.” Somerset sat forward, his voice low. “What if he turns on us? What if he manages to channel that power with his conscious mind?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Rowan replied plainly, the suggestion abhorrent to her. “I’d pretty much stake my life on the fact that’ll never happen.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “Because I’ve seen him at his worst. And his best. And his worst still has a light that gets him out of the dark.”

  Somerset sat back regarding her coolly. Had this been a test, she wondered, or was there more to this line of questioning.

  “You knew about the summoning though? Beforehand?” she asked.

  “Maybe an hour,” he replied. “Milton had a vision. There was little…”

  Somerset trailing off was unlike him. This really had caught them unawares, she realized, sitting back as the knowledge washed over her. To his credit he knew she’d connected the dots.

  “Not to say we would have intervened,” he said quickly. “The Clan does not interfere with the affairs of other supernaturals. We watch, we record, we protect.”

  “And when someone comes to you – someone in need of help and wanting answers – you rejected him. He had actual proof of a secret cult worshipping one of the crown princes of all things hellish, had been a victim himself of demonic possession. Came with warnings out the wazzo and offers to work with you. And yet you dismissed him like some child.” She sat forward, her blood close to boiling. “Tell me where does watching, recording, and protecting fit into that kind of behavior?”

  He leveled his gaze at her, his lips pursed and composure resolute. Rowan would get nothing more from him.

  VIII

  Within a few hours Rebecca had devoured three tomes cover to cover. About a third of the way through the first she’d moved to one of the tables and started talking notes. Chase had offered to find her a laptop, but she refused preferring the scratch of pen on paper.

  Closing the third book, she saw she’d filled half a pad with notes.

  “Impressive,” Mills said, setting a coffee before.

  “Wow, déjà-vu,” she said with a smile.

  “Nope!” Milton called from across the room. “That’s my job.”

  Mills laughed and she saw a crack in the veneer. About to take advantage of the opportunity to learn more about him, she was interrupted by Chase setting a few books on the table next to her.

  “These are next.”

  “Then I’m gonna need more than a coffee,” she said.

  “Really?!” Mills brightened.

  “Because we can help, ya know,” Milton called out.

  “I meant a walk and fresh air,” she laughed. “But thanks.”

  Excusing herself, she took her phone and the coffee, heading out of the library and onto the patio once more.

  Chase left the library about the same time but thankfully he headed to Somerset’s office and not to join her.

  Her head was swimming with the various things she’d read, she couldn’t have dealt with company right then. Much of what she’d learned were more detailed accounts of what McLachlan had already shared with her. Hence she was able to get through the books so quickly. Where she had made notes had been at points where the detail offered something useful, practical for her. As in any consecrated object could imbue holy properties to water by anyone. Not just a priest or ordained person.

  What interested her most was how there was a certain science to it all. No self-consciousness of being B-grade movie fodder or the stuff of genre texts. These works were genuine, credible, and deeply informative. Ingrained with enough academic speak to keep her inner-nerd happy, she was surprised at how easily these books could be read alongside a biology textbook or a tome on macro-economics – not that she would – yet be a lengthy discussion on the post-siring experience of a werewolf.

  Thankfully these weren’t as dry.

  Still dense though hence her need for fresh air.

  And a link to the real world.

  Hayley // 14:52

  How goes magic camp?

  Work sucks but that’s nothing new.

  Probably gonna see a movie later.

  Talk soon

  McLachlan // 15:06

  Was that actual grape kool-aid?

  When did the Clan get a sense of humor?

  Heading over to Matteo’s soon.

  Cue more wasted energy.

  Call me later?

  Which left one person who hadn’t checked in.

  “So Jason’s alive,” Mouth said.

  Okay make that two people but after a fortnight’s absence, Jason had moved from absent friend to missing-kid on milk carton candidate.

  “And then you killed him, right?”

  “Dammit, that didn’t occur to me. Let’s just say shock and awe won over anger and hurt feelings.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Not really. He joined a gym.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “First you and Hayley take up self-defense classes and then Jase starts lifting weights. What has happened to the world?”

  “Do you really need me to answer that? Besides we did offer the classes to you too.”

  “Wasn’t so much an offer as an ‘or else’ option,” he grumbled.

  “Well, you did try taking Ben on by yourself.”

  “One time.”

  “And failed miserable.”

  “Oooh, I really hoped you’d stop bringing that up.”

  “Who knows? You might meet someone at one of these classes.”

  “And I’m sure he’d be perfect for Jason.”

  “Little early in the day for homophobia,” she bit back.

  “It’s after four.”

  “I know.”

  “Point taken,” he sighed. “So how is it?”

  “A lot more normal than I was expecting. Slightly rocky start but
already have three books under my belt and some more before dinner.”

  “Have they got you wearing a name tag? Are there group massage therapy sessions? A talking stick? An actual stick that talks?”

  “Happy to report none of the above.”

  “Boo. McLachlan made it sound all very Jim Jones. I was looking forward to at least one story of the FBI storming the compound.”

  “It’s really not like that,” she said looking around that the peaceful environment. “Hard to explain.”

  “You mean over the phone? Where someone could be listening? And without the aid of hand gestures?”

  “All of the above.”

  He laughed down the phone at her. “Hey, so what’s McLachlan doing in your absence? Pining like an abandoned puppy? Taking his frustrations out on those pesky vampires?

  “Think he’s checking up on Matteo.”

  “Wait, he’s still in the city?”

  “I think so. No one’s really heard from him. Hayley keeps trying but getting much the same non-response as Mac.”

  “Maybe we’re just putting too much of our human perspective on this,” Mouth said.

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Just that I guess if you’re over five hundred, a month long pity party’s only gonna feel like a day or so right?”

  “Is that the normal length of time for wallowing?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll text Jason and find out.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “No, but you’re also an ass and a bad friend for saying it.”

  “He joined a gym!!!”

  “Seriously? That’s the least self-destructive thing he could’ve done.”

  When Mouth didn’t immediately reply she knew he suspected far worse self-destructive possibilities. As always though unless he verbalized it – and usually he verbalized everything – she wasn’t going to pry.