The Order of Brigid's Cross - The Wild Hunt (Book 1): The Wild Hunt

by Terri Reid

  “I must be losing it,” he sighed and pushed himself off his perch.

  He picked up his golf bag and studied the clubs for a moment, then glanced at the front door. Hefting one out of the bag, he shook his head. “No, it had to be iron, not an iron,” he decided and stuffed it back in with the others.

  After the apartment was put back in order, Sean looked at his front door with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. A collection of large, heavy, cast-iron skillets were hanging from bungee cords attached to hooks screwed into the wall above his door. “That ought to keep them out,” he said, stepping back and admiring his work. “If the iron doesn’t work, slapping their heads against a pan sure will.”

  An hour later Sean was showered, dressed and sitting at his dining room table patched into the District’s computer system. Accessing the records file, he started entering the information he received from Jamal during the interview. Shaking his head, he looked at his notes again. “This is nuts,” he muttered. “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky last night. How could there be tornado-like winds?”

  Opening another window, he typed in the web address for the local weather site and accessed their weather history. Last night in Chicago at nine p.m., the wind was calm, the sky was clear, the barometric pressure was holding steady and the temperature was in the mid-fifties. No tornadoes in the vicinity. No high or low pressure systems in the vicinity. What the hell happened?

  Glancing over at the television that was on, but muted, he noticed that the news ticker at the bottom of the picture mentioned the park where the attack had occurred. Reaching over, he grabbed the remote and turned on the sound.

  “This is Channel 7 news reporter Mimi Garcia at the scene of last night’s horrendous gang fight on the city’s South Side.”

  The camera scanned the scene, showing yellow police tape cordoning off a majority of the field beyond a playground. The police were keeping the camera crews far enough away from the scene that nothing grisly or gruesome could be aired.

  “Sources on the scene have estimated the death total to be over one hundred, but those same sources have confided that because of the brutality of the murders, it will take the Coroner’s Office weeks before they can piece the bodies back together to get a final count. There has been no official comment from the Mayor’s office yet this morning. But detractors wonder if the Mayor is even concerned with the death of a hundred gang members.”

  The scene switched to the front of Cook County Hospital.

  “The lone survivor is said to be in good condition at Cook County Hospital.”

  “What the hell?” Sean growled. Slapping his mug down, he lifted up his cell phone and called the police station. “Yeah, this is O’Reilly,” he said. “Can you find out who the hell is spilling their guts to Channel 7 and shut them down? And have someone go to Cook County and make sure the survivor has some security.”

  Returning to his computer, he paused again when he heard a light knock on the door. “Just a minute,” he called, pushing back his chair and walking across the room. He peeked through the spyhole in the door and saw Ian and Gillian standing on the other side.

  Professor Ian MacDougall was not your typical professor; he was tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes and the body of an athlete. He was a little younger than Sean, in his early thirties, but his looks and his age often camouflaged his intellectual capabilities. A computer prodigy at a young age, he then turned his questing mind towards researching a topic that had interested him since his own near-death experience at the age of three, paranormal psychology.

  His fiancée, Gillian Flanagan, had the creamy skin and the soft scattering of freckles that were characteristic of her Irish background, as was her lively personality and quick wit. Her sparkling brown eyes, auburn hair, impish smile and diminutive height brought to mind the pixies that had been fabled to roam her homeland. But those who knew her realized her petite frame housed an IQ and a personality that transcended her outward appearance. She was always ready for a lively discussion. Whether it was about the best beer to be found in the world, Guinness, or international relations and economics, she always had an opinion and she wasn’t afraid to voice it.

  “Okay, give me a second,” Sean said, unhooking the pans. “I have to de-iron the door.”

  A few moments later, the pans stacked on the bar stool next to the door, he swung it open and let them enter.

  “De-iron the door?” Ian asked. “Is that an American thing I haven’t heard of yet?”

  Sean angled his head in the direction of the stool. “You told me to put iron over the door to protect myself,” he said. “That was the best I could do.”

  Chuckling, Gillian stepped forward and hefted one of the pans. “Aye, that’ll do just fine,” she said, turning to Sean. “Would you be expecting a pack of boggarts to be coming this way?”

  “Boogers?” Sean asked, scrunching up his face in disgust.

  Gillian’s grin widened. “No, boggarts, you dunderhead,” she replied, pausing for a moment to think. “Um, goblins, I think that’s the term you use.”

  “Oh, goblins,” Sean said. “That sounds much better than boogers.”

  Ian walked past both of them and found Tiny perched on the back of the couch, nearly purring loudly enough to cause the room to vibrate. Absently scratching Tiny’s head, he looked around the apartment. “You’ve done some cleaning I see,” he said.

  “Well, I had a little search party this morning,” Sean explained. “I had a visitor who appeared in my apartment, gave me a little advice and then disappeared before my eyes.”

  “A ghost?” Ian asked casually, because in his line of work the appearance of spirits had become an everyday occurrence.

  Shaking his head, Sean closed his door and hooked one of the pans back over the door. “Not unless ghosts walk around with swords killing monsters in underground parking garages,” he replied.

  “A monster in the garage?” Gillian asked, walking over and scratching Tiny’s oversized belly. “There’s a good boy. Do you like a scratched tummy?”

  She smiled up at Sean and teased, “Was it one of those white alligators that grow up in the sewer system?”

  “No,” Sean said. “She had a name for it. Hell devil or something like that.”

  The smile left her face, she stopped scratching Tiny, and her voice held a serious note when she asked, “Was it Heldeofol?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that was it,” Sean said. “Ugliest thing I’d ever seen.”

  “You saw it?” she asked. “Really got a good look at it?”

  “Well, yeah, actually twice in my life,” Sean explained. “Once, when I was twelve and our family was in Ireland visiting my grandmother, I was in the woods and heard someone call out. I ran over to see if I could help, and this red-headed girl was fighting off a bear. Well, it looked like a bear from the back.”

  “But it wasn’t a bear,” Gillian inserted.

  Sean shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen,” he replied. “I looked around, found a big rock, grabbed it and tossed it at the beast’s head. I got its attention. That’s when it grabbed me by the arm.”

  “Did it inject you?” she asked.

  “What?” Sean asked, surprised by the question.

  “Heldeofols have long claws on the ends of their fingers. Under one claw in each hand they have a hollow, narrow bone pointed on the end, like a needle. Once they’ve captured their prey, the bone extends from the claw into the victim, puncturing its skin and injecting venom into its system,” she explained.

  “Where were you when I was twelve?” he asked.

  Grinning, she shrugged. “A wee babe in arms, I’d say. But why do you ask?”

  “I felt it, the injection, and then I started getting really woozy,” he answered. “And I knew I was a goner. And this thing, this Heldeofol, was looming over me; I guess it was waiting for me to take my last breath.”

  “It does like its food deceased,” she agreed.

  “But
then this girl, this red-head, stepped up and sliced its head from its shoulders,” he said. “And as soon as the deed was done…poof… the big bad ugly disintegrated.”

  “What happened next?” Ian asked.

  “It gets a little fuzzy,” Sean said, extending his hand and pointing to a thin scar across his palm. “I think she cut my hand and her hand and held them together.”

  “Blood mingling,” she said softly. “Well, no wonder.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sean studied Gillian for a long moment. “That’s an unusual response,” he said. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

  “Aye, there is,” she replied decisively. “But first I’d like to hear about the crime you’re investigating.”

  Sean walked over to his computer and opened a new window. “The crime scene photos have been uploaded,” he said. “These will tell you more about the scene than I can. But, I have to warn you, they’re pretty grisly.”

  Gillian pulled out the chair in front of the computer and nodded. “I can take it,” she said, sliding into the seat. “And it’s important that I see them.”

  Sean glanced over to Ian, who shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment. “Okay,” Sean said. “Let’s take a look.”

  After entering the settings for a slide show, all three watched as the horrific scene was displayed before their eyes. Even with his years of police work, Sean’s stomach twisted as he viewed the mutilated corpses strewn throughout the park. Many of the dead were headless, their decapitated, sightless heads lying several feet from their bodies as if they were separated with violent force. Pools of blood darkened the background of the photos, with macabre crimson-splattered grass and bushes surrounding the remains.

  “Whoever or whatever killed these people, there were a lot of them,” Ian said as they neared the end of the photos.

  “Why do you say that?” Sean asked.

  “Look at the circumference of the crime scene. No one was running,” Ian pointed out. “Whatever it was descended quickly and was able to not only catch them all off guard but also deal with them swiftly enough that they didn’t have time to retreat.”

  “But there are easily one hundred bodies here,” Sean said, clicking back to the overview photo. “How could anything, even an army, do so much damage so quickly?”

  “It would take very sharp implements and an extremely long reach,” Ian said.

  “Aye,” Gillian agreed and she glanced up at Sean. “And the boy who saw this, he said he saw the Elk King?”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” Sean said. “He described some crazy fantasy creature with tree-like limbs who was wearing a deer skull for a hat. Then I called Ian, and he said it could have been the Elk King.”

  “And do you believe the young man?” she asked.

  Sean shrugged. “As impossible as it seems, yeah, I believe him,” Sean said. “He didn’t seem to be high, and he was scared to death.”

  “Where is he now?” Ian asked.

  “He’s still at the hospital,” Sean said. “They’re keeping him there under observation for a couple more hours. They’ll hold him until I give them the okay.”

  “So, we have a few hours?” she asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Sean asked.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she said. “He might help answer your questions. But then again, he might just give you a whole new bunch to worry about. I need a moment of privacy to call and set things up.”

  “Does this have anything to do with your blood-mingling comment?” Sean asked.

  She nodded and a small smile spread across her lips. “You are a clever one, aren’t you?” she said. “Aye, it might answer a few questions in that area, too.”

  “Then I’m all for it,” he replied.

  Gillian pushed the hanging cast iron pan to the side and slipped out the door to the hallway.

  “Do you have any idea what this is about?” Sean asked Ian.

  Shaking his head, Ian stared at the closed door for a moment and then turned back to Sean. “Not as much as I want to know,” he admitted. “I know she works for the Catholic Church and researches ancient church artifacts. She’s done some work at Trinity College in Dublin, and the church approached her for this job in Chicago.”

  “It sounds a little strange,” Sean said. “Why would the church know anything about the Elk King?”

  “I have to admit, I’m a little curious myself,” Ian replied.

  Gillian poked her head back into the apartment. “He can meet with us directly,” she said. “He’s very eager to meet both of you.”

  “The plot thickens,” Sean whispered to Ian.

  “Aye, and into the dragon’s lair we go,” Ian replied. “Grab your coat, Sean, I’ll drive.”

  “Thanks, but I’d better take my own car,” Sean said. “I’ll need to head over to Cook County Hospital once we’re done.”

  Chapter Nine

  The boarded-up Catholic cathedral sat as a lonely, monolithic reminder of its neighborhood’s past. The stone building, more like a castle from a fairy tale than a public building, had been built in the Romanesque style of architecture with thick walls, curving arches and small windows in the narrow towers that stood as sentinels to the several-storied main building. The land around the church was derelict and deserted. As if from an urban version of Sleeping Beauty, the church lay in wait for someone to break the solitary spell.

  “Boy, this place has changed. I remember coming here when I was a kid,” Sean said after he parked his car next to Ian’s in the dilapidated parking lot. “It was for a funeral for one of my dad’s friends. He was shot on the job.”

  “I understand it was closed in the early nineties,” Gillian remarked, climbing out of Ian’s car. “There weren’t enough parishioners to support it.”

  Shaking his head, Sean looked up to the verdigris-covered copper of the octagonal spire and then let his gaze skim down the side of the building. Enormous sheets of plywood covered what Sean knew had been marvelous stained-glass windows. Other smaller windows as well as all entrances into the church had been also boarded over. “But why this one?” he wondered. “There were so many other smaller churches that could have been closed up. Why did they choose this one?”

  Gillian slipped her arm through both Ian’s and Sean’s arms and led them towards the back of the church. “That’s a very good question,” she said. “And once we’re inside, I hope our explanation will answer it.”

  “Inside?” Sean asked, stopping in his tracks. “Are you sure it’s safe? This place has been vacant for more than twenty years.”

  “Aye, so we’d hope you’d believe,” she said with a telling smile and pulled him forward. “Come on now, we’ve someone to meet, and we’ve not time to waste.”

  The back entrance to the church was surrounded in stonework, slightly lighter in color than the rest of the church façade. It formed a ten-inch wide arch around the solid oak door, which was ornately curved with a Celtic cross on the top and an inner arch in the center, surrounded by an engraved Celtic chain. The door, well over twelve feet tall, was solidly barred from any intruders. Gillian slipped her arms from the men’s arms and walked up to the door.

  “And how do we get through that?” Sean asked.

  Gillian looked over her shoulder at Ian and sighed. “Is he always this impatient?”

  Ian nodded. “Aye, and this is him being easy-going.”

  She chuckled, glanced around quickly, and then pressed the flat of her palm against one of the archwork stones that was positioned at her shoulder height. She lifted her hand quickly away. The stone piece slid forward, exposing a small control box.

  “What the hell?” Sean exclaimed softly.

  Gillian took hold of the box and angled it up so her eye was in line with a small, square, glass window and pressed a small button on the side.

  Sean saw the beam of light glow against the top of her eye and scan to the bottom. “A retinal scanner?” he stammered.

  G
illian backed away from the box, tilted it back into its original position and slid it back into place, a sharp click of an internal mechanism confirming its position. Suddenly, the center arch portion of the giant oak door moved back and slid to the side, allowing an entrance to the church that was wide enough to fit them one at a time. “I’ll go first,” Gillian stated, “but be quick in following. We can’t have the door open for too long.”

  She slipped inside the opening and Sean turned to Ian. “Do you trust her?” he asked.

  Nodding his head, Ian turned to Sean. “With my life,” he replied solemnly.

  “We don’t know what’s in there.”

  “Aye, and we won’t until we go inside,” Ian said, slipping past Sean and entering the church.

  “Why the hell do I even bother?” Sean muttered, stepping forward and following Ian.

  The door closed behind him with a suction sound like they had been hermetically sealed inside the building, and he glanced back quickly.

  “No need to worry, Sean,” Gillian grinned. “This is not a web, and I am no spider.”

  She turned to her right and opened a small, metal panel on the wall. Inside were a number of small breaker switches that she flipped on. The interior of the building was suddenly illuminated, and instead of the dilapidated ruin Sean expected, he was met with an interior that looked much more like a modern research center with white walls, stainless steel accoutrements, tile floors and LED lighting. He slowly looked around his surroundings and shook his head. “Okay, this is getting dammed weird, if you ask me,” he said. “And too much like a creepy science fiction movie. What? Are we going to meet the crazy monks now?”

  A short, rotund man dressed in black cleric clothing with a white collar stepped out from behind a door ahead of them and smiled. “Well, eccentric perhaps. But crazy? I don’t think so,” the priest said as he walked towards them.

  Sean guessed the man to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair had receded to the point of near non-existence, but his blue eyes were clear and intelligent.