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

by Terri Reid

  “We’ve had an eye witness report of the Wild Hunt killing over a hundred people last night,” Father Jack interrupted abruptly.

  A set of expensive Italian leather shoes hit the ground behind the desk. Aengus leaned forward, his hands clasped to the edge of the desk before him. “Repeat yourself,” he demanded.

  “We have an eye witness who saw the Wild Hunt descend from the skies last night and mutilate over one hundred people in a park less than ten miles from here,” he replied decisively. “A clear violation of the truce.”

  “Impossible,” Aengus stated, sitting back in his chair.

  “Nonetheless, it happened,” Father Jack replied.

  Aengus jumped up from his chair and cleared his desk with the swipe of one hand. “Are you calling me a liar?” he shouted.

  His heart beating rapidly, the priest held his ground. “I am just informing you, as per the dictates of the truce, that someone has violated the agreement,” he said slowly. “This is the second violation in the past few months. If you did not sanction either of these occurrences, then someone on your side seems to be usurping your authority.”

  Shoving his chair out of his way so it clattered down the dais, Aengus stepped down and walked over to the priest. “Who is the eyewitness?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with anger.

  “A young boy, frightened out of his wits,” the priest replied. “He had no idea what the creatures were, but he described them perfectly. The Elk King led the slaughter.”

  Aengus paced away from him, shaking his head. “The Hunt does not act on their own,” he said, shaking his head. “They must be specifically directed.”

  “Whoever directed them knew exactly when a gang fight was going to take place in the park,” the priest stated. “The Hunt arrived only minutes after the two groups had gathered on their field of battle.”

  “And the boy?” the faerie asked. “Why was he not killed?”

  “I understand he was late to the battle,” he explained. “He witnessed the arrival and the decimation from across the street.”

  Aengus walked to one of the windows and stared, unseeing, out across the city. “My subjects are loyal to me,” he said, his voice softer than before. “They know the punishment for violating the truce.”

  He turned and faced Father Jack. “I want to see the boy.”

  The priest shook his head. “Someone on your side has already tried to get rid of the boy,” he stated. “We’ve been warned to keep him safe.”

  “He would be safe with me. I would not harm the boy,” he spat. “That is beyond insolence.”

  Gripping the cross tighter, Father Jack stepped up to Aengus. “It seems that you have lost control over at least a portion of your kingdom,” he said tightly. “You cannot guarantee his safety or the welfare of the truce while there is a traitor in your midst. Do not make promises we both know you cannot keep.”

  “Men have died for saying less,” Aengus snarled, his eyes blazing with anger.

  “I believe that, old friend,” the priest replied calmly. “But we both know that you and I are not adversaries in this cause. And killing me will not rid you of the conspirator in your ranks.”

  Aengus reached out and placed his hand on Father Jack’s shoulder. “I did not order the Hunt, Jack,” he said earnestly.

  Father Jack nodded. “I will contact you if I discover any useful information.”

  “I will not let this go unanswered,” Aengus vowed.

  “See that you don’t,” Father Jack replied, turning and walking out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Sean watched as Gillian took Mrs. Gage underwing, gently guiding her through the church and up to Father Jack’s residence for a promised cup of tea. But as soon as they were both out of eyeshot, he turned to Em, the façade of congeniality gone. “Now you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on here,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Em leaned against the thick plaster wall. “You’ve been told, O’Reilly,” she said. “Or do you have a problem with your memory?”

  “I don’t like people tracking me,” he said.

  She shrugged carelessly. “We’ve been watching you for a while,” she replied.

  Sean stepped away and paced quickly up the hall, trying to dissipate some of his anger before he spoke again. Finally, keeping himself several feet away from her he met her eyes. “You’ve been watching me?” he asked, his teeth gritted. “And just how the hell long has that been going on?”

  Unfolding her arms, she stood up straight and walked over to him. “For a long time,” she said softly. “A very long time.”

  “Like what? Three months? A year? Two years?” he demanded.

  “Like ever since you became a cop,” she answered.

  Stunned, he backed away, shaking his head. “No. I would have known,” he countered. “There is no way…”

  “You and I were connected,” she interrupted. “They knew it. They knew that you would be one of the few who would, who could, accept what we are and what we do because of that experience. We needed someone we could trust.”

  “Trust?” he spat, raking his hand through his hair. He stormed back down the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. Reaching the end of the hall, he paused and kicked a classroom door. The sound of the door crashing against the interior wall of the empty classroom resounded through the hall, and Em winced.

  Sean turned back to her and strode back up the hallway, standing before her, his eyes blazing with anger. “You talk about trust?” he demanded, his voice an irate whisper. “You dare talk to me about trust? You and your organization have been spying on me since I became a cop. What? Did you influence my posts and transfers, too?”

  Even knowing it would make him even more furious, Em couldn’t lie to him. “If it suited our needs, yes, we did,” she said. “For the most part your career was your own. Every commendation, every promotion, were ones you earned, we did nothing to influence that. But the track you were taken down, the direction those promotions turned you towards. Yes, we did, at times, influence those.”

  “Special Crimes Unit?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, we needed you there,” she admitted.

  “I wanted Narcotics,” he said.

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “But we felt—”

  He slammed his fist against the wall beside him. “You felt?” he demanded. “You felt? This is my life. How about how I felt?”

  She didn’t flinch, but this time there was no sympathy in her voice when she spoke. “Stop your whining, O’Reilly,” she said. “You have many more choices than I. You wanted to be a cop to make sure all was right with the world. Well, you’ve been given a chance. And a grand chance it is. This isn’t narcotics or vice. This is a war, O’Reilly. A war against a race that is stronger, smarter, and has more tools than we can ever imagine. We have only ourselves and a few bits of magic and cunning to win this war. We look for soldiers who are brave, strong, and honest. If you feel we’ve offered you a slight when we put you in that category, that’s just too bad. And if you feel manipulated or maneuvered, you’ve only yourself to blame. ‘Twas you that walked into that forest when you were a lad. ‘Twas you who came to answer the distress call of an unknown child. ‘Twas you who fought so valiantly and nearly died.”

  Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Sean felt the anger seep from his body. “You weren’t part of this?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No more than you,” she admitted. “But my birthright has more to do with my position than yours. My mother was seduced by a Sidhe and then wasted away in longing. The good nuns found me when I was five years old, near starving, dirty, and basically raising myself. My mother was in a near comatose state, crying once again for the faerie who’d taken her heart. She had no thought for me. I don’t know if she even realized she had a child.”

  Em stepped away from Sean and looked down the long hallway, so similar to the ones in the orph
anages where she spent her formative years. “The authorities claimed my mother was an addict, yet try as they might, they found no drug in her system,” she said. “Which by court order, led to years of them giving me back to her for months at a time. The psychologists were sure that her maternal instincts would kick in sooner or later. I would beg them not to leave me with her. But you know, they believed in a mother’s love.”

  “Surely she loved you,” Sean said, thinking about his own mother and what she would do to protect her children.

  “There is no such thing as love,” Em snapped, and then she shook her head. “I learned the truth of that a long time ago.”

  “What finally happened?” Sean asked, deciding now was not the time to argue that particular point.

  “It was winter. Our home was back on the Child Services check-up route,” she said. “I understand I was blue with cold, my life nearly gone. I had snuggled up against the body of my mother, who been a corpse for nearly two weeks. I was seven years old.”

  She took a moment and neither of them spoke. “The nuns took me in,” she said. “And when they realized what I was, they brought me to the Order and trained me. I was quite a handful, always sneaking out and chasing the fae on my own.”

  “That’s when I met you?” Sean asked. “When you were on your own chasing the Sidhe?”

  “Aye, that Sidhe, whoever he was, took my mother’s life and nearly my own,” she said. “I’ve a great appetite to even the score.”

  Sean studied the woman before him, and now understanding her story, his admiration for her grew. He nodded and then held out his hand. “I’ll help you,” he said simply.

  She hesitated. “I’m not looking for your pity,” she said.

  He shook his head. “No, the pity is for the little girl who lived through what she did when she should have been cared for,” he said. “But the woman who she became needs no pity, only another partner in her war.”

  She nodded, smiled and took his hand. “Aye, I’ll take it.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The distinguished law offices of Peter O’Bryan, attorney-at-law, were usually encased in hushed tones and soft, classical music while junior partners and assistants worked on various contracts, lawsuits and other legal matters for their high-end clientele. Pete eschewed the modern glass and steel environment for a more traditional one of highly polished wood, overstuffed leather and a richly hued accent palette. But the Monet oil hanging in his private office next to the framed, vintage, sports photographs more fully exemplified his eclectic decorating tastes.

  This afternoon, however, there were noises coming from the employee lounge that were generally saved for later in the day when the work was done, the doors were locked, and the people Pete enjoyed working with kicked back for a while waiting for the rush-hour traffic to dissipate. Today, Jamal’s shouts of victory as he thoroughly trounced one of Pete’s younger associates in a video game on the widescreen HD television could be heard throughout the office. And that sound, Pete decided, was a joyful noise.

  Picking up the phone, he dialed Sean’s cell and waited a moment for his friend to pick up.

  “Hey, I’ve got him. He’s safe here at the office giving Joey a run for his money at video games,” he said.

  He heard Sean’s audible sigh of relief. “Thanks, I really owe you,” Sean replied. “So, how far in do you want to be?”

  Pete leaned back in his specially designed chair and smiled. “How far in do you think I should be?”

  He tapped his fingers softly on the desk as he waited for Sean to reply, intrigued by the time it was taking his usually quick-witted friend to speak. “Okay, this is the thing,” Sean finally said. “Remember that stuff I told you about when I went to Ireland as a kid?”

  “Yeah, your scar, right?”

  “That’s right,” Sean said. “And the thorns that were hallucinogenic?”

  “Yeah, we spent four hours trying to find out what they were so we could get a legal high,” Pete replied with a smile.

  “And we couldn’t find anything about them,” Sean said, exhaling slowly. “Well, now I know the reason why.”

  “Okay, spill it.”

  “What I saw. What I thought I saw and everyone told me was a dream? Well, it wasn’t.”

  Pete sat forward and placed his elbows on the desk top. “What the hell are you saying?”

  “You know, it’s probably a good idea if we don’t talk about this over the phone,” Sean said. “Remember our place?”

  Nodding, Pete pictured the small tavern in his old neighborhood. A place where neither he nor Sean would be considered outsiders. “Yeah, I remember,” he said. “Should I bring him with?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sean replied. “But take the long way around.”

  The long way around, Pete thought, their code phrase for someone might be following you.

  “Yeah, I got it,” he said.

  He hung up the phone and slipped his hand down to the controls on the chair. Lowering it slightly, he back up away from the desk and crossed the room to the heavy, oak door. With another touch of a button, the door opened, and he was able to roll through to the hallway.

  Liza Pope, Pete’s legal secretary, a statuesque black woman, twisted around in her chair, hands posed over her keyboard, and smiled at Pete. “Hey boss, what’s up?”

  “I’m heading out for the day,” Pete replied. “Did you have a chance to get those things I needed?”

  Reaching under her desk, she pulled out a large shopping bag with the logo of a trendy store for teenagers and handed it to him. “I went to my son’s favorite store and bought him a new wardrobe. I brought two outfits with me,” she said. “The rest are waiting for an address to be delivered.”

  “Outfits?” Pete asked. “Do guys really use the word outfits?”

  She grinned. “I got him a couple of shirts, two pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt, some new shoes and the basics—socks, tees and underwear. Better?”

  Nodding, he returned the smile. “Yeah, better,” he said. “Now, what I need you to do is get him to change his clothes so he looks nothing like the kid we brought in here today, okay?”

  “I get it,” she said. “I’ll make sure he looks like my son.”

  “Did you talk to Maria?” he asked and when she nodded added. “How angry is she?”

  She paused for a moment, biting the inside of her mouth to control the laughter. “She says if height were a protected discrimination category, she would be thinking about suing you for all you’ve got.”

  “And?”

  “And she will change into Jamal’s clothes and be ready to leave with you as soon as you need her.”

  “Tell her I owe her,” he replied, then he handed her an index card with an address on it. “Once Maria and I leave, wait about fifteen minutes and drive to this address with Jamal. Sean O’Reilly will be there. Only leave Jamal with him, no one else.”

  She nodded. “Got it,” she said and then asked. “How much trouble is he in?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he replied. “But if Sean O’Reilly is telling me to be careful, then we all need to watch our backs.”

  He started to roll past her desk and then stopped. “You know that security firm we contract with?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Give them a call,” he said. “I want someone outside your house and Maria’s house tonight. Just in case.”

  “How about your place?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think anyone is getting into my place without my knowledge,” he said. “And if they try it will be interesting meeting with them.”

  He continued down the hall towards the employee lounge, stopped his chair and waited for a few moments, watching the young boy’s relaxed and happy face as he took another one of Joey’s troops out. “Hey, Jamal, it looks like you’ve whipped Joey,” he said.

  Jamal grinned at him. “I beat him bad,” he replied. “I totally thrashed him.”

  Joey put down hi
s controller and shook his head. “The kid’s a natural,” he said. “I can’t believe he’s never played this game before today.”

  Pete glanced up at the scores on the screen, impressed by the numbers, and turned to Jamal. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “You’ve played this before, haven’t you?”

  Jamal shook his head. “No, sir,” he answered. “We ain’t got a game system or a TV that would even hook up with a game system if we had one. My grandma, she ain’t got no use for things like this. She says it’s a waste of time.”

  “Your grandma is a smart woman,” Pete said. “But sometimes these games can be more than just games.” He paused for another moment, and then shook his head. “But that’s for another day. Today, we got to get you out of here without anyone knowing it’s you.”

  “How we gonna do that?”

  Pete handed Jamal the bag of clothes. “You need to change your clothes and put on these new ones,” he said. “Then I’m going to have someone else put on your clothes and pretend to be you. After we leave, Liza’s going to pretend that you’re one of her sons and she’s going to take you to meet Detective O’Reilly.”

  “Detective O’Reilly?” Jamal asked. “He’s got my grandma.”

  “Yeah, he brought her somewhere safe,” Pete said. “And he wants to take you there, too, but he wants to be sure no one is following you.”

  Jamal nodded. “Yeah, I got that,” he said.

  “Okay, go change and be quick about it.”

  Jamal looked into the bag for the first time, and a shy smile flashed across his face. “Yes, sir,” he replied enthusiastically.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jamal was dressed in clothes that probably cost more than he and his grandma’s month’s living allowance, Maria Perez, a petite associate, was dressed in Jamal’s old clothes, her long, black hair hidden beneath a cap and the hood of his sweatshirt.

  “Wow, for a grownup, you’re really short,” Jamal said.

  “I’m not short. I’m petite,” Maria replied.

  “So, Jamal, show her how you walk,” Pete said, biting back a smile.