Irish War Cry

by Victoria Danann

  On the way out, Deck said, “Purple’s my favorite,” referring to her lingerie.

  Shivaun slapped him in the ribs. “Sorry,” she told Rosie. “We’re workin’ on socialization.”

  In less than two minutes, Rosie was in her living room wearing a tee shirt that read “Everybody could not have been Kung Fu fighting” and khaki capris. The three hunters were standing in the middle of the room.

  “Sit down,” she said. “And talk.”

  Torn and Shy sat on the sofa. Deck took one of the big upholstered chairs.

  “Like I said,” began Torn, “there’s been a development. We do no’ have an explanation. Conjecture that somehow the serum is doin’ a better job than expected? Maybe? In any case, we do no’ need devices to find our way through the, erm, passes. Anymore.”

  “And we look good,” Shy said.

  Rosie turned her attention to Shivaun. They had all been good-looking by any standard before. But now that it was mentioned, she could see what Shivaun meant. They were no longer beautiful in the way that humans and elves are beautiful. They were beautiful in the way that elementals are beautiful, which meant they were flawless. Like they, themselves, had been airbrushed and color enhanced.

  “You do,” Rosie confirmed calmly. “Tell me exactly how you found your way here.”

  Torn, Shy, and Deck looked at each other. When no one else spoke, Torn said, “Just thought about you. Ended up here.”

  “I see,” Rosie said in a tone as matter-of-fact as if they’d recited the grocery list. “What else have you noticed?”

  “We can see these things.” Torn looked at the other two hunters. “They’re kind of like little towers of mist and they’re always comin’ and goin’. We stepped into one and it was a pass. So we went over to St. Patrick’s to see how the portal is different.”

  “Great Paddy, Rosie. ’Tis full of busy creatures comin’ and goin’. We could no’ see ’em before.” She looked between Torn and Deck. “Which seems impossible because we’ve been workin’ there for weeks. I guess you have to be one of ’em to see ’em ’cause they’re movin’ so fast.”

  Rosie nodded her head absently, trying to sort through what this would mean to the program, but she was also trying to rein in the excitement about how it might serve D.I.T. to have demon hunters who were actually demon hunters because there was a larger issue.

  Sounding far more like Monq than she intended, she heard herself asking, “And how do you feel about this?”

  “Well,” Shy said. “I’m kind of okay with it. I do no’ see a downside as of yet. I do no’ need to eat, drink, or sleep. And this, um, condition would obviously help me do the job I’m supposed to be doin’.”

  “In fact, given what we saw in the portal, there’s a chance that we ne’er would have been able to do the job,” Torn added.

  Rosie studied them for a minute. “You seem to be making an adjustment. Faster than I would have expected. But I guess adaptability is one of the qualities we test for when looking for Black Swan candidates. So maybe that’s not so surprising.”

  She sighed and drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “We don’t know if this effect is temporary or permanent. How do you feel about that?”

  Shivaun looked at her partner, who shrugged. “Either way. I guess we’d better keep the necklaces with us just in case it wears off when we’re workin’.”

  “True enough,” Torn said. “So. What are we?”

  “You’re mimicking the abilities of elementals,” Rosie said. “Since you were given serum with demonic properties, I think we have to assume you’re demons. But again, we don’t know if that’s temporary or not.”

  “Hypothetical,” Torn said. “Let’s just say ’tis permanent. What would that mean to us?”

  Rosie wiggled her head on her shoulders. “Well, it would mean that you could expect to live a really really long time. You won’t need a salary because you can always find a way to do anything you want, have anything you want. Within reason. The question is, will you still fulfill your commitment to work for D.I.T.?”

  “O’ course,” Shivaun said. “What do you take us for?”

  “Aye,” said Torn. “I do no’ see spendin’ eternity goin’ through car magazines.”

  Rosie looked at Deck. He said, “Yeah. I’m in for keeps.”

  “This is going to cause quite a stir in Black Swan.”

  Torn nodded. “I expect so. And, if we’re expressin’ these traits, ’tis safe to say the others are as well.”

  “Yes.” Rosie nodded. “You’re right. Looks like D.I.T. has just accidentally evolved into something we couldn’t have imagined.”

  “What’s next?” Torn asked.

  After taking in a deep breath and releasing it, Rosie said, “Guess I’m going to need to gather your brethren at the Abbey for a guess-what-you-might-be-demons-now meeting.” She looked them over. “By the way, Shy is right. You do look good.”

  “What about Sher?” Torn said. “If she’s like us, can we no’ just go get her?”

  Rosie pursed her lips. “We’re very close to having that done, Torn. Just be patient a little longer. We’ll have her back and avoid an interdimensional inter-species incident.”

  Torn’s brows drew together. “Patient. You do no’ know what you’re askin.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. It won’t be much longer. If we don’t have her back in two days, I’ll go get her myself.”

  “Can I hold you to that, boss?” Torn asked, looking slightly encouraged.

  “You can, sir knight.” She softened her voice. “You’re going to get her back.”

  Torn looked like he wanted nothing more than to believe her.

  “Now you three need to get out of here. I have arrangements to make. Oh. And keep this between us until I get everybody to the Abbey. I want to have everyone gathered so that all questions can be handled at once.” The guests rose to leave. “One more thing. There are some basic guidelines about where and when you show up unannounced. Underwear is one thing, but that’s not the only thing that goes on in that room.” She pointed toward her bedroom.

  With a jaunty sort of smirky smile, Torn said, “Understood.” Growing more serious, he said, “Maybe you can teach us how to avoid such things. I just thought about you and there I was.”

  “Okay. I’ll make a list of things to cover at the Abbey.”

  “About that…” Torn said. Rosie gave him her attention. “I’d like permission to stay behind in Dublin. I mean just in case. What if the, erm, demon brought Sher back? I would no’ want her to come to an empty house.”

  “Alright. It’s not like you don’t already know the score. You stay behind. You two,” she looked at Shy and Deck, “need to be there to relate your experiences with the slips and the portal.”

  “Slips?” Deck asked.

  “Oh. That’s what we call those things that look like, what did you say? Misty towers?”

  She pulled her phone from a thigh pocket on her cargo pedal pushers and called Grieve.

  “Aye, madam?”

  “Grieve, I need everybody gathered at the Abbey. Right away.”

  “By everybody, you mean the hunters?”

  “That’s right. Have them there for dinner tonight at eight. That is, if the kitchen staff can pull together food in that time frame.”

  Since the Abbey was no longer occupied to capacity, there was no need to keep a full complement of food service workers.

  “I’m certain they can manage. Will the hunters be spendin’ the night?”

  She thought about that for a minute. “As a matter of fact. Tell them to come prepared to spend a couple of nights.”

  “Very good, madam.”

  “Alright. I’m leaving now. If you have trouble arranging transportation for anybody, let me know.”

  “I shall.”

  Rosie showed up in Glen’s office unannounced.

  “To what do I…?” he began.

  “We have a situation.”


  “Oh?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Listen to this.”

  She briefed Glen because, technically, he was Monq’s boss, directly responsible for him. Protocol directed that Glen be informed first.

  Rosie knew her husband well enough to know that he was seething by the time he rose from his chair. The fact that he was going to the sublevel labs personally instead of demanding that Monq make an immediate appearance in the office spoke volumes.

  As Glen stomped toward the elevator she followed along after like a kid who’s tattled and, perversely, wants to see the consequences about to be rained down on the accused.

  He stormed into the lab where Monq was lecturing a couple of assistants about something. Everybody looked up. Rosie hung back, holding the door open.

  Glen pointed at Monq and didn’t try to disguise his fury. “Your office. Now.”

  Glen’s tone of voice was so low, calm, and steady that, oddly, it was scarier than if he’d been yelling. But the yelling wasn’t far behind.

  As soon as the door of Monq’s office closed him in with Glen and Rosie, Glen rounded on Black Swan’s own resident renaissance man. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?”

  Monq blinked. “Pardon?” He didn’t seem flustered, or even bothered, by the anger directed his way, just curious as to the cause.

  “Sit down,” Glen directed. Monq started to move behind his desk. “Not there. Here.”

  Glen pointed to an armchair.

  Monq sat.

  “What’s this about, Sovereign?” Monq asked, flicking a glance at Rosie and noting that, while she wasn’t as mad, she wasn’t wearing her typical cheerful face either. She looked grave.

  “Your serum that was supposed to enable Rosie’s hunters to access the passes and increase their speed and reaction time? The Deliverance serum?”

  “Yes. What about it?”

  “It didn’t enable the hunters to temporarily mimic demon traits. IT TURNED THEM INTO DEMONS!”

  Monq looked genuinely shocked, a benchmark of sorts because Monq didn’t surprise easily. “What?!?”

  “You heard me. Another Monq-saves-the-world solution gone awry.”

  Monq cocked his head as he looked up at Glen standing over him and over at Rosie leaning against the door like she was making sure no one got in or out.

  “Well, that’s one way to look at it,” Monq offered.

  “One way to look at it,” Glen repeated drily. “You are not about to tell me you think this is a good thing. If you even try that, you’re fired.”

  “It is kind of a good thing.”

  “You’re fired.”

  Monq ignored that. “I understand that it could be seen as questionable, but on the other hand, you could say that The Order now has sixteen demons working for Black Swan. Could be just what the doctor ‘ordered’.” He chuckled, delighted by his own joke.

  “You have turned the bend into mad scientist territory, you crazy old bastard.” When Monq responded with a smile, Glen said, “I am not being funny. Did you or did you not know that this could happen?”

  Monq was shaking his head. “No. It’s something none of us even considered.” He brightened. “But you have to admit it’s exciting.”

  “Not only do I not have to admit anything of the sort, but I’m fairly astonished that you’d have the nerve to use the word ‘exciting’.”

  “Why? Think of the possibilities.”

  Glen could tell by looking at Monq that his mind was already busy thinking up schemes to make people extra-mortal.

  Glen half sat, half leaned on the outer edge of Monq’s enormous desk, with its elaborate carving. A couple of centuries before some German family had spent an entire winter carving that desk. Glen lifted his butt where a dragon brow was digging in and resettled a couple of inches over.

  He modulated his tone, thinking he could get through to Monq with reason. “Do you understand that there are now sixteen baby demons who weren’t asked whether or not they wanted to give up their people papers? Has it occurred to you that we don’t know what the side effects might be? It could kill every one of them because their bodies weren’t designed for the stress of demon speed and strength. It could jimmy their brain chemistry and turn them into the sort of psychopaths that even nightmares can’t touch. Try to imagine the havoc that an insane demon could cause.”

  Monq didn’t look particularly worried about Glen’s concerns. “Do we know whether it’s temporary or permanent?”

  Glen looked at Monq like he was talking to a child. “No,” he said, with exaggerated patience. “We’re hoping that you can establish that.”

  “Sure.” Monq nodded. “How?”

  “No. ‘How’ is my question. Not yours. You’re the one who made this mess. You’re the one who’s going to clean it up.”

  “Clean it up?”

  “Yes. Clean. It. Up.”

  “What do you mean by that? Exactly.”

  “Criminently.” Glen threw up his hands, his shoulders sagged, and he looked away wondering why in the world he’d taken a job that involved supervising a brilliant lunatic.

  Rosie took those gestures as a tag team signal and turned the conversation into a trialogue. “So far I’ve talked to three of those affected. It appears they will make an adjustment, although I think they’re still in shock and haven’t considered all the implications. Like, for instance, that they have stopped aging while their families will continue to grow old and die. Like that, unlike elementals who were created naturally, they don’t have an actual place in the scheme of things. A job!”

  “They have a job with Black Swan.”

  “Making my point. We’re monkeying around with things we shouldn’t be.”

  “Oh for gods’ sake, Elora.”

  “Elora Rose,” she corrected.

  “Yes. Yes. Elora Rose. The whole don’t-mess-with-nature argument has plagued science, probably since some lazy fella thought up the wheel. Progress requires experimentation. I grant you that sometimes there are unexpected results.”

  At that Glen turned and gave Monq a withering look.

  Monq was either oblivious or undaunted. “But this isn’t a tragedy. It’s a happy accident! You’re not considering the benefits.”

  “Since you’re already fired and are not going to get the opportunity to implement these ‘benefits’ as you see them, go ahead and lay it out for us.”

  “Well, for one thing, we could put an end to the vampire virus.”

  Glen barked out a laugh. “Yeah? We’ve heard that one before. Right?”

  Monq wagged his head back and forth and waved at the air. “Just listen. If all the vampire hunters were injected, they’d be truly immunized. There would never be another fatality. And with the increased speed, and ability to appear out of nowhere, I’m guessing they could rid the world of vampire in…” He stopped and appeared to be calculating internally, “less than two weeks.”

  Glen’s gaze flicked to Rosie. Monq was playing the morally ambivalent genie who offered what was most desired in all the world with the catch that it would be acquired by questionable means.

  Rosie saw that Glen was thinking that through. Considering the ramifications. It was highly unlikely that someone in his position would ever face a more seductive, tempting dilemma in the guise of a proposal. She knew the moment Glen cleared his head of fantasies about ending the scourge once and for all and returned to the heart of the matter. She recognized the slight straightening of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and the determined steadiness of his gaze. He’d made up his mind.

  “We’re not in the business of genetic engineering, Dr. Monq. We are in the business of taking care of our people. Ethically.” The last word was intended to be heard as punctuation to a philosophy. “Find out whether or not this is permanent.”

  Glen left no doubt that the debate was concluded. Rosie looked back once as she followed Glen out the door. Monq raised his eyebrows. What that meant, she couldn’t say.

  In the hallway, on the way to the ele
vator, Rosie said, “You want a glass of wine?”

  Glen stopped in his tracks. Normally he would thank her, but say he was in the middle of a work day that would never end if he took a break. On that particular occasion, he surprised her by saying,

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  Her eyes widened slightly as her lips curled up. She linked arms with him and said, “Hold on tight. I know just the place.”

  “Rosie. Wait a…”

  He was in the passes before he could finish the sentence. A few minutes later they stood on the terrace of the vintner villa where Glen’s in-laws lived.

  “I know this place.” He smiled.

  “Oh yeah?” She laughed. “I hear they make a mean glass of wine. And the weather is perfect for sitting on the terrace.”

  Glen looked around. “You have the best ideas.”

  “And don’t forget it,” she quipped.

  A pickup truck pulled up just as Rosie turned to go in the house. Storm got out and slammed the door.

  “Daddy!” She never got tired of greeting him like she was still a child. He never got tired of hearing her do it. She gave him a big squeeze. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I brought Glen for a glass of Black Swan on the terrace. He’s having a very bad day.”

  “Oh?” Storm looked over at Glen.

  “Come join us and we’ll tell all,” Rosie said, although it was more a demand than a request.

  “Who could refuse a tell-all offer?” Storm said.

  “And you can talk one sovereign to another.”

  Storm looked at Glen. “Oh. That kind of a bad day, is it?”

  While Rosie was fetching glasses and wine, Storm tossed his hat on the table and sat down. He didn’t need a hat. His demon genes made it impossible for his skin to burn or sustain damage of any kind from weather. Physically he was probably in his late twenties, but the experiences he’d collected showed on his face and his bearing, making him appear somewhat older.

  “What’s up?” Storm asked.

  “Rosie’s sixteen hunters? Her D.I.T. crew?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Monq has turned them into demons.”

  Whatever administration snafu Storm had been expecting to hear about, that wasn’t it. He sat back in his chair slack jawed, wondering if there was any chance it was a joke.