by Weston Ochse
Holmes returned, “Stay put. Looks like we may have found their headquarters.”
Walker rogered out. If they were going to stay put, he could at least see how close he could get. He began to ease the Black Hornet forward. He was at about two hundred feet and the wind was buffeting him pretty badly. As soon as the camera found the yard below, it would turn away. The view was akin to looking through a porthole on a small boat on high seas.
YaYa wondered aloud, “I wonder which one of them it is.”
“Which one of who is what?” Walker realized his sentence was an egregious violation of the rules of grammar, but in context it made sense.
“Which one of them is the Lord of Misrule,” YaYa said. “If this is the Carnival of Fools and they’re celebrating Saturnus, then someone has to be the Lord of Misrule.”
Walker was finally able to get low enough on his bucking MUAV to get a glimpse of the backyard. Several hounds from the Wild Hunt were climbing over the wall. No one seemed disturbed by them. He saw one of the hounds approach a naked woman, leap at her, only to disappear inside of her. The woman arched her back—
Then the feed blacked out.
Walker felt a moment of panic. The last thing he wanted was for the MUAV to fall into the yard where it could be found. So he turned the MUAV south, or at least he was hoping he had, and he powered it out of the area. Only the feed never came back on. He continued powering it away, praying every second that he’d get it back. He really had no way of knowing if he was powering anything.
Finally, he gave up and slapped the remote control into his lap.
“We have entry from the front door.” Trevor moved to the doorway of the room. Then he whispered, “We have entry on the stairs. Prepare yourselves.”
CHAPTER 33
GLASTONBURY TOR, GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND. SECONDS LATER.
YaYa stayed by the window while Walker stacked behind Trevor, who’d assumed a kneeling position, his pistol locked in front of him. They slid their NVDs in place and dialed up their familiar green universe.
Walker reminded himself to be careful. It could be anything from a cat or a dog to maybe a couple of teenagers looking for a private place to do something frisky. He’d be mortified if they gunned down some kids by accident. But they didn’t have to worry about that.
The first sign was the sight of a rifle barrel. Walker immediately recognized it as belonging to a submachine gun, which meant the barrel was very short.
“Let me.” Walker’s voice was a hint of a whisper over the MBITR.
A balaclava-covered head appeared. Walker gave twin trigger pulls and sent a pair of suppressed 9mm rounds ripping into it. The man fell flat, his face planting on the top step.
“Watch for grenades,” Trevor whispered.
Walker didn’t like not knowing their situation. “Anything outside?”
YaYa responded, “Negative,” and Walker ordered him to prepare the fourth Black Hornet and to deploy it around the front. While Walker wasn’t sure if they’d have time, they might, if the man was either a singleton or paired. There was only one way to find out. He ordered Trevor forward to retrieve the body, an effort that would put the Section 9 man’s hand and arm at risk for as long as it took for him to grab and jerk.
Trevor held his pistol in his right hand at high ready as he squat-walked to the head of the stairs. He peeked around the corner fast, then turned and held up his fingers showing two.
Walker held out a fist, which meant to halt operations.
Trevor flatted himself against the wall.
Walker moved forward, his P229 at low ready, repeating his mantra, “Slow is smooth; smooth is fast.” He counted to three with his trigger hand, then put his finger back on the trigger and smoothly twisted his barrel round the corner. He put eight rounds into the two men, but only one fell.
When he pulled back, Trevor had grabbed the dead man and was pulling him into the room.
Walker backed to the door of the bedroom and took up position.
“YaYa, give me something.”
“Launched. Moving over the top of the house and—shit.”
“What is it?”
“One of those girls is standing out there along with two of the red-cloaked things. Uh, Walker?”
Walker cursed. Things were going from bad to worse. “What?”
“I feel something.”
“I feel it too, bud. Just relax.”
“It’s them, isn’t it? It’s their magic. Feels … greasy.”
Walker couldn’t agree more. “Trev, what do you have?”
Trevor had searched the prisoner. He found an amulet with a silver tree inside a circle, which he took a cell phone picture of, then pocketed. He also found a tattoo on the prisoner’s chest of three interlocked crescent moons. The man had nothing else besides equipment, which was top-of-the-line. He took pictures of the man’s face and the tattoo, then sent all three shots to Preeti.
“The feeling’s getting worse,” YaYa said.
Walker’s teeth were on edge. There’d been a time when magic or proximity to the supernatural would have made him fall on the ground and do the kicking chicken, like his first mission in the hidden snakehead sweatshop in San Francisco. He could only imagine how YaYa felt. It was so new to him.
YaYa cursed, “Fuck me.”
“What is it?”
“The naked girl with the sewn-shut lips pointed at the Black Hornet and it fell from the sky.”
Walker thought through his options. “Is the back clear?”
“For the moment.”
“Okay. We’re going to un-ass the AO. Trevor, you watch our six. Once we’re down, we’ll cover you.”
Trevor nodded and took up position at the door.
Walker gestured for YaYa to go first. The roof had a ledge outside the window large enough for a man to stand on. YaYa climbed out, then swept the area with his pistol.
“Clear.”
“Then move.”
YaYa reached out and grabbed the lip of the roof. He hesitated a moment, then pulled himself over the edge. Walker saw his fingers; then he was gone.
A moment later, “Clear.”
Now it was Walker’s turn to exit. He glanced back at Trevor, who gave him a thumbs-up. Walker nodded, then climbed out into the cold Christmas Eve night. Somewhere people were warm and celebrating. Somewhere people had already exchanged gifts or were preparing to do so the next morning. Christmas Eve had always been a time of joy, even at the orphanage. But he felt anything but joy at this moment, fear raging through his spine from the proximity of this strange Red Grove magic.
He lowered himself, then dropped the remaining five feet.
YaYa had already taken up position beside the trunk of a tree, his weapon sweeping both corners of the walled-in backyard.
“Clear,” Walker said into his mike, then moved beside YaYa. With the trunk to his left, he aimed toward the window. “Sectors of fire.” YaYa left the right corner of the house alone and concentrated on his 180 degrees.
“Come on, Trev. Move.” Walker glanced behind him. Wall with concrete blocks and lots of dead grass. He turned back to the window.
YaYa gave Walker a quick look. “What’s taking him?”
Walker was beginning to get a sinking feeling. “Trev. Radio check. Come in, Trev.” It had only been a moment. Not ten seconds.
Walker felt it before he saw it. “Something’s coming.”
YaYa was sobbing beside him as his whole body began to tremble.
Walker put a hand on him. “Control. Fight it.”
YaYa nodded, wiping unbidden tears from his face with the back of his hands.
When Walker looked again to the window he saw her, sewn lips, blue piercing eyes seeing through him, her long blond hair moved delicately by an unfelt breeze. He felt her power. His teeth began to chatter. He raised his pistol but couldn’t control his aim. He fired over and over and over, but the rounds never came close. He kept firing until the pistol clicked back at him.
<
br /> A moment of panic took him, but he fought it.
He grabbed YaYa.
“Where is he?” YaYa asked through sobs.
Walker glanced once more at the window. She was gone. As was Trevor.
“They have him.”
CHAPTER 34
POINT BRAVO, WARWICK, ENGLAND. CHRISTMAS DAY, ZERO DARK THIRTY.
He expected Preeti to scream and shout, How could you? and You of all people?, but all he got was silence. He caught her glancing at him with red swollen eyes, but she wouldn’t say a word. This uncharacteristic response to the capture of her boyfriend worried Walker enough that he wished she were screaming at him.
It had taken them four hours to make it back. Once they’d cleared the wall behind the home, they’d headed for the car. But even before they reached it, they’d realized that Trevor had the keys, and neither Walker nor YaYa knew how to wire a car. So they’d been forced to continue running. Near Glastonbury Train Station they’d found a car with keys inside. Then, they’d taken extra care not to drag surveillance back to the chapel. Preeti’s brother had tried to do what he’d previously done to the CCTV servers, but cybersecurity had found and closed his back door.
Just as they thought the universe was against them, they had help from an unsuspected arena. Lord Robinson had provided a platoon of Royal Marines to Ian for assistance. The chief of Section 9, for all Walker knew the last member of Section 9, had finally managed to convince the senior MP that the only way they were going to stop the Wild Hunt was to dedicate more assets to the effort. The Marines weren’t pleased to be pulled away from their families at Christmas, but in the end they were Marines and acted the part. So it was a taxi that picked them up outside of a Sainsbury’s superstore in Gloucester. They’d switched to foot, then boarded a bus, then went back to foot once more. Scrubbing any last vestige of surveillance by transiting an all-night grocer, they got into the taxi in an area identified by Preeti’s brother as having no active CCTV cameras. The taxi driver introduced himself as Corporal Alex Cope and took them straight to Warwick.
Hoover was the first to greet them. Walker spared the dog a small pet, then strode straight to Preeti.
“We’ll get him back.”
Dark circles under her bloodshot eyes along with a red and running nose detailed a bucket of shed tears. “I know you will.” Her voice was flat.
“No, really. I’ll do everything I can.” Then his voice got husky. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded, then turned back to her work. “I know.”
Then he’d briefed Ian, Holmes, and Lieutenant Rory Magerts, platoon leader of the Marines, who’d been read onto Section 9’s mission, but by the increasing level of incredulity present on his face it was not something he wholeheartedly believed. The witch, Laws, Genaro, and Yank listened in, but from a distance. Everyone occasionally glanced in Preeti’s direction, especially when Trevor’s name was mentioned.
After the second run-through, Holmes asked Sassy to join them.
“Can it hear us?” Holmes asked.
“It hears everything.”
“What were those women Walker described?”
“Vessels. Fonts. They are empty and have no soul.”
That explained their emotionless appearance. But Walker wanted to know where their souls had gone, so he asked.
Sassy frowned and shook her head, looking almost like the regular woman she’d been pretending to be all this time. Looking at her now, no one would know that she was a powerful witch who’d forced the mythological creature to possess her. “There’s a type of magic that uses people, uses their souls for power. It’s distasteful.”
“What are they used for? I thought I saw a hound leap into her, then disappear.”
Sassy regarded Walker. “I know what you’re thinking, but stop that right now.” Walker was about to respond, but she shushed him with a wave of her hand. “You’re thinking of your girl, aren’t you? If her soul can survive in the body of one of these ghouls, then you can be together again.” She shook her head again, this time looking 1,000 percent witch. “She is not at all like she was. What’s left of her soul has done terrible things, things from which she can’t come back. Ever.”
Walker stared at Sassy, understanding and not caring. He repeated his question. “What are they used for?”
She sighed and glanced at Holmes.
“Answer his question,” he said.
“The hounds are formed from the strength of a person’s soul. They manifest as real when attacking, but spend most of their existence as a wisp of wind or a billow of fog. They are sustained by Tuatha magic and belong to the Hunt. But on occasion, if an empty vessel is available, a witch or warlock can summon a hound to do their bidding. The soul of the person who was harvested for the hound is pleased to be once again in a human form and shows their gratitude through sharing of the magic that made them.”
“Have you ever done that?” Holmes asked.
“I told you. I’m not that kind of witch.”
“Why do they sew their lips shut?” YaYa asked, joining the conversation.
“The Tuatha have their secrets and don’t want them told.”
YaYa couldn’t help himself. “So they take some poor waif, rip out her soul, sew her lips shut so she can be a vessel?”
She stared at him flatly. “Being judgmental isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
Holmes jumped in. “She’s right. Let’s figure this thing out.”
Just as they were about to start, the lieutenant’s cell rang. He stepped away from the table and carried out a brisk conversation. He glanced at Holmes and Ian twice. When he finished, he rejoined them.
“Don’t know what to make of it. I sent two men to Glastonbury to keep tabs as requested. They’re sure that the people in the house know they’re there, but they don’t seem to be concerned. In fact, they’re still having their party.”
Holmes uncharacteristically cursed.
“What is it?” Ian asked.
“They’re not worried about freedom of movement.”
Walker figured it out the same time everyone else did. “It’s happening today, isn’t it?”
Holmes nodded and checked his watch. “We have less than twenty hours and they could do it anytime. We’ve got to get out there.”
“And do what?” Ian smacked his hand down on the table. “We don’t even know what they’re trying to do.”
“No, but at least we know where they are. There’s got to be something we can do … whatever it is.” To Laws, Holmes said, “Have everyone ready to go in twenty.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sassy and I are going to speak with the Tuatha. If something’s going down then it knows. It’s time for the Tuatha to come clean.”
CHAPTER 35
POINT BRAVO, WARWICK, ENGLAND. LATER.
While everyone else checked weapons and loaded kit, Holmes and Sassy had a private conversation in the back of the room. He decided to begin, letting her know as close to what he felt as he could afford.
“First of all, I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. We’re more used to things we can shoot and kill. A lot of folks might think that to do our job we’d need a lot of special equipment. But they’d be amazed at what a simple round from a rifle can do if delivered on target.” He checked to see if she was listening and she nodded. “But the hounds are another matter. We can’t affect them. Our bullets do no damage. That is, unless you or the Tuatha have something to help us.”
She started to say something, then stopped, as if she was listening to something. When she looked up, she said, “There’s little mortal hands can do to deter the hounds of the Wild Hunt.”
“What about magic? Is there something, I don’t know.…” He felt silly saying the words aloud, but there was no other way he knew to describe what he wanted. “Can you make magic bullets?”
Sassy smiled, but it wasn’t her smile. It was too wide and too strained. There was a flash of fear in her eye
s before it was replaced with a competent calm. “The residual of our magic is what mortals like my host tap into for power. These are nothing but slick shadows of what we once were. The hounds were created from original magic. It is pure.”
“So you’re saying there’s nothing we can do?” He had a hard time believing that. He frowned. Was this some sort of test? He knew he was speaking to the Tuatha now. However it was happening, he wouldn’t have much longer if it was against Sassy’s will. “Then how were you defeated before? Who was it, the Milesians?”
Again with the alien smile. “You’ve studied my people. What is it you want to know about them?”
“They defeated you. What did they use?”
Gone was the smile, to be replaced by a look of such intense hate that had it been one degree worse her face would have cracked and broken. “They were given the gift of iron before they were ready.”
Swords. Metallurgy. Arrowheads. Holmes could see it. He tried to remember the eras. Where was Laws when he needed him? No, there wasn’t time, plus this was a commander issue. Hadn’t it been the Bronze Age? With everyone using weapons made from tin and copper, the appearance of iron would have been as a superweapon.
“What’s the other thing?” Holmes asked.
“Faith.”
“What? Like Catholic or Baptist?”
“Those are words, not faith.” Then Sassy’s face slipped into something more akin to a coma patient’s. Her eyes went glassy; her mouth dropped, lengthening her face. The only thing that told him that she was still alive was a tic jerking the corner of her right eye.
He waited about thirty seconds, wondering what he should do. Just as he reached out to give her a gentle shake, she shook her head, blinked several times, then curled her lips into a knot of anger.
“How long?” she asked in a voice that would make a snake shed its skin.
“A minute. Maybe two.”
“What’d it tell you?”
Holmes thought about it but decided to tell her. So he did. He still wasn’t entirely convinced she was on their side. He was certain that as long as he and the team were doing the same thing she was doing she’d help. But if his mission went cross-purposes to her desire, he had no doubt she’d do whatever it took to get her wish, even if it meant stepping all over SEAL Team 666.
