Do Not Go Gentle (51 page)

* * * *

Sedecla glided to within about a dozen feet of Jamie and his group. Seeing them tense, she laughed. “This is close enough. Trust me. Emilio will open fire at the slightest movement from any of you.” Gonzalez laughed a short, ugly barking sound.

“So why ain't we dead already, toots?” Louie asked.

“Don't goad her,” Darcelle hissed, poking him in the ribs.

“Oh, you shall be dead shortly, I can assure you both, Mister Lombardi,” Sedecla replied, inclining her head briefly. “Ms. Lopes—Darcelle, I believe, but then, you two
are
quite difficult to distinguish.”

“I shall repeat his question,” Hanrahan rumbled, an imperious, commanding tone in his voice. “What is the purpose to this discussion? You know why we are here.”

“Oh, I understand why you are here, druid,” Sedecla snapped back. “I understand you all believe that you can somehow defeat me, but you are mistaken. Even if you could, through some impossible trick, find a way to defeat me, what makes you think that my men would let you leave alive?”

“We have no illusions about the likelihood of our success,” Jamie replied.

“Then why did you come?”

Jamie and Sedecla locked gazes, neither looking away from the other. “Because you left me no choice, bitch,” he said in a soft, hard voice.

After several moments, Sedecla laughed. “Then you leave me no choice either, Detective Griffin.”

Everyone in the room tensed at her words. Jamie and Sedecla were so focused on each other that neither was aware of anyone else in the room. Both were stunned to see Sedecla's arms fling outward as if she were throwing something. Jamie saw a small, dark object fly out of her hands.

“Noooo—” Sedecla shrieked. The object sailed to Jamie, who caught it out of reflex. As Gonzalez's men raised their guns to shoot, Sedecla gestured for them to stop and cried out, “No shooting. You might hit the
shedim
. No one shoots unless I command it.” She turned back toward Jamie and his group, and then bowed slightly. “A nice trick, druid,” Sedecla said. “Do you think that only you, the
fili
, and the
cailleach
can levitate objects?” Sedecla made an imperious gesture with the index finger of her right hand, extending it toward the statue, then jerking her finger toward her body.

When nothing happened, Hanrahan bowed in a mocking imitation of Sedecla. “A nice trick, witch. Do you think that only
you
can erect a shield?”

Sedecla's beautiful face contorted in rage, and she thrust both hands out in front of her, a wordless cry of fury erupting from her throat. Golden light arced from her hands and coruscated in hisses and sparks against a teal colored shield that surrounded Hanrahan and his companions. The druid staggered, but Ríordán and Lucy, who now stood on either side of him, kept him from falling by pressing their hands to his back and adding their strength to his own. Hanrahan groaned and held both hands in front of himself. His face twisted in a grimace. “Griffin,” he grated. “You have the witch's power source. Destroy it before she destroys us. I cannot hold her for long.”

Jamie looked down at the small object he had caught. It was a small, dark, stone statue. It looked like a hideous cross between a snake and a spider, with four clawed arms and two legs. Just touching it made Jamie's skin crawl—the statue gave off an oily, nauseating heat and was writhing within his grasp. “How?” he asked Hanrahan, almost in a daze.

“
Smash
the gods-damned thing,” the druid shouted.

As he raised the statue in his right hand, however, Jamie stopped as he looked at Sedecla.

“Don't look at her,” Lucy cried. “Avoid her eyes.”

Too late. Jamie was transfixed and unable to move. Everything and everyone else in the room stopped, like some clockwork toy winding down slowly. Sedecla's eyes grew until they reached out and swallowed him whole.

Everything disappeared. Jamie was in a dark place, surrounded by a small circle of golden light. It was quiet, with only the thumping of his heart as he examined the statue still cupped in his right hand. Jamie studied the basalt idol. He felt both repelled by and attracted to the object. It grew alternately lighter and heavier. Rough, then smooth to the touch. Leathery, then slick like marble. Dry, then slimy. Dark, then translucent. Odorless, then putrescent. Hot, then icy cold. The statue's shape underwent a bizarre series of metamorphoses—while it retained its basis appearance of a spider-snake, it started out with scaly skin, then was covered in rank, filthy fur, then feathered, then hairy like a tarantula, and finally back to its original form. A soft, silky voice interrupted Jamie's scrutiny.

“Beautiful, is it not?”

Jamie turned to see Sedecla approaching him, strolling, into the expanding circle of light to stand a foot away from him. He slowly shook his head. “Not the word I'd use for it.”

Sedecla laughed a clear, chiming sound. “True—no single word can accurately capture its essence, Detective Griffin. May I call you Jamie?”

Still shaking his head, not from negation, but quicker now, in an attempt to clear it, he replied, “I don't care what you call me—I'm destroying this abomination.” He raised his right hand slightly higher.

“Fine,” Sedecla said, feigning an indifference that Jamie could sense was false even while she held him in this place that was no place. He could not see past the darkness that surrounded the circle of light. Had she teleported him somewhere or was this all an illusion?

As if he had spoken aloud, Sedecla now shook her head. “This is no illusion, Jamie. This is real—just not the reality you usually inhabit.” She held his gaze, and Jamie realized that he needed to break this staring contest if he was to destroy the statue. “You will only be harming yourself and your family if you destroy my
shedim
,” she said calmly, indicating the statue Jamie held.

“Oh, really? How does taking you down harm me or my family?”

“Let me show you,” Sedecla replied, waving a hand in front of his face.

Jamie's mind reeled, and he felt nauseated as the scene around him raced away, replaced by familiar surroundings—he was home. He looked around in confusion—the witch still stood in front of him, and he watched himself seated at the dining room table with Eileen and the girls. They were having a typical evening meal—lively, animated conversation that had been a normal part of their dinners before Jamie became ill. Jamie stared.

“This isn't real,” he managed to whisper.

“No, it is not real,” Sedecla whispered, drawing close to him, “but it could be real—
again
.”

Jamie listened to himself recounting a humorous incident from a case he was working. Jamie felt his heart turn to lead within his chest—this was his old life—the side of the bridge that his damned illness had destroyed. This was when he had been happy.

“You could be happy again,” Sedecla said in a soft, seductive voice. “I can make you well again.”

Jamie started, turning back from the domestic scene. “You lie,” he murmured.

Sedecla put her arms around Jamie, and he cradled the statue of the
shedim
to his chest. She strolled behind him and stood at his right side, her hand gesturing back toward the scene. “No, Jamie, I speak the truth. I
can
heal you. I am one step away from having power beyond my wildest dreams.” Sedecla pulled Jamie's gaze to hers.

“Simply return the statue to me. Give it back to me, and I shall give you back your old life.” She paused, gauging the impact of her words. “I can give you more, if you wish.” Jamie blinked as a rapid stream of images replaced the scene—Jamie and his family, wealthy and living in a larger, nicer house, driving expensive cars and wearing designer clothes. Summering on the Cape and traveling to exotic places, as Eileen had always wished. Himself not only healthy, but able to spend more time with Eileen and the girls. Jamie as Chief of Police, as Senator, as President. Eileen running her own music conservatory. Each of the girls enjoying successful careers, with loving husbands and many children of their own. Scenes darted and dashed before Jamie's glazed eyes like minnows dancing in a stream. Sedecla's voice was threaded through each of the scenes—the voice of a friend, a trusted ally, a benefactor, describing in detail the gifts that she could give to Jamie, to his family, to his friends. Jamie barely noticed as Sedecla stepped in front of him, then to his left side. “None of this has to end, not ever,” she whispered, making the words seem like his own. “I have lived for many lifetimes. So can you and yours.” Sedecla walked back around behind Jamie and leaned close to his right ear, her breath warm and heavy. “Return my
shedim
. A simple thing for you to receive all this in return, is it not?”

Jamie's mind roiled in turmoil, emotions washing over him like ocean waves—battering him, breaking him down, and making him doubt himself.
I could have my life back.
The thought thundered through his head, threatening to pull him under and make him accede to Sedecla's request.
It would be so easy. Who could blame me? Who would know?
Yet, even as he felt himself sliding into the abyss, another part of Jamie, deep within himself, hidden from the witch's view and far beyond her understanding or belief, was resolute. Swinging ponderously open like the reinforced door of a massive bank safe, white light trickled out from Jamie's inner self. The light flared into blinding brilliance as the door swung open and all of Sedecla's blandishments shriveled, turned to dust, and blew away by the winds of Jamie's conscience, principles, and the ethical system by which he had lived his entire life. Back in Sedecla's amphitheater, Jamie saw his friends and enemies gaping at him and at Sedecla. Both bathed in the brilliance that came from within Jamie.

Sedecla raised a hand before her face, squinting to maintain her gaze at Jamie. “What are you doing, fool? Would you throw everything away? Would you destroy your life?”

Jamie felt calmness bubble up from within himself. It warmed him, relaxed him, and stilled his unrest. Faces raced in front of his eyes—his family, his parents, Eileen's parents, his siblings, his friends. Then he saw Cal and Mario Ramirez, both dead by Sedecla's hand, and finally, the witch's mostly faceless victims. “No,” Jamie replied, his voice seeming distant and faraway, as if someone else was speaking through him, for him, or on his behalf. “I would save them all.”

“Do it soon,” Hanrahan's gravel voice rang out, each word grating as if it were being ripped from his throat.

“We—cannot—hold—her—back—any—longer.”

Jamie saw that the teal sphere surrounding him and his friends had contracted until it was nearly touching them. Hanrahan, Ríordán, and Lucy were all on their knees, pushing with all of their might. Their faces contorted in pain, and Jamie could see that they were indeed almost finished.

Looking back to Sedecla, Jamie shook his head. His right hand, which had sunk to his side while struggling with the witch, now shot back high over his head.

“
You cannot,
” Sedecla shrieked, stabbing out with everything she had—black, red, and gold fire lancing from her hands, her eyes, and her mouth and inundating the druid's shield.

“I
can
,” Jamie whispered in response. He whipped his arm toward the floor, releasing the stone statue. It shattered on the floor.

Jamie slowly regained sight and hearing. Although his vision was blurry, Jamie could make out the figures around him—Sedecla sat unconscious ten feet away from him, her back against the door to her ritual chamber. A glance across the room showed Gonzalez and his men beginning to stir. Hanrahan, Ríordán, and Lucy were sprawled on the floor in front of Jamie. Louie had regained one knee, as had Daphné and Darcelle.

Jamie looked behind him—there were several sets of metal shelving just behind him and his team. He leaned down to Louie and the twins. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” He could hear his own voice, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater. They all looked at him and nodded. “We have to make some cover before the others regain consciousness.” He pointed at their opponents, then back at the shelving behind them. “Louie, come help me pull these down to make a barricade. Girls, see to the other three and get them back here pronto.”

Everyone nodded and Louie followed Jamie to the shelves. It was quick work knocking them down, and they had just finished stacking one set of shelves atop the other when Daphné and Darcelle joined them, with Hanrahan and Lucy dragging Ríordán's unconscious form between them. Jamie looked back and saw Emilio Gonzalez raising his gun, along with several other men who had recovered enough to react. “
Everybody down
,” Jamie shouted.

As shots rung out, Jamie's training took over. He forced himself to slow his breathing, and everything crawled as he became hyperaware of his surroundings. Gonzalez and his men had started firing. Before they got off more than a couple of rounds, however, Louie sent them scrambling for cover by opening up with his Uzi. Jamie could tell by the deliberate way Louie handled the gun that he had used it many times before. Automatic weapons always got away from first-time users. Even though it isn't as accurate as a handgun, the spray forces opponents to take cover, which is exactly what Louie wanted. Jamie heard a scream of pain beside him and snatched a quick glance—he saw Darcelle down on the ground, holding her bleeding head.
No. Damn it, no.
Jamie thought as he kept returning fire. The three magic workers laid face down and appeared to be uninjured, but Jamie could not tell if Ríordán had regained consciousness.

The gunfire became one-sided as Jamie and Louie continued firing while Gonzalez and his men sought cover. Jamie managed to clip Gonzalez in the leg, spinning him to the floor, when a piercing shriek from the side of the room brought him and everyone else in the room to a halt. He looked to Sedecla, who was now standing in front of the door to her ritual chamber. The witch stared in wide-eyed horror at a sphere of black and gold, the size of a blue-ribbon pumpkin, hovering over the spot where Jamie had destroyed the statue. Jamie held his hands out, and his team lowered their guns, as did their opponents. By unspoken agreement, everyone stopped to watch the tableaux across the room. Sedecla's continued screams punctuated the eerie silence, her arms spread out wide before her. As Jamie watched, the black and gold sphere cracked open, and a nightmare crawled out.

“
Madre di Dio
,” Louie said. “What the hell is that?”

Jamie knew and wanted to look away, but could only watch. “It's the actual demon that Sedecla had imprisoned in her statue,” he replied in a hoarse voice.

The
shedim
was much larger than the small basalt statue that Jamie had smashed. The creature wriggled out of the cracked sphere and unfolded itself until it was easily twice the size of any man in the room. Like the statue, the
shedim
had a flat, cobra-like head and hood tapering into a long neck that descended into a human-shaped body, but with four arms and two legs, all ending in razored claws. The demon's skin constantly shifted, from sparkling ebony scales, to shaggy matted fur, to pestilent human skin, and back to scales. Large triangular ears, with tufts of black spiky hair sticking out, sat at attention upon each side of the
shedim's
head, and it had four coal-black eyes, multi-faceted like a spider, and chelicerae on either side of its face.

“Nobody move,” came a voice from the back of the amphitheater. Jamie and several others glanced quickly at the police that had entered the back of the hall, and then all eyes returned to the witch and the demon.

“Silence, witch,” ordered the
shedim
in its buzzing, dissonant voice. It waved a clawed hand in front of Sedecla's face, and her ragged screaming ceased. Jamie wasn't sure which was worse—the revolting voice of the demon or the sudden end to Sedecla's cries. “You knew this was the price of your failure.”

“We can still— ” Sedecla began.

A gesture from the
shedim
silenced her again. “Do not attempt to bargain with me, woman,” it buzzed. “You held me trapped in that statue far too long. Now you must pay.”

The demon darted forward, impossibly fast for something that large, and Sedecla resumed screaming as the
shedim
sank its fangs into her neck.

Jamie and the other horrified onlookers watched the
shedim
fed on the power left within the witch. While Jamie had dissipated the power held within the statue, thus releasing the demon, Sedecla still retained considerable life force. She crumbled slowly, like a sandstone statue—ancient beyond belief and finally succumbing to its age. Her perfect skin cracked and flaked away, revealing her writhing musculature, which hissed away like sand through an hourglass. Her organs—heart still beating and lungs still breathing—and tendons then dissolved, leaving only a skeleton, somehow still alive and still screaming from a tissueless, tongueless mouth. Sedecla's eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. At last, her shrieks stopped. Her eyes popped out and the
shedim's
serrated mouth inhaled them. Her bones collapsed in a heap of powder, with her skull and some larger bones still intact.

The
shedim
glared around the room, but powerless against anyone except she who had summoned and enslaved it, the demon disappeared with a loud bang.

“Janie Mac and all the saints, I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.”

Jamie's head snapped around at the sound of his father's voice. Frank Griffin, flanked by Patrick and Sully, stood with at least two dozen cops, pistols and riot guns raised. They all stood dumbfounded. Then, at movement by Emilio Gonzalez and his remaining men, training reasserted itself, with Jamie as well as the officers at the back of the room.

“Everyone throw down your weapons,” Frank Griffin ordered, officers and detectives fanning out around him. While Gonzalez's men still held a slight advantage in numbers, they were in shock from what they had just witnessed and quietly complied with Frank Griffin's command. As officers ran to them, ordering them to the ground and beginning the process of cuffing them, Jamie heard his name shouted by another voice.

“
Jamie.
”

He turned and saw Eileen push past Sully. He met her halfway and stepped into her fierce embrace. “I
told
you I'd come back,” he whispered into her ear.

“
Come back
?” Eileen demanded, holding him out at arm's length. “
I
came and found
you
boyo.” Then she hugged him again.

“Jamie, you need to get an ambulance here right away.” Jamie turned and saw Louie kneeling down beside Darcelle.

“Sully,” Jamie shouted as he broke free from Eileen and joined Louie on the ground. “We need a bus, and we need it
now
.”

* * * *

It was mid-afternoon of a day that felt like it had lasted a week. The snow had abated, but dark clouds still scudded across the leaden sky as if they couldn't wait to be elsewhere. Jamie looked around his dining room table. Eileen sat beside Lucy, a consoling arm draped around the old woman's shoulders. A scowling Hanrahan sat a noticeable distance away from the
cailleach
, and equally distant from Louie, who sat with his head bowed, staring at a cup of lukewarm coffee. Patrick Griffin sat to Jamie's right, Nuala Griffin to his left, and Jamie's daughters were also present—Brigid next to her grandmother, Caitlin and Riona on a wooden bench built in to the wall between the hutches.

Lucy, already red-eyed, was struggling not to cry again when she asked Jamie, “What about Ríordán? I know he has family who need to be told, who will want to see his, his— ”

“My Da and Sully are handling all the red tape, Lucy,” he replied in a soft, even voice. “This mess has created a mountain of it. They will notify his next-of-kin and make arrangements for them. Given the circumstances of his death, the coroner will certainly want to perform an autopsy.”

Hanrahan snorted in disgust. “We know what killed the lad—his entire body was overloaded and fried like some cheap appliance.” He shook his head. “I warned him—the witch was too strong.”

“Mayhaps,” Lucy replied in a sharp tone, “but I doubt ye would have been strong enough to protect the rest of us without the lad's strength.”

“Peace,” the druid said, spreading his big hands in conciliation. “I agree. He gave his life that the rest of us might live. I just wish it could have been otherwise.”

“Speaking of which,” Eileen said. “Have we heard anything more about Darcelle?”

Jamie shook his head. “Not yet, love. Daphné said she would call once they knew anything more about Darcelle.”

“Poor, poor thing,” Eileen murmured.

“Aye, but I don't think it was a bullet that hit her in the eye—I think it was a fragment from the shelves. That may make all the difference in her survival and whether or not she keeps her eye.”

No one spoke for several moments. Then, for perhaps the tenth time since lunch, Patrick sighed and said, “I still don't believe it, and I saw it.”

Jamie reached over and punched his brother lightly in the shoulder. “I know,
dheartháir
. I know. I can't quite convince myself to accept it all either.”

“None of us can,” Eileen said in a muted voice. “I only saw the very end, when the poor woman was finally put out of her misery.”

Louie raised his head, eyes glinting. “You ask me, dat bitch didn't suffer enough. Pardon my language,” he said with an embarrassed nod at the girls.

“It's okay,” Riona said solemnly. “We hear worse every fall when Notre Dame plays football.”

Jamie glared at his youngest daughter but said nothing to her. “Personally, I agree with Louie.”

“Séamus Edward Griffin,” Nuala said in her sternest voice. “That is
not
a Christian sentiment.”

“Mother,” Jamie said, patting her hand. “Sedecla was
not
a Christian woman.”

“Matters not,” his mother replied. “Matters not.”

“I still don't understand what happened when you and the witch woman stood there starin' at each other,” Louie groused.

“Yeah, Dad,” Caitlin said. “You kinda skimmed over that part earlier.”

Jamie took a deep breath. “I'm not sure I can really describe it, not properly, not yet anyway.” He paused for several moments, and then when it became apparent that he wasn't being let off that easily, he continued. “I found myself alone with Sedecla in a dark place, and she was tempting me.” He paused again, struggling for the exact words. No one interrupted him. “Eileen probably knows more about this than anyone, so I'll back up for everyone else's benefit.

“When I first became sick, I started having nightmares. I had one the very day I began feeling bad. I was being forced across a bridge. I could tell that my old life was on one side—where everything was bright and colorful and happy. On the other side, life was drab and gray and miserable. Even when I managed to break free of those forcing me across, the bridge itself started to collapse behind me, and I had no choice but to run to the far side, the gray side—the nightmare side.” Jamie took a long sip of coffee. “Over the months, the nightmare kept changing, but it was always the same theme—I was losing everything I loved. It changed to nightmares about fighting Sedecla, especially after Cal was murdered. So when we were face to face in the place that was not a place where she took me at the end, Sedecla offered to give me my old life back. She offered to make my nightmares go away. I could be healthy again—she offered me money, power, even immortality.”

“Worship me and all this shall be yours,” Nuala murmured.

“Aye,” Jamie replied. “She wasn't Satan, but she was obviously a dark, evil person, and she tempted me.” Jamie looked at his coffee cup, swirled the dregs for a few seconds, drained it, and then continued. “Lord forgive me, I was sorely tempted.”

“So how didja turn her down?” Louie asked.

“I couldn't have,” Jamie replied, his voice distant and soft, as if he were back in that dark place with Sedecla. “By myself, I would have given in—I wanted to be a worthwhile person again. I wanted to stop letting my family down. I wanted to be a man again.” He looked down at his empty coffee cup, and when he looked up again, they could see tears glistening in his eyes. “I would have failed if not for those who love me. As I felt myself succumbing to her offers, another part of me opened up and shone a bright light on her dark words. I saw the faces of my family and friends—of Cal and Mario Ramirez and Sedecla's other victims. I knew her offers were lies, and I had the strength to reject them.”