Reign of Evil - 03 (12 page)

The words had so shocked him that he’d stood there speechless until she’d laughed at him. The laughter broke the spell, sending him outside.

“That’s right. Go and find your trout mermaid.”

Then the silence of the Kennet River.

It was true. He’d done well for his Chinese trading firm. Because of him, they’d been able to buy two buildings in the heart of the London Financial District, allowing for local representation that gave them leverage when trading on the Heng Seng, Nikkei, and Shanghai Composite Stock Exchanges. He’d even married one of the senior partners’ daughters. And now they wanted him to be a vice president, would provide him a car and driver, and would even set him up in an old estate overlooking Kowloon Bay that had once belonged to a sheik and before him an opium king. It was truly what dreams were made of and she had a right to be angry.

But was it his fault if all he wanted to do was fish?

He heard the sound of hounds in the distance, followed by a horn.

Foxhunting? The Marlborough Hunt Club didn’t have anything scheduled this close to Christmas. Plus, the hounds didn’t sound like any he knew. He listened to them bay again and couldn’t place the breed.

The sound of the horn came again, but closer.

He peered into the fog, trying to make out whether it was coming from across the river or on his side. Water and fog always played tricks with sound.

He suddenly felt something brush past him. Then another thing. This one knocked him off balance, forcing him to stumble to his right, where he knew the river was. He fought to keep his balance and would have regained it had he not been pushed one last time.

He hit the water sideways. He lost his grip on his rod but was unable to reach for it. He’d lost his breath, the cold of the water paralyzing him. He tried to suck in air, but his head went beneath the frigid water. He scrambled for footing but couldn’t find it against the mossy bottom.

Then he heard her calling from the nearby bank. “If you won’t go to Hong Kong, then I’ll go without you.”

His arms began to move finally as they freed themselves from the sudden shock of the water.

The sound of hounds came much closer. The horn sounded like it was right on top of him.

Sarah screamed and began shouting, “No!” over and over again until it was cut off by what sounded like dogs fighting over a stick.

He finally managed to get his feet under him. By the time he reached the bank, the fog was dissipating. Such a strange weather phenomenon, especially the way it had thrown sound. It was as if the hunt had been right here. He pulled himself up and climbed to his feet, shivering uncontrollably. He ran toward the warm glow of his house. Once he got warm and had a few glasses of scotch, he’d go find his wife and have a word with her. Then when he was finished with that he’d go online and order a new fly rod. He had a spare, but now that he’d lost his best rod he had the chance to order one he’d had his eye on. It was a thousand dollars, but it was a piece of art.

Shivering uncontrollably, he’d almost made it to the steps of his patio when he heard a growl from behind him. He turned, almost falling because his frozen feet refused to cooperate.

It was a hound, but like no hound he’d ever seen. As tall as a Great Dane, it was part human, part beast. It had what looked shockingly like human arms for its front legs and a gray hairless body. But what captured him was the gaze from the dark eyes in the almost simian face. It was recognition. He knew those eyes. And then it leaped, grabbing him by the leg and dragging him east toward Silbury Hill. He tried to scream, but he was dead within the first hundred meters, his head having banged against the ground over and over until it split open. That he could still see did very little to calm him. That is, until he felt himself jerked and pulled and hammered until he was no longer being dragged but was running beside the other hound, a beast he had once called his wife.

CHAPTER 17

CHICKSANDS RAF. NIGHT.

Walker had been helping the witch organize the warlock loot for two hours when Ian and Trev returned. Trev went straight down the hall to Preeti’s command center. Ian came to the common room. Behind him were two steely-eyed men in thick-soled shoes who Walker thought had to be cops. The last man was dressed in a Savile Row suit and overcoat and appeared impeccably manicured. From his hair to his hands to the cut of his attire, it all screamed money.

Walker leaped to his feet. “Ian, how are you—”

Ian held up his hand. With his chin high, he went to the sideboard and poured himself three inches of scotch. Without turning around, he slung it back and swallowed.

“So this is what it’s come to,” the posh man said, glancing around the room in distaste.

The men who Walker had thought were cops stood behind him.
Probably ex-cops. Bodyguards. Muscle.

“You once had the ear of the Queen,” he continued, “and now you’re in the basement of an old officers’ club. Looks like you bollixed it up good. How pathetic.” When he spied the witch, his entire demeanor changed. “Now who’s this pretty little dish?”

She’d stood when they’d entered the room. She fell right into the shy schoolgirl act and smiled sweetly. “Sassy Moore, Your Highness. But you can call me Sassy.”

The two bodyguards exchanged glances.

A look of pure lechery came upon the posh man’s face. “I like your name.”

“It’s more than just my name,” she purred. “It’s who I am. Sassy.”

Walker felt the power in her words.

The man took a step forward, then halted. His eyes narrowed; then he turned to Ian. “You trying to work me, Ian?”

Ian had watched from the sideboard, a refilled glass in his hand. “Never in a million years, Sir Robert. We’re at your service, as always.”

“What is she then, a witch?”

“I don’t have to be a witch to be hit on by you,” answered Sassy. “I’m sure each and every schoolgirl in Sheffield knows your number, Sir Robert.”

He glowered at her as he backed up until he was bookended by his bodyguards.

“And look at the right proper benighted Englishman,” Sassy continued. “Taking time out of polluting the countryside and despoiling young girls just to see us.”

“Enough!” Ian shouted. He shook his head and sighed as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders and he could carry it, just in a different position. Addressing the room, Ian said, “Allow me to introduce Sir Robert MacDonald from Sheffield. He’s here to shut us down.”

Walker jerked his attention back to this MacDonald character. “He can’t do that.”

“Let me assure you, I
can
bloody well do that and more. I
am
doing that. Your kind was once needed, I agree. But times have changed. We’re in the modern era. There’s no reason for a unit like yours in this time of instant information and computers.” He spread his hands. “And if something were to happen, CCTV would pick it up.”

Walker thought about the disturbance they’d tracked. He almost brought it up, but something told him to keep it quiet.

“Plus, we hate to see such an egregious loss of life. What is it, Ian? You’ve lost three people in three months?” Sir Robert shook his head in a mockery of utter sadness. “Too many lives lost. Just too many. I think you’re way past your prime.”

Trev and Preeti came in from behind. Sir Robert and his men, who made room for them, then resumed their place.

“Is this everyone?” Sir Robert asked.

“All that’s left.” Ian’s voice was even, his demeanor implacable.

“Pathetic. No one’s going to blink an eye with me shutting you down, Ian. To believe that a unit composed of a psychopath, a cripple, a pet American, and a witch servant all led by an old drunk was responsible for the supernatural protection of England is hysterical.”

Trev made a move toward Sir Robert, but one of the bodyguards stepped in front of him at the same time as Preeti grabbed his arm with both of hers, letting her crutches fall to the ground.

Everyone stared at them a moment, then back to Sir Robert.

“You have twenty-four hours to pack up your things and put them in official storage. I have orders for you three.” He held out his hand and the other bodyguard handed him three slender envelopes. Sir Robert then handed them to each of the remaining members of Section 9. When he was done, he smiled, King of Smug. “You’ll be thanking me for this next year. This is best for England.” He turned and exited the room. His guards went with him.

Walker broke the intervening silence when Sir Robert was well and gone. “You. Cannot. Be. Serious.”

“I’m afraid so, chap.” Ian set his glass down carefully. “Sir Robert has been working to shut us down for the last three years. When he began we had thirty people and had strong representation in parliament, fighting for funding lines.”

Walker still couldn’t believe what was happening. “So what changed?”

“Everything. Nothing. It wasn’t a single event. It was a bunch of small things, really. Reassignments. Reallocations. Promises for future personnel if we shifted some current staff to other defense-related operations. Re-elections. Most of those who’d traditionally watched out for us either retired, passed on, or weren’t re-elected.”

“I hate to ask this,” Walker began, “but I came over here to find out who killed my fiancée. Now we know the Wild Hunt is on the loose. Are we just going to stop?”

Trev stepped forward. “Yeah. Can’t we complete this last mission and show Sir Asshole how valuable we are?”

Ian shook his head. “He doesn’t care. This is a personal vendetta and I’ve never been able to get to the heart of it. Walker, it’s game, set, and match. Sir Robert played us and won. There’s just nothing to be done.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Preeti said. She glanced in Walker’s direction and smiled secretly. He felt a moment’s hope. “There have been some developments.” She looked at her crutches on the floor and then to the chairs around the table. “Can we sit?”

Ian stared at her, then went into motion. “Of course, Preeti.”

Soon everyone was sitting around the table.

Ian had provided glasses for everyone and had poured an inch of scotch in each. “Before we begin”—he took up his glass and held it—“to Jerry.”

Everyone raised theirs as well and they clinked glasses. “To Jerry,” they said.

Once everyone had drunk, Ian composed his face. “We’ll have services the day after tomorrow. No, that’s Christmas. The day after that then, on the twenty-sixth.” He turned to Preeti. “You now have the table, madame.”

She brought them up to speed about what she and Walker had discussed and done earlier. Then she said, “With the help of my brother, who telecommutes from the Home Office and is so good with computers I might as well be a child by comparison, we were able to track down some additional disturbances. Trev, will you run and get the map on my desk?”

Trev got up and hurried out. He was back in less than thirty seconds with a map he placed in the center of the table. Seven markers were in place at Woking, Chipping Sodbury, Bromley, Shapwick, Marlborough, Penrith, and Notgrove.

“I tracked disturbances from each of these events to nearby mounds.”

“Wait a moment.” Ian had raised a hand. “Events?”

“Right. We know what happened at Woking. In Penrith, an orphanage for displaced Nigerian children disappeared. It’s believed to be a highly localized F5 tornado which only damaged the orphanage, even though it was wedged into a tight little neighborhood.”

“What?” Ian shook his head. “An entire orphanage gone? Why aren’t we hearing about this?”

“It’ll be in tomorrow’s news. All of this has occurred only in the past seventy-two hours. There could be more, but these were the only things we were able to discover in the little time we had.”

“Continue,” Ian said.

“In Chipping Sodbury a local businessman and his associates were found ripped apart on the golf course. Owners of an Indian restaurant in Shapwick went missing. I’ve been there, by the way, and they have the best vindaloo. In Marlborough a local resident and his wife were found mauled on the bank of the Kennet River. In Penrith there were reports of a man being chased down the street by misshapen hounds, which the police are discrediting because they were called in at three AM by several drunken witnesses. In Notgrove the parish priest reported odd howls and the blowing of horns. There’s only three CCTV cameras in Notgrove, so there was no tracking. They all went fuzzy at the same time.”

Ian pointed to a spot southeast of London. “What about Bromley?”

“Saving the best for last. The body of MP Gordon Miller was found gored in a parking lot by a hotel. Looks like he’d spent the night with a local girl, then was killed when he went outside.”

“Are you telling me that we believe that the Wild Hunt killed a Member of Parliament?” Ian asked.

“I don’t think the Wild Hunt gives a shit about an MP,” Sassy Moore said. “They don’t even know what a parliament is.”

“How come we’re just hearing about this?” Trev asked.

“The Home Office has it under wraps until they can determine what caused the wounds.” Preeti frowned distastefully. “It was reported his insides were torn out.”

Ian nodded. “This might change everything. If we have a supernatural event or entity which threatens English sovereignty, then we need to be around to combat it.” He stood and grabbed the map. “I need to make a call. Wait here.”

After Ian rushed from the room, Sassy leaned back and crossed her arms. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

Everyone looked at her.

“The Wild Hunt is building itself. For some reason it’s not large enough.”

“Building itself? You mean like recruiting?” Walker asked.

She shook her head. “It’s long been held that the Wild Hunt only comes around when changes need to be made. It often comes back a mere shadow of itself, becoming stronger as the souls of its victims come to populate the Hunt. Some become hunters, others become stags, but most become hounds.”

“Wait.” Walker struggled to parse the information. “All of the victims?”

She nodded. “It was why we saw what we saw, the rush and rumble of a beast hunting. It was the connection to your fiancée.”