The Dark Communion (The Midnight Defenders) (15 page)

.

18

The Leprechaun wasn’t a jovial red-head in an emerald frock coat and buckled hat what ate marshmallow kiddie cereal. It was an ugly wanker, just over a foot tall with pale, grey skin. The only clothing it wore hung in tatters: a shredded red robe that did little to cover the scrawny and scraggly arms and legs, sunken chest, or the firm, round bulge of its stomach that recalled images of starving Somalian children. It was naked otherwise and equipped like a Ken doll. The crescent shape of its head was accented by the pointed, white goatee and stab of gray on top that peaked like an arrowhead

Leprechauns were a type of Korrigan known as a Hob, a particularly malicious house spirit.

Some Hobs were vandals, others caused illness by feeding on the lifeforce of people. The sort I was looking at was attracted to money, gold, jewels. If it sparkled, if it shone, if it had value, a Leprechaun collected it. It was a thief, pure and simple. It’s how it amassed its infamous pot of gold.

“What kind of sorcery is this?” it demanded in a rough, smoky voice and Jersey accent.

“No sorcery,” I said. “Just a little bit of science. See, a long time ago I worked with this group of hunters called the Hand of Shanai. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” I waited a minute, but the thing looked at me, dully.

It said nothing.

“Look. You have to talk to me, I know the rules or the code or whatever.”

“There’s no code,” it said coldly.

“Of course there is, arsehole. Trick a trickster, and it has to honor you.”

“I’m not a trickster, I’m a Mammon, you brain-dead sack.”

“I may be a meat sack, but you’re a dirty Kory.” The look it gave me was red-hot and full of venom; its dark eyes were barely slits in the clay-like skin. “Everyone knows that all Hobs love playing tricks. You may be a Mammon, but you’re still a trickster. Lying – directly or indirectly – is in violation of your code.”

It laughed. “So what?”

“You know what.” I was banking on the fact that it did know, because I sure as Hell didn’t. I only knew what I knew because years ago in Brussels, Hunter and I tricked another Leprechaun and he spilled the beans on the whole honor code thing. He was a little mum on some of the grander details.

“How did you know I was here?” it asked.

I didn’t say anything.

Earlier, when I’d mentioned Toby being a rotten thief, Nadia suggested that maybe it wasn’t his fault. I swear she’d been getting smarter, almost as if Huxley’s amulet imparted some of his intellect.

Most house spirits were tied to a specific location or, occasionally, a certain object. For one reason or another, this particular Leprechaun seemed to be attached to a person: Toby Emmerich. And because it was a shapeshifter, it was easy for it to follow the boy from home to home.

“So whaddaya want, meat sack?” Leprechauns didn’t grant wishes if you found their pot, or stash, rather, but if you did happen across their hoard, they’d say damn near anything to get it back. They were liars, mostly. The same was true if you caught one.

“Take it easy,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“I ain’t giving you that.”

“Remember the code.”

“A code ain’t worth that.”

Just about every culture in the world believed that to know someone’s name and how to invoke it would grant power over that person. I didn’t get it myself, but the way Huxley explained it once, it had to do with the power of the spoken word, the way, in Genesis, God spoke all of Creation into being.

“Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll just call you…Paddy O’Brien.”

“I ain’t Irish, you prick.”

“You’re a wee little folk,” I said in my best brogue. “Now, Paddy, I need some help.”

“Fuck you.”

“The physics alone on that one… Do you even have a wee little pink thing?”

“Excuse me?”

“A pink thing, Paddy, like a dog has. Keep up. A winky. A John Thomas.”

He took a deep breath, wrinkled his brow, and scowled silently.

“Help me,” I said.

“Why would I do that?”

I held out the coin I was carrying, and it glanced between the one in my hand and the one at his feet. They looked real. “Because I will pay you, Paddy.”

“I’m not giving up my gold.”

“Calm down, I just want answers.”

“Knowledge,” it hissed. “And what do I get out of it? You bring me gold? You bring me shiny stones?”

I considered that a moment and then reached into my pocket, pulled out a shiny half-dollar. I set it down on the edge of the dresser, and its eyes locked on the coin at once. “That all?”

“That and the two gold coins you see.”

“It ain’t gold, sack. It’s brass.”

“And brass isn’t shiny?”

“It ain’t as valuable. What self-respecting Mammon keeps a pot of brass?”

Annoyed, I said, “You could be the first.” Paddy didn’t look amused. “How about this then? You help me, you keep the shinies, and I won’t squash you.”

The look on its face was spiteful and wrinkled with scorn. Then it nodded. “Speak then.”

“Toby Emmerich.”

“Who?”

“The boy you’ve been following. How long have you been with him?”

“Seven cycles.” I wasn’t sure what sort of calendar the Korrigan followed, but I knew from experience that a cycle was about 200 days.

A little quick math and I said, “Almost four years?” I whistled. The kid was innocent then. “Did he have any friends?”

“How should I know?”

“You were with him for four years,” I said, frustrated. “Did he talk to anyone?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means everyone talks to everyone.”

“Did he talk to anyone his own age, maybe?”

“Kids at the orphanage.”

“In the last few months? How ‘bout strangers?”

“We weren’t best pals or nothing, sack.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, then. Maybe Toby was given something in the weeks leading up to his disappearance?”

“Like a disease?”

“Not exactly, Paddy. Focus. Like a stuffed animal, maybe. A teddy bear? Something that he cherished? Something he thought was valuable?”

It twitched, jerked its head suddenly to the side, blinked rapidly. “No. I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”

“I thought so.” I reached in to my pocket and produced a pocket watch, trimmed in gold, a phoenix emblazoned on its polished, ivory surface. I clicked it open, the hands on the clock face were gold as well, and the chain that dangled from the watch was white gold. It was pretty.

When I set it down on the dresser next to Paddy, the Leprechaun froze.

“You were holding out on me,” it said. “Brass, indeed.”

“Ever seen anything this nice? I’m willing to give it to you.”

He didn’t look at me; he was transfixed. “Paddy.”

“What do you want for it?” it whispered.

“I want to see your pot of gold.”

The trance broke, and it came alive again, eyes growing wild. It twitched and shook. “My…gold?”

“Easy. You sure are high-strung.” I put a hand through my hair. “I don’t want it. I just want to look at it. I don’t need to take anything with me.”

“And if I show you…?”

“And let me touch it.”

Silence a moment. “Fine. If I show you and let you touch it…”

“Then the watch and the coins are yours. And I won’t squash you like a bug. I think it’s a pretty generous offer.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Piss off, Paddy,” I said. “You already know you’re going to take the deal. Let’s just get on with it. I have other places to be.”

Mammon were compelled beyond reason by anything with a polished sheen, anything valuable. I didn’t know much about the watch, just that it was an antique. The fact I’d never seen anything like it – and I was willing to wager Paddy didn’t have anything that nice in its collection – meant that it was under my spell.

Slowly, the Leprechaun looked up at me with black, glossy eyes. Its little forehead wrinkled, and turned its mouth down in a smirk. Clearly, it wasn’t going to side with me peacefully.

I took the end of the chain and dangled the timepiece in front of the Leprechaun. “Do it for the watch,” I said. As Paddy reached a cold little hand to touch it, I yanked the watch out of reach and slipped it into my pocket. Paddy watched, its dark eyes narrowing with malice and fury. Slowly, reluctantly, it nodded.

It turned then, shook as it stepped from the ledge of the dresser, and quick as I could blink, became a flying squirrel gliding down to the floor. The change was so abrupt, so sudden and so seamless that it didn’t surprise me in the least. As it touched down, it shuddered again, and became a chipmunk, scampered across the carpet and disappeared under the bed frame and the canopy created by the overhanging bedspread.

I didn’t wait long before the Leprechaun pushed a shoebox out into the middle of the floor. I’d known Mammon to stash their valuables in the wall or under a loose floorboard, never in such plain sight, but those were confined to a location. With Paddy, it made perfect sense; if anyone ever found it, Toby would look guilty as hell.

The box was full of bracelets and necklaces, rings and wristwatches, and a handful of loose change. I dumped the box out, began to sift through the mound.

I removed my gloves, let my skin touch each and every object in turn. I set aside bedazzled keychains, hunks of pyrite, a few smooth glassy azure stones that might have lined a fish tank, and a wristwatch whose engraving said, “To Mark Beasley for 40 years of faithful service in law enforcement.” I thought of the whole “self-respecting Mammon” crack. Brass didn’t look so bad compared to some of the stuff it’d gathered.

I’d sifted through half the trove before I came across a small, opal locket. I’d suspected I wouldn’t need to read every object, that like the bear, whatever had come in contact with the grey blob would be so pregnant with the images the reading would happen on instinct.

And so it did.

When I touched the locket, my head began to spin. I felt the current of energy sweep over me, and this time, even the hair in my armpits stood on end. I don’t know if I closed my eyes or blacked out. Maybe I fell asleep, but however it happened, I was swallowed by a rush of darkness and overcome with the feeling of floating peacefully in a great expanse of cold water.

I didn’t feel much of anything, whether heat or cold or wind or wetness, and for a minute, I couldn’t hear anything either and wondered if maybe this were death – I’d touched a cursed locket and my heart had given out. Then there was a sound like the splashing of a wave, and a boy spoke.

“I never knew my mom. I…I want a family more than anything.” Silence. “Really? That would be awesome!”

“Are you sure, Wendy?” he asked.

“Of course, I do. More than anything,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Why do I want a necklace?” he asked.

“Sure, Wendy,” he said. “If it means a lot to you, I’ll be happy to take it. Do I have to wear it?”

“What does it look like?” he asked.

What happened next was like plunging head-first into an ice-cold swimming pool, except the pool was made of light, blindingly bright and so incredibly painful.

Once I’d grown accustomed to the light, I saw Toby Emmerich staring at me and smiling. “It’s so pretty,” he said. “Is your picture inside?”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“No,” he said. “I’m ready to go now, Wendy.”

“But,” he said, his voice farther away. “I want to be with you. You said we could be a family…”

The flash ended, and I rubbed my forehead.

I dropped the locket into the shoebox, pushed the pile of jewelry away. I stood, felt a little lightheaded, and sat on the bed to steady myself. Dewey, Pierce, and now Wendy…all seemingly different and yet everything about them suggested they were the same. But why use a different name? And where did the homeless man fit in? The silk room? It didn’t add up. I was missing something.

Paddy struggled to gets its fingers around a coin and lift it into the box. I fished the watch from my pocket and said, “A deal’s a deal.”

Paddy’s eyes grew wide as it took the watch, but said nothing. Instead, it packed the ivory timepiece into its box and busied itself with the rest of the objects.

I handed Paddy the half-dollar, but pocketed the two brass coins and walked to the door. As I turned the knob, I thought, stopped, turned to the Leprechaun, and asked, “Paddy, who’s Wendy?”

It dropped the last few pennies into the box and clumsily repositioned the lid. Paddy didn’t look at me, it just let out a muffled, “harrumph.” Shaking its head, Paddy said, “Very bad lady. I knew she wanted something, but I couldn’t have guessed what. Very bad indeed. Black magic.”

“What, was she a witch?” Paddy didn’t say anything. “And she gave Toby that locket?”

“Yes. And Toby gave it to me.”

“You mean, you took it after he disappeared.”

It looked at me with shiny, black, marble eyes. Then it turned to the shoe box and shoved it toward the bed. “Is the boy coming back?” it asked.

The boy was the source of this thing’s livelihood, as it were. But the way the words came out, they gave the mistaken impression that the little Hob actually cared about Toby. There seemed to be a strangled concern in its tone.

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t plan on it. What are you going to do now?”

“Go back to the orphanage, I should think. Wait for the next child.” He pushed up to the edge of the bed skirt and then turned to look at me. “Our agreement has been completed?”

I nodded. As I turned back to the door, I asked, “Did you ever talk with Toby?”

But Paddy was gone, and there was no reason for it to come back out. I’d released it. I’d have to trick it again, but there wasn’t time for that. Besides, I’d gotten what I needed.

I snuck back out into the hallway and stole quietly along. When I peeked carefully around the corner, Nadia looked relieved to see me.

Janice Hutchinson was still sitting with her back to the hallway, and I crept carefully into the kitchen, over to the back door, and back outside.

.

19

Although it felt like the day had just begun, school was already being let out. I stood on the corner, waiting for Nadia. Buses filed by in droves. The kids inside pointed, laughed and stared with gawking expressions that seemed to say, “Look at the creepy long-haired guy in the leather coat, I wonder if he’s a pedophile.”

One kid, no older than twelve, stood up on his seat and mooned me, mashing hairless arse cheeks against the glass window. Not the brightest move had I been an actual pedophile. Kids were stupid.

I extended my middle finger.

As the El Camino pulled up, the window was down. “Is that for me?” she asked across the seat.

“Don’t be nasty,” I said.

“They’re kids, Jono.”

“Someone needs to tell them to keep their pants on.”

She stood from the car, sans suit jacket, and rolled up her sleeves. She had unbuttoned the top few buttons. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little hungry.”

“You don’t seem fine. You told a bus full of kids to go screw themselves.” She reached up, let her hair down.

“Yeah. Well, you try dealing with a sodding Leprechaun.”

“Well, try dealing with a woman who thinks her house is being haunted by her dead husband.”

“I knew she was a nutter.”

As we climbed in to the car, she said, “His wedding ring went missing and she hears noises in the house, feels a presence.”

Nadia drove again, and I slouched in to my seat, closed my eyes. “Paddy.”

“Who?”

“The Leprechaun. He wouldn’t tell me his name, so I called him Paddy O’Brien.”

“Sounds like a cop from the Seventies.”

“Just in name. You should’a heard him talk. Accent like a greasy cabbie.”

“He wasn’t Irish?”

“He’s an immigrant. These days those fuckers are everywhere.”

“So then we start calling them Irish-Americans now? Or Irish-Korrigan?”

“They’re not really Irish, Nadia.” I looked up at her. “First of all, Korrigan don’t have nationalities. They’re demoted angels. The Irish stigma came in to play with Saint Patrick taking the snakes out of Ireland. They fucking hate snakes. It was like a fucking billboard ad for them to come there.”

“Snakes?” She laughed. “Seriously?”

“Just like Indiana Jones. I’m not a hundred percent where the snake phobia came from, probably the Garden of Eden. Since knowledge is the ultimate treasure, and the snake was in the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil, snakes are seen as the guardians of that treasure.” I shrugged. “That’s what I heard. I tend to think snakes just like to eat them because they taste rich.”

“Ha ha.”

“The Irish gave them the name Leprechaun.”

“What were they called before?”

“Mammon. Means treasure-hoarder, keeper of value – some fucking thing like that. Finn…”

“Your priest mentor?”

I nodded. “He said, in Heaven, before they were kicked out, Mammon made the golden crowns the saints cast before the Throne of God. Now, they collect baubles and trinkets.”

“Like Smaug.”

“The dragon from The Hobbit?”

“Yeah.”

“Except dragons and Korrigan are natural enemies.”

“I know,” she said. “You’ve said all this before. I was just saying….” She fell silent. “So…what happened in the room?”

“I used the Coins to draw it out. Then I traded him a pocket watch for a peek in his coin purse, found a locket…”

“Wait. What pocket watch?”

“I don’t know. Just something I found at the house.”

“The ivory one in the study?”

I nodded.

“Ape was looking for it this morning. It was his uncle’s.”

I shrugged. “Not anymore.” I waited for her to roll her eyes and continued. “Anyway, I found a locket that was given to Toby Emmerich by a woman named Wendy.”

She didn’t say anything.

“A woman named Wendy that wanted to take him away from Janice Hutchinson and was nothing but a void in the flash.”

“Like with the bear?”

“Different. I think she was holding the locket, so there was nothing, just blackness. I heard Toby speak, but that was it. Once he took the necklace, I could see him.”

“No sense imprint.”

“That’s kinda what I was thinking, love.”

“So what’s the next move?”

“Fuck if I know. Did you manage to check the messages at the office?”

“No, are you expecting a call?”

“I called Hunter.”

“Really? Why?”

I shrugged. “This thing’s big. If I’m right, if all the names on the fax are victims… Well, I figured the Hand might know something.”

She nodded.

“Swing by the office. I’ll give Eric Gables a call.”

We drove a few blocks in silence. I was almost asleep when she said, “You know, Jono, it’s not your fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, like you said, if every name on that fax is a victim of whatever’s going on, this thing is big, and it’s been going on for a long time. You’ve turned down cases that could have been related to this. And you don’t have to beat yourself up over that.”

“Gee, thanks.” I hadn’t been thinking along those lines. Hadn’t, past-tense. I sighed. She was right. “You’re sounding like your dad again,” I told her. “He used to say shit like that. He was good at making me feel bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

As she rounded a corner, my leg started to grow warm, and I shifted in my chair awkwardly, tried to get comfortable.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“You might have to pull over.”

“You gonna be sick or something?”

“Nothing like that.” She kept driving and the heat began to cool. “Stop the car!”

She put on her blinker and pulled over to the curb, eyed me funny. “What are you doing?”

I popped open the glove box and took out a little silver key. Shutting it, I stepped out of the car and went around to the bed. El Caminos, as you probably know, do not have a back seat or a trunk. They have a bench seat and a truck bed, and because I carried my weapons around, I had one of those big, black plastic tool chests behind the cab.

I put the silver key into the lock and turned it, popped the lid. On one side sat a black, plastic milk crate filled with miscellany – a hand of glory, a tarot deck, a sprig of mistletoe, a cross made of Gopher wood, that kind of crap – into which I dropped the Coins of Shanai. On the other side, I kept Old Glory, my semiautomatic assault rifle, along with the Mossberg pump-action shotgun, my holstered Glocks, and all the assorted ammo that would fit.

As I pulled out one of the Glocks, Nadia stepped out of the car, stayed by her door, asked, “Jono, what’s going on?”

I shrugged out of my jacket, fitted the holster, tightened the harness and said, “I’m getting out here.”

“I kinda figured that one. What I’m looking for is why.”

I thought about that a minute. “Following a lead.”

“Can I help?”

I put the jacket back on, grabbed a couple extra clips and slid them into my pocket, shut and locked the tool box. I tossed her the silver key and said, “Yeah, put this back in the glove box.”

She caught it, and as I leapt out on to the sidewalk, she said, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Go on home.”

“Jono, you can’t just take off like this. If I leave, how are you going to get home?”

I started walking briskly back the way we came, along the sidewalk, waving to her as I went, and called, “I’ll figure something out.”

I jogged, then, and hoped she didn’t try to follow. This was going to be tricky enough by myself.

As I reached the corner, I felt my pocket begin to burn again, and reached into it, retrieved the little seeker sack I had made on Ape, using the hairs I’d taken from him in the Lamborghini. About the size of a hacky sack and wrapped up in a tatter of flannel shirt, it glowed like a cinder in my open palm.

The seeker sack wasn’t an exact science. It functioned like a children’s game of Hot and Cold, heating up the closer you got to your target, literally “getting warmer.” The way the little bundle burned in my hand, I knew Ape was close.

Which is why I couldn’t tell Nadia. She had these things called ethics. At the very least, she’d have tried to talk me down, saying Ape insisted on working his uncle’s case alone; it wouldn’t be right to tag along, not after all he’s done, letting us live with him and blah blah blah.

I moved the sack back and forth, a little to the right, little to the left, trying to figure out which way I needed to go. I judged it to be hotter to the left, so went that way, but as I moved along the street, it cooled. I stopped, confused. When I backed up, it cooled further. The only thing that made sense was that he was moving forward, farther ahead of me, and moving faster than I was.

I picked up the pace, but stopped at every turn, every intersection, weighed the temperature of the seeker sack accordingly, chose what seemed like the best route.

Half a block later, I caught movement up ahead and ducked into a darkened doorway. When I peeked around the corner, a hairy little shadow stood on the opposite street corner, open palm and seeker sack out before him.

I slid my sack into my pocket, hoping to rely on sight going forward. I was right where I wanted to be. Ape was going after Arthur and vicariously, so was I. I was only interested in Ape because I was interested in his target. Whether Ape admitted it or not, he needed my help.

Ape turned to the left, moved down the street quickly, and I rushed after him, stayed quiet, kept a moderate distance behind him and did my best to stay out of sight. Ducked in and out of doorways and alleys, stuck to the shadows.

He didn’t look around. Just moved like a man with purpose, focused strictly on the task at hand. His uncle was a runaway, and whatever was propelling the catatonic Arthur through the streets at night seemed to defy logic, but Ape was determined to bring him back. I knew he considered his uncle to be in danger from something, though I wasn’t sure what; I could read it in his tone when he refused to speak about him.

Without warning, Ape turned down an alley between a fish market and a loan office and began to run. I ran after him, tried to maintain my distance. He turned around a corner, stopped suddenly. I dodged quickly out of sight.

He stood in the middle of an alley where the space had widened to double its normal size, a clearing in the concrete jungle, five or six buildings completing the square perimeter around it. There were two large dumpsters to the right, and a big, empty Toshiba box that, according to the loose, scattered newspaper and torn blankets, now housed a street person. After my fight with one the day prior, I was tired of the homeless and quite glad whoever lived there was out being transient.

Ape walked, slow and trance-like, into the middle of the clearing, eyes fixed upward at the building before him. I don’t know if it was due to shock or the fact that the little bundle was heated to the point of emitting smoke, but Ape dropped his seeker sack to the ground at his feet.

I followed his gaze ten floors up the fire escape where a shadow moved close to the window, knocked three times, and the light inside came on.

As I watched, a little girl came to the window, smiled at the shadowy figure, and waved excitedly as if fanning herself. With some effort, she managed to slide the window open and soundless words were exchanged.

I stole a glance at Ape. He just watched.

I looked up at the window, and in a fashion that reminded me of Peter Pan, the little girl put her hand in the hand of the figure that had to have been Arthur, and leapt from the window sill to the loud metallic clatter of the fire escape. He scooped her up in his arms and moved to the downward-leading stairs.

I didn’t think, just acted. I pulled my Glock, aimed, and fired. Squeezed off two shots, both going high, one ricocheting off of the brick next to Arthur’s head and the other shattering the glass of the girl’s open window.

Three things happened. The girl screamed and dropped to hug the ankles of Arthur. Arthur pulled his jacket over her head as glass rained down to the pavement below in a tinkling. Ape turned, saw me, and leapt to my side, grabbed my gun arm and wrestled it into the air with a cry of anguish.

“Jono!” he yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”

I managed to bring my boot up, plant it against Ape’s gut, and kick. He spun and fell on his arse, caught himself with his palms. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“That’s my uncle!”

Quickly, I holstered the Glock and looked toward the window. Arthur spun from the girl to face us. With one fluid motion, he put his hands on the rail and leapt over the side, spinning, and then as if repelling the side of a mountain on a guide rope, he began to hop down from landing to landing, grabbing and shaking the rails of each as he hit with determined force.

Ape stood, confused and shaken, as Arthur leapt from the third-floor landing, spun in the air, and struck the ground with his knee, crouched, head bowed, both hands out before him like a tiger ready to pounce.

Slowly, he lifted his head – a flickering, cat-like reflection in his eyes – and stood. He was still for a moment, and then a deep growl issued from his throat. He spoke in a voice as rough and chilling as the grave, “How dare you interfere.”

“I don’t think that’s your uncle anymore,” I said to Ape. But before Ape could reply, Arthur leapt forward, took three bounding steps, and was upon us with a howl, his bared teeth pointed like a shark’s, his fingers like talons.