Undeniable (The Druids Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Granger leaned back in his chair, his back to his own desk, as he chatted with Patterson and Peyton, both of whom were half-seated on the desk across from him. His pen flipped between fingers, as he chewed over the case. “Putting aside the fact that she’s a woman, London Eyer is our leading suspect for this fey vigilante.”

“Except that the DNA at the first scene was male,” Patterson smirked. “There was no evidence that she was there, or even involved with that.”

“There is her little friend, Malcolm. He’s one of the Sidhe.” He tapped the pen on the arm of the chair, swiveling side to side just a bit as he thought.

Peyton’s arms were crossed as he said, “Malcolm is just a kid. He’d just recently been abducted, so he wasn’t there as part of some attack. I’ve seen the video, with him and London and that dramatic dive out the window. I’m betting they just happened upon each other in the chaos, and were lucky enough to make it out alive.”

Granger snorted. “There is no chance that London, a fey-cursed human, ‘accidentally’ took that job at the largest corporation of wizards known just days before a terrorist attack upon it. Not a single bloody chance.” He rolled the pen between his fingers and thumb. “She’s working with someone. Someone powerful. Probably the very bloke that slit Reginald Brightner’s throat.” He pointed the pen to Peyton. “Your background checks on her were clear? No one suspected she was fey-cursed?”

“I didn’t do her background check. I was only there for her orientation.” He shrugged. “I didn’t get any sense of anything being off with her, though. She seemed focused and professional.”

A siren blared over the intercom, jarring Granger from his seat. He tossed his pen back into its holder, and beat the others to the status room outside Fletcher’s office. The operators down in the pit below the large screens were scrambling and chatting rapid fire back and forth as Granger came to the railing just above and behind them. He gripped the metal bar, bracing himself for whatever prompted the alert. A blinking red dot over Keswick was announcing the location, and since it would be a few hours to drive there, the choppers were probably already scrambling.

Fletcher was pulling on his suit jacket as he joined Granger and the others. His voice echoed over the chaos. “Report!”

One of the technicians turned to call up to them. “Massive release of demonic energy detected. There’s probably a mushroom cloud, it is so massive.” That was, Granger sincerely hoped, an exaggeration.

Agent Price had slipped closer to the railing between Granger and Fletcher. “Dylan Eldridge has property in that area.” He paused, and then glanced at them one at a time. “He’s one of the five members of the wizard’s council below Reginald.”

“Coincidence?” Fletcher muttered.

“Not likely,” Granger returned. His instincts were blaring.

“Stranger things have happened,” Patterson murmured, standing close behind him.

Price glanced towards him. “But, demonic energy?”

“Gear up,” Fletcher called out to them. “Whatever it is, get to the bottom of it.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

London sat on the chair, and even with her knees bending up hard like she was sitting on a kindergartner’s chair, it was better than crouching or kneeling. The dwarf inspected the compass with his jeweler’s glass, making some fine adjustments that she couldn’t see. “This will track the energy from broken fragments of fey magic. Those will always belong to wizards, you see? So this will lead you to their magic abominations, guiding you to them.”

“Yes, I see,” she agreed. That was what she needed; something to give her a lead on where to find those villains. They needed to die, each and every one of them.

Every wizard that lived…

The vision of the fey in cages; missing eyes and fingers. Fairies without wings. Brownies missing their teeth. It had been the beginning of the cruelty. Eventually they would be outright killed to harvest their organs, like their kin before them.

And they’d had Malcolm.

Never again. She would never allow that to happen again. Not to Malcolm. Not to any of the Sidhe.

The dwarf handed her the compass, and at the moment it seemed broke, not finding a direction to point to. “You will need to be within a certain distance for this to pick up the magic signal. The more magic in a concentrated area, the stronger the pull. If there are multiple sources, it will point to the most powerful, but flick now and then toward the lesser ones, so don’t get confused.”

“Right,” she agreed. “And the enchantment won’t work for a normal human?”

“It will work regardless. The object itself is enchanted, not pulling from you to activate it.” The dwarf closed the lid, and handed it over to London.

Her fingers glided over the raised design on the cover; a mountain. An image that held meaning for the dwarves that often lived in them, even if this particular one was living in Belfast. She tucked it into her pocket. “Do I owe you anything for it?”

He waved her off. “You work for the Sidhe.” He tapped her symbol with his stubby fingertip. “There is no price for the protection the Sidhe give to the fey and that you give in their name. No loyal fey would take a gold coin from you. It would imply that you are failing in your role to protect the fey, and your patron is failing in his service and employment of you. Please, understand, it is an insult to even ask or offer.”

She smiled. “I’m new to this concept.” It wasn’t the first time that she’d heard that, but it was still taking some getting used to. Not all fey would feel this way, the goblins and Changelings most notably, but those that reverenced the Sidhe as their ruling class would agree with this sentiment.

London shook the dwarf’s hand, at least giving him that much of a gesture of thanks. “I appreciate this, and you can be assured I will put it to good use.”

“I know you will.” He lifted a hand, showing her his missing digits. His entire pinkie was gone, two digits from his middle finger and one from his index. “I was there.”

He’d been one of the dwarves from the Brightner building. She, Peyton, and Malcolm had freed him, and he’d been among those that brought the building crashing down. “I thought you looked familiar.”

This time, the dwarf gave her a hug. “You do good work.” He patted her on the back. “Keep up the fight.”

“I promise.” Smiling, she got up to a crouch, and then made her way out the door onto the cobbled alley outside. When the door closed behind her, there was no sign of where the entrance had been at all. It invisibly sealed with the other stones that made up the wall.

As she turned, the rush of something towards her knocked her completely off her feet and drove her down onto the ground. Not many creatures could move at that speed, but a vampire with the power of a few centuries behind him could. As she reached for her gun, Derek was upon her like a beast. The strike across the jaw sent her head reeling. And the bite into her throat spiraled her into unconsciousness. There wasn’t even the chance to think of a cry for help before she was lost to the blackness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Granger leaned back in the bucket seat, as the chopper sliced through the air faster than anything that the military currently even had in research. Their department had access to technology and magic beyond anything the average soldier had ever seen. When it banked, they only had the slightest feel of the tilt.

He buckled the helmet on but left the blast shield up for now. Peyton was across from him, already secured in his gear like a pro. “You experienced with that thing, MI-6?” He smirked a little at the rifle resting on its butt, balanced upright between Peyton’s hands.

“More than I care to admit.” Price didn’t rise to the bait, sounding all war-weary as he cast his gaze out of the side window. Even with the setting sun, they could still see the mansion they approached, just by the reddish glow radiating off of it. The gages were flickering on the wrist computer strapped to Granger’s forearm. The technology didn’t require the length of his forearm. In truth, it could have fit into the head of a pin. It was just the display that he liked; large enough to show several key indicators simultaneously, and keep a face shot of Fletcher in the upper corner.

“Better pull out the storm jet,” he said to Fletcher, “Or toss the media some story about the Northern Lights. This one is making a light show and it’s going to be dark soon.”

“Scramble the jet,” Fletcher replied, not to Granger, but to the team at the base sitting near him.

“And I forgot my slicker,” Patterson grumbled. “I hate being wrapped in metal body armor with lightning striking all around.”

“It’s enchanted not to hit you.” Granger knocked his gloved hand to Patterson’s face shield, which was already flipped down. “More likely we’re going to discover there is some radiation and your nuts are going to shrivel.”

Peyton snorted, “That would be doing society a favor.” Then he gave Patterson a good-natured wink. “It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“Laugh it up, mate,” Patterson grumbled. “Your nuts are about to get just as irradiated.”

Granger chuckled with them, letting the tension break a little, as they hovered over the manicured lawn surrounding the palatial home in the country. ‘Home’ was hardly the word for it. This was a mansion. Being a wizard clearly paid some serious money. Likely, all of it ill-gotten. Enchanters periodically managed to slip through, making billions on the stock market, but they usually caught them and brought that to an end pretty quickly. Other private businesses were harder to manage. Who could say if success was from a high degree of business savvy and luck, or if it was magic-born cheating? It wasn’t just about a sense of fairness, although that was a factor. It wasn’t just about the stability of society and business, although that was something to consider as well. No, mainly, it was about keeping non-human terrorist from building the wealth to get away with whatever diabolical plan they were scheming.

And God knew, they were always scheming.

Supernatural-on-supernatural crime, like what the wizards had done to the fey in the Brightner Building, was bad enough. But it never ended there. Ambition pushed them ever farther, into ever more dangerous territory. Like a drug user looking for an even greater high.

That’s what Granger was thinking, as he dropped out of the chopper and rushed with the assault team on the mansion that belonged to Dylan Eldridge. Peyton seemed surprised that there would be demonic power in the residence of a wizard, but Granger was far from shocked. It fit the escalation of power theory.

He gestured to the teams spilling out from the other copters, and the teams split up to surround the mansion and cover all the possible exits.

“Watch it, people,” he called into the comm system, “there could be civilians.” By which he meant unwary servants or family on the premises. They could be just as hostile, but they couldn’t go in guns blazing like this was a demon hunt through the sewers or in an otherwise abandoned structure.

Granger’s team consisted of three other agents, in addition to Peyton and Patterson. The lot of them charged up the gleaming marble steps towards the series of three sets of French doors that could open the massive room within into a pavilion connecting to the wide veranda. All that glass was a concern. They could be seen coming, for one, and they could get shredded if the windows were shattered in some rush of magic. Worse had happened on his watch.

Team after team chimed in, as access was gained at different locations. Normally, one of the team would drill out the lock, but this was a run and gun mission. Too much demonic magic to think that this was going to be a clean mission. Granger smashed the butt of his rifle against the first glass door, and then used the muzzle to knock out the sharp edges. The team spilled in and spread out quickly, assault rifles raised and at the ready.

And from the growling deeper within the mansion, they were about to need them.

The first bursts of gunfire rose from the hallway to their right. Granger and Peyton took the lead, rushing into the hall before the rest of the team could catch up with them. The screams that accompanied each burst from deeper in the mansion were more bestial than human. Mostly. Now and then a human shrieked, as an encounter went sour. They barely reached the second set of doors along the hall before one of them smashed open.

The demonic squid beast wasn’t one Granger had seen in a while, but it wasn’t his first encounter with the scum. He raised his gun, firing at the center mass. Bullets ripped into the single, fist-sized eye, and into the open beak of a mouth. Granger ignored the flying tentacles, with their razor edged spines, opting for a quick death over disarming it. The tentacles slammed into the drywall, busting out chunks and spraying the dust particles into the air. His gunfire was as rapid as Peyton’s, shredding the tentacles that tried to protect the body. Only wounded, the demon charged. The boom of a shotgun tore it open into a spraying ball of goo.

“Thanks,” Granger glanced back at Patterson, who cocked for another shot.

“Never go anywhere without Bertha. Bertha means business.” Patterson said and he pushed onward.

Three more of the squids took the cue and flew out of doorways further down. Gunfire rattled about them, as the entire team unloaded.

A tentacle smacked across Patterson, smashing him into the wall enough to cave in a section. Another tentacle grabbed Peyton about the throat, lifted him, and then bashed him repeatedly into the ground. Granger jammed his muzzle right into the demon’s eye socket, and destroyed its brains in a single shot.

Peyton dropped to the ground with the body of his attacker. But Granger didn’t get a chance to check on him, or Patterson. Another tentacle wrapped about his leg and snatched him off his feet before dragging him across the hall on his back. The beak of the demon crunched down around his blast helmet and Granger could hear it denting.

A barrage of fresh gunfire, including the shotgun blasts from Bertha, ended the attack.

Peyton and Patterson dragged the body off Granger and helped him to his feet. “Still don’t think wizards work with demons?” He asked, and then spit the sweat out of his mouth. At least, he hoped it was sweat and not demon blood. He didn’t need to be quarantined for a month. Or worse.

“Shocking the bloody shite out of me,” Peyton confessed, reloading his weapon with a fresh clip.

As they got to their feet, and started forward, Peyton gripped Granger’s upper arm and held him back. “Whoa, Wait.”

“What?”

Peyton pointed with his gun towards the ceiling, where a row of narrow holes were drilled. “Wizard booby trap.” Peyton shot at the ceiling, tearing a section out with the blast, and apparently triggering some mechanism. Jets of flame poured straight down, forming a curtain of blazing green fire. It blasted for several seconds, before drizzling out into flaming drops of whatever the fuel had been. “OK, we should be good.”

Granger was still squinting up at the holes, and not trusting them, until Peyton passed beneath without sending a renewed burst. “So, definitely demon and wizard magic going on here. A match made in Hell.”

“No kidding,” Patterson agreed, as they pressed on behind Peyton. The gunfire died down into sporadic bursts, and finally faded into silence.

Granger called for report, getting team captains that gave a tally of demon and human casualties. They’d sustained wounded, but they’d not lost an agent yet.

No humans or fey among the bodies, and no sign of anything living, other than the demons.

“Sweep the upper floors. Do a room by room. My team will check the basement.” Granger called over the comm.

“Why do we always have to check the basement?” Patterson grumbled.

“All the fun stuff is in the basement.” Granger gave a half smirk.

“You have a seriously warped sense of fun.” He muttered, but followed all the same.

Peyton was already waiting at the open basement door, glancing down into the black pit, and the reflective glow that flared now and then. The sound of a heart beat thumped down there. That was never a good sign.

Granger stuck his head into the doorway, and peered down. “Where are the steps?” After about four steps down, the rest were just gone.

“I think whatever is down there must have eaten them,” Peyton whispered back. “I think I hear it digesting.”

“No, lad,” Patterson said. “That’s its belly rumbling for more. Let’s none of us get eaten, right?”

“Right,” Peyton agreed, and gave Patterson a knuckle bump, like that was a vow between them.

Granger knelt down and gripped the door frame. “How far is the drop? That’s way more than just a couple of meters.”

Peyton looked at the team with them. “Anybody got a rope?”