About that time, Nicolo Bonato in a suit, a Knight with shoulder pips indicating the rank of marshal, and a priest arrived in one of the Knights’ SUVs, followed closely by another TV van from the same station as the first one.
“Now the shit hits the fan,” I said to Sam.
Bonato stood in the middle of the road and slowly turned a complete circle, taking in the scene. He didn’t look happy. Then he headed straight toward Blair.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked.
“That would be me,” Blair answered. “What can I do for you, Doctor Bonato?”
“What happened? Who’s responsible for attacking my men?”
“Our investigation has just started,” Blair said. “Your men? I wasn’t aware you were a member of the Order of Knights Magica. Are you responsible for sending them here?”
Bonato seemed taken aback by Blair’s calm. “Well, no. Marshal Olivetti is in charge of the Knights in Westport. But this is unacceptable. The extent of the lawlessness in this city is far beyond anything I’ve ever seen. We expect the law enforcement organizations to provide safety and security. Obviously, you’re incapable of doing that.”
Blair turned to the guy who I assumed was Marshal Olivetti. “Marshal. Can you tell me what your men were doing here?”
“They were out on routine patrol,” Olivetti said. He was half a head shorter than Bonato and rather rotund. I doubted he could run fifty yards without having a heart attack. “As Signore Bonato said, since the police are obviously short-handed, we can’t rely on them to protect the Church’s properties and personnel.”
“There aren’t any Universal churches in this area,” Blair said. “I assume you are also responsible for the attack on Necropolis this evening?”
“Attack? We haven’t attacked anyone.”
“That’s not what the people here are telling me, and that’s not what my officers are reporting from the scene at Necropolis or any of the other places where your men have been involved in violent incidents tonight.”
Blair called a couple of uniformed policemen over. “Please escort these gentlemen to a safe area. I’ll need to speak with them later. Keep them from talking to each other.”
“What? You’re detaining us?” Bonato practically shouted. “On what grounds?”
“Material witnesses,” Blair said. “After I take your statements, we’ll allow you to go.”
He turned away and said to Sam, “Let’s take a look at your place.”
Sam, Steve, and I headed down the alley with Blair following us. He stopped briefly to look at the body of the Knight that Steve had burned and the hole in the wall of the Huntsman Hotel due to one of my ley missiles that missed its target.
The inside of the bar was chaos. Although Steve had refrained from using fire inside the building, a couple of the Knights had ignored Sam’s order, triggering his spells as well as the sprinklers. The whole place was soggy. The walls showed scorch marks from fireballs and lightning, a table and two chairs were blackened and smoldered. Furniture was smashed, and some sort of magical energy had destroyed part of the back bar along with the bottles on the shelves.
At least a dozen of the customers and one of the waitresses were injured and were being tended to. Then there were the five dead Knights, along with the three wounded ones.
Blair took in the scene. “Well, Sam, that was pretty stupid of you to drag those men in off the street and assault them. Just look at what happened.”
For a moment, I thought Sam’s head would explode, then the irony in Blair’s voice registered.
Sam shook his head, a mournful expression on his face. “Aye. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
One of the witches approached me. “Those men need attention,” she said, her gaze directed to the wounded Knights. “Can you help me? I’m afraid to touch them, but I can’t stand watching them bleed to death.”
“Yeah.” Restoring my shield, I approached the man lying on the floor trying to staunch the gaping wound in his leg. There was a lot of blood. Squatting next to him, I said, “On your honor, will you allow us to help you?”
He looked up at me, pain and terror evident in his pale face. “Dear God, please.”
The witch immediately knelt down by him, and I used ley line energy to apply pressure against the wound. She poured a potion into the gaping hole in his leg, then stuffed it full of gauze and wrapped it tightly.
“He’s going to need an ambulance and a transfusion as soon as possible,” she said. “I think the femoral artery is torn.”
“Captain Blair,” I called. “Are there ambulances on the way? This man needs immediate attention.”
He pulled out his phone and made a call. “Yes, there’s one here already.”
I leaned over the Knight. “I’m going to have you carried outside so the paramedics can help you. Give me your identification.”
After a moment of hesitation, he reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a wallet. I took it, then stood up.
“We need a couple of strong men to carry this guy out to the ambulance,” I announced to the room. “Not mages, the ley lines are still screwed up.”
Three burly men came over—two witches and a shifter—and lifted the Knight between them.
There were two other wounded Knights. One was the guy Steve had beaten with the bat until his shield collapsed. His sword arm hung loosely, and it appeared as though his shoulder and collar bone were smashed. The other one had a sword slash across his back from his right shoulder to his left hip. He was still alive because the cut was rather shallow, but he was in no shape to protest the witch’s treatment. I tore his uniform away from the wound, and she poured two bottles of potion over it and smeared salve on it before she started bandaging it.
After the wounded Knights were removed, I handed their wallets to Captain Blair. “I thought you might want to know they were among those inside here when you interview them.”
“Good thinking. Thanks.”
“Erin,” Sam said. “Help the busboys clean up behind the bar. Drinks are on the house for the rest of the night, but don’t let anyone get so drunk they can’t leave when the cops are finished. I told Steve to shut down the kitchen.”
“Okay. Sam, before the cops confiscate all those swords, you should have someone salvage all those rubies.”
He hesitated. “Right. Why don’t you see to that before worrying about the bar.”
I got a knife from the kitchen and used it to pry the rubies from the pommels of the Knights’ swords, then went outside and did the same for the swords lying about the alley. When I went out to the street, Cindy intercepted me.
“You should go back inside.”
I pulled a handful of rubies out of my pocket and showed them to her. “I’m collecting these before you send all those swords to your evidence room.”
She leaned closer to see what was in my hand. “Ah. I’ll take care of the rest of them,” she said. “You wouldn’t mind if we gave them to our mages, would you? Dan Bailey was hit hard tonight.”
“Be my guest. I was going to give one to him anyway.” I couldn’t think of anyone who needed protection more.
I took my loot back into the bar and started helping the busboys.
It was well after midnight before all the customers cleared out and Sam sent most of the staff home. Ambulances had taken the wounded and the bodies to hospitals and the morgue. The two burned-out vehicles sat on the street surrounded with police tape, and traffic was being detoured around the two blocks on either side of Rosie’s.
The paranormal cops and Shawna sat with Sam, Steve, Jenny, and me around a table in Rosie’s back room watching the twenty-four-hour news on the big-screen TV. The Knights had hit targets all over the world. The reports were fragmentary, but it appeared that the Church had pulled a coup in Mexico, spearheaded by the Knights. Martial law had been declared in Washington, D.C., following a dozen incidents where the Knights had attacked “anti-Church terrorist cells operating in the ca
pitol.”
Sam had pulled down a bottle of Midleton, and most of us were drinking Irish coffee. Shawna had a real Bloody Mary I had mixed for her using a bottle of blood she gave me.
“It’s my lunch,” she told me, “but I haven’t had time to eat.”
“One of Eileen Montgomery’s new security guards—a guy named McGregor who carries a sword and dresses like a Hunter—fended off an attack on Necropolis,” Blair told us. “Caused a minor earthquake that opened a six-foot fissure in the ground between the road and her parking lot. There was another pitched battle at the Wolf’s Den with a number of casualties, but the Knights didn’t get inside. Frankie says the Archbishop of Portland has been on the line screaming about us detaining Bonato and his crew.”
“Who was the priest that was with him?” I asked.
“Monsignor Scarlatti, one of the two Prelative envoys to the archbishopric,” Blair said. “I heard that Marshal Olivetti call him Chaplain.”
“That’s a Knight rank,” I said.
“I know. The FBI has been very thorough in their briefings.”
“And Bonato is a seneschal, which is like a general.”
Blair nodded. “In some countries, the FBI says, the highest-ranking Knight is a seneschal. There are five of them here in the States. Frankie’s dad says that, like the Illuminati, the Knights seem to think the ley line nexus here is important.”
Steve’s strike against the TV news crew saved us from seeing Westport on the news, but there was plenty of footage from other places. I knew that by morning the Knights and their campaign against the shadow world would be all anyone would be talking about.
A talking head said something about the Prelate, and then the TV screen cut to that august personage reading a statement in full ecclesiastical garb. I understood enough Italian to get the gist, but a translator laid it all out. Evil was loose in the world. Demons in the flesh—vampires and werewolves—threatened peace-loving humans. Witches allied with them planned to take over the world. Only the Universal Church stood against them, and he called on all human governments to help him scour the threat from the face of the earth.
“We’re in it now,” Sam said in the silence that followed the Prelate’s speech. “Captain, I hope you understand that the Otherworld Council will take steps to defend our people.”
Blair leaned forward to grab the bottle of Midleton, poured himself a stiff shot, and tossed it back.
“Yes, I understand that. Frankie said as much to me when I spoke with her. But I’m damned if I know how you’re going to do that without playing into their hands.”
Chapter 18
When I made it back to Rosie’s around noon the following day, the place didn’t look any better than I remembered. The day shift was already there, using magic, brooms, and mops to clean the place up.
I scrounged some breakfast from the cooler—cheese and bread and fruit—and ate it in the TV room. The news was a bit more coherent than it had been the night before but even grimmer. The Holy City and the Italian government were “holding talks” on a power-sharing agreement. The governments in seven more Latin American countries had fallen, and the Church had taken power. The French government had declared martial law. So far, the District of Columbia was the only place in the U.S. with martial law in force. There were rumors from Poland that the government might declare the Universal Church as the state religion.
In all the countries where the Church had taken power, edicts soon followed outlawing “demons and black witches.”
Sam came in with a white-haired man in a clerical collar and sat down with me. He looked exhausted.
“Erin, this is Reverend White. I don’t know if you two have met.” Sam chuckled. “He came over to assure me that his church, and many of the others, aren’t supporting the Universalist play for power.” I had met Reverend White once before and knew he was a witch, although I doubted any of the humans in his church knew that.
We watched the TV together until I finished eating.
“Demons and black witches,” Sam said. “That seems to include all paranormals and supernaturals except the Knights Magica and Universal clergy. An old friend of mine who lives in Mexico City called this morning from El Paso asking if he can stay with me. He said that a round-up of paranormals has already started in Mexico. Dan Thompson called a little while ago and said there was a slaughter of shifters in Dallas last night. Almost two hundred dead, including women and children.”
“I’m getting the same kind of reports,” White said. “My parishioners are afraid, both paranormals and humans. Well, good luck, Sam. I need to go tend to my flock.”
Sam walked him to the door, then came back.
“Any word from Ireland or Singapore?” I asked.
He looked surprised. “The only thing I’ve heard from the Far East was in the Philippines. Ireland had some disruptions, but the government claims this morning that everything is under control. They’ve announced a curfew for tonight, though. Why those two countries in particular?”
“I have passports. My dad was Irish, and I was born in Singapore.”
“Thinking about leaving us?”
“No, just keeping track of my options. Sam, the only family I care about is here in Westport.”
He reached out and put his hand over mine. “I have an Irish passport, too. Nothing wrong with keeping your options open. Not too many mages in the British Isles, you know. Mostly witches.”
“My dad is a mage from Ireland. My mother is a witch. She’s Chinese. Born in Singapore. Is—was—hell, I don’t know if they’re still alive. I barely remember them.”
He gave me a tired smile. “How old were you?”
“When they sold me to the Illuminati? Fourteen.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sold you?”
I shrugged. “Call it what you will. The Illuminati gave them a lot of money. They were happy to get rid of me.”
The look of pity on his face made me uncomfortable. I didn’t waste time worrying about ancient history. The future promised to have enough worries to keep my attention.
When I got up to go help with the cleanup, Sam said, “Speaking of passports, I talked to Frankie this morning. Bonato and the rest of the Knights are here on Holy City diplomatic passports, so she had to let them go. She and her buddy at the FBI are trying to get the guys they arrested last night deported, but for the time being, they’ve been released into the custody of the archbishop.”
Rosie’s remained closed for a week while the staff and a small army of workmen cleaned the place up and repaired everything. Luckily, the kitchen wasn’t affected by the fight, and the sprinkler system was zoned, so the kitchen didn’t flood.
I was unpacking boxes of glassware one day when I felt someone come through the front door. I raised my head above the bar to tell the idiot who couldn’t read that we were closed, and came face to face with Oriel. I knew that I had broken his nose, but it looked all right in spite of the swelling and bruises covering his face.
“Hi. Are you speaking to me?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. What made you think kidnapping me was a good idea?”
A human might have looked sheepish or maybe defensive or angry. Oriel’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t say anything. He just waited.
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “What do you want?”
“Agatha, the witch, says I might have died if someone didn’t call a healer.”
“I couldn’t just leave you to bleed to death.”
“A Fae woman might have. Bob said that Roisin might have.”
Not knowing what to say, I just shrugged and went back to unpacking glasses.
“I’ve never known anyone like you,” Oriel said.
A lot of snappy comebacks passed through my mind but remained unsaid. There was an ache in my chest. I was so glad that he was alive, but the way he had treated me still hurt.
“I love you,” he said.
I froze, then slowly looked up and saw pain
in his eyes. My own eyes blurred, and I bit my lip. Then I rose, swayed, and reached my hand out to hold onto the bar and steady myself.
“Is that something you’ve learned to say when you fuck up?”
He shook his head. “I’ve only said it once before. I’ve only felt it once before.”
He looked so sad and miserable that I believed him. “I love you, too. But you have to treat me as an equal. I’m not your pet. I’m not someone you need to protect. If we’re going to have a relationship, it has to be a partnership, and partners protect each other.”
He nodded. “I see that now. Give me another chance?”
I made my way around the bar, and he met me at the end, drawing me into his arms. We stood there, hugging each other, and he felt so good. Warm and solid. I drew back and put one hand up to grab his hair, drew his face to mine, and kissed him.
“Yeah,” I said. “But talk to me. Don’t just go deciding things for me, okay?”
He spent the rest of the day helping me put the bar back together. While we worked, he told me how he got stabbed. He and another Fae ambushed four Knights, only to discover those four were bait, and a dozen more Knights fell on them. Oriel managed to escape the trap. The other guy was killed.
“Today, I went back to where I left my car, and it was gone. Maybe the Knights took it, maybe someone else. I reported it as stolen to the police.”
When we knocked off, he followed me home in a car I had never seen before. We went to a restaurant out on the docks and had dinner, then back to my place for the night. As I drifted off to sleep, I briefly wondered if I was doing the right thing. All the relationship advice I had read said that two people had to compromise to make things work. I hoped all the experts were right.
“Erin, let Liam hold down the bar for a while and come with me,” Sam said. He had reserved the back room for a Council meeting, and the members had been trickling in all evening.
Sam led me to the back room, where he closed the door behind us and motioned to a chair for me to sit.
Well of Magic: An Urban Fantasy (Rosie O'Grady's Paranormal Bar and Grill Book 4) Page 14