The Corvin Chance Chronicles Complete Box Set

by N. P. Martin

  "What does that tell you?"

  "That the Order either doesn’t exist, or they’ve managed the impossible and stayed completely secret except to a chosen few."

  "Well, we know it exists, right?"

  I nodded, having my doubts nonetheless. "Yeah, it’s been confirmed."

  "By who?"

  "By you for a start, and by the symbol, not to mention by one of its members, Adrina Ó Duinn."

  "As in the Ó Duinns, the vampires?"

  I nodded. "Yes, not that she told me much, except that I’m connected to the Order in some way. Apparently my name popped up in some prophecy or other. It’s all very vague."

  "Maybe you’re the chosen one," Monty said. "Like Neo from The Matrix."

  "Wise up. I don’t know what’s going on. Adrina said someone would contact me when the time was right."

  "For what?"

  I shrugged. "Fuck knows."

  Once I’d finished my pint, I left Monty to it in the pub. He tried to talk me into going to the party with him, of course, but I refused, explaining that I had to help Amelia out with something, to which he responded by asking me if I was still tapping that sweet piece of ass. I merely smiled and shook my head at him, saying bye to the two girls as I left.

  From the pub, I drove to the flat to pick up some stuff for my trip to Kilkenny, and to get some rest before I did. I walked into the bookshop first to pick up my guitar from behind the desk, and when I did I noticed a note on top of a pile of books, with a key on top of the note. When I picked the note up I found it was addressed to me, from Margaret.

  Corvin,

  I hope this note finds you well, and that you have managed to get back okay from that ghastly place. I’m so sorry that you had to go there. However, tonight’s events were your fault, Corvin, and because of your actions the two of us could’ve died. It will take me a long time to recover from this, and having to summon that demon. Needless to say, I won’t be back in the bookshop. I like you Corvin, but you are mixed up in things that I simply cannot be around. I’m sure you understand and I hope you find someone trustworthy to work in the shop.

  Take care, Corvin.

  Margaret

  P.S. I hope you find what you are looking for.

  Sighing, I put the note back on the table and pocketed the key. I was sad that Margaret wouldn’t be back, but I certainly wasn’t surprised after everything I put her through. As I stood staring into empty space for a moment, my eyes drifted toward a photograph of my mother hanging on the wall next to me. Her fiercely intelligent green eyes said it all.

  "Yeah, ma," I said to the photo. "I know…I know…"

  Chapter 9

  Before I left for Kilkenny the next morning, I gave Amelia a call to see if she had gotten any viable information from her captive in the dungeon. When she answered, she was initially surprised that I was still in Dublin.

  "I thought you would’ve left for Kilkenny by now," she said.

  "Something else came up that I had to take care of first," I said. "It’s done now. I’ll be leaving shortly. Did you get anything from the fantastic Mr. Fox?"

  "He told me the cult my parents were involved in are still in operation down there."

  "In Kilkenny?"

  "Apparently. They seem to be based there, but their members are from all over the country."

  "Do you know where exactly?"

  "No idea. Fox said he just drops off his packages, as he calls them, at different random locations, where they are picked up by a different person each time."

  "Names, descriptions?"

  "He didn’t give me any, says he can’t remember and that he doesn’t pay them much attention."

  "Is Fox still alive?"

  "He is. I let him go yesterday."

  "What about justice?"

  "Well, I was going to kill him, but Simoa persuaded me not to."

  "Did she now? Why?"

  "She had the idea of using him, by getting him to inform for us. The next time the cult orders a new victim, he’s going to tell us."

  "Just like that? I thought his business was all about discretion."

  "It is, but we eventually persuaded him otherwise."

  "How?"

  "You don’t need to know, except that we have him over a barrel. He’ll do as we say."

  "You and Simoa."

  "Yes. Is that a problem?"

  I shook my head. "It’s your business, to which you seem to be taking to very well."

  "Don’t judge me, Corvin. I’m just doing what has to be done, as you always do. The world is dirty, you know that better than anyone."

  I couldn’t argue with her there. "What’s your end goal here, Amelia? What do you want out of this?"

  She was silent for a second, then said, "Closure, I suppose."

  "Closure, as in…"

  "Total annihilation."

  I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I knew she was serious. "So you want the whole cult wiped out."

  "Yes, the leaders anyway."

  "Once we find out who they are."

  "Yes, and we will."

  I went silent for a moment as I thought about things. "Are you sure this is the right move? Things could get ugly. Wouldn’t it better to just—"

  "Let them go on sacrificing children?"

  "I see your point."

  "Good, because I want them all dead."

  Inwardly, I sighed at the thought of more violence on the horizon. "Okay," I said eventually. "I’ll head down to Kilkenny now, poke around and see what I can find."

  "Right. If you’re there after tomorrow, I should be able to join you."

  I smiled at the thought. "I’ll look forward to it."

  "I’m sure you will."

  "Bye, Amelia."

  "Corvin?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you."

  I smiled. "It’s the least I can do."

  The drive to Kilkenny took me two hours from Dublin, and as soon as I got there I drove straight to the house where Amelia grew up. It was just past noon, and although I had a hotel room booked in the city center, check-in wasn’t until three, so I decided to start my investigation first.

  My investigation, I thought with a wry smile as I drove up the narrow lane leading to the house. What was I now, some sort of private detective, albeit an unpaid one? Or just a crusader with a cause? Or perhaps just a misguided fool who didn’t know any better? Or, perhaps, I was just all three of those things. Whatever the case, what I was doing these days felt right in a way, despite how messed up things often got. If nothing else, it felt like I was on the right path, or some path at least, which was better than the wasteland I was wandering before.

  The lane I was driving up was flanked on both sides by hedgerows and overhanging trees that were in the process of shedding most of their leaves, though they still managed to block out most of the light, creating the effect of driving through a shadowy tunnel that made me somewhat apprehensive, as if I was driving toward Hell House. The feeling only increased when I came to a large set of double gates that were fashioned from wrought iron and intertwined with brambles and ivy. As I stopped the car in front of them, I noticed the heavy chain wrapped around the middle, and the big padlock holding the chain together. Amelia never mentioned that the front gates would be secured, so I got out and used my magic to open the lock, removing the thick chain and placing it to one side on the ground before pushing open both gates. Then I got back in the car and drove through, coming onto a gravel drive that had weeds growing through it everywhere, the garden hedges at either side long in need of a trim.

  As the house soon came into view, I shook my head at its size. "I don’t think elves know the meaning of modest living," I muttered to myself, stopping the car just in front of the huge house. As I gazed upon it, an eerie feeling came over me, which only increased when I stepped out of the car. Standing for a moment to soak up the atmosphere, I soon realized how quiet it was. There was hardly a sound, save for a few squawking crows in the d
istance somewhere. It wasn’t a good kind of silence either, but a heavy, oppressive one that quickly unnerved me. Bad things had happened here, of that I was sure. It didn’t take my Touched abilities to know that. There was an air of darkness to the place, as if much blood had been spilt on the grounds. And that was just the outside of the house. I dreaded to think what the inside was like, and I found myself wondering how someone like Amelia could’ve grown up in a place like this, a place where evil practically hung in the air. I soon remembered my conversation with Óisín O'Faelin, when he had said the Tasar’s were of bad blood, polluted by the use of too much death magic over the years; magic which obviously carried on being used here up until Amelia’s parents died.

  Speaking of which, I thought it prudent that I get some details on Mr. and Mrs. Tasar. I figured the more I knew about them the better, so I took out my phone and sent Monty a text, asking him to try and get some background info for me. As I was finishing the text, I all of sudden felt like I was being watched. I froze for a second, and then carried on texting, unwilling to turn around straight away and give away the fact that I knew someone was there. So I waited until I had finished texting and had put the phone away before spinning around quickly, expecting to see someone standing behind me.

  But there was no one there.

  Frowning, I shook my head as I surveyed the overgrown garden, still feeling a slight presence somewhere, unsure now if someone was there, or if the bad vibes surrounding the house just had me on edge. Whatever the case, I decided to remain vigilant as I crunched my way across the gravel and around the side of the Georgian house. I had no doubt the cult I was currently investigating wouldn’t be averse to sending out spies—or worse, an assassin—if they thought someone was threatening them. That’s not to say they even knew I was investigating them, or that Amelia was on to them, but you never know. Kilkenny is a small enough town, so if the cult was in fact based here, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that they would know most of what went on here as well, especially if people were sniffing around one of their past haunts. They may have picked up on the fact that Amelia had visited the house, and thus may have had the place watched ever since. My paranoia could’ve been getting the better of me, but as Hunter S. Thompson said, paranoia is just another word for ignorance, and I’d be damned if I was going to let my ignorance get me killed. So I kept my magic close to the surface as I rounded the corner of the ivy-covered house, on guard just in case someone decided to ambush me.

  Around the side of the house was the large orchard that Amelia had mentioned, containing rows of gnarly-looking apple trees that had long since dropped their fruit, and which lay rotting on the grass, providing a feast for the worms and other animals around the place. As I walked into the orchard, I waved away a few wasps that were hovering around the rotten apples, my boots unavoidably squashing the fruit underfoot as I moved between the trees. Soon, I stopped by a patch of freshly dug earth. There were a few other similar patches nearby as well, places were Amelia had obviously dug up long buried bones. Grabbing a branch from the ground, I used it to dig away some of the loose soil, stopping when I uncovered a length of bone that may once have been part of a child’s skeleton.

  "Jesus…" I said as I examined the bone, having no doubt it was human. Disgusted, I put it back in the disturbed grave and covered it up with soil again. Then I stood and looked around, taking in the size of the orchard area, wondering just how many bodies were buried around here. Whatever the number, I soon got the feeling that the place was haunted by the restless spirits of those who were killed by the cult over the years. It was a known fact that people who were killed violently didn’t tend to move on to the afterlife, at least not for a long time, or until they had outside help in the form of a medium or someone else who could converse with them. The house and the grounds around it were probably teeming with ghosts, which may explain why I still had the feeling that I was being watched by someone. Ghosts in general tended not to manifest physically all that much because of the energy it took to do so. Most ghosts made themselves known through poltergeist activity, or by forcing feelings of fear and terror onto the living. If you had experience with them—which I didn’t, having only glimpsed one ghost in my time—you could converse with these spirits and help them move on. It was a specialist job and there were only a few people around Dublin that I knew could do it. Maybe, I thought, I could contact one of them and tell them about this place. It didn’t seem fair that children as well as adults should be murdered so violently and have to hang around in limbo afterward. They should be allowed to move on, and if I could facilitate that happening, then I would.

  As a cold wind soon began to blow around me, I decided to head inside the house to see what I could find, despite the feeling in my gut telling me not to. If the grounds of the house contained bad vibes, the house itself had even worse ones, standing as it did like some ivy-covered demon constructed from bricks and mortar. I got the impression that if I dug deep enough into the bricks, that they would bleed black as they oozed a tar-like ectoplasm.

  "Get a grip, will ya?" I told myself as I walked back around to the front door, my eyes darting all around as I did so, hyper vigilant now. "It’s just a bloody house…"

  Telling myself this didn’t make me feel any better. I had read enough accounts of real haunted houses over the years to know that they could be as dangerous as any living thing. In fact, haunted houses are a living thing, animated by whatever spirits that happen to dwell within their walls. To be honest, I just felt like getting into the car and driving into Kilkenny town to get a pint at the hotel bar, but I had promised Amelia I would investigate the inside of the house, so investigate I would.

  Needless to say, the front door was locked, so I used a small blast of magical energy on it, which had the effect of snapping part of the aged door frame as the door itself pushed against it. The cracking sound the wood made as it split seemed loud in the heavy silence, and I couldn’t help but look behind me because of it, half expecting to see someone there, or perhaps one of the ghosts in physical form, but I saw no one.

  It appeared I was all alone as I stepped inside the house, feeling like I was walking into Hell again.

  Chapter 10

  As I expected when I walked into the entrance hallway of the house, the place was shrouded in gloom, with many corners filled with dark shadows that I had no wish to peer too far into. As I stood gazing around me, I soon noticed the damp dripping down the walls, and the black mould that seemed to cover nearly every surface like a wretched skin. The place stank as well, a mixture of smells that could be summed as rot. The whole place seemed rotten to the core, in fact, and not just because of the house’s age. There was definitely an underlying sort of presence within these walls, a form of evil almost, that pulsed through every part of the house, seeping its foul darkness from the plaster and the floorboards, making every surface damp and slick. The place disgusted me frankly, and I had no wish to travel any further into it, even though I knew I had to. But as if the house itself sensed my reticence, the front door suddenly slammed hard behind me, making me jump in shock. "Fucking hell!" I exclaimed as I spun around to stare at the door, which had obviously been blown shut by the wind. Or at least that’s what I told myself, anyway.

  Shaking my head at how jumpy I was, I turned around again to face the staircase, which appeared to have leafless vines wrapped around the balustrades the whole way up the stairs. Somehow, the vines had managed to push up through the floor to infiltrate the house. They had even grown along some of the walls like thick tumors, making the place seem even more diseased than it already was. The house may have been grand at one time, but it wasn’t anymore. It was hard to believe anyone had even lived here in the first place, especially Amelia. Was she aware of the evil presence in the house, of how her childhood home had become a monster unto itself because of everything that happened in it, or perhaps in spite of everything that had happened in it? Maybe the house was always a monster, I thoug
ht. Maybe it’s the real reason such evil acts ended up being committed here in the first place.

  Whatever the case, every instinct I had was screaming for me to get out of the house before something bad happened. I even turned around and went to the front door, but found I was unable to open it no matter how hard I pulled, as if an unseen force was keeping it shut. I was about to use my magic to try and open the door when the sound of another door slamming made me spin around, my hand out and ready to unleash a blast of magic if need be. It sounded like the door had slammed somewhere in the back of the house, and I was tempted to put it down to draughts, but I knew it wasn’t, especially when another door slammed a number of times against its frame to the left of the entrance hallway. I watched the door open and close by itself, knowing there was no way any draught was making it do so.

  It was the house, or whatever was in the house.

  As fear and adrenaline began to grow in my stomach, I suddenly heard footsteps to the right of me, and when I turned to look, I froze when I saw a figure standing to the side of the staircase. The gloom and shadow made it hard to make the figure out, but I soon realized it was a boy of about eight or nine years of age. He was naked, and his chest and torso were covered in blood. His face was so shadowy that it looked like he had empty eye sockets and a gaping maw instead of a mouth.

  For a long time, I just stood staring at the boy, who in turn stared back at me like his main motivation was to freak me out.

  Is he even real? I wondered.

  No, he wasn’t. Or at least, he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense. I was looking at a ghost, not a living being.

  "Hello?" I said, not expecting an answer as I began to walk slowly across the damp floor toward the ghostly form, but as I did, the boy turned and seemed to disappear into the wall. Against my better judgment, I walked by the staircase and soon noticed the door where the boy had obviously just walked through. I stood for a minute as I built up the nerve to push on the door, having no idea what was going to find on the other side of it. The door was heavy and appeared swollen by damp, making it hard to even open. I ended up having to slam my shoulder against it to get to open, which worked after two attempts, the door squeaking against the floorboards as I pushed on it, opening it just enough for me to squeeze through.