by N. P. Martin
"I have no association with them," I said as I rubbed my forehead, as if that would help everything come back into focus.
"Then why did they try to kill you?"
"Because they know…"
"Know what?"
"That I’m…on to them."
Jonah frowned. "What do you mean? Are you some sort of investigator?"
"Something like that. I’m working with some others to try and put an end to these guys."
Jonah sat back in his seat and thought for a moment. "How did you find out about them?"
"That’s a long story," I said after sipping tea from my cup. "I don’t know much about them, except that they use kids as human sacrifices." I stared intently at him now. "How do you know they killed your little brother?"
Jonah didn’t answer at first as he stared at me. "How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know your name."
I wasn’t that drugged up that I didn’t find his mistrust laughable. "Seriously? Those motherfuckers drugged me and tossed me in the river with stones in my pockets."
Jonah nodded after a moment. "Fair enough." He then walked out of the living room and came back a minute later with a laptop. He sat down and opened it, staring at the screen for a few moments before getting up and placing the laptop on the coffee table in front of me. "Let me know when you’ve finished watching," he said, his voice sounding grave as he turned and walked out of the room again, leaving me staring at the laptop wondering what the hell was going on.
As I stared at the screen, doing my best to keep it in focus, I soon realized that I was looking at a video that was playing, for which there didn’t appear to be any sound. In the video, hooded figures stood around inside a large room that seemed to be very similar to the temple inside the Tasar house. It wasn’t the same room, however, that much I could tell. The walls were plaster, not stone, and the altar by the front of room seemed made of metal. Behind the altar, I could clearly see a frieze on the wall, depicting none other than Apep in his six-legged serpent form. The footage seemed to be taken by one of the persons in the room, who must’ve been wearing some sort of hidden camera. As I was wondering why one of the cult members would be secretly filming one of their highly private masses, a young naked boy was soon carried into the room by a hooded figure, and placed on the altar. Whoever was filming stepped closer at this point, so that you could clearly see the face of the boy. He had reddish hair like Jonah, and the same blue eyes, eyes that were rolling around in their sockets as if he was having trouble focusing. As soon as one of the hooded figures produced a dagger and held it over the boy, I leaned forward and snapped the laptop closed, unwilling to watch what was clearly going to happen next. "Jesus Christ…" I said as I shook my head in disgust. "You can come back in now, Jonah."
Jonah came back into the room and sat down with a grim look on his face. "You watched the video?"
I nodded. "As much as I could stomach. I’m sorry about your brother."
"So am I. You know how many children go missing in Ireland every year?"
His question jarred me slightly, but I shook my head. "No."
"Thousands," he said, letting his disgust and dismay hang in the air.
A tense sort of silence developed in the room after that, which I soon broke. "My name is Corvin, by the way. Corvin Chance."
"I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, Corvin."
"Who sent you that video?"
"Someone on the inside who clearly had a crisis of conscience, though I’ll probably never find out who exactly."
"How come?"
"I received that video a few weeks ago, along with a message to meet the sender somewhere. As they didn’t turn up, I assume they had a change of heart, or someone else found out what they were doing."
"And killed the person."
"Exactly."
I sat and sipped on my tea for a minute, beginning to feel more in control of myself now, more able to think straight. "Did you go to the police with the video?"
Jonah snorted slightly. "I am the police."
"You’re a cop?" I stared at him in surprise.
"I just made detective last year."
"And you can’t do anything about this?"
He shook his head and sighed as if the whole thing was a sore point. "My superiors said they would look into the video, but told me to forget about it. In other words, they’re going to bury the whole thing."
"That’s crazy. You’re saying the cult has control over the cops?"
"Yes, I am. Some of my superiors might even be a part of it, I don’t know."
"What about the press? Send the video to the press, then they’ll have no choice but investigate."
Jonah shook his head as if he had already thought about it. "By doing that, I’d be putting my own life at risk. I already have by bringing the video to my superiors. The fact is, I can’t avenge my brother’s death if I’m dead myself."
"So you just want revenge? Not justice?"
"Justice? Get a grip, will you? There is no justice anymore, especially for people like Jared O’Hare. They have too much clout."
"How did you even find out about him?"
"You didn’t see his face on the video?"
I shook my head. "I must’ve missed it."
"You can clearly tell it’s him. I’ve been following him whenever I can over the last couple of weeks."
"What do you know about him?"
"Not much, to be honest. He’s worth a lot of money after inheriting the family business a few years back, a big tech company that his father started in the eighties. He also lives here in Kilkenny in a massive house surrounded by high security fences and surveillance cameras. Around here, he’s about as untouchable as you can get."
"What about his connection to the cult? Is he the leader?"
Jonah shook his head. "I don’t think so. He’s too young."
He had a point, and considering the cult went back decades, the leader, if they were still alive, had to be much older. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if the leader was a non-human, very possibly an elf. Though I wasn’t about to tell Jonah that. I could tell he wasn’t Touched or anything else supernatural, so I doubted he had any knowledge of magic or the preternatural underground. "Is it possible to get to him, do you think?"
Again, Jonah shook his head. "O’Hare is very security conscious. You know that other man he’s always with, the older guy?"
"The scary dude who knocked me out, you mean?"
"Yeah, him. He’s ex-S.A.S. His name is Brian Peterson, born in England, moved over here when he worked undercover up north during the Troubles. The Provos caught him one time and cut out his tongue when they were done interrogating him. He still managed to kill them all."
"Jesus," I said, understanding now why Peterson always seemed so silent. "Nice guy then."
"He never leaves O’Hare’s side. I had to be very careful when I was following them. If Peterson caught on…"
"You’d be dead."
"Most likely."
"So did you follow them anywhere interesting? Like the headquarters of the cult maybe?"
Jonah shook his head. "Just to Dublin a few times, where O’Hare’s company is based. A few other places as well, but nowhere special, just fancy restaurants and a few houses that didn’t give off much suspicion. There’s also the fact that O’Hare owns a helicopter. Peterson flies him around in it at least a few times a week. It’s kind of hard to tail a helicopter. I did try."
"What direction do they usually go in?"
"West, normally. Sometimes south."
I sat for a while, mulling everything over as best I could. My brain still wasn’t working properly, and I knew I would probably need to sleep off the remaining effects of the drugs before I could begin to process everything. "Listen, Jonah," I said eventually. "Thank you for saving my ass tonight, but I should probably go back to my hotel to get my head right before I do anything else." I stood up, my legs still weak. "Do you have my clothes?"
/>
"Your clothes are in the dryer," he said, continuing to sit. "Am I going to hear from you again? If you can help me, I think you owe me to do so."
I nodded. "Of course. I’ll help you get the bastards who killed your brother."
"How?"
"Well…" I had to stop as my head started to spin, and I sat back down again.
"Are you okay? Do you need water?"
I shook my head as I struggled to regain focus. "Just rest I think."
Jonah got up then and left the room, returning with my clothes a moment later. "They’re mostly dry," he said. "You can keep the ones you’re wearing if you want."
"I’m fine. I’ll just get changed here."
He left the room again while I changed back into my slightly damp clothes that made me feel cold all over again. When I was done, I met Jonah in the hallway. "I’m going to go now," I said. "I’ll be in touch soon."
"You’re going back to the hotel?" he said. "You’re supposed to be dead. If O’Hare finds out you’re not, he’ll just send Peterson to finish the job."
"Good point. I’ll be careful, though, don’t worry."
"I’m not, but I better be the first to hear if you get any new information."
I stared at him. "What are you planning on doing, Jonah? Are you looking to kill this O’Hare guy?"
Jonah stared back, saying nothing for a moment. I could see from his eyes that was exactly what he planned on doing. "The first chance I get."
"Have you ever killed anyone before?"
"No. Have you?"
It was my turn to say nothing as I looked away. When I walked to the front door, I turned around again. "Don’t do anything hasty until you hear from me."
"And when will that be?"
"Soon, I hope."
After leaving Jonah’s flat, I started walking toward the town center, taking a moment to duck behind some hedges, where I was thankfully able to use my magic to turn myself invisible. No sense taking the chance of being seen and Jared O’Hare finding out I was still alive, at least not yet. I may need the element of surprise at some point in the near future. Right now, my only concern was sneaking back into my hotel room and getting some much needed rest.
After that, it would be game on.
Chapter 15
I slept most of the next day, waking up to find that the effects of the hallucinogens in my system had worn off for the most part, although I knew it would probably take a while longer for the drugs to fully leave my system. I also woke up to a missed call from Benedict, whom I phoned back immediately. "Did you get it sorted?" I asked him.
"Corvin. Hello to you too."
"Sorry. Rough night."
"On the whiskey were we?"
I shook my head. "Not really. The cult I told you about tried to drown me in a river. They very nearly succeeded."
"I see."
"So I need that sit-down with Iolas now more than ever."
"Well, it’s lucky I managed to arrange it all then," he said. "How soon can you get to Dublin?"
"Dublin? Why?"
"Duh, because that’s where Iolas is."
I shook my head. "You’re holding him in Dublin?"
"Where did you think we’d be holding him? In some secret lair inside a mountain or something?"
"I don’t know. I just thought he’d be farther away, that’s all."
"Once you get to Dublin call me and I’ll have someone pick you up to take you to the facility."
"The facility? Don’t you mean the prison?"
"Same thing."
"Okay, I’m going to wait till dark before leaving here," I said. "I’ll call you when I get to Dublin."
As soon as night came, I packed what little stuff I had and left my hotel room, remaining invisible until I got to the carpark across the road. Then I got into the Spitfire and drove off, happy to be leaving Kilkenny behind, for the time being at least.
A few hours later, I was back in my flat in Dublin, and after changing clothes, I gave Benedict a call and told him I was ready. Twenty minutes later, a black van pulled up in the street outside and I went out to meet whoever was in it, which turned out to be two casually dressed men with stern looks on their faces. One of them opened the back doors of the van and told me to get in, and I immediately had flashbacks from the night before of lying in a different van in a pool of my own vomit. "Can’t I ride in front with you two?" I asked.
The man shook his head. "You can’t know where you’re going. It’s in the back or you don’t go anywhere."
"Okay," I conceded. "I understand. Top secret location and all that."
Reluctantly, I climbed into the back of the van, which at least had cushioned seats for me to sit on, which was a change from the floor. The man then slammed the back door closed and locked it, leaving me sitting in a windowless box that was barely lit by a light in the ceiling.
After the van was started up, we drove for about three quarters of an hour until finally we stopped, presumably at our destination. When the van doors were opened, the two men stood there, one of them tossing me a black hood. "Put it on," he said.
"Don’t you think this is a little too much, guys?" I said looking at the hood. "I mean, I don’t really care where we are."
"We do," the man said. "Put it on or go home."
Shaking my head, I went to the doors and put the hood on, not exactly comfortable with the fact that I was now in complete darkness and being led by two strangers out of the van and across what felt like concrete outside. I tried to listen for background sounds, but I couldn’t hear very much. Not even traffic noise, which must mean we were outside the city.
A few minutes later, I was stopped and then ushered forward again, presumably inside a building if the change in temperature was anything to go by. Then the hood was taken off me and I discovered we were standing in some sort of entrance hallway that was lit by fluorescent lights that hurt my eyes until I got used to them.
"Follow us," one of the men said, which I did, down a series of corridors, looking around as I did so as we passed various doors that gave no indication of what was on the other side.
"What is this place?" I asked. "Is it a prison? Where are all the inmates?"
The two men said nothing as we went through a set of double doors and then into another hallway, this one having a reception desk with a uniformed man behind it. I was told to wait as the three men spoke between them, occasionally laughing at some joke one of them told. The man behind the reception desk also worked on a computer as he spoke, before finally telling the other two men that they could go ahead now, which they did after ushering me to follow them.
Thinking this whole thing seemed very strange, I was led down another corridor to a door with a retinal scanner to the side of it. One of the men put their eye over the scanner, and after a series of beeps, the other man opened the door and stood to one side. "In you go," he said to me. "We’ll be watching and listening to everything you say, so no funny business."
"You think I’m here to break him out or something?" I joked.
The man holding the door maintained his stern expression. "Knock on the door when you’re finished."
Saying nothing more, I stepped inside.
I walked into a rectangular room that had white walls and which was harshly lit by florescent bulbs. Directly in front of me was a thick perspex screen with a group of round holes in the center, presumably for talking through. On the other side of the perspex screen was another room, or rather a prison cell. The room contained a bed and a toilet like any other prison cell, but also other things that most cells didn’t have, like a bookcase filled with books, a drawing table that held large sheets of paper and a number of pencils, a leather armchair and a mid-sized fridge. Even the bed looked a bit more luxurious than most, with a thick quilt instead of sheets and very puffed up looking pillows. It took me a moment to see where Iolas was. He was standing in one of the far corners, almost blending in with the walls thanks to the white jump suit he was wearing and h
is long blond hair. He was standing staring at me with a scowl on his face, as if the very sight of the person who put him here was enough to make him mad.
There was a chair on my side of the screen, and I went and sat down in it. "Hello Iolas," I said after a moment.
Iolas continued to stare at me for another while before finally walking over to the drawing table and picking up a pencil to continue drawing whatever he was working on. "I used to draw and paint quite a lot at one time," he said eventually. "When I started my business I couldn’t find the time to keep up my artistic endeavors. I’d forgotten how much it calms me."
"What are you drawing?" I asked.
"A portrait. Would you like to see?"
"Sure."
He continued working with the pencil for another minute before laying it down and picking up the sheet of paper, which he carried over to the screen, holding it up for me to see. "Perhaps you recognize the subject," he said.
I tried not to react when I realized that the subject was me. More specifically, it was a drawing of me getting hit in the face with a hammer. Half my face was already caved in as the hammer came in for another blow. The drawing was so detailed and so realistic that I couldn’t help but wince. "You did this because you knew I was coming?"
"Not just because of that." He walked back to the drawing table and placed the paper back on it. "I’ve drawn you getting killed in many different ways, Corvin. I thought it might help to vent my anger."
"And does it?"
He turned his head to give me a hard look. "No."
"I didn’t put you in here, Iolas. You put yourself in here when you had Iliphar kill my mother."
He looked away as he said nothing, carefully arranging the pencils and paper on the desk as if it all had to be in a certain order. When he was done he went to a small table near the bookcase and poured what looked like wine from a jug into a tall glass. Then he went and sat down in the leather armchair as if he was sitting at home in his study.