by N. P. Martin
Iolas stared back at me like he couldn’t understand my reticence, or my apparent squeamishness for that matter. Torturing people obviously didn’t bother Iolas. It didn’t seem to bother Amelia either, who still stood silently looking on. "Proof?" Iolas reached into his trouser pocket and took out a silver bracelet which I immediately recognized.
"Let me see that." I took the bracelet from him and turned it over to read the inscription on the back:
To my darling Teresa, the light of my life.
"That belonged to your mother, correct?" Iolas said.
I nodded slowly as I stared at the bracelet. There was no doubt it was my mother’s. It even had the small mark at the end of the inscription, where the engraver had messed up. My mother used to joke about the mistake to my father, saying it summed up their marriage or something like that. The more I held the bracelet, the more I could sense my mother’s residual energy in the metal. You don’t keep something that close to your skin for so many years without transferring something of yourself into it. My mother was a part of this bracelet, and her energy, although barely felt, was enough to make my eyes sting with tears. "Where did this come from?"
"This man was caught trying to pawn it to Haknet," Iolas said. "His name is Arthur Cartwright, and he’s a dirty junky from Finglas, isn’t that right? You killed this boy’s mother over a damn fix!"
The man started shaking his head in protest. "No…it wasn’t me…"
"Where did you get this?" I demanded, holding the bracelet in front of his face. "Tell me!"
"I…I found it!" he said. "In an alley..."
"Which alley? Where?"
"Across the Ha’Penny Bridge…Asdill’s Row. It was just lying there…"
"He’s lying," Iolas said. He stepped forward and placed his right forefinger on the man’s chest. Within seconds, there was a burning smell as Arthur Cartwright’s flesh began to melt like Iolas was pressing a cigarette lighter into him, and he began to scream.
"Stop!" I shouted to Iolas.
Iolas glared at me for a second while he continued to use his magic to burn the man. "Can’t you see he’s lying?"
"How do you know he’s lying? He could be telling the truth."
"He’s a junky, all they do is lie and steal…and murder!" Iolas thrust his hand out and clawed his fingers in the air, and I watched in horror as a portion of skin on the man’s chest began to stretch and then snap off in a burst of blood.
"Jesus Christ!" I turned away as Arthur screamed and Iolas dropped the torn piece of flesh to the floor with a wet slapping sound.
"Please!" Arthur screamed. "No more! I’m telling the truth…please…no more…no more…" Tears were streaming down his face, and he looked about as terrified as it was possible for someone to be.
I looked at Amelia at that point, who merely sighed and turned her head away from me as if she knew this whole thing was wrong but was too afraid of her uncle to say anything.
"This man didn’t kill my mother," I said to Iolas, who looked to be in his element here. For an elf who professed a dislike for violence, he sure seemed to be enjoying himself on some sick level.
Iolas shook his head at me. "You are letting your emotions get in the way of the truth, Corvin."
"Look at him! Does he look like a killer to you?"
"Never underestimate a junky."
"My mother was killed by magic. You gave me the damn autopsy report yourself."
"This man is Touched, he is endowed with magic."
I shook my head dismissively. "I can sense his magic and it’s nowhere near strong enough to inflict the kind of damage that was done to me ma."
Iolas stared at me for a long time before speaking. "I must say, I’m disappointed in you, Corvin. I thought you would want justice for your mother. Clearly, you don’t have the stomach for it."
"Don’t have the stomach for it?" I shook my head. "This man is a junky who found a damn bracelet in an alleyway, that’s all. You know as well as I do he didn’t kill anybody, least of all me ma. She was powerful enough to stop someone like this in their tracks if she had wanted to. There’s no way this junky got the drop on her with his weak magic. It’s bullshit, and I’m leaving."
I had taken two steps before Iolas shouted, "Stop!"
Against my will, I turned around to see that he had his hands on Arthur Cartwright’s head. "You may not want to believe the truth, even if it’s blatantly obvious, but I do." He suddenly twisted Arthur Cartwright’s head to the side, producing a sickening snapping sound as he broke the man’s neck as easily as breaking a twig. "Justice is now done."
I froze to the spot for a moment as I stared dumbly at the dead man in the chair, his head tilted around past his shoulder at an impossible angle, his dead eyes open and staring right at me. The eyes of an innocent man, his own dumb luck having cost him his life. My stomach wanted desperately to eject whatever was in it, but I forced the bile back down again, not wanting to give Iolas the satisfaction of seeing me being sick.
"So much for not killing anyone these days," I said.
Iolas wiped his hands across his stained shirt. "I make exceptions when needed."
Standing there, I was more convinced than ever that he was involved in my mother’s murder. This whole charade he had put on for my benefit had been pointless, leading only to the death of an innocent man. "I’ll bear that in mind."
"Be sure you do, Corvin," he said as I left the room without looking back, practically running up the stairs and then out the door, almost bumping into Iliphar, who had been waiting in the hallway.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Chance?" he said.
"Get the fuck out of way," I said as I shoved him aside and headed for the front door.
When I got to the car, I leaned on the roof for a moment, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself, but my stomach was having none of it and I suddenly turned to the side just as a stream of vomit flew from my mouth. I remained bent over for a few moments, retching until there was nothing left.
"Are you all right?"
I straightened up to see Amelia standing just behind me. "Fuck off, Amelia," I said as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.
"I’m sorry you had to see that."
"So am I! That man was innocent, and you both knew it!"
Amelia shook her head. "There was nothing I could do…"
"Here’s something you can do," I said as I opened the car door. "Stay the fuck away from me, all of you."
I got into the car and slammed the door closed. As I started the engine, I glanced briefly at Amelia through the window. I could see the pain and regret in her eyes, but I didn’t care. She had made her choice.
They all had.
And they would all pay for it.
I would see to that.
19
I didn’t go back to the flat after I left Iolas’. Instead, I parked the car in the garage and went straight to one of my local pubs, a little place called The Druid Stone, an establishment run by a long-standing family friend who went by the name of Óisín O'Faelin. Óisín came from a long line of druids, and was one of the few remaining druids left in Ireland who could trace their roots right back to the original druids of ancient times, before Christianity poisoned the waters here sometime in the 5th Century. He had been a close friend of my mother, and often came by the bookshop to discuss Irish history and lore with her. I used to sit in on these discussions, and thanks to Óisín, I got my eyes open to the impact of Druidism around the world, it’s close ties with ancient Egyptian Druidism, and the fact that much of the Christian religion has its basis in the ancient Druidic ways, even basing most of their symbolism and iconography on these so-called Pagan religions. I often wondered, when I watched people herding into chapels, what they would say if they knew the great Sun God—worshiped since ancient times across the world—was really at the heart of their religion, and not some supernatural Messiah concocted by the creators of Christianity back in the day. Christianity is nothing if not paganism under anot
her name, a fact whose irony never fails to amuse me.
"How are you, Corvin?" Óisín greeted me when I went into the pub. Stood behind the small bar, he looked more like a university lecturer than a druid, with his olive green corduroy jacket and dark blue shirt open at the neck, revealing the tip of a sun ray, part of the huge sun tattoo he had on his chest, one of many Druidic symbols he had inked all over his body. At Druidic ceremonies, some of which I attended over the years, Óisín looked very different in his robes as he held his centuries old staff while reciting the words to the ceremony in Ancient Irish.
"I’m not too bad," I said as I took a stool at the bar, completely understating my current mood. Only two old guys sat at the back of the tiny pub, reading the papers as they sipped on their pints. Nether paid me any attention. "In need of a drink."
Óisín smiled, still youthful looking for a man in his fifties, with a hardly a gray in sight in his thick, dark hair, his green eyes warm but still sharp. "Tough morning?"
I nodded as Óisín went about pulling a pint of Guinness. "You could say that."
"Anything I can help you with?"
"I wish there were. A pint and a whiskey chaser will have to do." I gave him an insouciant smile as I placed money on the bar, which he promptly slid back to me as he placed my drinks.
"Your money is no good here, you know dat."
I nodded as I raised my pint at him. "You’re a gentleman as always, Óisín."
"If you can’t look after your friends," he said. "Who can you luk after?"
"Yourself, as most people see it."
"Sure, isn’t dat wat’s wrong with the world today? No one gives a shoite anymore."
I give a shoite, I thought. I give a shoite about taking down that bastard Iolas. I just didn’t know how I was going to do it yet.
"You luk troubled, Corvin," Óisín said as he leaned on the bar. "You must be finding it difficult with your mother gone. I know I miss de 'ell out of her meself."
"I miss her too, Óisín," I said, throwing back my whiskey chaser.
"I still can’t believe what happened. Is no one tryin’ to find who did it?"
I shook my head bitterly. "The Council doesn’t want to know. Politics is more important it seems."
"It must be frustrating for you."
"It is, which is why I’ve taken matters into my own hands. No one else is going to get her the justice she deserves."
Óisín nodded somewhat cautiously. "Revenge is a dish best served carefully."
"I don’t care how it’s served, as long as it’s served."
Óisín stared at me with sympathy in his eyes, but also understanding. Who better than a Druid to understand persecution? If indeed I was being persecuted. It certainly felt like it earlier when I was standing in that dungeon with Iolas. Before that happened, I thought I was relatively safe from him, but now I wasn’t so sure. If I became a problem for him—if I wasn’t already in his mind—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me as surely as he killed poor Arthur Cartwright. But I wasn’t going to let fear stop me. As an Irish Statesman once said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." I wasn’t about to be one of those men who did nothing. Soon enough, Davey would find a lead on the killer, and once I had their identity, heaven help them.
"You want my advice?" Óisín said. "You’re too emotional, and you don’t seem to be tinking wi’ a clear head."
He may have been right, but it was hard to think with a clear head when you just saw a man get tortured and then have his neck broken. "No offense, Óisín, but my emotions are all I have at the minute."
Óisín nodded as if he understood. "I hear you’re going after Iolas Tasar. Do you tink he killed your mother?"
I thought about the cold look in Iolas’ eyes the moment he broke Arthur Cartwright’s neck. "I believe so."
"Do you have any proof?"
I shook my head. "I’m working on it, but I don’t need proof to know he was involved. I just know."
Óisín sighed as he poured me another whiskey and placed it beside my half empty pint glass. "Let me tell you about de Tasar’s," he said. "They are one of de oldest elven families in Ireland, and back in de day they used to share power with de vampires. They also dabbled 'eavily in ancient death magic. Rumor has it dat their constant use of dark magic poisoned their bloodline, with de result that all Tasar’s are of a much darker bent than they should be, given dat de rest of their brethren are generally benevolent souls."
I snorted. "You got that right."
"I only tell you this for your own safety, Corvin. If you’re directing your pain at someone like Iolas Tasar, prepare to have dat pain multiplied right back at ya." His stare never wavered. Óisín always was a straight talker, for which I admired him. "You should stay clear until ya have proof, then go to de Council with it. Let them sort him out."
"That’s just it, they won’t. For whatever reason, the Council fear Iolas."
"They fear de instability dat would erupt here if they went against him."
"Exactly. Politics. Same as it was when Prince Constantine killed me da."
"Right enough. Sure, it’s never been any different in dis small country of ours," Óisín said. "If dis was Manhattan, tings would be different. Iolas would be surrounded and outgunned, so to speak. Here, he’s safe on dis island, and in a good position to defend himself if need be. The Council know dat, which is why they give him so much leeway."
"Whatever," I said after draining my pint glass. "I don’t need the Council’s help. I’ll have proof soon enough, then I’ll take Iolas down myself."
Óisín looked pained for a second, as if he thought he wasn’t getting through to me. "Iolas will kill you, Corvin, if you go up against him. I can’t be any more clear on dat now, and I only say it because I care about you."
Sighing, I nodded at him. "I know you do, Óisín, but I don’t have a choice. No one else is going to stand up for me ma. Are you saying you wouldn’t do the same for your own ma?"
He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t argue otherwise. After he’d set me another pint up, he disappeared for a few moments, and when he came back, he was holding something in his hand. "I want to give you dis," he said, placing a smallish dagger on the bar between us. "If you’re determined to go down de road of retribution, I think you might need dis. It’s a very old Druidic dagger dat’s been in my family for centuries. It’s also very powerful."
Putting down my pint, I picked up the dagger, which was about twelve inches long, the blade itself being half that length. The grip appeared to be made from wood that had deep grooves in it, the bottom end splaying out almost like tree branches. The guard was steel and curled down at the ends, with curls of metal almost like tree roots at either side. The blade appeared to be silver, with one side ending in a forty-five degree angle. The center of the blade had intricate engravings on it, again resembling roots. Holding it lightly in my hand, the dagger felt nicely balanced and comfortingly warm to the touch. "It’s beautiful," I said. "But I can’t accept this, Óisín."
He shook his head at me, seeming offended. "Nonsense! You’ll take it!"
"But it’s been in your family for years—"
"It’s a blade of protection for whoever needs it, and I tink you might need it." He took the dagger and held it across the palms of his hands. "It will kill almost anything…even elves of great power."
My interest in the dagger deepened when he said that, and for just a few seconds, I had a clear picture in my mind of stabbing Iolas through the heart with it, and could see clearly the look on his face when I did so, followed by the feeling of satisfaction after I did it. "If you’re sure then," I said taking the dagger from him.
"I’m sure. It’s de least I can do."
I ran my fingers along the sharp edge of the blade, drawing a tiny amount of blood on one finger. "Will it kill a vampire as well?"
Óisín frowned. "A vampire? Why do you ask?"
I shook my head as I put the dagger insi
de my jacket. "Just wondering, that’s all."
"You don’t want to tangle with vampires, Corvin. If you think Iolas is bad…" He trailed off, as if the rest was obvious.
"I know."
"You’re not tinking of going after Constantine as well, are you?"
I merely shook my head as I finished my pint. "At this point," I said, "anything is possible. That’s all I know."
"You be careful now," Oisin said after I’d thanked him for the drinks, and also the dagger, which felt reassuringly heavy inside my jacket. "And remember one of de golden rules of my people: Thou shall not disfigure the soul. Tread carefully, lad."
I nodded as I paused by the door. "I’ll try to remember that."
20
Not long after leaving the pub, I was walking aimlessly down the street when my phone rang.
"Corvin, tank feck. Wha ye?"
"Monty? What’s up? Why are you shouting?"
"Eh…Can yer cum ter me apartment?"
"Now?"
"Yeah, nigh. I’m in a…bit av a bind."
"What sort of bind?"
"It’s probably best if yer jist cum raun, roight"
Puffing my cheeks out, I shook my head. "Fine, I’ll be there soon."
"Cheers bro!"
I dreaded to think what was wrong with him this time, but since I was at something of a loose end, and since I would never turn a plea for help from him, I started walking toward Parnell Street where Monty lived. I wasn’t that far away, so it didn’t take me long to reach the place. The apartment complex was upmarket and expensive, though Monty could afford it thanks to the money he made from his YouTube channel and his various hacking activities. When I got there, I expected him to open the door for me, but instead he shouted from inside that he couldn’t, which of course made me frown. Nonetheless, I did a Reveal Spell to reveal the spur key I knew he kept hidden under the door mat. Once I went inside, I stood in the spacious living room looking around and shaking my head. The place was a mess, with empty bottles strewn everywhere, the coffee table covered in drug paraphilia. Obviously, Monty had thrown one of his famous parties last night.