BlackWind

by Boyett-Compo

  “No mistake. They knew precisely who they were targeting. The reason they wanted your father dead had to do with Dr. McGregor ordering Rory Brell to take Sean into custody, to snatch him out of Dunne's grasp.”

  Bronwyn stared at him. “I don't understand.”

  “It was your father's intention to get Sean out of your life once and for all. It didn't matter how that was accomplished. As long as Sean was alive, he posed a threat to the future Dr. McGregor wanted for you. He knew you would do all you could to join Sean when you were out from under his control. That did not set well with him. He had no intention of allowing a union between you and someone he considered unworthy. He ordered Brell to find Sean and turn him over to the British army. Failing that, he was to eliminate him, if necessary.”

  She gasped. “He ordered Brell to kill Sean?”

  Brian nodded solemnly.

  Bronwyn felt as though someone had placed a great weight on her chest. “I can't believe my father would do something like that.”

  “I'm afraid he did. Dunne found out about the plot to capture Sean and set his own plans into motion. He could not afford to have my boy taken and perhaps questioned about the facilities at Fuilgaoth. Sean was ordered to kill your father to keep that from happening.”

  “But Sean wasn't like that! He would have never ...”

  “You were threatened, Bronwyn. Dunne told Sean that if he didn't do as ordered, men would be sent to Galrath. I'll leave it to your imagination what horrors he threatened for you should Sean not do as he was told. It was either being responsible for the death of the woman he loved or take out the man who was responsible for tearing the two of you apart.”

  “He was protecting me?” she whispered.

  “With his very life.”

  “Why didn't Sean just leave Fuilgaoth?” Bronwyn asked, wiping at the tears running down her cheeks. “He could have come after me and...”

  “Sean was a prisoner at Fuilgaoth, watched day and night. There was no way for him to escape. We were all prisoners there, dearling.”

  “Including Viraidan Cree?”

  “Especially him. He was caged the entire time.”

  “Why?”

  “That's something we don't need to go into right now. Let it suffice to say Cree was a threat Dunne took seriously. Keeping him locked up was vitally important.”

  “He said a man named Alistair Gallagher killed my father. Is that true?”

  “Alistair detonated the bomb Sean placed under the car, aye.”

  “Dr. Wynth said Sean tried to stop Daddy from getting in the car. Is that what happened?”

  Brian sighed heavily. “He saw Brell's baby and...”

  “What?”

  “The child. The one Rory was carrying.”

  Bronwyn stared at him; thoughts of her lost infant rippled through her mind. “No. No, you're wrong.”

  “I was told there was a baby. Brell was...” Brian frowned, then jumped up. “Your child?”

  “Mine and Sean's—your grandson.”

  “I didn't...he didn't...” Brian stopped, his face white.

  “That was why I was so angry that day in the hospital—why I said what I did to Sean. It wasn't just my father I thought he'd killed, but our child.”

  “Mother of God,” Brian whispered, slumping down on the sofa. He ran a trembling hand over his face.

  “I never got to hold our child. They took him away right after he was born.”

  Brian flinched. “Oh, Bronwyn. I am so sorry.”

  “I named him Tiernan,” she said softly, “but the people my parents gave him to called him Cormac. Cormac McDougal.”

  “Did you parents know Brell was bringing the baby that day?”

  “I've never asked my mother. We don't discuss what happened. I don't talk about it to anyone.”

  “I have to tell him,” Brian mumbled.

  “Tell who?”

  “Cree,” he answered, his mind obviously on the information she had given him.

  “Were they friends?” she inquired.

  “Something like that,” Brian muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair.

  She sensed his inattention “What is he, anyway?”

  “A vampire.”

  “A what?”

  He jerked and groaned, as if realizing his mistake. “By the beard of Job, I shouldn't have told you that!”

  “Then tell me you were joking,” she snapped.

  There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. “I can't. He is what he is.”

  “A vampire,” she stated, letting the word fall like a heavy stone.

  Brian nodded. “That is why Dunne kept him locked up.”

  “A vampire...”

  “The correct term is ‘Reaper.’ He has to have blood every day to survive.”

  “As in transfusions?”

  “No, dearling, to drink.”

  “To drink,” she echoed, feeling sick.

  Brian sighed, then shrugged. “Reapers are shapeshifters, a cross between vampires and werewolves. There is a name for his race. They are called ‘dearg duls.’ His blood is as black as tar, and when he Transitions, he enters a beastlike state where he resembles a large dog.”

  She stared at him for what seemed to her like a full sweep of the minute hand on a clock, then slumped against the back of the sofa. “You are serious, aren't you?”

  “Aye, Sweeting.”

  Bronwyn drew in a long breath, then exhaled shakily. “If I didn't know Nightwinds were real, I couldn't accept this.”

  “There is more strangeness in this world than most people know. More creatures than just Nightwinds and Reapers.”

  She sighed. “I am beginning to think my entire world is populated by inhuman creatures.”

  “Cree is as human as the next man until he Transitions.”

  “And how often does that happen?” she asked with a shudder.

  “Every twelve weeks. He is given the drug tenerse every day to keep him from Transitioning out of cycle. It is a painful drug that makes your blood boil, but it's as necessary to him as insulin to a diabetic.”

  “And when he Transitions?”

  “He voluntarily enters the containment cell and stays there until the Transition is over.”

  “Containment cell?”

  “The cell doors, walls, floors, and ceilings are ten-feet-thick reinforced concrete, sandwiched between two-foot-thick sheaths of laser-welded titanium. The door is built with fourteen ten-inch-thick locking rods that fit into the casing, penetrating in three feet. It opens inward on five heavy-duty titanium ball bearings. On the outside of the door is a portcullis of stainless steel electrified mesh, which carries a payload of over five-hundred-thousand volts.”

  At Bronwyn's stunned look, Brian laughed.

  “Believe me that's not enough to kill a Reaper trying to escape one of the cells, but it would sure as hell slow him down long enough for a team to shoot him full of a powerful neuroinhibitor called ‘cinera.’ It causes a cessation of cerebral circulation, and the resulting lack of nutrition and oxygen will easily put a Reaper out of commission. The reason for the containment cells is to give the Reapers a place that is safe for them and you when they Transition. They are at their most dangerous during that time.”

  “You said ‘Reapers.’ Are we talking about more than one?”

  “There are three that we know of. Two are here at Baybridge.”

  Bronwyn thought of Gaines at the main gate and felt a wave of fright envelope her. “Where is the third?”

  “That would be Alistair Gallagher, and right now we don't know where he is. But when Cree finds him, believe me, he will put him down hard.” He looked down at his clenched fist. “Especially after he finds out about the baby.”

  Bronwyn took in the look on her companion's face. “I think you need to tell me about Cree.”

  Brian drew in a long breath, held it for a second, then exhaled slowly. He turned to look her in the eye. “Aye, I think you should be to
ld, but you must never repeat what I am going to tell you. Keep it secret.”

  “What you tell me will go no further than this room.”

  “You swear?”

  Bronwyn held up her hand. “On my honor.”

  “On Sean's name,” Brian stated, as if knowing that would be a firmer vow for her.

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes before she shook her head to rid herself of the telltale sign of weakness. “On my Seannie's name.”

  “All right.” Brian put his hand on her arm. “Just bear in mind that what I am going to tell you is God's gospel truth. None of it is made up and none of it is exaggerated. You might have to suspend belief in things you have been taught are impossible.”

  She nodded. “I did that long ago when I saw my first Nightwind and what I think was a Bugul Noz.”

  Brian withdrew his hand. “That had to have been a rude awakening.”

  “Sometimes I still don't believe I have seen the things I've witnessed.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “So tell me.”

  “As far as we know, Cree was the first Reaper to come here. His craft crashed somewhere in Northern Ireland. He was badly burned, his flesh hanging in tatters when the tribe found him. They were no doubt stupefied when he began to spontaneously heal before their eyes, although it took him several days to fully rejuvenate new flesh.”

  Bronwyn held up a hand. “You said his craft crashed here. I take it he was from beyond...” She stopped, her eyes going wide. “Oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  “I remember one of the girls at Galrath talking about a spaceman they had at Fuilgaoth. Was that Cree?”

  “Aye, that was him.”

  “I thought she was lying. Making up crap to tease us.”

  “I don't know how she knew about it, because it was supposed to be a secret, but I guess Fuilgaoth wasn't as secure as Dunne wanted to believe it was.”

  “What happened when he recovered from his burns?”

  Brian explained all he knew about Cree. He told her of his marriage, his son, the way he had been forced into the bog. He recounted the way Dunne found the Reaper in the bog and what the scientist had done with the body, imprisoning it in a case, its parasite separated from the corpse. He told her about the queen's offspring, how they had been experimented on, and how they had been implanted into human men, turning them into creatures like Cree.

  “The revenant queen was furious that She was incarcerated, unable to protect her young,” Brian said. “I'm sure an intelligent being such as She was constantly searching for a way to exact her revenge and rejoin with Cree's physical body.”

  “This is all so bizarre,” Bronwyn said, getting up from the sofa. She walked to the bar that separated the living room from the dining area and poured herself a brandy. She turned to Brian.

  “I don't drink, dearling,” he said.

  She brought her blackberry brandy to the sofa and sat down, then took a sip, staring across the room at a painting over the dining room sideboard. “Do I need to be afraid of him, Brian?”

  “Cree?” he asked. “Absolutely not!”

  “That's what Danyon told me, but I wanted to make sure.”

  “Anything else you want to know?”

  “Not about Cree, but...” She looked at him, took a deep breath, then straightened her shoulders. “Did Sean ever talk about me?”

  Brian took her hand. He brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her wrist. “Sean never got tired of talking about you. The lad loved you more than anything in this world.”

  “I miss him more than anything in this world.”

  “He would want you to get on with your life, Bronwyn. Get out, meet some nice young man like....” He shrugged. “Like Sage Hesar, for instance. Don't you think he's a handsome young devil?”

  Bronwyn was about to answer when a heavy knock sounded at the door. She jumped and Brian let go of her hand. The sound was so loud, the door panel shook. When it came again, the picture on the wall beside the portal bounced.

  “All right already! I'm coming!” Bronwyn snapped, getting up and sitting her snifter on the end table.

  After jerking open the door, she was surprised to see Cree standing there, his fist clenched, poised to knock again. His eyes were fierce, his jaw set, a muscle twitching in his right cheek.

  “Brian, come!” he ordered, looking past Bronwyn.

  Brian shot up from the sofa and hurried to the door. He cast Bronwyn a strange look as he mumbled his apology.

  “Perhaps we can have lunch tomorrow?” she asked as Brian eased past her and into the corridor.

  “I think not,” Cree answered for the older man. He grabbed Brian's arm and started down the hall with him.

  “Brian?” Bronwyn called after them.

  He looked around. “I'll call you.”

  “No, you won't!” Cree snarled.

  “I'll call you, then, Brian!” Bronwyn yelled.

  Cree stopped in his tracks, jerking Brian with him as he spun around to face her. “Hell you won't.”

  “Hell I will!” Bronwyn threw back.

  Letting go of Brian's arm, Cree stalked back to her. “You found out what you wanted to know about Sean Cullen,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now let it rest.”

  “Don't tell me what to do. This doesn't concern you.”

  “I'm making it my concern. O'Shea is off limits to you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you worried about, Cree? What are you afraid I'll find out?”

  The Reaper's right eye had developed a tick in the muscle beneath it. He breathed heavily, his fists opening and closing at his side. There was a brutal look in his amber eyes as he glared at her. “Let...it...rest,” he said, emphasizing each word.

  “Go...to...hell,” she grated, stepping back and slamming the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 31

  Brian risked a glance at his companion as they walked down the hallway. The anger on Cree's face had kept them both quiet on the elevator down to 5 North. As the stainless steel doors parted and they stepped into the corridor of the underground segment of Baybridge, Cree turned a hateful look to the Brian.

  “Stay away from her,” Cree ordered.

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “'Get out, meet some nice young man like Sage Hesar, for instance. Don't you think he's a handsome young devil?'” Cree mimicked in a snide tone as they walked toward the check-in desk.

  Brian flinched. “What were you doing? Listening at the gods-be-damned keyhole?”

  “Sage Hesar is a...a...” Cree could not seem to find the words to convey what he thought of the young man.

  “Rival?” Brian supplied.

  A vicious snarl was the only answer Brian received as Cree headed back to the elevator.

  “Viraidan!” Brian called.

  Cree did not answer. He got into the elevator.

  “Read me, Viraidan!” Brian shouted as the elevator doors began to close.

  Cree started to put up a thought reception shield between him and Brian, but Brian sensed his thought wedged under the shield anyway. The mind picture of an infant boy—dripping with fluid fresh from its mother's womb, its little mouth parted in soundless fury—flashed across Cree's mind. Obviously knowing there was more, he kept the elevator doors from closing and stared at Brian.

  Brian sent another image to the Reaper. This one took the color from Cree's angry cheeks and placed deep hurt in the blazing amber eyes.

  Brian held up a hand to the check-in clerk, then walked to the elevator. He kept his gaze on Cree as the Reaper stood frozen in the cage. “She needs me, Viraidan,” he said quietly. “Don't keep me from seeing her.”

  Tears dampened the Reaper's eyes. “He killed his own child?”

  “No,” Brian said firmly. “Gallagher killed Sean's child.”

  “But I set the bomb,” Cree whispered.

  Brian drew in a quick breath, his eyes wide. “Sean tried to stop it from going off.”r />
  “I killed my own child. I killed our son.”

  “Let's talk about this,” Brian said, reaching out to take Cree's arm.

  Stepping back, furiously shaking his head, the Reaper moved away. “Leave me be,” he snarled. When Brian tried to enter the elevator, Cree shoved him back. “Leave me be!”

  Brian watched the elevator doors slide shut, closing off the anguished look that had transformed the Reaper's face.

  * * * *

  He opened the throttle as far as it would go, allowing the machine to roar onto the midnight pavement. The front wheel left the ground for a moment or two as the rear wheel carried the full 470 pounds of tubular steel twenty feet down the deserted highway. When the front wheel crashed onto the hydraulic telescopic fork, the black motorcycle shot forward until it was nothing more than a blur against the Iowa scenery.

  The night wind pressed damply against his face, numbing his flesh. His hair blew wildly about his bare head. Cold air snaked down his shirtfront and chilled his chest and belly, sent tendrils of discomfort around his ribcage as his shirt billowed around him.

  Nothing registered with him outside the torturous thoughts pummeling his mind. He barely felt the light splattering of rain as it began striking his cheeks and forehead. He barely heard the roar of the machine between his legs. He barely noticed the deer in the sweep of his headlight until he was right on the animal.

  The deer stood frozen in the middle of the right lane, its chatoyant eyes locked on the oncoming headlight.

  He laid down the bike on the asphalt, tearing away the skin on his right hand from knuckle to shoulder when he hit the pavement. The deer leapt out of the way, the cloven hooves of its rear legs barely clearing Cree's face.

  The Reaper's head hit the asphalt with a sickening crack and consciousness began to flee as though a light was being turned out in his world. As the machine skidded in a wide arc across both lanes and went flying into the ditch, his right leg from hip to ankle lost black jean material and a 4-inch-wide section of gouged flesh. When the motorcycle stopped spinning, it was lying atop him, the heat from the right exhaust pipe digging a firebreak into his calf.

  It was the burning pain that brought him out of unconsciousness. In one screaming moment, he threw the machine from him, tossing it like a child's toy into the field beyond. Gasping, he half-crawled, half-pulled himself toward the edge of the ditch and laid there, gritting his teeth to the flaming agony burning a way through his leg. With his fingers sinking claw-like into the rain-softened earth, he ground his face into the straggly grass and bellowed with rage and grief and physical hurt.