“I wish you had,” she said.
“By the time the battle was going down, that wasn’t possible. You were fighting Sawyer out in the middle of the field and Quinn had just killed Elyssa. So he ordered me to kill Quinn.”
“So far, I’m not loving this story,” Kate responded.
“My point is simple: Sanheim would have preferred you to die,” Kieran continued. “The question is: why? It could have been random, of course, but say what you want for that guy, he's always precise. I don't think he just chose your name out of a hat.
“The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if there was something I was missing. I had been so focused on playing out my role, I wasn't thinking clearly.”
“That’s an understatement,” Kate added.
It came out as a growl and sounded distinctly like a man’s voice, not hers.
“Before the battle, you asked me if I knew what being ‘the last’ meant,” Kieran said. “I honestly had no clue. I've never heard of that, and I’ve studied more about the supernatural than most. So I asked Sanheim.”
“What did he say?” Tim asked.
“He blew it off,” Kieran said. "He was pretty casual about it, but he seemed distinctly annoyed. When he asked me how I knew about it, I said Carol had mentioned it."
“Who’s Carol?” Tim asked.
“The Leesburg psychic who called herself ‘Madame Zora,’” Kate answered. “Yet another person Kieran murdered.”
“Anyway,” Kieran said, smiling sheepishly, as if he had been caught for some minor infraction. “When I said that, Sanheim said ‘meddlesome woman.’”
“So?” Kate asked.
“So why is she meddlesome if it doesn’t matter? Why did he even care who I heard it from? It just didn’t seem right.”
“That’s it? That’s all you had to go on?” Tim asked.
“It was enough to convince me he was hiding something. Maybe a clue to why he wanted to kill Kate, rather than Quinn. So I started digging. I wasn’t sure it would even matter anymore, but it was that or do nothing. The interesting thing about the legend of ‘the last’ is that once you know to look for it, you find it referenced in several places. There were books I'd read two or three times that made a passing mention of it, but I’d never thought it was important, so I hadn't remembered it.”
“You’re taking a long time to get to the point,” Kate said. “I don’t know what ‘the last’ has to do with saving Quinn.”
“Everything,” Kieran replied. “Just hear me out.”
He was pacing again, trying to determine how best to put what he knew into words.
“You know all about ghosts, right?” Kieran asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. “The spirits of the dead who feel compelled to stay in the land of the living. Usually, it’s because of unresolved issues. For a brief moment when you die, there’s an opportunity to cross over. If you don’t take it — for whatever reason — you’re stuck. And the conventional wisdom is that you’re stuck forever.
“But there’s a legend. I don't know how old it is, but I think it's ancient. Way beyond anything to do with Sanheim or the Prince of Sanheim.”
“What is it?” Kate asked.
“It’s a prophecy,” Kieran replied. “And it exists in at least twenty different cultures that I could find.”
“A prophecy about what exactly?” Tim asked.
“The end of the world,” Kieran replied. “According to several versions of the tale, the world eventually becomes filled with what they call the ‘aching dead.’ Before you ask, that doesn’t mean zombies. I think it means spirits of the departed who don’t actually depart. They stay here, unchanged and suffering — and they influence the world around them.”
“Directly?” Tim asked.
“No, subtly,” Kieran responded. “It’s mostly unintentional. You ever spent time near the site of a massacre and all you feel is sadness? Most people would say that’s because you know what happened there, but I don’t think that’s it. I think the ghosts of some of the victims remain and they influence how you feel about it.”
“So what’s the connection to me?” Kate asked.
“Well, according to the legend, the world eventually gets too many ‘aching dead,’” Kieran said. “Their influence becomes pervasive. Mankind, never the most sensible of creatures, grows consistently more violent and irrational. The prophecy talks about the ‘time of reckoning’ when there is a massive tipping point. The world is, quite literally, overrun with ghosts.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Tim said.
“It’s not,” Kieran said. “But the texts also speak of the ‘guardian’ of the dead who rises to determine their fate. According to the prophecy, the guardian does one of two things. It either gathers the spirits to lead them to the underworld or, succumbing to the despair and madness around it, actually makes things worse. It gathers ghosts together and leads a wholesale slaughter of the human race.”
Kieran paused and looked at Kate.
“You’re telling me I’m going to destroy the world?” Kate asked.
“Why are you assuming it’s her at all?” Tim asked.
“Because in Celtic lore, banshees are the ‘guardians of the dead,’” Kate said.
“Yes,” Kieran said. “That’s not the only reason, however. I found a text from a Celt named Draghir, who wrote in a precursor to Gaelic. I had to go all the way to the Aran Islands to find this document. Draghir went further than just talking about a guardian. His prophecy was much more specific. He told an actual story.”
“This had better be good,” Kate said.
“Draghir described the last age of mankind, which he said was fueled by unchecked greed, lust, and thirst for power.”
“That’s every age of mankind,” Tim said.
Kieran shrugged.
“Yeah, but he was pretty ahead of his time,” he said. “He spoke about giant buildings that could ‘scrape the sky.’ He wrote about giant birds that flew through the air carrying people. He talked about ships that could go underwater.”
“We get the idea; he saw the future,” Kate said.
“He spoke of a person he called ‘the last,’” Kieran said. “As far as I know, he is the only one to refer to it precisely in those words. He didn’t say if it was a man or woman. But he described the person like this: ‘A tortured soul who carries many spirits’ and who ‘knows the pain of betrayal.’ In his story, the ‘last’ is the final hope for not just the living, but the dead. The ‘last’ is a redeemer who feels the pain of the lost souls, gathers them together and leads them to the underworld.”
Kate snorted in disgust.
“This is a fairy tale,” she said. “And you have wasted my time.”
Kieran looked at Tim in amazement.
“Was she always this stupid?” he asked. “Cause...”
Kate grabbed Kieran by the throat.
“Finish that sentence and it may be your last,” she said, and let go.
“It’s you, Kate,” Kieran said. “Do you need a friggin’ written invitation? A ‘tortured soul who carries many spirits’ and ‘knows the pain of betrayal.’ Who does that sound like?”
“You’re making this up as you go along,” Kate said.
“I’m not,” Kieran replied.
He picked up a book on the desk and handed it to her.
“Be careful with it,” he said. “I had to steal it from a second-hand book shop in Galway. It may be the last copy and it’s worth a fortune.”
Kate picked it up and read the spine. The Shape of What’s to Come: The Prophecies of Draghir the Wise, it said. But it was the author that caught her attention.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that,” Kieran replied.
“Horace Camden wrote this?” Kate asked.
“Horace who?” Tim asked.
“The chief biographer for Robert Crowley, the Prince of Sanheim who tried to open a portal to the underworld and was p
romptly destroyed,” Kieran said. “He wrote this well before he met Crowley, but my guess is it’s what brought him to Crowley’s attention. Who knows? It could just be a coincidence.”
“I highly doubt it,” Kate said.
“Me, too,” Kieran responded. “It all fits together, doesn’t it? The prophecies don’t talk about Sanheim at all, at least as far as I can tell. But the fact that Camden wrote about Crowley and this? It’s too amazing not to be connected in some way. And you’re the key that ties it all together, Kate. You’re the last.”
“So what if I am? I don’t really care about saving lost souls. I’m not interested in saving the world. I just want Quinn back.”
Kieran looked at the ceiling in evident frustration. Finally, he spoke again.
“Let’s try this a different way,” he said. “I don’t pretend to know the theology behind it, but when we die we go somewhere. Some people go to a bright light in the sky, but not everyone does. They go to...”
“Hell,” Tim finished. “They go to hell.”
Kieran waved at him dismissively.
“Bah,” he said. “What’s hell? Spare me the religious crap. Hell is just a word for a place, and I’m not sure it’s the fire and brimstone Dante wrote about either. Before the Christian era, it was just known as the ‘Land of the Dead.’ And who rules the Land of the Dead?”
“Sanheim,” Kate said.
“Right,” Kieran said. “But short of dying yourself, you can’t just show up, open a door, and get invited in. Honestly, I’m not sure dying will even get you there automatically. Some people go to the light, whatever that is.”
“Heaven,” Tim said.
Kieran grunted in exasperation.
“Whatever,” he said. “Not the point. Given what Quinn is, there's no doubt in my mind where he ended up. He went to the Land of the Dead.”
“How can you be so sure?” Tim asked. “He was a good man.”
“It has nothing to do with that,” Kieran said. “Stop with your morality play. He was a Prince of Sanheim. That’s where he went because that’s where he belongs. There are rules here. Sanheim mentioned them, but I didn’t understand. I get it now, though. If you died, you might get there, but you’d be totally powerless, just as I assume Quinn is now. If you want to show up without dying, there’s just one way to go.”
“We break in,” Kate said.
She sat there stunned while Kieran nodded vigorously.
“This is why Sanheim wanted you dead,” he said. “It’s why he wanted me to kill you originally. He knew the prophecy, and he knew it was talking about you. You’re the last, Kate. You’re the one who is supposed to rescue the lost and angry souls. According to Draghir, the last is supposed to gather the dead up and lead them through the gates of the underworld.”
“You’re saying if I do this, I can open up the doorway to the Land of the Dead?” Kate asked.
“Precisely,” Kieran answered. “You open the door and while the spirits are breaking in…”
“I’ll break Quinn out.”
Chapter 9
Quinn tried to ignore the pounding and howls of protest coming from the other side of the door. Either they actually couldn’t break through — or they weren’t really trying.
“What is this place?” Elyssa asked.
It was meant to look like an old manor home, decorated in the Victorian style, complete with a large crystal chandelier hanging overhead and a grand staircase ascending to the second level. The entire room was overdone in the color red. There was a thick red carpet on the stairs which didn’t quite match the red wallpaper with a gold chain pattern. Heavy velvet drapes obscured the windows. Even the ceiling was painted red, but it looked haphazardly done.
The rest of the room was even stranger. The chandelier was covered in cobwebs, but not from a lack of dusting. These cobwebs were the kind people bought at a store in October — obviously fake — that they might drape on the bushes in preparation for Halloween.
The wide staircase in front of them had two skulls placed on each step, each with a candle stuck on top and dried blood dripping down the side. Quinn stepped closer and took a careful look at one. It was completely plastic. Not even the candle was real. The blood was merely painted on. Quinn noticed little plastic bats hung from the ceiling and a large poster of a ghost was stuck on a side door.
“Wow, this is tacky,” Quinn said.
“I like it,” Janus said. “It’s kinda cute in a kitschy sort of way. It’s so overdone, it’s charming.”
Elyssa walked over to the door on the left and found it locked. Quinn tried the one on the right, but it didn’t budge.
“One of you want to explain to me where we are?” Elyssa asked.
“It’s a haunted house,” Quinn replied.
“The Haunted Mansion,” Janus corrected him in a dramatic voice.
Quinn rolled his eyes and continued.
“It’s a typical amusement park attraction. No real ghosts, just people dressed up in costume trying to scare you.”
“Can we kill them?” Elyssa asked.
“Where did you find her, mate?” Janus asked. “Beautiful and bloodthirsty. I like her.”
“Normally, I’d say we can’t,” Quinn said. “But in this case, it’s likely to be more scarecrows. And they don’t seem very friendly.”
Which wasn’t, he thought, totally true. He remembered the one who winked at him. But what the hell did that mean?
“Was that a yes?” Elyssa asked. “I had trouble telling.”
“Yes,” Janus said. “Kill away.”
Quinn looked up the stairs for signs of movement and saw nothing. He kept waiting for the voice that had pronounced their “doom” to start up again, but there was nothing but silence.
“We going to stand here all day or what?” Janus asked. “Cause I’m really looking forward to being hacked or dismembered in some strange and probably clichéd way.”
“Yeah, let’s skip right to that,” Quinn said. “Good point.”
Quinn started up the stairs. He had never really been a fan of haunted houses. Prior to becoming the Prince of Sanheim, he had done his best to stay away from scary monsters and haunted attractions. But then he’d become a scary monster, and everything changed.
He noticed that Elyssa waited for both Janus and Quinn to go first before following. It was clear that she still didn’t trust him. He couldn’t blame her. A part of him wondered if she was a plant, waiting for a key moment to strike him. But he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Her obvious terror when she first saw him standing next to her appeared completely genuine.
Buzz, his old business editor, would have undoubtedly disagreed, insisting she was still playing a role and likely planning to kill him. But Buzz had been the most paranoid man that Quinn had ever met — and ultimately died as a result. Quinn decided to keep a close eye on Elyssa, but — for now at least — she wasn’t the problem. And since whoever was trying to kill Quinn and Janus was also trying to kill her, he would have to assume they were on the same side.
When they got to the top of the stairs, an eerie laughter echoed throughout the house, and then quickly went silent. It was obviously canned, the kind of spooky laughter on one of those novelty CDs, probably called 100 Creepy Effects for Halloween.
“Ruh-oh, Raggy, did you hear that?’” Janus asked.
“Don’t worry, Scoob,” Quinn replied. “I’m sure it’s just Old Man Withers, the former janitor.”
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Elyssa asked.
“You never watched Scooby-Doo?” Janus said.
“Princes of Sanheim don’t age. Elyssa is roughly 130 years old and not, I’m afraid, likely to watch 1970s cartoons.”
“You look pretty awesome for being that old,” Janus said. “Do you bathe in virgin’s blood or something?”
“No,” Elyssa replied. “I bathe in the blood of sarcastic Welsh boys who talk too much. It’s my secret to longevity.”
�
��She’s feisty too,” Janus said.
Quinn frowned.
“Can we get on with this please?” he asked.
The three of them were gathered at the top of the stairs, facing a long, wide hallway. The walls were lined in wood paneling that looked hastily constructed, which Quinn supposed they were.
Reluctantly, Quinn walked down the hall, waiting for something to jump out at him. Elyssa and Janus stayed close behind him. There were three white doors on each side of the hall, and a black door at the end. Quinn decided not to bother with the side doors, and just head to the black door at the far end. Aside from a few more sound effects, nothing happened as they walked forward.
As if reading Quinn’s thoughts, Janus piped up behind him, “This is the worst haunted house ever.”
In response, one of the side doors behind them opened and a man in a clown suit stepped out. The clown mask was large and grotesque, as if it were meant to be a zombie clown, with sores and ugly, bloody scars on his face. In his hand, he held a long curved knife that he waved in Elyssa’s direction.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Janus said.
The demented clown let out a high-pitched giggle and lunged towards Elyssa, who had again taken the rear-guard position. Quinn started to run back to her, but the clown slashed at Elyssa before he got there.
She ducked back easily, avoiding the blow, and grabbed the clown’s arm. He tried to jerk it back, but she knocked the long knife from his hand. Stepping forward, she punched the clown in the throat and knocked his legs out from under him. The clown fell to the floor and before he could move out of the way, Elyssa grabbed the knife off the ground and drove it into his skull. It twitched for a few moments and then lay still. She leaned down to nudge its body, tearing off the costume. Underneath it was another scarecrow. Slightly out of breath, Elyssa looked at her two companions, who stared at her in stunned silence.
“What?” she asked. “You said I could kill them, right?”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “I just didn’t think you’d do it so quickly.”
“Remind me never to take you to the circus,” Janus said. “Although that was pretty sexy, in a homicidal kind of way.”
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