The Order of Brigid's Cross - The Wild Hunt (Book 1): The Wild Hunt

by Terri Reid

  “Em,” Sean said urgently. “We can’t just kill people. That’s not how the law works in this country.”

  She quickly glanced at him and then at Lee-Ron. “He dishonored the old woman,” she said, her eyes still blazing.

  “Yes, he did,” Sean said. “And he will answer for it, but this is not the way.”

  Exhaling impatiently, she turned back to Lee-Ron, now lying on the floor, and made an impatient wave motion with her hand. The young man inhaled with a shudder and continued to gasp for air. He glanced up at Em, saw the anger still visible in her face, and crawled into the corner of the apartment.

  Em turned to Marcus. “This one,” she said, nodding in the direction of Lee-Ron. “He is one of yours? He is under your command?”

  He shook his head. “I ain’t no leader,” he cried. “We just heard Jamal was gonna come get us next. We needed to stop him.”

  “And by stop him, you mean to inflict pain on a helpless woman?” Em demanded, putting a little more pressure on the hilt of her sword.

  “Ahhhhh,” Marcus screamed. “Please don’t cut me. Please don’t cut me.”

  She glanced at Sean once again. “Is there a rule in this law of yours that prohibits me from castrating their leader?” she asked.

  Sean scratched his head, actually enjoying the terror in the creep’s eyes. “Wow, that’s a good question,” he said. “I’d really have to look through the book on that one. I don’t know if I’ve ever been asked about castration.”

  “Hey, brutha, we all good,” Marcus pleaded to Sean. “It’s all a misunderstanding. You know, a mistake.”

  Sean looked at Marcus. “You know what she is?” he asked.

  Marcus shook his head.

  Well, damn, Sean thought, neither do I.

  “She’s like an alien,” he replied. “You can’t hurt her, but she can find you and hurt you. She just appears—like she did today—whenever and wherever she wants. And the next time she appears, I might not be here to tell her what the rules are. You get me?”

  “Yeah, man, I get you,” he replied, his voice shaking.

  “She might show up when you’re in bed, or in the shower, or with your lady,” Sean said. “And she might just decide to finish off what she started here.”

  Marcus looked at Em and swallowed hard. “What you want from me?” he begged.

  “Take your gang back to your own hood,” Sean said, walking up to Marcus and sliding one of his cards into Marcus’ shirt pocket. “And then you call me and let me know how I can find you when I need you.”

  Marcus nodded eagerly.

  “And if you don’t,” Sean said. “Then I’ll let my friend here find you for me.”

  “Yeah, I’ll call you,” he said. “You got my word.”

  Sean turned to Em and could actually see a flicker of humor in her green eyes. Then he walked over to the kitchen, picked up an empty laundry basket and put it in the middle of the room. “Have your homies put all of their weapons in the basket before they leave,” Sean instructed.

  Marcus looked at the men standing in the hallway and nodded his head in the direction of the basket. “You heard what the man said,” he shouted. “Do it now.”

  They shuffled in, muttering under their breaths, but dropped knives and guns into the basket. Em studied them. “You, number four,” she demanded. “You have a hidden weapon on your leg. Take it out.”

  Shocked, the man rolled up his overly large pant leg and pulled out the hidden pistol. He placed it on the pile and backed away, keeping his eyes on Em.

  “They can go downstairs now,” Sean said. “Then I want them all standing under this window, where I can see them.”

  “You heard him,” Marcus said. “Go. And take Lee-Ron.”

  Sean shook his head. “Sorry, Lee-Ron is going to take a ride down to the police station,” he said. “I promised the lady he would answer for his crimes.”

  “Yeah, that’s good,” Marcus said, looking at Em. “That’s all good. The lady here, she’s calling the shots.”

  Sean nodded and smiled. “Yes, it seems like she is.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sean followed the police cruiser out of the parking lot of the housing project. He could see Lee-Ron’s head in the backseat and wondered how long it would take for the young hoodlum to get out of jail.

  “You should have let me kill him,” Em said, following the direction of Sean’s gaze.

  “Although it would have been satisfying,” he said softly, “it’s not the way we do things here. If the good guys don’t follow the law, how can we expect anyone else to do it?”

  She sighed and then looked down at the sword that lay angled alongside the door from the top of her shoulder to the floor mat under her feet. “I’m going to have to clean this, you know,” she said, motioning to the edge of her sword. “What does Gillian call it? Disinfect it. That’s what I’m going to have to do.”

  “Yeah, that’s a real good idea,” Mrs. Gage said, with the first chuckle Sean had heard since he helped her into the back seat. “I wouldn’t touch it until you get it good and disinfected. That boy was nasty.”

  Em turned in her seat to look at the elderly woman. “How are you faring, Mrs. Gage?” she asked. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” she said. “More than fine now that you got me out of that place. Now if you can just drive us over to get Jamal, then I’ll be as right as rain.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Em said suddenly, turning to Sean. “That’s why I came to see you. To tell you about Jamal.”

  “What about Jamal?” Sean asked.

  “We received a call at the church from one of the members of the Order,” Em explained. “He said that Jamal was being set up because he saw too much.”

  Turning to look at her for a moment, Sean studied her questioningly and then returned his attention to the traffic. “A call from one of the members?” he asked her quietly.

  She leaned towards him. “Father Jack told you there were people in positions of power all around the world,” she whispered. “The Chicago government is an important place for us to have eyes and ears.”

  “Can you trust the caller?” he asked.

  “Only if it’s in their best interest,” she replied bluntly.

  “So, how do you know who to trust?” he asked, glancing over to meet her eyes.

  “Well for my part, I trust no one,” she replied softly. “And I’ve never been disappointed.”

  “What are you two whispering about up there,” Mrs. Gage asked. “Is something wrong with my boy?”

  Sean shook his head and looked at her through his rearview mirror. “No, actually, Jamal is fine,” he said. “I called a friend of mine, best lawyer in Chicago, and all around good guy. He’s already at the station with Jamal. He didn’t give anyone a chance to play games.”

  “Is your friend a warrior?” Em asked.

  Sean smiled to himself and nodded. “Yeah, he is,” he said. “And I think he’d be a good guy to have on our side.”

  Em smiled at him. “Our side is it?” she asked. “So, you’ve decided we aren’t a bunch of lunatics after all.”

  Shrugging, Sean took a right turn, away from the police station, and headed towards the church. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see about that,” he said. “In the meantime, do you think Father Jack will have any problems keeping Jamal and his grandmother secure at the church?”

  “We’ve sheltered others before,” she said. “And it seems they have more reason than most to be granted asylum.”

  “I agree,” Sean said. “And after I drop both of you off at the church, I’ll head over to the Twelfth District to see if I can help expedite things with Jamal.”

  Em reached over and placed her hand on Sean’s arm, which immediately drew his attention. “Do you trust this friend of yours? This lawyer?” she asked, her voice low.

  “With my life,” he responded immediately.

  “Then unless he needs your help, do
not go.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are those in your police organization that try to obstruct the work of the Order,” she replied. “If you show your loyalties, you too will be obstructed.”

  “But don’t they already know I’m in?” he asked. “Those uniforms who picked up Lee-Ron, they’ll…”

  “That’s been taken care of,” she explained. “When we found out you were going to Jamal’s home, we had some of our own patrol the area so they could take the call. Your name will be left off the report.”

  “You found out?” he asked, incredulous. “How the hell did you find out?”

  Turning back towards the front of the vehicle, she simply shrugged. “Trust no one.”

  “Is there some trouble up there?” Mrs. Gage asked.

  Taking a deep breath, Sean shook his head. “No, Em just surprised me, that’s all,” he said. “She just told me she has a crush on me.”

  Inhaling sharply, Em glared at Sean.

  “Pretty girl like that, you’d be stupid to turn her away,” Mrs. Gage said.

  “I do not find this amusing at all,” Em snapped quietly.

  “You’re right,” Sean said to Mrs. Gage and then looked meaningfully into Em’s eyes. “And my mother didn’t raise a stupid son.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Father Jack exited the CTA’s elevated train on Wells Avenue and walked down the iron steps to the street level. The train tracks ran above Wells, creating a cave-like atmosphere with tall buildings on both sides and latticed steel and wooden construction overhead. He quickened his steps, hurried down Wells and turned onto Jackson Boulevard. Leaving the train tracks behind, the sky opened up, but the tall, stone buildings gave the impression of mountains on either side of a canyon. This was the area of the financial district in downtown Chicago that was actually known as the LaSalle Street Canyon because of the majestic edifices of stone, steel and glass. And none was as magnificent as The Chicago Board of Trade Building.

  He stood just across the street from the structure and, once again, wondered about its beginnings. It was dedicated in 1930 and, at the time, was the tallest building in Chicago, exceeding over 600 feet. Covered in gray limestone, it was designed in an art-deco style, with carvings depicting the harvest etched around the circumference of the building, a copper pyramid roof and a 31 foot tall aluminum statue of the Roman goddess, Ceres.

  He gazed up at Ceres. Was it truly the Roman goddess of the harvest depicted at the pinnacle of the building, or another goddess, one closer to the beliefs of the Tuatha Da Danann?

  He’d often wondered if it were not, instead, Danu, the mother goddess of the Sidhe. According to his research, the branch of the Tuatha da Danann that had been in Chicago had come far before the 1930s and would have enjoyed the clever disguise of their favored goddess.

  Crossing the street, he entered the revolving doors that led to the three-story, black and white marbled entrance of the building and made his way to the elevators on the far end of the lobby. Pressing the button for his desired floor, he waited, tapping his foot nervously. This was not a confrontation he was looking forward to, but he had no other choice.

  The ride up was smooth and quick, the doors opening to a lobby that looked more like an atrium than a corporate headquarters. But, he thought, considering the occupants it was quite understandable. He inhaled deeply. The air always held the freshness of a recent lightning storm in the spring, and it was intoxicating. Perhaps that was part of their magic.

  Moving past several large, potted trees, he walked up to the reception desk. The young woman behind it smiled at him, and for a moment, he forgot everything. She was luminescent, her skin glowing like mother-of-pearl, her hair shining like wheat under a Midwestern sun, and her eyes shimmering like deep blue pools of crystalline water. Then his gazed traveled to her ears. Although cosmetic surgery had removed most of the sharp point of the exterior, the interior rim still had a decided point inside, and Father Jack was brought back to reality. He searched inside his pocket to locate the iron cross he carried, and as soon as his fingers touched the cool metal, he could think clearly once again.

  “I’m here to see Aengus and Caer,” he said briskly.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” the young woman asked.

  But now, with his vision clear, he would see the deviltry in her eye and knew, upon partaking of anything offered, he would succumb to their wishes.

  “No, thank you, kindly,” he replied politely, not wishing to offend them.

  The smile left her face and a pout replaced it. “I don’t know if they are available,” she snapped. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Clutching the cross in his hand, he lifted his hand from his pocket and placed it on the surface of the reception desk. “Please tell them Father Jack is here,” he said firmly.

  Quickly pushing back her chair so it rolled to the opposite side of the reception area, she nearly hissed at him. “You stay back there,” she said. “I’ll announce you.”

  He watched her disappear down a hall that looked more like a path in a forest. One moment she was visible and the next hidden behind immense undergrowth. The foliage reached to the vaulted ceilings, and vines stretched from one wall to the other, covering any manmade materials. Sunlight, whether natural or artificial Father Jack couldn’t tell, peeked through the leaves and glistened against the many water features scattered throughout the space.

  A few minutes later he heard the rustling sound of someone coming back up the path to the lobby. He expected the receptionist, but instead it was Caer herself.

  She had always reminded him of a dangerous jungle cat, a red-haired, green-eyed panther, he mused. She was tall, sleek, and moved with an angular grace that seemed fitted for a dark jungle or a high-fashioned runway. Her high cheekbones and arched features reminded him that she was indeed one of the fae. But the way she observed him, boldly and insolently, warned him she was part of the aristocracy that traded her own people’s freedom for her own comfort. She was dressed in green skinny pants, a brown lace corset top with a silver-threaded embroidery, an autumn-colored open jacket and brown leather high heels. Her necklace and earrings were copper-colored oak leaves with amber stones.

  He bowed his head respectfully. “Caer, you are looking lovely, as usual,” he said.

  She smiled, please at the compliment. “Father Jack, you honor us with your presence,” she replied with the appropriate response. “Aengus is eager to see you. Will you please follow me?”

  She turned, not waiting for his response and walked back down the path. Father Jack returned his hand into his jacket pocket, but kept the cross gripped tightly in his palm and followed her.

  “And how is your health, Father Jack?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “I’m well, thank you,” he replied. “And how are you?”

  Laughing melodically, she paused for a moment and turned, her long auburn hair flowing over one shoulder. “Perfect, as you can see,” she replied with a smile.

  He nodded. “Yes, it does appear so,” he agreed.

  She stepped close to him and lifted a slender hand to his chest. Immediately he was sheathed in her scent, a combination of wildflowers and musk.

  “You have only to ask, Father Jack,” she whispered. “And I would be pleased to show you how perfect I am.”

  He slowly stepped back and met her eyes. “As tempting as that is,” he replied, wishing his voice was stronger. “I have made vows that forbid such an activity.”

  She slowly ran her tongue over her upper lip, moistening the already rosy skin. “My gods are much more fun than yours,” she replied. “And they can offer you so much more.”

  Shaking his head, he met her eyes. “No thank you,” he said resolutely.

  Warm, inviting eyes quickly turned cold, and Caer turned away from him, striding up the path. “Then be quick about it,” she called. “Aengus does not like to be kept waiting.”

  Aengus’s private office had always reminded
Father Jack of a throne room. The large leather chair and oversized mahogany desk sat on a raised dais at the end of the long, rectangular space. Behind the desk, the tall, art-deco windows looked out over Jackson Boulevard, as a king would look down over his domain. The décor in the room was also stately, with deeper shades of the forest present here: hunter green, mustard yellow, cobalt blue and Tyrian purple. On one wall hung an ancient tapestry depicting Midsummer’s Night, the detailed artistry creating an image that looked more like a photograph than embroidered cloth.

  Aengus sat, one leg lolled over the arm of his chair and the rest of his body in repose, and stared insolently at Father Jack as he neared the desk. He was tall and lean, with a shock of strawberry blond hair that lifted high off his forehead and fell softly to one side, feathering to just above his neckline. He wore an expensive three-piece suit in a soft fawn brown and, although Father Jack knew Aengus was centuries old, he looked like a young thirty-something in the prime of life.

  Lifting a long, narrow hand, Aengus studied his fingernails and, without acknowledging the priest, asked, “I don’t recall having any appointments today, Caer. Do you recall anyone calling and asking if I might be available to meet?”

  Caer smiled wickedly. “No, Aengus. No one called and asked permission to meet with you,” she replied.

  “And am I not the leader of the Tuatha da Danann in this region?” he asked. “Would that not invoke a certain protocol out of respect for my station?”

  “One would think so,” she answered. “Although, not all of our acquaintances are so well-mannered.”

  He nodded, still looking at his nails. “So it would seem,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “And have we not spent decades, nay, centuries, trying to educate these humans on the importance of decorum?”