Reign of Evil - 03

by Weston Ochse

  “Hoy! Hoy!” he cried. “Dance with me, you fool!”

  The cripple fell to his side, his mouth twisted into a curl of fear as he whined miserably.

  Jackie growled and peed on the man’s withered arm. Then he turned and ran, giggling, his bare feet slapping at the ground, all the way down La Union Street.

  And the memory dimpled his soul.

  What was the Tuatha trying to tell him? That it wasn’t as bad as the grave demon? That it wasn’t making him do these things? Or was it trying to show Walker that he could be evil all by himself, because every time that memory rose to the surface, a part of Walker asked the question: Did I do it because I wanted to or because the demon made me do it?

  Walker jerked. He realized Holmes was talking to him.

  “Sure, Boss. I’m fine,” he found himself saying. “Just saving my energy.”

  Holmes gave him a worried look, then returned his attention to Laws, who was just finishing a fentanyl lollipop.

  Laws flashed Walker a smile and a wink, then touched the back of his hand to his patched facial wound. Worry found a home in Laws’s eye for a moment, then was gone as he began to work the slide on his pistol.

  Walker turned to Hoover. As they stared at each other, Walker wondered how Hoover was dealing with the possession. Was the dog crying on the inside like Walker?

  Then the helicopter began to descend.

  CHAPTER 55

  SANDRINGHAM ESTATE, NORFOLK, ENGLAND. 1520 HOURS.

  YaYa felt the change in the pair. At first he’d written it off as nothing, but his new senses told him otherwise. Hoover wasn’t responding to him like she normally did. Sure, she was responding like a typical dog should, but then whatever was controlling her didn’t know the nuances of the SEAL team dog’s personality or the way she sometimes looked at you as if you were a lower life form when you made an off-color joke.

  It must have happened when Hoover and Walker charged the scarecrow druids. In fact, YaYa could believe that this was the entire reason they’d been drawn to the location. The whole attack had seemed so halfhearted and not well-thought-out. But then maybe it had been. Maybe the purpose was to possess as many of the SEAL team members as possible, knowing that they’d gain access to the Queen at Sandringham. If his supposition was true, then it meant their foes were more devious than any of them had suspected.

  He surveyed the inside of the helicopter. He knew for sure that Hoover was possessed and he’d stake a month’s pay that Walker was also possessed. But what about the others?

  YaYa stared at Holmes. His leader was who he should be telling, but was it safe? Was he possessed as well? As he stared at Holmes, the SEAL team commander turned to stare at him in return, as stone-faced as if he could see right through him.

  YaYa forced himself to adjust his gaze elsewhere, well aware that Holmes was still staring at him. If Holmes was possessed, then he might be wondering if YaYa had realized. If he wasn’t possessed, then he’d be wondering why YaYa was staring at him, probably trying to deduce if something was wrong or if YaYa wanted to say something.

  Once he thought about it, his brain began to hurt. Possession logic was quantum theory.

  And what about Laws?

  Or Yank?

  Or the witch?

  As YaYa thought of each one, they turned to look at him.

  How could he tell? Maybe if he touched them. Petting Hoover had felt like he was moving his fingers through static electricity. He’d have to touch Walker first to establish if that was the way it felt with humans as well as canines. If he could establish a recognizable feeling, then it was only a matter of figuring out a way to touch everyone.

  He could almost laugh at the irony. It was less than a year ago when he’d been the one possessed, trying to hide it, to keep others from knowing. Now look at him.

  The helicopter began to lower. He glanced out the window as they crossed from pasture to manicured estate. Only it wasn’t any estate. These sprawling gardens and lawns surrounded a four-story mansion the size of a small college. He spied the landing pad about fifty meters behind the house, screened by a copse of trees. They had a welcoming committee of a squad of Royal Marines dressed in full battle rattle as well as several civilians. He found himself looking for the well-known figure of the Queen but then realized that there’d be no reason for her to meet them. After all, she probably didn’t know, nor would she care, who they were.

  What bothered him about the scene was the apparent tranquility. King Arthur and his Wild Hunt had had a considerable head start on them and could have easily gotten here first. Had they gone to the wrong place? Was King Arthur traveling somewhere else? He found himself looking at Walker. No. If the Tuatha were here, then there had to be a reason.

  “You’re doing a lot of thinking over there,” Laws said, poking him in the knee. “That wrinkle between your eyes is making my head hurt.”

  YaYa had felt the hand touch him and it came with no telltale sensation. He still had to find a way to touch Walker, though.

  “I thought it was the flechette in your face that made your head hurt.”

  Laws grinned, then winced with the effort. “That too.”

  YaYa offered him a sympathetic smile. “Just trying to get ahead of the enemy.”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  When they were about fifteen meters off the deck, Holmes brought them back to the mission.

  “Be ready, SEALs.”

  Everyone who hadn’t already chambered a round and prepared their weapons did so.

  Yank adjusted his body armor.

  Walker replaced his pistol mag.

  Laws removed his fentanyl lollipop.

  The witch kept sucking on hers. She hefted her Viking wand and stared fixedly ahead, as if she were not there.

  YaYa stood and posted himself at the door. When the wheels touched down, he slid the door open and leaped out. He held his rifle at low ready and stood by the door.

  Hoover leaped out next, followed by Walker.

  YaYa reached out to guide the other SEAL and felt the same static charge he’d felt when petting Hoover. Static and sticky. Not a combination that felt anything but supernaturally nasty.

  Laws was next. Nothing.

  Yank. Nothing.

  Ian. Nothing.

  The witch came next, but as YaYa went to help her she skipped aside, eschewing his touch.

  Holmes came last, and like the witch, when YaYa reached out, he zipped ahead of the touch.

  YaYa fell in behind them. He was now certain about Yank and Laws, but of the witch and his boss YaYa still couldn’t be certain. If he could find a way to speak with Laws in private, he’d let him know what he’d discovered. Maybe the second in command could assist.

  The other helicopter landed behind them and expelled twelve Royal Marines, led by Lieutenant Magerts.

  Holmes approached the head of the Royal Marine commando squad assigned to Sandringham.

  Holmes was all business. “Commander Sam Holmes, SEAL Team 666.”

  “Lieutenant MacMasters,” the young man said with just a trace of brogue. “Mr. Garland is waiting for you in the second study. If you’ll come with me.” He was stocky with closely cut blond hair and sideburns. His pure blue eyes showed a thoughtfulness in addition to a professional intensity.

  Ian touched Holmes on the shoulder. “I’m going to stay out here with Magerts and the men. I need to inspect the grounds.” To MacMasters he said, “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Waits. Is this all your men?”

  “I have seven standing by as QRF.”

  Hoover had been inspecting the boots of the new group of Marines. He came up to Holmes, who automatically reached down and placed his hand on the dog’s head.

  Ian looked at the battle rattle on the new Marines. He smiled grimly. “Sorry to spoil your Christmas, Lieutenant, but get them out here. We’re going to need them.”

  MacMasters glanced from Holmes to Ian. “What’s this all about?”

  “Shit’s about to hit the
fan,” Holmes said. “Better do as the man said.”

  MacMasters stared for a moment, then nodded to one of his men who took off running toward the main house. Then the lieutenant nodded. “If you’ll follow me, Commander.”

  He started to move back toward the house and the SEALs fell in behind him.

  They’d gone perhaps twenty steps when the sound of a hunting horn could be heard in the distance.

  MacMasters turned toward it, his eyes narrowed.

  The SEALs halted.

  YaYa took advantage of the moment and intentionally bumped into Holmes. He was shocked as he felt the familiar nastiness of clammy static. Their eyes met.

  Hoover began to bark. She went for Walker, trying to bite him.

  Walker jumped out of the way and leveled his rifle at the dog.

  Yank grabbed the gun right as the SEAL opened fire. Dirt kicked up near Hoover, who was able to leap sideways and out of the way.

  The Marines escorting them leveled their weapons on the fighting SEALs.

  Yank struggled, one hand on the barrel of the rifle, the other on Walker’s arm. “What the fuck, man?”

  “Let go of my fucking weapon. The dog … she’s possessed.”

  YaYa knew if he said anything that all hell would break loose. He’d lose any advantage that he had.

  Yank struggled with Walker, who was still trying to level his rifle at the dog.

  YaYa realized that the Tuatha must have passed from the dog to Holmes and now Hoover was trying her best to save the situation. He couldn’t leave her hanging.

  The witch was struggling to figure out what was going on, glancing from one SEAL to the other. When she rested her eyes on YaYa, he mouthed the words, Tuatha. Holmes. Walker. Tuatha.

  She got it right away.

  She began to mouth indecipherable words as she reached out to touch Commander Holmes with her wand.

  But he was prepared.

  He pulled his pistol and shot her in the stomach.

  She went down hard.

  “Sam?” Laws screamed. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s not him!” YaYa yelled above the chaos. “It’s Tuatha. They’re possessed. Walker and Holmes.”

  Holmes spun toward YaYa, but the lithe young SEAL was ready. He grabbed the pistol with his prosthetic hand, stronger than any human hand and reinforced with titanium alloys; he twisted the weapon out of his commander’s hand as if it were a toy.

  Holmes staggered and fell against MacMasters.

  Meanwhile Yank had Walker down on the ground and disarmed him. Magerts came up and helped, bringing zip ties from his cargo pocket. He bound Walker’s hands in front of him, then his feet.

  Laws had his rifle pointed at Holmes.

  “Sam. What are you doing?”

  Holmes blinked his eyes. “Tim, it’s me.”

  A horn came again. This time it was closer.

  YaYa noticed a bank of fog rolling toward them.

  “How do I know it’s you?” Laws asked.

  “Whatever it was is gone.” Holmes glanced around and saw the witch on the ground. “Sassy. Fuck.” He ran to her and pulled a QuikClot bandage out of his cargo pocket. He applied it to her wound and pressed to stanch the flow.

  “If it’s gone, then where is it?”

  Everyone began to look at everyone else.

  YaYa stepped forward. “I can tell you. I just need to—”

  “Marines, disarm these men,” ordered MacMasters. “I don’t know what kind of bloody shitstorm you’re trying to bring to the royal family, but I won’t have it.”

  YaYa’s eyes narrowed as everyone turned their weapons on one another. SEALs against Marines. Magerts’s Marines against MacMasters’s Marines. Then Ian put a hand on Magerts’s shoulder.

  “Marines,” Magerts called. “Follow MacMasters.”

  The Tuatha had hopped from one person to the other and were now in command of the largest military forces in the area. YaYa finally saw them for what they were. This had been the plan all along. The SEALs were now outnumbered thirty to six. The chances were grim. With all the modern technology at their disposal and the latest gear, the SEALs had been outmaneuvered by the Tuatha Dé Dannan, a race of beings who’d slipped into the shadowy crags of mythology more than three thousand years ago.

  In his mind’s eye he pulled up and out. His group of SEALs stood in the center of a circle, Holmes on the ground trying to save their witch. They were surrounded on all sides by Royal Marines, all pointing the working ends of their SA80s at them. In the distance came the fog and with it the Wild Hunt. And somewhere inside Sandringham Estate was the Queen. Myrddin and Arthur didn’t even have to kill her. All they had to do was possess her and have her abdicate her throne on national television. It would be a relatively peaceful coup d’état with no one the wiser that they’d entered an Era of the Tuatha, when Arthur would once again be king.

  What the fuck was SEAL Team 666 going to do?

  CHAPTER 56

  SANDRINGHAM ESTATE, NORFOLK, ENGLAND. 1540 HOURS.

  She was in a deep pool of pain, falling deeper and deeper. As terrible as the flechettes had felt, the bullet in her abdomen was far more awful, introducing her to an ache so profound, she found it hard to think of anything but fleeing from the pain. So she swam away from it, pushing and pulling her soul into a tight little ball where she could rock herself, much like she had when she was a little girl and Hitler’s buzz bombs roared across the London sky like nightmares made real.

  She was only remotely aware of hands around her wound. She heard chaos, she heard angry voices, but she was too far away to understand them. But then a single voice came to her.

  Sassy.

  If she ignored it, maybe it would go away.

  Sassy Moore.

  She pulled herself tighter until she was cloaked in darkness, just like she’d been in the underground shelter, huddled with the rest of the children, each of them trying to be strong, trying not to cry.

  Sassy Moore. You have the power. The wand. The Baen Sidhe. Use it.

  How many times with the buzz bombs roaring overhead, their hiccupping journeys heard from even far beneath the surface, had she prayed she could stop them, keep them from doing any more damage? If only she’d had the same power back then as she had now. Fat lot of good that did her against the SEAL commander and his pistol. She saw him draw and heard it bark. Her soul flinched and she pulled in tighter still.

  Sassy Moore.

  Leave me alone, Garland.

  Sassy. The wand. Use it.

  Was she still holding on to it? In order to find out she’d have to unlimber herself and feel the pain once again. It seemed hardly worth it.

  She felt warmth suffuse her.

  I’m too far away to do more. Help us, Sassy. Help yourself. I’ll save the Queen.

  She cursed and shot free from her body. Looking down from her great height, she saw the trouble for what it was. She saw the predicament and how she and the SEALs were about to die. She cursed again. This had better be worth it.

  She shot back into her body and gasped as the pain she’d been striving to avoid hit her like a dozen buzz bombs, exploding into her stomach over and over. Her back arched. She felt a hand on her and heard the words, “Easy, Sassy. Keep still.”

  Bloody fucking pain. She felt along the ground with her right hand until it found the cold iron of the old wand. She gripped it and pulled from it. The wand went from cold to warm as she sucked hundreds of years of built-up power into her body. She sent it swirling toward her wound and felt immediate relief as it began to bind and repair. She pulled harder, her will sucking at the essence of the Baen Sidhe. She worked yet another magic, empathetic magic, sending her pain to those around her, interrogating each of the men’s memories and forcing them to relive the worst pain they’d ever felt. For some it was birth, darkness, light, the transition to breathing air and the panic they’d felt as they left the sanctity of the birth canal. For others it was a gunshot, or a knife wound, or a brok
en bone, the ends of it pressing through flesh, the very air like acid to the nerve endings. Still for others it was a different kind of pain, a pain of the soul, like when a daughter dies or a wife leaves you.

  Sassy hurled pain around her like water flung from a bucket, catching anyone not her. She snarled. She cursed. She gave every one a taste of what she’d felt and more. She sent them to a place where they too huddled beneath the London streets, mothers dead, fathers off to war, homes destroyed, and their entire universe the sputtering, doddering V1 bombs sent by Adolf Fucking Hitler to terrify and destroy.

  The more pain she gave the less pain she felt until she was surging to her feet, whole once more, woundless, skin alive, hair moving to unseen winds. Her arms flung out. Everyone around her was on their knees or their backs or curled into fetal positions, heads down, mouths pulled into rictus masks as they relived their own worst moments as well as her own.

  Then the wand was empty. She flung it to the ground and screamed.

  From nearby came the sound of a hunting horn.

  Her mission returned to her.

  Garland, she said across her astral channels. I am back.

  Good, Sassy. Very good. Now do what needs to be done.

  She nodded. She was alive. She was free of pain. She had her powers. But what was it that needed to be done?

  Then she knew. Without the wand to mask their presence with its own power, she saw the Tuatha and knew them at once. One was Merlyn and the other was Arthur. They moved from one man to the other, trying to confuse her, but she could see them perfectly, glowing from within, illuminated and pulsating.

  She snatched the metal wand from the ground. It no longer held power, but it was still a weapon. She strode toward them and managed to separate Arthur from the others. Still recovering from her spell, the man he inhabited found it hard to keep his balance. He fell twice. Enough so that she was upon him, thrusting the wand through his heart.

  As the light went from his eyes, so did the Tuatha. She knew the truth and somehow understood the rules. It could only enter another through touch. She watched it travel near the ground like a miniature dust devil, collecting sticks and leaves and twigs, until it was able to form the figure of a man made from debris and detritus. Then it ran, not toward her, but toward the bank of fog now roiling across the lawn several hundred meters from them.