Reign of Evil - 03 (31 page)

The Marines began to look at one another.

“There was a time when being English meant something to the world. There was a time when we carried ourselves proud. If it weren’t for David Beckham and the fucking Beatles no one would even care about us now.”

Ian had only one question. “What does that have to do with my man?”

“His death can mean something. It has meant something. His soul went to power the new king.” Fat and pallid and naked, with his penis lying flaccid against his leg, Sir Robert suddenly smiled beatifically. “You should see our new king. King Arthur. He’s wondrous.”

Ian delivered a blow that sent Sir Robert across himself. His head bounced off the floor. Ian pounced on him, flipped him over, and straddled him. He stared into the man’s eyes. “What does that have to do with my man?”

“We needed a Lord of Misrule. We needed someone.”

“It was supposed to be him,” came a slurred feminine voice.

Ian held Sir Robert by the neck but turned to the speaker.

It was one of the women. She could barely hold her head up, but she managed to say, “Sir Robert was to be the Lord of Misrule.”

Ian stared at the MP as he processed the information.

“You chickened out.” How this man had been elected, Ian couldn’t fathom. There wasn’t a single redeemable molecule in Sir Robert’s body.

“Once King Arthur rules we will take care of you,” Sir Robert said. “I can make you an earl or a duke. I can give you anything because I’ll be his trusted man.”

Ian stood and kicked the MP in the stomach. He reached for the pouch, which Magerts handed over. “I don’t have a king. I have a queen and I’ve devoted my life’s work to her and the people of England.” He nodded toward the door. “Magerts, please leave us for a moment. Take your men with you.”

Magerts appeared to be ready to say something, but one glance at the bed silenced him. He ushered his men out the door along with the two women. Then he closed the door behind him.

Sir Robert MacDonald began to cry. His sobs turned to screams by increments as Ian did what he felt he had to. When he was done, the former MP no longer bled from his crotch, nor could he speak. His lips were sewn shut and were forever full.

Ian washed his hands in the sink but never once looked at himself in the mirror. When he was done he walked to the window and stared up at Glastonbury Tor just in time to see a tall figure wearing a crown pause beneath the arch to St. Michael’s Tower. Ian wondered if he’d turn. He wondered if the King would regard him. But then the King continued, disappearing into the tower.

CHAPTER 47

SOUTH OF GLASTONBURY TOR, ENGLAND. 1030 HOURS.

The place was a war zone. Dead bodies lay in the street, some having sat down as if they were resting instead of lifeless. Walker had seen this before. They’d died so quickly their bodies didn’t even have time to display properly. A Marine leaned out the window of the top floor of the building and waved. Walker waved back.

Several Marine sergeants were talking to a concerned group of locals.

“Shit got real serious,” Yank said from the back of the van.

They pulled up to the front of the Tudor house and got out. Magerts and his men were moving bodies into piles on the other side of the shrubbery. Yank and YaYa went to help. Hoover jumped out and began inspecting the bodies. Walker joined Laws, Holmes, and the witch, who went inside.

They found Ian sitting at a table. He sat staring at a glass half-filled with scotch but made no move to drink it.

No one said anything.

Laws went upstairs.

The witch inspected the head of a lip-sewn girl.

Holmes pulled out a chair and sat in it. “We didn’t have any coms.”

It took a moment for Ian to answer. “They put a cell jammer on the roof.”

“You didn’t take it down?”

“Didn’t know if they left behind any cellular-detonated bombs.”

Ian hadn’t moved at all.

“I understand.” Holmes regarded Ian for a moment, then glanced at Walker. He flicked his eyes toward the open sliding glass doors that led to the backyard.

Walker stepped silently away and into the backyard. It was clear that there’d been a party here, but with everyone gone it had an empty, almost barren feeling. He saw several marks drawn on the grass in what looked like blood. He couldn’t figure out what they were but didn’t want anything to do with them. He gave them a wide berth. A man-sized cross had been crudely erected in a corner. Bloody nails marked where someone’s hands and feet had been affixed to the wood.

Hoover padded up to him and nuzzled his hand. YaYa and Yank were right behind.

Yank jerked his thumb back toward the house. “What’s up with Ian? Man’s comatose.”

“Magerts said they killed Trevor. Said it was bad.”

Walker felt an emptiness well up inside him. A mere echo of what he felt for Jen, but it was still painful. He knew exactly how Preeti was going to feel and mourned for her. “What about the rest?”

YaYa put his hand on Walker’s back. “They have the survivors upstairs in the bedrooms. Everyone else is dead. You should see what was done to that British Lord.”

“The fat guy with the goons?”

“Yeah. That guy. Someone ripped out his manhood and sewed it in his mouth.”

Now it made sense. Walker was able to imagine the rage that had consumed Ian. Had he been alone with the man, especially knowing that he was an integral human part of the conspiracy to bring down England and replace it with something older, nastier, Walker might have done the same. Images ticked through his mind, like CSI photos of what he would have done. His mouth dried and his breathing became rapid. He caught himself and in a voice more husky than he’d planned asked, “What about the red-robed witches and the King?”

“They went into St. Michael’s, then disappeared.”

“All of them?” asked the witch, coming up behind them.

“That’s what Magerts said. His man with a machine gun watched them go and said there was a flash of light.”

She frowned. “The only way that could happen is if all the other witches have Tuatha in them. So many in one place at one time. It’s as if they came together for this one great event.” She harrumphed. “The left-behinds getting their just due.”

She turned and strode inside. “Can we get to Cadbury Castle now?” She raised her voice. “We need to get to Cadbury Castle.”

Holmes stood up. “Let’s go, Ian. This isn’t over.”

Ian stood woodenly. Then, as if he’d just awoken, he looked at the SEALs. He focused on Walker. “Young Jack. Bring Sir MacDonald, can you?”

Magerts made a worried face. “Maybe we should just leave the body here. Let it sort itself out when this is all over.”

But Ian shook his head. “This is my abomination. I need to answer for it.”

“But he was guilty of helping the enemy.” Walker stared at his hands, which had become fists, strangling invisible murderers. “Accessory to the murders of our loved ones. Don’t you get it? He knew.”

Ian put his hand on Walker’s shoulder. “I know he knew. He was a terrible human being. But don’t you get it? If we do the same things to them as they do to us, we become them.”

Walker tried to find a weakness in the man’s logic.

“Get the body and bring it with us. I’ll let the Queen decide my fate. I can’t go without being judged. I just can’t.”

Walker tried to think of something to say, but his mind was everywhere and nowhere at once.

Holmes saved him. “Go ahead, Walker. YaYa, go with him.” To Magerts he said, “Let’s figure out our transportation situation.”

YaYa grabbed Walker and pushed him toward the stairs. “Come on, man. Let’s get this done.”

They trudged up the stairs. Walker followed YaYa, who’d already been upstairs. They went into a bathroom and found Sir MacDonald in the bathtub, eyes staring sightlessly toward the paneled ceiling. Beneath these orbs his face was a bloody mess and looked as if an inexpert hand had frantically sewed and seamed his mouth shut. You could tell where someone stopped, then started. Several of the threads had broken and had been resewn.

Walker saw the dark red stain of blood that had seeped through the terry-cloth robe where the crotch should have been. Yeah. It was fucking terrible, but a growing part of him wished it had been him who’d done this instead of Ian. And if anyone wanted to judge him for this deserved desire, then let it be Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.

“Let’s get this done,” he said roughly.

Walker grabbed the arms and YaYa took the legs. They took the body into the master bedroom, laid it on the bed, then bound it in the bedspread, using ripped lengths of sheet to tie it. About halfway through, Walker noticed YaYa had stopped moving. He glanced at the kid and saw his teeth were rattling. His face had paled and sweat beaded on his brow.

“What is it?”

“I feel … there’s … something.”

Walker felt something too, but he’d been feeling a low-key supernatural buzz almost the entire time he’d been in England. But now that YaYa was feeling something, he tried to hone in on the feeling. Strange. It was as if it was centered right in front of them, but all that was there was the dead MP and the bed.

Walker suddenly stepped back.

“Did you check under the bed?”

“Of course…” YaYa stepped back too. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” All he saw was the dark edge of a solid shadow.

“Once we saw the body, it was all about that.”

“Did Hoover come in here?”

“No, she was in the other rooms.”

Walker pulled his pistol and dropped to his knees. A set of eyes met his own. “Get out of there.”

The eyes blinked at him.

He waved the barrel of his pistol. “Get the hell out.”

A hand came out. He grabbed it and pulled a woman free. She wore jeans and a blouse but had no shoes on, nor did she have any jewelry. Her blond hair was mussed, but her face was thankfully free of stitches. She looked for all the world like a regular girl, but Walker knew better. The moment he touched her he could feel the power coursing through her. He let her go and kicked her away.

“Get the witch.”

YaYa stared a moment, then broke into motion. He went to the top of the stairs and called down. Soon Laws and the witch were pounding up the stairs and into the room.

“I don’t know what she is, but she’s something.”

The witch took one look and laughed. “Sarah Pinney, what have you done? Did you look under the bed for a robe?”

YaYa reached under the bed and pulled out a scarlet robe, the same ones worn by the Red Grove. He held it in his mechanical hand like it was rotten.

Walker stood and backed away. He crossed his arms low and in front of him but still held his pistol.

The woman named Sarah was older than he’d originally thought. Her mousy blond hair held slivers of gray and crow’s-feet lived at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “Sassy, we thought it was you.”

“In all of my glory.” She took the robe from YaYa and inspected it. “I thought there were a few familiar touches in the Red Grove’s magic.”

The girl went to stand, but Walker shook his head and lifted the tip of the pistol slightly. She gave him a smile which said
a girl had to try,
then settled onto her butt. “You might as well know, since it’s almost over.”

“You’d be surprised how much we already know.”

Sarah giggled. “We know. Merlyn told us.”

Laws stepped forward. “Who is this, Ms. Moore?”

“She and I once trained together. She was going to be a part of the Fraternitas Saturni as well, but she didn’t have what it took.”

“Except she has a Tuatha inside her, now,” YaYa said.

Sassy nodded. “Except that. How’d you know?”

YaYa made a face. “It’s like a familiar smell, except it’s a feeling instead. Not at all pleasant.”

“Even with a Tuatha, this one is no match for me.” Sassy knelt next to the woman. “And it’s a nasty little beastie inside you, isn’t it? What is it?”

“A Baen Sidhe.”

“What’s her name?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

Sassy gave her a matronly smile. “Come now, Sarah. You’ve never been one to like a lot of pain. Do you really want to deny me?”

The other witch looked defiant for a moment, then sighed. She shrugged. “Fine. Have her. It’s not like you’ll be able to do anything with it. There’s nothing you’ll be able to do to stop it.”

“We’ll see about that. Now let me get to that Baen Sidhe. I could use a recharge.” She brought her Viking wand up and pointed it at the other witch. “You boys might want to turn away. This is going to get ugly.”

CHAPTER 48

POINT BRAVO, WARWICK, ENGLAND. LATER.

Preeti was anxious to get through. The total blackout was killing her. Not only did she need to find out about Trevor, but she’d also been trying to coordinate some backup for Ian and the men of SEAL Team 666. Her brother was helping her as well and both of them were butting up against a wholesale effort to keep information from flowing within the country and to turn the communication networks into a cat’s cradle of confusion. She couldn’t contact anyone meaningful, and when she could get through they were requiring her to authenticate a phrase for which she had no password. Lord Robinson was completely incommunicado. Even his private cell number was out of service. She was becoming increasingly concerned that they might be winning the battles but losing the war. She said as much to Genaro, who could feel her frustration.

“Have you tried to have someone external contact an internal number? Maybe it’s something they’ve done with the switches.”

She thought it was a great idea and contacted Pete Musso at SPG. She explained what she needed. Gave him several numbers, then waited. He came back in fifteen minutes and the news wasn’t good. He couldn’t get through either, and with a query to a colleague in America’s NSA it became apparent that Britain’s Government Communications Headquarters had locked down the communications systems and was only allowing connectivity through their master server in The Doughnut, their headquarters in Cheltenham.

Preeti slammed her crutches against the floor. “Damn it. What if they need help? There’s no way to get it to them.”