Do Not Go Gentle (17 page)

Jamie held O'Connor's gaze, then nodded. “I know, Father, you're right. I've never let anything beat me so far, and I guess I'm not about to start now.” Jamie held out his hand and shook the priest's hand. “Thanks, Father. I'd like to say I feel better, but I don't. I'll just have to keep fighting.”

Both men stood, and O'Connor watched as Jamie exited the pew, and then walked out the back door of the church.
If only I could take my own advice,
O'Connor thought, sitting back down heavily in the pew, which creaked ominously.
I need to stop questioning why God puts these temptations in my path. I just need to pray for the strength to resist and confess my sins when I give in to weakness.
O'Connor looked up at the crucifix, and then crossed himself.
Lord, give me the strength to avoid the sins of the flesh. I know I just counseled Jamie to accept Your will, but I can't let my weakness destroy my priesthood, and I can't let it undermine the good works of this parish. Please, Lord, give me strength. With Your help, I know I can overcome this weakness and be a better man.

O'Connor knelt and crossed himself again as he got out of the pew, then walked silently back through the nave to the church office, hoping, like Jamie, to find his own answers to his personal crisis.

“Finn, the men in white coats are going to come for me if anyone finds out how much I've been talking to you lately.” The Irish terrier cocked his head. “Yeah, I know; why anyone would wonder about talking to the dog? Easy for you to say, boyo—” Jamie sat on the living room sectional. The two days since he had talked with Father O'Connor hadn't improved his outlook, but according to Eileen and the girls, he was less grouchy.

Bored with television, the Internet, reading, and any other activities he could find that didn't require much energy, Jamie might be more even-tempered on the outside. However, the unabated storms continued on the inside. Today he hadn't showered nor had he gotten dressed. He merely put a robe on over his ND T-shirt and sleep shorts and sent the “womenfolk” off to school and work. Eileen had stopped offering to stay home with Jamie, and he had not objected.
It's not like I don't want her around, but she's got her store and her own life to lead. I'm not going to ruin everything for her.

Jamie was considering getting dressed when the telephone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey lazy-butt, how's it going?” Cal still gave him a hard time, which ironically, helped Jamie. While most people were too solicitous about his health, Cal managed to walk a fine line between good-natured harassment and insulting disbelief, and Jamie found it relieving.

“Not bad, money-bags. I wish to God I was feeling better, but I can't lie. I'm still the same.”

“Man,” said Cal. “Doc still comin' up empty, hunh?”

“Yeah. It's not Jerry's fault. This damned thing is a mystery. It's just pissing me off that Jerry has to put a name to it to keep the insurance company happy, so I'm stuck with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.”

“Say what?”

“I know. It sounds like all the iron in my blood turned to lead and settled in my ass,” Jamie growled. “Like if I'd be better if I'd just get a good night's sleep or if I'd just ‘man up.'”

“You're never gonna let Patrick forget that remark, are you?”

Jamie sighed. “Oh, yeah, in ten or twelve years. I never stay mad for long. What's up, partner?”

“Well, I've got some interesting news courtesy of my active partner. Apparently, Mario Ramirez has something called an eidetic memory.”

“Sounds worse than what I've got.”

Cal laughed. “No, it's actually a good thing. According to Ramirez, not only can he recall anything he's ever read, but he remembers everything he's ever seen or heard, too. I tested him out and it's kinda creepy how it works. Anyway, after we got back from our meeting with Sedecla, the rookie apparently transcribed the curse, then took it to one of his old college professors and got it translated.”

Jamie sat up straighter on the sectional “Really? Okay, what did she say to us?”

“Well apparently the language was ancient Aramaic, like the language Jesus spoke.”

“Okay, interesting.”

“Yeah, and it gets even more interesting. The professor told Ramirez that roughly translated, the words mean, ‘Come Evil Gods, Blessed Satan. Bind these unbelievers in darkness. Pollute their hearts. Pollute their minds. Pollute their souls. Pollute their bodies. Sow discord among these unbelievers and condemn them to dark fates. Death to the unbelievers. Blessed be the Evil Gods. Blessed be Satan.'”

“Wow,” Jamie muttered softly.

“Yeah,” agreed Cal. “I'll say one thing—the woman sure knows how to put together a great curse.”

“Give an ‘attaboy' to Ramirez for me. I'm not sure what knowing the meaning of the words gets us, but I can take the translation to Lucy and see if she can come up with anything else.”

“That's what I thought,” replied Cal. “I'm emailing the translation to you now.”

“Thanks. Any other leads?”

“Nada,” said Cal sourly. “I've got a few threads I'm trying to pick up, but nothing that you can help with right now. I've got the rook handling most of the grunt work.”

“Hey, that's why God made rookies.”

“True. Anyway, that frees me up to go on some wild goose chases. I figure if I follow enough of them, one of them may actually pan into something useful.”

“Isn't that always the way?” commiserated Jamie.

“Pretty much. You stay in touch, Jamie.” Cal turned serious. “I mean it. I don't want to see you sitting around in your bathrobe and crawling into a shell.”

“I am
not
in my bathrobe,” Jamie lied, “but thanks for the concern. I'll let you know what I find out.”

“Great. I'll give you a shout if any of my leads pan out. Hey, keep an eye open, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, probably nothing, but Ramirez thinks he's got someone shadowing him.”

“He can't flush them out?”

“No—he's a rookie.” Both men laughed. “Seriously, keep an eye out—I told Ramirez I'd follow him tonight after we knock off and see if I can pick up his tail. Must be good if there is one. The kid is actually pretty sharp.”

“Yeah, he seems to be,” agreed Jamie. “You take care too, Cal.” Jamie hung up, and then looked at the dog, who opened one eye as if opening both would require too much effort. “Okay, banjo butt. I'm getting cleaned up and heading out. You're going to have to go outside or into your crate.”

Finn raised his head. He recognized both “outside” and “crate” and seemed to understand that he was being given a choice. He chuffed indignantly, got up, stretched, and yawned. Then he sauntered to his dog door and went outside, giving Jamie a dirty look as he left.

“You've got no idea how good you've got it, dog.” Jamie called Lucy, who said she had been planning to give Jamie a call. She had someone she'd like him to meet. Jamie said he'd be over in an hour.

Thirty minutes later, the older woman answered the door immediately after Jamie had knocked. “That was quick. Come in, lad, come in.” She ushered him inside, where Jamie found a man already seated upon the paisley couch. The other man was younger, in his twenties, thin as a rail, and shorter than Lucy, with long blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail that dangled past his shoulders. He stood, nervously jerking to his feet, and then held out his hand. “Jamie, I'd like ye to meet Ríordán. Ríordán, Jamie.” After the two men shook hands and seated themselves, Lucy poured Jamie some coffee, black, without asking. “Ríordán is a
fili
. Do ye know that word?”

Jamie nodded as he took a gulp of coffee. “Yeah, doesn't it mean ‘poet' or ‘philosopher'?”

Lucy beamed. “See? I told ye this one was a prize, now didn't I?”

Ríordán nodded slowly, giving Jamie an appraising glance. “So it would seem. However, I think of myself as more of a seeker of truth. Lucy tells me you're a cop and that you've been rash enough to take on Sedecla Aba.”

“Rash?” replied Jamie. “I don't think I'd call it rash. Sedecla's connected to one of my murder investigations. I don't care if she thinks she's the Wicked Witch of the West—if she's involved, I
will
find out and see that she's brought to justice.”

“Ohh,” said Ríordán, mockingly. “An idealist, too? Wherever did you find him, Lucy?”

“Marie Hanover pointed Jamie and his partner in my direction.”

“I don't know whether to thank her or scold her at our next gathering,” Ríordán said. “Well, Mister Law-and-Order, I don't think you fully appreciate the nature of the woman you're going up against.”

“So enlighten me,” Jamie said tonelessly.

“First things first, boyo. First things first.” Lucy waved a tattooed hand in front of Jamie. “On the phone, ye said ye'd found out both the words the evil woman used on ye as well as their meaning?”

“Yes we did.” Jamie unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to Lucy, who read it, then passed it to Ríordán without comment. The
fili
's face grew grim as he read the words, and then handed the paper back to Jamie. When neither of them said anything for a moment, Jamie spoke up. “Oh, don't tell me you think there's anything to this.”

“A hard-headed, learned idealist no less,” said Ríordán with a smile. “You are quite a fellow, Jamie Griffin. So if you cannot see it, cannot feel it, hear it, taste it, or touch it, it does not exist. Is that how you see things?”

“Not exactly,” disagreed Jamie. “I do believe in God and in the existence of life after death, neither of which I can see or touch. My partner is the one who buys into this supernatural song-and-dance.”

“So ye believe this woman, Sedecla, is a fraud, then?” Lucy fixed her dark green eyes on Jamie's.

Jamie hesitated. “I'm not sure yet, Lucy. I don't have enough information to form an opinion. As a cop, I try to avoid jumping to conclusions. However, I also rely on my instincts, which tell me that whatever Sedecla may or may not be, she is probably quite dangerous.”

“Well, there's that much, at least,” said Lucy, shaking her head.

“On the phone, you said you wanted me to meet young Master Ríordán here. I'm assuming it was for more than just warning me about this curse?”

Ríordán gave Jamie an appraising look, and then nodded. “Luiseach hoped I might be able to shed some more light on both Sedecla and on this curse she's laid upon you and your partners. Whereas Mistress Lucy is a keeper of the old tales and an accomplished herbalist, I am more of a scholar and practitioner of minor magics.”

“Minor magics,” Jamie said slowly, trying each word on for size.

Ríordán sighed. “Yes, remember—you're going to try to keep an open mind here?” Lucy asked with a glare. He just nodded and motioned for Ríordán to continue.

“I am already familiar with the woman who styles herself the ‘Witch of Endor,' and I can tell you that she is formidable, in both the mundane and the magical sense. There have been whispers that she is engaging in ritual sacrifice. It has always been suspected of her, but of late, it appears that she has been conducting more of these sacrifices than she has in the past.”

“For what purpose?” asked Jamie.

“For power. In the end, the ultimate goal of amassing great amounts of either money or magic is actually the need for power. It has long been rumored that Sedecla is a necromancer, and that if she is, in fact, the actual Witch of Endor, she has kept herself alive throughout the ages by consuming the life force of others. It is a dark and vile magic.” Ríordán's face showed revulsion.

“I'm trying really hard to keep an open mind here,” Jamie stated, “but you have to admit this is way beyond the pale.”

“Agreed,” said Lucy, “but ye are involved in it, whether ye wish it or no.”

“The
seanchaidhe
is correct, Detective Griffin,” observed Ríordán. “You will have to deal with the supernatural aspects of this investigation, even if you maintain your disbelief. The people you are pursuing deeply believe in those supernatural aspects.”

“Okay,” Jamie said with a scowl. “I'll do my best. So why would Sedecla be increasing the number of these sacrifices? If you are correct, she's been doing this for years without being detected. It was really only the number of recent cases with similarities that allowed us to connect them.”

“I can think of several reasons,” replied Ríordán, “but I have information that leads me to believe that the Witch is engaged in a new practice, one even darker than her usual necromancy. From what I have learned, if she is successful in her quest, she would become far more powerful and possibly be a threat to believers and non-believers alike.”

“What would that be?” Jamie asked evenly.

“Are you familiar with a branch of Judaism known as the Kabbalah?”

“Isn't that the crazy Hollywood religion based on some science fiction writer's beliefs?”

“No, that's Scientology. Kabbalah is an esoteric school of thought within Judaism. Let me give you a brief overview. One of the beliefs followed by students of Kabbalah is called the Sephirot. The Sephirot are believed to be the ten emanations and attributes of God with which He continually sustains the universe. It has deeply complex connotations within Kabbalah and is closely tied to the vision of one's soul, incorporating both the masculine and feminine aspects of God.”

“Okay,” said Jamie, “I'm with you so far. How does all this tie into Sedecla?”

“Well, I'm sure the Jesuits taught you that there is a balance to everything. For every good, there is a corresponding evil.”

Jamie laughed. “Yeah, Father Cavanaugh beat that into my head many times.”

Ríordán smiled. “It is a universal truth, no matter what religious beliefs one may have. So opposite the Sephirot, sometimes called the ‘Tree of Life,' we have the Qliphoth, which some call the ‘Tree of Death.'”

“Colorful.”

“Hush, boyo,” Lucy remonstrated.