Do Not Go Gentle (25 page)

“Jamie, don't—”

“Don't what, Sully?.” Jamie could no longer hold back his anger and frustration. “Don't try to find out what happened to Cal? He's also a good friend, Sully. I have leads to follow. They may be connected to the Raisin Killer case, but it's nothing concrete. Give me some time, and I'll let you know if anything pans out.” Jamie paused, reining in his temper. “As far as I'm concerned, you just warned me off the case. Officially. So whatever I do is on me. I won't do anything that would jeopardize a case.”

“I know, I know, but you know the fix I'm in,” Sully replied heavily.

“Yeah, I know, Cap. Let me get back to you.”

“Okay. You've got until Monday. Then you've got to give Hamilton and me a complete briefing on whatever you know. Deal?”

“Deal. Thanks, Cap.”

“Take care, Jamie.”

Jamie hung up the phone and looked out at the cold October day. “I don't like this, Finn.” Jamie absently scratched behind the terrier's ears. “I don't like this one damned bit.”

* * * *

The next day was as cold and blustery as the previous day. As he parked his car in front of Lucy's house, Jamie replayed his last conversation with Cal, word by heated word.
Yeah, I guess I was a horse's ass, but Cushing didn't help matters, either. That asshole had better not be in trouble.

Lucy answered the door and ushered him in out of the cold. “Get in, lad. Get in out of the cold morning air. Ye will catch your death.”

Jamie stamped his feet, and in response to Lucy's outstretched arms, he handed her his coat, which she put on a coat stand by her blazing fireplace. Two men sat on the couch today: Ríordán, the
fili
, and another man, whose stature and girth dwarfed the younger man completely.

“Sit, sit,” Lucy ordered. Jamie sat awkwardly in the open chair she gestured him to, which thankfully, was not next to the fireplace. Jamie had been feeling abnormally warm lately on top of his other symptoms. “Ye recall Ríordán, surely?” When Jamie nodded, the
fili
returned the nod slowly. “This great hulk of a man is Ánrothán, or Hanrahan in English. He's a druid.”

The big man sat immobile on the couch and did not offer his hand to Jamie. He stared at Jamie, studying him. Jamie coolly returned the gaze. Hanrahan was tall, six-five, and from what Jamie could see beneath the dark brown robe, covered by a black tunic, the man had very little fat on him.

“Well, if ye are both finished sizing each other up, perhaps I might begin?” Lucy asked pointedly.

Jamie sat back with a soft grunt, and Hanrahan chuckled, a deep, cavernous sound. “
Síocháin
,
seanchaidhe
. Please begin.”

“Hmph,” muttered Lucy. “Men. Anyway, this is detective Jamie Griffin—”

“Not any longer, ma'am,” Jamie interrupted. “As of this past Monday, I lost that position.”

“Indeed? Why is that?” Lucy asked.

Jamie was already tired of answering that question. “Because of my illness. I've run out of vacation and sick time, and the department had to let me go.”

“I am sorry to learn that, Jamie,” rumbled Hanrahan. “Lucy told me not only of your illness, but that you and your partner are investigating the
cailleach
who fancies herself the Witch of Endor.”

“
Cailleach
?” Jamie asked. “I'm not familiar with that Irish word.”

“It means witch,” replied the druid, “and whoever or whatever else she might or might not be, the woman is a particularly nasty practitioner of the dark arts.”

“Ah, here we go again,” Jamie said under his breath. “Where's Cushing when I need him?”

Hanrahan smiled grimly. “Lucy told me that you are no believer in the occult.”

“She told you correctly. My partner believes in the supernatural, but he's not available today.”

“Pity. Maybe he would be more receptive to what we are going to tell you.”

“Look,” said Jamie. “I just had this argument with my partner on Monday. While I may not believe in this mumbo-jumbo, I realize that my partner, you folks, and many others do believe in it. Besides, Sedecla clearly believes in it, as do her cult members. So my opinion is beside the point. I'll consider anything that might help me bring her to justice.”

“Well spoken, Jamie,” Hanrahan said in an approving tone. His face was lined and weathered, making it hard to determine his exact age. He could have been anywhere from forty to sixty years old.

“Let me begin. Lucy spoke correctly when she named me a druid. What does that word mean to you?”

Jamie shrugged. “Very little. My mother has made passing references to druids as ancient priests. The little I studied about druids in college called them pagans who practiced human sacrifice, like the wicker man. Beyond that, not much.”

Hanrahan smiled and sighed. “Tis about as I expected. There are some nuggets of truth buried in the myths and histories surrounding our order. Would it surprise you to know that my order has an unbroken line of priesthood back to the very earliest days of the Celts?”

“Yeah, it would. I thought the Romans had pretty much wiped you guys out.”

“They did their best,” replied Hanrahan grimly. “Augustus and his ilk outlawed our religion and made it a capital offense. This actually did nothing more than drive us underground, where we have remained out of sight of organized religion. Every once in a while, some New Age ‘nut' manages to find out about us and writes a book which, fortunately, is received with a great deal of skepticism.”

“I'm surprised to hear you refer to ‘New Age nuts,'” laughed Jamie.

Hanrahan shrugged. “There are those who have genuine power and seek truthful knowledge of the world, both physical and spiritual. People like Lucy here,” he said, extending a hand. Lucy bowed her head in acknowledgement, “but there are many more who seek to profit from this by any means possible. They do our order a grave disservice by spreading half-truths and misconceptions.”

“Then why don't you step forward and show your true selves?” Jamie asked.

“Because by-and-large, the world is still very intolerant. Just look at your fundamentalists and ‘Tea Party' people here in America. Do you think for a moment that they would be open to learning of truths that do not fit neatly into their religious boxes?”

“No, probably not.”

“Enough theology. I will tell you what I know. It is up to you what you do with that knowledge.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let me begin by examining your aura.”

“Wait,” protested Jamie. “I thought you didn't like any of that ‘New Age' stuff?”

“No, I told you that they do disservice to the actual knowledge of our religion. All living creatures have about them some type of emanation, commonly referred to as an aura. Many religions, including Hinduism and Buddhism, also believe in the ability to detect auras.” Hanrahan sounded like a college professor giving a lecture. “Again, if you wish my help, I must ask you to hold your skepticism in check.”

When Jamie nodded, Hanrahan continued. “Lucy told me of your mysterious illness. She also told me that it began before your confrontation with Sedecla.”

“Aye, but it's been very rare for me to take ill, and whenever I have been ill, I've gotten well very quickly. This crap has been lingering for months now, and if anything, it's getting worse.”

“Very well. Please relax and hold still.” Hanrahan looked past Jamie to the wall behind him on the other side of the room, and then nodded to Lucy. “Very good. He is positioned properly for a reading.”

Jamie looked over his shoulder and saw a plain white wall. “You need a blank background?”

Hanrahan nodded. “It is not required, but preferable. The reading of a person's aura involves examining the colors contained within, so trying to read someone accurately against a variegated or cluttered background can be difficult if not impossible. Now hush,” the druid commanded.

Jamie sat as still as possible, trying to relax as he watched Hanrahan. The druid steepled his fingers in front of him and stared intently at Jamie's forehead. Hanrahan's eyes lost their fixed gaze. After a long pause, the druid lowered his eyes and rubbed them lightly.

Not realizing that he had been holding his breath, Jamie exhaled loudly. “So what was all that about?”

“That was all about reading your aura, Jamie,” replied the druid tersely. “The process is quite simple really—and like most simple tasks, difficult to master. Basically, reading an aura involves intense concentration upon the subject for about a minute, depending on the skill level of the practitioner. The tricky part is to stop gazing upon the subject directly, but instead shifting your focus to your peripheral vision and continuing to concentrate upon the area around the subject for another minute or so.”

“So that's why your eyes appeared to lose focus,” said Jamie.

“Yes, that was when I shifted to my peripheral vision.”

“Why your peripheral vision?”

Hanrahan chuckled, more of a rasping of his throat than a laugh. “There have been many studies and disagreements about that over the years, my young friend. Simply put, the central portion of the retina is more damaged than the periphery, due to constant use and abuse, and that portion of your eye has been ingrained over the years to look in a certain fashion. The periphery of your eyes are less damaged and not so rigidly trained. When using peripheral vision, I am able to read a person's aura by looking at the colors contained therein.”

“I've heard the bit about colors before. One of my sisters, Brighid, is into this stuff. She's tried to convince me of its merits.”

“Well, Jamie, since you said you wanted to hear what I have to say, let me tell you what I saw. While the predominant color in your aura is turquoise, it is streaked with both white and sulphur.”

“Meaning what?” asked Jamie.

“Meaning that overall, you are a dynamic individual with an energized personality. You are capable of influencing other people. You are able to do many things simultaneously, are a good organizer, and feel bored when forced to concentrate on a single task.”

“Damn,” muttered Jamie. “Have you been talking to my wife?”

This time Hanrahan laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. “No, but hopefully this will make you somewhat more comfortable with what I am telling you.”

Jamie shrugged. “Maybe. Those could also be just very astute observations and guesses.”

“May I remind you that you have sought our help?” bristled Ríordán.

“
Síocháin
. Peace,
fili
. We will not convert this man with a simple reading.” The druid then turned back to Jamie. “The colors tell me much about your current condition. While turquoise is the dominant color, indicating the core of your nature, the veins of white and sulphur are indications of your current condition. White is always a sign of serious illness, and sulphur indicates pain or anger. Together, these colors tell me that you are indeed very ill, in some pain, and most likely very angry about it.”

“Again, no offense, but hardly earth-shattering revelations,” noted Jamie.

“True, but the nature of your aura also tells me that your illness is not due to any supernatural influence by Sedecla. While she may believe strongly in her curses, your lack of belief has probably shielded you from the worst of her enmity.”

“You mean she can't curse someone who doesn't believe in it?”

The druid grimaced. “Not exactly, although that is close enough for purposes of our discussion. It is possible that her curse worsened your condition, but I doubt it, given the strength of your disbelief, but this leads me to my other purpose in meeting with you today. You must be extremely cautious in your dealings with the
cailleach
.”

“Great,” said Jamie. “Another person trying to warn me off the case.”

“No,” replied Hanrahan emphatically. “I am
not
trying to warn you off ‘the case,' as you put it. Just the opposite, in fact—I wish to see the
cailleach
stopped, and you appear to be the first person I've encountered who might be in a good position to accomplish that task.”

Jamie paused. “So you're opposed to Sedecla and worried about what I will face?”

“Exactly. Others have gotten in her path in the past. They did not survive the encounter.”

“Hunh,” said Jamie. “Maybe she's never run into a hard-headed Irish cop before.”

“Perhaps so,” agreed Hanrahan, “but I would not underestimate her. Whether you believe in her powers or not, she is a formidable opponent.”

In the next hour, the three spiritualists imparted everything they knew of Sedecla to Jamie. Jamie thought that they could have continued longer, but Jamie's cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, glancing at the number. “I need to take this.” He stood shakily and turned away from the others. “Griffin.”