Do Not Go Gentle (41 page)

Jamie looked up as the officer approached. “Hey, Thompson,” he said wearily. “I've already secured the crime scene, but I know you need to do it officially, log and all.”

The big officer grunted. “Yeah, I know the drill, Griffin.” Turning back to Eileen, Thompson said, “You'll want to stand at the door. The parade's going to be here before too long.” Looking back at Jamie, Thompson shook his head and said, “You've got quite a mess on your hands here, Griffin.”

“Tell me about it.” While Thompson began officially securing the scene, Jamie began relating the evening's events. Two detectives showed up at the same time as Frank and Nuala Griffin. Paddy and Jeanne arrived shortly after them. Word of the shooting had spread, and Jamie saw their friends and neighbors, the Murphys, bringing up the rear.

It was late in the evening by the time the time the circus finally died down and Jamie at last sat on the sectional in clean clothes, with his family, Louie, and the twins. While Daphné and Darcelle had put on a tough act while the investigators were interviewing them, the impact of what they had done was now came down on them with a vengeance.

“You know that you had no choice, right?” Jamie asked. “There's no way da Silva would have negotiated. If you'd tried, I would've wound up with my throat slit and you still would've shot him.”

“I know, uncle,” Daphné replied. “It's just—” she trailed off, shaking her head.

“It's just not the same, I know. Shooting another human being is not the same as shooting a paper target.” Jamie looked at both the twins knowingly. “I only drew my gun about a dozen times in the twenty plus years I was a cop, and I only discharged it about half of those times.”

“You can remember the number of times?” Darcelle asked.

“You never forget, dear,” Jamie replied solemnly. “Of the six times I shot at someone, I wounded a person four times and killed twice. I can still see the faces of both of those men. Like you tonight, I had no choice, but taking another life always stays with you.
Always
.”

“Yeah,” Louie rumbled. “Listen to the Mick. I ain't gonna tell you how many times I've shot someone, but Griffin's right—you never forget.”

“I'm not sure that really helps,” Eileen scolded.

“Actually, somehow it does Aunt Eileen,” Darcelle replied. “I can't explain it, but knowing that what I'm feeling isn't something freaky is keeping me from freaking out.”

“Well, you're a freak anyway,” Daphné noted.

“Don't start—” her sister warned.

“Before you two start bickering yet again,” Eileen interrupted firmly. “I have a question—how did you know when to step out and shoot? How did you both shoot at exactly the same time?”

Daphné looked at Darcelle, who looked back at her twin uncomfortably. “I dunno. Just one of those things, I guess,” Daphné mumbled.

“I was peeking around the corner from the laundry room,” Darcelle said. “When he told Jamie to start moving, I knew it was time.”

“Yeah, that musta been it,” Daphné hastily agreed. “I knew it would be our only chance.”

“Still,” Eileen persisted. “It's almost as if you knew when the other one was going to shoot.”

Neither twin said anything. They just sat uncomfortably on the couch.

“Anyway,” Jamie said. “This changes everything.”

“What do you mean?” Daphné asked, grateful for the change of subject.

“I mean we can't just keep responding to threats—we're going to have to take the offensive.”

“Got that shit right, Griffin,” Louie said approvingly. “You can't allow people to mess with you and get away with it. You want me to talk to some of my former associates?”

“No,” Jamie replied emphatically. “Like I said before, we're going to do this by the book. I don't want to just get revenge. I want to bring Sedecla to justice.”

“Then whaddya mean by going on the offensive?” Louie's craggy face knotted in confusion. “You can't just sic the cops on her for this.”

“I know,” Jamie replied, “but I think I need to make another phone call.” Everyone looked at him questioningly, but Jamie said nothing as he punched numbers into the phone.

* * * *

Sedecla wearily walked the mahogany path that led from the platform in the center of her ritual room to the door leading out of the room. Each step took more and more energy, as if she were thrashing her way through a solid wall of black gelatin, each movement heavy and draining, almost painful—leeching away her precious power. She had quickly mastered the first ten paths, but it had taken her twice as long to master the next five. Then each path after that seemed to take exponentially more time and energy than the previous path, as if she were moving mountains to traverse the next path. At this point, she stood at Qulielfi, the nineteenth path. Three more paths stood between her and her goal of Abaddon and the Black Diamond, or Abyss Stone that would grant her ultimate power.
Is this truly worth it?
Sedecla wondered as she leaned heavily against the wall beside the door, allowing the coolness of the stone to seep into her body like icy water rushing into a superheated space.

She had lived countless lifetimes of those whose span measured at most a century. Her life was good—she had all the comforts that money could buy. For many years after, Sedecla had traveled the world. She had visited many mystical and arcane locations, as well as places frequented by mundane travelers. Over the course of the centuries, Sedecla had eaten in the finest restaurants, drank the finest wines and liquors, walked the Great Wall of China as the sun set darkly, watched the sun dawning ruby red from atop a great pyramid in Giza, and navigated up the Amazon in a small launch, led by native guides who trembled in fear at her every word. She had engaged in every imaginable sexual practice, alone and with men and women in varying numbers. Sedecla had read, copiously, not only arcana, but fiction, biographies, histories, and fables. She had learned many skills—martial arts, firearms, dancing, weaving, pottery, cooking, and business management. She had outlived her family and friends and all who had known her in Endor, as well as countless servants and retainers. Sedecla had compressed so many memories into her mind that at times she felt oppressed by the very weight of them, despite the power she used to rejuvenate herself.

So when she had happened once again upon writings surrounding the Qliphoth, the Tree of Death, Sedecla felt a stirring, a quickening, an internal thrumming that she had thought long lost to her ennui. She had read these teachings centuries ago, but Sedecla had not really listened to their message. Now they spoke to her of something greater—something that might bring her to a state of eternal bliss. For if the teachings were true, the Black Diamond would open the corridor to another universe, where she would become a dark god, a creator and a destroyer, able to shape everything to her every wish.

For the first time in many mortal lifetimes, Sedecla burned with a desire for achieving something new, something incredible, something surpassing her wildest dreams.
Yes,
Sedecla thought as she opened the door that led to the main cavern of her underground complex.
Yes, it is worth it.
Walking through the door, Sedecla allowed it to clang shut behind her and looked about in puzzlement.

“Where is da Silva?” she asked her latest handmaiden, a dark-skinned girl named Zahava.

Bowing her head, Zahava replied, “Not here, Mistress. No one has seen him since this morning.”

“How very strange,” Sedecla mused. “Go draw me a hot, scented bath, then fetch me a chilled ice-wine. When he arrives, have da Silva wait for me in my study.”

“As you command,
Qedesh
,” Zahava responded, and headed up the spiral staircase.

Sedecla followed slowly, exhausted. For the first time in many years, Sedecla actually felt her age, felt every year that had seeped into her bones, every day, and every hour that had hurtled past. Sedecla paused on the first landing.
da Silva will have to increase the tributes even more,
she thought as she caught her breath.
We may be reaching the time when caution no longer matters.
Sedecla considered this as she slowly made her way to the landing at the top of the staircase, then stopped and reconsidered.
Not yet
—
each path is taking much longer than the previous. Once I reach the twentieth path, for then only two more paths will lie before me.

Having decided, Sedecla made her way briskly into her private quarters, pushing herself as she had done countless times over the years, her determination obliterating any obstacles. As she reached the bath, Sedecla encountered Zahava, who bowed deeply as her mistress entered the room.

“Your bath is ready,
Qedesh
,” the woman said meekly.

Sedecla appraised her latest maidservant.
They always start out humble and in awe,
she thought absently.
Yet always they grow jaded and careless. I wonder why?
“You may go fetch my wine, Zahava,” she said with a dismissive wave.

“Yes, Mistress.” The servant quickly left the room.

Sedecla disrobed and examined her body in one of the full-length mirrors. Her figure was still that of a woman in the prime of her life—muscles firm, her full breasts high, cheeks and neck still sleek, her skin flawless with a complexion that would be the envy of any movie star. She unbound her black hair and shook it out so that it cascaded about her shoulders.
It has been far too long since last I had a lover,
she thought idly, turning to step into her huge, round bath, reveling in the warmth and silkiness.
Perhaps I will take da Silva for my lover.
Sedecla smiled. He would be an interesting lover.

Moments later, Zahava returned with a tall, delicate crystal flute, filled with chilled ice-wine. She sipped it, and then once again dismissed her servant.

After taking a lengthy drink of her wine, Sedecla slid beneath the hot scented waters, letting the heat and the restorative bath oils permeate her body. Relaxing every muscle, as an ancient Tibetan mystic had taught her when she was but a few centuries old, Sedecla felt herself unwind, as if removing the tension from a massive steel coil. She held her breath as long she could—a considerable length of time, due to the same mystical teachings—then slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, slid back to a sitting position. Sedecla languidly wiped the foam and oil away from her eyes, and then took the flute of wine, sipping as she opened her eyes. To her surprise, Zahava stood silently in the doorway.

Irritation flooded into her and Sedecla narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here, Zahava? I did not summon you, so you had best have an excellent reason for disturbing me.” Sedecla spoke softly, but menace dripped from her voice just as oily beads of water dripped from her arms and breasts.

The tall woman bowed deeply, and then rose. “A thousand pardons, Mistress,” she said calmly, “but one of your lieutenants, O'Neill, has called and said it is of utmost importance that he speak with you immediately.” Zahava held out a cordless handset. “O'Neill is very agitated and insistent.”

Sedecla inclined her head for a moment, and then gently replaced the wine flute on the edge of the tub. “Bring me one of the hand towels,” she instructed. Once she had dried her hands, Sedecla gestured for the phone, which Zahava placed in her hands. “You did well, Zahava,” Sedecla said, much to the maidservant's relief. “Now close the door and wait outside.”

“As you command,
Qedesh
,” Zahava said, and bowing deeply, the woman backed out of the room and closed the heavy wooden door.

“O'Neill,” Sedecla purred into the handset. “Why do you disturb me at this hour? I am at my bath, and I do not like to be disturbed when I am at my bath.” While her voice was sweet, peril lay beneath like a putrescent shadow.

“Well, I think you're gonna to want to hear this,” Timmy O'Neill said drily. “You're not gonna like it, but you need to hear about it.”

A frown creased Sedecla's face, and her forehead wrinkled, spoiling her perceived perfection. “So tell me then, Timothy. What happened?”

“Lucky da Silva kidnapped Jamie and Eileen Griffin as well as some thug named Louie Lombardi.”

“Really?” Sedecla asked. “Why would I not like this news?”

“He took them to the Griffins' house, apparently intending to kill them all, including the Griffin girls.”

Sedecla laughed, and then stopped. “What do you mean ‘apparently intending'?”

“Just what I said, Mistress,” O'Neill replied brusquely. “He failed. Lucky da Silva is dead.”

“Dead?” Sedecla could not keep the disbelief from her voice. “How? That is not possible.”

“Not only possible, but true,” O'Neill responded, keeping the satisfaction from his voice. “Apparently, not only the thug but a set of twins, name of Daphné and Darcelle Lopes, close family friends, are also working with Griffin.”