Reign of Evil - 03 (21 page)

“Tir Na Nog. Once gone you can never return.”
Van Dyke regarded the humans in the room with a fondness one might show to his pets.
“I love this land. I love the strange race of being known as human. I didn’t want to leave.”

Laws shook his head in amazement, eyes wide. “Do you realize that this being has seen more than four thousand years of our history? What is your name?”

“When we speak our names, it is with our minds and you are unable to hear it. Dyfed is a good name. He was a poet I once inspired.”

The name sounded remarkably like “David,” but with a residual “f” replacing the “v.”

Laws smiled. “You’re a muse.”

“I inspire. Yes.”
Then Van Dyke looked startled. His eyes searched the room, appearing neither to fall on an object or person or to recognize them. He let out a cry, then collapsed, falling roughly back into his pew-made cradle.

CHAPTER 31

POINT BRAVO, WARWICK, ENGLAND. LATER.

Holmes was the first to the man. He reached over the pew and checked for a pulse. Nothing. He shoved the pews apart and laid the man gently on the floor. He made sure the man’s clothing was loose, then began to give him CPR.

Walker and Laws came over to assist, moving the pews farther apart. Laws loosened Van Dyke’s belt and removed his shoes. Walker took over compressing the man’s chest while Holmes supplied air.

Everyone was silent as the three men tried to save the life. After thirty seconds, Holmes checked for a pulse. He found one. As thready and weak as it was, it was at least there.

“I don’t know how much longer he’ll last.” Holmes glanced at Sassy Moore. He didn’t want that thing in her. He didn’t know what it would do to her and, frankly, he was still concerned about her loyalties.

“You have to let me do it,” she said matter-of-factly.

He wanted to weigh his options, he wanted to build a virtual decision matrix, but he just didn’t have enough data. “Fine. But if you turn into a raving monster I’m going to put you down.”

She grinned savagely. “Sounds harsh.”

“This is a harsh world. Do you understand?”

“Sure. I’d rather you do that anyway. No way will a raving monster be able to work these pumps like I can.” She raised her left foot to show off a red three-inch-heeled shoe.

Holmes stood. “How do we do it?”

“It’s not ‘we,’ big man. It’s just old Sassy.” She waved her hands at the three men. “Step away, now. Let Sassy get at it.”

Walker and Laws gave Holmes a look. He nodded to them and they stood and backed away.

Sassy immediately went into action. She stripped off her blouse, revealing a white bra. Her back was covered with some tattooed symbology Holmes didn’t recognize. Inverted stars, circles with lines, runes, and all sort of patterns created an almost dizzying array of the arcane. A fresh tattoo had been inked just above her navel. It was so new that the flesh was still raised and puckered. Seeing everyone’s eyes on it, she said, “I thought I might need it.”

She straddled the body and let her head hang back, her arms dangling beside her. Her pupils rolled so only the whites could be seen. She began to hum, the sound coming from somewhere miles deep within her. After a few moments, Van Dyke’s body began to jerk beneath her. Her knees tightened so she wouldn’t lose her balance. She rode him for a few moments, then snapped forward until her face hovered over Van Dyke’s. She spoke too fast to discern, the words falling over each other one after the other. Van Dyke’s eyes snapped open. She placed her mouth above his, her hum once again returning. They stayed in this embrace for a full moment, until Sassy raised her torso up and inhaled greatly. A look of joy suffused her face. Beneath her Van Dyke lay, eyes open, pallor gray, not breathing.

She stared at the ceiling a moment as she gathered herself; then she carefully stood, as if she weren’t used to the motion. She wobbled slightly, reaching out. Holmes ran to her and took her hand, feeling the coldness radiating from it.

“You okay?” He stared into her face and searched her eyes. “Did it work?”

Her hand became warm, then hot, so hot he had to let go. She began to shake. Smoke came from her skin. Her face turned bright red. Power shone from her eyes. Then came the sound of something cracking.

Everyone looked around, but the sound had come from Sassy.

She slowly returned to normal, finally wiping sweat from her face with the fabric of the blouse covering her left arm.

“That should do it.” She shook her head and closed her eyes as if to dislodge a headache. “Dyfed is amazingly powerful. I could barely subdue it.” She laughed a little crazily. “Almost had me.”

“What’d you do with it?” Walker asked.

“Stuffed it in a corner and made it stay.”

Laws’s brows came together. “Can it see and hear us?”

“I get that impression.”

“How are we going to be able to talk to it?” Laws gave Holmes a look. “We were doing just fine until Van Dyke suddenly kicked it.”

“Coincidence, I’m sure,” Sassy said.

Holmes didn’t like it. They had a mantra—
one man’s coincidence is a Triple Six mission.
“Can we speak to Dyfed?”

“You can speak through me. Now give me a second. I need something to drink and to catch my breath.”

She walked over to the table and grabbed a bottle of water, then went over to the pew that had become her private area. She sat heavily and stared at the floor.

Holmes glanced at his men, who all seemed to be expecting answers from him. He definitely didn’t like the situation now. How was he to know if Sassy was telling him exactly what the Tuatha said? She was a filter and the only one able to speak directly to the creature. He couldn’t help but sigh heavily.

“Laws, where are we with mission planning?”

Holmes’s tall second in command sighed as well. Laws understood. Like the rest, he didn’t like it, but he understood. They’d deal with Sassy when they could. Until then, they had a rendezvous with the woman in white.

CHAPTER 32

GLASTONBURY TOR, GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND. NIGHT.

The trip from Warwick to Somerset would normally take two and a half hours, but because of their constant concern for surveillance they took five. It was decided that Walker, YaYa, and Trevor would go while the others remained with Sassy and the Tuatha to see how they could best leverage the creature.

Preeti was busy trying to find the radio beacon they’d placed in the golem’s head, but with no luck at all. She also pointed out to them something they’d completely forgotten. Tomorrow was Christmas. Not only was it one of the pinnacle Christian holidays, but it was also a well-known pagan holiday, predating the determination that the twenty-fifth of December was the birthday of Jesus Christ.

Holmes made it clear that this was not a time to celebrate. They were neck deep in pagan mythology and needed to be aware of its dangers.

Laws, ever the encyclopedic mind, shared that more than four hundred years before the birth of Christ early Romans celebrated the birth date of the deity Saturnus. It originally began as a simple banquet on December 17 but then grew to a five-day affair, highlighted by gambling, gift giving, and a general bacchanal celebration. It eventually became something different as Saturnus’s darker aspects were celebrated. In addition to everything they’d done previously, Romans introduced the Lord of Misrule as part of the holiday. Every Roman community selected a man or woman to become the Lord of Misrule, who would represent the enemy of their people. Beginning on the seventeenth of December, they’d feed and treat this person as if he or she were an actual lord, denying him or her nothing. But then on December 25 they’d come together and kill the Lord of Misrule. Ancient Greek poet, Lucian, mentioned in his texts that revelers would also travel from home to home naked, singing the songs of the day; performing deviant sexual public acts, including rape; and eating human-shaped biscuits to symbolize the eating of your enemy.

Walker found the information creepy, especially when he thought of the similarities to the Christmas he and every other American kid normally celebrated. To think that the gingerbread man had a violent and terrible past was stunning.

Holly, ivy, the giving of gifts, the use of an evergreen tree, and many more symbols of modern Christmas were derived from ancient Roman pagan customs. Laws and Preeti weren’t sure how December 25 would affect the power of the Red Grove or other neo-pagan groups but had to be aware that it might have an incongruous effect on the success or failure of any mission they might be conducting. Just as the Winter Solstice was a special day for the Red Grove, Triple Six had to consider that Christmas might be as well.

The house they needed to surveil was a two-story Tudor with four chimneys and seven dormers. Records showed it to belong to Jason Belair, who ran an import-export business specializing in North European antiques and collectibles. He’d been referred to in a
Financial Times of London
article as being the
kitschy king of secondhand Ikea.
Although the description was unflattering, his net worth was upwards of 100 million pounds.

The home was less than two hundred meters from Glastonbury Tor, which held an interesting place in British history and mythology. No one exactly knew how it was formed, but because the hill rises 150 meters above the surrounding plain it had been used since at least 400 BC as a place to defend from.

“Tor” was an English word referring to a high rock or hill. But the name used by the Celts for the hill was Yns yr Afalon, which translated meant “The Isle of Avalon,” linking it directly to King Arthur.

When this piece of information had been discovered, it had set off a murmur of excitement among them in the chapel basement. But what they found next was even more intriguing. According to the twelfth-century poet Gerald of Wales, monks from the nearby Glastonbury Abbey discovered a coffin buried in the side of the Tor. It bore an inscription identifying it as Queen Guinevere’s. Although this presented an exciting prospect, experts now believe that the monks, who’d recently lost their abbey to a fire, might have had a more commercial reason for finding and selling the artifact. Gerald of Wales also indicates that Glastonbury Tor was one of the possible locations of the Holy Grail, especially because of the discovery of the Nanteos Cup at the same abbey. The cup was allegedly brought to Briton by Joseph of Arimathea, who was believed to have founded the Christian settlement at Glastonbury Tor.

Finally, what was arguably most interesting was the connection of the Tor in Celtic mythology to Gwyn ap Nudd, also known as Annwn, and later called King of the Faeries. The hill became known as the entrance to Avalon, the land of the faeries. Yet even with all that history, the Tor usually wasn’t considered a mound but rather a fortification. Those gathered in the basement were coming to believe something a little bit different.

“I always wanted the legend of King Arthur to be real,” Walker said when they were still twenty minutes out. “The whole Knights of the Round Table and the quest for the Holy Grail seemed so spiritual.”

Trevor, who was driving, scoffed and couldn’t help but reply, “Your romanticism is amazing. Kings are just like anyone else. They are fallible, sometimes mean, most often greedy, and rarely considerate of the common man.”

YaYa was sitting in the backseat and leaned forward. “Is that the way you feel about your queen?”

Trevor kept his gaze straight ahead, but he replied quickly. “Not at all. Queen Elizabeth, God bless her soul, is completely different.”

Walker laughed. “Now who’s being a romantic? I heard she’s a billionaire many times over. I’ve also heard the theories about her and Princess Diana.”

“Rubbish. Pure bloody rubbish. It’s in no way the same as your Americans’ reverence for a king you know nothing about.”

Walker couldn’t help himself. He crossed his arms. “Explain?”

“It’s because of your movies and books. No, it goes back further. It goes back to Washington. Sure, you had a general for a president, but you lost your king. Americans have always had a love affair with the idea of a monarchy. It’s why you put so many of your cultural icons on pedestals.”

“Like LeBron James and Brad Pitt,” YaYa said.

Trevor pressed harder. “What do you know about King Arthur? Have you as Americans read any of the actual historic texts or the academic dissertations or are you a victim of American pop culture? Your movies have become encyclopedias to your young. Look at Arthur. You have one movie where he wears chrome armor and another in which he is a Roman wearing leather armor. In one movie Camelot is a ten-story gleaming castle with pinnacles and in another it’s an old fort made from stone and mortar. Your love affair with the myth makes reality unreachable.”

Walker sat back for a few moments, then said, “Wow. Where’d that come from?”

YaYa nodded. “Probably some pent-up anti-American sentiment.”

Walker’s brow creased. “So what you’re telling me is that Arthur doesn’t look like Richard Gere and doesn’t wear chrome armor? I drop the bullshit flag on that.”

YaYa shook his head. “Lancelot. Richard Gere played Sir Lancelot. It was Sean Connery who played King Arthur.”

“Sean Connery. Yeah. That fits with me. He even talks like he’s from around here.”

Trevor turned to Walker and gave him a deadpan look, then shook his head and turned forward. “All I’m saying is that when we meet King Arthur I think he’s going to scare the shit out of us.”

Walker uncrossed his arms. “That I believe.”

They parked a mile away from their target. They were dressed for recon, not for battle, although they did wear body armor. Instead of helmets they wore baseball caps. Their night-vision goggles were in pouches hidden under their jackets. They carried Sig Sauer P229s with silencers and knives. They had their intersquad radio system but wanted to keep it silent until they knew what they were up against.

There were no CCTV cameras in this area near Glastonbury Tor, so they didn’t have to concern themselves with their actions being seen by police. Three men dressed in black approaching a home on Christmas Eve would have been odd.