Rite of Passage (27 page)

Michael covered the left flank with his rifle, handgun, and a half dozen smoke grenades. Gwyneth headed across to a thick stand of trees on the right. As I watched, she positioned her weapon using the sling for support and leverage. She sighted the infrared scope, expertly fine-tuning its delicate mechanism. Michael’s beautiful witch was a warrior, no stranger to battle.

I checked my watch. Twenty-two minutes after eleven. Just as I put down my arm, I heard someone coming. I raised my eyes and checked through the field glasses. In ten minutes, the Druids would get the biggest surprise of their lives. As quietly as possible, I checked my Thompson for the third time. Michael and Gwyneth made slight adjustments to their weapons.

I looked down at the procession of Druids. Their approaching resembled a pageant in a cathedral. Had I not known the epic circumstances I might have found the whole thing graceful, even inspiring. I counted two, four, six, finally stopping at twelve. They filled the semicircle, each standing in front of one of the stone monoliths. They let the hoods fall from their heads. But as I looked at each face, a wave of anger and fear spread through me. I spotted Michael. He was twenty-five yards away to my left. He shrugged. Courtney was no where to be seen. When I glanced behind me, neither was Simon.

Chapter Forty-Three

I looked at Gwyneth, then back at Michael. He seemed to be watching the path leading to the ritual site. Still no sign of Courtney, Mrs. Mac, or Simon. This had to be the right location. There was no way these creatures would be meeting tonight with a stake and a massive fire unless it was to sacrifice Courtney.

I kept a low profile, craning my neck to follow Michael’s eyes. Something was happening. Gwyneth had hidden her weapon and was hunkered down, facing away from me. Where had Simon disappeared to? He was no coward. And no one was more intent on rescuing Courtney. Why had he vanished without a word?

I turned toward Michael again. He gave me a series of hand signals he’d learned as a Ranger. Translation: he could see five individuals approaching but couldn’t tell if they were our targets or more Druids. They were slowing. I swallowed hard and exhaled, holding the Thompson on a fallen log with sweaty hands.

Suddenly, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Relief washed over me as I saw Simon, his aristocratic face fixed in a hard stare. He put his fingers to his lips and gave me thumbs-up. When I turned toward the front, my heart stopped. Courtney was being pushed toward the ritual circle. Her hands were bound. She staggered. I picked up the field glasses, hungry to see her face. Her eyes were open, wearing a look of resignation. She glanced at the stake and the wood beneath but turned back to face her captors without flinching. Dirty, bruised, and bound, she wore a sheer white gown and bare feet. Courtney held her head high. In spite of my fear, my heart soared with pride and love. She carried herself with dignity and grace. At that moment I had no doubt. Courtney was a goddess.

As I watched through the binoculars, she closed her eyes. She smiled. Suddenly, I could hear her as if she stood next to me.
Robbie, I know you’re here. I knew you’d come. You’ll never know how much I love you.
She opened her eyes and looked up the low ridge toward me. The crone behind her gave Courtney a push so rough she tripped and fell to the ground. As she struggled to stand, the one who pushed her and a second woman yanked her to her feet and directed her to the set of stairs leading to the stake.

As she mounted them, I noticed two women behind Courtney for the first time. I’d been so anxious and preoccupied watching her, I hadn’t noticed the poor woman being dragged by a tall member of their group. Mrs. Mac. When they reached the large stone altar she fell to the ground. I heard her pained cry from fifty yards away.

I owe you an apology,
I thought, staring at her lying crumpled in front of this macabre scene.
She was one of the good guys after all
. They dragged the old woman to her feet and forced her to kneel facing the stake. She would witness the death of the young woman she loved. When Courtney reached the top of the steps her arms and legs were fastened to the stake with chains and padlocks.

Watching this cruel scene, I moved instinctively, but Simon held me in place. “Everything will be all right,” he whispered and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

I had confidence in him. But as we watched a sick feeling grew in my stomach. The woman who brought Courtney to the site, a young Druid who seemed in charge, picked up a torch and headed toward the nearest monolith to light it.

I turned toward Simon again. He leaned closer. “I know this is difficult. But this all has to play out a certain way.” I trusted him, but as the torch took flame, I held up the Thompson and put my finger inside the trigger guard. “Robbie, please, just a minute and we’ll be …” He stopped in mid-sentence, eyes darting toward the rear.

As he spoke I heard movement behind us. I scanned the scene in front. Michael stood, his Enfield poised in the firing position, Gwyneth crouched to my right, her weapon in position on a low branch. If Simon and I were next to each other then…

The leaves rustled behind us. The sound of a twig breaking was unmistakable. Damn them! Had we come all this way only to fail? These people were
devils. I had no doubt of that.

“Well, well. I’ve been expecting you.
We’ve
been expecting you.” The sick feeling grew. My stomach fell into emptiness. That voice sent chills through me. Not because of its frightening quality, but because I had heard it often in the last week. I had no need to turn. Suddenly, so many things made sense.

I tightened my grip on my weapon, poised to turn. If we were all going to die, I would take some of them with me, including the woman who mocked us. “Don’t, Robbie. I know how much you love her. I want you to know it’s been very difficult for me—playing two roles.”

Simon grabbed my forearm, forcing me to release the Thompson. It fell to the ground. “He really doesn’t understand the import of what’s going on here,” Simon explained as he released my arm. We turned in unison. The hooded figure of Wendy Wilkins showed a crooked smile. She held a large revolver, a .45. The two creatures flanking her held twelve-gauge sawed-off shotguns.

Simon nodded as he surveyed the others. “It’s all right, Duncan, you can lower your hood.” We’d found where Duncan Wellington had vanished to. He stood on Wendy’s right—a middle-aged man of impressive stature and bearing. His face showed strain. It was pudgy, drawn, and lined, but evident that Duncan Wellington had once been a man to make hearts swoon. The third figure had a low hood over his or her head, giving no hint of their identity.

“But I’m waiting to meet the mastermind. The man whose extraordinary powers and cruelty managed all this,” Simon said in a low voice.

“Let’s go down and meet my
real
family. I know you won’t enjoy our little ceremony, but it is something that we need to do in”—Wendy checked her watch—“fifteen minutes. And our high priest, the one who’s made this all possible, is approaching as we speak.”

With that they pushed us over the low ridge heading toward the ritual circle. Anger and frustration swept over me. Surely we were not going to give up and simply watch Courtney being sacrificed. I glanced to my right. I wanted to rush at them, but strangely, Simon still wore that look of confidence. He’d expected all this. His compliance was part of the plan. I understood. We hadn’t chased Courtney and her would-be executioners three-thousand miles to watch as they sacrificed her.

Simon held up his hands. “Certainly, Wendy. We’re your prisoners.” He walked slowly down the incline leading toward the circle. “We’ll do as you say. Just don’t do anything foolish.”

“Have no fear, old man.” She shrugged. “I’m not impetuous. And our leader is thrilled you’ve found us so you can watch his beautiful child die in agony.”

Simon led me up and over the low ridge, then down the trail to what—I had no idea. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement.” Simon suggested. “Some mutual pledge or… “

Wendy stopped, staring with raised eyebrows. “I’ve told you, this is difficult for me. I have affection for your family and its members.” She exhaled deeply and shook her head. “Robbie may be ignorant of the true meaning of what’s about to happen.” She gave him a patronizing look. “But you’re not. So please, don’t try a feeble attempt at negotiation.” She gave him a push toward the ritual circle. “Move!”

Chapter Forty-Four

Wendy looked left and right, finding our comrades. “Michael, I need you and Gwyneth to stand up and put down your weapons or Simon and your lovesick brother will be scattered across this lovely grove,” she commanded, offering no hint of compromise. Duncan surveyed us and nodded, cocking the pump-action twelve-gauge shotgun expertly. There was something surreal about being surrounded by the world’s most powerful pagans and having them resort to weapons to enforce their will. The thought passed quickly. No time for dialectic while the fate of my beloved and the world lay at hand!

I studied Wendy’s face as we took the last few strides to the circle. She looked drawn and anxious, apparently conflicted by our predicament and the fact that she found herself in this situation.

When we reached the center of the circle, a tall, robed figure stopped in front of Simon. “Hello, son,” Simon said with no emotion.

The man pushed his hood down, wearing a sneer. “I should have guessed you’d figure it out, old man.” There was venom in his voice. “What did you expect? Calling down that spell to cause my death. My mechanic drove the car that afternoon. He was old and lived alone. No one missed him.”

“You were my son. Despite all your cruelty and misdeeds, I loved you. The spell you imagined was in your mind. I wanted to help you—not destroy you.”

A strange look crossed the tall man’s face. His eyes narrowed and burned, his lips drew tight. “Nonsense. You called down that spell to…”

Simon held up his hand and stared at him. “You’re a fool, Courtney. You always were.” Simon laughed. “I suspected the deaths on Briarwood were your doing.” He shook his head slowly. “So you made it your mission to isolate this beautiful child. Your child.” He pointed to my Courtney. “And destroy anyone who got close to her.”

The tall man shook his head violently. He opened his mouth to speak. But Simon continued. “That poor child, Meghan, the stable hand, the teacher, and
even her mother
, your beautiful consort, your partner! What a pathetic excuse for existence. I always knew you were alive. Still doing evil. But burning your own daughter at the stake? That’s a bit brutal even for you.”

“I did it all for you,
dear father!
And the fact that you and the foolish boy you’ve chosen as her mate will hear her screams makes it all the sweeter.”

“Of course, Duncan enlisted out of greed. When Courtney dies, he inherits her millions and has the added benefit of watching his illegitimate offspring die.”

Simon’s son sneered and nodded. “Of course.”

“But what about Wendy? She did this out of some perverse form of love. She doesn’t know you plan to disappear with that lovely girl.” Simon pointed to the tall Druidess. “Brighid?”

Wendy looked pale as she turned toward the striking young woman with the torch in her hand. “No, he wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispered.

“Ask Brighid,” Simon said in a level voice.

I shifted my gaze to my Courtney. Streaks of dried tears were apparent below her enormous eyes. I could sense the terror and pain that had been her constant companion. But despite her bruised countenance she was still the most exquisite creature on Earth.

I saw her lips twist and curl momentarily. The ties between us created a bond so strong, so impenetrable that it overcame the powers of our enemies. We communicated once again. Her thoughts and the images they carried were transmitted clearly—too clearly. Violent, vivid pictures of pain and humiliation filled my mind. I could see Courtney beaten, imprisoned, and bound with manacles that cut into her flesh. Suddenly, my only thought was revenge. A swift and painful punishment for these creatures. But how? In my peripheral vision I saw Michael and Gwyneth stand and let their rifles drop to the blanket of leaves.

“The circle you’ve surrounded us with seems impenetrable,” Simon offered. “There’s no way we can break through it. My compliments.” He showed no indication of anger or fear, but flashed me an imperceptible nod. Our leader was a cool customer. “So tell me. To satisfy an old man’s curiosity. Are you really one of them?” He directed the question to his son. “Because the Druids believe in peace and nature. But through those extraordinary powers you inherited and used so cruelly, you’ve convinced these poor creatures of something that has no basis in fact.”

His son’s smirked. “You lie, old man. You’re the one misleading everyone.”

Simon put his hand to his jacket. “May I?” he asked.

His son nodded. “What could you have in there that would make any difference?”

He removed an envelope. A murmur ran through the assembled Druids.

Simon removed a document from the envelope. “This is a sworn statement from the head of the Royal Observatory, Damien Woodbury. He certifies that the event you’ve threatened these people with, the Cardinal Cross, will occur when originally foretold. Years in the future. They’ll be no cosmic crisis tonight.” Simon scanned the crowd.

The murmur grew. The young girl replaced the torch in its holder. She turned toward Courtney Phillips. “But how can this be, master?”

“It isn’t, my dear. This witch is playing mind games with you.”

Simon took two steps and placed the document on the altar. His son snatched it and put it to the torch. “That’s what we think of your falsehoods, old man. Let’s begin the ceremony. We only have five minutes.”

“I have another copy if you’d like.” Simon produced a second paper.

The small band of Druids remained mute, frozen in place.

Courtney Phillips could wait no longer. He lunged for the torch and ran toward his daughter. “I’ve waited too long for this. I will not be denied!” he screamed. Just as he reached the foot of the platform, I lunged and pushed him and the torch into the dry kindling. In a matter of seconds, his robe and the tinder were an inferno. His anguished screams rose into the still of the damp English night. Wendy approached and made a vain attempt to extinguish the flames. It was too late for the sadistic witch who had cast a spell of evil across two continents.