Reign of Evil

Walker didn’t like it. The idea of sacrificing anything was anathema. He’d killed enough and been almost killed enough times to appreciate the sanctity of life. He acknowledged that the witch had just condemned a warlock for sacrificing family pets, but she had little trouble, if any, sacrificing a bird herself. He decided not to point the contradiction out.

Still, he felt the need to ask, “Does he really sacrifice family pets?”

She flashed her trust me smile but then noticed it wasn’t exactly working. Walker was too tired, too pissed, and too miserable to fall victim to it. “I’m sure he does.”

“You don’t actually have evidence of it then.”

“Nothing that would stand up in court, Your Honor.”

Ian interrupted the exchange. “You mentioned that there might be something here that could help. You meant the powers here were left over from the old priory days, right?”

She nodded.

Walker turned to Ian. “What’s inside the boxes in the hall? My guess is that they’re relics and souvenirs from operations going back I don’t know how long.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

Walker turned back to the witch. “You used the words ‘a shuddering of the veil’ earlier.”

“The veil between this reality and any other. If it’s breached by something large enough and we’re in proximity to whoever or whatever came through, then we can feel it on a spiritual level.”

“Sort of like early-warning radar.” Walker understood the concept better than most.

She nodded. “Something like that.”

“I have this… ability.” He almost said “curse.” “When I get close to something supernatural, I get this feeling in my body, like electricity. Sometimes it makes me have seizures.”

“Wait a minute. If that’s the case, then why didn’t you do that when you met Ms. Moore?” Jerry asked.

Walker caught the witch giving him a look much like he imagined a vet would a polydactyl rabbit. She spoke up before Walker could answer. “It’s because I’m not made of magic. I conjure it and cast it. I’m a funnel.” To Ian she said, “If you really have relics and pieces of beasties in those boxes, maybe you’ll let Walker and me go through them and see if there’s anything handy.”

Ian shook his head. “Back when defending Her Majesty against the supernatural was a popular occupation, they graced the walls of the priory as mementos of missions past.”

She gave him an intent stare. “And now they’re in boxes gathering dust. A lot of good they’re doing.”

Ian returned her stare with equal intensity for a moment, then relented. “Fine. Just don’t break anything. We’ll eventually get our building back, and when we do I want something to put on the damn walls.”

Preeti entered and evinced surprise at seeing the witch. Trev brought her up to speed after a brief introduction; then she spoke. “I ran a scan of the closed-circuit cameras in the area of her home in Woking,” she said to Ian. “The cameras ceased working during the event as if there was some sort of interference.”

Ian crossed his arms, then brought his right hand up to scratch his jaw. “Do you think something’s jamming them? If so there could be a more mundane than arcane solution.”

Preeti considered it. “I suppose it could be microwaves, but the interference is localized to any camera that had optics on the street leading to her home. You’d need at least seven microwave dishes to pull it off.”

Ian scratched his chin. “Still not an impossibility.”

Walker asked, “Was the interference static?”

“Do you mean was it fuzzy?” Preeti looked confused.

Walker shook his head. “No, what I mean is… did it merely appear right or did it arrive from another location? Consider the possibility that the interference might be moving.”

Preeti’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see. No, I didn’t consider that. Very smart, Mr. Walker. Very smart indeed.”

CHAPTER 10

CHIPPING SODBURY GOLF CLUB, ENGLAND. MORNING.

Jonathan Fitzhugh considered himself a good worker. Not a great worker and not a bad worker, but a good worker. He got to work on time most mornings, at least those when he hadn’t gotten too deep in his cups the night before. He was conscientious every evening, ensuring the groundskeeping equipment was clean and put away. And he was polite to the club members, always remembering to call them sir and their lady friends, whether they be an obvious tramp or an overweight wife, ma’am. So the idea that he had to go see the club manager today at noon was infuriating. They hadn’t even explained what it was about, but by the tone of the note attached to seat of the riding lawn mower it was clear that they weren’t happy.

There was no way they could have known he’d pawned three sets of golf clubs this year. Not only was there no one around when he took them, but the fact that their owners had left them behind demonstrated that they didn’t really want or need them in the first place also. Plus, he’d taken each to a different pawnbroker in Bath. No, there was no way they could have known about those.