Reign of Evil

He suddenly felt something brush past him. Then another thing. This one knocked him off balance, forcing him to stumble to his right, where he knew the river was. He fought to keep his balance and would have regained it had he not been pushed one last time.

He hit the water sideways. He lost his grip on his rod but was unable to reach for it. He’d lost his breath, the cold of the water paralyzing him. He tried to suck in air, but his head went beneath the frigid water. He scrambled for footing but couldn’t find it against the mossy bottom.

Then he heard her calling from the nearby bank. “If you won’t go to Hong Kong, then I’ll go without you.”

His arms began to move finally as they freed themselves from the sudden shock of the water.

The sound of hounds came much closer. The horn sounded like it was right on top of him.

Sarah screamed and began shouting, “No!” over and over again until it was cut off by what sounded like dogs fighting over a stick.

He finally managed to get his feet under him. By the time he reached the bank, the fog was dissipating. Such a strange weather phenomenon, especially the way it had thrown sound. It was as if the hunt had been right here. He pulled himself up and climbed to his feet, shivering uncontrollably. He ran toward the warm glow of his house. Once he got warm and had a few glasses of scotch, he’d go find his wife and have a word with her. Then when he was finished with that he’d go online and order a new fly rod. He had a spare, but now that he’d lost his best rod he had the chance to order one he’d had his eye on. It was a thousand dollars, but it was a piece of art.

Shivering uncontrollably, he’d almost made it to the steps of his patio when he heard a growl from behind him. He turned, almost falling because his frozen feet refused to cooperate.

It was a hound, but like no hound he’d ever seen. As tall as a Great Dane, it was part human, part beast. It had what looked shockingly like human arms for its front legs and a gray hairless body. But what captured him was the gaze from the dark eyes in the almost simian face. It was recognition. He knew those eyes. And then it leaped, grabbing him by the leg and dragging him east toward Silbury Hill. He tried to scream, but he was dead within the first hundred meters, his head having banged against the ground over and over until it split open. That he could still see did very little to calm him. That is, until he felt himself jerked and pulled and hammered until he was no longer being dragged but was running beside the other hound, a beast he had once called his wife.

CHAPTER 17

CHICKSANDS RAF. NIGHT.

Walker had been helping the witch organize the warlock loot for two hours when Ian and Trev returned. Trev went straight down the hall to Preeti’s command center. Ian came to the common room. Behind him were two steely-eyed men in thick-soled shoes who Walker thought had to be cops. The last man was dressed in a Savile Row suit and overcoat and appeared impeccably manicured. From his hair to his hands to the cut of his attire, it all screamed money.

Walker leaped to his feet. “Ian, how are you—”

Ian held up his hand. With his chin high, he went to the sideboard and poured himself three inches of scotch. Without turning around, he slung it back and swallowed.

“So this is what it’s come to,” the posh man said, glancing around the room in distaste.

The men who Walker had thought were cops stood behind him. Probably ex-cops. Bodyguards. Muscle.

“You once had the ear of the Queen,” he continued, “and now you’re in the basement of an old officers’ club. Looks like you bollixed it up good. How pathetic.” When he spied the witch, his entire demeanor changed. “Now who’s this pretty little dish?”

She’d stood when they’d entered the room. She fell right into the shy schoolgirl act and smiled sweetly. “Sassy Moore, Your Highness. But you can call me Sassy.”

The two bodyguards exchanged glances.

A look of pure lechery came upon the posh man’s face. “I like your name.”

“It’s more than just my name,” she purred. “It’s who I am. Sassy.”

Walker felt the power in her words.

The man took a step forward, then halted. His eyes narrowed; then he turned to Ian. “You trying to work me, Ian?”

Ian had watched from the sideboard, a refilled glass in his hand. “Never in a million years, Sir Robert. We’re at your service, as always.”

“What is she then, a witch?”

“I don’t have to be a witch to be hit on by you,” answered Sassy. “I’m sure each and every schoolgirl in Sheffield knows your number, Sir Robert.”

He glowered at her as he backed up until he was bookended by his bodyguards.

“And look at the right proper benighted Englishman,” Sassy continued. “Taking time out of polluting the countryside and despoiling young girls just to see us.”