Reign of Evil

Holmes had sat him up in an alcove in the main hall. The gargantuan interior was like being in a domed football stadium, that is, if the stadium had marble steps, polished wood rails, wainscoting, and elevated ceilings with tray case paintings and skylights. It was beyond elegant. It was what the British called posh.

The night security lights created pools of luminosity through which a security guard moved along his normal route. He’d been told to ignore the SEALs and Section 9 members. Ian had shown the man a badge and said something about national security and it was all over. The guard had been relieved. He had thought they were there to pick him up because of his wife’s overdrafts. That Triple Six didn’t care made his day.

Yank shouldered his HK416 and plugged his QUADEYE into the rifle’s scope. He zoomed in on the areas of the roof outside the skylights but couldn’t detect any movement. If he had to bet, they’d come from that direction. It’s where he would come from if he was infiltrating.

His MBITR crackled. “Ghost Four, this is Ghost One. Status? Over.”

“Ghost One, this is Ghost Four. Nothing here.”

Of course this all could be a crap shoot. The Red Grove might never show. No sooner did he think that then a shadow twisted on his periphery. He turned toward it but saw nothing. Just a wall with a bronze bust in front of it. Then he saw another shadow, this time to his left. But just as before, when he turned it was gone.

They called it ghosting. Seeing things that weren’t there. He thought about calling Holmes but didn’t want to be the one to sound a false alarm. He was literally just chasing shadows now and would only call if he had anything besides his own tired and inventive imagination.

Shadows twisted twice more in his peripheral vision. Both times nothing was there when he looked. He altered strategy and began staring straight ahead, counting on his peripheral vision to sort itself out. Then he saw them… actually saw them… shadows, crawling across the walls. Roughly humanoid in shape, they moved fast across the surface, like lizards.

He toggled his mike and was prepared to tell his team, when he felt cold.

Everything went black.

Then he was falling.

* * *

Holmes and Sassy Moore were in the sub-basement room called the cauldron. The head sat in the middle of a metal table, upon which a pentacle had been drawn in white chalk. A gag had been placed over the golem’s mouth, but the eyes remained fixed on Sassy, as if she’d been chosen as the target of the monster’s enmity. Other strange symbols adorned the points of the inverted star. Sassy had her eyes closed and was humming slightly off-key.

Holmes called for another report. All SEALs answered except Ghost Four. Holmes tried again, but still no response. He called the team net. “Ghost Four may be down. Prepare.”

“Ghost One, this is Ghost Two,” Laws said, keeping radio discipline despite the sudden jolt of concern in his voice. “I’m in the best position to check on Ghost Four.”

“Negative, Ghost Two. We’ll wait and see if it’s not just radio issue.”

“And if it’s not?” Walker asked, unconcerned with net discipline.

“Then we’ll know soon enough, Ghost Three.”

Holmes was about to call for Yank again but stared at the head instead, which was now floating five inches above the table.

“Um, Miss Moore? Should the head be doing that?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Oh, hell.” She closed her eyes again. This time her hum was louder but equally off-tune as the one before.

The head began to gently lower. But it never did get all the way back to the table. It hovered a mere inch above the surface for a moment, then began to rise again.

“Better try something different.”

She opened her eyes, reached out, and grabbed the head. She pressed it firmly back on the table in the center of the pentacle, then removed her hands. It stayed where it was this time.

“I thought that design meant other witches couldn’t touch it.”

“I thought so too. But there are so many arrayed against me.”

“Will you be able to keep it down?”

“With any luck.”

Holmes stared at the head as it stared at him. He called for Yank once more. Nothing.

“Are they close?” he asked the witch.

“Yes and no. I feel someone, somewhere near. But they’re also all over the astral plane. I’m having trouble hiding.”

“What happens if they find you?”

“If I can’t get away or take them down, then I’m stuck there.”

“Stuck as in—”

“Forever. Now hush, you big old SEAL, and let me concentrate.”

Holmes keyed his mike. “Ghost Two, move out and track down Ghost Four. Report everything, over.”

Laws keyed his mike twice, signaling affirmative.

Holmes leaned back against a file cabinet. He fought the feeling of helplessness that crawled on little monster feet into his thoughts. The head stared at him with laughing eyes.

* * *