Reign of Evil

They all wore body armor over black sterile uniforms. Their Pro-Tec helmets had mounts for night vision, but their QUADEYES were in their cargo pockets, as were their ballistic masks. They wore Rhodesian military vests over their body armor, which had numerous pockets allowing them to carry ten spare magazines, as well as white phosphorous and fragmentation grenades. They wore their usual MBITR and Holmes did another radio check.

YaYa and Hoover took point, the dog ranging a dozen feet forward. Walker and Laws followed. The witch and Holmes came next. Yank brought up the rear.

He checked his watch. 0840 local time.

They reached the top of the mound without event. The pinnacle was mostly flat, running lengthwise for more than seventy meters, with a width of nearly twenty meters. Several piles of wood and sticks had been placed in the center, making Yank wonder if they might not be planning a bonfire later.

The witch found a location on the northeast side. It looked like any other place, but she’d stopped and said, “This is it.”

The rest of the SEALs faced outward around her while Holmes stood beside her as the witch unwrapped the item she’d brought.

Yank glanced back and saw a length of metal a little more than a yard long with a hooked end like a shepherd’s crook or a giant fishing hook.

She pulled the last of the canvas from it. “I found this laying around the museum. Belonged to a ninth-century Norse witch.”

Holmes’s eyes narrowed. “You stole it?”

“They didn’t know what they had. There’s more power in this than anything I’ve ever seen. It drew me to it.” She shrugged. “What do you want to do? Look at it behind a case or use it to help us save England?”

Holmes didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “How exactly are we going to get in?”

“That’s where the Tuatha comes in. It knows the secret knock.”

She began to hum. Her pupils rolled back, revealing nothing but white.

Yank shuddered. He hated when that happened.

She spoke something guttural in a language he didn’t understand, then struck the ground three times with the end of the metal staff.

Yank didn’t see what happened, but he heard her say, “Oh hell no,” then heard her fall.

He turned to see her splayed facedown. No opening. No doorway. Nothing except cold, wet grass.

“What happened?”

Holmes knelt and checked for a pulse. “She’s alive. Pulse is strong.” He glanced at Yank. “She acted surprised.”

Yank made a face. “Can’t be a good thing if a witch gets surprised.”

Holmes nodded.

Walker pointed toward one of the woodpiles. “Look. There.”

They watched as several pieces of wood fell from the pile to the ground as if there was something inside the pile pushing it free.

Yank and the others raised their silenced HKs but refrained from firing.

Then more wood fell until the entire pile had flattened across the ground. Yank saw both Walker and YaYa grit their teeth. When Yank looked back at the wood, he watched as the pieces began to come together. Small and large pieces, thick and thin pieces, they were moving together on their own for a common purpose. He couldn’t be sure how long it had taken, but it was suddenly a being. He could see legs, bent the wrong way, like an animal’s. A tall, slender upper body with long arms, a triangular head with what looked like horns jutting free. Only it wasn’t a body or a being, just wood somehow hewn together to make this… this creature.

When it turned its head to regard them he couldn’t help but let out a gasp.

Then it took off running.

“Hoover, YaYa, Walker, get that thing,” Holmes ordered.

All three looked at one another, including the dog. Then they were off. YaYa and Walker slid their rifles on their backs, barrels down for better ease of running.

He turned to Yank and Laws. “You two, help me and Ms. Moore.” He bent down to pick up the staff but snatched his hand back when it sizzled on the metal. “I think we’ve been tricked.”

“But who would do it?”

“My guess is that Tuatha was playing possum.”

Laws grabbed the witch under her arms. “Where to now?”

“Wherever that thing is going.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Laws motioned for Yank to grab her feet.

“Glastonbury Tor.”

Yank did the math. It was about forty miles away. They couldn’t possibly run it. They’d have to steal a car to get there in time.

Then they heard Walker give a shout over their MBITR.

“Oh hell! A truck just creamed it.”

CHAPTER 44

SOUTH OF GLASTONBURY TOR, ENGLAND. A FEW MINUTES LATER.

The party was still in full swing. Revelers could be heard inside and outside the home. Here and there a naked torso or butt could be seen pressed against one of the upstairs windows. Ian had never seen anything like it. What they were doing didn’t seem fitting on Christmas and certainly was not a tradition his family cultivated.