Reign of Evil

Walker felt an emptiness well up inside him. A mere echo of what he felt for Jen, but it was still painful. He knew exactly how Preeti was going to feel and mourned for her. “What about the rest?”

YaYa put his hand on Walker’s back. “They have the survivors upstairs in the bedrooms. Everyone else is dead. You should see what was done to that British Lord.”

“The fat guy with the goons?”

“Yeah. That guy. Someone ripped out his manhood and sewed it in his mouth.”

Now it made sense. Walker was able to imagine the rage that had consumed Ian. Had he been alone with the man, especially knowing that he was an integral human part of the conspiracy to bring down England and replace it with something older, nastier, Walker might have done the same. Images ticked through his mind, like CSI photos of what he would have done. His mouth dried and his breathing became rapid. He caught himself and in a voice more husky than he’d planned asked, “What about the red-robed witches and the King?”

“They went into St. Michael’s, then disappeared.”

“All of them?” asked the witch, coming up behind them.

“That’s what Magerts said. His man with a machine gun watched them go and said there was a flash of light.”

She frowned. “The only way that could happen is if all the other witches have Tuatha in them. So many in one place at one time. It’s as if they came together for this one great event.” She harrumphed. “The left-behinds getting their just due.”

She turned and strode inside. “Can we get to Cadbury Castle now?” She raised her voice. “We need to get to Cadbury Castle.”

Holmes stood up. “Let’s go, Ian. This isn’t over.”

Ian stood woodenly. Then, as if he’d just awoken, he looked at the SEALs. He focused on Walker. “Young Jack. Bring Sir MacDonald, can you?”

Magerts made a worried face. “Maybe we should just leave the body here. Let it sort itself out when this is all over.”

But Ian shook his head. “This is my abomination. I need to answer for it.”

“But he was guilty of helping the enemy.” Walker stared at his hands, which had become fists, strangling invisible murderers. “Accessory to the murders of our loved ones. Don’t you get it? He knew.”

Ian put his hand on Walker’s shoulder. “I know he knew. He was a terrible human being. But don’t you get it? If we do the same things to them as they do to us, we become them.”

Walker tried to find a weakness in the man’s logic.

“Get the body and bring it with us. I’ll let the Queen decide my fate. I can’t go without being judged. I just can’t.”

Walker tried to think of something to say, but his mind was everywhere and nowhere at once.

Holmes saved him. “Go ahead, Walker. YaYa, go with him.” To Magerts he said, “Let’s figure out our transportation situation.”

YaYa grabbed Walker and pushed him toward the stairs. “Come on, man. Let’s get this done.”

They trudged up the stairs. Walker followed YaYa, who’d already been upstairs. They went into a bathroom and found Sir MacDonald in the bathtub, eyes staring sightlessly toward the paneled ceiling. Beneath these orbs his face was a bloody mess and looked as if an inexpert hand had frantically sewed and seamed his mouth shut. You could tell where someone stopped, then started. Several of the threads had broken and had been resewn.

Walker saw the dark red stain of blood that had seeped through the terry-cloth robe where the crotch should have been. Yeah. It was fucking terrible, but a growing part of him wished it had been him who’d done this instead of Ian. And if anyone wanted to judge him for this deserved desire, then let it be Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.

“Let’s get this done,” he said roughly.

Walker grabbed the arms and YaYa took the legs. They took the body into the master bedroom, laid it on the bed, then bound it in the bedspread, using ripped lengths of sheet to tie it. About halfway through, Walker noticed YaYa had stopped moving. He glanced at the kid and saw his teeth were rattling. His face had paled and sweat beaded on his brow.

“What is it?”

“I feel… there’s… something.”

Walker felt something too, but he’d been feeling a low-key supernatural buzz almost the entire time he’d been in England. But now that YaYa was feeling something, he tried to hone in on the feeling. Strange. It was as if it was centered right in front of them, but all that was there was the dead MP and the bed.

Walker suddenly stepped back.

“Did you check under the bed?”

“Of course…” YaYa stepped back too. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” All he saw was the dark edge of a solid shadow.

“Once we saw the body, it was all about that.”

“Did Hoover come in here?”

“No, she was in the other rooms.”

Walker pulled his pistol and dropped to his knees. A set of eyes met his own. “Get out of there.”

The eyes blinked at him.

He waved the barrel of his pistol. “Get the hell out.”