A Path of Oak and Ash (30 page)

42

The fact that both Aurelian and Erik were drunk did little to improve his perception of their current situation.  One can tell the ship is sinking when the captain starts drinking directly from the bottle.  Still they stood-staggered really-then followed after Carrick into the main living room.  Aodhan paused by the closed door in the hall, knocking loudly to wake Conall and Quin.

Dropping the folder on the large round glass coffee table he started pulling out papers.  Honestly he was surprised they had been able to retrieve so much information.  Bethany had searched avenues he never would have considered such as tax filings, corporate earnings statements, and social networks.  He had forgotten what an inquisitive mind she had, her research papers for Mr. Pumborke always set the bar for the curve.

"Why are you making such a stir before the sun rises Carrick?"  A shirtless Quin grumbled, emerging from the hallway with an equally half naked Conall.  Carrick wasn't surprised when Bethany's eyes continuously drifted away from the printed case they were arranging upon the tabletop.

He cleared his throat loudly.  "Okay so, we've been at the library looking into a few things collected form our run-ins with the fell.  I think we've found him,” Carrick pulled out the flat black and white printed photograph they had found online of a somewhat attractive man in his mid-forties in an expensive suit.  "Alexander Whitfield CEO of Whitfield Holding Corporation. Once he was known as one of the world’s greatest philanthropists, spending his inherited billions on everything from the fine arts to conservation. Guy funded charter schools and helped inoculate half of South America against small pox."

"Up until about twenty years ago."  Bethany added.  "According to his publicist he had a 'health issue',” Carrick loved her sarcastic use of air quotes, "came out of it 'eccentric' a few years later, according to close friends. Apparently from there he became somewhat of a recluse. Hasn't made a public appearance in over a decade."

"So?"  Conall asked, his impartial expression unaltered by exhaustion.

"So..." Carrick thumbed through his papers, pulling out the list.  "In that time look at the acquisitions his company has made. Fracking operations, Salvage and Disposal Services, Tech startups. Unofficially all sorts of nasty things too; viral and arms based."

"I still do not see your point." Erik frowned. Carrick held up a finger, digging in his pile of paper work. He set his evidence on the tabletop.

"We found this company name-Stergen Industries-at the office in L.A." Carrick tapped the list next to the fracking operation the druids had filed an injunction against to cease operations.

"Selene pulled this off a dead fell in the woods." Carrick set down the company ID.  The one called Reilg who he'd battled was really a man named Reginald Tersey, born and raised in London in the late nineteen fifties. Immigrated to the United States at eighteen to attend Princeton.  From there he'd risen quickly through the ranks of Whitfield Holding in their Accounting department. 
CPA to murderous psychopath, bet no one saw that coming.
  Carrick thought as he gave the photo one final glance.

"Lastly, the plate on the van outside my apartment building. Registered to AssurGuard Safety. A security company employed by Whitfield Holdings to protect their assets in less secure parts of the world."

"Assets like a worn down prison, constructed by W.H. Construction Services, repossessed when the local government went through a bit of a restructure and the new heads of state refused to pay the note."  Bethany tacked on.

"I'll be damned..."Quin's eyebrows popped up.

"If you ask me. Alexander Whitfield died twenty years ago and this," Carrick tapped the photograph, "this bastard is Lorcan."

"Aurelian, can the whisperer's locate this Alexander Whitfield?" Erik asked.

"I will put it to the breeze.  The name has been on our watch lists for some time, although we've never had any evidence like this to support the case.  This is mighty fine work you two."  Aurelian leaned over fake-whispering to Erik.  "See?  She takes after me already."

Blushing, Bethany thanked him for the compliment.

"So what do we do now?"  Aodhan asked.

"Now we rest, going to need all the energy we can muster for what is to come." Erik commanded in his typical fashion.

"You can slumber, but I'm starving."  Quin mumbled as he stood.  "Any one care to join me?"

"I could eat."  Bethany yawned after she spoke, heavy bags hung beneath her eyes.  Carrick wanted to feel horrible for waking her up, but the boon they discovered was worth far more than few hours of shut eye in his opinion.

"Count me in."  Aodhan stood as well.  Conall said nothing but also got to his feet, cracking his neck as he stretched his arms high in the air.

"Carrick?"  Quin extended the invitation, much to his surprise.

"Go on,” Erik whispered to his nephew, "conversation is the cure for every sorrow."

"Yeah count me in."  Carrick stood, pausing to mouth 'thank you' to Erik before following his friends into the kitchen. 

What began as breakfast ended in hilarious calamity.  The phrase 'how many druids does it take to make waffles' played out in Carrick's mind as these field trained warriors took on the waffle iron, the mixer and the stovetop.  In the end they won a narrow victory, having left the carnage of breakfast on the walls, counters and even a bit on the ceiling.

"How on earth have you survived not knowing how to cook?"  Bethany laughed, bits of flour still stuck in her hair from Aodhan throwing the stuff everywhere.

"We don't use fancy gadgets.  Just fire and food." Aodhan answered, drowning his waffles in syrup then layering on bacon and eggs followed by another waffle and more syrup.

"My mum could cook anything."  Conall offered in a rare boast.  He had never spoken of his family since Carrick had met him.  The past tense made him understand why.

"I for one can use most utilities besides just fire.  Unlike Aodhan, I haven't had the privilege of a coddling mother."  Quin defended himself in the usual baritone grumble.

"She dun't coddle me."  Aodhan protested.

"Says the man who was dressed well into his twenties."  Conall tacked on, a sly smile on his typically stoic face.

Bethany frowned.  "Wait, how old are you?"

"Thirty." Aodhan smiled with pride. 

Bethany's brows raised, "Wow. I wouldn't have guessed."

"Hey I'm the young'en.  Quin here is one sixty five.  Conall's fifty four."

Conall frowned.  "Fifty two."

"Agh!"  Aodhan waved a hand dismissively through the air, "one of these days I'll remember."

A very wide eyed Bethany turned to Quin. "You are one hundred and sixty five years old?"  The look on her face made it obvious she was having a very hard time processing that information. 

Quin smiled warmly at her, it made him look handsome much to Carrick's annoyance. "Yes. We do not age as quickly as you are accustomed."

"I'm sorry.  I just can't seem to wrap my head around this." Bethany rubbed her right temple in little circles.  Something Carrick had seen her do in Calculous from time to time.

"The lobster lives to one hundred, whales for over two.  Why is it so hard to comprehend our lifespans are not limited to by the turn of a century?"  Conall asked, tilting his head to the side.  Unlike the rest of them he'd barely picked at his plate.

"I suppose."  Still she seemed unsettled, shifting in her seat.

"Does it change how you see us?"  The pained tone in his voice was either utterly sincere or an act worthy of the silver screen. 
Yes. Now you're a creepy old man, so leave her alone.
Carrick thought, immediately feeling guilty for doing so.  Quin was his brother, they were cool now, and further, he wasn't seeing her anymore.

After a moment of pause, her frown turned upward. "No." She replied before taking another big bite of waffles.

"No?" Quin raised an eyebrow, tucking a chunk of his black hair behind his ear.  One of the small animal fangs he had woven on a braid appeared from within the thick locks.

After she was done chewing, Bethany took her time taking a drink of orange juice before responding.  "I figure age is just a number, right? Fifteen, Forty, Five hundred..."   A light laugh escaped her pretty lips. "Although I wish I would still be able to look sixteen when I'm one hundred and sixty five."  She teased.

Aurelian came storming out of the back hallway, his expression sour.

"Got a location." Aurelian grabbed the television remote off the coffee table. "And more bad news."  The screen flickered with a happy trill as the power light switched from red to green.  A pair of smiling news anchors filled the whole sixty inch screen in surprising clarity.  It only took Carrick a moment to realize why.  He'd never had the pleasure of owning a high def television let alone being able to afford the channels on cable.  He immediately understood what the fuss was about, it was the digital equivalent of normal versus druidic vision in Dre'ien.

Turning up the volume the woman's voice was in the middle of a happy announcement: "To recap our top stories for today.  The Transoceanic Pipeline has been approved by Congress, construction has begun on the twenty four new rigs to be deployed off the coast of Lesji Island, tapping into the newly discovered reserves which should provide at least forty years of additional petroleum.  Stergen Industries heralds the multi-national agreement as hope for the future at the ground breaking ceremony earlier today."

"This should create almost six thousand new jobs in a struggling global economy."  The co-host added, his wide smile amplifying the wrinkles in his cheeks.

"That's right Jim."  Carrick wondered for a moment how many times the perky blond had rehearsed saying that one.  "Now with this massive amount of fresh resources, what of the green initiatives?"  She folded her hands in her lap as she turned to the male anchor.

"The solar credit bill is expected to die on the house floor with support dropping from both sides of the isle." 

With a curse, Aurelian jabbed the power button on the TV remote.  "Idiots!  The environment can't handle the level of pollutants unleashed from burning all that extra petrol.  Are they truly so obsessed with fire and brimstone that they wish to live among it?"

"Like they care.  All anyone sees is oh goody, I may get to pay two bucks at the pump instead of three fifty."  Bethany said.

"Short-sighted self-serving idiots."  Aurelian corrected himself.

"Hey!  Hey look!"  Carrick interrupted their grumbling, pointing at the screen.

There standing at the center of many smiling businessmen was Alexander Whitfield according to the text on screen.  Shaking hands, waiving to the cameras.  The same man who had approached him in that dark alley.  The blond anchor continued to prattle on about the ceremony and how many famous people and world leaders had attended.  She went on to say the CEO would be personally overseeing the construction from their new state of the art island facility.

"Lorcan is on Lesji Island."  Carrick announced, eyes wide.

"Hooooly shit."  Bethany mumbled.

"What now?"  Aodhan interjected.  "This has got to be a trap."

"Even so, this drilling endeavor must be stopped."  Erik announced.  "For the good of all creatures that dwell in both the oceans and upon the lands."

"How exactly are you going to do that?"  Bethany asked.

"By any means necessary."  Erik's flat tone made it very clear that all options were on the table.  Even violent ones. 

"And Lorcan?"  Carrick prompted.

"We find him and we kill him."  Erik turned towards the map.  "And this time we make sure he stays dead."

43

There was pain in the leaves, deep serrations of an unprecedented nature. A garden cultivated for well over a century pruned to the root. They were dying by the pair. Paris, New York, Beijing. Six more returned to earth just this morn. If one were to apply basic formulae to the situation, the forecast spelled almost certain extinction.

Having lived a very long and full life such a conclusion was not immediately unsettling, only the mechanism of delivery. An item which had rattled about in her brain for weeks and continued to do so presently, taking her focus far from the flower bed she had intended to rid of weeds.

"Excuse me, Lady Miriam Lancaster?" A male voice called from behind her. Curious, Gerald should have answered the door.  The fact that he had not lead her to believe that he had driven into the market for this or that, not atypical for the afternoon.

"Oh good heavens, there is no need to be so form..." Less than ten feet from her music box roses was a comely middle aged man in a suit. What left her at a loss for words was not the pain in her arthritic knee as she stood but the peculiar and unique nature of her caller.

A man, that was not a man.

"I see." Miriam, Mimi as she preferred, brushed at the bits of grass stuck to her gardening apron. "Are we to do this here then?"

She knew the answer before he drew the pistol from beneath his suit coat. The Lancaster estate was renowned for its acres of secluded woodlands and cultivated gardens. The closest village a good half days walk on foot to the east. The only individuals who might be tempted intervene or run for aid were her staff; a housemaid and cook whom she now assumed were likely dead.

"Sorry ol'gal, it's just business." His lackadaisical tone mirrored the draw of his weapon. Pity. She did not intend on being put to pasture any time soon, although his arrival had settled her mind regarding the method being used. One that was almost insultingly simplistic.

With a flick of her wrist the garden trowel left her right hand, whirling through the air. It pierced the soft tissue of her aggressor’s throat, severing the artery beneath in a river of tainted blood. The black droplets burned the grass beneath his loafers while her assailant fell to his knees, clawing desperately at the mortal wound.

"Likewise." She replied. His breaths mere gurgles as the light drained from his dark eyes.

Mimi firmly planted each of her perfectly manicured hands on her hips, frowning at the body. It had been a long time since she had to personally see to corpse clean up. Now at the young age of five hundred and sixteen she had three to deal with, along with the nuisance of preparing her own supper.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a satisfactory cook?" Listless eyes displayed no recognition of her scolding nor did the twisted bloody mouth protest while she rummaged through coat pockets. Not that she needed to identify the fiend, her labors were for the singular purpose of information collection. Anything to ascertain specifics on what was to come.

Unless the escalating conflict was to involve a bubble gum factory, she found herself woefully disappointed.  Still, the others must know of this attack.  She had to warn the few that remained.

Returning to her garden bed she laid fingertip to petal and put her message to the breeze.