The Order of Brigid's Cross - The Wild Hunt (Book 1): The Wild Hunt (12 page)

Sean watched as Gillian took Mrs. Gage underwing, gently
guiding her through the church and up to Father Jack’s residence for a promised
cup of tea.
 
But as soon as they were
both out of eyeshot, he turned to Em, the façade of congeniality gone. “Now
you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on here,” he said, keeping his
voice low.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Em leaned against the
thick plaster wall. “You’ve been told, O’Reilly,” she said. “Or do you have a
problem with your memory?”

“I don’t like people tracking me,” he said.

She shrugged carelessly. “We’ve been watching you for a
while,” she replied.

Sean stepped away and paced quickly up the hall, trying to
dissipate some of his anger before he spoke again.
 
Finally, keeping himself several feet away
from her he met her eyes. “You’ve been watching me?” he asked, his teeth
gritted. “And just how the hell long has that been going on?”

Unfolding her arms, she stood up straight and walked over to
him. “For a long time,” she said softly.
“A very long time.”

“Like what? Three months?
A year?
Two years?” he demanded.

“Like ever since you became a cop,” she answered.

Stunned, he backed away, shaking his head. “No. I would have
known,” he countered. “There is no way…”

“You and I were connected,” she interrupted. “They knew
it.
 
They knew that you would be one of
the few who would, who
could,
accept what we are and
what we do because of that experience.
 
We needed someone we could trust.”

“Trust?” he spat, raking his hand through his hair. He
stormed back down the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor.
Reaching the end of the hall, he paused and kicked a classroom door. The sound
of the door crashing against the interior wall of the empty classroom resounded
through the hall, and Em winced.

Sean turned back to her and strode back up the hallway,
standing before her, his eyes blazing with anger. “You talk about trust?” he
demanded, his voice an irate whisper. “You dare talk to me about trust? You and
your organization have been spying on me since I became a cop.
 
What? Did you influence my posts and
transfers, too?”

Even knowing it would make him even more furious, Em
couldn’t lie to him. “If it suited our needs, yes, we did,” she said. “For the
most part your career was your own. Every commendation, every promotion, were ones
you earned, we did nothing to influence that. But the track you were taken
down, the direction those promotions turned you towards. Yes, we did, at times,
influence those.”

“Special Crimes Unit?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, we needed you there,” she admitted.

“I wanted Narcotics,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “But we felt—”

He slammed his fist against the wall beside him. “You felt?”
he demanded. “You felt?
 
This is my life.
How about how I felt?”

She didn’t flinch, but this time there was no sympathy in her
voice when she spoke. “Stop your whining, O’Reilly,” she said. “You have many
more choices than I. You wanted to be a cop to make sure all was right with the
world. Well, you’ve been given a chance. And a grand chance it is.
 
This isn’t narcotics or vice. This is a war,
O’Reilly.
A war against a race that is stronger, smarter, and
has more tools than we can ever imagine.
 
We have only ourselves and a few bits of magic and cunning to win this
war. We look for soldiers who are brave, strong, and honest. If you feel we’ve
offered you a slight when we put you in that category, that’s just too bad. And
if you feel manipulated or maneuvered, you’ve only yourself to blame.
‘Twas
you that walked into that forest when you were a
lad.
 
‘Twas
you
who came to answer the distress call of an unknown child.
‘Twas
you who fought so valiantly and nearly died.”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Sean felt the
anger seep from his body. “You weren’t part of this?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No more than you,” she admitted. “But
my birthright has more to do with my position than yours. My mother was seduced
by a Sidhe and then wasted away in longing.
 
The good nuns found me when I was five years old, near starving, dirty,
and basically raising myself. My mother was in a near comatose state, crying
once again for the faerie who’d taken her heart.
 
She had no thought for me. I don’t know if
she even realized she had a child.”

Em stepped away from Sean and looked down the long hallway,
so similar to the ones in the orphanages where she spent her formative years.
“The authorities claimed my mother was an addict, yet try as they might, they
found no drug in her system,” she said. “Which by court order, led to years of
them giving me back to her for months at a time. The psychologists were sure
that her maternal instincts would kick in sooner or later. I would beg them not
to leave me with her. But you know, they believed in a mother’s love.”

 
“Surely she loved
you,” Sean said, thinking about his own mother and what she would do to protect
her children.

“There is no such thing as love,” Em snapped, and then she
shook her head. “I learned the truth of that a long time ago.”

“What finally happened?” Sean asked, deciding now was not
the time to argue that particular point.

“It was winter. Our home was back on the Child Services
check-up route,” she said. “I understand I was blue with cold, my life nearly
gone. I had snuggled up against the body of my mother, who been a corpse for
nearly two weeks. I was seven years old.”

She took a moment and neither of them spoke. “The nuns took
me in,” she said. “And when they realized what I was, they brought me to the
Order and trained me.
 
I was quite a handful,
always sneaking out and chasing the fae on my own.”

“That’s when I met you?” Sean asked. “When you were on your
own chasing the Sidhe?”

“Aye, that Sidhe, whoever he was, took my mother’s life and
nearly my own,” she said. “I’ve a great appetite to even the score.”

Sean studied the woman before him, and now understanding her
story, his admiration for her grew.
 
He
nodded and then held out his hand. “I’ll help you,” he said simply.

She hesitated. “I’m not looking for your pity,” she said.

He shook his head. “No, the pity is for the little girl who
lived through what she did when she should have been cared for,” he said. “But
the woman who she became needs no pity, only another partner in her war.”

She nodded, smiled and took his hand. “Aye, I’ll take it.”

The distinguished law offices of Peter O’Bryan, attorney-at-law,
were usually encased in hushed tones and soft, classical music while junior
partners and assistants worked on various contracts, lawsuits and other legal
matters for their high-end clientele.
 
Pete eschewed the modern glass and steel environment for a more
traditional one of highly polished wood, overstuffed leather and a richly hued
accent palette.
 
But the Monet oil hanging
in his private office next to the framed, vintage, sports photographs more
fully exemplified his eclectic decorating tastes.

This afternoon, however, there were noises coming from the
employee lounge that were generally saved for later in the day when the work
was done, the doors were locked, and the people Pete enjoyed working with
kicked back for a while waiting for the rush-hour traffic to dissipate.
 
Today, Jamal’s shouts of victory as he thoroughly
trounced one of Pete’s younger associates in a video game on the widescreen HD
television could be heard throughout the office.
 
And that sound, Pete decided, was a joyful
noise.

Picking up the phone, he dialed Sean’s cell and waited a
moment for his friend to pick up.

“Hey, I’ve got him.
 
He’s safe here at the office giving Joey a run for his money at video
games,” he said.

He heard Sean’s audible sigh of relief. “Thanks, I really
owe you,” Sean replied. “So, how far in do you want to be?”

Pete leaned back in his specially designed chair and smiled.
“How far in do you think I should be?”

He tapped his fingers softly on the desk as he waited for
Sean to
reply,
intrigued by the time it was taking his
usually quick-witted friend to speak. “Okay, this is the thing,” Sean finally
said. “Remember that stuff I told you about when I went to Ireland as a kid?”

“Yeah, your scar, right?”

“That’s right,” Sean said. “And the thorns that were hallucinogenic?”

“Yeah, we spent four hours trying to find out what they were
so we could get a legal high,” Pete replied with a smile.

“And we couldn’t find anything about them,” Sean said,
exhaling slowly. “Well, now I know the reason why.”

“Okay, spill it.”

“What I saw. What I thought I saw and everyone told me was a
dream? Well, it wasn’t.”

Pete sat forward and placed his elbows on the desk top.
“What the hell are you saying?”

“You know, it’s probably a good idea if we don’t talk about
this over the phone,” Sean said. “Remember our place?”

Nodding, Pete pictured the small tavern in his old
neighborhood.
 
A place
where neither he nor Sean would be considered outsiders.
“Yeah, I
remember,” he said. “Should I bring him with?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sean replied. “But take the long
way around.”

The long way around, Pete thought, their code phrase for
someone might be following you.

“Yeah, I got it,” he said.

He hung up the phone and slipped his hand down to the
controls on the chair.
 
Lowering it
slightly, he back up away from the desk and crossed the room to the heavy, oak
door.
 
With another touch of a button,
the door opened, and he was able to roll through to the hallway.

Liza Pope, Pete’s legal secretary, a statuesque black woman,
twisted around in her chair, hands posed over her keyboard, and smiled at Pete.
“Hey boss, what’s up?”

“I’m heading out for the day,” Pete replied. “Did you have a
chance to get those things I needed?”

Reaching under her desk, she pulled out a large shopping bag
with the logo of a trendy store for teenagers and handed it to him. “I went to
my son’s favorite store and bought him a new wardrobe. I brought two outfits
with me,” she said. “The rest are waiting for an address to be delivered.”

“Outfits?”
Pete asked. “Do guys
really use the word outfits?”

She grinned. “I got him a couple of shirts, two pairs of
jeans, a sweatshirt, some new shoes and the basics—socks, tees and underwear.
Better?”

Nodding, he returned the smile. “Yeah, better,” he said.
“Now, what I need you to do is get him to change his clothes so he looks
nothing like the kid we brought in here today, okay?”

“I get it,” she said. “I’ll make sure he looks like my son.”

“Did you talk to Maria?” he asked and when she nodded added.
“How angry is she?”

She paused for a moment, biting the inside of her mouth to
control the laughter. “She says if height were a protected discrimination
category, she would be thinking about suing you for all you’ve got.”

“And?”

“And she will change into Jamal’s clothes and be ready to
leave with you as soon as you need her.”

“Tell her I owe her,” he replied, then he handed her an
index card with an address on it. “Once Maria and I leave, wait about fifteen
minutes and drive to this address with Jamal.
 
Sean O’Reilly will be there.
 
Only
leave Jamal with him, no one else.”

She nodded. “Got it,” she said and then asked. “How much
trouble is he in?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replied. “But if Sean O’Reilly is
telling me to be careful, then we all need to watch our backs.”

He started to roll past her desk and then stopped. “You know
that security firm we contract with?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Give them a call,” he said. “I want someone outside your
house and Maria’s house tonight.
Just in case.”

“How about your place?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think anyone is getting into my place
without my knowledge,” he said. “And if they try it will be interesting meeting
with them.”

He continued down the hall towards the employee lounge,
stopped his chair and waited for a few moments, watching the young boy’s
relaxed and happy face as he took another one of Joey’s troops out.
 
“Hey, Jamal, it looks like you’ve whipped
Joey,” he said.

Jamal grinned at him. “I beat him bad,” he replied. “I
totally thrashed him.”

Joey put down his controller and shook his head. “The kid’s
a natural,” he said. “I can’t believe he’s never played this game before
today.”

Pete glanced up at the scores on the screen, impressed by
the numbers, and turned to Jamal. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “You’ve
played this before, haven’t you?”

Jamal shook his head. “No, sir,” he answered. “We
ain’t
got a game system or a TV that would even hook up
with a game system if we had one. My grandma, she
ain’t
got
no
use for things like this. She says it’s a waste
of time.”

“Your grandma is a smart woman,” Pete said. “But sometimes
these games can be more than just games.” He paused for another moment, and
then shook his head. “But that’s for another day. Today, we got to get you out
of here without anyone knowing it’s you.”

“How we gonna do that?”

Pete handed Jamal the bag of clothes. “You need to change
your clothes and put on these new ones,” he said. “Then I’m going to have
someone else put on your clothes and pretend to be you.
 
After we leave, Liza’s going to pretend that
you’re one of her sons and she’s going to take you to meet Detective O’Reilly.”

“Detective O’Reilly?”
Jamal asked.
“He’s got my grandma.”

“Yeah, he brought her somewhere safe,” Pete said. “And he
wants to take you there, too, but he wants to be sure no one is following you.”

Jamal nodded. “Yeah, I got that,” he said.

“Okay, go change and be quick about it.”

Jamal looked into the bag for the first time, and a shy
smile flashed across his face. “Yes, sir,” he replied enthusiastically.

Fifteen minutes later, Jamal was dressed in clothes that
probably cost more than he and his grandma’s month’s living allowance, Maria
Perez, a petite associate, was dressed in Jamal’s old clothes, her long, black
hair hidden beneath a cap and the hood of his sweatshirt.

“Wow, for a grownup, you’re really short,” Jamal said.

“I’m not short. I’m petite,” Maria replied.

“So, Jamal, show her how you walk,” Pete said, biting back a
smile.

Jamal walked up and down the hallway, striding with a
slightly rhythmic bounce.

“You really walk like that?” Maria asked. “Or are you just
pulling my chain?”

He grinned. “I really walk like that,” he said. “It’s the
bad way to walk.”

Pete nodded. “Okay, Maria,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Maria’s imitation of Jamal’s saunter was stiff and a little
exaggerated. Jamal and Pete glanced at each other and shook their heads
simultaneously. “Well, the good news,” Pete said, “is that it’s a really short
walk from the back of the office to my car.”

Maria scowled at Pete.
“Very funny, Mr.
O’Bryan.
Very funny.”