The Order of Brigid's Cross - The Wild Hunt (Book 1): The Wild Hunt (4 page)

A few hours later, sitting in his car in the parking lot
outside the hospital, Sean studied his notes again and shook his head slowly.
“What the hell?” he whispered, and then he picked up his phone and dialed.
 
The call went to voice mail, but Sean hung up
and dialed again.

“Hello?” a weary voice answered.

“About time you answered your phone,” Sean said.

“Bugger it! Do you know what time it is?”
came
the slightly irate Scottish-accented voice on the line. “This had better be
important.”

“I know what time it is,” Sean replied with a wide smirk on
his face. “And if you were
back
home, it would be
about eight o’clock in the morning. What are you doing sleeping the morning
away?”

“Piss off,” Professor Ian MacDougal muttered. “I’m going
back to sleep.”

“Ian, something’s happened,” Sean stated, his voice going
from teasing to serious. “And I need your help.”

Hearing a long sigh, Sean could picture Ian pulling himself
out of bed and moving to the computer station he had across his room.
 
Ian was not only the founder and head of the
MacDougal Foundation for Paranormal Research but also a Fellow from the
University of Edinburgh working through the University of Chicago and the
Chicago Police Department on a study of Criminology and Parapsychology. For the
past few months he’d been working in Freeport, Illinois, with Sean’s sister,
Mary, studying her interaction with ghosts and working with her to solve some of
the mysteries that she had encountered.
 

“Okay, the damn machine is booting,” he growled. “What’s it
you need?”

“Okay, I’m going to describe something to you, and then,
maybe, you can help me with where to even start looking,” Sean said.
“A tall creature, like ten feet tall.
 
Long, sinewy limbs that are so long they drag
on the ground with razor-like nails that are so tough that as they are pulled
along the asphalt, they spark…”

“Sean, Sean,” Ian said. “I told you to stay out of strange
bars when you’re looking for a date. She turned you down, did she?”

“Not funny, Professor, not funny at all,” Sean said. “His
clothes are ripped up and thin, like sheets.”

“Shrouds perhaps?” Ian suggested and then he was silent for
a moment. “Sean, I see that Gillian is online at the moment. Would you mind if
I shared your information with her?
 
She’s some background in legends and such.”

Sean knew that Gillian, Ian’s fiancée, was a researcher, and
since she was originally from Ireland, perhaps she would have a different
perspective on what was going on.

“No problem,” Sean said. “The more input the better.”

“Okay, I’ve sent her what you described,” he said. “And she
wants to know what their faces were like.”

“Faces,” Sean said, scanning his notes. “Oh, yeah, the head
guy has a helmet like a reindeer skull.”

Sean could hear Ian typing in the background, pausing and
typing again.

 
“She says it sounds
like the Elk King,” Ian said.

“The Elf King?”
Sean spat. “Listen,
I know I said reindeer, but this guy has nothing to do with Santa Claus.”

Ian chuckled softly. “No, she said the Elk King,” Ian said.
“With a ‘K.’
She
says he is the leader of the Wild
Hunt.”

“The Wild Hunt?”
Sean asked slowly,
a frisson of trepidation running up his spine.

“Aye, it’s the fae version of a fox hunt,” Ian said, “except
the hunters tend to slay any mortals who happen to be in their path or grab
them up and take them down to
Tír
na
nÓg
with them.”

“Slay as in cut up in pieces?”

“Let me ask.”

Once again, Ian paused to type. “She says their main weapons
would be broadswords, so I’ll say yes, that would be right,” Ian replied
slowly. “She wants to know why you’re asking about this, Sean, and quite
frankly, so do
I
.”

“Well, as near as I can see,” Sean said, “the South Side of
Chicago either had a visit from the Wild Hunt last night or something doing a
really good job at imitation.”

“What?” Ian asked, incredulous. “But that’s impossible.”

“When can you be here?” Sean asked.

“Mary and Bradley arrived back last night,” he said.
“Gillian and I can pack up and leave in the morning. I can be there before
noon.”
 

Sean nodded slowly. “Thanks. It’s a gruesome scene. You
might not want to bring Gillian,” Sean said.

“I’ll ask her on the drive down,” Ian replied. “She might
prove more useful than you think.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” he said. “I’m going to get home
and get a little sleep.”

“Um, Sean,” Ian inserted before Sean could hang up.

“Yes?”

“Gillian just messaged me that she wants you to do her a
favor and place something iron across your doorway after you’re in,” he said.

“Something iron?”

“Aye, she says she’ll explain tomorrow. Just do it.”

“Okay, you’re the professor,” Sean agreed and then hung up
the phone. “And you just gave me the creeps.”

He looked down at his notes, remembering the pleading look
on Jamal’s face when they finished the interview. “You believe me, don’t you?”
the boy had asked.

Sean nodded. “Yeah, I believe you, and I’m going to go call
a friend of mine who knows more about this kind of stuff,” he had replied. “But
Jamal…”

“Yes, Detective O’Reilly.”

“Maybe for right now, you shouldn’t answer anyone else’s
questions,” Sean had advised. “Just pretend the drugs they gave you kicked in
and you’re too sleepy. Okay?”

The young man nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, okay, I can do
that.”

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he had promised and hurried
to his car to call Ian.

Closing his notebook, Sean put his car into gear, pulled out
of the parking spot and headed across town to his apartment near the lake.
 
The streets were nearly deserted and the few vehicles
he passed were either Chicago Sanitation trucks or large, rumbling Chicago Transit
Authority buses.
 
He flicked on his turn
signal and was waiting at the light for the chance to hop onto the expressway
when he remembered another obligation.

“Damn, I nearly forgot,” he muttered, looking over his
shoulder to make sure no one was behind him and then inching over into the
through lane before the light changed.
 
Instead of Interstate 90, Sean drove up Harrison Street and turned left
into the tunnel that was known as lower Wacker Drive.

Built in the 1920s, the lower level of Wacker Drive had been
created to accommodate the delivery trucks using the below-level street to
access buildings that stood alongside the Chicago River. The thick concrete
pylons had to be strong enough to withstand the heavy downtown traffic above
and the low concrete ceilings were created to give trucks just enough room to
maneuver in the shadowy recesses of the expensive retail stores and office
buildings.

Sean wondered what Mary would see if she were down here. She
often got a glimpse of the history of a place.
 
Would she see mobsters dumping a concrete-booted victim into the depths
of the Chicago River?
Prohibition-dodging socialites sneaking
out of vintage limousines with their boot-legged liquor hidden beneath their
coats?
 
Dock workers unloading the
ships that traveled down the Chicago River?
 
Or drowning victims from the unfortunate Eastland steamship disaster
where 844 people died just off the docks of lower Wacker drive?

He shivered as he wondered about the unseen hundreds he
probably shared the tunnel with that night. Of course, he reasoned, the current
view wasn’t much better. The skeleton frames of old boat moorings and docks on
the river side of the road lay deserted, except for the scampering of large
river rats.
 
The other side of the
four-lane road had been a labyrinth of service docks for stores, restaurants
and office buildings, but now the concrete slabs and sidewalks had become a
community for many of the city’s homeless.
 
Large appliance boxes, small lean-tos and even
old camping tents created a neighborhood of those who either shunned humanity
or had been tossed away by society because they didn’t fit the mold.
  

He spotted the woman he’d been looking for, alone as usual,
huddled in a small corner where a concrete wall protected her from the worst of
the cold winds.
 
She stood with her
wooden staff in her old, gnarled hands, watching her surroundings and her
precious grocery cart fervently.
 
That’s
how he had first met her, fighting off a group of young
thugs
intent on stealing that cherished cart. Sean pulled his cruiser up to the curb,
grabbed a white paper sack from the seat next to him and exited the car.
 
“Top of the morning to you, Hettie,” he
called, walking towards her.

She smiled at him, exposing her nearly toothless gums, and
nodded. “Tis the middle of the night, foolish mortal,” she called back. “Are
you blind?”

“Oh, but Hettie,
me
darling, when
I see you, I only see sunshine and summer days,” he replied.

She snorted rudely, but the smile widened on her wizened
face. “For all your charm, you won’t be getting under me skirts,” she taunted
as he drew nearer.

Her tiny body was bent and probably broken in a dozen
places.
 
But she proudly wore a long,
green ball gown that was too large for her thin frame and a thick wool shawl
that Sean had given her that matched the color of the gown.
 
Her nose and her ears had outgrown the rest
of her facial features, reminding Sean of the picture of a goblin he’d seen as
a child. She held her staff in front of her, partially for protection, he
thought, and partially for support.

Sean slapped his hand against the middle of his chest.
“Hettie, once again you puncture my heart with your harsh words,” he said,
handing her the bag and smiling at her soft cackle. “Have I no hope?”

Reaching inside the bag she pulled out the Styrofoam cup
filled with tea laced liberally with cream and honey. She eagerly pulled the
tab up and drank greedily, her thick tongue darting around her dried lips to
gather any stray drops and her small, dark eyes closed in pleasure.
 
 
“I
thank
ye
, Sean,” she whispered, her now opened eyes
moist, “for the lovely things you do for me.”

Smiling at her, Sean pulled a lighter from his pocket. “I
know your answer, but I have to ask,” he said. “Will you not come with me so I
can find you a safer place to stay?”

She shook her head, pulled a blueberry scone out of the bag
and brought it to her nose, taking a deep, appreciative sniff.
 
“I would if I could,” she said. “But I must
stay here, at me post, until I am needed.”

Sighing, he bent down and set a fire to a small pile of
firewood she kept contained in an old grill base. “Can you at least let me
leave some matches for you?” he asked. “So you can light your fire yourself?”

Shaking her head, she smiled at him. “I can’t touch fire,”
she explained once again. “It’s against the rules. But I do so love to be
warm.
 
Thank you kindly, Sean O’Reilly.”

Standing, he smiled at her and bowed his head in a courtly
manner. “Thank you for allowing me to be of service, Hettie.”

“You are a good man,” she said. “And when you have need of
me, you’ve only to call.”

“Thank you,” he replied politely. “I will remember
that.
 
See you tomorrow, Hettie.”

“Have a good morrow,” she said and then she looked beyond
him towards the river and the night sky. Her eyes seemed to glaze over, her voice
deepened, and she spoke softly, “And beware, Sean O’Reilly, there is a dark
cast in the sky. Things are changing.”

She’d only screamed
once, but somehow that scream created an internal compass in twelve-year-old Sean
O’Reilly and he ran steadily, instinctively knowing he was going in the right
direction. Not once did he consider turning and running the other way, to get
help from someone older and, perhaps, stronger.
 
He knew if he did not help, she would not survive.

The woods were his
enemy in his quest. Leaves and branches slapped against his face and arms as he
pushed through the dense brush. And when the vegetation did not seem to hold
him back, the roots of the trees and the rocks on the ground caught at him,
trying to trip him up at every turn. But his young legs were both steady and
agile and he ran ahead, avoiding their snares.

The day had started
warm, and now sweat trickled down his forehead and bloomed on the front and
back of his t-shirt.
 
He wiped his
forearm across his face, slick from heat and humidity, and continued on.

Slowing as he neared
his destination, he realized he needed to have the element of surprise on his
side.
 
Placing his feet carefully one in
front of the other, heel first and then slowly lowering the ball of his foot
before lifting off again, imitating
an
Native American
he’d seen hunting in a movie, he glided forward to the edge of the grove.
 
He could hear movement, but the foliage in
front of him blocked his vision.
 
Reaching forward, he grabbed hold of the curtain of leaves and pushed
them aside.

It must be a bear, he immediately
thought, as he stared at the back of the huge beast.
 
The hide was shiny in spots, like the fur had
worn away, but in other areas tufts of brown, black and silver hair grew thick
and long like a lion’s mane.
 
It was
standing upright, and the thick muscles in its back confirmed its power.
 

It was only when he
had moved past the shelter of the trees and stepped into the clearing that he
saw her.
 
She was probably his age, only
her build was far more slender and she was taller, several inches taller, than
he.
 
Some of her long, red hair, which
fell down to her waist, was caught in the branches of a low-hanging tree, and as
she twisted and turned, trying to escape, the beast came closer. Sean realized
that he only had a moment to act.
 
A
moment until the hunter found its prey.

Desperately looking
around for a weapon, he finally knelt and picked up a large stone. He could
throw it at the beast’s head, frightening it away.
 
But he had to throw it at the right angle. Stepping
forward quickly, thinking only of the girl and his need to help, his foot came
down on a small twig. “SNAP!”

It shouldn’t have
sounded so loud.
 
It shouldn’t have
echoed through the forest. It shouldn’t have turned all of the attention
towards him.
 
But it did.

The beast turned
slowly, and the blood in Sean’s veins ran cold. He had never seen anything like
it. It was a creature that hid in the darkest corners of your nightmares. Its
head had the girth of a bull, but a boar-like snout glistened in the middle of
it with sharp, sabre teeth protruding from either side of the snout. Its yellow,
reptilian eyes zeroed in on Sean, and the boy felt his heart skip a beat.
 
This was no time for cowards, he decided with
a shaky breath.
 
Summoning all his
strength, Sean whipped the stone through the air, aiming for its eyes.

The stone sailed
through the air, and Sean watched it hurtle towards its destination. Time
seemed to slow as the rock came closer to the face of the beast.
 
He nearly shouted with relief when the stone
proved his aim to be true, but rather than incapacitate the beast, it merely
harmlessly bounced off the thick hide and plopped down into the thick, mossy
ground.
 
The creature chuckled and
stepped towards Sean.

Panicked, he looked
around wildly and saw the large tree limb on the ground.
 
He dove, but the creature, surprisingly agile
on its feet, did the same.
 
Sean grabbed
hold of the limb at the same time the creature, with its talon-like fingernails
grabbed hold of Sean’s arm.
 

Sean screamed as he
felt his flesh being scraped away from the bone.
 
Twisting with his other arm, he swung the
branch against the creature’s head. Over and over he pounded away as the beast
shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. But he wasn’t going to give up.
For a moment Sean thought he might win.
 
The limb was large enough to knock the creature’s head to the side with
each new blow. Sean felt a strange surge of endorphins, and he gritted his
teeth, putting all of his power into the strike.

This time, the
creature lost its footing and stumbled sideways.
 
Sean cried with triumph and was ready to
strike again when he felt a pinch on his arm.
 
He turned and watched in horror as one of the creature’s talons opened
and a narrow, translucent, bone-like needle buried itself into his arm. He
struggled to pull it away, but the hold was too great.
 
Striking blindly with the tree limb, he
watched the creature’s bone darken as black liquid ran through its hollow core
and flowed into his arm.

“No!” he screamed and
tried once again to pull away, but the instant the poison was in his system, he
could feel the numbing begin.

“Help,” he whispered
weakly, as the forest began to blur before his eyes.

He twisted away once again,
and this time, the creature opened his grip and released him. He fell
backwards, his limbs too heavy to respond.
 
Everything seemed to be once again moving in slow motion.
 
As he fell, he could see past the creature to
the tree that had held the red-haired girl captive.
 
Now, only a few strands of her hair hung on
the branches where she had been. Good! He thought with a little satisfaction. At
least she got away.

He hit the ground with
a thump, leaves and small twigs spewing up around him, and lay at the feet of
the beast like a sacrificial offering.
 
Looking
up, through his blurred vision, he could see long streams of frothy saliva
streaming past the beast’s canine teeth and down its throat.
 
It growled in appreciation, and a long black
tongue darted from its mouth and wiped the foam away.

Damn, I’m dinner, Sean
realized, and immediately felt bad for saying a word his mother would raise her
eyebrows over.
 

Then he thought better
of it.
 
I’m going to die. I can say damn
all I want to. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

The beast cocked his
head and looked down at Sean.
 
It lifted
one arm up and stretched its fingers, the razor-sharp claws making a clicking
sound as they snapped into place like a multi-tined sickle. Then its reptilian
eyes met Sean’s. The look was cold, cruel and triumphant, and Sean knew this
would be the death blow.
 
He braced
himself but didn’t close his eyes.
 
There
was no way he was going to face death with his eyes closed.
 
He took a deep breath.
 

The glint of sun on metal
blinded him for a moment, and he panicked, not able to see the creature.
 
He heard a swish of movement against air and
braced himself for the impact.
 
After a
moment, when the glare was gone, he realized the creature’s arm was still posed
for the kill, but it wasn’t moving.
 

His gaze traveled from
the arm to the head. It seemed to be moving, but not with the rest of the
body.
 
More like a bobble-head on the top
of a toy body. Then suddenly, he realized the head was no longer attached to
the rest of the body, but falling towards him.
 
He braced himself once more, this time for the weight of the head
crushing him.
 
But as it fell, the head,
along with the rest of the body, disintegrated, becoming nothing more than
miniscule specks of ash in the air.

“It doesn’t look like
much once you’ve wacked its head off,” the girl said, wiping green ooze from
the blade of her broadsword with a rag.

“What?” Sean murmured,
finding it hard to comprehend that he was not going to die.

“Heldeofol,” she
replied.
“Nasty creature.
 
Poisonous.
I’ve
never seen anyone daft enough to take it on with just a stick.”

Even in his nearly
unconscious state, Sean didn’t like her attitude. “Saved you,” he gasped.

“Oh, aye, you helped,”
she replied casually. “But don’t be looking to get a medal for it. I’d have
been out of the fix on my own in a moment or two.
 
You really had no reason to bother yourself.”

Sean glared at her.

“Well, no need to get
nasty,” she said, kneeling down next to him.

She lifted his arm and
tore his shirt away to expose his wounded arm. “Ah, he got you right good,” she
whispered sympathetically. “It’s a scar you’ll wear for the rest of your days
if I’m not mistaking.”

Glancing down, even in
his woozy state, he could see his arm did not look good. The wound was red and
puckered, and blood was oozing around the edges.
 
Small veins of black poison crisscrossed
underneath his skin and traveled up his arm, nearly to his shoulder. She ripped
a piece of his shirt, formed a tourniquet and tied it high on his arm.

“We can’t have the
poison get to your heart,” she explained. “Then you’d be a goner for sure.”

Pulling a few leaves
from a nearby tree, she put them in her mouth and chewed on them a little
before pulling them out and placing them on the wound.
 
Sean scrunched up his nose in disgust and she
laughed. “Aye, I know, ‘tis disgusting, but it’s the only way to release the
healing properties.”

She sat back on her
heels and looked at him. “Your wound is deep and poison is traveling quickly.
There is a way I can help you, but you must know we will be bound because of
it. Do you agree?”

Sean could barely hear
her through the pain of his wounds and the lethargy caused by the poison.
 

Nodding, he took a
deep shuddering breath and watched in detached interest as she withdrew a small
silver knife from a sheath at her waist. She lifted his hand and drew her blade
across the mound of flesh below his thumb and then repeated the same process on
her own hand.
 
She placed the knife back
in the sheath and placed their hands together, her hand on top so the blood
flowed from her body into his.
 

“Bound,” she
whispered.

“Bound, bound, bound.”

Meow. Meow. Meow.

Sean drifted from his dream to near wakefulness, feeling as
though his breathing passages were being crushed; the weight on his chest and
neck were almost unbearable. He managed to pry open his eyes and saw the beast
upon him.
 
Staring down at him with
gleaming emerald eyes, the beast opened its mouth, revealing sharp razor-like
teeth. For just a moment, Sean thought he was back in Ireland.
Back in the forest behind his grandmother’s property.
 
Back to the event his parents had convinced
him had just been a run-in with a thorny vine that held hallucinogenic
properties.
Back to the incident that he had dreamt of ever
since.

The beast on his chest cried out in a voice far more
diminutive than expected.
“Meow.”

“Tiny, get the hell off of me,” Sean growled, lifting the
giant marmalade tomcat off his chest, plopping it onto the mattress next to him
and rolling onto his stomach, grabbing his pillow to cover his head. “I’m still
sleeping.”

Having little to no regard for his human, Tiny, purring with
pleasure that he had finally awakened the man, proceeded to knead, his claws
out, Sean’s back. “Ouch, dammit Tiny, stop it!” Sean yelled into the mattress.

The cat merely purred louder and increased the kneading
until Sean sat up in bed. “Tiny,” Sean yelled, glancing over at the clock.
“It’s seven o’clock in the morning. I got in at three.
 
I’ve only had four hours of sleep. Can’t you
give me a break?”

The cat lifted up its front paws and threw its body against
Sean’s chest in an affectionate rub. “I know it’s time for breakfast,” Sean
said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “But, really, you could live on the
fat of the land for weeks.”

Ignoring Sean’s hurtful comments, the cat lovingly threw
twenty-five pounds of vibrating hair against the man’s chest. Sighing loudly,
Sean whipped the covers off his legs and stood up. Clad only in boxers and a
t-shirt, he looked at the robe hanging on the back of the bedroom door. “No, if
I put my robe on, I’ll stay up,” he muttered. “One can of cat food and I’m back
to bed.”

He pulled the door open and strode down the hall into the
kitchen, immediately going to the cupboard that held several months’ supply of
cat food.
 
His refrigerator and cabinets
might be empty of human food, but he always made sure there was plenty for
Tiny.

Grabbing a can of wild Alaskan Salmon cat food, he suddenly
felt his personal early warning system respond and froze.