Reign of Evil

How could he tell? Maybe if he touched them. Petting Hoover had felt like he was moving his fingers through static electricity. He’d have to touch Walker first to establish if that was the way it felt with humans as well as canines. If he could establish a recognizable feeling, then it was only a matter of figuring out a way to touch everyone.

He could almost laugh at the irony. It was less than a year ago when he’d been the one possessed, trying to hide it, to keep others from knowing. Now look at him.

The helicopter began to lower. He glanced out the window as they crossed from pasture to manicured estate. Only it wasn’t any estate. These sprawling gardens and lawns surrounded a four-story mansion the size of a small college. He spied the landing pad about fifty meters behind the house, screened by a copse of trees. They had a welcoming committee of a squad of Royal Marines dressed in full battle rattle as well as several civilians. He found himself looking for the well-known figure of the Queen but then realized that there’d be no reason for her to meet them. After all, she probably didn’t know, nor would she care, who they were.

What bothered him about the scene was the apparent tranquility. King Arthur and his Wild Hunt had had a considerable head start on them and could have easily gotten here first. Had they gone to the wrong place? Was King Arthur traveling somewhere else? He found himself looking at Walker. No. If the Tuatha were here, then there had to be a reason.

“You’re doing a lot of thinking over there,” Laws said, poking him in the knee. “That wrinkle between your eyes is making my head hurt.”

YaYa had felt the hand touch him and it came with no telltale sensation. He still had to find a way to touch Walker, though.

“I thought it was the flechette in your face that made your head hurt.”

Laws grinned, then winced with the effort. “That too.”

YaYa offered him a sympathetic smile. “Just trying to get ahead of the enemy.”

“Aren’t we all.”

When they were about fifteen meters off the deck, Holmes brought them back to the mission.

“Be ready, SEALs.”

Everyone who hadn’t already chambered a round and prepared their weapons did so.

Yank adjusted his body armor.

Walker replaced his pistol mag.

Laws removed his fentanyl lollipop.

The witch kept sucking on hers. She hefted her Viking wand and stared fixedly ahead, as if she were not there.

YaYa stood and posted himself at the door. When the wheels touched down, he slid the door open and leaped out. He held his rifle at low ready and stood by the door.

Hoover leaped out next, followed by Walker.

YaYa reached out to guide the other SEAL and felt the same static charge he’d felt when petting Hoover. Static and sticky. Not a combination that felt anything but supernaturally nasty.

Laws was next. Nothing.

Yank. Nothing.

Ian. Nothing.

The witch came next, but as YaYa went to help her she skipped aside, eschewing his touch.

Holmes came last, and like the witch, when YaYa reached out, he zipped ahead of the touch.

YaYa fell in behind them. He was now certain about Yank and Laws, but of the witch and his boss YaYa still couldn’t be certain. If he could find a way to speak with Laws in private, he’d let him know what he’d discovered. Maybe the second in command could assist.

The other helicopter landed behind them and expelled twelve Royal Marines, led by Lieutenant Magerts.

Holmes approached the head of the Royal Marine commando squad assigned to Sandringham.

Holmes was all business. “Commander Sam Holmes, SEAL Team 666.”

“Lieutenant MacMasters,” the young man said with just a trace of brogue. “Mr. Garland is waiting for you in the second study. If you’ll come with me.” He was stocky with closely cut blond hair and sideburns. His pure blue eyes showed a thoughtfulness in addition to a professional intensity.

Ian touched Holmes on the shoulder. “I’m going to stay out here with Magerts and the men. I need to inspect the grounds.” To MacMasters he said, “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Waits. Is this all your men?”

“I have seven standing by as QRF.”

Hoover had been inspecting the boots of the new group of Marines. He came up to Holmes, who automatically reached down and placed his hand on the dog’s head.

Ian looked at the battle rattle on the new Marines. He smiled grimly. “Sorry to spoil your Christmas, Lieutenant, but get them out here. We’re going to need them.”

MacMasters glanced from Holmes to Ian. “What’s this all about?”

“Shit’s about to hit the fan,” Holmes said. “Better do as the man said.”

MacMasters stared for a moment, then nodded to one of his men who took off running toward the main house. Then the lieutenant nodded. “If you’ll follow me, Commander.”

He started to move back toward the house and the SEALs fell in behind him.

They’d gone perhaps twenty steps when the sound of a hunting horn could be heard in the distance.

MacMasters turned toward it, his eyes narrowed.

The SEALs halted.