Reign of Evil

Holmes gave Walker a bright smile. “Sure, son.” When they signed off, the smile fell hard. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Laws plopped down on the couch facing Holmes. “You slow-rolled him on the Wild Hunt.”

“I did. I don’t want him going off half-cocked. It’s tough trying to manage a mission I’m not a part of from five thousand miles away, but it’s the best I can do.”

“You know, if this Wild Hunt really exists, it could be the reason we need to get over there. On a curious note, I read where there were historical reports of hell hounds chasing down the unbaptized. It’s intriguing because this is a pagan tradition, so why does it care about baptizing into a faith?”

“Probably just an appropriation of legend. We’ve seen it before; just look at the American Bigfoot legends and how we’ve taken what the Native Americans believed and made it our own, changing it to suit our culture. After all, it was the Algonquin tales of the Windigo which spurred our modern idea of a big-footed forest monster.”

“You’re probably right, but it just as easily could be something else. ‘Baptize’ is very similar to ‘sanctify.’ I can get behind that a lot easier.”

“If the Wild Hunt’s mission is to sanctify, then what is it supposed to sanctify?” Holmes asked.

Laws spread his hands. “Dunno. Everything? The land?” He stood and retrieved his tablet. “Oh, one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I checked the logs for hell hounds.”

“Yes?”

“Battle New Orleans. January 8, 1815, actually. The British Ninety-Third Highlanders used hell hounds against Stonewall Jackson’s forces. They were described as ‘making chupacabra look like lambs.’”

“How’d we eventually destroy them?”

“Stonewall had a few witches of his own. One of them was none other than Madame Laboy. Remember her?”

“She’s still in our employ. The zombie exercise in the New Orleans cemetery. I remember it well.” Holmes made a grunt of acknowledgment. “Let’s hope we don’t have to go up against any hell hounds.”

“If we have to fight the Wild Hunt, then those are odds I wouldn’t touch.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Holmes stood also. “Get the men ready. I’ve got something to do.”

“What is it?”

“Call Billings one more time. The more information she has, the better our chances. Don’t forget, she’s on our side. She was close to Jen and wants to get her killers too.”

CHAPTER 13

RAF CHICKSANDS. DUSK.

Walker went down the hall into the communications room where he found Preeti crying. She sat at her workstation, four computer screens in front of her and seven thirty-six-inch monitors on the walls, each one showing a different news channel, with the exception of one showing a cricket match. She was slumped in her chair, her head in her hands.

When Walker saw that she was crying, he stopped in the door. “Excuse me,” he said, backing into the hall.

Preeti wiped her eyes with her fists and shook her tears away. “No, it’s okay.” She smiled weakly. “Come in, Walker.”

“I can come back later. Really, I—”

“No. I’m just being silly. What is it?”

“I just got off the line with my boss. He said if there was any link we could make to something that might be of interest to the U.S. then they’d be able to come over and help. Do we have anything like that?”

She grinned, the sudden change to her demeanor remarkable. Then she laughed. “It’s a sad day for us, isn’t it? We used to be so large. Now all we have is Ian and Trev.” At the mention of her husband, her voice cracked.

Walker couldn’t help himself. He went to her, knelt, and put his arms around her. She accepted and leaned into his shoulder, where she sobbed violently for several minutes. Walker rubbed her back and said soft things to her. After a while, she lifted her head and pushed him away.

“Thank you, Walker. I needed a good cry.” She wiped at her eyes. “Bollocks. I bet my makeup is all a mess. My eyes probably look like Rorschach blobs.”

Walker smiled and stood. “They’re fine.”

“That fiancée of yours trained you well, Walker. You know how to say all the right things.” Then she realized what she said and added, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I mean, I was trying too— Oh, hell, but I’ve bottled it.”

Walker felt a rush of what could have been flow through him, then shook it off. “You’re worried about Trev is all. No worries. I get it.”

“Desperately. I couldn’t help but think of your situation and how we’re so similar. Then with the loss of Jerry…” She inhaled to keep from crying. “… I don’t know if I can handle it.”