Lost Hope Page 20

  “Exactly! how succinctly put. So, Arthur, as you see, a friend in need, and all that.”

  “You figured why not kill two birds with one stone. Let Martha here loose on us and she gets Sasha, you get me out of the picture at the same time?”

  “Correct.” Carmichael turned his head and saw Juice for the first time. His face darkened and he stared hard at me. I swear there was real emotion there, like this meant something to him. “You murdered the boy?” he asked, death in his eyes.

  “Don’t look at me. He’s been tagging along with me for days. No, your friend Martha whacked him over, said he was a disappointment. Hey, Martha, if you’re still in the mood for murdering why not give Carmichael the old heave-ho too?”

  Martha just snarled.

  Carmichael turned to her and asked, “Is this true?”

  “So what if it is? He wasn’t like us, was weak and easily led. A stupid child. There will be more.”

  “No, Martha, there will not. How could you kill your own son?”

  “What business is it of yours all of a sudden?”

  Carmichael stepped down to the same level as Martha and stared at her for the longest time. He didn’t blink, he didn’t move, he just stared. Eventually, Martha broke eye contact and muttered, “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. You know you didn’t have that right. I’ve kept you safe all these years, for centuries, ever since I became involved in Cerberus and the responsibility of looking after you was passed to me. We go back many years, you are one of our oldest Hounds. But this? You know you had no right. How dare you?”

  “I’m sorry.” Martha spoke so quietly it was little but a whisper. I got the feeling she wasn’t used to apologizing.

  Carmichael turned from her and leaned over the banister to stare at the broken body of Juice. His blood was dry, probably because of the wind. Gray brain poked out from the crack in his skull.

  “Look at his body, Martha, look what you did.” Martha kept her eyes downcast. “I said look!” Carmichael grabbed her viciously by the upper arms and pushed her to the edge of the stairs. Then, as she gasped, he grabbed her head and he angled it down so she was staring at Juice.

  This was getting weird. I’d never seen him like this. He kept his cool even when the original vampire was rampaging about looking like a dinosaur and trying to eat him. He was a vampire, and very old, and adept with magic to boot. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle his foul feathers.

  Carmichael gripped Martha tighter and tighter until she began to struggle to get out of his grasp. She clawed at his head, punched back behind, but Carmichael gripped hard and gritted his teeth. Martha screamed and pushed off from the handrail with all her strength as faery dust gathered, magic of her own to fend off the attack.

  Carmichael faltered for an instant as he lost his footing a little, but rather than release her he gripped tighter as his foot slipped.

  With his hands dug deep into her skull, Martha fell backward into him and he lost his balance. They tumbled down the stairs, Martha screaming. Faery dust billowed; Carmichael didn’t make a sound.

  Sasha and I jumped back as they came rolling down the stairs and stopped just in front of us. We didn’t know what to do, what to make of this. Why was Carmichael so incensed? Did he have a thing about never hurting family? Doubtful, as he’d never had a problem involving mine, even though it was strictly against the Code. But then, it had never been done on purpose, not that that was an excuse, mind you.

  Martha was on her back now, Carmichael straddling her. His hands dug deep into her face, as if searching for a reason inside her head. He shifted position as she tried to buck him off, forcing his weight down. She battered him with one hand, the other arm badly broken, the bone protruding just below the elbow. I felt no sympathy for her.

  “You killed him!” Carmichael squeezed tighter, then adjusted his hands and pressed his thumbs deep into Martha’s eyes. She screamed, the sound echoing around the great castle as though to wake it from its ancient deep slumber.

  As her eyeballs popped, Carmichael lifted her head from the floor then smacked it down repeatedly onto the cold marble. Her skull cracked on the second attempt, but he kept on going. He repeatedly slammed her head until the back was utterly caved in and brain and bone splinters stained the marble.

  Sasha looked away, and in the end I did too, as he didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, just kept crushing her head over and over again.

  He began sobbing then, screaming too. Spittle flew from his mouth and blood trickled from his lips where his exposed fangs cut deep into uncaring flesh. His eyes were red, consumed not only by the bloodlust of the vampire, but with a deep aching sorrow for his loss.

  On and on it went, a sickening display of sorrow manifest as the only revenge he could muster. Eventually, after many minutes, there was nothing left for him to grip on to.

  He clawed at scraps of bone and flesh but it just came away in his hands, no longer connected to her body. Her head was nothing but bits of brain, splinters of bone, scraps of skin, and yet even then he wouldn’t stop.

  Carmichael pounded the flesh with his fists, battering it into pulp. Shards of bone punctured his hands, were shunted deep inside as he hammered away. When his hands were next to useless, so damaged were they, he fumbled about in her clothes then pulled out the Teleron, and I wondered if he could use it to jump from here. I didn’t think it would work in Faery, but what did I know?

  I was mistaken. He had no intention of leaving. Instead, he used it to batter her further. Over and over, lost to madness, he pulverized the bloody remains of her head like a pestle, until all that remained was jelly and tiny white bits. And then, when I thought he could do no more, he tore off her dress from the shoulder and sunk his teeth deep into her upper chest. The only sound was him taking his fill, the final ignominy, Martha not free even in death.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I said to Sasha.

  Sasha nodded. She couldn’t speak through the tears she shed for the depths of depravity we were all capable of in our darkest hour.

  A Path opened beside us. We held hands and stepped right through.

  An End to Madness

  We stepped out of the portal into a bright morning. Chickens clucked, sheep baahed, tractors trundled in the distance. Bees buzzed, butterflies danced, and a man was pulverizing a woman’s head on the other side of madness.

  Sasha and I said nothing; there were no words for what we’d seen. The worst part? We’d both seen more atrocious acts. Maybe not done it, not been lost to such violence, but we’d come close many times, Sasha more than me. Still, it was frightening to witness, to be there and experience such a thing.

  Carmichael had never shown the slightest sign of having such depravity inside, although I knew better. Everyone was capable of such acts given the right set of circumstances. He’d always held his cool, was stiff upper lip British posh twat through and through, but even he had his tipping point.

  I couldn’t think of that now, I had more pressing concerns.

  We held hands, still silent, and went inside. As we approached the kitchen, I heard the most beautiful sound in all of the world. The sound of my daughter laughing.

  As we entered, we both stopped and took in the scene. It felt weird, to see such homely bliss after what we’d been witnessing mere seconds ago. How could such opposites exist within the world? How could there be both joy and delight and such violence within us all?

  George was sitting with her back to me, Steve was sitting opposite, facing the door, and Vicky was doing her best to mess up my kitchen, something she was expert at.

  Steve was loud, telling jokes, trying to keep them from worrying, no doubt, and I guess they couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. Did I feel annoyed for them laughing while we’d been off in mortal danger? Hell no. This kind of crap happened on way too regular a basis for that, and I knew they were worried, deeply concerned, and this was their way of coping, an outlet. Laughter and tears are so closely con
nected that often there are times of deep sadness when you can’t even control which emotion becomes master.

  Steve saw us and stopped mid-joke. George turned then leaped from her chair and came rushing over.

  “You’re okay?”

  “Sure, we’re fine.”

  “We were so worried. You’ve been gone all day and night. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. She tried, she would have, but…”

  “So you’re both okay?” George looked from me to Sasha and back again. A deep frown formed on her face but she knew better than to ask right now. Instead, my perfect daughter hugged me tight then gave Sasha a hug too.

  “We’re okay. Coffee would be nice,” I suggested, trying to keep the image of Martha’s mushed head from surfacing. I failed miserably.

  “Arthur, what happened?” asked Vicky as she came over, checking me out and frowning as deeply as George.

  “Yeah, mate, you both look like you’ve seen a ghost. Um, you haven’t, have you?” Steve glanced around the kitchen.

  “No, nothing like that. Let’s just sit down and have a coffee. We both need it.”

  “So you beat the wicked witch, eh?” said Steve, grinning broadly, not one to pick up on subtleties. “Bet you gave her what for. Took your time though. But don’t worry, I kept the ladies entertained.”

  “I bet you did,” I grumbled, but my heart wasn’t in it. Vicky flushed, and I wondered what had gone on. I’m sure I’d find out soon enough. Vicky was as good at keeping secrets from me as she was at hiding her Jammie Dodgers.

  “She was my sister,” said Sasha, and she stumbled. I reached out and grabbed her then guided her to a chair. Once she was sitting, I ushered everyone away with a look to give us a few minutes. I sat opposite her.

  “I’m sorry. This must be hard. You never knew you had a sister, and then it turns out she’s nuts.”

  “Maybe if I’d known sooner, things would have been different.”

  “Maybe. But that isn’t on you. She made her own decisions, got it wrong somewhere along the way, and her mind became warped. Nobody deserved that though. For that, I’m sorry.”

  “Why? Why did he do it?” asked Sasha, and then she cried.

  Everyone returned then and we sat and drank coffee.

  It wasn’t long before the questions started, and Sasha nodded at me. I should tell them what happened. It was best to get it over with now.

  “Come on, mate, spill it. We want all the gory details.”

  Vicky jabbed Steve in the ribs and he glared at her. “What?”

  “Something bad happened, can’t you tell?” asked Vicky.

  Steve looked at us both, and shrugged. “He always looks moody.”

  “Cheeky bugger.”

  Last Minute Sleuthing

  “So he just kept bashing her head in until it was goo? That’s pretty hardcore.”

  “I know,” I said, finishing my second cup of coffee.

  “Why?” asked Vicky.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” added George.

  “He was a monster,” said Sasha.

  “I can’t believe she killed her own son like that,” said Steve. “I can’t believe she played him, planted the idea in his head to kill her, and it was just some ploy. Then she offed him when she’d had enough of him. Bitch deserved what she got.”

  Sasha shunted back her chair and the faery dust rose along with her anger. Steve didn’t understand what he was dealing with, and he needed to apologize fast or he’d be very dead.

  “Sorry, me and my big mouth. She was your sister. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. I overreacted,” said Sasha as she sat back down.

  “No, you didn’t. I was in the wrong.” Steve nodded solemnly then kept quiet. He went up several notches in my estimations.

  “But it doesn’t make any sense,” whined Vicky.

  “Like anything else does,” I groaned.

  “I get that Carmichael was working with her, to set you up, that they made a deal so she got what she wanted and so did he, that snake, but why do that to Martha? They had you, could have won. Um, maybe,” Vicky added as she caught my glare. Like I wouldn’t have thought of something and saved the day. Bloody cheek!

  “It makes perfect sense. I couldn’t understand it either, but as soon as he reacted to what Martha had done, I understood. I don’t know how, or when, or even why, but Juice was Carmichael’s son. She must have brought him up telling him the dude she married was his father, but he was Carmichael’s.”

  “What?” gasped Vicky.

  “She killed his son, and he took his revenge. It’s the only explanation. Guess he was busy doing Cerberus business, and maybe didn’t want a kid, or a wife like Martha, but he was Carmichael’s. He forgot about the plan to get me and picked a fight with Martha instead when he saw Juice dead and she was so dismissive of his murder.”

  “Damn, what a way to live. These people are wonky in the head,” said Steve, scratching at his beard.

  “Life’s complicated,” I said, knowing only too well that families came in all shapes and sizes and things were often less than straightforward.

  “How did he even get there?” asked George, and she made a very good point.

  We all turned to Sasha, the house expert on all things fae.

  “Oh, he probably has his ways. Obviously. Maybe someone opened a Path for him, maybe he can do it himself, although that’s very doubtful.”

  “Probably some other faery out to get us,” I muttered, hoping to hell it wasn’t.

  “The Teleron?” asked George.

  “Yeah, about that,” said Steve. “What’s a Teleron?”

  “I’ll tell you another time,” I said, not wanting to get into it now. “But no, George, they don’t work like that, I’m sure. Not in Faery. Plus, I think that was his only one, the one he’d lent to Martha.”

  “Who cares?” said Steve. “It’s over now, job done. Everything’s back to normal.”

  “Yeah,” I moaned. “Great.”

  More Questions

  Sometimes, life is beyond confusing, bordering on masochistic. We all remained in the kitchen for the better part of the day, milling about, chatting, eating and drinking. After all we’d been through, everything that had happened, nobody could relax.

  The Hangman was gone, Juice was dead, Martha was mush, and Carmichael was obviously insane. We’d learned a little about ourselves, a lot about our enemies. Cerberus were still up to their old tricks, plus plenty of new ones, and Carmichael clearly had no intention of letting me live my life as I saw fit. Our deal was a lie, he had no honor, and I think maybe that made me the saddest of all.

  In a weird way I’d trusted and respected him, certain there were finally boundaries in place. I’d believed we had honor amongst thieves; I should have known better. The only honor thieves like him had was to their cause. He was a zealot, and he thought nothing of breaking his word to further his own agenda.

  He’d make an appearance soon enough, but not today, not now. His plan to destroy me had failed. He’d been broken by the love he clearly had for his estranged son, and I guess you had to respect that. He’d thought more of avenging Juice’s death than letting Martha loose on us, so maybe he had some honor after all.

  There were still a lot of unanswered questions, but life doesn’t come in a neatly wrapped bow, and the bad guys don’t always tell you everything you want to know. And besides, a little mystery keeps you on your toes.

  So we clung to each other, nobody wanting to leave the warm womb of companionship we had in the kitchen after all we’d been through.

  There were monsters out there, and for the first time I think we all realized that nowhere was safe. There was no rest, no peace for the likes of us. We lived on the edge, were outlaws, getting up to things, seeing things, doing things that would give citizens nightmares.

  But we had each other, and for a while that was enough.

  “Go on then,” said George at some p
oint in the afternoon, and she nodded at the TV and smiled.

  “You sure?” I asked. George nodded. “Will you do it?”

  “You are such an old man.” George laughed and pressed a few buttons on the remote control.

  We watched several Buster Keaton shorts and we laughed hard, a little too hard. Harking back to a different time when things were simpler and maybe even easier, although I knew that to be a lie. There has always been evil in the world, and always will be. The only thing you can do is cling to what you have and do your best to protect your family and friends, find happiness where you can.

  That was enough for me on a summer’s day as I laughed and tried to forget about the monsters just outside the door.

  We never did discover who the dead guy was in Vicky’s bedroom. Maybe it was another lover of Martha’s, maybe it was another child of hers, maybe it was a complete stranger and she’d wanted to send us a message.

  Another mystery, but what’s one more when none of us can ever hope to solve the biggest mystery of all? What’s this thing called life really all about? If you have the answer, let me know. Because trust me, I have absolutely no bloody clue what’s going on.

  The End

  Book 7 is Kinky Bones.

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  Read the Dark Magic Enforcer series for more magical mayhem.