Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) (33 page)

He was still worried, however. While he was healing rapidly, it was nowhere near fast enough. At this rate, Halloween would be long gone and he would still be a charred mess.

He felt his powers growing stronger with each passing day, so it was possible the pace of his recovery would pick up speed. But it wasn’t something he could count on.

“Stop worrying about it,” Kate said.

“Well, if I can’t…”

“You’re either going to get better or you won’t,” she said. “In the meantime, we have work to do.”

She gestured down at the books that Tim had delivered the day before. He had brought six volumes of Irish, Scottish and Celtic mythology. Quinn was hoping they might be light reading or at least a gripping account of past legends. Instead they were dry, academic renditions of old folk tales. He had trouble staying awake.

Kate had, not without reason, been sidelined mostly into reading about banshees, trying fervently to find something relevant to her. What she had uncovered was very illuminating. Most texts just referred to banshees as the guardians of the dead, known to warn family members of an approaching death by wailing in the night. But Kate also uncovered more detailed information, including their ability to take the shape of any dead person, call ghosts to their aid and see inside the minds of those that fear—or are close to—death. This explained why she had seen into Lord Halloween’s mind last Halloween, and also how she could communicate with Maggie Frank and the teenager spraying graffiti in Sterling.

Meanwhile, Quinn was searching futilely for any mention of a monster with rainbow-colored hair, one who apparently liked a good tune and a hot barbeque.

“Just keep reading, honey,” she said. “It’s in there somewhere.”

He picked up a book entitled
Ancient Myths of Old Ireland
and flipped through it. He skipped over the boring parts about the ancient peoples, old gods and the various lineages of noteworthy warriors. He was almost ready to put it down when he came upon a chapter, “The Legend of Fionn mac Cumhaill.”

It caught Quinn’s attention because his mother had once told him that she almost named him Fionn. He started reading Fionn’s life story, how he wanted to lead his tribe, the Fianna, but couldn’t do so until he proved himself to the king.

 “But the king was beset with his own problems,” the book said. “For more than 20 years every year at the time of Samhain, the wicked fairy Aillen would burn down the king’s castle. Using his magic flute, he lulled everyone to sleep—making them powerless to prevent his…”

Quinn looked up in surprise.

“Holy shit,” he said.

Kate looked at him.

“Found something?”

He read the passage out loud and continued.

“Using his magic flute, Aillen lulled everyone to sleep—making them powerless to prevent the castle’s destruction. Fionn of the Fianna boasted that he—and he alone—could defeat Aillen. The other men of the castle laughed. Fionn was a young man and they were battle-hardened warriors. What hope did he have against such an evil creature?

“Fionn was insistent that he could defeat the fairy. He asked the king to grant him leadership of the Fianna if he succeeded. The king, desperate, agreed to the bargain. On the night of Samhain, Fionn stood outside the castle with the king’s army. They watched as Aillen approached. His hair was all the colors of the fairy kingdoms—red, green, blue, white and purple—and he carried only his flute. As the army readied their arrows, Aillen brought the instrument to his lips and played a sweet song. Though they struggled against it, all the warriors guarding the castle fell asleep.

“Except Fionn. The young man had a magic hat pulled over his ears that kept him awake. Enraged, Aillen dropped his flute and unleashed a torrent of fire from his mouth. But Fionn pulled out a silver spear and shield that had belonged to his father. He brought up the shield just in time. The ancient Irish put great stock in silver, claiming it was the only thing that destroyed fairy magic. While the flames burned hot, they could not penetrate the shield. Aillen rushed to attack Fionn hand to hand, but Fionn was too quick. As the fairy ran at him, he launched his spear, catching Aillen in the shoulder. The fairy screamed and disappeared.

“When the men awoke to find the castle unharmed, he was cheered throughout the land. The king gave him leadership of the Fianna tribe and Fionn went on to become Ireland’s greatest mythical warrior. Some say he still lies in a cave buried beneath Ireland, waiting for the world’s darkest hour to arise and defend it.”

Quinn slowly closed the book and looked at Kate.

“Looks like we found Sawyer’s
cennad
,” she said.

Quinn stared at her for a moment.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “Aillen was powerful. We have our work cut out for us.”

“No, not that,” Quinn replied dismissively. “I can’t believe I lost a fight to a fairy. Janus would never let me live this down.”

“Well, he was an
evil
fairy, if that helps,” she replied, a smile alighting on her face.

“It really doesn’t,” Quinn said. “I mean, it has to take the Headless Horseman’s cool factor down a notch, doesn’t it? He was nearly destroyed by a goddamned fairy. It’s like saying he got into a fight with Tinkerbell—and lost.”

“Come on, Quinn,” Kate replied.

“Aren’t fairies supposed to be smaller?” he asked. “Like a lot smaller?”

“Have you been paying attention to the reading at all?” she asked. “In Irish legends, the Fae are different than what we would consider fairies. They’re more like… demons.”

“That certainly would sound better,” Quinn said. “I could almost accept being incinerated by a demon. But a fairy… I mean, Jesus!”

“You’re not rocketing past this anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope,” Quinn replied.

Kate leaned over and kissed him in his hospital bed.

“At least we have one answer,” she said.

“Fat lot of good it does us,” he replied. “Other than destroying my street cred, that is.”

“I think you missed a critical point,” she said.

“Which was?”

“He has a weakness. And now we know what it is.”

Chapter 30

October 27, 2007

Kate paused briefly before going up the small staircase off North King Street. Squeezed between two shops, the stairwell was easy to miss.

She was still worried about leaving Quinn behind. She had only agreed after Tim had promised to stay with him. That wouldn’t be enough if Sawyer or Elyssa attacked, but it still made her feel better.

However, she had to complete this interview. They at least understood what they were facing now, but Kate needed other answers.

Kate pulled out the address Tim had given her and re-checked it.
This was the place. She must have passed by it several times in the past, yet never noticed it. Leesburg was like that. Small enough to know well, but it could still surprise you.

The sign on the door at the top of the stairs was deceptively vague.

“The Leesburg Science Society,” it read.

Kate knocked twice before a middle-aged man with frizzy black hair greeted her at the door. He was dressed in a style that Kate thought had gone out of fashion two decades ago—a tweed jacket and bow tie.

“Ms. Tassel, I presume,” the man said with a slight flourish.

Without waiting for a reply, the man turned abruptly on his heels and strolled back into the office.

Taking this as a sign to follow, Kate walked after him, shutting the door as she went.

“Terry Jacobsen?” she asked.

“Yes, yes,” Terry said quickly and walked over to an easy chair and sat down. He gestured to a wooden rocking chair a few feet away. “Take a seat.”

Kate glanced around the room before sitting down. It was one of Leesburg’s older office buildings and betrayed no sign of what Kate thought a ghost hunter’s office would look like. A large painting of a battlefield hung on the back wall, but beyond that, the room was unadorned. Two windows faced the street in front and in the corner stood a folding card table with what looked like old stereo equipment on it.  But Kate couldn’t see any speakers, so she was left to guess what it could be.

“What can I do for you?” Terry said as Kate sat down.

Kate pulled out her notebook and began digging in her bag for her tape recorder. She and Tim had decided that the best way to approach this was to pretend it was for a story. Indeed, Tim actually was hoping she would write one while she gathered her own information. Kate thought that was hopelessly optimistic. She had no intention of doing anything unless it got them closer to defeating their opponents.

“Well, as I told you on the phone, we are interested in doing an article on your work,” Kate said. “You’re the only ghost hunter in Leesburg and we thought...”

“Not to be rude, Ms. Tassel,” Terry interrupted, “but I dislike the term ‘ghost hunter.’ I do many things, but hunting ghosts is not one of them.”

“Sorry,” Kate said. “But I thought I heard…or rather my editor...”

For just a moment, Kate wondered if she misunderstood his work.  

“I do study the phenomena most call ghosts, if that is what you heard,” he replied evenly. “But I am not hunting ghosts. I do not exorcise or exercise them. I do not communicate with them.”

Kate started taking notes. She desperately wanted to dive in with her deeper questions, but wanted him to be more comfortable first. 

 “Then how would you describe your work?” Kate asked.

“I’m a scientist,” Terry replied. “I’m not some type of so-called psychic. I simply choose to study a subject that many dismiss. Many people would call them ghosts. But ‘ghost hunter’ implies I have something to prove. I don’t. I didn’t get into this thinking I would talk to dead people. I believed that I might be able to scientifically explore one of the great mysteries of all time.”

“When did you start?” Kate asked.

“About 15 years ago,” Terry answered.

“What made you get into this field? What first piqued your interest?”

“I believe in scientific curiosity,” he replied. “Something I experienced made me curious. Simple as that.”

“You saw a ghost?”

“Men don’t see ghosts,” Terry said in a matter-of-fact way, the kind that suggested an argument was futile. “At any rate, the vast majority don’t. Only women see ghosts. So, no, I did not see a ghost.”

“Men can’t see ghosts?”

“No,” Terry said. “Too left-brained. It sounds horribly simplistic to say this, but most men are left-brained and most women are right-brained. So that means most men can’t see them. They might—and I stress might—be able to feel something if they walked through a residual field or passed through a sentient, but overall they are not sensitive enough. Go figure.”

“You kind of lost me,” Kate said. “Residual what?”

“I’ll start at the beginning,” Terry replied.
“When I first started looking into this, I was naturally skeptical. My background is in nuclear physics, though I got tired of doing that around the same time I began this project. I decided I would talk to people, ask them about their so-called ‘hauntings,’ and attempt to discover some type of pattern. My initial thought was to pay more attention to the people in the house to see if perhaps they were the suggestible type, and then determine if there was a character trait in common among them.

“What struck me initially was how down-to-earth most of these people were. Yes, I met some that were air-headed and the like, but most of them were intelligent, rational people, who simply did not know what to think about these odd events occurring in their homes.”

“What events?”

“Depended on the house. Sometimes it was auditory phenomena—footsteps, music playing, people laughing. Other times it was things moving. Lights that turned themselves on and off. Lamps that would rattle and move slightly across the floor. Pictures that came off the wall. That type of thing.”

“Did anybody see an actual ghost?” Kate asked, remembering to take notes.

“A few women I talked to did. None of the men did. Some, I believe, felt something, though they weren’t sure what.”

“So your impression of these people is that they are telling the truth?” Kate asked.

“Oh, yes,” Terry replied. “I think most people who experience ghost-like phenomena are telling the truth. Indeed, I think it is much more common than people believe. It just isn’t talked about, that’s all. It’s dismissed by people who think—quite logically—that whatever they are experiencing can’t really be happening. There is a short circuit, the house is just settling, a kid or a pet must have done something. There is always an alternate, and for many, attractive solution to whatever is happening.”

“People are afraid to believe in ghosts?”

“Or afraid of what someone might think if they knew they believed in ghosts,” Terry said. “Actually, most people believe in ghosts. Just look at our legal system. You can be sued if you sell a house knowing it is haunted and don’t disclose that to the buyer. It happens from time to time. And most juries will side with the buyer, believe me. But at the same time, ghosts aren’t discussed openly. It’s too associated with other things like alien abductions or psychic healers or the like.”

“So why did people talk to you?”

“I approached it with an open mind,” Terry said. “With a scientific mind. I don’t make them feel stupid and I’m searching for a way to prove what is happening. I think I know a good deal about it now—you can’t do this for 15 years and not discover something. Now, talking to people is easy. I can tell pretty quickly if it is a legitimate phenomena or someone has just watched too many scary movies.”

“Is it mostly people from Leesburg who come to you?”

Terry chuckled slightly before answering.

“I get calls from all over,” he replied. “But I work mostly around here.”

“Why?”

“I have enough work here for me, that’s why. There are 62 spots I’ve identified in Leesburg and the surrounding area, including Waterford, Purcellville and Middleburg. Some of these hauntings have been here for 200 years. So there are certainly a lot of manifestations here, perhaps because of all the history and human emotion that comes with it.”

Kate decided this approach was going to take too long. Terry was clearly used to rattling off facts and statistics, but she didn’t have a lot of time.

“You said ‘history and human emotion.’ I understand the history part. But what does emotion have to do with it?”

Terry looked at her in surprise. He blinked rapidly at her for a few moments before continuing.

“I would have thought that would be obvious,” he said. “The most powerful force in this world is human emotion.”

“I thought that would be nuclear power,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Then you would think wrong,” he said. “Ms. Tassel, most ghost sightings aren’t really ‘ghosts’ at all. They’re what I call ‘residuals.’ People report hearing footsteps in the attic at night or seeing a woman in 19
^th
century clothes at the window. But every night it’s the same. Those aren’t really ‘ghosts.’ They are just a recorded image. What makes the recording? Human emotion. At times of stress, joy, grief—that is when those images are formed.”

Kate thought of the wraiths in the graveyard. They weren’t ‘residuals,’ but they were also only about emotion.

“What about other ghosts? Real ghosts? The kind you find in a graveyard?” she asked.

Terry chuckled again.

“Firstly, there is another kind of ghost,” he said. “It’s what I call a ‘sentient.’ It’s something that can’t usually be seen, but it interacts with the environment. It is not simply repeating the same actions over and over. Secondly, however, you won’t find ghosts in a cemetery.”

He said it so smugly, Kate missed a beat.

“What?” she asked.

She knew he was wrong, of course. She had summoned ghosts from a graveyard the other night. There just hadn’t been enough of them.

“You will find ghosts in hospitals, restaurants, funeral parlors and residential homes,” Terry said. “But you won’t find them in graveyards. It’s all about emotion, Ms. Tassel. Graveyards have corpses, not people.”

“That’s not true,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment. Kate paused, unsure how to proceed.

“I had a friend once,” she said. “She saw a ghost in a cemetery. I believed her.”

“Ah,” he said. He stood up and started to pace. “And your ‘friend’ is quite confident she saw a ghost? She didn’t just get spooked?”

Kate could tell he wasn’t buying the ‘friend’ stuff and decided to come clean.

“I saw a woman,” she said. “She was dressed in black mourning clothes. It was in a graveyard near here.”

“Did she interact with you?”

“Yes,” she said. “She spoke to me.”

Terry’s eyes widened at that. He seemed to study her intently as if deciding if she was lying.

“That is… very unusual,” he said.

“But she was in a graveyard. I promise you that. I thought… I thought that’s where all of them would be.”

“Then you thought wrong,” he said. “What did she say? Was she buried there?”

Kate thought for a moment.

“No, actually,” Kate responded. “She was buried in Hillsboro. Her child was buried there.”

“A-ha,” Terry said and Kate was momentarily startled. He pointed his finger at her as if making an accusation. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“It’s not about where they’re buried,” Terry said. “It’s about where they lived.”

“She lived in a graveyard?”

“No, of course not,” he responded. “Not literally. It’s about where her heart lay. Emotion is the key to everything, Ms. Tassel. It’s what drives us when we are alive and—if ghosts really are spirits of the departed—it’s what keeps us here. Think about it: in how many legends do you hear about ghosts with unfinished business? The ‘sentients’ are relatively rare, but they’re the ones who won’t move on because they feel emotionally grounded here. That’s why I said emotions are the most powerful force in the universe. Emotions are the only things that can defy death.”