Weston Ochse: Reign of Evil

“How long have you two been together?”

“Two years, three months, and fourteen days,” she said.

“You say that like it’s an incarceration,” Trev said, making for the refrigerator.

Preeti grinned playfully. “Sometimes, dear boy, it feels like it.”

Trev chuffed but didn’t say anything. He opened the fridge and pulled free a pint. “Anyone else?”

Everyone shook their heads, but their eyes remained fixed on him. By the time he got to the couch and sat down, he said, “What? Is this a Benny Hill sketch? If it is, I want the girls with boobs ASAP.”

“And what would you do with them, Trev?” Preeti asked.

“I’d—” He struggled for something to say, then just put the beer to his face and began drinking.

Jerry exploded with laughter.

Even Ian cracked a smile.

Walker felt the ghost of one at the corners of his own mouth. He knew what Trev Jones was feeling right now and would give anything to feel that way again. He shook the sadness away.

“So we have an American company that came to England to perform a ceremony designed to bring back the Wild Hunt. Again I ask what’s their motive? ”

Trev added from the couch, “And is the Red Grove the actual group who performed the ceremony or are they a shell corporation?”

Jerry joined them at the table. “What do we know about the Bohemian Grove?”

“Now that’s interesting,” Preeti said, sitting down. She rested her crutches on the edge of the table, grabbed Ian’s glass, and took a small sip of the scotch. She made a face but licked her lips happily. “The Bohemian Grove is quite the place. Imagine a twenty-five-hundred-acre private compound in California’s redwood forest where for two weeks every summer the most powerful men in the world, including our own Tony Blair, go to enjoy themselves.”

“What sort of things do they do?” Trev Jones asked from the couch.

“All we’ve found on that is lots of rumor and supposition. The group’s been around since the late 1800s and is a men’s club. There’s talk of cross-dressing and some odd sexual rituals, but mainly it’s some sort of Bilderberg-like group that plans the fate of the world.” She raised a finger. “But there is one thing that stood out. The summer festivities start with an arcane ceremony called the Cremation of Care. It’s an elaborate performance where everyone wears robes and they burn a papier-mâché man in effigy at the base of a sixty-foot-high stone owl.”

“An owl?” Walker asked aloud.

“I looked into that.” She took Walker’s glass and took a sip of it and made another face.

“Would you like your own glass?” Walker asked.

She shook her head. “Oh no. I can’t stand the stuff. Where was I? Oh yeah, the owl. It’s believed by many that this is an Aleister Crowley influence and that they’re worshiping Moloch, an ancient Ammonite god worshiped by the Canaanites. But the Freemasons disagree and their rituals indicate that the owl really represents Isis, whose modern incarnations include Columbia for America and Britannia for Britain. So by worshiping at the feet of the giant owl, they are sacrificing something to the symbol of their country.”

“And what are they sacrificing?” Walker was trying to get things straight, but he realized he hadn’t eaten since that morning and he was quickly filling his stomach with scotch.

“Most believe a duality. The Cremation of Care is described as being symbolic of the destruction of each member’s worldly concerns so that they can spend the next two weeks in peace.”

Jerry laughed. “That’s rich. But what does it really mean?”

She cocked her head as she answered, “Oh, it could mean that, Jerry, or it could also mean it’s a dark ritual sacrifice to Isis, or Columbia, the female personification of America, right out of the Dark Ages, asking for the goddess to bless them and guide them as they decide the fate of the world.”

Trev got up and approached the table. “Is this for real? Why hadn’t we heard about it before?”

She smiled and put an arm around his hip. “Maybe because Rupert Murdoch is a member.”

“Seriously?” Ian asked.

She nodded vigorously.

Walker felt himself falling. The events of the day combined with his exhaustion and his lack of food and the scotch had all conspired to do him in. He stood wobbily. “Can we get this information to Holmes?”

Ian stood as well and held out a hand to steady Walker. “Definitely. Now let me get you some food, and then show you where you’re staying.”

“But I have a reservation at the—”

“We canceled that, don’t you worry.” To Jerry, Ian said, “Can you fetch something to eat from upstairs? I think we all need to eat.”

“They’re serving fish-and-chips,” Preeti said.

Walker lurched to the side as he felt his stomach boil halfway up his throat. “Bath—ulp.” He slammed a hand over his mouth.

Trev Jones grabbed him and both hurried out and down the hall to the loo. Walker barely made it inside before he fell to his knees and vomited into the toilet. He was suddenly feeling like eight miles of hell’s road.

The wind howled as it buffeted Sassy’s home. She’d sensed something impending in the minutes after the boys from Section 9 had left. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was like a psychic buildup of magnificent proportions. The pressure inside her head was so high her ears kept popping. At 11:00 PM she’d decided to move downstairs into the basement to her safe room. She cast as many protection spells as she could, with the limited time and resources she had. Luckily, she’d planned for the possibility of this day long ago and had her spells and protections in place. The only question was what was coming and how strong it would be.

She lit her candles and began to read from Liber Al vel Legus, the Book of Law. The Fraternitas Saturni had adopted Aleister Crowley’s book as their foundation, but upon obtaining higher levels they were provided greater insights. Now as a Thirty-First Degree Magister Templarus, virtually everything was available to her, but at the moment the words of the Egyptian goddess Nuit, Goddess of the Night Sky, comforted her and she allowed herself to be lost in them.

Sassy had more enemies than most successful witches. Never mind that she’d stolen her knowledge of the Fraterni Saturni. What had always been a men’s club had unknowingly allowed a woman to infiltrate their temple. Her adopted father, who was one of the early temple masters, had reveled in the idea that a woman might learn the secrets and felt that it was a much-needed balance to the preponderance of male magic. He’d continued her education on his own until his death ten years ago. But in doing so, he’d lost all of his friends, been forced to flee Germany with his stepdaughter, and had to cut himself off from the astral plain, lest he be discovered and the Cull Teams come in search of Sassy.

Above her the house began to rattle.

Then the rattle became as loud as a freight train.

She began to scream a spell of protection, invoking Bes. She imagined the protector of mothers and children wearing the Armor of Anhur, fire and damnation pouring from her eyes into the face of Sassy’s unseen enemy.

The noise became so great it obliterated all thought and reason until her own words were sucked from her before she could even form them.

They’d woken Walker up at 4:00 AM and sped back to Woking. No one said anything because they didn’t know anything other than that the witch had been attacked. Thanks to the club kitchen preparing for breakfast, they all had hot coffee and meat pies. They also wore body armor and carried weapons. There’d been some conversation about whether Walker should be able to carry, but thankfully common sense bore out.