Finngarick (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 2) Page 3

  “Aye. ‘Tis true enough. But I’m thinkin’ more about after hours activities.”

  Raif reopened one eye. “Girls. You mean girls. Do you ever think about anything else?”

  “’Course. But I am a healthy young elf with a healthy young…”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I get it. Young. Dumb. Full of come.”

  “You’d best leave the poetry to the Irish. And I resent bein’ called dumb. Who helped you through calculus?”

  “Do not get me started on fucking calculus. What a colossal waste of a person’s time and energy. Do you believe we’re ever going to use calculus as vampire hunters?” Torn opened his mouth to speak, but Raif was on a tear and intent on answering his own question. “No. We are not.”

  “What has gotten into you? Is the cabin pressure pushin’ words out of your mouth that have just been lyin’ dormant for years waitin’ to be released?”

  “Funny.”

  “One word. Two syllables. That’s more like it.”

  “Maybe I didn’t have anything to say before now.”

  “Right. So, who are you?”

  Raif offered up a shit-eating grin. “I’m your fucking partner, soon-to-be Sir Finngarick.”

  It was the first time Torn had ever heard his name paired with the honorific ‘Sir’. It sobered him for a second, but not longer.

  “Aye. You are. Even if you become a nonstop jabber jaws.” Raif grunted. “You’ll still be my man.”

  And that was a fact. From then until the time Raif found his lady, an unlikely match in the form of an archeology professor turned vampire historian, the two of them were inseparable.

  Knights who couldn’t get along with anybody found their way to Finngarick’s team, which became a perfect symphony of misfits. When it came to vampire hunting, there were none better. It was everything else that was the problem. The four knights assigned to Z Team were considered dregs by the rest of Black Swan.

  When they were assigned to Marrakesh, they didn’t protest as every other knight would. Because eventually they’d come to see themselves as undeserving bottom feeders, just the sort who would feel at home in the armpit of the world. Marrakesh was the world’s garbage dump. Every ne’er-do-well who hadn’t done well ended up there sooner or later where they continued pursuit of treasure without toil.

  From a certain point of view, Z Team was well-suited for the task of keeping the neighborhood vamp population under control because they understood the hopeless. Gamblers, thieves, ‘sex workers’, sadists. They didn’t exactly thrive in Marrakesh, but they did survive. And it was Z Team’s job to see to it that not all of them were eaten or infected by vampire.

  The Marrakesh operation wasn’t big enough to be called a unit per se. It was just the four team members occupying a floor consisting of four rooms above a brothel.

  At times Finngarick lay in bed during the day when he was not on duty and wondered how his life might have gone if he hadn’t run into Sir Draglanore that day when he was sport fighting to find a release for some of his adolescent anger. That anger hadn’t gone away. He’d just learned to control it better.

  Sometimes he wondered if his teammates had the same thoughts, but he never asked. They did their duty, one night at a time. And, just like him, they weren’t big on sharing their feelings about it. They all knew they’d ended up in Marrakesh for good reason.

  The extreme drinking and whoring was frowned upon, but lots of knights spent active duty years with wet whistles and wet wicks. A weakness for whiskey and women that expressed itself on days off was manageable. What wasn’t manageable was provoking fights with other knights.

  In normal times knights patrolled three nights a week. They were expected to report for duty sober, alert, and in peak physical condition. They were not expected to squander precious energy fighting with other knights. The provocateur who caused the disturbance was sure to be reprimanded. If the fight resulted in putting another knight out of rotation, even for a short time, it meant the knight responsible was transferred to another unit. If it happened three times, he landed himself in Marrakesh, a virtual penal colony for socially maladjusted knights.

  Torn and Raif had managed to stay together. If one was being transferred, the other threatened he’d leave The Order before being separated from his partner.

  Nothing in the universe could come between the two of them.

  Except love.

  They managed to survive a tour in Marrakesh that lasted for four years and set a record, even though that dubious honor was more a testament to their comfort zone being depravity. Oddly enough when Z Team settled into four discredited knights whose team name stood for infamy, they didn’t fight with each other. Go figure.

  Perhaps they were irritated by the affable, irked by the well-adjusted, annoyed by the easygoing. For whatever reason, they found a family of sorts in each other.

  CHAPTER Four FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY. HOVER OVER HEL.

  From the Memoir of Glendennon Catch

  Sovereign Jefferson Unit, Order of the Black Swan

  Few things have occurred in the annals of The Order that were as embarrassing to the knighthood as the showing Z Team made during the Battle for Jefferson Unit.

  After the initial wave of antivirus injections were disseminated throughout Manhattan, mostly by dart gun, it had looked for a time as if the long war with vampire was over. Jefferson Unit hunters had been transferred. Likewise, most support personnel were cleared out. What had remained were students, teachers, food service people, a couple of medics and an administrator.

  It was also during that time that my father-in-law, Sir Storm was missing.

  Anyway Z Team were brought in to serve as a skeleton crew. Elora and Ram were on site, but were retired and teaching. Sir Fennimore was there using accrued leave time to delay being separated from his fiancée, but technically the only knights on duty were Z Team.

  Nobody in their right mind would have set that up if they’d had any idea that an interdimensional assault on Elora was possible.

  To make a long story as short as possible. Ram was in Ireland for his mother’s birthday. Elora would have been the logical choice for commander, under the circumstances, but Z Team ignored her and basically treated her like she was there to clean. They ended up getting sealed into a sublevel with the teenage French vamps, so they weren’t just useless. They weren’t even there.

  Elora and her students held the unit. Sir Fennimore was injured early on in the fight. I was left guarding a sublevel bunker with all the unit’s non-military personnel inside. Just as a footnote, since this is my only chance to say so, staying there, following Elora’s orders, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done when I could hear the battle taking place above me. But I stayed at my post.

  When it was over, Z Team was dressed down royally by Sir Storm and I have to admit I enjoyed that immensely. Had it coming. That and more. Every last one of the arrogant assholes.

  I didn’t cross paths with them again for a while. One of Z Team left The Order and I was assigned as their fourth for a job in Romania checking out possible vampire remains. It was my first job as a floater and I didn’t mind it much.

  So when Raif left with Mercy, the remaining two members were made floaters. Didn’t sound too bad to me at the time. Later I would come to understand that floating is a post in hel. ~~

  Torrent Finngarick had been the oddest combination of good times and short fuse. When it came to whiskey, his blood ran true Irish, but he always stopped short of drunkenness. Since his dad had been the town drunk, Torn was set on being the apple who fell from the tree and rolled so far away there was no longer any traceable relationship to the tree.

  As a child Torn had attempted the caretaking duties of an adult, to the best of his ability. Most nights his father would pass out and slump over the kitchen table. When Torn was too young to drag or carry him to bed, he would clean up puke and drool, then cover his dad with a blanket and leave him sitting in the chair.

  Occasionally some
well-meaning soul would offer to help, but Torn’s dad would chase them away, drunk or sober, saying he didn’t need any pissin’ charity. Torn had sat by with big sad eyes wishing he could override those angry declarations. The old man might not have needed or wanted kindness and comfort, but Torn would have given a kidney for a hot meal, a smile, and maybe a gentle touch now and then.

  By the time Z Team hit its stride, Torn had emerged as the de facto, but unrecognized leader. Black Swan’s official policy on team organization was a loose form of consensus. If any of his teammates had been asked, “Who’s in charge?” they would have said nothing, but their eyes would have slid toward Torn. If he’d been asked, he would have said, “We’re all in charge.”

  Torn was born with the Irish elf gift of storytelling and, under his deft direction, it was an art form. He could captivate an audience without trying. He was liked by men when he was in a jovial humor and respected with a wide berth when he wasn’t. He had no trouble attracting women admirers and, in fact, frequently frustrated his teammates by being both magnet for attention and center of attention.

  With all he had going for him, he couldn’t quite shake the anger, because there was a big part of him that remained the kid who had been shunned and shamed for being the son of a good-for-nothing. Scars carved in the young slice deep and they don’t heal properly, even those that are invisible.

  By the time Z Team was split up, Torn was slightly harder to rile. Maybe that was maturity. Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe years of having a friend like Raif had afforded him a small shift in perspective.

  CHAPTER Five HOW’S THAT WORK?

  From the Memoir of Glendennon Catch

  Sovereign Jefferson Unit, Order of the Black Swan

  When Rosie first told me about Simon’s proposal to launch a new department of hunters for the purpose of curbing interdimensional trespass, I was skeptical. It seems that creatures have been coming and going at will forever. Most of it is probably harmless stuff that ends up being explained as fiction of the myth or folklore variety. Or interplanetary visitations. It’s the ones causing havoc that are to be the focus of D.I.T.

  Apparently apparatus left behind caused the love of Tvelgar’s life to go missing and, even though my wife got her back for him, he’s still pissed and not wanting to let the thing be.

  He has visions of telling everybody and everything not native to Loti Dimension to get out of Dodge and stay out. There’s a new sheriff in town.

  And it’s my wife.

  I’ll admit my first thought was entirely selfish. I knew it would mean long hours in an overseas time zone, being separated more than I’d like, and worst of all, her mind would be on something other than me. My second reaction was to remember what had broken us up years before. Rosie had exhibited the exact same sentiment, only in reverse, when I wanted to go traipsing off to be a vampire hunter. Her objection didn’t turn out well. Not for her, me, or us.

  So.

  Lesson learned.

  My heart has a big mouth and wants to make the same mistake she did. Thank goodness my head knows that would be a stupid way to conduct a marriage. So I put a smile on my face and asked what I could do to help. It turned out that what I could do to help most was be supportive about all the time she was away in Edinburgh.

  No more leisurely brunch in and out of bed.

  No more quick lunches.

  No more afternoon delight.

  I saw her when I could and was grateful for it. ~~

  Edinburgh

  Rosie sat at a table in a corner of the library basement talking to a demonologist. She was a young woman who was good-looking with hair pulled back in a ponytail and Buddy Holly glasses. Rosie surmised that Honor Mac Mathghamhna, which was pronounced like McMahon, would be stunning without the glasses. She thought the look was a mistake, but she was there as a department head and not a stylist.

  Honor spread her hands out above all the open books on the table. “Death isn’t the issue with demons. They don’t kill. They just influence others for sport. That often causes havoc or, in extreme cases, war, massacres, and related disasters. I don’t want to call them innocent because that would be an inaccurate representation, but I will say that their goal is usually more mischief than catastrophe.”

  Rosie was getting the feeling that Honor might be a little infatuated with the subjects of her area of expertise. She cocked her head. “Have you ever met a demon?”

  Honor laughed out loud. “Me?” She shook her head and ducked her chin. “No.”

  Rosie got the distinct impression that Honor would fangirl over Deliverance. “I see,” she said. “You’ve been really helpful. Keep the light on. I may be back again and again. We’re just getting started.”

  “Anything you need,” Honor said, sounding genuinely eager to help.

  Rosie took the stairs up to Simon’s office. She saw through the glass that he wasn’t with anyone. So she walked in.

  He didn’t look up, but said, “Don’t bother knocking. Just come on in.”

  “Simon! You’re quoting Stevie Ray Vaughan.”

  He stopped and looked at her like she was strange, which was not an unusual occurrence. “What?”

  She immediately realized her mistake. “Never mind. I’ve been visiting with the demon darling.”

  Simon furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Elora Rose. Can’t you just save us both time by speaking plainly?”

  “Honor, the demonologist. I think she’s a little in love with demons.”

  “Most academics are in love with their area of study.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “Monq thinks he’s got it.”

  “It? You mean it?” Rosie started getting a little excited.

  “Yes. That’s what I mean. Why don’t you go check it out? See if there’s as much reason to be jubilant as he thinks. The man is damn excitable. I’m glad he’s Glen’s problem. I’ve got enough eccentrics here.”

  “Glen likes Monq.”

  “Like I said.”

  “Okay. I’m on the way. I’ll let you know what we have in the morning.”

  “Understood.”

  “Tell Sorcha I said hi.”

  He smiled in a way that made him seem instantly younger. It made Rosie want to sigh. “I will.”

  There was a way to artificially enable humans to travel the passes, but it required frequent injections of blood drawn from willing elementals. Because those last two words formed an oxymoron and because it didn’t last long, it would have been all too easy for a human to find her or himself stranded without supply. So Monq was asked to temporarily set other pursuits aside in favor of working toward creating a serum that would mimic demon blood and be long-lasting.

  The Black Swan Science Department was the only department not headquartered in Edinburgh. That was because it was headed by resident genius Thelonius Monq, who, quite simply, wanted to live near New York and not in Scotia. Suffice it to say that normally such decisions were not left to the personal whims of personnel, but as said earlier, Monq was special. So special he could command whatever perk he wanted.

  Of course a serum, already named Travelpass by Rosie, wasn’t the only logistics problem to be considered. The Order was also concerned with protecting its assets, meaning the hunters sent on interdimensional assignment needed to be able to defend themselves against whatever they might encounter, particularly elementals.

  Rosie sketched out the problems for Monq and stepped back, knowing he would come up with better solutions than whatever ideas she might offer. If he reached a point where he wanted her feedback, he’d ask for it.

  Meanwhile, Rosie had her hands full recruiting for D.I.T. and staffing from the ground up. An endeavor the size and scope of Simon’s pet project had not been undertaken since the first vampire hunters were brought on centuries before.

  Rosie was sitting in her newly requisitioned office. It was grand by Black Swan standards, partly because it was at headquarters and partly because it
was on the main floor, near Simon’s office, with windows facing Charlotte’s Square. She glanced down at her phone to check the source of the incoming call and answered as soon as she saw who it was. She didn’t know whether to grin or worry. So she answered quickly. Better to know.

  “Uncle Ram?”

  “Aye, lass. ‘Tis.”

  “This is a surprise. Everything okay?”

  “Cream risin’ to the surface. You?”

  “Sure. Good.” She let that hang in the air hoping he’d relieve her curiosity sooner rather than later, but Ram had his own sense of timing.

  “Heard you landed a worthy gig. Highfalutin. Your folks are beside themselves with pride. ‘Specially your da.”

  Storm hadn’t given Rosie the impression that he was ‘beside himself’, but he was known for understated composure. “Are you making that up or is he really?”

  “I could no’ be more sincere if I was Paddy himself.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, that’s good. It, ah, makes me feel…”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, your auntie and I are just as proud. Bustin’ our buttons in fact.”

  “That’s nice. Um. Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. We’ve known since the instant you decided to skip birth that you were destined for great things. Which brings me to the reason for the call.” Rosie half held her breath. “I understand you’re hirin’. Lookin’ for a certain kind of person.”

  Rosie let out the breath she was holding, relieved and potentially grateful. “That’s how I spend my time these days. Why? You know somebody I should interview?”

  “Matter of fact, a couple came to mind.”

  “A couple?”

  “Twins to be exact. You know my grandda’s preserve? The New Forest?”