Given To Darkness (Ordshaw Book 6) Read online

  Contents

  Given To Darkness

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Author

  Discussion Notes

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Ikiri Book II

  GIVEN TO DARKNESS

  PHIL WILLIAMS

  MMXXI

  1

  “Hell you think’s up with him?” Leigh-Ann asked, distractedly, as she guided an old man towards a little cottage.

  Reece Coburn, walking the other side of her, followed her gaze to Agent Sean Tasker. Evening was dragging into night, and they’d all come out of their battle at the mill worse for wear; Reece and Leigh-Ann’s suits were torn ragged and Reece could imagine her complaining about the dirt in her curly hair for days. Tasker’s suit was similarly thick with wet dust and one lens of his glasses was cracked, but he’d taken charge after the fight like it came naturally. Told the villagers a gas leak had made them all lose their minds for a minute. Now this quaint cluster of English cottages had glass all over the village street and doors broken off their hinges, and people were bleeding and crying, but things were under control as Tasker marched about making important calls. Exactly what form of government his Ministry of Environmental Energy represented, Reece didn’t know, but since the spook had swept into their lives trying to put down the same monsters that’d been hounding Reece’s crewe, he chose to trust him for the second.

  “Looks like he’s handling things to me,” Reece told Leigh-Ann.

  “That a good thing?” she replied. “Him being with the Feds and having that feral woman for company and all? Maybe we need to bounce, Reece.”

  Katryzna, Tasker’s knife-wielding Eastern European companion, stood near him, with her arms folded. Her once-white sleeveless top and khakis were filthy from the confrontation in the mill – where she’d swept in and saved all their lives, moving like a woman built for killing. She’d shot dead the unstoppable swordsman, Vile, and even helped drag Stomatt from the collapsing building. Where Leigh-Ann saw a liability, Reece figured Katryzna’s presence proved Tasker could work with an honest bunch of outlaws like them. He said, “We ain’t bouncing with Stomatt needing help and no idea where to go next.”

  “And where in America did you say you young folk are from?” The little voice of the old man interrupted their exchange. Reece and Leigh-Ann turned as one to find that the small guy with beady eyes, wearing an excessively loose biege shirt, had sat down on the wall. He was one of many locals they were trying to shift back into their homes, so they could return to Max Stomatt, left injured in what remained of the mill.

  “Why you sat down when we’re trying to get y’all back indoors?” Leigh-Ann said, not bothered he’d been listening. The villagers had their own problems, having momentarily lost their minds and tried to kill each other, making them unlikely to care if these two helpful Americans had been on the news for crimes in Louisiana. Which was as well, because they definitely didn’t fit in, especially Leigh-Ann, Black, lithe and pretty under her huge mess of curly hair – as far local as a girl could look around here.

  “Give me a break,” the old man said, “reach my age and see how far your ankles take you.”

  “We’re from the finest plot of land west of the Mississippi,” Reece answered his question. “Cutjaw, a town not much bigger than your own. And when we got a crisis like this, you know what we do? Them that can help, help, and them that can’t help get on out the way.” He said this with a pointed look to Leigh-Ann, driving home exactly why they weren’t running yet.

  The old boy nodded like that was perfectly reasonable. “And what brings you here?”

  Reece gave him a grin, holding off on admitting the truth: not like they could admit to having smuggled themselves across the ocean to return a kidnapped girl to her father, on the run from a swordsman and a gorilla who moved too fast to shoot.

  “Helping you, if that ain’t clear,” Leigh-Ann answered. “Y’all had quite a night.”

  “Strangest of my life.” The man’s little eyes surveyed the carnage.

  “Here’s hoping.”

  “I wasn’t myself,” he continued. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Angry like I’ve never been.” He locked eyes with Reece. “I don’t believe those terrible things I thought. I’m a good man; always tried my best.”

  “All any of us can do,” Reece said. “You heard Agent Tasker, right? It was some kind of gas high – wasn’t you. Not any of you. Like being drugged up or half-asleep.”

  “Hell,” Leigh-Ann said, “anything can happen when you’re half-asleep. We got sleep doctors for that, out in Calcasieu.”

  The man looked confused, which was a good thing. They couldn’t have him dwelling on the grim reality. At least one of his neighbours had died here.

  A big engine approached and blue lights flashed over the village. Tasker had moved further away, to show an ambulance where to go. As Leigh-Ann led the old man on, Reece waited for the ambulance to pull up next to him. The driver called in a Scottish accent, “You Coburn?” He was big with a wiry red beard, like a pirate in uniform. He had a younger, sharp-nosed skinny guy in the passenger seat, hunched over a phone like a bored teenager. “You’ve got a friend needs help?”

  Reece pointed. “He’s up a ways. I’ll hop in and show you. You good, Leigh?”

  Leigh-Ann looked up, from him back over to Tasker and Katryzna, then back to their car – where Zipporah was just visible in the dark, politely waiting. That brave little kid, seven years old with unnatural powers and unnatural people wanting her dead, was watching through the window, keeping herself out of the way. They’d only wanted to bring her home safely. A lot of people had died along the way, and her home hadn’t proved safe at all – not least because her father was a psycho. Now the mill was gone and her father had run off after threatening them, leaving them little option left but to see this through to whatever end it brought. Vile and his gorilla were dead, but the force behind them wasn’t. Reece and Leigh-Ann were going to need all the help they could get to figure it out before it caught up to them again.

  They had to trust in Tasker and his killer colleague. Reece assured Leigh-Ann, “You’ll be fine here with them. I’ll be back quick as I can.”

  “Where are you?” Agent Sean Tasker asked into the phone. “Why weren’t you answering?”

  “Home,” Helen Tasker replied. “We’ve just started watching an animation about Vikings. What’s wrong?”

  Tasker ran a hand through his hair. They were okay. Home, safe. His mounting panic crashed against the sound of his wife’s voice, but the sick feeling wasn’t gone. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d received the call threatening his family; it couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes, but it felt painfully long. That slick, arrogant voice had told him to kill the child Zipporah or his daughter would die. He could practically hear the smile in Shearjoy’s threat, when the man had said he’d see them all soon. Tasker had wanted to shout, punch something, anything to rail against the bastard. Helen’s current safety didn’t remove the threat, nor that feeling.
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  “Sean?” Helen said, when he hadn’t answered.

  “Yeah, it’s nothing,” Tasker replied, on automatic. “Was just calling out of . . . I was just calling.”

  “I see,” Helen said. She wouldn’t ask more, knowing the nature of his job. She was unflappable; he could tell her to get the gun from the safe, board up the doors and brace for impact, and she would do it without question. But that could alert Shearjoy. Who knew how the man operated? Tasker worked for the Ministry of Environmental Energy – his family’s identity were protected, likewise his phone number, yet Shearjoy had got that information. He had powerful connections, Tasker knew that already. He might have more unnatural powers, too; others involved in this mess could move fast, heal quickly, even use psychic gifts. He gave a quick glance to Zipporah, a silhouette sitting quietly in the car. Not knowing exactly how he might be monitored, Tasker had to make it seem as though he was at least considering Shearjoy’s offer. He needed time.

  “I’ve had a tough week,” Tasker said. “It’s that tension seeping through, that’s all.”

  “Mm.” Helen was unconvinced, but didn’t press. What else could he tell her anyway? That an ex-mercenary called Shearjoy, murderously intent on keeping his past secret, might want them dead if he didn’t commit murder himself?

  “I’m . . .” Tasker looked back past the broken glass and disorientated locals, elderly folk hovering outside cottages. “I’m actually in England. Outside Ordshaw.”

  “Ordshaw?” Helen exclaimed, and her surprised delight quickly shifted. “Are you coming home?”

  He hesitated long enough for her to draw her own conclusion.

  “Just remember you promised to be back for Rebecca’s play.”

  “I remember,” Tasker lied. How long since they had last spoken? A week or two, when he called from the hotel before he headed up the Congo River to Ikiri. When was the play? Would they even survive long enough for it to go ahead? He missed what Helen said next, and asked, “What’s that?”

  “Your partner? How is she working out for you?” Helen asked.

  “Good,” Tasker said, picking out Katryzna down the road. The bloodstained assassin had wandered away and was running a hand over her shaved head as she tried to engage the slender American with big hair, Leigh-Ann. She was making Leigh-Ann uncomfortable, with her manic smile and that big hunting knife hanging off her hip. The American didn’t know the half of it: Katryzna was violently erratic and frequently argued with her imaginary conscience, Rurik. She was the most unstable person Tasker had ever worked with. But she had joined forces with him, trekking into the Congo and fearlessly facing down killers, to honour a friend who had disappeared out there. Tasker told Helen, “Her heart’s in the right place.”

  “That’s loaded praise, Sean. Listen, do you want me to get Rebecca, or . . .” That or carried weight. Or not let her know he was this close and couldn’t visit.

  “Not right now, I think,” he said, quietly. What were his options? There’d already been leaks from the Ministry about this case, so it was a risk to send agents to keep an eye on the house. If he tried to go there himself, to get them clear, the Legion – Shearjoy’s men – might see him coming. They had his phone number, so he had to assume they had some idea where he was.

  Yet however dangerous they were, there was a bigger picture to deal with. There was a threat in the Congo, that place Ikiri, which stretched beyond his current understanding. Just an hour ago, the people in this English village had been ready to tear each other apart – the same way villagers in the African forest had come clawing for him at night. The same way the people of Laukstad, a Norwegian fishing village, had murdered each other a few weeks back He had seen horrors there to last a lifetime, not least a dead child in the snow. Throats torn out with human teeth. The villagers right here would’ve done the same, if Zipporah hadn’t intervened. With her mind alone, she had stopped it.

  Even with his family threatened, Tasker’s instincts had kept him tackling what had happened here. Between his unanswered calls home, he had called the Ordshaw MEE’s Deputy Director, Sam Ward, with instructions to give this village the standard Ministry treatment: have an agent cement the gas leak narrative, let the local authorities deal with the rest. Now, Tasker needed to search the mill, or what was left of it. Zipporah’s father, Mason, had been researching Shearjoy and the others like him – the Legion. His work might tip Tasker off as to exactly how far their influence stretched and how to stop them.

  “Sean?” Helen’s voice came in again, and again he hadn’t heard what she was saying. “Rebecca is itching to see these Vikings.”

  “Yes, that’s good.” Tasker smiled despite everything. “Give her a kiss from me. I love you both so much.”

  Helen’s pause said that sounded more serious than he intended. “Come home as soon as you can.”

  With that, she was gone, and Tasker wondered if he should race right home after all. Put his family first and leave Zip in the care of an assassin and two thieves – he glanced to Leigh-Ann, trying to help an elderly lady right a large plant pot, with Katryzna dogging her heels. Once again, he picked out Zip in a car window, up the road, face just about visible in the shadow. That small girl might be the only thing stopping Ikiri’s madness. There was no question that Tasker could risk her life for the sake of his daughter’s. Whatever Shearjoy threatened, he couldn’t hurt Zip.

  Zip noticed him staring and waved, happily. But her hand hung in the air and her expression darkened. She knew something was wrong. Of course she did; on top of everything else, the child had some ability to read minds.

  Tasker took a step towards her, but a car pulled up in front of him. Deputy Director Sam Ward in her old Honda Civic, her face bright and alert and ready to get stuck in. A small beacon of hope. Where the rest of the Ministry had proved cautious about Tasker’s investigation, Sam Ward had thrown herself into resolving this mess, under the radar, appreciating his concerns about their superiors.

  Tasker looked up the road after the ambulance, then back towards Zip, the child still watching him. Piss, the fact he was even considering Shearjoy’s threats had thrown his focus. Whatever else they did, he needed to get all of them moving. He went to the Honda’s passenger side, telling Ward, “Can you continue up the road, ma’am? To the mill.”

  “How bad is it?” Ward asked as he got in. She was young for a director, barely thirty, if that, though her sharp suit, neat bob of hair and workhorse attitude showed maturity beyond her years.

  “Under control,” Tasker said. “Some bad injuries, but mostly it’s a lot of confusion and broken crockery.”

  Ward drove at a crawling pace, taking in the damage. They passed Leigh-Ann coming out of a doorway. “Who’s that?”

  “One of the Coburn Gang,” Tasker said, referring to the moniker the international news had given the criminals. “There’s another two with your medics. How’d you get here so fast?”

  “Um.” A guilty note said Ward had been tracking him herself. He couldn’t be too upset, seeing as her keenness had brought him this far.

  “Does anyone else know we’re here?” Tasker asked.

  “Not from my people. Only my tech, back in the office – he doesn’t know the details. Sorry, I only thought you might need backup. Was it the same as Laukstad?”

  “No,” Tasker said. “This time we stopped it.”

  “How?”

  The road turned, towards the mill, and Ward cursed and went quiet. Seph Mason’s home was a wreckage, with rubble piled on top of a car – the car Tasker had rented – and a massive creature’s half-buried corpse. The rear of the car stuck out; Tasker could retrieve his spare suit and glasses, at least. Dim electric light came from a small annex, the only part of the building still standing.

  “Can we save the debrief for later?” Tasker said. “We need to go off grid, fast.”

  “Absolutely,” Ward said. “And your phone – I’ll have my tech watch it, in case anyone else tries to track you.”

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p; “Thanks. Come with me.” Tasker got out and led her into the building, to the operations room where the two paramedics were working fast to help Max Stomatt, the big criminal prone on a table. Reece leant against a wall, arms folded with concern for his friend. Mad writing, weapons and photos of hard men decorated the walls, painted with sprayed blood. The faces of the mercenary Legion scowled from the dark, like they disapproved of the men treating Stomatt. Mason had once been one of their number; if he was anything to go by, these men would scoff at injury as weakness.

  “Reece Coburn, meet Deputy Director Ward,” Tasker said.

  “A pleasure, ma’am,” Reece said, straightening up and holding out a grubby hand. He looked like he’d crawled out of a swamp, skin dark with dirt, suit torn, and his hair an erratic green mess, murky in the weak light. “Long as you’re not here to take us in?”

  “No,” Ward said, taking the hand uncertainly. “That is – I didn’t expect to find you here. Agent Tasker?”

  “They came to get answers over Graystown,” Tasker said, taking papers off the wall. That was another massacre to add to the list; Tasker had thankfully not seen the full details there, but from Reece’s cringe at the name, the Americans had. It probably made Laukstad look tame. Over a hundred had died in that Louisiana commune, all part of whatever force was chasing Zip.

  But Tasker’s focus shifted as he spotted Shearjoy’s name on a paper pinned high above eye level. He grabbed it. “This research covers the men Duvcorp left behind in the Congo, the team they sent to investigate energy readings. The survivors were mostly mercenaries, ex-soldiers rather than scientists.”

  “Working theory being,” Reece put in, “these guys got some powers out in Africa, like ten years ago, which made them lose their minds and they gave up everything to go hunting one another. Right, Agent Tasker?”

  “Close enough,” Tasker said. “It was eight years ago, 2009.”

  “So they’ve turned on each other?” Ward said, regarding the room warily. “Has Duvcorp been sponsoring some to silence the others?”