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Chapter 12 - Revelations of the Dead

Morning, October 15th, 2007 - Dublin Ireland

A normal morning in the ancient city of Dublin, the capital of the Republic of Ireland. The Oireachtas, the Irish Parliament hall, was abuzz with morning activity as security personnel prepared for the gathering of the lower house, the Dáil Éireann. As the various Deputies filed into the room, a pair of women walked out past them. One had long black sable hair, held up in a bun at the top of her head. Her stark blue eyes were furrowed as she was in deep conversation with a middle eastern woman. Both were dressed smartly in a pair of pencil skirts, button-down pastel blouses, and low heeled shoes.

"By the Lord's breat', I am feckin' tired o' Sinn Feinn's nonsense," groused the ravenhead, a woman by the name of Maeve. Or more appropriately Second Lieutenant, Maeve Maguire, military liaison to Ireland's Ministry of Paranormal Investigation. As a mutant, she rarely wore the mask of her persona, Glass Witch or 'Ceallach Gloine', in her native Irish tongue. Late the night before Maeve was confronted by a Deputy from the up and coming, Sinn Fein party. The bitch wanted a favor in return for backing a pro-Mutant act a month earlier.

"You are the one who decided to date a Deputy's secretary and got caught," replied Revi, a British born Kurdish woman.

"Not all of us get to meet non-Irish girls all the time Revi!" Maeve quipped as she giggled with her friend.

"Not all of our work for Interpol," Revi replied.

Maeve was the youngest of two daughters born and bred on the Emerald Isle. Growing up in the shadow of the Troubles of the North they both became heroes in their own right. Sinnead had gone off to the United States to train at a special school whereas Maeve stayed in school and later joined the Irish Defense Forces. Even as Glass Witch, Maeve spent more time staving off government bureaucracy than out in the field. As a practitioner of the old arts, she found it irritating her scrying skills were more often used to locate missing cell phones than missing people.

Still, even with her sister galavanting about the west of the country as the great and beloved Song Spirit, she and Sinnead shared a bond that was strong after years of being apart. Their mother wasn't happy with both of them being masked heroes, but at least when push came to shove they had each other's backs. Maeve was looking forward to her sister's return at the end of the week. Already, she had lined up a few pretty lads she might find fun to dance with at a small pub in their old home town.

Her personal prospects weren't that good. The queer community of Ireland was a strong one, but her double life made it hard. It didn't help further she wasn't a mutant as well.

"Hey, what’s with the fancy bloke waiting outside our office?" Revi blurted out. Both were so caught up in their conversation they'd barely noticed how fast they'd strolled to their current base of operations.

"Second Lieutenant," the man said. He was dressed in a military dress uniform. The dark grey-green most people saw when the modern Irish Defense Forces conducted their formal drills outside the government buildings. This man didn't wear the usual high billed hat and instead held a small beret under his arm. He held a dispatch in one hand, a small envelope waiting to be opened and addressed to "Second Lieutenant, Maeve Maguire."

Upon coming close enough the man offered her a salute which both women returned. He then handed her the dispatch as she gave a small murmur, "What does DJ2 wan' wit' me?"

DJ2, the Directorate of Military Intelligence, she worked for them on and off when her assignments were required. Seeing a uniformed officer outside her door wasn't unusual especially when she worked on active counter-terrorism details. Still, her breath shook as she opened the door to her office.

"Tea or Coffee, sir?" she asked, the man gave a shake of his head.

"Sorry mam, but I must return to Headquarters," he gave a nod and turned on his heel to leave.

Maeve was perplexed as she set the dispatch down on her desk in the small spartan office. Revi shut the door and locked it behind them both. The woman kicked off her heels and set them beside her own desk as she walked over to her friend.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"Let's find out," Maeve wondered.

Using a silver letter opener she sliced open the dispatch and retrieved the message inside.

"Oh...by Mary's good graces," she whispered, as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sinnead had - a heart attack and then...something crushed her heart. She's dead, me big sister is dead." Tears came to her eyes as her friend embraced her. Her mind raced as all she could think about. By the Briars! How could this happen!

Early Morning, November 3rd, 2007 - Downtown Seattle

Break the balance and debt would need to be paid. The words rang loudly in her head as she set down all of her work for the day. Dressed in a black kimono-style robe, she was leaning across her bed as a list of items were placed out before her. As promised a few days after their meeting the Average Man delivered her a series of documents. His commander preferred things on real old dead tree format over the newly arising digital. The documents in question were all files carefully put together to give her what she needed. Already, the edge of her debt was against her neck figuratively and if the commander wished for another direct hit she had a lot to pay for.

Elizbeth Monaghan was a woman running out of time. The death of the Song Spirit was an item on a laundry list likely to see her dragged down beneath the mounds. She sighed and rubbed her neck where the razor stood, and she began looking through a list of acts. A series of accounts were on one document, and she rolled her eyes at the amount of money she'd have to bleed just to stay alive. Next, there was the list of targets she could place the blame on. A few local criminals who were more than able to take on a bit of the burden as necessary. The amount of footwork required to find it all out was beyond imagining, and only the sources of the Average Man could suffice.

"I'll need to set up these feckin eedjits first," she hummed. The plan would require allocating some of her growing bad luck to the motorists who seemed to be avoiding hefty drunk driving charges. A few rich kids who could absorb the bad news in her favor. A few signs anchoring the luck on before they went driving the night before the hit. Of course, if she could set up the hit as the actual fault of someone else she could circumvent it all. The knife pressed closer still as she felt her jugular pumping in her neck and she shivered.

"She's going..." she trailed off and shivered again.

"Agree, to this Bess, and I'll keep you alive,"The words were a reminder why she did all of this. One little mistake and she could end up...there. More shivers, and more problems down the road. If she didn't own so much on her tab she would just go retire in Belfast as she planned years ago. A small tick in the form of an eye twitch appeared as she read through the information on her primary target, Glass Witch, the sister of her previous hit.

She and Glass Witch went back a bit, to say the least. Not like any sort of comical former friendship like one might see in a cartoon or some sort of high action blockbuster. No, when she was starting out as a petty thief and learning the basics of her magic and Sinnead was just off attending that stupid school in New Hampshire. In fact, it was through the sister that Elizabeth knew Glass Witch. Now that they two would be going toe-to-toe again. Easily it would end in her death, and Glass Witch getting her revenge.

Oh gods, how would the Balance take that one.

"Not this time old friend, not this time," she crooned as the knife at her neck eased, metaphorically of course.

The spell in question would be easy, once she set it all in motion the pendulum would swing as it would. The particulars were going to be annoying as well as keeping all of the parts of her rube-Goldberg-esque plan moving. Rubbing her hands together she glanced at the last bits sent to her via unknowing courier. More vessels filled with essence, enough to do what she needed.

On the bedside table to her right lay her regent's bag. Made from the sacrificial kidskin, it radiated a simple spell that hid its location and made it seem completely innocuous to anyone, but herself. The constant essence cost was worth it though, as she retrieved her athame. At the beginning of the spell required she offers a bit of her own blood to anchor the threads of luck in her favor. No more traversing the world of mirrors this time.

"By the blacken Oak,

I invoke the twisting ties of Loki.

Venom of the serpent,

I seek the chaos of the Trickster."

Her old friend the knife was back this time under her chin as she sliced open her right index finger. The circle below her was drawn out in Futhark, and as she felt the blood well up from the cut she pressed it to the circle. Immediately one of the vessels filled with essence drained away like sand falling in an hourglass. The sigil glowed as she smiled. Several smaller pieces of crystal started to glow in time with the sigil. Already, the paper began to burn away as she picked up a small piece of mistletoe from her bag, a line of witch's nest she'd gathered before. The crystals were small and would contain the effect, as the mistletoe would wrap around them all.

"Yes....just what I needed."

Each of the items would look strange, a piece of quartz bound in a wrap of mistletoe. She smiled as she reached out and used her athame to draw the auric lines from the slowly burning sigil paper into the crystals. The mistletoe would contain the bad luck she was purposely drawing around her. Then whatever probability required to cause what she wished to happen.

"I hate dealing with this shite," she murmured as she reached into her bag one last time. A small hello-kitty band-aid would serve its purpose as she used it to close up the cut on her finger. Sucking on it a little bit before bandaging it she let out a loud sigh. She felt a nonexistent hand caress her throat as the knife disappeared.

"I have too many damn debts ta pay," she smiled before returning to her work.

Mid-Day, November 3rd, 2007 - Seatac Airport

If there was one thing in this world that Maeve Maguire hated more than dealing with gun-wielding Irish Provos, it was flying internationally. Well, not the usual European concept of international, no, inter-continental would be a better definition. Being an anti-terrorism agent would make many think Maeve was fine with international transportation and in question flying. The truth was though, she hated it. The lift-off scared her to her bones and the landing only increased the claustrophobic feeling. Oh, begob, why did they hafta stick me next to the damn windoh seat? Feck this! Luckily, a quick sleeping draught brewed for this very occasion let her get through most of the flight in a deep restful sleep. But potions only lasted so long, and hers left her awake the last two hours of the flight.

The worst of it all was that gentle increasing sense of falling she felt each time the plane circled down closer and closer to the landing site. All she had to look through was the blastedly small window. Tiny little buildings grew larger and larger as she felt the plane drop again. Another drop and at last it came in for the landing. A sudden hard force and roar filled her ears as the plane touched down and began it's a final taxi to the exit. Her breath quickened while the landing came to an end. Every time, every damn time! Maeve reached for the bottle of water sitting on her small tray and downed it quickly. As the entire wretched machine came to a halt a loud ding signaled it was okay to unbuckle and stand. Most people hated leaving airplanes and Maeve was one of them.

She let the first few rows of people in front of her move before she stood from her seat. A pair of jeans covered her legs and a smart red collared shirt. Her black jacket completed the ensemble. Reaching up and around she grabbed her overnight bag and unhooked the carryon beneath her seat. Enough supplies for a few weeks and she already had a town-house rented to act as her base of operations. All she needed now was to get through the visa checkpoints and see customs dealt with. Luckily her MMID was prepared and so was her official badge as an agent for the Irish Ministry.

She tied her long black hair into a tall messy ponytail. The long black tresses would need a bit of a wash after she hit her town-house. The last two rows of seats in front of her emptied out and she walked down toward the end of the aisle. The British Airway attendants were offering goodbyes to everyone. A quick nod to the cute blonde she flirted with at the start of the flight led to blush from the blonde in question.

"See ye next toim Luv," she offered and the girl blushed again.

Her blue eyes wandered over the exit and she took a step over into Yankee land. The push through the entrance continued all the way down the long hall. She inhaled the fresh air and admired the total lack of heat which she preferred. It was a reasonable chill outside and the switch to the air calmed the last of her nerves. A glance across the line of seats for the folk waiting to shuffle their way into a plane for the flight back. The scene before her was typical of most airports. A tiled-floor easy to clean and a series of shops just beyond the rest area.

"I'd fancy a tea if I didn't have to run," she murmured to herself. She followed the rest of her fellow passengers toward the exit, her secondary carryon rolling behind her connected to an extendable handle. Cheap and easy to move, and with her other bag slung over her arm along with her purse. She spent the next while just trying to keep track of where everyone was going and finally she was in customs. Up an escalator and she found herself in front of a desk for the customs agents along with an MCO detail. A small roll of her eyes was her immediate reaction to seeing Mutant Commissions Agents, and even as the black-suited jackboots drew closer she stood her ground.

Not being an exemplar nor suffering from GSD Maeve knew she was lucky. Unless someone pressed her, she could easily pass off as a baseline. She stopped in front of one of the black suits as he asked for identification. Maeve removed her MMID and her Ministry Badge as the man seemed to take a moment to look it over. He was close to two meters tall, golden tanned skin, and a rough carefully shaven shadow on his round jaw. The man was completely bald and as he moved she could tell he was not just another desk riding agent as well.

"M'am, I'm going to need you to come with me," the man said. She gave a simple glance at the man as she twisted her face into a frown.

"Yer checkin' me Irish Ministry identification correct?" she asked.

"This says you are a military attache?" she nodded in response, "Second Lieutenant, Maeve Maguire, I werk as a terrorist expert fer the Irish Republic."

"You have all of your credentials?" he asked as she walked behind him slowly keeping an eye on his two co-agents.

"Aye," she replied in a slightly gruff manner. They opened a door to a small side room and she walked inside. The inside was grey painted walls more tiled floors and a singular cheap grey table. Knowing the drill she set her bags down and let them do a quick personal inspection as she set down her passport for them. The youngest of the agents, a white man stopped as he retrieved a large manilla envelop stamped with the words "CLASSIFIED" and the Seal of the Irish Republic. The man's hands hesitated as he licked his lips before he roughly grasped it. His brown eyes narrowed as he reached for something in his pants pocket and retrieved a red pocket knife. Immediately, the senior agent raised his hand to stay him.

"Sir, she could be faking this," said one of the junior agents.

"Not every mutant coming through is trying to pretend to be James Bond, Krezinski," the senior agent relayed.

Good, it looks like what I hearin' bout the local MCO was correct.

"Your background checks out, sorry agent," the man replied.

"No problem sir," she said as she watched as the older man directed Agent Krezinski to put everything back. About two minutes later her luggage was all back in order and the older agent opened the door for her.

"Tank ye very much agent?" she asked and offered her hand.

"Agent-in-Charge Jeffrey O'Dell," he said and she shook his hand harder.

"Good ta meet another Irishmen!" she laughed as he released her clasp.

"Dad's actually from Donegal, met mom just after coming here," he said and she gave a nod, "Did he tell ye bout the Troubles?"

"Yeah, about the gunmen in the night from both sides, " he gave a curt nod.

"Well AIC O'Dell, I tink one of those arseholes is the reason I'm here," she sighed.

"Sorry to hear that Agent Maguire, I can only hope your stay here in the States is a good one," he replied.

"I can only hope," she smiled and gave wave before heading toward the checkpoint. The American at the desk gave her more sass than the MCO as he checked over her Passport and joked about her accent. A cold glare met his gaze as she walked past him and stepped onto another escalator to head into the baggage claim.

Her regents and other items needed for her magic as well as an armor were stashed in the larger checked bag she kept. She preferred to travel light when abroad and as she picked up the large black roller-bag she set it down on the ground. The carousels were already moving the large sheets of metal shifting over each other as bag after bag lumbered down the conveyor belt from the loading dock. With her baggage already in hand, she took her time to scan the signs hanging from the ceiling and walls.

This place is better organized than that shitter in Cleveland.

The layovers were boring as all hell, and being left in Ohio of all places didn't help. She swore she saw a Humanity First preacher while traveling from one terminal to the other. Most of the surfaces of the place were either black, brown or taupe. Whoever designed the placed really loved grey as well. A light annoyed frown graced her features as she began scanning for whoever was supposed to pick her up. All the contact information told her was to head to the baggage claim and they would find her. Maeve was getting more annoyed by the second as she was already hungry from being asleep and missing the in-flight meal.

I need ta get over me fear of flying. She chided herself as her phone beeped loudly. Perplexed, she reached into her back pocket and withdrew her smartphone and stared as a simple text appeared.

BLOCKED: Welcome to the States, Agent Maguire.

"Feckin, 'ell," she growled.

MAEVE_MAGUIRE: Who is this?

BLOCKED: You'll see me right by the exit, I'm wearing black tie.

Of all the things to encounter, now it was time for a Lil' old cloak and dagger. Rolling her eyes the Irishwoman let out a series of unkind curses in the recesses of her mind. Dammit Sinnead, this kind o' shite was yer thing!

Five minutes later she lugged her rolling luggage past carousels six through twelve. A small lobby met her surrounded by the same square black faux-leather seating. Each bench was attached to the next in a long steel black frame. Several men and women sat at the bench as more travelers brushed past her. She eyed her phone in her right hand and began to scroll through her messages. Another loud bleep as she turned back to her messages. Upon seeing it she scowled at the glowing screen.

BLOCKED: Lookup Agent, I'm waving at you.

"Mother Mary," she switched to more child-appropriate curse words as a troop of children toddled by surrounding a fairly tired looking gaggle of parents. Are those scouts? She eyed their small little brown jackets and let the sight distract her as another bleep announced yet another message.

BLOCKED: My hand is starting to hurt, I'm in plain daylight perhaps a few meters away. Are you blind Miss Maguire?

Her face was about to turn red from what she saw before she grabbed her luggage and glanced about. Her eyes narrowed in on a small short Hispanic man, his eyes covered by a pair of aviator glasses. He was dressed in a grey tailored suit and as his text indicated he wore a black tie. Barreling toward him and nearly shoving an old woman aside she came to rest in front of him.

"By all the Heavens, that took forever," the man said and carefully removed his glasses. He was a head shorter than her, dark brown skin and slightly almond eyes. He brushed off his shoulders before offering his hand. The Irishwoman glanced at it, her lips screwing into a frown before she took it in hand. A firm shake not unlike Agent O'Dell.

"Agent Jimenez, DPA," he said and removed his credentials within his jacket pocket. He even let her read the badge number before she handed it back to him. She offered her own papers in kind and he read through them with his eerie yellow eyes.

"I'll hand you the briefing information once we are alone," she stated to him. He gave a nod before picking up her checked luggage in one hand and gestured for her to follow. An exemplar? She wondered as the man scanned the street near the exit before waving his hand and a black unmarked sedan pulled in front of them. The woman in the driver's seat on the left tilted her head before smiling at Jimenez.

"Good to see you finally found her Bobby, and here I thought we'd be waiting till the saints sung his name," the woman said in a slight accent. It wasn't like Jimenez's and instantly she pegged it for something back east. To her knowledge that's where all of the strange-sounding American's lived anyway.

Jimenez opened the door for her and she got in. He then opened the boot to stow her larger luggage. Strangely enough, the small car was fairly comfortable, and interestingly enough had a leather interior. I wish our bloody budget paid this well. Maeve glanced out the window as Agent Jimenez sat down in the front. She crossed her arms over her chest as she waited. The damn flight and the annoying agent, what the hell was I facing?

Night, December 3rd, 2007 - Dreamscape

I could feel the cold as it brushed the tips of my fingers and my face. It wasn't real, but by the goddesses, it felt real. A cold harsh kiss against my skin as I pulled the cloak around my shoulders tighter still. The deeper I went into my dreamland the more and more real it felt. Everything was becoming more confusing as the puzzle I thought my life became was adding pieces every day. Morgan's realm was pieced together from my own memories and dreams of what Ireland was. From the very fabric of the books I read as a child and what I often thought about in my earliest writings. So it wasn't surprising at all when the cold hit me and I found myself staring at a dank rolling moor.

I swore, my dreams shifted faster than normal. Fog rolled over the moors straight out of The Hound of the Baskervilles. The damp ground itself was unevenly made of peat, moss, grass and much more. I kicked over a rock which littered the ground of the sod beneath my heels. Boots crafted from wrapped leather and bound wool on the inside. They were soft and gave me a grip on the uneven ground. Atop my head was a light helm crafted from bronze. I pulled it down over my head as my hair tied in a series of braids fell over my shoulders. An upper mask of metal covered my face and ended just above my nose. The metal of the helm was etched with scrolling birds.

My chest was encased in a leather cuirass fitted with pieces of bronze metal. Studded leather armor, I giggled a bit as the cuirass swept down to my legs. A wide belt held it all in place as I checked my helm and stopped moving. The spear strapped to my back moved against my legs as I reached behind to check the straps. I didn't remember manifesting the spear, but it's weight felt nice in my hands. I walked a bit further and stopped. The moors were quiet, not a single sound, only that of my feet. This wasn't right.

Even in my dreams, the wind made a noise. The crackling of animals shifting around as they went about their lives. I knew this because this is how my dreamland was made! A sudden movement caught my attention as I gasped. Something ran across the ground thirty paces away just on the edge of my vision. Fog deepened, and shapes started to shift around me. I was a green hand, and I could feel my fear increasing. This was my dream, I -knew- it was my dream. There shouldn't be anything at all which pushed me out of power.

Only Morgan could shape the dream in any way. A quick scan of whatever I could see out in my surroundings showed not a single sign of the standing stones. I drew myself close to the ground as slowly something shifted out of the mist. It walked with a limp, its feet were wrong. Immediately a smell gripped my nostrils and I wretched at it. How could? Squinting I stepped back once as I felt my footing give way. Slipping, I flung out my right hand to catch myself, but the impact of the ground knocked the wind out of me.

"You," it groaned and the thing moved closer and suddenly as it came into view. I gasped loudly. It looked to be me, well I think it was me. I glanced at the doppelganger and my eyes widened. Its eyes were glassed over, and it brought a finger to its lips. The thing's skin was - dead, that was the only way to pull it. It appeared to be a zombie, but as the thing limped closer I could tell it wasn't any sort of the thing. One of the pauldrons on its shoulder was torn off revealing a gaping wound. Another wound appeared as gunshots through its middle. Two more steps and it was nearly towering over me.

Its hair was greasy and the skin on its face was completely weathered. A piece of her lip was missing. It let out a loud groan as it stared down at me and shushed me finally.

"Whaaaaaaat are you?!" I squeaked.

The thing shuddered slowly as it froze in place.

"Portent," it hissed through lips and with a voice that sounded broken.

"Okay?" I asked it.

"WARNING," it hissed as the helm covering its face fell off to reveal a gouge from a blade of some sort. One of its eyes fell out as it shook its face.

"STOP BEING FUCKING VAGUE YOU DAMN GAUNT!" I screamed as I felt my feet scrabble at the ground.

Suddenly, the thing lifted it's face up toward the sky as a flash of lightning struck. From its throat came a loud blood-curdling scream that filled the air. It seemed to cause the air around me to reverberate as the thing started to float in the air and its hair drifted in the wind. A whirlwind swept up from the ground beneath me as it turned its face and I noticed its dead eyes looking at me.

"It has come....one has died," it pointed at me and as I gaped at the thing it seemed to swim in the air as its body drifted away.

"Fuck....a..." I said carefully through my dread.

"A banshee, an ancient spirit of warning," said a voice above me and I craned my neck to see Morgan standing there behind me in all her glory.

"What is it doing here?" the keen was slowly dying down as I felt Morgan's hands pull me up.

"They follow people like me, and you, those attached to the land. When someone dies they appear, and they keen the coming," she said to me slowly. Her face was stern as the fog around us was slowly dispersing. I could tell something was wrong as Morgan placed a hand on my shoulder. Her normally pristine appearance seemed sallow and pale.

"What's going on?" I asked her as she turned me around to face her.

"Someone has died, my heart," she sighed, "someone by your hand."

I could only mouth 'no' as I shook my head. No, I couldn't be a killer, right?