Chapter Fourteen

Luke liked to think of himself as a stand-up guy. That was what he had always dreamed of being – stoic, strong, a man who took care of business. His father was that type of man – all the Morales men were.

He had failed on that count; he had let Abbie down twice. When she announced that she was applying to Quantico, he had freaked out. He was ashamed when he thought of his reaction. One minute he was planning a future with Abbie, the next she was moving onwards and upwards.

Just when things were beginning to look good between them again, he dropped the ball once more. Seeing Andy Brooks – apparently alive again – had shaken him to his core. Instead of manning up and protecting Abbie, he had backed off, leaving her alone and vulnerable. Never again would he let that happen.

It had been a rough few weeks all around. He had been dealing with a full caseload at work, while his evenings were consumed with Abbie's world – chasing demons and hunting down arcane knowledge. It had been a baptism of fire, and he was exhausted, physically and psychologically.

Everyone seemed depressed and demoralised in the wake of Finbarr's death and their failure to defeat the Horseman. In the weeks since her husband's funeral, Maeve Burke seemed to revert back into a sulky, antisocial post-adolescent. She clomped around the archives wearing Doc Martens and a bad attitude, snorting and scoffing at any attempt to distract her from her misery.

Luke decided at that moment that he needed to be a big brother to her. Abbie told him that she had a pretty horrendous background, so she needed compassion and understanding, not judgement. He knew that he had a duty to help her, but God help him, she made it difficult at times.

When Maeve's precious motor home was finally towed after too many overlooked parking tickets, she reacted by throwing a massive fit in the front lobby of the police station. He tried to calm her down, but she responded by calling him a gorilla and announcing that she "wouldn't take advice from someone who bleached his teeth," which just left him bewildered.

Irving told him later that she had spent all her funds on the funeral, and without the motor home, she was essentially homeless. In his self-appointed role as big brother, Luke paid the fine and drove the vehicle to a vacant lot where he knew it wouldn't be stolen. When he tried to explain, she replied with a swift "Fuck off, pig," like he'd just maced her at a protest.

It was Henry Parrish who finally got through to her. Somehow, the two of them became as thick as thieves. They huddled together hatching schemes in the corner of the archives – which had become a kind of situation room for the war against Moloch. One night, they gathered the group together, promising big news.

'We have a plan,' Maeve announced. 'Well, not so much a plan yet, more of an idea. I know my last one didn't turn out so well, but this one should work. We hope.'

'What is it this time?' Jenny asked sceptically.

'What is sin?' Henry questioned rhetorically. 'Sin is the quintessence of weakness, of hatred and deceit. Moloch embodies all of these evils. If I can remove a man's sin and leave him sanctified, then why not Moloch?'

There was a moment of silence in the group; it seemed as if there was a tacit lack of trust amongst them. After the fiasco in the Masonic tomb, they were clearly less than eager to follow another one of Maeve's hare-brained schemes.

'You think it would work?' Abbie asked cautiously.

'The problem would be making a connection with Moloch – Henry would have to do it through me. I've done it before – when you entered Crane's dream, and with Finbarr in the tomb. I've never done it with two at the same time. I'd need something to magnify my power.'

Luke was busy watching Crane, who had his eyes fixed on Abbie. There was an intense look in his eyes – something like anger, or determination, or what? Desire?

Keep your eyes to yourself, Brit.

He caught himself; those thoughts weren't worthy of him. He was loath to think too deeply about the bond between Abbie and Ichabod Crane. She had explained to him all about the spell that had left him frozen in time and their role Biblically-ordained Witnesses. When he finally got his head around it, he realised it was another thing he had to deal with. It was like accepting that Santa Claus wasn't real.

The sound of his uncle Tony's rough voice entered his head with predicable clarity. Man up, Lukey-boy. Your father isn't here to protect you anymore.

'…so we need to find the right sigil, and the incantation that goes with it,' Maeve summed up. 'Any questions?'

'I kinda zoned out there for a sec,' Luke said. 'What do we need to find?'

'Not just a pretty face, eh?' Maeve sighed with distain. She spoke in slow, patronising tones. 'A sigil is a magical symbol – like a rune – used by the druids to contact the sí – the ancient gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I can use it to help Henry to drain Moloch's power. Clear enough?'

'Can I ask?' Luke held up a hand. He had a sudden flashback to being back in school again – another unhappy memory. 'If we do manage to find this sigil, how is Henry going to absorb all the evil or whatever from Moloch? Won't it be dangerous?'

All eyes turned to Henry. 'I am aware that this plan involves great danger to myself. If this rids the world of Moloch, then it's a risk I'm willing to take.'

'I'll be connected to Henry the whole time. It should offer Henry some measure of protection.'

Jenny raised an eyebrow. 'And what about you? Are you strong enough for this?'

If Maeve doubted herself, she wouldn't allow herself to show it. 'I can do this – I want to.'

'When are you planning to try this?' Abbie asked.

'We're two weeks from Hallowe'en. On Samhain, the veil between worlds will be weakest, allowing me to channel the power of the sí. It also means that Moloch's little helpers will be free to come and go at will. That's where you come in.'

Irving was leaning against the doorframe. 'Let me guess, you're gonna need us as muscle. After what happened last time, I think people need to decide whether they want to risk their lives.'

'You want to take a vote, Frank?' Jenny sounded pissed off. 'I've spent my life fighting Moloch. I'm not sitting this one out – not when we could be close to ending this. Anybody disagree?'

Luke was sorely tempted to speak up. It sounded too risky, and there were too many variables. Maeve was something of a wild card, and he wasn't sure Henry was to be trusted either, but he wasn't going to look like a coward in front of Abbie.

'Great.' Maeve rubbed her hands together. 'This room is full of all kinds of mystical crap. It might be a good place to look for sigils. Let's get started.'

They worked in shifts, poring over old books and manuscripts full of ancient symbols. The next day, Luke and Abbie sat in one corner of the archives, while Crane and Maeve sifted through papers on the other side of the room. After a while, the pressure and cabin fever began to tell on all of them and tempers flared.

At one point, Crane snapped at Maeve, clearly having had enough of her foul attitude. She hopped up and ran from the room. Luke gave Crane a look that said Nice work, buddy, and followed her outside.

After searching many dusty alcoves, he eventually found Maeve sitting at the top of the fire escape. She was crying softly to herself and staring vacantly at her cheap, gold wedding band. When she saw Luke, she quickly dried her eyes. He paused, knowing instinctively that the last thing Maeve needed was to be left alone.

'You know my father was a cop too?' He had no idea why he said this, other than a need to fill the silence.

Maeve looked at him, somewhere between confused, lost and angry.

'He was the strong, silent-type, you know?' he continued, barely knowing where this stream of consciousness was coming from. 'Never complained about work, never wanted anyone to worry. But no matter what, he always found time for me, just to throw the skin around and talk about nothing.'

He knew he was rambling now, but Maeve was no longer crying; that was a good sign.

'So when he started getting pains in his knee, he didn't pay it any mind. Said he was fine – even though my Mom begged him to see a doctor. By the time they found out it was cancer, it had already spread to his brain.'

Maeve looked shocked, finally shaken out of her funk.

'My Mom didn't want to talk about it – she had four kids to raise. I didn't want to upset her so I pretended I was fine. I didn't talk about Dad, and never cried in front of her. So I folded it away, deep down inside, and pretended to be strong. All the time I still wanted my Dad – I still do.' He looked intently at her. 'We never really get over people dying, do we? We just find a way to move on.'

Maeve spoke – her voice tremulous but determined. 'I know I can be kind of a bitch sometimes, but you've been really decent to me, Luke. I'm grateful.'

There was a slight pause. 'Sometimes?'

To Luke's relief, Maeve laughed. It was first quiet, then long and loud. It was as if she was throwing off some great burden, and for the first time in ages, she looked young again.

God, she's crazy pretty when she smiles. The thought crept unbidden into his head. If only she weren't so young. And widowed. And I'm with Abbie!

In that moment, he knew that he could no longer ignore that look in Abbie's eyes whenever she looked at Crane; it was something akin to desperation. It was love. He knew that she would never feel that way for him.

It was suddenly clear to him; he didn't love Abbie, not in that way. He loved her as a friend and a colleague and wanted to protect her more than anything. The Apocalypse was coming; life was too short to spend with the wrong person.

He felt strange inside – sort of light and topsy-turvy. It was the oddest sensation – one of change, almost a rebirth. He knew that he had altered fundamentally from the man he had been just minutes before.

'Feeling any better?' he asked Maeve.

'A little,' she replied, wiping her face with her sleeves.

'I would give you a handkerchief, but I'm fresh out.'

She gave him a look of disbelief. 'You carry around a handkerchief? Does it have little flowers on it?'

Luke laughed; he felt somehow that things were going to be all right. He had no idea what to do about Abbie, but at that moment, he felt so light-hearted that he wasn't going to let it bother him.

As soon as Maeve entered the archives, Crane arose, an apologetic look on his face. Instead of one of his usual verbose effusions, he dropped into a deep bow. Maeve blushed slightly and nodded.

'Did you find anything while we were away?'

'I believe so,' Crane replied. He held up a leather-bound book.

'This is a copy of the seventh-century "Life of St. Brendan the Navigator" – long believed to be lost. It contains accounts of druidic practices in the pre-Christian era.'

Maeve and Luke crowded around the table where Crane and Abbie were seated. The book was opened at a page which was covered with illustrations of arcane symbols. Maeve stabbed her finger at one of them – a triangle with a right-handed triple spiral inside of it. The triangle was marked with grooves and dots in different configurations.

'This is the one,' she announced.

'How do you know?' Abbie asked.

'Only one way to be sure – we're calling Moloch out.' Maeve looked from Abbie to Crane and back again. 'I say we call him to account for every life he's destroyed – for Finbarr, for Katrina, for your Sheriff, Abbie. On Hallowe'en night, we're finishing this thing. One way or the other.'