Hunted|Haunted - Chapter 18 - Your friendly neighbour, dullahan

Adhomnan Brennigan wasn't a person to be scared, or even surprised easily. After living for more than fifteen hundred years, it felt like every single thing on the Gods’ green earth he’d either studied, shot dead or played in cards… But it wasn't wise to forget that he was never the universe's favourite. When he received a mental call from Scaevle, that some people took interest in Nokk, who sat tied to the motorbike, he honestly expected anything else than what he saw.

One witch on a broom. One witch kid. One human… probably young. A strange-looking ghost of a human. And a decidedly weird-looking horse that the human and the witch kid were on. Also, the plushie toy the witch kid held had an air about it, too.

Something weird was happening here. This was a strange combination of mortals to go running upon spotting him. And while generally Adhomnan didn't mind sending anyone running, all this was curious to say the least. And Adhomnan, despite being almost as old as modern civilisation, liked curiosities like this.

Also, it might prove useful upon checking out. Who knows, maybe the adult witch he saw amongst the children owed him. Although it would be difficult to say for certain. Thirty years ago, half of the gods' damn kingdom owed him at least something.

Thinking like this, Adhomnan came closer to where Scaevle, with his “latest acquisition” on him, was parked. He was immediately greeted by the roar of the starting engine and the growling metallic voice in his head.

“After them?”
— Easy. — Adh let out a short, soft chuckle, petting the bike Scaevle inhabited now on the fuel tank. — Hungry already?

Scaevle’s engine purred a bit louder, Cóiste Bodhar's voice gaining a complaining undertone.

“Not really. Not with this fountain of energy sitting on me. But I like prey that struggles, and he is killing the mood.”

Adhomnan frowned slightly, casting a glance at the still-motionless human tied to the bike. The only answer was a hollow thousand-mile dark-green gaze from under the helmet’s visor, which immediately turned to them. Likely waiting for a command, like an obedient dog. The Irishman sighed, picking up his own helmet from the steer, and asked.

— Still no improvement?
“He is stable, but too complicated, master. Too much of him needs to be eaten to fix him. And if I do it…”
— …he will be worthless. — Adhomnan sighed once again, then put the helmet on.

Thrice damn that pathetic slug of a mob boss, whom he’d taken this man from. Said mob boss, despite being no mage, knew what to do to break human beings. Make them into obedient tools. And this young human, now called Nokk, who Brennigan was forced to take with him everywhere, was made by that mobster into a living, breathing weapon. Not that Adhomnan abhorred the deed, or the methods – there was something poetic in that… But to have a necromancer of almost god-like potential and to render that potential unusable, especially in a time when alive local necromancers became a rare commodity… it was a crime against logic, magic, and everything else in between.

Needless to say, it's been a long time since Adhomnan enjoyed killing someone for their stupidity as much.

Now, as he once again was reminding the scum of the Redarish underworld why he had been a mob boss all those thirty-something years ago in the first place, he was forced to take this pathetic in its inability to survive on its own creature with him. Everywhere he went. And this was becoming a problem, attracting unnecessary attention for one. Adhomnan could theoretically use Nokk for many things – a magical battery for some kind of ritual, a necromancer to summon an undead army and overthrow the government, or even eat his soul and crank his own magical potential to eleven. But all of that was theoretical and was severely negated by one simple fact.

Nokk had no free will of his own.

He was obedient. Perfect soldier, perfect killer. Merciless, remorseless, able to get in, get the target and get out without anyone even knowing that he was there. But he couldn’t do anything without his master ordering it of him. And, having no personal interest in staying alive, he wasn’t exactly convincing when it came to persuading the dead to rise. Thus, he was easy for the souls of the dead to possess and try to use for their own gains. Adhomnan had to untangle those souls from Nokk way too often for comfort or any use. Of course, he never minded a free snack, but it was bothersome. Sometimes, Brennigan thought, it would be more useful if he just glued Nokk to the wall somewhere at the Tower and then came back to collect this improvised soul-catcher.

Anyway, this was a bridge he’d deal with on a later date. Right now, something else begged for his attention. Or rather, someone. Adhomnan got on the motorcycle and murmured to his companion:

— Let’s see where they went.

Scaevle didn’t answer with words, but there was a short pulse of satisfaction in Adhomnan’s mind, through their connection, as Brennigan drove out of the parking lot and then sped up, going after the faint traces of magic, still lingering in the air. There was a slight complication – Adh couldn't drive after them as fast as he was used to, not if he wanted to keep Nokk alive, which he was still debating for the time being. But thankfully, the bunch spewed magic, like that fountain in Barcelona. So, Brennigan, after a bit of thinking, resigned himself to abiding by human speed limits. Still, “human speed limits” didn't mean “all human traffic laws and/or superstitions”.

That's why when Adhomnan saw a hearse driving in front of him, he shot ahead of it without much thought. He was prepared for cursing and swearing from the driver. What he wasn't prepared for was that the hearse would match Scaevle's speed and get beside him on the next turn. And when the driver rolled down the window, and Brennigan saw a pissed-off female witch – at least she looked femaleish, who knows the fashion these days – he realised that maybe, just maybe, he should not have cut her off.

— You've got a lot of nerve, brake checking a hearse with a full trunk

Not that Brennigan was particularly interested in burial grounds, since he rarely needed one, but he was fairly sure the graveyard was in the exact opposite direction.

— And if someone doesn't prove themselves more useful, I shall also perform the entirety of police chase car tricks too! — She growled into the salon. Whatever answer she got was completely covered up by the engine.

— While I would like to see you try it, Miss, — Adh couldn't help but smirk under the helmet. Just who did she think he was? — I’m as busy as I assume you are, if not more. And I lived long enough that police chase tricks won't work on me, so my nerve is pretty justified.
— You don't have nearly as much to do with the happenings as you think, sir. You've seen a witchen kid and, how many d'you say, 6 others? A witchen kid that doesn't match the group around these parts? I'll trade most things for info.
— … Let's assume that I did. — Now this was getting interesting enough to keep Adh from speeding up and away from here. Against his better judgment, he decided to keep driving at the hearse’s speed. — At least I think I did, there are not many mortals by that description ‘round these parts. A witchen kid with a magic toy, a strange human, another witch, and what I assumed were ghosts, or some other spirit things.
— For the record, did the other witch look absolutely ridiculous?
— Definitely not from ‘round here.
— That sonova-! — She slammed the brakes in righteous fury, a spark of curses flying from her teeth. From the back of the hearse, screams of fear and pain could be heard. — Ahem. Excuse me.
— You're excused. — Brennigan nodded slightly, observing the emotional outburst with mild interest. Then asked. — So, are you looking for them? Because I am currently tracking them down. That witch looked like someone I’d want to have a chat with.
— I only need the child. Do whatever you may with the rest. The ghosts, the living, whatever other entities he befriended… The kid ran away looking for the other parent. How he ended up in that company is beyond me. Or have gotten this far, for that matter.

Adhomnan just shrugged, letting Scaevle himself drive to the destination.

— Children. They do be like that. My daughter once ran off to marry someone, but at least your son is too young for that.
— Yeah, he just got through the fractions.

As they entered a particularly smooth part of the road, Adhomnan could almost make out the meek voice from the hearse.

“Ma'am, I don't feel the track any more”

The witch's short bob stood straight like a lion's mane, as she carefully stopped the car on the side of the road. Then, with the grace of a princess, she left the driver's seat, opened the trunk, and slid out the casket. The old witch within the casket was surprisingly alive. Although Brennigan, who silently nudged Scaevle to stop in front of the hearse to observe whatever happens next, wasn't sure for how long.

— I might have misheard. You what?
— Your son is no longer in this forest, ma'am.
— And where is he, then?
— I don't know.
— Oh, alrighty then.

She went back to the driver's seat and returned with a double-barreled shotgun.

— Do you mind leaving my property?
— Y.you're not.. Gonna kill me, are you?
— What? No, no, no. Of course not. It's to make sure you properly draw the summoning circle without running away. You know, since you're no good as a tracker, maybe you'll at least do as a payment.

The witch in question looked very much like one of the Tragač. Adhomnan knew them – well, it would be weird if he didn't, since their family went back to somewhere around when Redar was still called Redarswig by common folk. He was familiar with the then-head of the clan, however. Tragač were good at tracking and spying. But since Adh himself invented quite a few ways to get away from them, he knew they weren't as foolproof as they wanted to look like.

Still, Tragač could be useful when in debt. That was why, before the unfortunate tracker was turned to mincemeat, Adhomnan decided to intervene, mostly just to not laugh at the face the Tragač made.

— Miss. If you have something from your son, I could determine where he went.
— Would you look at that, you get to live. — Still, that didn't make the Tragač any less scared. The woman put the shotgun into the trunk, instead pulling out a shoebox. — Pick your choice.

Inside the box — a lock of hair, milk teeth, a drop of blood on a cotton cloth, a tiny plush seal, a chewed pencil, a Polaroid, a document reminiscent of a police profile. All neatly organised, dated and signed.

After a bit of inspection, Brennigan decided to be more practical and precise, and took the lock of dark witchen hair, pulling out his updated spell book out of his inner pocket. The search circle was on the first page, as it was the one he used very often these days. After unfolding the paper and filling the circle with mana, Adhomnan placed the lock of the kid's hair at the centre. The circle glowed and began projecting a picture of something. A place. A city, far, far East. Not on this continent, definitely not. And judging by humans on the street and the architecture, could it be…

The projection zoomed in on the said witch child, walking on the street in the same strange company Adh saw earlier today. Then, it zoomed out, showing the city from a bird's eye view. And finally showed the location name. Houjyun, Quine. About as far east as one can go, before stepping into the ocean.
A lightning strike struck the nearby pine, and seeing as the witch's eyelid started twitching, Tragač hastily closed the casket lid.

— So, Quine, huh. You've sent my child in a direction that doesn't exist, and he ended up in Quine.
— They asked us to send them to Harvey, and that is exactly what we did. — The answer came muffled from the casket.
— Age doesn't make you any wiser, Wilhelm, and each word from your mouth that doesn't help me find my son, earns “The blind rat” another 5 millimetres of flooding. Oh well, I guess that concludes the search for today. But I swear, if by tomorrow morning he ends up in the godforsaken down under, I will organise your entire family a meeting with Lowac senior.
— You mad wench, how are WE affecting your child at this point?!
— Your. Entire. Family. — Immediately losing the stern tone, the witch took a couple of aluminium boxes from the trunk. — You want some? It's only fair that I reimburse your lost time in some way.

Adhomnan thought for a bit, looking at the boxes. Then asked.

— What is that? — Then added, nodding towards the casket. — Also, I can’t help but notice that, since you don’t have a lot of use for that specimen anymore, I’d rather take him. He sure seems fitting for my purposes.

— Duck roast with potatoes. — She said after a quick sniff. — Yeah, sure, mind replacing him then? You know, since I still need to track my son. The pattern tells me he won't stay in Quine for long.

— Hm, well. I do have something to trade. — Adhomnan could recognise the chance when it was looking at him. So, it reached towards the binding spell on his “weapon” and lifted it. Then called. — Nokk, come here. Kindly.

They didn’t have to wait for long. In a minute, Nokk, silent as usual, already stood before Brennigan, poised and at full attention, like a dangerous snake or an attack dog. Adhomnan commanded.

— Take off your helmet.

Nokk immediately obeyed, taking off the spare helmet dullahan put on him and holding it in his hands. This action allowed them to have a look at Nokk’s face, in case the witch wanted to know what he looked like. Adhomnan, on his part, had looked at the thin pale features of Nokk enough that he would be able to recall them even if awoken from sleep. The perfectly emotionless dark green eyes of the enslaved necromancer now caused only mild annoyance to him.

As soon as Nokk did that, Brennigan gestured to him.

— So, this is what I offer in exchange…

— Please, tell me this has nothing to do with slave brands, I’ve had enough with those.

— Unfortunately, it has. Fortunately, what I have here is an expert tracker, killer and anything else you might want from him. — Brennigan shrugged slightly, choosing the words carefully to at least make it seem less… distasteful than it really was. Of course, the witch either felt the imprint from the tattoo or, more likely, saw the collar part of it peeking from beneath Nokk's jacket. — I can’t exactly remove the slave brand, but I can gift him to you, and he will chase your son to the end of the earth and bring him back home – all at your mere call.

— Do you mind trading him instead? — If there was anything she learnt from messing with Nipher, it is nitpicking word choice. Wouldn't want to end up indebted to… Him. Something certainly was up here. — Tragač here owns himself, so that wouldn't be a fair deal. So, for your… friend, I propose my trade.

She held out a business card.

— Burn this card, and we'll take care of the tracks. Whoever you need gone will have passed from an accident or natural causes, with proper documentation and zero questions.
— Huh, would you look at that. — Adhomnan didn't expect to gain anything of real value from this deal, more or less simply getting rid of the unnecessary over-bothersome weapon in his arsenal. But this sounded like something he would be able to use. — Alright. Why not. Seems only fair.

Adhomnan took the card, looking it over, then turned to Nokk.

— Nokk. You are now in the property of this fair lady. Anything she orders or asks is of your concern. She is your new master, and I am no longer one.

Nokk simply nodded, giving back the helmet. He wanted to take off the jacket, too, but Adhomnan waved him off to keep the clothes. He didn't buy Nokk a full set of clothing to get it back upon the trade, thank you very much. Nokk, thankfully, obeyed the gesture and didn't proceed with undressing, instead putting the jacket back on. Then stepped a bit closer to the witch and bowed to her respectfully. After he straightened up, he looked her in the eyes and asked calmly.

— What are the orders, Ma’am?

His voice was a bit rough and hoarse, and it was clear he didn't use it often.

Adhomnan sighed and turned to inspect the casket that was sticking halfway out of the hearse, and its unusually alive but almost dead passenger.

— And you are going with me. — He grabbed the still-not-believing-in-his-luck witch by the scruff of the neck and, using a slight magic boost, lifted him from the casket and into the air, then dragged him back to Scaevle, who instantly revved up, eager to already move out.

A fine catch he had this day. Two birds with one stone.