by N. P. Martin
I didn’t know if the flames would kill the beast or not, but I wasn’t taking any chances. With a loud cry, I rushed at the buggane with the sword, half-expecting the beast to at least counter-attack, but instead it just stood there, almost as if it knew it had been defeated already.
The buggane howled as the silver sword pierced its chest, and then its heart. I let go of the grip and left the sword in there, stepping back away from the burning creature just as it fell to its knees.
Just before it died, the buggane’s voice echoed in my head as it said rather cryptically…
"…I can still…smell your fear…"
What it meant by that, I didn’t know.
It took me quite a while to find my way back out of the labyrinth again, but with the help of Nyxie’s hair and the light from the sword which I pulled from the charred body of the buggane, I finally found the cavern and then, mercifully, the exit. Outside, I stood in the pitch dark for a few moments just breathing in the clear night air as I tried to purify my lungs of the smoke from the buggane’s burnt body. The smell of the creatures burnt hair and flesh was still in my nostrils, and I had a feeling it was a smell I was never likely to forget.
When I eventually made my way back to the shore, I began to panic when I saw no sign of the five girls. There was, however, some sort of fishing boat anchored at the shore, and I began to wonder if someone else was around until I realized that it was probably Nyxie who had somehow procured the boat and left it there out of faith that I would somehow accomplish what I came to do.
But a boat was no use if I couldn’t find the girls. "Hello!" I began to shout as I made my way inland again, looking around for any signs of them. Then, just before I came upon the abandoned church, I noticed a head poking around the doorway, and realized it was the blond girl I’d been speaking to inside the cavern. "It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s safe to come out, I promise."
The blond girl stared fearfully at me for a moment. "Is it dead?"
"It’s dead."
She then disappeared, and a moment later all five girls came walking out fo the little church, all holding onto each other as if their lives still depended on it. They each looked the worse for wear in their torn, bloodstained clothes, but none of them seemed to have any serious injuries, that I could see anyway.
"You really killed that thing?" the blond girl asked me.
"I did," I said. "You’re safe now."
The girl threw her arms around me and hugged me tight as the other girls started to cry with relief.
"I just want to go home now…" one of them said.
When I’d pried the blonde girl of off me, I lead the five of them to the boat and helped each of them into it. Then I started the small outboard engine and headed for the far side of the lake, the moon overhead lighting the way.
Once we got to shore, I dug my phone out from my now tattered and partly shredded jacket and called the local authorities, telling them I had found the five missing girls and where they could find them. When the operator asked for my details, I hung up the phone.
The five girls were all huddled on the grassy bank next to the shoreline, looking very much traumatized by their experience, and I couldn’t blame them. I doubted they would ever get over what happened to them, but at least they were alive.
I stayed with the girls until I heard the sound of sirens in the distance, then I told them I had to go. Each of them stood up then and hugged me individually, thanking me for what I’d done, which if I’m honest, nearly brought tears to my own eyes.
"You’re injured," the blond girl said when she hugged me last.
"I’ll be fine," I said. "I might need some new clothes though."
The blond girl smiled for the first time, a smile that soon disappeared when she realized something. "What do we tell people?" she asked.
"Tell them you were kidnapped by a madman," I said. "It’s not far from the truth anyway."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"People should know what you did for us."
I smiled slightly and shook my head. "It’s enough that you do," I said, and then walked away.
After I left the girls, I went and sat next to the shore about a mile away, hidden beneath a tree as I watched the police and paramedics turn up to tale the girls away. I have to say, it felt good to know the girls would be all right, despite the fact that I would have more scars to add to my ever-growing collection. A small price to pay as far as I was concerned.
When the girls had been taken away, I walked to the water’s edge and called out into the darkness, "Nyxie! You there?"
About a minute later, I saw a bluish light begin to form under the surface of the dark water about ten yards out, and then a head broke the surface. "You rid this valley of the dark one," Nyxie said, her hair glowing specularly in the darkness. "I am forever in your debt, Corvin."
I shook my head. "It’s me that’s in your debt. I’d probably be dead now if it wasn’t for you, or still stuck inside that labyrinth. And the boat, that was you?"
Nyxie smiled, her amber eyes twinkling like stars in the moonlight. "Yes, I thought you might need a way back across the lake."
"Thank you."
"What will you do now?" she asked. "Is there another monster for you to hunt somewhere?"
I thought of Constantine when she asked. "Yes, there is actually."
"Well," said Nyxie. "Be careful, and come visit me sometime. I’ll always be here."
It was a comforting thought as I walked away.
As I was making my way back through the dark woods, heading for my car parked near the old ruins, I suddenly caught sight of a figure that seemed to appear out of nowhere from behind a large oak tree about twenty yards ahead. The figure was tall and cloaked in ghostly white robes, with a hood covering their face. My eyes widened in shock as I remembered one of the visions Drakkar had shown me, of a man in white robes holding a staff as he cast some powerful magic spell. There was no doubt in my mind that the figure up ahead was the same man. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.
And then the man spoke, or rather communicated telepathically. "Soon, Serpent Son…" he said in a deep voice.
I shook my head, confused and a little frightened. "Soon?" I said. "What do you mean? Who are you?"
But the figure disappeared before I could get any answers.
Chapter 2
I got back to Dublin the next morning feeling a bit worse for wear. The injuries caused by the buggane seemed to have healed, but there were scars left behind that, like the one on my face, I didn’t think would disappear any time soon. Nonetheless, I was just glad to be alive after the close encounter, and also happy that I’d managed to save all five of the missing girls, who were most likely at home now, or in hospital, wondering what the hell had happened to them, and if they were ever going to get over it. Which I doubted they would. They were destined to have nightmares about their forced captivity for the rest of their lives. I know I wouldn’t be forgetting my experience in a hurry.
The bookshop was already open when I pulled the Spitfire up outside, thanks to my new employee. When I walked into the shop holding the sword, she stared at me from behind the desk like I was some sort of madman, my shredded clothes only contributing to this impression. "Good morning, Margret," I said with a wide smile. "And how are you this fine day?"
Margret Burke was a woman in her fifties, tall and slender with a body to rival any twenty year old, and with long silvery gray hair that hung to the middle of her back. She had kind blue eyes and a thin-lipped mouth that was always ready with a smile, except when she was gawping at someone who looked like they’d just stepped out of a gladiatorial arena.
"Corvin," she said. "Wherever have you been? And where did you get that sword?"
"I got it from someone, or rather something, that doesn’t need it anymore," I said, holding the blade aloft as I swung it around a few times. I was beginning to feel comfortable holding the weapon, and I felt myself developin
g something of a connection with it, if that was possible, especially after I’d experienced what it could do. If this were still a time when men walked around with swords on their sides, this thing would be with me all the time, I had no doubt.
Margret shook her head. "I’m not sure I want to know."
"Probably best you don’t, believe me. Is everything okay with the shop?"
"Yes." She got up from the desk and went to a stack of boxes on the floor, bending over to extract a handful of books from one of them. "The new stock arrived this morning. I was just in the process of sorting it out."
I crossed the floor to glance down at the books. "Anything interesting?"
"Stuff for the public," she said. "The other stock hasn’t come yet."
The other stock was the books ordered by the customers in the know; those who knew magic and the supernatural to be real that is, and not just the preserve of writers and artists with fevered imaginations. "Okay," I said nodding. "And you’re fine dealing with the more…shady clientele?"
Margaret cocked her head at me. "I’m a witch, Corvin, shady doesn’t disturb me at all."
"Good. I’m glad you’re here, Margret. My mother would be happy that the shop is in such capable hands."
"We were friends for a long time, so I know how much this shop meant to her." She shook her head slightly. "I do miss her, though."
"Yeah." I turned my head for a second, fighting the temptation to get maudlin. "So do I."
"Are you doing okay, Corvin? You seem to be mixed up in something. I also heard about your feud with Iolas Tasar. Are you taking after your father now?"
I frowned, slightly taken aback by her unexpected comment. "What do you mean? I was getting justice for my mother."
"I know that dear, but you need to be careful when you walk the darker paths. It’s easy to be led astray."
"I’m fine, Margret, no need to worry." I went to walk away and head upstairs when I remembered something and turned around again. "Do you know if my mother was ever involved with any secret group or…cult?"
Margret shook her head. "Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing. Have you ever heard the phrase 'Serpent Son' before?"
"Serpent Son?" Her frown deepened. "Not as far as I know. It could mean anything."
I nodded as if it didn’t matter. "I’ll be upstairs if you need me for anything. Thanks Margret."
"Corvin?"
"Yes?"
"Are you sure you’re all right?"
I hesitated before answering. "Yes."
Margret’s blue eyes seemed to look into me for an uncomfortable few seconds. "Okay, as long as you are."
"I am."
But of course, I wasn’t, not really. Seeing that white-robed figure in the woods had left me shake up to say the least. I had no idea who the person was, but I was almost certain it was the same person from the vision Drakkar had shown me. And what did he say again? Something like, "Soon, Serpent Son…"
What the hell did that even mean? What would be soon? I was now left with the inescapable feeling that something was going to happen, though I had no idea what. Everyone I asked about this Serpent Son business didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, or if they did, they weren’t saying. And if the latter was the case, why weren’t they saying anything? If something was going to happen to me, surely I had a bloody right to know?
It was too much, to be honest, and the not knowing was killing me. The high of killing the buggane and saving the girls was also beginning to wane, and in its place was a feeling of restlessness that I knew was connected to my decision to take down the vampire Constantine, which to be honest, had now become an obsession.
The wall in my living room was testament to that. Apologizing to my mother at the time, I took down the pictures on the one wall and placed an old photograph of Prince Constantine in the center. The photo had belonged to my mother, which she kept hidden inside one of her journals, though I’m not sure why. The only thing I could think of was that she kept the photograph to remind her of who Constantine was and what he had done. My mother clearly longed for justice over all those years, though she either didn’t know how to get it, or she didn’t think she could get it for whatever reason.
But I could get it for her. Margret wasn’t wrong when she made the comment about me taking after my father. My father, although not a violent man per se, also wasn’t averse to using violence if he had to. The little I knew of that side of him first hand, and what my mother had told me about him in person and through her journals, was enough to convince me of that. My recent experiences had awakened in me a similar propensity toward using more violent means if the situation demanded it. Whereas before, I likely would’ve shied away from violent actions. Now it seemed like I was embracing such actions, and I was comfortable with that if the means justified the ends. As long as I had right on my side, I didn’t care. Although I was also aware that one man’s right is another man’s wrong, but I wasn’t about to get bogged down with morals or philosophy when it came to a son-of-a-bitch like Constantine Ó Duinn.
The large photo pinned to the wall I had of him was in black and white and seemed to be quite old. It also looked like the photographer had stolen the shot, catching Constantine just as he was looking behind him slightly. The background was fuzzy and indistinct so it was hard to tell where the photograph had been taken. Constantine himself, however, was captured quite clearly. In the photograph, his raven black hair was quite long, though the last time I saw him—when he had me pinned to my bed—his hair was shorter. He possesses delicate features, but his face is also masculine, and although you couldn’t tell from the black and white image, his eyes are a dark blue. The photo showed quite clearly, however, how piercing his stare is. He had a look that could chill the blood of any man with even a casual glance.
As far as his age went, I had no idea how long Constantine had been roaming the earth. My mother estimated his age at around three thousand years old, but no one was really sure except Constantine himself. Either way, he only looked in his early thirties physically speaking, and about as youthful as anyone I’d seen given his vast age. He had been around for a long time, and no doubt intended to remain so for an even longer time, although not if I had anything to do with it.
Next to the photograph of Constantine was another photograph of his brother, Prince Darick. Darick is a few hundred years younger than his older brother, and something of a sadist by all accounts, even for a vampire. According to rumors, he also had a predilection for young girls—the younger the better. No one quite knew what he did with these girls, but everyone agreed that they were never seen again once Darick took possession of them. Like his brother, Darick is tall and quite well built, although his hair is curled and fair, his eyes a lighter shade of blue. Physically speaking, he looks even younger than Constantine, like someone in his late twenties, if that.
I was well aware that going up against Constantine also meant going up against Darick, which would obviously complicate matters and make things even more dangerous than they already were. Quite simply, vampires are not to be messed with. There’s a reason why the Council doesn’t like to get involved with them, or dictate to them too much. The Council knows that vampires can cause a lot of trouble if they so chose, which is why they leave the bloodsuckers to their own devices for the most part. As long as the vampires kept to themselves and didn’t cause too much trouble, the Council were content to stay out of their affairs.
And what about their affairs? Ever since I’d got back from Cork, I’d been obsessively researching the Ó Duinn clan and their affairs, the known ones anyway. All over the wall in my living room I had stuck documents and scraps of paper with notes scribbled on them, any piece of information that would give me more insight into what kind of vampires the Ó Duinn’s were, and what they got up to. Most of the family had been wiped out in the last Great War many hundreds of years ago, when the vampires of Ireland rose up and tried to take control of the whole islan
d. Their efforts at dominance had failed, however, and the Council punished the clans severely, forcing many of them to flee overseas were they continue to hide out to this day. Constantine and Darick, however, in their arrogance, remained here with what was left of their clan, carrying on an underground terrorist campaign that eventually netted them the north of the country, which they had steadfastly maintained possession of ever since, becoming the ruling princes of Belfast and the surrounding counties.
My chief obsession at this point is with finding a way to get to the princes without getting myself killed in the process, which was proving to be an extremely difficult proposition. Despite having studied their lifestyles and business dealings around the clock for the last week, with all the information I had gathered spread across the wall to look at, I was still struggling with finding an angle. There simply was no safe way in, I was under no illusions about that. But there had to be smart way in, a way that didn’t end in my death. For what would be the point of allowing myself to die at their hands as well? Where would the justice be in that?
Sighing, I went and poured myself a whiskey and stood drinking it while I stared at the information on the wall for the umpteenth time as I hoped something would click at some point and a viable plan would begin to form. But after two more whiskeys, no plan began to form, and by the time I had drained my glass, I was only certain of one thing:
Going up against the Ó Duinn’s would be nothing short of a suicide mission.
Chapter 3
The next morning, I was lying in bed with a bit of a hangover, having sat to the small hours reading old books about vampires while consuming far too much whiskey. When my phone rang next to me on the bedside table, I groaned at the sound and picked it up without checking to see who it was. "Hello?"
