by N. P. Martin
"Is it, though?"
"Yeah, of course. Listen, I have to go, the road is getting busy here…"
"Grand, bro. You know where I am if you need me. I’m only an hour’s flight away."
"Thanks. Talk to you later."
When I hung up, I shook my head slightly and sighed at the fact that I lied to him, even though I had to. If I’d told him the truth, he’d be on the first plane to Belfast, which I didn’t need. Turning up to Belfast on my own was one thing, but turning up with Monty, or Monty and Dalia, would just be too conspicuous. Constantine would know something was up.
Best to play it quiet, for now at least.
When I hit the Westlink going into Belfast city the traffic got more hectic and the drivers more ruthless. No one gives an inch when it comes to driving in Belfast so you really need your wits about you, at least until you get into the city center. I hadn’t been up here in quite a while, so the different atmosphere and way of doing things would take a bit of getting used to. Dublin and Belfast may have been part of the same country (geographically if not politically), but they were quite different places. Belfast had more of a British feel to it, reminding of me Liverpool or Birmingham more than any of the Southern cities, which isn’t surprising considering the North has been under direct British rule for such a long time now. Or at least it was. I couldn’t remember if the local Stormount Parliament was running things themselves now, or if the arrangement had fallen apart yet again. Northern politics is notoriously volatile, and it can be hard to keep up with if you don’t live there. Whatever the political status of the place, there was no denying Belfast contrasted quite a bit against the "fiddle de" shamrocks and leprechauns tourist traps of Dublin that catered to the American tourists. There was none of that in Belfast, as the Protestant/Loyalist culture that dominated for so long wouldn’t have allowed it anyway, viewing anything with a tricolor on it as republican and therefore sectarian. Belfast was thus all business, with only a few places catering to tourists, such as the Titanic Quarter, which tourists flock to in order to hear all about that most famous of Belfast ships.
I also found Belfast to be an overall darker city in general, for a few reasons. Firstly, there was the weather. Up here in the North, the sky is often dull and grey, with great dark clouds hanging over the mountains that overlooked Belfast city. The sun broke through and the sky turned blue in the summer of course, but most of the time the grayness reigned over the land.
Secondly, there was the North’s bloody history. The Troubles raged here for years, claiming countless lives, the violence putting an indelible mark on the psyche of the people, hardening them to a degree. And even though the violence had ceased decades ago now, the shadow of violence still loomed large in many parts of the city. The two tower blocks I passed on the way into the city were a good example of this. They were known as the Divis Flats and they used to be notorious for republican paramilitary activity. The British Army also used to have a base on top of the towers, accessible only by helicopter. Even today, there exists sectarian graffiti painted along the top edge of the towers. And in other places around the city, especially in some of the council estates, you can still see signs of embedded sectarianism, with political murals painted on the sides of houses, and flags—British and Irish—flying from lamp posts. Officially speaking, the war was over and the North was at peace. Unofficially, the hatred and mistrust that fueled the Troubles for so long still existed, simmering beneath the surface of a peaceful facade.
Thirdly, Belfast and the surrounding counties were run by vampires, albeit indirectly from the shadows. All else aside, this is the biggest reason why violence and hatred found fertile ground here. The ground itself had already been poisoned by the vampires by their centuries of bloodletting and dark magic, leading many to proclaim the North as the "Dead Lands". It was no surprise, therefore, that civil war eventually erupted in the North. Indeed, the vampires had direct involvement in this war, as did some of the other supernatural factions here. The vampires supported the Republican paramilitaries because as far as the vampires were concerned, Ireland—the country they had lived in for millennia now—was its own master, and didn’t need ruling over by a foreign government (even though the two landmasses were once connected). It was also an opportunity for them to feed on humans unnoticed, and blame the deaths on paramilitaries. Other supernaturals got involved out of sheer bloodlust. The Shankhill Butchers for instance, notorious for the brutal and bloody methods they used to murder people, were all werewolves. They didn’t cut their victim’s head’s off as official sources stated, they ripped them off with their bare hands.
So for all those reasons, the North—and Belfast in particular—could be a pretty dark place. Thankfully, the ordinary people of the city made up for this by being some of the most friendly and sharp-witted individuals you are ever likely to meet anywhere. Despite its dark history, Belfast still felt like a welcoming place, perhaps even more so than Dublin. It said a lot about the people of the North that even after centuries of bloodshed, they were still able to keep their sense of humor and good graces intact.
The city center was as buzzing as I expected it to be as I drove through it, eventually coming into Shaftesbury Square and Bradley Place just off it, parking the car opposite the hotel I had booked myself into. Heading into Benedicts Hotel, I gave the girl at reception my credit card details, having booked a room for the next three days. Then I went up to the third floor where my room was and went inside, tossing my bag on the floor and resting my guitar case against the wall before sitting on the edge of the double bed to stare at my reflection in the mirror opposite me. Unable to shake the feeling that a stranger was staring back at me, I sighed and said, "What the hell are you doing?"
The stranger in the mirror didn’t reply.
Chapter 10
After grabbing a few hours of restless sleep, I took a shower and changed into some fresh clothes, going for an all black look as I always did for gigs. For tonight, however, I eschewed the tight black jeans in favor of black combat trousers, the main reason being so I could strap the stake Haknet had given me to my leg without it being obvious it was there. The extra leg room also meant I could access it quickly if need be. I didn’t know how long it would take Constantine to realize that I was on his home territory, but I didn’t think it would take that long. When he did, I fully expected to be accosted by vamps, if not by Constantine himself.
The Limelight wasn’t far from the hotel, so I walked there with my guitar. It only took me fifteen minutes, and I had a chance to soak up the city’s atmosphere as I walked, which was as relaxed and as vibrant as I remembered it to be. I wasn’t stupid, however, and I cast my awareness wide to make sure I wasn’t being followed, which I don’t think I was. When it comes to vampires, it can be hard to tell, though. They are so good at blending with the night and moving unseen and unheard in the shadows. By the time I reached Ormeau Avenue, I was glad I didn’t have to spend any more time outside on the street, my own fears and anxieties having got the better of me by then.
I went to Katy’s first, which was the bar next door to the Limelight. It was pretty packed, with most of the crowd seeming to be there for the gig that would be starting soon. There were three acts on the bill, and I was due to go on first. The other two acts had been planned for months. I had to pull some strings to get on the bill, my contact finally agreeing to put me on as a warm-up act, which suited me fine. And despite the fact that the gig was mostly about providing cover for my presence in the city, I was still looking forward to playing. For a half hour at least, I could forget about my troubles and everything that had happened recently, and just get lost in the music.
I found a seat at the bar and ordered a bottle of beer, which I sat sipping as I surveyed the crowd in the pub, which was a mix of young and old, some of whom were up dancing to the rock music coming through the speakers. It was hard to tell how human some of them were, but I was pretty sure there were no vampires here, and certainly no sign o
f either of the Ó Duinn brothers, at least not yet. Maybe I was wrong about them caring I was here, I thought as I smiled at a pretty brunette girl at the far end of the bar who had been staring at me for the last few minutes, giggling to her friend as she did so. A moment later, she came walking over and stood beside me.
"We were just wondering if you’re playing next door tonight," she said, gesturing to her friend who sat smiling over at us.
I smiled at the girl’s accent, which was quite strong. People up north have a completely different accent to southerner’s. The southern dialect stresses the second syllable in a word, where the northern dialect stresses the first syllable. In auditory terms, this makes the southern dialect more rolling, and the northern dialect more clipped. Northern dialect=lots of stress, southern dialect=lots of no-stress. Or to put it in simpler terms: the southern dialect is very sing-song, whereas the northern dialect is much broader. "I am," I said to the girl. "I’m first on actually."
She smiled as she held her drink. "You’re a Dubliner, are you?"
I nodded. "I am indeed."
"I love the Dublin accent. Which hotel are you staying in?"
"Who says I’m staying in any hotel? I might be driving back tonight."
"Well, that would be a shame," she said, putting her hand on my leg.
"Would it now?" I smiled as I supped from my beer.
"Uh huh. Me and my friend over there are looking to party afterwards. Maybe you’d like to join us…"
"I love your directness. How about I find you later, after the gig, and we can go from there?" I had no intentions of doing so, as tempting as it was, but I didn’t want to offend her by turning her down straight.
The girl smiled with a sort of carnal hunger. "You’d better find us."
When she walked away, I shook my head and smiled. Northern girls, I thought. You gotta love 'em.
Tonight’s set was to be an instrumental one. I have some songs where I sing my own brand of steam of consciousness type lyrics, but as I was to be warm-up act, I thought it best just to stick to the upbeat instrumental stuff. As I walked onto the stage holding my old guitar, the gathering crowd all clapped and cheered. A few, who knew me already, whistled and called my name. The two girls from Katy’s were down near the front, staring up at me with wide smiles on their faces.
"Evening folks," I said into the microphone as I sat down on a stool in the center of the stage, mild adrenaline flowing through me, as it always did until I got started. Once I start playing, that adrenaline gets converted into a different energy that fuels my playing, so in that sense I always welcomed a little nervousness beforehand.
Over the years, I have developed my own style of guitar playing. I played black and death metal on electric guitar for a long time before making the switch to acoustic, and when I did, the metal style of playing stuck with me, combining with more classical elements to produce something fairly unique and quite uncommercial. My playing is all about tone, variation, power, precision and disguised melodies. Sometimes it’s staccato, sometimes it’s a bit more ambient, classical even. I utilize a mix of pregnant pauses and tempo changes to twist and turn a succession of interesting arrangements hither and thither. You could call it acoustic metal, as some of my critics have, which I guess is close enough to what I do. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but most of my gigs seem to go down well.
As I started finger-picking the opening bars to a song called, "The Dreamless River", the crowd began to cheer and clap along as I established the high tempo, continuing to do so eve when the song went left field and I started doing wild runs up and down the fretboard, finally settling back into a slower, more staccato rhythm as the song ended a few minutes later. There was a brief moment of silence as I looked out at the crowd, many of the faces staring back at me as if they didn’t know what to make of my unusual style of playing. But then, all at once, the crowd erupted into a huge cheer as people clapped and whistled. Ever the rockstar, I winked down at the two girls standing near the front of the stage, and they both waved back with enthusiasm.
Now that the crowd knew what to expect from me—for the most part anyway, given that my songs could be all over the place—I settled in and continued to run through the rest of my set, feeding off the energy of the crowd as I improvised a few sections along the way, pulling on the neck of my guitar for all it was worth, practically punishing it during the high tempo parts, caressing it throughout the quieter sections. By the time I finished my second last song of the night, a good section of the crowd were on the dance floor, doing their best to keep up with my ever-changing tempos and rhythms, though seeming to enjoy every minute of it nonetheless.
It was only when I was about to play my last song of the night that I happened to look toward the back the venue and catch the eye of someone who wasn’t immediately recognizable as someone I knew, but who seemed familiar nonetheless. It was a guy in his late twenties with slightly curly fair hair, large eyes and a wolfish sort of mouth. He was staring right at me, as if he expected me to know him. Which I did, I soon realized. I had never met the guy in person before, but I knew his face from his picture.
It was Prince Darick, Constantine’s younger brother. He had an arrogant sort of smirk on his face as he clapped his hands slowly, all the while glaring right at me, practically hypnotizing me into holding his gaze.
All at once the noise of the crowd seemed to disappear and it only seemed to be me and him in the room and no one else. Then his voice echoed inside my head.
"Come to my table when you’re done entertaining. I’d like to introduce myself."
When he’d finished speaking, the noise and the crowd rushed in again, overwhelming me for a second, though not as much as the presence of Darick Ó Duinn, whom I hadn’t expected to see tonight. If anyone, it was Constantine I was expecting. What did Darick want? Was Constantine around somewhere too? I had no answer to those questions, though I guessed I would find out soon enough.
As the lights bathed me in their violet pastel glow, I put my head down and focused on playing my final song of the night, which was less frantic than the previous songs, and a fitting way to end the set in my mind. The crowd seemed to agree, saying quiet for most of it as if the unusual melodies had them captivated until the last note sounded and they were then free to clap and cheer, some of them shouting their appreciation. Smiling out at them, I gave a brief wave and said thank you into the microphone. Normally I would’ve stayed a bit longer on stage to soak up the crowd’s appreciation, but I was all too aware that Darick was sitting in the back waiting on me, so my usual post gig buzz was dampened a fair bit.
Right, I thought as I stared at Darick from the stage. Let’s get this over with.
Chapter 11
"That’s an unusual style of guitar playing you have," Darick Ó Duinn said once I’d sat down opposite him, his large blue eyes seeming to take in everything about me. There was no doubt he had an energy to him, not to mention the unshakeable belief that he was above everyone else in the room, which I guess he was in a way. His power was quite palpable, like sitting across from a tiger in its prime.
"It’s something I’ve developed over the years," I said as I accepted a drink from the waitress who had suddenly appeared unbidden. She replaced Darick’s empty glass with a full one as well before leaving.
Darick gestured with his head toward the two girls who had been watching me earlier. They were standing at the bar, constantly glancing over at us, no doubt taken by the company I was now in. "You got yourself a couple of fans over there, I see."
I looked over at the girls and smiled slightly before looking back at Darick. "They’re just enjoying themselves."
"Don’t be so modest. Those girls are into you."
I nodded as I drank my whiskey, becoming uncomfortable in Darick’s presence despite myself. The rumors of him being volatile were true. He seemed to have a way of putting you on edge, as if he was going to pounce on you at any second. As I shifted in my seat, I became intensely
aware of the stake strapped to my right ankle, and I couldn’t help thinking that Darick somehow knew I had it on me, and that he was daring me to try and use it on him. Not that I would try to stake him in a place like this, but if I did try, I knew I wouldn’t get very far. My head would probably be off my shoulders by the time I had even reached down for it. I had little experience with vampires such as Darick, but I wasn’t about to underestimate his power or proclivity toward violence. For the first time since coming to Belfast, it hit me that I might’ve made a grave mistake in thinking I could take down either of the Ó Duinn brothers. And by the way Darick was looking at me, it seemed like he knew what I was thinking, for he was smiling to himself as he stared at me, seeming to enjoy making me feel uncomfortable. "So is this one of your usual haunts?" I asked him eventually, deciding it would be unwise to be too sheepish in front of him, lest he thought I was weak and tried to take advantage. "Or did you come here just to see me?"
Darick stared at me for a moment as if deciding whether to take my question as genuine or a display of foolish arrogance. "I like music," he said. "I’ve heard you were good, so I thought I would come and check you out."
"But no one knew I was playing here except the owner."
He smiled as if he didn’t care I knew he was lying. "Nothing gets past me in this city. You should know that."
"Did your brother send you to check on me?"
The smile on his face disappeared as his eyes darkened, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to attack me. But then his smile returned again. "Let’s get one thing straight, shall we? My brother doesn’t tell me to do anything. I do what I want, and always will."
I smiled inwardly. So the little brother has issues with being in big brother’s shadow, I thought. No surprise there. "Fair enough."
