Hibernian Charm (An Occult Detective Urban Fantasy) (Hibernian Hollows Book 2)

by Dean F. Wilson

  “What if he already knows we're coming?” Melanie whispered.

  “What if he already knows we're here?” Eckhart added.

  “Stay close to me,” Mr. Constant said. “While in my sphere, you won't be seen or heard. You don't even need to whisper. As far as the outer world is concerned, none of us exist.”

  “I've got mixed feelings about that,” Eckhart said. “Kinda like existing.”

  Suddenly they heard a stir on the landing above. The shimmer of cloud around them faded. They looked up, aghast, spotting Malik Oaken standing there, holding aloft a staff crowned with fire. His eyes looked fierce.

  “Why pretend, Ernie?” Malik shouted down. “Let's make you not exist at all.”

  Chapter 9 – Blink

  By the look of strain on Mr. Constant's face, it took almost everything he had to shield them from the fireball that came their way. He'd been caught off guard, and they were lucky he was as experienced as he was or they wouldn't have survived the blast at all.

  He grabbed the two of them and shouted some strange, unintelligible words, which seemed to roll off his tongue and then out to the ends of the universe, growing vaster as they went. Then, in the blink of an eye, Melanie found herself alone on one of the rampart walls, far away from the battle. She could only imagine, and hope, that Eckhart was in a similar position elsewhere. She had no idea where Mr. Constant was, but presumed he had teleported away too, so that he could better prepare himself for Malik's assault.

  Melanie ducked low, peeping through the castle's crenellations. She could see periodic bursts of light and flame coming from the keep, followed by bouts of intense darkness, which seemed to suck everything towards that location like a black hole.

  She scurried along the outer wall, keeping low. She wasn't exactly sure why she was hiding, if the battle was that far off, but she knew enough about magicians and their farsight. For all her boom and bluster, she knew when to lay low.

  She arrived at a door leading to one of the higher levels of the keep. She tried the handle, but it was sealed tight. She was just ready to fire her pistol at the lock when the door rocked and came off its hinges. The vestiges of a fireball came through, and she managed to hide behind the wall just in time.

  From there, she could hear Malik's heavy boots climbing the stone steps inside. More than that, she could feel his presence, strong and foreboding. He made no attempt to hide, not like Mr. Constant, not like the rest of them. He wanted them to know he was coming.

  “You didn't want to teach me, huh, Ernie?” Malik shouted up the stairs. Melanie hadn't seen him, but she guessed Mr. Constant must have gone that way.

  “Maybe I should've taught you,” Malik added, sending another blast through the ceiling.

  Melanie felt her chest rise and fall like an earthquake. She felt that horrible sinking in her gut when you were this close to death. She felt it even more knowing that she'd brought Eckhart and Mr. Constant into this. She worried that maybe her magician wasn't as ready for this as she thought.

  She crept out after Malik, waiting until even his shadow had passed upstairs. There were rumours that some magicians could give their shadows eyes. Ever since discovering this other world that lived beneath and beyond our current one, Melanie didn't know what was fact or fiction any more. Often it was a little bit of both.

  She held her pistol close. That was her wand. A magician might have flung bolts and fireballs, but she flung bullets. You could have all the magic in the world, but metal and flesh mixed like alchemy, producing death.

  She stalked those steps, trying not to let her heels clip the ground too harshly, trying not to let her breath wheeze too noisily. The air crackled with energy. She could feel her gun buzz with it, like a conductor. Everything was a haze, everything except her desire to catch Malik. She didn't mind catching him with lead either. Death was as good a prison as any.

  She reached the flat roof of the keep, where she peeped out to see Malik and Ernest squaring off, staff and wand at the ready. Ernest held a glowing copper rod, and for all his might and mystery, he seemed outmatched by Malik in almost all regards.

  “Under the night sky,” Malik crooned.

  “Where there are a billion lights,” Mr. Constant replied.

  They circled each other, forcing Melanie to duck low to avoid being seen.

  “Well, Ernie. One of them is about to go out.”

  “You can only hide the light with darkness. You cannot extinguish it.”

  “We'll see about that,” Malik said. “But maybe you don't really care about your life. What about the other two? Don't think I didn't see them through your haze.”

  Mr. Constant glared at him. “This is between you and I.”

  “This is, but I've got a little something else for them.”

  The look of horror on Mr. Constant's face must have been soul-destroying, but Melanie didn't see it. Her eyes were fixed on the stairs below her, where she could see the shadows of several figures approaching, and hear the snarls that came with them. She knew in her heart, and maybe even in her soul, that they were vampires.

  Chapter 10 – A Bite Below

  The first vampire came around the corner, leaning low, its claws outstretching like a prancing predator. It caught the scent and sight of Melanie, snarling as it sprang.

  But she was ready for it, though barely. She kicked with all her might, sending it sprawling down the steps. She was lucky it was weak, that it had woken from magic and not from the deep, regenerating rest that strengthened its kin.

  She fumbled for her supplies, even as the next one came. It leapt out of the way of the falling vampire, casting itself onto the wall, where it clung and crawled like a spider. It advanced towards her, its eyes red with hate, its fangs bared with hunger.

  She barely managed to pull a vial of holy water from her belt before the vampire lunged at her, swatting the glass away. It tumbled down the steps, smashing below, where several other vampires howled at the vaporous explosion.

  Melanie raised her gun, firing at the vampire, even though she knew she could not kill it like that. She emptied the barrel, tearing a cry of pain from the creature, but the wounds only slowed it down. They didn't stop it.

  She reached again for her backpack, but the vampire was on her, slashing at her face with its vicious claws. She screamed and scrambled, bashing with her hands, thrashing with her feet. She managed to roll over in the fray, exposing her backpack, where a large metal cross was on show. The vampire yelped and leapt away, hanging from the ceiling like a frightened cat.

  Melanie tried to run up the stairs, but another vampire came from below, seizing her by the ankle. It pulled her down, and she smacked her chin off one of the stone steps. The pain was overwhelming, but the fear was stronger yet. She tried to free herself, tried to shake off that cold, unholy clutch. She could see the moonlight and starlight above, and the blasts of energy as Malik and Mr. Constant battled. Then she could see it all slipping away as the vampire pulled her down the steps, ready for the feast.

  Chapter 11 – The Darkness

  Eckhart didn't knew where he'd been teleported to. It looked like a chamber in the basement, dank and dark. There was a steady drip of water in the corner. Far off, he thought he heard the sound of chains. He just hoped it wasn't a dungeon instead.

  He held his pistol in his right hand and his crossbow in his left, with a wooden stake primed and ready as ammunition. That way he was good to go against the living or the dead. He wasn't entirely sure which he feared the most.

  His eyes took a long time to adjust to the darkness. In his mind, he thought he saw far-off flashes, but there was nothing here but gloom. Mr. Constant might have sent him away from the battle, but down here he felt anything but safe.

  “Mel,” he whispered. He wondered why she wasn't with him. To him, it didn't make sense to split them up. Then again, maybe against a warlock with area-of-effect attacks, there wasn't any such thing as safety in numbers.

  There was no response,
only the eternal glare of the darkness. He never feared the darkness as a child, never jumped at the shadows on the walls. He had a logical mind, even then. Night came with the revolution of the earth. It wasn't sent by phantoms. Yet, here in Ballyboden Bastion, the surety of science dissolved as swiftly as Mr. Constant's shield. Here the darkness seemed to come from something else.

  He felt his way along the wall of the chamber until he found a door. It seemed to be jammed, and the wood was waterlogged. He had to put his weapons away just to haul it open. He didn't like having to do that.

  He crept along the passageway, following a faint pinprick of light, which must have come from some opening farther ahead. Even the light he couldn't depend on. Down here, that had a different feel too. He'd heard of wisps used by magicians to lure people astray. You couldn't trust anything. You couldn't trust anyone.

  Yet he had little choice. The light beckoned. The darkness ushered him on.

  He found himself at the bottom of an old spiral stairwell. The steps were cracked and broken. This part seemed much older than the rest. The O'Neills must have built their castle on some ancient ruins. That gave it even greater power. No wonder Malik was drawn there.

  He climbed up, squinting as the light grew brighter, until he arrived in a large rectangular chamber, illuminated by several ever-burning lanterns. When his eyes adjusted, he caught his breath, and his heart panged out a warning beat. He was standing right in the middle of a crypt. On either side were dozens of coffins, some propped against the wall, others laid flat on the floor. He didn't need to pry them open to know what was resting inside. He tried not to breathe, not to let anything disturb that tense air. He feared they'd open from the inside.

  Chapter 12 – The Barbarous Words

  No matter how much Melanie dug her nails into the stone, the steps would not save her. She carved lines down one step, then another. Every granite block she marked was another step closer to her doom. She could feel it. She could feel that cold grasp around her ankle, like the hand of Death.

  The vampire pulled her to the floor, then turned her around, until she could see its dark eyes, with that little glimmer of red fire, which might have been a flicker from Hell. Some said you could get lost in those eyes, consumed by the stare. Though this vampire was weak compared to many, she felt the pull, the lure.

  But she felt something else. Deep inside the well of her being, beneath the raging voices of her mind and the rampant fears of her heart, she felt some ancient power stretching back for generations. She saw it as a hand grasping another hand, back into antiquity. Some of the hands were faint, some barely visible at all, but the link was there. She saw her own hand at the end of the chain. For a moment, she didn't know what to make of this. She also knew she didn't have a moment to spare.

  Instinct drove to her pull one of the charms out from her hair and hold it up to the vampire. She had used it partly as a nod to her past, to her family, and partly—though she didn't like to admit this—just for fashion. She was glad of her vanity now, and gladder she remembered an old verse her grandmother had told her when she gave her this charm. It was in a strange language, and she did not quite know the translation, but when she spoke, she got a sense of its meaning: “Keep me safe from the hands of the wicked.”

  The vampire heard the words, but did not heed them. It raised its claw and slashed. Melanie closed her eyes, holding the charm aloft, feeling a mix of confidence and fear. Then she heard the vampire scream, and when she looked again she saw that its hand was dashed apart upon some invisible shield, splintering into a thousand pieces, like a hewn rock.

  The creature recoiled, and the other vampires that gathered there backed off too. They bore their fangs, spitting and snarling, perhaps uttering some evil curses in whatever language was spoken by demons. Some said they spoke every language, the better to make everyone listen.

  Melanie stood up, and made them listen too. She spoke those words again. Some called them the barbarous words, and cautioned that though we might not now understand them, they should never be changed. They were the roots of ancient powers, hidden beneath the many-branching tree of the languages of today. They were the words of creation and destruction, and the vampires trembled before them like mortals before gods.

  But Melanie knew she was no god. She knew that what respite this had given her would be altogether brief. This charm was but a token of a greater power, given to her to wield for a fraction of the fleeting lives of man and woman. It was her birthright to wield it, a link to her people, and yet she was reminded of that constant feeling she had: that she had no people, that her mix of Irish and Romani roots just left her wandering between worlds, unsure of where she belonged. That doubt, more than anything, weakened the effect of the charm.

  The vampires sensed it too.

  Chapter 13 – In the Eye of the Storm

  Melanie ran, leaping up several steps at a time, back up towards the roof, back to where Malik and Mr. Constant continued their deadly duel. No sooner had she make those first flurry of steps than the vampires were in chase, even the vampire with one hand, hungry now for revenge as well as blood.

  Melanie slung the backpack off, holding it before her as she scaled her way to freedom. She rummaged through with haste, looking for a stake, a cross, some holy water, some sacred symbol, some little thread of life to cling onto. She worked so fast, and her attention was so drawn by the steps ahead and the vampires behind, that she lost her grip on the backpack altogether. It tumbled down behind her, beneath the feet of the approaching vampires, with all its tools and weapons sealed within.

  She had no time for sighs or shouts, and barely enough time to catch her fleeting breath. She threw herself up the remaining steps, out onto the roof, where she was almost blinded by a sudden burst of light. She scrambled up, away from the frenzy of claws at her feet, and she was glad the light was blinding, for it stalled the vampires for a moment, who feared it was the light of the sun.

  “Go back, Melanie!” Mr. Constant shouted. His voice was strained. His face was drawn. He never looked so taxed before in his life. He had told her previously of some of his trials. She never thought she would live through one. She wasn't certain she would live through it all.

  Melanie stepped back, but the vampires were there, blocking the way. Some of them started to crawl up, brazen and emboldened by the blanket of the night. She had no choice. She couldn't go back. She had to press forward, right into the firing line.

  She ran again, avoiding a blast from Malik's staff. She stumbled, almost into the path of a stray bolt from Mr. Constant's wand. The vampires came like a flood. If she would drown, she would drown in her own blood.

  She pulled another charm from her hair, but in her hurry it slipped from her hands, spinning into the sky. She looked up to it, seeing the flicker of stars in the canopy above, seeing the flicker of fire and light from the magicians on either side. She leapt for the charm, but fell short. It struck the ground and began to roll.

  The vampires were close now, ducking low to avoid the barrage of magical missiles sent from side to side.

  Melanie reached out to grasp the charm, but the vampires leapt too. She almost had it, and was readying the words that might turn those fiends to dust, when she felt a monumental force pulling her back. She looked down to see a gigantic astral hand, cast from Mr. Constant's own, yanking her out of the way of the leaping vampires.

  The vampires rolled in place, then sprinted back across the roof to where Melanie lay. Mr. Constant still struggled with Malik, who was straining too, but now the magician moved about on the roof with a sudden speed, his left arm held out like a shield, casting a bluish aura around him, and his right hand sending blasts of light towards a vampire here, then a vampire there, each of them exploding into dust in turn.

  He reached Melanie, and she felt like she was sucked into a bubble. She could see the faint glow around her, but it was overcome by a steady stream of fire from Malik's staff.

  Mr. Constant gasped. “I
can't … hold … this … for long!”

  They caught each other's gaze, and she knew what he meant to do. He would hold off Malik while she ran, back down the steps, back through the gate, back to the car. It might as well have been back to the desk and paperwork too.

  The magician must have seen the fire in her eyes. He knew she would defy him. It required no divination to know that.

  Before he could grasp her arm and hold her back, she jumped out of the protective globe and raced across the roof to where the fallen charm lay. Mr. Constant held Malik's fire, but Melanie drew the warlock's gaze.

  She dived, just as Malik started to turn his staff towards her. Her fingers caught the edge of the charm, and she tumbled in place, landing on one knee. She faced the warlock, seeing like a vision the torture he put so many young women through. She heard a hundred women's screams, but this time they came with her own as she spoke aloud an ancient verse.

  A pillar of light fell from the heaven, straight down upon Malik, blasting apart his staff and tearing asunder his robes. He was left there, frazzled and shaking, a fragment of his former self. If anyone had seen him then, they would not have feared him.

  Mr. Constant wheezed as he fell to his knees, exhausted. Melanie struggled with her own sudden fatigue. She had no idea what had happened, or how. She worked on instinct, like the draw of a gun.

  The battle was over, and everyone had lost their energy. Yet, deep inside, Melanie felt a hint of hope. With Malik defeated, there would be no more paralysis victims. They would interrogate him. They would bring him “downstairs.” They would get the answers they needed to free that poor girl and man.

  Then she jumped as a sound like thunder rang out. She knew that sound. She knew it all too well. There was Eckhart at the top of the steps, pointing his smoking pistol towards Malik. The warlock fell, defenceless. Without his magic, he was just a man. Men could be killed.