The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  She took a deep breath and crossed her arms, staring at him. “No,” she finally said. “Everyone has to learn how the real world works eventually. You’re hardly the worst teacher out there.”

  “Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

  “But you are a right bastard.”

  Murphy grinned. “And you’re still drinking with me.”

  “I suppose you’ve lured me in like the others. Does anyone really know you, Patrick Murphy, or do they only see the charm?”

  “Ah, Brigid.” He resisted the urge to glance at the seascape hanging opposite his desk. The oil painting had captured the sun bouncing off the water of the inlet on Galway Bay. “Don’t you know? The charm is me.”

  “Liar.”

  He shrugged and decided to steer the subject away from introspection. “Want to join me and the boys at the club?”

  Brigid finished her glass and stood. “I may drink with you, but I’m not one of your slags. Besides”—she winked at him—“my man is back from London tonight, and I have far better things to do than watch you boys beat each other bloody.”

  “Such a good girl you are.”

  “Far better than you could get,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  “Such a shame you’re committing mortal sins with the good Father.”

  The gun was pointed at his face before he could start laughing.

  “Don’t make me shoot you again, Murphy.”

  Declan slipped in as Brigid walked out.

  “Hi, Brig. Bye, Brig.” Declan turned to him. “What’d you do to piss her off? Ask her if she’d made her confession again?”

  “Tell Carwyn I said hello,” Murphy shouted after her.

  “Oh, you like to live dangerously, boss.” Declan picked up a glass and helped himself to a whiskey. “Started without me, did you?”

  His second-in-command and second-oldest child had an eager look on his face, far from the somber visage he presented to most of Murphy’s crew. To the outside world, Patrick Murphy carried the charm and sophistication in the operation, Declan O’Malley held the razor-sharp mind, and Tom Dargin was the muscle. Only the three of them knew it wasn’t as clear-cut as all that.

  That was fine. Let the rest of the vampire world underestimate Murphy. He knew many questioned how he’d managed to hold on to Dublin with apparent ease. He was happy to take advantage of his reputation as a playboy. He also knew the quickest way to win a fight was to avoid one in the first place.

  At least fights that weren’t for his own amusement.

  “How much is the pool up to now?”

  “High enough.”

  “And how much did Brigid bet against me?”

  “Only a hundred,” Declan said. “She seemed a bit halfhearted about it too.”

  “I suppose someone has to do it, though it hardly seems fair to keep taking her money like this.”

  THE Buzzcocks were screaming about falling in love when the new lad landed his second punch to Murphy’s jaw. He felt his lip split. Tasted the blood as it flooded his mouth. The crowd around the ring shouted as Murphy grinned. He could feel one eye swelling up, and he resisted the urge to laugh.

  Yes.

  He’d missed this. The pain sent a surge of adrenaline and endorphins through his body. If there was one thing he missed about mortal life, it was this.

  Pain. Pleasure. Aches and breaks. When he was boxing, he felt alive.

  He always held back against human opponents. The rule with the lads was he couldn’t use vampire speed or strength… as much as that was possible. He’d been a vampire for over one hundred sixty years. It was hard to remember what “human strength” felt like.

  Too often, immortality was marked by long periods of feeling more and more absent from life. He loved the power he’d attained. Loved the wealth and the influence—and yes, the finer things he’d acquired. But he missed the variety of mortal life. The highs and lows. There was a period of time when he’d felt alive again, but that feeling had left when she did.

  A blow to his kidney knocked him back into the moment. Was it time? Had the new lad let down his guard? Murphy danced in the corner, fists up as the music changed and the pounding beat of the Clash filled the basement pub he kept open for his men.

  He bounced on his toes, only half listening to Tom cursing him from the corner.

  It was a boys’ club, he had no problem admitting it. Not that there was any lack of females. Two stared at him from the edge of the ring, eyeing his bloody torso with clear intent.

  Human girls. Hmmm. Predictable and yet still entertaining.

  Murphy picked up his head and leaned into the lad, landing one quick blow to his right kidney that knocked the wind out of him. The human stumbled back. Then Murphy tapped his jaw, playing a bit, and felt his knuckles split open.

  The flash of red ignited the crowd.

  Bloodthirsty. Damn, the humans were more bloodthirsty than the vampires.

  He abandoned the taps when he saw the two girls’ attention waver. They were getting tired of the fight, and Murphy had plans for them.

  The lad landed one when his attention was diverted by the girls. Ah, women. At one time, he’d have two or three waiting to feed his appetites after a bout. Sadly, Elixir had changed all that, forcing him and his men to be cautious about where they drank their blood.

  That didn’t mean humans didn’t have their uses.

  He flexed his jaw and gave the young man a smile.

  “Not bad,” he said, spitting out the blood in his mouth. “Tired yet?”

  The human was panting. “Can go all night, boss.”

  “Eh, so could I.” Then with one roundhouse punch, Murphy laid him on the canvas. “Don’t want to though. I’ve decided I have other plans.”

  The crowd erupted, and Tom threw him a towel. Murphy wiped up the blood even as he felt the cuts healing. By the time he reached the edge of the ring, his face was perfect again. He ran a damp hand through the thick black hair his mother had graced him with. He didn’t sweat, but as a water vampire, he drew his element to himself as he healed, giving the illusion that he was dripping sweat even if his skin was cool.

  “Better go out there,” Tom said. “He’s a good lad. Don’t want him to get down on himself.”

  “No. He did well. I’d fight him again. Declan should be happy.”

  “Eh, it’s getting harder and harder to find lads to bet against you.”

  “Is my wallet heavier walking out than walking in?”

  Tom smiled his crooked smile. “Always, boss.”

  “Then you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

  Murphy took a few gulps from the thermos of warm pig’s blood that Tom had brought for him, then took another healthy gulp of water to wash it down. He turned and tossed the towel to the boy on the side of the ring, then walked to the center of the canvas and held out a hand for his opponent, who was being helped up by his mates.

  “All right there?”

  “Jaysus, boss, you’ve a fist like a hammer,” the boy said through smiling, bloody lips. “I guess the rumors were true, eh?”

  The two human girls had shoved their way to the ropes, smiling at him with ruby-red lips. He noted their appearance. One blond, one brunette. Alike in height, wearing similar little black dresses and matching smiles for the vampire lord of Dublin.

  Lovely. A matched set.

  Murphy smiled at the lad and patted his cheek. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Ronald, sir.”

  “Well, Ron, you held your own. If I didn’t have fangs, I’d be feeling your fists tomorrow, wouldn’t I?”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Come back and fight again.”

  The young man nodded happily. “I will, sir.”

  “And Ronald?”

  “Yes, boss?”

  Murphy tossed him one more smile before he walked toward the two girls. “You’re right. The rumors about me are true.”

  And with a hearty roar from his lads,
Murphy left the club with a heavier wallet and a matched set.

  Chapter Two

  ANNE O’DEA NODDED, jotting down a few sentences in the small notebook she kept by her easy chair.

  “That’s very interesting, Alexander. But how did it make you feel?”

  “Feel?” His public school accent was clipped with annoyance.

  “Yes. Remember, part of this therapy is learning how to rediscover your connection with your emotions.”

  “I’m not sure I want that.” The Englishman glanced at her notebook. “You… don’t use names, do you?”

  Anne tried not to sigh audibly. It was only Alexander’s second visit, and wind vampires were typically paranoid. She shouldn’t have been surprised, even if her new patient had been discreetly referred by a mutual acquaintance.

  “As I have said, I never use names. And these notes are for my eyes only.”

  She saw the vampire’s eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t want my visits here to become known.”

  Anne let her fangs drop. “I hope you’re not threatening me, Alexander. We both know that wouldn’t be wise.”

  The wind vampire shrank back into his seat. “Of course not.”

  Anne’s eyes flicked to a dark stain on the floor near the couch where her clients most often sat. It was only partially covered by a rug. It wouldn’t do to let the more… volatile patients forget she was as much a predator as they were. For while the human world might see a quiet, sweet-faced woman in her late twenties with a generous figure and vivid sea-green eyes, her patients would see weakness.

  And weakness in her world got you killed quickly.

  “Now,” she said, resuming her notes. “Let’s continue talking about your sire.”

  He droned on, as typical a case of ennui as she’d ever seen. Alexander didn’t seem a bad sort. He treated his human employees fairly, he only killed when necessary, and he mostly kept to himself. His sudden struggle to avoid the sun was likely a symptom of age.

  When most of your patients lived hundreds of years, weariness was a common malady. Oh, there were fancier names for it. And narcissism inevitably crept in on many of her kind. But Anne had known for years that their state—immortality—was simply not a natural one. There was a reason most of the planet kicked off after seventy or eighty years. Most of them happily. It took a particular kind of personality to survive forever with mental health intact.

  Alexander, she suspected, did not have that kind of verve. He was three hundred years old, from what he said, which likely meant he was closer to her own age, two hundred and some. He had only one child, whom he was estranged from, and more money than friends. Plus he was a wind vampire, which meant he eschewed the roots needed for a long and happy life. In her experience, long-lived wind vampires had either established a very loyal networks of friends or were sociopaths.

  Sometimes both.

  “Your son,” she said. “Tell me about him.”

  She saw her patient tense, but he didn’t make the mistake of letting his hackles rise again. “He has his own life.”

  “Is he mated? Does he have any children of his own?”

  She thought he might not answer for a time.

  “He… has a partner. I don’t like her.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s an earth vampire.”

  “Ah.”

  Anne wasn’t surprised. Prejudice based on sex or ethnicity was uncommon in older immortals, who had usually seen too much of the world to be narrow-minded. But prejudice against other elements… that was more expected.

  “Do you feel as if she limits him? Has she stifled his nature by asking him to settle?”

  “No. And yet he doesn’t roam as often as he once did. She has changed him.”

  “I see.” And change was always difficult. Immortals may look young, but Anne knew the truth better than most of her kind.

  Vampires were—by and large—very attractive old people. And like most of the elderly, change was difficult.

  In the past twenty years, the rapid rate of change in the human world had left many of their kind floundering. Water vampires, with their innate curiosity and adaptability, and earth vampires, who lived “off the grid” and had stronger family ties, tended to be the best adapted to the modern world. Wind vampires, whose roaming nature and tendency toward paranoia was exacerbated by human technology, had a much harder time adjusting.

  And fire vampires, the rarest of their kind?

  In Anne’s opinion, every one of them needed to be in therapy.

  “Alexander, I’m going to suggest you try to reconnect with your son. Did you have any kind of falling out? Any arguments?”

  “No. We simply went our separate ways. It’s the nature of things, and he was well provided for.”

  “I’m sure he was, but I think reconnecting with him might be beneficial to you both.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “I don’t need him.”

  “None of us is meant to be alone,” she said soothingly. “And your human staff is obviously devoted. But they are mortal. How old is your butler?”

  “Eighty?” Alexander shrugged. “Ninety? I’m not sure.”

  “He’s quite elderly then. Is he in good health?” The loss of a long-time servant could push a vampire like her patient over the edge.

  “He is. I’ve considered…” For the first time, the Englishman seemed truly ill at ease. “Do you know anything about Elixir?”

  Anne froze. “I know it’s very dangerous. And is a death sentence for humans. As a doctor, I would never recommend it.”

  “He’s old anyway. If it could give him a few more years…”

  “As I said, I wouldn’t advise it. From what I’ve heard, it’s a very horrible death.”

  “Oh.” The Englishman looked put out. “Well, probably not a good idea, I suppose.”

  “Do you know anyone who has Elixir?”

  The man’s cagey expression gave her nothing. “I travel. There are ways to acquire what one needs.”

  “I see.”

  Damn. She needed to talk to her sister in Belfast, and she’d have to inform Terrance Ramsay in London. She had ways of warning those in leadership without breaking confidentiality, and Elixir wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

  You should tell Murphy too.

  She pushed the thought to the back of her head and wrapped up her session with the patient. She put him on the schedule for six months later, an average span between visits for her vampire clients.

  Anne took Alexander’s hand at the door to her visiting room. “I do hope you’ll consider calling on your son.”

  The brush of amnis that passed between them wasn’t anything the other vampire would remark on. It was friendly and warm. Anne held on for a few moments, “pushing” a sense of well-being toward him along with a strong suggestion that he visit his son.

  It wasn’t much. Nothing her patient might be able to detect. But Anne had little doubt he’d follow through on her “suggestion.”

  Vampires could plant far stronger impressions in humans, of course. But the fact that Anne had any influence at all was her most closely guarded secret. The revelation of her “gift” would get her killed immediately, no matter whose daughter she was.

  Vampires held fast to the confidence that amnis—the immortal current that connected them to the elements and gave them life—worked as a shield around their mind, protecting it from the manipulation humans were vulnerable to. And for most vampires, it was true.

  But Anne had learned early on in her life that she had just enough influence over those around her that she could nudge them into doing her will.

  An instant death sentence for her should her secret get out.

  She lived quietly. She had strong allies. And she had worked very hard to become a trusted individual to people like her client. After all, being the one entrusted with secrets held its own kind of security.

  She walked with Alexander down to the car where his driver was waiting.

 
“It was good to see you, Anne.”

  “And you. Safe travels.”

  Anne watched the lights retreat before she wandered down to her dock overlooking Galway Bay. She sat on the edge overlooking the quiet inlet where grass and rushes rustled in the night breeze. The moon reflected off the water, and the damp salt air soothed her senses. She glanced around to make sure the night birds and the fishes were her only company, then she stripped off her woolen wrap and dove into the sea.

  She felt the vast strength of the ocean at her back, holding her body up, surrounding her, embracing her.

  Anne never felt quite as lonely in the ocean.

  None of us is meant to be alone.

  “Áine.”

  She ignored the memory of his voice on the wind, blaming it on the faint tug of the blood that whispered to her.

  After one hundred years of solitude, it was hardly worth looking back.

  Or at least that’s what she told herself.

  HER secretary, Ruth, popped her head in just minutes after Anne arrived at her office the next night.

  “Brigid Connor is coming to see you tonight. I told her it was fine, yeah?”

  Brigid was one of the few vampires to whom Ruth would give automatic entry. The human woman had been with Anne for over twenty years and had come to remind Anne of the russet-haired Irish terriers Ruth bred. Her wiry red curls were touched with grey, and her face was more lined, but Ruth was cheerful until provoked. Then she could become snappy, even to Anne’s immortal clients.

  But she had a soft spot for Brigid. The fire vampire had lived with Anne for a month after she’d turned, and the two of them had become confidants. They’d long ago severed their professional relationship. Now they were just friends. Brigid still made the two-and-a-half-hour drive for long weekends when she needed a break from Dublin life or her very intense mate.

  “Sure thing,” Anne said, already anticipating the visit. “Did she say when?”

  “Early, I think. You don’t have a client tonight until the Russian at three.”

  “Excellent.”

  Anne never used immortal’s names in her appointment book. She lived a quiet life and was still under her powerful sire’s aegis, but the secrets she knew made her a target. Most of the immortal world left her alone because attacking her or any humans she cared for would be considered too aggressive. Over time, Anne’s home had come to be considered neutral territory. So far, all her clients respected this, but she still kept on constant alert.