Rowan stood and looked at the monster, unsure what to do next. He felt a gentle hand placed on his uninjured shoulder. The Maiden smiled at him, then walked over to Grímnir. She sat beside him and pulled his big shaggy head into her lap. She closed his staring eyes and then, for the longest time, she simply stroked his hair. Rowan slumped down next to her.
‘What now?’ he eventually asked. ‘I mean, it is dead. Right?’ The Maiden looked over at the petrified demon. Carefully, she laid Grímnir’s head on the roof. She folded his arms across his chest and then kissed his forehead. The Maiden stood up and walked over to Cú Roí. The Miracle Child was still standing; a grotesque statue with a twisted face, frozen in a wild rictus. The Maiden tapped Cú Roí’s shoulder with a knuckle. It made a solid noise. She absently wiped her hand on her clothes. She examined the Immortals’ Requiem, then took hold of the charred hilt.
‘This is the song of your life,’ she said quietly. Then she dragged the sword from the demon’s back. The broken blade left a jagged hole that began to crumble around the edges. Soon, an avalanche rippled through the statue, and the torso folded in half with a whispering sound.
When the top half hit the roof it became nothing but dust, like a dry sandcastle that had been kicked over. The legs and hips stayed upright for a moment, and then they, too, crumbled. The wind picked up the remains of the dragon and sent them spilling out into the night sky, to be dispersed across the city it had destroyed.
The front door of the Green Man pub was locked. It was the first bar they found that wasn’t on fire. Rowan banged on the door.
‘Who is it?’ a deep female voice shouted.
‘We’re human. We’re hurt. Please let us in. We need somewhere to rest.’
‘We’re shut,’ the female voice said. ‘On account of the apocalypse.’
‘It’s over now, except for the fires. I think whoever’s in charge can handle that.’
‘Nope – there’re monsters out there.’
The Maiden’s green eyes turned on the door. ‘Let us in,’ she said softly.
‘Okay, hang on.’
The Maiden kept the Glamour up until they were inside and the door was locked behind them. The landlady was a huge woman. She started when she saw them, but she seemed to regain her composure quickly enough.
‘Did I let you in? Well … right.’ She went behind the bar. ‘Seeing as you’re here, what would you like to drink?’
‘Water, thank you,’ the Maiden said with a smile.
‘I’ll have a pint of lager,’ Rowan said wearily. ‘God help me, I think I need it.’ They sat down in a corner booth and Rowan put what was left of the Immortals’ Requiem on the table. The pub was a hovel.
‘So, what now?’ Rowan asked. His shoulder ached, and his left hand was discoloured and badly swollen.
‘I will return to The Tower,’ the Maiden said. ‘The truth needs to be told about The Transmogrification. We are still a dying race. They will need me. Both Towers will need me. I will have to find a new husband.’
‘Husband?’ Rowan asked confused.
‘The Tattooist – he was the Satyr of Fire and Air; the Erlking. My husband,’ the Maiden said. ‘I suppose I even loved him after a fashion, though it was a ceremonial union. Camhlaidh inherited the mantle when the Satyr transferred his power into him. The Satyr’s Seed. What was left of it, at least. The Tattooist never was as foresighted as me.’ She smiled fondly. ‘I think Camhlaidh would have been a good Satyr. It is usually true that those who shun power are those most fit to wield it. It is why you humans so often fail. But he is gone. So many lives lost.’
Rowan drank in maudlin silence. ‘What about the rest of those … things?’ he asked eventually, more to change the subject than anything else.
‘The building they were in was an inferno. Most of the Barghest and those bitten will have perished. Some will have escaped, and the world will suffer werewolves and monsters for a while. Perhaps it will open the humans’ eyes. Perhaps it will not.’
Rowan absorbed the Maiden’s words. Then he raised his glass. ‘To absent friends,’ he said solemnly. ‘To Cam,’ he intoned. ‘To Jason, to Jim, to the Tattooist. Even to Sam, I suppose … To my sister …’ He went quiet.
‘To Marcus Aquila Romila,’ said the Maiden, ‘and to Grímnir Vafthrúdnir. Also called Michael. Also called George, Dragon Slayer.’
They clinked glasses and drank, each momentarily lost in their own thoughts. ‘What now for you, Rowan?’ asked the Maiden.
‘I’m going to go and get my sister’s body, I’m going to bury her, I’m going to get very, very drunk, and then I’m going to go away. It’s not like I can stay in England – Cam got me locked up for every firearms offence on the statute books. I escaped from police custody. I’m a fugitive.’
‘I am sorry for what you have lost in helping us,’ the Maiden said earnestly.
‘Me too,’ Rowan replied. ‘I left her,’ he said as tears welled up in his eyes. ‘Back in the garage, I left her with those things. I should have stayed …’
Epilogue
Red sunlight flooded the beach bar, and Annalise squirmed with pleasure in its fading heat. To her right, the sun was setting over a placid ocean that glittered prettily beneath its rays. The bar was not too crowded, but it would get busier. August was the tourist season for the hotels of the Dominican Republic.
It had taken her nearly six months to track her prey. She didn’t regret it. Sitting with her quarry so close sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine. She liked the Dominican Republic: Haiti was just over the border, and the voodoo merchants over there almost expected people to turn up dead and partially devoured. Her feeding habits didn’t raise any questions.
Looking furtively in the mirror behind the bar, Annalise examined the man she had travelled across the Atlantic to find. He hadn’t recognised her yet. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her. Perhaps he didn’t remember her. He would.
He was stocky and healthy, bulging with muscle and virility. He wore a baggy blue shirt and a pair of long khaki shorts with flip-flops, and he looked quite ravishing. The cropped hair she remembered had grown out and curled in an unruly mess around his ears. His baby-blue eyes were still clear and beautiful above a broken nose, and his teeth still glittered metallically in the dying light.
Those eyes – the last time she saw them they were cold and dead and they sent a thrill of fear rushing through her. She remembered his foot coming down mercilessly on her hand, and she remembered the fall through the air that seemed to last forever.
The agony of landing had nearly driven her mad. She pulled herself away to safety, there to lick her wounds and regenerate. Everything within her had liquefied or broken, and it took hours for the pain to finally go away. She would repay him for that.
‘You’re English, aren’t you?’ a voice asked from next to her. Annalise started. ‘Wow, you were miles away, weren’t you?’ The speaker was a young man, very handsome, English accent, expensive watch, obviously used to getting what he wanted. ‘You need some company.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘No, I don’t,’ Annalise said frostily. She turned her attention back to Rowan.
‘Come on … let me get you a drink.’
Annalise turned back to him and smiled coldly. ‘Tequila slammers.’
The man grinned lecherously. ‘Coming right up.’ The drinks were ordered and swallowed. ‘You’re from Manchester, right? I’m good with accents. Another one?’ Annalise nodded. ‘What do you think about all that stuff that went on there? All those dead people?’
‘They say it was a terrorist attack. Chemical weapons followed by more conventional bombs.’ She shrugged. ‘What else?’
‘Come on, you don’t believe that crap, do you?’ he snorted.
‘What am I supposed to believe?’ she asked innocently.
‘It’s a conspiracy. Those dead people were all mutilated. People who survived it have gagging orders against them. They say there was something flying around, de
stroying buildings. The government is covering something up.’ He paused.
‘Go on,’ Annalise said.
‘Aliens,’ the man said sincerely. ‘It’s got to be.’
‘Aliens,’ she repeated. ‘UFOs?’
‘Well, it’s better than chemical weapons.’
‘It’s a theory.’
‘Hell, I’ve got loads. Why don’t we go for a walk along the beach? Enjoy the sunset.’
‘I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Oh yeah, who?’ the man asked, obviously used to hearing the line.
‘The man sat over there.’
Her admirer examined Rowan for a moment. ‘What is he, your boyfriend?’
‘No, he doesn’t even know I’m here yet. It’s a surprise.’
‘You’re a bit of a man-eater, aren’t you?’ the man asked, his eyes gleaming with lust.
Annalise swallowed her second slammer and banged the empty glass down on the bar. ‘You have no idea,’ she said with a wicked smile.
* * *
END
FREE Bonus Content
This stand-alone interlude serves as bridging content to a planned sequel, and you can read it right now for FREE!
Detective Inspector Hildemare is having quite possibly the worst week of his life. As Cú Roí and Leach butcher their way across Manchester during the events of Immortals’ Requiem, follow the poor bugger given the task of investigating the gruesome murder scenes they leave in their wake.
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Gain a unique insight into the magic of the Miracle Child, as well as his hunting methods and victims.
Find out what happened when Cam sprung Rowan from police custody.
Meet one of the heroes of the sequel to Immortals’ Requiem. In fact, you’ve already met Hildemare; but you probably missed him. Here’s your chance to get a sneak insight into why he becomes the man he does.
Ah yes, the sequel … I have spent ten years lovingly crafting the universe and characters of Immortals’ Requiem and frankly, I don’t want it to stop. I’ve got some fairly messed up ideas that I really want to share with the world. But that really does depend on you …
Will There Be A Sequel? Only If You Can Spare Two Minutes
I’ve got a title. I’ve got a story. My typing fingers are itching. My brain keeps waking me up in the middle of the night to vomit ideas (some good, some not so good) into my notebook. I’ll write it because it’s what I love, but if I’m going to write the sequel in less than a decade, I need to justify doing this full time.
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This is clearly a marketing bit. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by suggesting it’s anything else. But the reality is that if I want to make this work then I’ve got to make it pay. And to make it pay I need exposure …
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So, I need your help. There is one thing you can do to help me crack on with the sequel. Spare two minutes to write a quick review of Immortals’ Requiem ...
… and at this point 99.99% of you have gone :)
* * *
If you are one of the 0.01% who is still reading, then thank you so very much. From the bottom of my heart. It means a lot. You are one of the few that throw the straws that new authors like me clutch at. Like I said, I need exposure; the sort of exposure that your review can generate.
* * *
Critical reviews have always been essential to the success of any book, but in this day and age they are a writer’s life blood. Without reviews the universe of the Immortals’ Requiem will tootle along quite happily in the oubliettes of my hindbrain, but it’s quite likely that by the time I finish the next book my grandkids’ll be surfing on a terraformed Mars.
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So, if you can spare two minutes, then please go to the following URL to leave a review on Amazon:
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http://IRAmzRev.VincentBobbe.com
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Go on; help me out so that I quit my job, sit in a dark room all day, and play God with the strange by-blows of my imagination :)
* * *
Fond Regards,
* * *
Vincent Bobbe
Glossary of Characters
The Humans
Adrian Mathers: A professor of Linguistics and Sociology at Manchester University, and a patron of the Green man public house.
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Annaea: A Roman who lived circa 82AD. The wife of Marcus.
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Annalise: A work colleague of Sam’s.
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Galerius: A Roman who lived circa 82AD. An acquaintance of Marcus.
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Jason: Employee of Mark Jones. Jason acts as Mark’s analyst, adviser, and gopher and is the only person he has regular face-to-face contact with.
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Jessica Homes: A police constable of the Greater Manchester Police.
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Jim Zacharias: An ex-soldier employed by Jason on behalf of Mark Jones to do surveillance on suspected fairies.
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Marcus Aquila Romila: See Mark Jones.
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Mark Jones: An unkillable business man and fairy hunter.
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Octavius: A Roman who lived circa 82AD. A friend to Marcus.
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Rowan: A Royal marine Commando who has returned to his family home in Stockport, Greater Manchester, on annual leave.
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Samuel “Sam” Autumn: A solicitor who lives and works in Greater Manchester. Whilst walking through the City Centre, he is attacked by Cú Roí. He is the husband of Tabby and a colleague of Annalise.
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Sarah: A prostitute who works in the Red-Light district near to Manchester Piccadilly train station.
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Sergei Constantine: A mercenary contracted by Mark Jones. A Russian-born ex-KGB agent. Reputedly, Sergei has an almost psychotic resistance to fear.
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Tabitha “Tabby” Autumn: Sam’s wife.
The Fairies
Camhlaidh “Cam” Ó Gríobhtha (kæmhɑːleɪd oː ɡɹiːvhɑː): A drunk and a thief. He is a young Elf of the Seelie Court who has retreated to Earth to live out his remaining years.
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Creachmhaoil (kɹækmaɪheɪl): An ancient and wise Elf. A senior member of the Seelie Court. In the absence of the Maiden, Creachmhaoil has assumed leadership. He is one of Cam’s old teachers.
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Cú Roí (kuː ˈɹɔɪ): The Miracle Child. An incredibly tall Therian being hunted through time by Grímnir.
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Damballah: The Prince of Rattlesnakes. A Svartálfar of the Unseelie Court and the first hand of the Satyr of Fire and Air. In the absence of the Satyr, Damballah has assumed leadership. He is Leanan’s brother.
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Dow Sė Mochaomhog (daʊ siː mɒkæmhɒɡ): A warrior and apprentice to Manannán. An Elf of the Seelie Court who is active on Earth.
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Grímnir Vafthrúdnir (ɡɹaɪmneɪːˈɛə vaːvθɹuːðiːnɛð.ə): The Tattooed Man. A Jötnar of the Seelie Court. His skin is etched with magic. He carries Camulus, a sword of power. His sole purpose is the destruction of the Therian, Cú Roí.
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Leanan: The Baobhan Sith. The Princess of Darkness. A Svartálfar of the Unseelie Court and sister to Damballah.
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Maiden of Earth and Water: An ancient magical entity and leader of the Seelie Court who appears to be a young female Elf.
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Manannán Ó Gríobhtha (mænænnaːn oː ɡɹiːvhɑː): A senior Elf of the Seelie Court who lives in Manchester, England. Mentor to Dow and father to Cam.
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Morgan Leach: A disturb
ing, silent Therian and servant of Cú Roí.
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Tattooed Man: See Grímnir.
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Tattooist: A huge Ifrit of the Unseelie Court. The Tattooist is a recluse who has not been seen or heard from in centuries.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Ange for the time, to Andy for the faith, and to Linda for the polish.
About the Author
Vincent Bobbe is nearly forty years old. When he was about ten, he tripped on an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel and fell into his own brain. He's not quite managed to climb out yet, because the things that found him in there keep clawing him back in. He's happily married with two young children and lives in Manchester, England. His wife is horrifically allergic to pretty much everything, so he doesn't have any pets. This suits him.
Immortals' Requiem Page 49
