Our Destiny Is Blood

by Clare Daly

  ‘You finished checking me out boy?’ he said as he opened the back door, holding it as Michael stepped out into the alleyway, following him close behind. It was empty save for some cats hunting the nights offering of rats and rotten food.

  ‘Hey now, where is he?’ Michael said, as Baker’s question of his fighting prowess came to mind.

  ‘You ever see the devil, son?’ he said. ‘You one of them Irish Catholics? You know all about the devil, don’t you?’

  A plain wooden door stood opposite them and the cowboy knocked lightly. It had no handle, only a small slot that flew back and a pair of green eyes that greeted them. They disappeared almost as fast, as the door opened slowly and Michael saw that behind the wood, the door was reinforced with thick steel. Inside, a musical din rose from deep within. It was like no other music Michael had ever heard. There were strings he was sure, but he had never heard a fiddle sound like that before and the ground seemed to vibrate beneath his feet such was its power.

  There was no sign of the owner of the green eyes behind the door, just a dark corridor beyond. He looked at the cowboy, awaiting a sign for him to enter.

  ‘I thought we were coming to you, Sasha,’ the cowboy said into the darkness as a man appeared out of the doorway.

  ‘Change of plan,’ he said, his Russian accent soft as if smoothed by a sculptor’s touch. He was only a year or two older than Michael – mid-twenties at best. He wore an elegant wool suit, his blonde hair resting on the nape of his neck. His brown eyes were friendly, though Michael thought them very capable of swift change. The door closed silently behind him.

  ‘You seek me?’ he said.

  ‘You are Alexander Dermatov?’ Michael asked.

  ‘The very one, but you must call me Sasha.’

  He held out his hand to Michael and he shook it. It was warm but there was something odd about it, an unnatural feel.

  ‘My companion here is Wade. What’s your name?’

  ‘Michael O’Neill.’

  ‘Well Michael, has my brother not given you something for me?’

  Michael produced the letter from his pocket and handed it to him surprised that this young man was his master’s brother. He could so easily have been his son. Sasha turned his back on him and carefully tore the envelope open whipping the letter out.

  Sir,

  What trickery is this? My dear brother perished many years ago in my homeland and you seek to mock his very memory with such an aberration. You wish to meet as do I, to expose you for the liar and confidence man you are. You call yourself a gentleman yet you seek to cause me deep upset for my poor deceased kin. So, you shall come to my home you know so well. The next Friday night when the moon is full. Don’t bother bringing your ‘family’. Come alone.

  V

  Sasha re-read the letter and turned to Wade.

  ‘My brother wishes to welcome me back,’ he said. ‘With open arms, as I suspected. Well, it would be a shame to refuse such a lovely invitation.’

  He looked at the cowboy, a wide grin on his face.

  ‘Tell my brother I graciously accept. We have a lot to talk about. Oh, and tell him I will bring three friends, and we expect dinner. It’s the least he can do.’

  With that he turned and went back inside, the door opening for him, no look out required. The cowboy followed him.

  ‘Be seeing you, Michael,’ he said with a tip of his hat.

  Again, came the drift of distant music and Michael strained to see inside, his eyes following them down a staircase until they disappeared into the shadows. Out of nowhere, the owner of the green eyes appeared – a little old man, his grey hair long, his skin so wrinkled it swallowed his features, save for those emerald eyes that shone brightly as he pulled the heavy door shut with ease. Michael stood there bewildered. He heard a noise in the alleyway up ahead, a cat probably but spooked, he hurried along the laneway and out into the street, anxious to deliver the news back to Mr. Baker. When he reached the carriage, Watson seemed surprised to see him in one piece and he knew better then to discuss the evening’s events with him. By the time they reached the house, Baker was already on the front steps pacing them like an expectant father, a look of genuine relief when he saw Michael return unscathed. He ushered him quickly into the study. Their master sat in his armchair beside the fire, straightening as Michael entered the room, his hands gripping the arms. Michael recounted his meeting, first with the cowboy and then Sasha in the alleyway. For some reason, perhaps unsure what to say of it, he didn’t mention the door and its dark innards. He relayed Sasha’s message. Both men exchanged a look between them that Michael couldn’t read.

  ‘Very well, you can leave us,’ Baker said handing him a few coins for his trouble.

  ‘Thank you, Sir,’ Michael said as he headed to the door. He heard his Master’s voice then softly ask: ‘Did he look well?’

  Michael turned to him. ‘Very well. He’s a fine gentleman like yourself, Sir.’

  ‘And how old would you think him to be?’

  It was an odd question but thinking about it he said: ‘A little older than myself perhaps.’

  A flicker of unease at his answer.

  ‘Thank you, Michael. I may have need of you again.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Michael left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He lingered a moment listening to the men inside. Someone was pouring drinks.

  ‘And so, it begins,’ the master said.

  ‘You’re sure it’s him?’

  ‘He was always impertinent.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Now,’ he sighed. ‘Now, I go and see my very old friend and better the odds.’

  ‘Perhaps you worry unnecessarily.’

  ‘Perhaps but prepare the night as planned. We will soon have our answers.’

  20

  St. Patrick’s Cathedral stood on the corner of Mott and Prince Streets, its arched windows reflecting the low winter sun. The air was cold and crisp and Vladimir swept a long scarf around his neck so that it wrapped his chin, partially covering his face. Not that anyone would recognise him here, but he felt it right to conceal himself. This was clandestine business after all, and would not be welcomed by those who preached from its pulpit. The cathedral was the first Catholic Church to be called such in the New York diocese – a beacon for European settlers who sought the sanctuary of its teachings, as they tried to settle in their new home. He wondered why his benefactor had chosen it. Perhaps it gave him comfort.

  He slipped in through the heavy door. Services were done for the day, and there were only a handful of people sat outside the confessional, waiting for their turn to repent. He made his way to the alter and genuflected at the foot of the steps, looking back to the line of sinners, their heads bent low in prayer.

  Behind the altar, to the left of the tabernacle, a narrow door led to the crypts. He went inside, quickly making his way down the curving stone steps. At the bottom, he loosened his scarf. A box of used candles lay in an alcove and he took one, lighting it from another on the wall. He peered into the pitch-black darkness ahead. He’d been in many tombs over the years but this place made his skin crawl, or was it that he was always on edge meeting him? Even though he had requested it, he still felt the urge to turn back, but Sasha’s letter, buried deep in his pocket, pushed him onwards. This meeting was necessary, imperative if he was to survive. He moved along, bathed in a sphere of light, the path behind him lost to the black, when the flame went out. He cursed loudly in Russian. Something, an animal, brushed up against his leg. Was it a cat? If it was, it was bigger than any he’d encountered.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he muttered.

  He didn’t like the darkness or cats and he reeled, as it rubbed itself against his other leg. A small flame ignited in the darkness. Then another four, revealing a silver candelabra held by a white hand. It move
d towards him, the light slowly illuminating a slender tattooed arm – a twisting branch of thorns that seemed to move as he did.

  ‘I would have thought you were quite at home in the dark,’ came the silky voice.

  ‘Yes, my friend. I have a problem I need to talk to you about.’

  Gabriel came into the light his skin glowing softly. By his side, was a lynx, its golden eyes gleaming. Its ears stood on end, tufts of hair at the tips making them appear longer. No wonder he had found him in the dark. He had probably heard every breath he took.

  ‘There can be only one problem that you would have to discuss with me,’ Gabriel said, laying the candles down on a nearby tomb.

  Vladimir took the letter from his pocket and handed it to him. He turned it over delicately in his fingers, before unfolding the sheet of paper.

  ‘I didn’t think he’d be strong enough to survive, not without me to guide him,’ he said as Gabriel read. ‘But your prediction was right and now he’s come for me. He’s not aged a day since.’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ Gabriel said looking up.

  ‘No, but I have a good report of it. He has come for revenge. That’s what I would do. He means to kill me. He thinks I lead him to his fate.’

  ‘You did.’

  Vladimir was about to say something and thought best of it.

  ‘It would seem he has in fact fared quite well,’ Gabriel said, handing him back the letter. ‘Do not mistake the hands of time, ceasing for his mind. Immortality gives you a unique perspective on the world and how life must be lived. He is not the young man you knew.’

  ‘He’ll kill me, don’t you think?’

  ‘How come he hasn’t done it yet?’ Gabriel said. A flicker of light cast moving shadows across his face.

  ‘Because he toys me with me for sport. He wants my mind to suffer. You must get one of your hunters to kill him.’

  ‘I must not do anything. Know your place here Vladimir.’

  ‘Please Gabriel, what if I can’t destroy him? You have to help me. I would not have been in Castle Valla where it not for you.’

  There, he’d said it. Twenty years of blame, blurted out in a second. Twenty years of lost possibilities.

  ‘Tread carefully. It was you who failed your task. You could have played such an important role. But you brought your brother, someone to bask in your glory and he chose him over you. How disappointing.’

  ‘It was destined to fail. The creature knew. He knew it and you let me walk in there thinking I would succeed. Like it was easy. That’s why I took Alexander.’

  ‘You could have returned to him afterwards.’

  ‘He was my responsibility.’

  The words hurt him to say aloud.

  ‘You knew the risk. It was always a life or death mission. You said a chance of immortality was worth it. And how strange that you have never sought it again all these years. Never asked me about other ways to have it. You lost your nerve.’

  ‘You weren’t there.’

  ‘Ah yes, but you were. You pleaded with Rako to let you watch, so that you would have at the very least, an account of him to report. And he let you, so you could see for yourself the fate that befalls those sacrificed. But let’s remind ourselves, shall we?’ He gripped Vladimir’s shoulder.

  Suddenly the candles faded, their light dimming as snow began to fall all around them. It was night, a full moon in the clear sky. They were standing on the battlements of Castle Valla and they were not alone. Rako stood to their right, looking out to the prisoner chained in the snow. Alexander.

  ‘Stop this. There is nothing to be gained from it,’ Vladimir said, his words unheard by the governor.

  ‘Isn’t there?’ Gabriel said. ‘We’re just in time.’

  A swirl of shadows flew across the ice and then the creature appeared beside his prey, his cloak billowing in the wind. They could hear his breathing, a deep growl from his chest as he bent down to touch Alexander’s face, his long nails reaching into his hair. He lingered a moment.

  ‘What’s he waiting for?’ Rako said.

  He’d been on edge all evening, Vladimir remembered. The first victim chosen by the creature himself. Vladimir had done his best to bury the details, but they returned to him with the full force of terror in which they had been received the first time, and he steadied himself for what was to follow. Gabriel watched the proceedings, rapt.

  The creature ran his hand over his brother’s head, a master stroking his favourite pet before standing to allow the wind to once again catch his cloak. The fabric multiplied but instead of swaddling his prey, it passed over him like a wave, as he moved closer to the castle. Rako gasped. Vladimir took a step back but Gabriel was behind him, his hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Let’s see what happened, shall we?’

  The creature rose on a dark cloud of fabric, until he was level with them on the castle wall. His hood was deep, his face hidden. From the folds of his cloak, his hand stretched towards Vladimir. It was a memory, the event long passed, yet he could feel his sharp fingernail as it prodded him, like a knife to his chest.

  ‘You were sent to spy on me,’ he said. His words were of a dead language but he understood every one.

  ‘No,’ Vladimir said. ‘I wanted to join you.’

  He spoke the words, just as he’d done before. The creature laughed.

  ‘Your master would destroy me, given the chance,’ he said.

  He moved, the lower half of his face catching the light from the flaming torches on the battlements. Even though Vladimir knew what was coming, he felt the fear double – the memory of it from the first time and now re-living it anew. Maybe he could just shut his eyes this time, not have to see it. He tried but they wouldn’t close, the memory taking precedence. He would have to look upon the creature’s face once more.

  His skin was the colour of old parchment, and just as thin. The blood moved in tiny rivulets under it, red and purple, a map of decay. His mouth was a wide slash like an open wound, the flesh around it mottled. Vladimir wanted to run but he couldn’t move. The creature parted his lips, his mouth opening to reveal his blade like teeth. They were all sharp, every one of them designed for one thing only. Two larger canine teeth sank lower from the top ridge of his blackened gum, their edges jagged, a cutting machine designed for carnage.

  The world slowed, the snow stopping mid-fall. There was no Gabriel, no Rako, or Castle Valla – just him and the monster. All notions for an immortal life disappeared, the memory reinforced, crisp and focussed. He can’t hurt you. It’s just a memory. But still he felt his legs go weak, his heart beating out of his chest, sweat weeping from his pores and his fear was real again.

  ‘Spare me. I beg you.’ He remembered the words so clearly.

  ‘You are not worthy of my blood,’ he said. ‘Tell your master I will show no mercy when finally we meet.’

  He receded back into the shadows, dropping from the battlements to swoop down over his brother’s body. Only the chains remained as his cloak drew back across the ice, Alexander’s cries lost within it. Slowly the scene disappeared, the candelabra coming back into focus, the crypt illuminated once more. Vladimir was shaking. He had buried that fear a long time ago and now it played again with his mind, making him search the shadows, should the creature be hiding among them.

  ‘Do you know why I sent you?’ Gabriel said. ‘I saw your potential. If I wanted to send someone to their death, I could have chosen any number of people. But you – I thought you stood a chance. You were clever, cunning, your mind your greatest asset, and your resilience. You were perfect. And he would have seen it too. He would have gladly turned you. But it was a lone mission. You would have discussed it with no-one, but you had to concoct a fallacy to bait your brother into going with you and all your talk brought you both to his attention. And he saw your ruse. He took your brother to punish you. And then you
begged for your life – a weakness, even he could not overlook. You should have begged him to take you too.’

  ‘He would have killed me,’ he said quietly, reflecting on his words for a moment. He’d never shared the details with Gabriel preferring him to think that the creature simply took his brother and never returned. It was better than the truth.

  ‘I’m not proud of it,’ he said. ‘Rako banished me after that for upsetting his precious monster, sent me back to Omsk, never to return and I left my brother, never to be seen again.’

  ‘Until now.’ There was something in the way Gabriel said it. ‘You must be curious to see his transformation. To see what you might have become?’

  ‘I have a thousand questions, but if his aim is to kill me, then what is the use of asking? I need your assurance that you’ll protect me.’

  Gabriel was silent, his fingers curling through the flames.

  ‘You have it.’

  ‘He will bring others.’

  ‘Then preparation is key on your part. Any son of Woltacht is a very powerful vampire make no mistake.’

  He’d never named the creature before. Volt-act. He almost wished he hadn’t. To give the thing a name made it all the more real.

  ‘You have replied to his letter?’

  ‘Yes, I thought it best. He will come, Friday evening.’

  ‘Good. You know the preparations that need to be done. Tricky creatures, vampires, such varying weaknesses. Oh well, we shall see, won’t we?’

  ‘It’s a relief to know that I have your help. Thank you.’

  ‘Least I can do, given it’s all my fault.’ He wasn’t smiling and Vladimir couldn’t tell if he was mocking him. The dormant candle in his hand fizzed with light and he knew it was time to go.

  ‘Thank you, Gabriel.’

  ‘Mafdet will accompany you, should you lose your way.’

  The lynx rose from Gabriel’s feet and padded towards him. He dreaded the feel of its fur again in the dark and so he began in earnest. He had got what he came for, even if did require a visit to the past. He would have the upper hand on Alexander and he began to look forward to the adventure that awaited him.