Hibernian Blood (A Vampire Urban Fantasy) (Hibernian Hollows Book 1)

by Dean F. Wilson

  He pulled the window shut.

  “I know this is all very strange to you,” he acknowledged. “It shouldn't be, by right, for your own family should have explained these things. They have taken for granted the peace we have now. Like my forgetting the feeling of air inside my lungs, they have forgotten the wars of the past, and thought little to plan for the wars of the future.”

  “I don't want anything to do with your wars.”

  “Neither do I, but we don't get that choice. With or without us, they come, like night comes to smother day.”

  “Like day comes to douse the night,” James said defiantly. He didn't know where that defiance came from.

  Lorcan smiled. “See. There is some fight in you. You came here to learn about your roots. These are your roots. This is who you are, who you were meant to be.”

  “Not who I want to be.”

  Lorcan scoffed. “Do you want to be afraid? Do you want to live a meaningless life? There are millions who live such … boring lives. Once you enter our world, there is no going back. Even if you returned to America, you would start to see the unseen, and hear the unheard. The secret life, the hidden world, is now unlocked. It cannot be sealed again. Like it or not, this is your path now. Here in Ireland, you were reborn, like I was seven hundred years ago!”

  Despite James' fears, he knew that everything Lorcan said was true. After seeing what he had seen, he wondered if he could ever get it out of his mind. He wanted to forget. He wanted to go back to his old, boring life, even though it was that boredom—and a sense of calling—that prompted his current expedition.

  “It will take time to adjust,” Lorcan said. “But for you, time is short. Time is fleeting. Death for you means death. Death for us means life. We cannot turn you, and we are obliged by tradition to not harm you. Yet tradition does not stay all hands. It does not hold back all fangs. We are at the turning point where the blood wardens are needed again, where mortals referee immortals. I despise that it is so, but like you I have no choice!”

  “Why do you need me?” James asked. “What power do I have that you don't? I don't understand any of this. How can I stop a war? How can I compel vampires when you have the power to compel and control minds? I am powerless!”

  “You only feel powerless. Trust not those feelings. You know not what is in your blood. It is the bloodline of royalty that rules the vampire world, but it is a holy bloodline that runs through warden veins. I abhor it with a deep and powerful hatred! Yet here I am, asking your help. Evil, so-called, beseeching good … so-called.”

  “And what if I don't help?” James asked.

  “Then it matters not that you can now see the unseen, for if this dynasty falls, then chaos will erupt here, and all will see it, and hear it, and feel it. This world will go to ruin. Dark as we may be, we hold back darker forces, bent on destruction. For we may be undead, but be believe in order. We work with the living. Some would have it all destroyed. So then, my fearful warden, do not fear us, but fear what would happen without us.”

  He turned back to the window and gestured to it. “And now, I have a gift for you. It is one that repulses me, but it will be of value to one careless enough to leave open windows here. Let not there be an open window to your soul!”

  He raised his hand, and a wooden box rose up into the air and hovered by the window.

  “This is a power that is in my blood, and my father's blood, and all the way back beyond memory. For me, it is weak, but I can move things. And perhaps tonight, I can move your mind closer to where it needs to be, to that fighting force.”

  He pulled his hand towards him, and the box floated into the room. He recoiled at it, as if it contained something of horror. Yet to frighten him, it must have been something good.

  “Hang these by your window,” he said, as he clambered out. “For you are lucky it was only I who came through tonight!”

  13 – INVESTIGATION

  James used the contents of the box to line the window—now firmly shut. There were strings of garlic, crosses, amulets, scrolls with Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and Coptic verses, and strange metal discs with engraved designs. Any other time, he would have dismissed these superstitious items, but now he used them with fervour. He placed some of them near the door as well.

  Yet still his dreams were disturbed. He dreamed of creatures appearing out of nowhere, of turning around to see nothing, and feeling something behind him again. He woke in a fit of sweat when he felt a piercing in his neck, and found nothing there, and no blood stains on his pillow. There were no indications of anything at the window or door, which gave him reassurance. It seemed that the only invasion was in his mind.

  The next morning, he awoke—still tired—to hear a loud banging at the main door downstairs. He got dressed quickly and unlocked his door, only to find it had been sealed from the outside.

  * * *

  Downstairs, Ebed sauntered towards the giant, metal door. He unlocked it, letting it creak slowly open, so that the sound sent a shiver down the spines of the two people present on the other side. They were a woman, short, with a mix of curls and braids, and what seemed like charms knitted into the bangs. She wore a figure-made suit, which made her look authoritative, but she wore other charms on her wrists and neck, which didn't seem to go with that appearance. Her companion was a taller man in a Garda uniform, clean shaven, with a smug smile on his face.

  “Hi. My name is Melanie Rosen,” the woman said, “and this is my partner Toby Eckhart.”

  “A pleasure,” Ebed said. “I am Ebed Lónan, keeper of the manor.”

  “Is this the Kavanagh residence?” Melanie asked.

  “This is Umbra Montis,” Ebed corrected.

  “But the Kavanaghs live here, right?”

  “They have a dwelling here, yes.”

  “Can we come in?”

  “Do you have a reservation?”

  The woman pulled a piece of paper out of her coat and held it up. “It's called a warrant.”

  Ebed's eyes widened. “I don't follow. What is the problem here?”

  “We have reports of disappearances in the area.”

  “Disappearances? Oh my.”

  “Oh my indeed,” Melanie said, stepping inside.

  “I'm afraid the place is rather empty,” Ebed explained.

  “I'm afraid I'll have to see that for myself.”

  Eckhart followed, tipping his hat in a sarcastic manner. “Nice place you've got here,” he said. “A bit grim though.”

  “A bit old,” Ebed said. “It dates back several centuries. We've tried to … preserve the décor.”

  “Is that all you're preserving?” Eckhart quipped.

  “I don't follow.”

  “Oh, I bet you follow just fine.”

  Melanie walked past the empty reception desk, rifling through the records there.

  “It's pretty quiet here,” Eckhart said. “Dead, even.”

  “It's off-peak season,” Ebed explained. He started to fidget with the buttons on his waistcoat.

  “Where are the guests?” Melanie enquired.

  “It's … off-peak season.”

  “You have records of guests here. I see some are crossed out.”

  “They left.”

  “Funny, that,” Eckhart said.

  “Harold Osbourne,” Melanie said.

  “What about him?” Ebed asked. “The Osbournes left a few days ago.”

  “His wife left. She reported that her husband never returned.”

  “We overheard them having a … disagreement,” Ebed said. “It seems that perhaps Mr. Osbourne did not want to return to his wife.”

  “Or wasn't allowed to.”

  “I am afraid I find your insinuations rather unsettling.”

  “You should,” Melanie said. “I find them quite unsettling too.”

  She continued through the records.

  “Where are the owners?”

  “They are … indisposed of at the moment.”

  “Like Mr.
Osbourne?”

  “No.”

  “I guess you've misplaced them as well,” Eckhart said.

  “They come and go as they please. I am but a lowly servant.”

  Eckhart came up to him. “Do they come and go a lot at night?”

  Melanie proceeded to wander around the bottom floor, opening doors and peeking inside rooms, while Ebed followed much too closely, seeming on edge.

  “Is it just you who works here?” Eckhart asked him.

  “Mainly.”

  “There's quite a lot here to dust.”

  “Yes, indeed. I'm kept busy, without a doubt.”

  Melanie continued her inspection, shoving against some doors that were jammed, much to the protest of Ebed, who commented about the age of the building and the “sensitivity” of the décor. Melanie ignored him and forced open several more doors.

  “I don't know what you're looking for,” Ebed protested. “There's no one here.”

  They heard a sudden banging from upstairs. Melanie launched herself up the steps immediately on hearing it.

  “You were saying?” Eckhart said, before following her up, with Ebed racing up behind them.

  They were in such a hurry to find the source of the noise that neither detective noticed Ebed twisting one of the etched bannister knobs. There was a creaking in the building, and elsewhere in the hotel a corridor was sealed off, while another one opened.

  They charged through the corridors, following the sound, opening bedroom doors to find nothing or no one there—just clean sheets.

  In time they came to a wall, from where the muted knocks seemed to emanate.

  “It's coming from the walls,” Melanie said.

  “Mice,” Ebed suggested.

  “Or men?”

  “I find that rather unlikely.”

  “We can break through,” Eckhart said.

  “You cannot!” Ebed objected. “This is a protected building.”

  “We have a warrant.”

  “You have a warrant to search the place, not to destroy it.”

  So they searched further, every level, and yet as big as the hotel was, it almost seemed to the detectives like they could only reach certain parts of it. They mentioned this to Ebed, who raised his eyebrows at the notion, and denied fervently that there was a cellar below the building. They didn't find anything, and were forced to abandon the search.

  “We'll be back,” Melanie said as they left. She glanced up at the windows from outside, and thought she saw something, but it was gone just as quick.

  “Of course,” Ebed said. “We'll be waiting.”

  14 – WHILE THE OTHERS REST

  Melanie sat in the car with Eckhart outside, slapping her hand down on the dashboard in frustration.

  “Is it wise to mess with them?” Eckhart asked her.

  “I guess it's like prodding the beast.”

  “To put it lightly.”

  “I have to though. I can't let them keep getting away with this.”

  “Don't they have special protection though?”

  “You mean magic?”

  “No,” Eckhart said. “I mean from higher up. The government. God, even the Gardaí are in on it. Is it wise to even mess with that?”

  “Wise? Maybe not. But right?”

  “There are a lot of right things that don't get done, or you end up crossing the wrong people.”

  Melanie sighed. “I hate this.”

  “Yeah, me too. But we gotta play it safe.”

  “We're the OIU. We're not supposed to play it safe.”

  “We've gotta, or we mightn't get to play at all.”

  They drove off, and just as they were coming onto the main road, Melanie spotted something in the mirror: two black cars pulling up outside the hotel.

  “Stop,” she told Eckhart. “Looks like they've got guests.”

  Eckhart slowed to a halt and peered around. “Is that the Kavanaghs? In daylight?”

  Melanie pulled out a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment and stared at the cars. It took some time before any of the doors opened, and when they did, it was a strange sight indeed. All the doors opened in almost perfect unison, like a choreographed display by the mob. Two men, tall and bulky, came out of the back of the first car, and they were shrouded in black, with black balaclavas. Even with these, they started to sizzle in the dull sunlight. Other figures got out with veils and umbrellas, including a familiar woman with frazzled, red hair: Dearg, the head of clan O'Neill.

  “Christ,” Melanie said. “It's the O'Neills. You better step on it before they see us.”

  Eckhart didn't need to hear that twice. He sped off before anyone could spot them.

  “What are they doing there?” he asked.

  “I don't know, but whatever it is, they're hoping to do it while the Kavanaghs are asleep.”

  * * *

  Ebed heard the chime of the doorbell and sauntered to the door, thinking it was the detectives again, back to prod and probe like they too often did. He had prepared a little tongue-lashing just for the occasion, but when he opened up, his voice was stolen by the sight of Dearg, her red hair affray, flanked by the gigantic Brute Brothers, and surrounded by many others of the O'Neill family.

  Dearg pushed in, and Ebed stumbled back, holding out his hands. If only he had a cross in them, it might have helped a little. But it would not have been enough.

  “Y-y-you can't c-come in here,” he said.

  Dearg scoffed. “We were invited to the Red Council. We're just a little … late.”

  “The masters are retired. You have to come back later.”

  “No,” Dearg said. “We're not looking for them.”

  Ebed's eyes widened. He turned a little to shout, “Run, James!” but Dearg leapt at him, tearing his throat apart with her teeth. He gasped and gurgled, and though it was his hope that one day he would taste blood, he never thought it would be his own. Dearg let his body clatter off the marble floor, where he continued to spasm.

  “Rip this place apart,” she ordered her companions. They split apart in all directions, some heading upstairs, others scouring the bottom floor.

  Dearg crouched down to Ebed and patted his head. “I'll be back for this,” she said. He only hoped he would be dead before she claimed her trophy.

  She headed upstairs, following the echoes of Ebed's shout as she began the hunt for James. Her motto was “strike when the iron is hot,” but in this case it meant “strike while the warden is weak—and while his watchers are sleeping.”

  * * *

  James heard the commotion from downstairs, and Ebed's fearful shout. He grabbed the handle of the door, but it was still locked. This room wasn't just his prison now—it would be his final resting place. His name was on the computer in the foyer, pinpointing his exact location in the sprawling mansion. He had to get out at all costs.

  He kicked the door, but it would not budge. Then he bashed it with his shoulder, but it held strong. He struck it again, frightfully aware of all the noise he was making, and of the pain starting to shoot up through his arm.

  He backed away and looked at the window, with all its talismans and adornments. He considered for a moment that he might have to jump out and risk whatever fate gravity had in store for him. Maybe dying like that would be better. Yet something told him that he wasn't allowed to die now, that he still had a mission to accomplish. He'd have to survive the O'Neill family first.

  Suddenly he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. These were not like the beast of Umbra Montis, but harder and heavier, like the footfalls of a giant. Then he heard the feet strike doors, kicking them in one by one along the route, until the wood didn't just creak, but screamed.

  James hurriedly pulled down some of the garlands of garlic and strings of talismans, but he had wrapped many of them up well to keep them in place throughout the night. He never thought that he would have to fear the day as well. He yanked at them, but only some of them came loose.

  Then he heard
the boots outside. He could feel the awful presence. Then the hail of splinters came, and Joe O'Neill, one of the so-called Brute Brothers, busted his way inside. He was a colossus, hunching over to avoid the caress of the ceiling, his muscles bulging, his face gnarled. He had a kind of dumb look in his eyes, but it wasn't his eyes you had to fight.

  James, surprising himself, made the first blow by casting some of the protective items at the vampire. Joe snarled and backed away, taking part of the wall with him. He stumbled over the ruins of the door, falling onto his back, which gave James just long enough to leap through the cracks and dash down the corridor.

  Joe was slow on his feet, and slow to get up, but as James slid around the nearest corner, he found Joe's twin brother, Paddy O'Neill, bounding down towards him. James skidded in place and charged down the other way, turning sharply at intersections, while Paddy crashed into the walls instead.

  There was a long stretch ahead, long enough for Paddy to regain some speed as he charged after him. Yet there, on the far end, sat the beast of Umbra Montis, rearing up its horrible, mutilated face. James was already in full sprint, and there were no more turns between these two opposing fiends. The beast reared up and started towards him, dragging itself at first, but then trotting, now running. James gulped at the thought of the impending crash, of both creatures crushing him between their bodies, then landing down on him to finish the job with weight or fang.

  Then the beast ahead leapt up, and though one of its legs was limp, its other one propelled it up to a great height. James slid beneath it, falling onto his side and skidding down the corridor, while the beast snarled and spat, reaching out its twisted claws to Paddy O'Neill. It sliced and tore, and as James got up, he realised that it hadn't leapt for him—it leapt to save him.

  But he wasn't safe yet.