Moira's Song (The Moira McCauley Series Book 1)

by Lee, Tawnya

  Breasal turned to Moira. “Welcome to my room. What can I do for you?”

  “I want to go back to Ireland.”

  “We can do that. Maybe next week?”

  “No. I’m going tonight. I want to kill. Only if I find someone who needs it, of course. But I feel restless. I have to do something. Something dangerous.”

  “Hmmm... Yes, you know the vote is tomorrow?”

  “I don’t give a fuck about that. I mean, I do. But no one, and I mean no one, is going to fucking hurt my children. I don’t know why I feel restless, but I do. It happened a lot when I was a mortal too, but everything’s so fucking intense now that I am whatever I am.”

  “Well, I suppose I can come along. If you need me, that is.”

  Moira hesitated. Did she need him? Could she do this alone?

  “I suppose you could. Maybe you can point me in the right direction. Maybe I just need company. But it has to be tonight.”

  “Okay. Are the boys settled in?”

  “Yes, the nannies have it covered. I think Piper is going out for a bit, but Nanny Beckett said she’d be fine a few hours alone.”

  “All right, then. Let’s go. Are you ready?”

  Moira nodded.

  “Grand. I’m good as gold and still dressed. Why not now?”

  “Thanks, Breasal.”

  Breasal nodded at her and opened his window. The two leapt through the window and flew to Dublin. In just minutes, they arrived at O’Connell Bridge. The River Liffey flowed calm under the gray Dublin sky. Moira took Breasal’s arm and they began to walk north away from the bridge.

  “Just ahead is the GPO, General Post Office, where brave men and women took arms to fight for Irish Independence in 1916. Many Irish were against it. They had their reasons for wanting things to stay the same. But Pádraig Pearse thought the timing with the great war was enough distraction for them to do some damage. Didn’t end well. The British government executed sixteen Irishmen when it was all said and done. And that got everyone’s blood boiling, it did. Eventually, it paved the way for Ireland’s freedom from the British Empire. You can still see the bullet holes in statues and buildings if you look. Sometime I’ll give you a proper tour and a proper history lesson. School teachers and poets, ordinary men, on the surface anyways, fought for our saoirse, our freedom.” Breasal broke into song.

  Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha

  Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep

  'neath the shroud of the foggy dew 44

  “I love being here. It has some effect on me, Breasal. I can’t explain it.”

  “Aye, ya don't hafta. I understand. Let’s hit a pub first, and then get to hunting.”

  “Sounds good. I don’t think I ever had this much beer so often as a mortal.”

  “Then I did ya a favor, didn’t I? Turning ya.” Breasal grinned in the moonlight.

  “I wouldn’t take it that far. I’m coming ‘round to you, but I still hate your fucking guts.”

  “So we’re making progress, then? That’s good!”

  Moira gave him a side-eye glance but continued walking arm in arm with the ancient vampire.

  They found a pub and ordered two pints. The frothy foam refreshed Moira. By the time she’d reached the bottom of her Guinness, Moira, anxious to get going, decided it was time to hunt.

  “I’m ready to go now,” she said.

  “Good a time as any, I suppose.”

  Breasal drank his remaining drops of Guinness and they headed out the pub into the street. They continued their stroll down O’Connell in search of prey. She tried tuning in to the energy around her, seeking for something that piqued her interest. Her restlessness impeded her ability to sense and hear the way she did her first hunt in Edinburgh.

  “I’ve got nothing. I think I’m still wound up a bit.”

  “Not to worry, Moira. I can help.”

  Breasal stopped and looked around. After a moment, he tapped her arm and pointed east.

  “This way. I’m sure once we get there, you’ll feel it, too.”

  The pair crossed Marlborough on Talbot Street. When they reached an inn, Breasal stopped.

  “What do you sense here? Can you feel the energy?” Breasal asked.

  Moira stood in front the building and looked up at the brick wall, noting the red sign outside. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and began to listen. She pushed past the sounds of televisions and random chatter and searched until she heard it. A child crying, pleading to someone to stop. She opened her eyes and looked at Breasal.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Get to be as old as me and you can smell human depravity, and sort out what is what, the way you can tell the smell of burgers from pizza.”

  “Let’s go in, then.”

  “We will. But let me lead. I’ll get you there.”

  Moira followed Breasal into the hotel, past the check-in desk, to the elevators. He pressed the button for the second floor and the elevator began its ascent. The closer they got, the more Moira could smell the child’s fear, hear his whimpering. And she sensed the man in the room. Dirty, sweaty, pungent. Pure evil. She could feel his darkness wrapping itself around the boy. They walked down the hall until Breasal stopped at room 220. Breasal whispered, “Oscailte.”

  The door swung open. A man, with his pants around his ankles, leaning over a bed, jumped up.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? You can’t just be barging in like this.”

  The man looked down at the boy and back at Moira and Breasal.

  “Hey, man it’s not what it looks like.”

  Moira flew to the man, grabbed him by the neck and held him in the air. She looked at the boy, crying and curled in a fetal position. Her eyes blazed red and she squeezed his neck harder. He struggled and gasped, clawing at her hands, kicking the air with his feet.

  “You miserable sack of shit. What gives you the right to touch a fucking child? Breasal, take the boy to the cops. I’ll deal with this scum. But not in front of the kid.”

  Breasal nodded. “Come here, child. We’ll talk to the Gardai,45 make sure you’re safe and that this man can never hurt you again. Moira, we’ll meet at the closest Garda station.”

  The boy covered himself with his clothes, but in shock, didn’t move.

  “Get dressed.”

  Breasal looked at the child intently but with gentleness in his eyes. The child obeyed, took Breasal’s hand, and followed him out the door.

  “Now,” Moira glared at the man. “We’re alone. And it’s my turn to do what I like with you.”

  She tossed the man to the ground. He grasped his neck and sputtered, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

  “Like I said, it’s not what you think.” Fuck. Don’t look at the camera, the man thought.

  “You can stop your bullshit. I can read your mind, you fuck-face. I see it’s exactly what I think it is.”

  Moira turned behind her and saw a small camcorder propped against the TV, the red light on. “Burn the fuck up.” Short flames burst out of the camera, melting it into the TV stand. She grabbed a glass of water on the nightstand, threw it on the camera, and the fire extinguished. The man yelped and began to crawl toward the door.

  “You ain’t going nowhere, asshole.”

  Moira grabbed the man’s leg, and pulled him back to her. She grabbed the man’s underwear, stuffed it in his mouth, and tied it in place by wrapping the long sock he’d left on the floor around his face. She grabbed him by the cock and ripped it off, blood spurting across the room. The man screamed, muffled by the homemade muzzle, and Moira shoved his face into the carpet to drown out any hope of someone hearing his cries.

  “Time to finish you off, now. Just know this. You’ll never fucking hurt a kid again.”

  Moira bit into his neck. The man, now passed out from shock, lay still as Moira nursed the bit of blood that remained in his body. When she was done, she cleaned the room, then carried his body ou
t the window.

  In the alley, she found an empty trash barrel. She tossed him inside and set the barrel on fire.

  “That did the trick, I think,” Moira said.

  After she dumped the body, Moira looked at herself. Covered in blood, she knew she needed to change before she looked for Breasal. She remembered seeing a clothing store, Penny’s, near the GPO. It was closed, but that wouldn’t stop her. She walked to a side door of the building and whispered the word she’d heard Breasal say many times before.

  “Oscailte.”

  The door swung open, and Moira went inside. Racks upon racks of clothes filled the store. She found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on a mannequin, pulled them off, and tried them on. Looking in the mirror, she smiled.

  “What do you know? Looks good. Good price, too. I need to come back when it’s open.”

  She grabbed a knee-length brown coat with fake fur trim and threw it on over the t-shirt.

  “I think I’ll take it,” she said as she pulled the tags off. She pulled 60 Euros out of the pocket of her old clothes, tossed the clothes in a trash can, and slapped the tags and money on the counter beside the register.

  “I may be a blood-sucker, but I’m no thief,” Moira grinned as she talked to no one in particular.

  She went back to the same door she entered and set off to find Breasal. Moira’s sense of direction hadn’t improved any as an immortal, and after wandering the same few blocks for a bit, decided to ask for help.

  She stopped a lady at the bus stop and asked, “Where’s the closest Garda station?”

  “That way,” she pointed back toward the Inn, “on Talbot. Keep going that way until you reach James Joyce. If you see Malloy’s, you’ve gone too far. You’ll want to turn around but just a bit, cause you’re almost there. But take a right on James Joyce. Keep walking. It’ll be on your left. You can’t miss it. You all right? Need someone to go along?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. Just looking for a friend. I really appreciate it.”

  “No trouble.”

  Moira left the bus stop and headed down Talbot. The restlessness was gone. She felt at peace. Lord, I rip a man’s cock off, suck the blood from his body, and that’s what makes me feel good. I’m a monster, all right. At least I don’t go hurting children. That’s one consolation.

  She got to the garda station and found Breasal standing outside.

  “Is he okay?”

  “As okay as he can be. I told the garda I’d been in the hotel waiting for a friend when I heard his screams. I let him know I beat the man and he took off. They have the boy now, trying to figure out who he belongs to and getting him a proper meal. What did you do with the body?”

  “Burned him in a trashcan I found in an alley. No sign of him now.”

  “You feel better?”

  “I do. But I’m ready to go home.”

  “I can oblige you. The vote’s tomorrow. I know you say you don’t care, but...”

  “I know, I know. We need to rest. Prepare.”

  Breasal nodded, and took Moira’s arm. Within minutes, they were back in Breasal’s room.

  “Thanks for that. I needed it.”

  “Of course. Don’t mention it. Sometimes the need to hunt can make you feel that way. You’ll get used to it. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Abandonment or Death

  It was the evening of the vote. Richard, Paul, and Medb sat at the oak table where only days before Sedric pled his case. The room itself was long, rectangular, and dusty. Four torches were lit and placed on each of the stone walls. The candelabras on the table were gone. Instead, a candelabra had been hung over the center of the table. It had three bronze rings with nine candles in the larger, bottom ring, six candles in the middle ring, and three in the smaller top ring. The blood-drinkers were bathed in candlelight. Shadows danced across their faces as a breeze blew through one of the windows. Two guards were posted at the door, to be witness to the proceedings and to lend protection, should the need arise. The guards were fuilteacha from County Meath and had been trained as druids before the days of St. Patrick. After turning, they focused their great capacity for memorization on creating powerful mental shields around the Tribunal. This force field prevented spies and wanton fuilteacha from interfering, and overhearing special assemblies of the Tribunal. The guards wore special hooded robes woven from the extracted essence of Na Fuilteacha. The gray, weary color blended into the stone walls of the Tribunal headquarters within Dowth. When the guards wore the hood, they appeared invisible to the unsuspecting mortal eye and to the undiscerning blood-drinker. Outside the room, guards flanked the hallway every twenty feet.

  Richard sat at the head of the table, wearing a crimson suit. Medb sat to his left in a silver, slim dress replete with cape. Paul, dressed in black from head to toe, was on his right at the table.

  “I call the meeting to order, the Tribunal meet to discuss the law of motherhood as it applies to one recently turned blood-drinker, named Moira. Are we in agreement to vote tonight on this matter?” Richard said.

  “Aye” said Medb.

  “Aye,” said Paul.

  “Do either of you have any last thoughts or statements pertaining to this vote?”

  “I believe, due to the unique set of circumstances of this case, we should proceed carefully. I believe in Brehon law, and I support it fully. But life can prove complicated. Common sense must rule. With Moira, she is both of Na Fuilteacha and a witch. One like her has never existed. We do not know the extent of her powers. The prophecy of her, as well. It could be a problem. She could be our demise or our savior. She is more powerful than the ancients and grows more so every day. She has not yet had the chance, the time to learn to control her powers or even gain wisdom and maturity required in handling them. She was turned in the throes of maternal instinct. If we push her, we may be overreaching and create more damage than if we gave her time and space to adapt,” Paul said.

  Richard sat, eyes narrowed, glaring at Paul. He crossed his arms.

  “Medb, do you have something to add to what Paul said?”

  Medb smiled at Paul. For a moment, Paul had the sensation of being a mouse, just milliseconds before the cat pounced.

  “Richard, thank you for asking,” Medb cleared her throat.

  “If what Paul says is true, then I believe fast, swift action is necessary. We must act in the interest of all Na Fuilteacha. If we show hesitation or inconsistency, we appear weak just when we need to be strong in the face of a growing rebellion.”

  “Aye. True, Medb. Very true,” Richard said.

  “Then we must vote. Medb, do you vote for or against immediate enforcement of the law of motherhood in the case of Moira?”

  “For.”

  “And Paul, do you vote for or against immediate enforcement of the law of Motherhood in the case of Moira?”

  “Against.”

  “As Taoiseach of the Tribunal, it is my job to break any tie in voting. Let it be known that we have one for and one against immediate enforcement of the law of motherhood, in the case of Moira. I vote for immediate enforcement of the law of motherhood, making the final vote two to one.”

  Paul sat still, focusing on Medb sitting directly in front of him. Medb caught his gaze, then looked down. He tried to discern Medb’s thoughts but was met with resistance. Medb raised her eyes and glowered at Paul.

  “Paul, instead of attempting to read my mind, maybe we can discuss how to enforce our decision. Will we call Moira here, or should we approach her in Scotland?”

  “I believe we should request Moira approach us. If something is to go wrong, it is better that we handle any crisis here in Ireland. What say you, Richard?”

  “Paul, in this at least, we agree. Medb, do you have thoughts contrary to requesting Moira’s presence at Tara?”

  “No. I agree. Bringing her to Tara is our best option.”

  “Okay, great. Then we must decide the application of t
he enforcement. The law of motherhood states a blood-drinker must either kill or abandon her child if the child is under the age of twelve. If the child is over the age of twelve, the fuilteach must abandon the child with no future contact. The blood-drinker has two boys, aged two years. We must decide. Abandonment, or death?”

  “Can we not let the mother choose?” Paul asked.

  “In some cases, yes. This case, as you pointed out, is special. I believe we must ensure the cailleach fuilteach is not tempted to reunite with her children and put our kind at risk,” Medb said.

  “What?” Paul jumped to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Medb, surely you can’t believe this. Moira is dangerous. It was bad enough to enforce this immediately. But to require death? You’re fecking nuts. Both of ya,” Paul said.

  “Paul sit down,” Richard said. “I won’t have you disturbing the order of this meeting.”

  Paul felt his heart racing. He hadn’t anticipated this and feared he underestimated Medb’s motivations.

  “I have to agree with Medb. In this instance, we must be fast and swift. We must make this final. If she is so attached to her children, she may not be able to resist the temptation of stepping back into their lives.”

  “Put to a vote, Medb, abandonment or death?”

  “Death,” Medb said.

  “Paul, abandonment or death?”

  “I cannot in good conscience vote either. I believe firmly this is a mistake. I won’t allow my name to be attached to this.”

  “Paul refuses to vote. However, I vote as well, and it makes two for the judgment of death of the mortal children.”

  “As Taoiseach, I declare we require Moira’s presence at Tara tomorrow night to hear our decision. Does anyone here protest the time and place?”

  Paul sat, shoulders slumped. He held his face in his hands, eyes closed. Medb looked at Paul, then to Richard, and smiled.

  “None oppose. We will speak again tomorrow evening, with Moira in attendance. Until tomorrow. Tonight I must feast,” concluded Richard.

  Richard rose, nodded his head to Medb, and disappeared from the room. Medb looked at Paul. “Paul, I ,too, will feed. I suggest you do as well. I’ll see you tomorrow. At Tara.”