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  Christian looked stricken for a moment before he turned away and looked out over the river.

  ‘No, I did not want to stop,’ he said, unable to face Martin. ‘But all I could think of was Sinead, Father. I forced myself to think of her. I was thinking of her when you pushed me aside.’

  Martin tilted his head.

  ‘That,’ Christian continued. ‘That would have stopped me. I swear to you.’

  ‘I know, my son. I know.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Christian’s eyes were suddenly wild, his hands gesticulating seemingly in several directions at once. ‘Oh no. I was meant to meet Sinead. I…I—’

  Martin had raised a hand in calming gesture.

  ‘She knows.’

  ‘She knows? N-No, that’s impossible.’

  Martin tapped the side of his head.

  ‘I sent her a message. She understood.’

  ‘But I should have… Really? You did that?’ He began to calm. ‘That’s amazing. Is that one of the skills that I will be able to do, you know, as I get older?’

  ‘Son,’ Martin said, ruffling the boy’s hair again and drawing a reproachful look. ‘With the strength that is growing within your heart, I think you are going to have all of the skills I have and more. Now shall we go home?’

  ‘Yes, Father. I am ready.’

  24

  Martin’s laughter filled the island and rolled in towards the mainland like a summer wave. Christian could not help but join in despite the fact that it was his mistake that caused the hilarity, and his concentration was hard to maintain as the giggles continued to burst from his lips.

  As had become their routine, the first hour after sunset was spent harnessing and refining Christian’s vampire abilities, and Martin had become a sympathetic and astute teacher. Until now. Sure that his son had learned most of the nuances of flight, Martin had wanted to push his adept student a little further and had instructed him on jumping into the air and resisting gravity on the downward motion to hover in place. It had started with simple running and leaping exercises, progressing rapidly to bouncing off the higher rocks on the island until finally Christian had been stood on top of the back of the tower, looking down at his father.

  ‘Concentrate,’ Martin encouraged. ‘Picture yourself pausing in the air as you fall.’

  ‘I can do this, Father,’ Christian replied. ‘I’ve done it before.’

  Just not from this high, he thought.

  Do not worry about the height. Remember the principles, his father replied, directly into his mind.

  Christian smiled. Of all the skills he had not accessed previously, it was the ability to hear without his ears that impressed the boy the most. He had also sworn to himself that he would not use it when it was not appropriate to do so, like when he was with Sinead. His father had already educated him that it was as much of a skill not to listen as it was to tune in. Martin had also warned him that if he did not control his roving ear, then the constant voices, hitting him from every angle every time someone had a thought, would drive him to insanity.

  Christian closed his eyes for a moment and focused, visualized himself a meter or so from the sand, arms out, knees bent and back straight. The breeze flicked his hair back from his forehead. He opened his eyes and jumped.

  His father had applauded when, without stutter and with no loss of balance, Christian dropped several meters and then, as if grabbed by a giant invisible hand, stopped stock still in the air.

  ‘Bravo, bravo,’ Martin cheered, unable to hide his pride. ‘Now see if you can turn around.’

  Martin had meant that Christian would pivot on one toe and rotate in the air until he came back to his starting position. Christian, however—in the midst of the euphoria he felt for completing what his father had defined as a more than difficult task—turned himself upside down. It was then that Martin began to howl with laughter, bent over as if he had been struck in the abdomen. Christian, realizing his error, began to laugh too, his vibrating legs almost causing him to topple. Finally he flipped himself back over and landed on the sand with a complete lack of style or grace. It did not matter to either of them, though, and they embraced, both still smiling.

  ‘That was good,’ Martin said, finally catching his breath. ‘To be able to maintain control when those around you are falling apart? That is a skill every man struggles to master, not just our kind. Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. You have taught me very well.’

  ‘And now, my son, would you like to practice more?’ Martin teased. ‘Or do you have a more pressing engagement this evening?’

  ‘Father!’ Christian scolded, walking around to the front of the tower.

  A shuffling sound filled the air behind him and he turned quickly. His father’s boots stood empty on the sand and his shirt had flopped to the ground on top of them. Christian brought himself around in a full circle, searching and squinting into the darkness. Suddenly, the black dog rounded the tower and came bounding towards him, his father’s old blue jeans in its mouth and the lace and ring safely around its neck. It sat down in front of Christian and seemed to be puzzling over something deep and meaningful. It let the trousers fall to the floor and turned its head out to sea, letting out a low and troubling growl.

  ‘What is it?’ Christian asked, following the dog’s gaze.

  ‘Nothing,’ said a human Martin as he began to pull on his jeans. ‘Just wanted to show you what you may still have to learn.’ He trotted back to his boots and shirt but carried them back to the entrance of their home instead of putting them back on.

  ‘Do you think one day I will…?’ Christian asked as they walked.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. You have progressed so far, it would not surprise me. But we must continue to be patient. It is better you learn your skills well and use them properly than rushing to learn many things but mastering none.’

  ‘Yes, Father. Of course. May I go now?’

  ‘You may. As ever, be careful, my son.’

  Across the sea in Skerries, Owen Flannery handed the binoculars back to Patrick Robinson without a word. He shook his head and walked from the bedroom and down the stairs while Robinson closed the blinds over. By the time he caught up with the boy, Owen was sat in the leather chair in the study. He had turned on every light switch he had passed on the way to his destination.

  ‘Well?’ asked Robinson.

  The boy was silent, brooding. Robinson was pleased.

  ‘I said well?’ he repeated.

  ‘I heard you,’ Owen barked.

  Robinson let the silence stretch out.

  ‘He’s getting…more. Isn’t he?’

  Robinson nodded.

  ‘That could make him more of a threat. To the town, I mean.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘More of a threat to our plan, too.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Have you done your part in this? Are there others who feel the same?’

  Robinson nodded again. He didn’t want to push the boy when Owen was so close to making the decision himself.

  ‘Sunday. We’ll do it Sunday.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Owen’s grin was a cruel one. ‘We’ll get rid of the demon on God’s day.’

  25

  Owen held the cooking prongs up to his mouth, the two tines of the fork the same width apart as his upper canine teeth. He had his mouth open as wide as he could force it. The metal tips had been overly sharpened and looked lethal as he bounced them off his teeth. Owen’s clumsy fist, the way it wrapped itself around the wooden handle like a Neanderthal ready to chomp on a boar’s leg, did not fill David with confidence.

  ‘Exactly the right width,’ Owen boasted. ‘It took me ages to bend them into shape, but if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it proper.’

  ‘Too right,’ said Frank, who had been desperately trying to get back onside with Owen ever since the night in the windmill. The pair bumped fists.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ D
avid asked.

  The three of them were in Owen’s room, packing a rucksack ready to take to the windmill to meet the girls and Christian. Owen plunged his hand under the pillow on his bed and pulled out the now battered copy of Dracula that Robinson had loaned him.

  ‘Have either of you read this?’ he asked.

  Frank and David shook their heads, even though David in fact had.

  ‘Didn’t think so. You want to know how they knew what it was attacking people? Two holes where the teeth went in. That’s what gave Dracula away to Van Helsing. And we’ve seen first-hand that he’s got those teeth. And now,’ he brandished the prongs, ‘so do we.’

  David swallowed hard.

  ‘Why me though?’ he asked.

  ‘When it all goes off, would you be able to drop him with one punch? No. Now me or Frank, we probably can, if he’s distracted. That’s why it’s you.’ Owen gave his friend a reproachful look as he threw the book back onto his bed.

  ‘Just asking,’ David grumbled. ‘I’m not going to back out. So where are you going to do it?’

  Owen pointed to his own neck, to the left side, just above his collar bone.

  ‘Just two little holes, right about here, and you start screaming the place down. We run outside yelling for help, and by the time the freak comes out, the whole town will be blaming him.’

  Frank dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a half bottle of cheap vodka.

  ‘Use that to sterilize the…’ He made stabbing movements with his hand. ‘The rest we can drink to celebrate afterwards.’

  ‘Or have a couple before. You know, to calm the old nerves,’ Owen said.

  Frank laughed along with Owen, and although David had a smile on his face, he felt no mirth and he fought to keep the tears from building up.

  Christian had his back to the town as the last of the sun dipped out of sight and night arrived in earnest. He looked across from the edge of the beach to the front door of the tower. As if on cue, the door swung outwards and his father emerged. He watched Martin stretch his arms up into the sky, tilting his head from one side to the other. Scanning the shore, he quickly spotted Christian and waved. The boy waved back, smiling. His father stopped waving and pointed, causing Christian to involuntarily look over his shoulder. His smile widened when he saw Sinead casually strolling down the beach towards him. He turned to wave once more to his father but chose instead to think it.

  Thank you, he projected.

  Good, came the reply, almost instantly.

  He brought his attention back to his girlfriend and jogged towards her.

  ‘Hey,’ he called.

  ‘Hey to you, too,’ she replied, and then they had their arms around each other.

  ‘No Alfie tonight?’ Christian asked. He liked the dog.

  ‘No. Would you believe my dad wants to start walking him, to get some exercise?’

  ‘Um.’

  ‘Go on, you can say it. About time?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly…’

  ‘Don’t worry about it; it’s all we’ve done at home. But he’s stuck to it.’

  ‘So with no Alfie, what’s our plan for tonight?’ he asked as they drew apart.

  Sinead turned and began walking back up the beach towards town, taking Christian’s hand in hers as she went. The nights had gotten colder and colder as the months had rolled on, but at least the weather had remained dry. The beach and surrounding paths were next to empty as the cold wind blew in off the sea at their backs. The sand grass was virtually horizontal as they walked through it.

  ‘Well,’ Sinead said, with a little sigh. ‘Claire borrowed the key for the windmill again, so I guess her and the boys will be there. Probably not much going on, just hanging out. The boys will likely be drinking again.’

  ‘I don’t mind drinking so much lately,’ Christian said with a cheeky smile that Sinead did not quite understand. ‘My father and I, we’ve drunk together a little bit lately and I’ve learned that it is not as bad as I first thought.’

  ‘Oh, so you’d want to go there, then? Claire said the boys had mentioned you were totally welcome. I think they’re trying hard to make it up to you, you know, for how they tried to antagonize you.’

  ‘They’re alright, and you would like to see Claire, wouldn’t you?’

  She couldn’t help her smile. ‘Have I told you that you are very sweet?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But do it again. I like it.’

  ‘Well, you are very sweet.’ She stopped walking, pulling his hand to bring him to a stop next to her, and kissed his cheek.

  ‘What time do they want us there?’ Christian asked.

  ‘Not for a while yet.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, and kissed her in return.

  Martin dragged a chair from the kitchen and sat just inside the doorway of the tower, out of sight if Christian was to look back from the mainland. He did this every time the boy went across to Skerries, but Martin would never tell him. He sat and he watched and he waited, but mainly he listened. If the boy had learned only one thing during the time they had spent training together over the recent weeks, Martin hoped it was to call to his father without opening his mouth. If that was the case, and if Martin was always ready, then Christian would always be safe.

  He could not put his finger on why he had become so concerned lately. Maybe it was Christian’s involvement with the girl, or maybe that was just a convenient excuse for an anxious father. No, there was something more, something intangible, hiding just out of reach. Something that had made Martin even more cautious, less trusting of people. Except Connor, of course. Maybe he would speak with Connor in private at the next town meeting, ask him if he was aware of any reason why Martin felt that things in the town had shifted, were changing. But that was for another day. Now was for being there should Christian need him.

  Robinson pressed the red button on his phone, ending the call. Everything was coming together very quickly. The land deal, the locals starting to put their belief in him, and of course Owen Flannery’s little act of drama this evening. The old shoe box sat on the bed next to him. He had been putting it away when Owen had called to say that everything was ready to roll. As ever, he had made sure the photo frame was facedown, carefully wrapped in thick tissue paper.

  ‘Soon,’ he whispered.

  26

  Owen insisted at stopping at the shop on the way to the windmill after they had met up with Claire, and she had used her ID to buy a crate of beer to go with the vodka. Before Christian and Sinead had arrived, each of the boys had consumed two cans each as well as a couple of slugs of vodka, and their confidence in their project had grown with their buzz. Claire stuck strictly to the vodka. As they sat in silence inside the windmill, she tried hard to convince herself that what they were doing was actually protecting her friend; that, at some point down the line, Christian would hurt Sinead, and by intervening now she was helping to stop that from happening. Finally the silence was broken when they heard footsteps closing in on the door, and they broke out into their planned conversation about the state of the Ireland rugby team.

  ‘No, listen,’ Owen was saying loudly when Sinead stepped inside. ‘He’s the best player we’ve ever had; you keep him in the team until he says it’s time to quit. He led us to the Grand Slam for… Hey, Sinead. Is Christian with you?’

  Sinead held the door open and Christian entered with a shy smile.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ Owen said standing up and patting Christian on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you again. We were just talking rugby. Take a seat.’

  Christian glanced at Sinead, noticing that her eyebrows were furrowed. She looked worried. He had been too as they had approached the windmill. It was extremely quiet, not just on an audible level, but beyond that. Trying to put his concerns behind him, he remembered Sinead’s comment to the group the last time they had come here, that the noise they were making inside was easily picked up on the outside. Maybe they were just being respectful, not just of the neighbors but also
of Sinead.

  He took a seat on the floor and Frank passed him a can of beer.

  ‘But if you’d prefer some of this?’ he said, shaking the vodka bottle in Christian’s direction.

  ‘I’ve never tried that before.’

  ‘Ah, just take a big mouthful. You’ll be alright.’ Frank smiled, unscrewing the cap off the bottle.

  ‘Whoa, if he’s not had it before it’ll blow his head off,’ said Owen as he reached over and snatched the vodka from his friend. He adjusted Frank’s hand so the bottle top was held like a small glass, and he drizzled a tiny amount of vodka into the cap.

  ‘Try that,’ he said to Christian, gently pushing Frank’s arm in his direction. ‘If you like it, try some more. If not, we’ve got the beer.’

  Sinead watched the scene play out, her emotions leaping from one extreme to the next until Owen’s attentive behavior finally put her at ease. Having relaxed, she could not help but smile when Christian instantly sprayed the alcohol out of his mouth.

  ‘Sorry,’ he gasped. ‘That burns.’

  Frank and Owen both laughed, and even Christian could feel that it was not in a malicious manner.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t try it from the bottle,’ he said, trying to laugh too.

  ‘Here you go,’ Owen said, passing Christian a can. ‘That’ll take away the sting, won’t it, Dave?’

  David had sat pretty much in silence throughout the entire exchange. Owen was concerned that Sinead would pick up on there being something wrong if he carried on like that.

  ‘Dave?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yeah. Definitely. Definitely.’

  The glare that Owen was directing at David softened into a friendlier look and a nod. Frank engaged Christian in conversation, and Owen was pleased to see that Claire was keeping her part of the bargain and occupying Sinead, catching up on what had been going on between Sinead and the little freak, he was sure.

  Christian’s head snapped to Owen, a puzzled look on his face.