Son of Blood Page 4

  She would be a better vampire than me, he thought as his father approached him and Mooney clambered, with some difficulty, into the front seat of the police car. Hawke started the engine, the roar cutting through the quiet of the night and making it very clear that he was not impressed with having been dismissed.

  ‘I have some work to do now, boy. I don’t want this to become a discussion tonight, but you are not coming with me,’ Martin explained as he watched the car pull away from them, the red taillights rapidly shrinking into the distance.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘We’ve been over this before—.’ He paused. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Father, it is okay. I understand.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, good. Then follow me.’

  Martin walked back towards the swimming deck, knowing it was sheltered from the houses and pubs that overlooked the headland. Before they had even reached their destination, Martin had removed his jacket and, once out of sight, he quickly removed the rest of his clothes. Christian took the jeans, shirt and jacket from his father, who, as was the norm, placed his boots on top.

  ‘Read, get some sleep, but do not eat. Tonight, you shall drink properly.’

  ‘Be careful, Father.’

  Martin winked at his son and dropped to his hands and knees. Christian looked across the sea to their home, and then felt something cold nuzzle the fingertips of his left hand. A huge black dog stood where his father had been, a leather lace tight around its neck, a gold ring hanging like a tag. The dog barked once, deep and resonant, and was gone, sprinting into Skerries.

  Christian watched the dog as it began its hunt, kept his eyes on it until he could see it no longer, and then climbed over the rocks until he found a covered, dry area within the rocks. He stashed his father’s clothes deep in the little cave and then scanned the rest of the Head for signs of life before scurrying back onto the footpath. He pulled at his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, unable to determine if it was neat and tidy, yet unsure whether neat and tidy was how his hair was meant to look, how she would prefer it.

  As he rounded the bend in the path and could finally look down onto the beach, he could see the dog scampering away, leaving a trail of devastation in the sand behind it. He could hear Sinead’s laughter as the dog caught the ball she had thrown and now turned and bounded back towards her.

  He could have done something showy, something arrogant, like flying in from the sea, or he could even have jumped down the last ten feet from the path to the water’s edge, but he did not want to seem cocky, and he certainly did not want to scare her. Instead he jogged down the steps, calling her name as he set foot on the beach.

  She turned to face him, the slobbery ball now wrestled from the dog’s mouth and in her hand. She wore blue jeans and boots, a red puffer jacket with a swoosh logo that Christian did not recognize. She began to smile but her face quickly warped into a grimace as she realized the dog was now veering directly towards Christian with teeth bared.

  ‘Alfie! No!’ she hollered, slipping as she tried to intercept her pet, her boots gaining no traction as the dry sand moved under her feet.

  The dog charged closer, its head close to the ground, a growl building in its throat.

  ‘ALFIE!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Christian coerced, dropping to his knees, sand sticking to his jeans. ‘It’s okay, isn’t it, boy?’

  Alfie slowed his sprint to a trot, and when he finally reached Christian, the dog rolled over onto its back, exposing its golden belly.

  ‘Good boy, good boy,’ he said, smiling at Sinead as she staggered up to him.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I thought he was going to…’

  ‘It’s okay. He was protecting you, but now he knows you have nothing to fear from me.’

  ‘I knew that already, Christian,’ she said softly.

  He pushed himself to his feet, dusted the sand off his palms and reached a hand out towards her.

  ‘Shall we walk?’ he asked.

  She looked around, up towards the parking lot.

  ‘Has my father gone?’

  ‘Yes, my father—your father?’

  ‘Yes, my father. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No… Know what…no… I…’

  She tilted her chin to one side, ‘You really don’t know, do you?’

  He shook his head, stunned.

  ‘Connor Mooney. Mayor Mooney. He’s my father.’

  8

  ‘I just cannot believe that he’s your—’

  ‘Christian! Enough, please,’ Sinead demanded with a giggle. They had walked the whole length of South Beach, Alfie tucked in faithfully at Christian’s heel but occasionally sprinting off to retrieve the ball when his mistress lobbed it ahead. Now the dog lay on the sand, panting and tired, but his tail was still working like a windscreen wiper. Christian and Sinead sat side by side on the rocks so they couldn’t be seen from the road that looped out of town behind them.

  Now and then, a frown crossed Christian’s face; he could hear her words, even when her mouth was not moving. Not sentences, but mixed up words. He tried to focus but could not maintain a whole thread.

  … Really…age… Kiss?... No!...

  ‘So you’re honestly eighteen?’ she asked, her voice softer, her face as pale as Christian’s in the dark. As she spoke, she failed to see her companion jump a little as if he had suddenly been pulled from a deep sleep.

  ‘I guess so. It’s what my father says I am, so I must be.’

  ‘But you don’t know?’

  ‘Not for sure. But for me, I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?’

  She chewed on her lower lip, stared out across the sea, watched it rush in against the shore with not so much the crash of cymbals as the gentle shaking of a tambourine.

  ‘I never thought of it like that.’ She paused and turned to face him. ‘But I think of you often.’

  Alfie let out a low whine from his place on the beach before turning his head and barking over his shoulder.

  ‘What is it, boy?’ Christian tore his eyes away from Sinead as the dog hopped to its feet and barked down the beach, the fur along its spine standing on end.

  Martin sprinted along the road, nose twitching as he ran, head swinging left and right as he sought the scent of his prey. The world around him had a red tinge; his peripheral vision was obscured, but the odors in the air painted a much brighter picture. It was always that way when he took on this form.

  He paused, dropped his nose to the ground, sniffed, and then drove forward with his sleek haunches, powering along the footpath. He was travelling so fast by the time the scent veered off to his right that he missed the turning, his paws unable to gain traction on the tarmac. Instead he loped around in a wide circle until he came to the break in the hedge. With a rumbling growl, he prowled forward.

  Alfie continued to bark into the blackness, first bounding forward and then retreating when he realized he was moving too far away from his mistress. Christian had joined him on the sand and was squinting, eyes narrow slits trying to see what had alerted the dog, when the first voice rang out.

  ‘Well, what do we have here?’

  A cigarette lighter flared and weakened to a single floating flicker hanging in the air. Another fire blossomed, creating a pair of red eyes that stared at Christian and the dog. Sinead jumped down from her place on the rocks and hooked the leash onto Alfie’s collar, but she said nothing.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sinead? Freak got your tongue?’

  Owen, David and Frank walked into view, the bruise around Owen’s eye noticeable even in the dark of the night.

  Alfie barked again, pulling on his lead until Christian, without taking his eyes off the three boys, dropped to his knees and whispered to the dog. Alfie, with a sigh, settled down into a sitting position on the sand. Owen watched and shook his head.

  ‘Is that what impresses you? That the freak can talk with animals? What else did you expect? He’s nothing but an animal himself.’

&nb
sp; Frank and David, both sucking on their cigarettes, laughed nervously as Christian stood up.

  ‘Owen, just go away,’ said Sinead, her voice high and stressed.

  ‘Let’s see him make me go away,’ he said, raising his fists into a boxer’s stance as he stepped towards Christian. ‘Come on, your daddy isn’t here to protect you now.’

  The black dog followed the narrow path through the trees until it opened up at the back of the towns Co-op farmland. He could now see the scent within his predominantly red field of vision as a wispy green trail leading to the door of one of the sheds. The lock had been forced off and lay on the grass. Martin approached the door and barked loudly, then pawed at the wood as he growled. He heard sounds from inside, like someone had been suddenly disturbed. He had found his victim.

  Martin took a deep breath, his nose quivering as he inhaled the cold air. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and stood up. A moment later, he stretched out his left hand in front of him and observed it. The black hair was gone. Where there had been a paw, there were now fingers. He turned his hand over and examined the scuff marks on his palm. Keeping his arm extended he stepped forward, curling his hand into a fist, and punched the door to the shed. It snapped and fell with a satisfying crash.

  The smell hit Martin first, urine and sweat mixed with pesticides and plant food. The vagrant wore filthy sneakers that may have once been white, stained jogging pants and a battered grey duffel coat. He was desperately trying to drag himself to his feet, laying in a mess of fallen shelves and seeds and old paint pots. As Martin stepped into the shed and stood over him, he froze. Martin grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him to his feet, dragging him outside.

  ‘Please… I…’ whimpered the man, his face full of stubble and dirt, his hair unwashed and uncut, the tears that rolled down his cheeks cutting valleys through the filth on his skin.

  Martin readjusted his grip, bent his knees and pushed upwards. He and the man shot into the air, leaving one rotten training shoe behind on the grass.

  Owen stepped in and threw a short jab with his left hand, missed, repeated the action and missed again, then swung a heavy right-handed haymaker. Christian stepped to the side and Owen’s fist connected with air. He lost his balance and fell over onto the sand.

  Alfie barked, jumping and pulling on his lead as Sinead shouted for Frank and David to intervene. Christian skipped away from Owen and was careful to keep Owen’s two friends in view at all times. Their cigarettes had fallen to the ground and they stood rigid. Owen pushed himself up onto his knees, spitting sand out of his mouth.

  ‘You do not want to do this,’ Christian said, standing in front of his former tormentor.

  ‘Oh, yes I do,’ snarled Owen, scrambling forward and throwing himself into a rugby tackle aimed at Christian’s waist.

  Christian elevated himself over the onrushing bulk, gently exerting a little pressure onto Owen’s back with his toes as he passed underneath, sending him crashing face first into the sand once again. Christian landed as Owen leapt to his feet, the beach plastered all over him.

  ‘Boys!’ he yelled, bringing Frank and David out of their stupor. ‘Let’s take him down.’

  Christian shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t try that if I were you,’ he said as the three boys took up positions next to each other.

  ‘We’ll take our chances, freak.’

  ‘Owen, I think you’ll find that I’m not a freak.’

  ‘If you’re not a freak, what the hell are you?’

  Martin continued to fly. Even he felt the cold up here. The vagrant had stopped trying to wriggle free and now only shivered in Martin’s arms. A soft, white frost coated his skin and Martin knew that the body would be directing the blood away from the extremities, keeping it around the vital organs. The man inhaled sharply, his eyes rolling around uncontrollably in their sockets.

  ‘What are you?’ he whispered, the lack of oxygen draining away his voice.

  Martin tilted his head back and opened his mouth as wide as he could. He closed his eyes tightly as his canine teeth extended out from his gum, rivulets of blood running free as the pink matter stretched and split.

  ‘I am death,’ hissed Martin, and he tore out the man’s throat.

  Crimson, oxygen-starved blood spurted across Martin’s face as he hungrily sucked at the wound. He halted his upward movement and hung in the air, oblivious to anything and everything around him. He jammed his left hand tight over the gash to stem the flow and licked at the blood smeared across his face.

  ‘I am death,’ he whispered again, but this time there was no one to hear him.

  Christian dropped his chin to his chest, eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of him. He could sense the boys’ fear, but they were stubborn; they felt the situation had gone too far, that they could not back down. Alfie continued to bark and Sinead tried to silence him, dragging the dog away from the brawl. Without lifting his head, Christian reached out a hand towards the dog, which immediately dropped onto the sand in silence. Sinead gasped as he did so, shocked by how suddenly a stillness fell over the scene.

  ‘So come on, show us what you are,’ said Owen, taking a step forward.

  Christian raised his head, looking Owen in the eye. He smiled grimly, showing his huge canine teeth. He flicked his tongue across one of them, letting it draw blood. His eyes were wild.

  ‘This is what I am. I am a vampire, like my father,’ his body began to lift off the ground. ‘And if you do not leave this place, then I shall strike you down.’

  Frank and David had turned and run as soon as Christian had smiled. Owen stood there, the front of his jeans soiled, and as Christian’s feet reconnected with the sand, he turned and bolted too, falling twice before the darkness swallowed him. Christian sank to his knees, his body shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. He turned his head towards Sinead, his teeth retracting as he spoke.

  ‘That is not what I am,’ he murmured, distracted. ‘They pushed me, they…’

  His voice stuttered to a stop, and he got to his feet and ran out towards the sea. She saw him leap, like a diver, but heard no splash.

  ‘I know that’s not who you are, Christian,’ she said, Alfie studying her as he gave a little whimper. ‘I know.’

  9

  Sinead walked up the beach, through the tall sand grass, and onto the path. Alfie stayed close by her side, his ears flat against his head and his tail sheepishly tucked between his legs as his mistress rubbed away the tears that leaked from her eyes. They walked past the front of the rugby club, their shadows merging below the harsh street lights. Through the blur, Sinead’s eyes scanned the road ahead, hoping that Owen and his idiot friends had the common sense to take off for home and were not skulking around, spoiling for more trouble.

  Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

  Alfie stopped dead in his tracks, crouching low on his front legs. Sinead froze, staring into the dark. If Owen couldn’t best Christian, then maybe he would be nasty enough to take it out on her.

  But Alfie loosened up just as quickly, and Christian stepped out of the shadows.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked as he made his way to her. Alfie pulled hard against his lead until he could jump up and place his paws on Christian’s chest, his tongue trying to lap at the boy’s face.

  ‘I will be once I get home,’ she said, wiping at her eyes, trying to remove the evidence of her frustration..

  ‘They won’t bother you again.’

  Her eyes grew wide. ‘What have you…?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ Christian said calmingly, reaching out and placing a hand on her elbow, hating that she flinched as he did so. ‘I followed them, watched them, until they had all gone home.’

  He let the silence hang in the air for a moment.

  ‘Please do not fear me. There are many things about me that you do not know, but you must know that.’

  She took his hand from her elbow and grasped it in her own, searching his eyes.

/>   ‘Since I first saw you, I wanted to get to know you. I’ve always known the stories, heard the “legend” of your father…but you, you always seemed different.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, stepping in closer. The only sound was the sitting dog’s tail as it dragged across the tarmac.

  As they stood, hands still firmly entwined, Christian pondered her words. And then it struck him.

  ‘My father!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have to go. My father, he’ll be back.’

  ‘But I… When will I…?’

  ‘Tomorrow. An hour before sundown. On the field between the sports fields and the windmills. Do you know where I mean?’

  ‘Yes, but before sun—?’

  ‘Can you be there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He turned to go, realized their hands were still linked. He smiled at her.

  ‘I will be there too.’

  He released his grip and ran towards the beach. Alfie jumped to his feet and barked after him. Sinead watched him go, her pulse racing, her mind whirling.

  Christian stumbled onto the island; his skills may have been developing, but he’d come in too fast, too high and too anxious to truly feel the air currents around him and use them to his advantage. His father’s boots slid from the top of the pile of clothes he carried and bounced across the rocks, the sound making the gulls perched on top of the tower scatter, their screeches and frenzied flapping adding to Christian’s stress.

  As he gathered the boots, he noticed for the first time that the door to the tower was open, the lit candles casting light and shadow across the internal walls, making the inside of the building look awash with flames. As he stood up and steeled himself for his father’s rage, a voice made him jump, dropping the clothes to the ground.