The Castle

by J. B. Michaels

  “Both of you look like trash. Get your arses in the shower now. Not the same one now. Of course. Young man, down that hall. Maeve, down this hall.” Father Kieran pointed at Bud then the hall.

  “Gratitude is in order, Father. I do smell quite terribly,” Bud said.

  “I have noticed and worry the Lord’s waters won’t be able to wash the stink off ya. Very well, hurry it up now. We need to get you to Barrowland. Much to do. Much to do.”

  Maeve laughed. Hard.

  He walked back down the hall and closed the door to his room.

  Bud and Maeve both laughed.

  “He is absolutely fantastic.” Maeve smiled at Bud.

  “He is. And quite hyper.” Bud sent a smile back to Maeve.

  Their eyes met. They held the gaze for a moment, maybe two. Butterflies welled up in his chest. He’d never stopped and actually shared a happy moment with his friend. He noticed her smile for the first time. The only word he could think of in that moment: captivating.

  “See you in a few minutes, Hutchins. Be sure to wash everywhere so Father Kieran can stop worrying.” Maeve walked down her hallway.

  “But of course. It’s not like you smell of an English country garden yourself!” Bud walked down his hall to the shower.

  Ivy followed Bela around a corner that formed the perimeter of Castle McDougall’s courtyard. In the center stood a statue of a Roman Caesar. Roman Britain lasted for around 400 years, therefore, quite possibly, the statue dated back 1900 years, Ivy surmised.

  “Who is that?” Ivy asked Bela.

  “That is Constantinius.”

  “The emperor that adopted, endorsed, and forced Christianity on the empire. Interesting.”

  “Your knowledge of antiquity is most fascinating and will lend itself well to your work. I think you will love the lab I prepared for you.” Bela stopped and took out an iron key ring with giant keys. He opened a large door, his excitement palpable.

  The room had four tall, gothic windows that overlooked the lake. The walls were adorned with treasures that most likely belonged in a museum and not in Bela’s private collection. African tribal masks from Nubia, pieces of Mansa Musa’s gold, an Egyptian sarcophagus, and a medieval sword that supposedly belonged to William Wallace. The displays went on and on.

  Ivy gasped at the sight of the room, again, finding herself more comfortable and willing to let her nagging doubt dissipate. “Certainly impressive.”

  “Your work table is next to Richard the Lionheart’s armor. This is merely my showcase. I have a much more robust collection in the dungeon. What exactly is it that you need for the elixir? I assure you I have it.” Bela smiled.

  “Bela, I don’t know if I can recreate this or if it will even work on you. It might do absolutely nothing. It can possibly poison you. It contains mercury.”

  “That is a risk I am willing to take. You need mercury. What else?” The tone of Bela’s voice turned serious, his smile gone.

  Ivy sighed. Shook her head. “I need mercury and any dried food containers you may have in your collection. Mesopotamian in origin.”

  “I will be back shortly. Please feel free to peruse the collection on display here in the room.” Bela walked out and shut the door.

  The archaeology student put her hands on her hips then looked around again. She walked over to a space between the windows. The Rosetta Stone hung there. Not a replica. The stone. Ivy expected the area close to the windows to be cold. It wasn’t. A warm draft hit her left side. She noticed a fast-forming veil of fog roll out from somewhere underneath the window out over the rocks and the lake.

  A black spot formed in the cloud of fog. Ivy took a step away from the windows. A bat emerged from the fog and hit the window. It hovered and smacked against the window repeatedly.

  Ivy noticed something in its claws and walked closer. The bat held a note that read: Don’t trust him. Get out. NOW.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE PANIC

  Ivy held her breath for longer than she should have. Her vision started to fail. She finally let her breath out and gulped more air to fill her lungs and regain some semblance of cognizant consciousness. Over the last few days, she’d seen some strange, inexplicable things but none so pointed at her own livelihood. A bat that held a grim warning proved more chilling than the thump of a murderer’s boots or the pursuit of a killer. In those situations, she had had people to help her. She didn’t now.

  “Okay. Ivy. Relax. You can get out of this,” Ivy whispered to herself.

  The bat vanished. The fog dissipated.

  “Ah, I see you are admiring the Rosetta Stone. I assure it’s the genuine article.” Bela burst in through the door.

  “Again, impressive.” Ivy turned and faked a smile.

  Bela pulled in a metal cart lined with four containers then wheeled it over to the work desk next to the Lionheart’s armor.

  “I trust this will be more than sufficient for you to work with.” Bela enabled the brake on the cart’s wheels.

  “Yes, yes. I am sure it will be more than enough. I am going to need some time. A few hours. I have to make the right measurements and then test the toxicity levels to make sure it’s safe.”

  “Very well, then. I will check in on you periodically. If you need me, please just pull on the rope next to the door here. I will be over straight away. I have some other business to tend to. Thank you, Ivy. I am sure your father is proud of you for helping out his old friend.”

  “Thank you, Bela. I will let you know if I need you,” Ivy said.

  She watched him walk out of the room. His hunchback tumor looked worse and imbued a feeling of pity that Ivy couldn’t shake. The sound of the door’s closing chilled Ivy to the bone. She took a deep breath to gather herself. Her father seemed to trust him. Why trust a bat that held a grim warning in front of her face?

  Ivy shook her head, doubting her own senses. Had she really seen a frickin’ messenger bat? The more conflict that embroiled within the brilliant young archaeologist, the more she trusted her emotions. The feeling she’d experienced since she woke in this castle. Dread, the strength of which had started strong then weakened, now built back up to torrential rains pelting her sanity.

  Beakers and a microscope. Syringes and needles. A small portable Bunsen burner. She placed them on the workstation. The best course of action was to pretend and stall until she could figure a way out.

  Bud delighted in his hygiene. The shower and meal Father Kieran provided gave him and Maeve a much-needed boost in energy. He smiled to himself and examined the Burberry trench coat the good priest had loaned him. The same type of jacket his grandfather wore. His leather jacket had seen better days. Father Kieran drove them to Barrowland Park and the Celtic Movement studio.

  “Much gratitude for you, Father.” Bud opened the rear passenger door.

  “Least I could do. Least I could do. Now, use that phone I gave you to call me when you are ready to go.” Father Kieran turned his head away from the steering wheel of his Mini Cooper.

  “Will do, Kieran. Thanks.” Maeve patted his knee from the front passenger seat.

  Bud and Maeve exited the car then heard the screech of Father Kieran’s tires as he peeled out onto the street.

  The dynamic duo laughed once more at the Father’s hyperactive nature. Bud once again found himself drawn into Maeve’s hazel eyes. This time she looked back into his brown eyes and took a deep breath.

  “We’d better get going, Bud. Ivy needs us.”

  “Very good. She does. Let’s commence with the investigation.” Bud cleared his throat. The sign for Celtic Movement with the tree symbol etched behind the lettering sat above the doorway of the brown brick, four-story corner building.

  Bud tried the door. Locked.

  “Not the best start,” Bud said.

  “Look at this, Bud.” Maeve held up a flyer she’d ripped from a window of the studio.

  “Celtic Movement’s own Evince live tonight at the Barrowland Ballroom. Sold ou
t.”

  “It’s sold out, but we can probably get tickets from a local broker,” Maeve said.

  Bud looked into the studio. It appeared completely empty, not just of people, but of office supplies, a phone, a proper reception desk, or anything that would denote an active business.

  “This place doesn’t appear to be utilized at all, which begs suspicion. Yes, let’s get to an internet café. No need for a broker. I can procure tickets.”

  “Isn’t Evince the biggest New Age artist in Europe? My uncle loved his music. Seems like a small venue for him.” Maeve examined the flyer more closely.

  “Perhaps since he is local, he does more intimate shows for his hometown. Oft times, if artists have new material, they test the songs out on smaller audiences. They do shows like the one this evening as rehearsal for a larger tour. We definitely need backstage passes.”

  Maeve nodded her head. “Doors open in an hour.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ELIZABETH

  The exterior of the Barrowland Ballroom brandished an incredible rainbow light display akin to the Las Vegas strip, except in Glasgow. Bud noticed the line stretch for a considerable distance, at least three blocks.

  “We will bypass this line and head straight to Will Call, then maybe we can bypass that line. I was able to procure VIP passes that grant early access.” Bud looked both ways before crossing the street. There were many cars lining both sides. Bumper to bumper. Evince was indeed popular. The demographic ranged from college-age to squarely middle-aged and beyond.

  “How exactly did you get the VIP treatment for us? I mean, I saw you typing furiously at the internet café but wow.” Maeve walked next to him as they approached the Will Call window.

  “I didn’t. A man in the café lent us his credit card. He was using a public wireless signal with his phone, and I simply accessed all the information I could. I then used the credit card numbers to purchase the tickets. Don’t feel too bad. He had a platinum card.” Bud walked to the ticket window.

  “Two VIP passes under Gordon, please. Here is the confirmation number.” Bud handed over a piece of paper he’d printed from the café.

  “Great, one moment.” The enthusiastic teenager fumbled around in a drawer and pulled out two lanyards. “Here you go. No need for you to wait in line. Head straight for the doors to my right.”

  “Thank you.” Bud grabbed the passes from the counter and handed one to Maeve.

  “Let’s not rush in there, Bud. Let’s be smart about this.” Maeve could barely put the lanyard around her neck before Bud turned away from her and to the doors.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about being smart about anything. It’s implied, is it not?” Bud laughed.

  He opened the door and signaled for Maeve to go in first.

  “Bud. I mean it. We should slow down and see what we see.”

  “Let’s just get to the VIP room. We can discuss strategy in there.” Bud again walked past Maeve.

  A set of steps off to the left was roped off. A large man stood next to it. The bouncer.

  Bud walked straight to him. “We have VIP access. Can we be let up now, please?”

  “I can see ya have that pass. It’s ‘round yer necks.” The bouncer unlinked the rope whilst shaking his head at Bud.

  “Bud! Wait for me.” Maeve ran to the stairs.

  “On the double quick, Maeve!”

  “Something is not right with this place. This situation, Bud.” Maeve grabbed Bud’s left hand.

  “Yes, something is indeed not right. Ivy is missing. Let’s fix that.”

  “Welcome! Come on up. Please have a drink of your choice!” a female said from atop the stairwell.

  “Bud, I really don’t think we should go up there.” Maeve pulled on Bud’s hand.

  “Nonsense, Maeve.” He pulled his hand away from her and ascended the stairs.

  “I will have an Irish crème, if you have it.” Bud reached the top and got a better look at the female greeter. She had silver hair, young, attractive, and was dressed in a suit.

  “Henry, can you get that for him? Greetings, I am Elizabeth, Evince’s producer and assistant. He is getting ready to take the stage in a few ticks. Who might you be?”

  “I am Bud. This is Maeve.” He motioned to Maeve.

  “How do you do?” Elizabeth reached her hand to Maeve.

  “Wonderful. Excited to be here.” Maeve feigned a toothy grin and shook her hand.

  “Please grab your drinks and enjoy the show. If there is anything you need, please let me know.”

  “We will be in touch shortly. I have many questions for you about your incredible life working with such a prolific and brilliant artist, Elizabeth.” Bud walked with Maeve to the bar.

  “I am here to answer any questions you might have! I love conversations with fans.” Elizabeth smiled then turned to greet additional guests coming up the stairwell.

  “Bud. Her hands were ice cold. Like when you locked me in a freezer every night because I was a werewolf kind of cold,” Maeve whispered to Bud.

  “I noticed. Indeed, strange given how warm it is with all these people in the room.” Bud moved away from the bar to a table for watching the show.

  They had an elevated view of the concert stage. They were in a glass-encased VIP room typical of concert venues.

  The lights in the house dimmed. The crowd below cheered. The tuning routine typical of a grand orchestra sounded from the speakers on stage.

  “Bud, something wasn’t right with her. Really not right. Stay alert,” Maeve warned.

  Bud immediately stood up, with drink in hand, and stomped towards Elizabeth.

  A chanting choir sounded from the stage. More cheers from the crowd. Evince must have made his entrance.

  “Ms. Elizabeth, about those questions…”

  “Evince just got on stage. Aren’t you here to see—”

  “I have seen him several times. Do you work for Celtic Movement? What can you tell me about the tree symbol on your label?”

  “Sure. I am the owner of Celtic Movement Records, and the tree symbol represents the Celtic goddess Danu. You know, brand synergy.” Elizabeth was polite in her answer, but Bud could tell she was uncomfortable.

  “Any other business besides music that your label engages in? Like stealing future technology and kidnapping brilliant, young scientists?”

  Evince started to sing one of his enchanting, melodious New Age singles.

  “I am not sure what you mean. Perhaps you would like to just sit and enjoy the show with me.” Elizabeth’s demeanor had shifted. She put her hand on Bud’s face and looked deeply into his eyes.

  Bud, for some reason, could not look away. Her beauty compelled him. His eyes could not be moved. No matter how hard he tried. He attempted to pull his body away from her.

  She grabbed his belt and gently rubbed his crotch. The increasing levels of endorphins shooting from his endocrine system flooded his bloodstream. He desired this woman, lusted for her body. On the floor of the VIP lounge. In front of all these people. Didn’t even matter to him. The urge, too powerful to resist.

  “Bud! Get away from her now!” Maeve ran up and gripped Elizabeth’s neck.

  Bud stumbled backwards.

  “Bud. Listen to me! You need to get out of here now. Her hand was cold because she is a fricking vampire!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  BAR BATTLE

  Bud could barely make out what Maeve said. Elizabeth threw him from his crotch all the way across the lounge to the viewing window, then hard to the floor in front of a table. His shoulder pained him, its dislocation probable. Bud and the rest of the VIP Lounge watched a most unlikely occurrence: a bar fight at a New Age music concert.

  Maeve held Elizabeth’s neck with one hand then reached for her crucifix with the other. Before Maeve could grasp it, Elizabeth grabbed Maeve’s extended arm with both hands and swung Maeve into the bar.

  Splinters of wood burst upward. Two people attempting to g
rab drinks fell to the side then hit the floor hard.

  Elizabeth rubbed and rotated her neck. Bud could see the fangs that Elizabeth meant for all to see. She gnashed her teeth in an attempt to clear the room. It worked. The few VIP members scrambled to the stairwell.

  Evince sang another mellow yet cheerful song.

  Bud rubbed his shoulder.

  “Maeve, my dear, it might be time for you to gather yourself and—” Bud couldn’t breathe.

  Elizabeth lifted him from the floor and pinned him up against the viewing glass by his neck.

  “Oh, Bud, I thought we had a connection.” Elizabeth smiled, fangs bared.

  Bud started to shake from a lack of oxygen. He yanked at her cold hands with all his might, which just wasn’t all that impressive to begin with.

  “Let him go.” Maeve held her cross out in front of her and aimed it at the vampire.

  “But of course, my dear.” Elizabeth tossed Bud like a rag doll in Maeve’s direction.

  That was the second time she’d thrown Bud across the room. He landed at the door of the stairwell. Bud coughed, trying to gulp air back into his lungs.

  “You think that cross has an effect on me. You read that in some trashy novel, bitch.” Elizabeth laughed.

  Maeve didn’t waver from holding her cross. “Why aren’t you coming any closer?”

  “I just don’t know how I am going to clean up the mess after I kill you both. Don’t want the bad press. We have a new album coming out soon.”

  Elizabeth’s frankness surprised Bud.

  She picked up a table and used it to bull rush Maeve. Maeve sidestepped the charge, grabbed the vampire’s hair, and slammed her to the floor. The table somehow rolled its way to Bud and almost hit him in the head.

  The vampire lay motionless on the floor.

  Maeve ran over to Bud, still struggling to get to his feet.

  “Let’s get you out of here, Hutchins.”

  “That would be most acceptable given my current state.” Bud reached for Maeve’s outstretched hand.