Moira's Song

by Lee, Tawnya

  “I’m sorry, Moira.”

  “It is what it is. But it fucking sucks, for sure,” Moira said.

  They sat in silence the rest of the way to the airport. They boarded the jet and started the sixteen-hour flight. When Moira settled the boys in, she sat down at a table across from Seara.

  “I’ve never flown before, much less on one that had tables. What about turbulence?”

  “Well, if the flight does get bumpy, we’ll be asked to sit at our seats and buckle in. But we’ll be fine.” Seara pulled a blood bag from a cabinet wall, poked a hole with a straw, and sipped.

  “Perfect temperature. Here, have one.” She handed Moira another bag.

  The bag was warm to Moira’s touch. “What is it?”

  “It’s blood kept at a perfect 98.6.”

  “If we can drink blood from bags, why bother killing people for it?”

  “Well, first, blood straight from the vein will always be the freshest, best source of food for us. But because we can’t hunt while on the plane, this is the next best thing. It has to be kept at body temperature. Blood will go bad quickly otherwise, and it’s worse than drinking from animals. The nitric oxide in the blood drops within hours of leaving the body. Once that happens, it’s spoiled. Without having either a fresh source or a means of replenishing the nitric oxide, it can make a blood-drinker very sick. Keeping it fresh like this requires preservatives and is expensive. So, fresh is best.”

  Moira sipped the blood. A delicious warmth spread through her body. She finished the bag quickly. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.” Moira put the bag aside.

  “When we get to Scotland it’ll be daylight. We will need to be very careful. We have hooded garments, and Breasal has arranged for a car to pick us up from the airport. Sunlight won’t be an issue. From there, we’ll go straight to his home. It’s lovely there. You’ll enjoy the view. I spent a lot of time in Edinburgh after turning.”

  “Was it difficult? Were you mad someone had turned you?”

  “At first. I dealt with a lot of anger about not ever knowing if I could have a life with Clara. I got depressed. That’s why I left Ireland. I needed a change of scenery. The constant reminders of what my life used to be was too hard to deal with at the time.”

  “Have you ever turned anyone? Made them a vampire?”

  “No. I didn’t want to put anyone through the suffering.”

  Moira wondered if she would ever turn anyone. She sympathized with Seara. The idea of making someone else suffer and grieve as everyone they knew died around them seemed like a horrible thing to do. Immoral even.

  “Moira, I know you’re angry with Breasal. I get why. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have children and watch them grow and die as you hide in the shadows. Your anger is justified. He believes he did what was right. And it is what it is now. Once you get past the grief of it all, you may feel different. He’s been around a very long time. Longer than just about any of us. His perspective is different. What feels like a lifetime to us is but a week to him. I think his ability to see how much and how little has changed over time has altered his perception of right and wrong. It might seem like he’s being callous, but his intention is to only do what he feels has to be done for the good of everyone.”

  “I can’t forgive him. Not yet. I’m only here because I’m smart enough to know that I have no fucking clue how to care for my kids considering what he did to me.”

  Moira’s jaw clenched and she gripped the ends of her arm-rest. The fabric of the arm-rest began to smoke and sizzle.

  “I understand that. And I’m here for you. I mean this. Not as Breasal’s friend, but hopefully yours too. For as long as you need me.”

  Seara touched Moira’s elbow; euphoria flooded Moira’s body. Moira relaxed, the rage that had been growing inside her diminished. She let go of the arm-rests and let out a sigh.

  “Sorry for doing that. I just didn’t want to see you disrupt flight panels and knock us out of the sky.”

  Moira smiled.

  “I get it. And thanks. I’ve always had a bit of a temper. It’s gotten worse since, well you know.”

  “Yeah. I know. Has Breasal mentioned the rebellion to you?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Well, there’s something you should know. Once, ages ago, I made a mistake. I gave them information I shouldn’t have. And they used that information to try and kill the Taoiseach. It was a right fecking mess. I’ll spare you the details, but Breasal put his faith in me when no one else would. He punished me, no doubt. But he gave me another chance. And even if he isn’t in the Tribunal he has his ways. Other blood-drinkers respect him. If he can get me through that, he can help you.”

  “Why isn’t he in the Tribunal? I mean, if he’s so great and all, why not be the leader?”

  “Breasal respects the leaders. He was instrumental in forming it, in deciding to honor our heritage by using our language for the titles of the Tribunal. But he doesn’t like to always play by the rules. He didn’t want to be bound by that. Plus, he can have a bit of an ego. Think about it. He named himself after a god. I think he’s actually afraid the power would twist him even more into something he doesn’t want to be. I think staying out of the Tribunal is his way of retaining what little humanity he has left.”

  Moira looked down at her lap and frowned. It made sense. But it didn’t make her like him any more, either.

  “Thanks for letting me know. If you don’t mind...” Moira pointed to the books beside her.

  “Of course. Let me know if you need to talk or anything.”

  “I will.”

  Moira spent the rest of the flight reading volumes of Scottish history and listening to Celtic music on an iPad Breasal gave her. She particularly enjoyed the Dubliners, and hummed along to “The Black Velvet Band”. She enjoyed that song most. After a while, the boys became fussy. She took turns with Seara, feeding and rocking them until they fell asleep. Then she watched Office Space on an in-flight entertainment system.

  The captain announced the descent into Inverness. Moira gathered the boys, corralling toys and shoes and refilling sippy cups. Seara handed Moira a heavy, hooded robe with gloves.

  “Put these on before we land.”

  Moira nodded and took the garments. She put on the hood and gloves and prepared to exit.

  The landing was uneventful and Moira, Seara, and the boys were quickly whisked into an awaiting limousine. Kali lay sleeping in her carrier next to Moira on the seat.

  The windows were so darkly shaded Moira was able to lower her cape and look out the window. She was struck by how deeply green the grass appeared to her. They followed the road through a circular exit. A small rock wall partitioned part of the side from the drive.

  They sat in the car in mostly silence. The boys chattered, asking “Where are we?” and “Where’s Breasal? Are we going to see Breasal?” Moira mumbled answers to them, too taken with the scenery to say much. She stared out at the water, watching the blue waves dance and foam.

  “Moray Firth,” Seara said. “We’re about to cross the Kessock bridge. We’ve made it to South Kessock.”

  Moira watched the signs, the water, the clouds, the little houses that dotted the coast. “Welcome to Ross and Cromarty. What’s that?”

  “It used to be something like a county, a district area of the Highlands. We won’t be long now,” Seara said.

  Moira nodded. After a while, the car turned off onto an older, rough asphalt road lined with trees. It curved a few times, and then the car stopped at a gate, which slowly opened for them.

  It was beautiful, no doubt. A brick-paved drive led to the back of the home. The house itself was a multilevel flagstone. The view to the other side of the inlet was breathtaking. Even Seara, who had seen the bay many times, took time to appreciate the view before getting out of the car. Moira pulled her hood on and gazed at the manicured lawn.

  “This is North Kessock,” Seara said.

  Once inside, Breasal greet
ed them along with two women in crisp black uniforms. The entranceway of the home was covered in white and gray marble. To the left of the door, a staircase spiraled to the second floor. The steps were covered in the same marble. The stair railing was a faux black wrought iron. Over the main sitting room, hung a matching chandelier. A French-provincial style sofa sat beneath the lighting with two pale silver chairs on each side. At the back of the sitting room, an archway led to the kitchen area. Moira held the cat carrier in one hand and gaped at her surroundings.

  “This,” said Breasal pointing to women in black uniforms, “is Nanny Piper and Nanny Beckett. They are highly trained and will help you care for the boys. I’ve explained to them the nature of your blood condition, and your aversion, photo-sensitivity, to the sun. They understand you’ll need round-the-clock help with the boys. They are here and will rotate shifts and overlap to ensure the boys, and you, are well cared for. And this,” he pointed to Moira, “is my niece.”

  “Thank you, Breasal.” Moira set the carrier down and greeted each lady. She introduced the boys to their new nannies. Nanny Piper had an open, sweet expression. Short, bobbed, blond hair framed her round face. Her blue eyes and naturally pink cheeks reminded Moira of a child too innocent to understand or sense the danger lurking near her, a room full of immortal blood-drinkers. Nanny Beckett was thin and reedy with long arms and a long neck. Her face was uneventful. Brown hair, brown eyes, thin lips. Everything about her screamed, “nothing exciting ever happens here.”

  They were efficient yet not cold. The nannies seemed to understand the needs and temperament of children. The boys took to their new nannies without fuss. Moira asked Breasal to show her to her room, and he obliged. Up the staircase and to the right, he pointed the way to her room.

  “I’ve set up a litter box in the bathroom closet. Bowls of food and water are there too. You’ll be wanting to leave the cat in the closet a while I trust? Get used to her new space?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Moira took the cat and released her into the closet. The closet itself was roughly four by six feet. On the back wall stood a space organizer filled with towels and toiletries. Kali mewed loudly, and crouched, suspicious, smelling everything in her immediate area. Hungry, she nibbled some food then pounced up on the top of the linen shelves to view everything from a safe distance. Her eyes wide, round, and yellow, the cat appeared to be just as overwhelmed by the change as Moira was.

  Moira shut the door to the closet and took a look around her new space. The bathroom was covered with the same marbling as the flooring downstairs. The faucets and fixtures were silver, and light lavender towels were hung on the wall beside a large garden tub.

  The focal point of her bedroom was the four-poster bed. It was large, larger than she needed. But it was beautiful. The bed was made of ash and oak wood. The columns were carved with ravens. At the bottom of each column was a square wood joint. The front of the bed frame was etched with Celtic knots. The coverlet was deep crimson. In the center of the bedspread was a gold embroidered Tree of Life. Black, gold, and red pillows covered the head of the bed. To the side on the wall, long black curtains covered two windows. The nightstand, book case, and dresser had smaller embellishments that matched the bed-frame. Moira laid down and immediately fell asleep.

  Later that night, Moira put the boys down for bed and ensured Nanny Piper and Nanny Beckett had baby monitors on and were ready in adjoining rooms down the hall from the boys. For safety and convenience, the nannies were required to live on the premises with her boys. Moira felt at ease knowing they were close at hand should Derek and Tristan need anything.

  Moira went to her own room and opened her closet. She saw two rows of neatly pressed garments. She could tell the fabric was expensive. She touched the edge of the hangers and let her fingers run across the fabric. She saw blacks, browns, and some reds. All her colors. She selected a slimming black dress, full-length, with scoop neck and black and eggshell laced arms. She checked the label and gasped. Dolce and Gabbana. She undid the dress she was wearing and let it slide to the floor. She pulled the new dress over her head and looked in the mirror. Never in her mortal life had she even worn a full price dress from Dillards. She could only imagine the dress she had on now was worth more than the car she used to drive. It fit exquisitely. She looked like the perfect cailleach fuilteach.

  She turned out the light in her room and walked to the kitchen. Breasal and Seara were waiting for her.

  Seara grinned. “It’s time to go hunting” she said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Let Nessie Have the Rest of Him

  The three made quite a stunning trio. Seara wore a deep purple sheath dress. Her hair was swept into an up-do, an intricate weave of braids and curls. Breasal looked classic in his slim black Valentino suit. His beauty rivaled the latest Hollywood heartthrob. They were red-carpet worthy. Together, they flew to Inverness and walked down Academy Street. They passed various curry shops and clothing stores. The streets were flooded with people. Moira winced, and grabbed Seara’s arm.

  “You alright?” Seara asked.

  “Yeah. Just these fucking pains. They’re not as strong. Happens less now, but man can it sting,” Moira said. “Kind of takes me by surprise. Just give me a minute, will ya?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  After a few moments, Moira breathed out. “Ok. All better now. Let’s go.”

  They walked from club to club. At each place, Seara and Breasal would look around, nod at each other and head back out. Moira followed the two older vampires, glowering every time they left yet another restaurant or club empty-handed. After the third establishment, she huffed and grabbed Breasal’s arm.

  “What exactly are we waiting for? Why don’t we just do it?”

  “My dear. If you are going to do this for the rest of your life, you might as well learn to enjoy it. What’s the fun in pouncing on the first human you see, popping their veins open with your teeth, and hopping away? That’s vulgar. And cheap. If one must be a hunter, do it well. Live, smell, enjoy. Seduce your victim. Pick them carefully. Maybe it’s not the night to kill, but to take tiny slow draughts from one victim after the next. Maybe it is the night for the kill. But how do you know if you rush into the thing?”

  Moira had no idea how to respond to this. “I don’t get it. How can you enjoy this?”

  “Sweetheart,” Seara purred, “give it time. After centuries pass, and all you know has changed, cities demolished, buildings run down, loved ones dead, you explore all the finer things in life you never could as a mortal. And then that too gets dull. But the thrill of the hunt is the one thing that never will. There may be dull nights, but the moment the blood hits your lips? It’s all gone. The drudgery, the depression, the loneliness. All gone. Nothing but the sweet, salty warmth of blood squirting into your mouth and oozing down your chin. Nothing, my dear Moira, will ever compare to human blood. Learn to embrace it. Enjoy it. Trust me. The sooner you do, the less uncomfortable this all is,” Seara raised her hand to the city around them, then placed it on Moira’s shoulder.

  Moira felt the intense, intoxicating rush from Seara’s touch. “I know you are manipulating me.”

  “Then stop it. If you don’t like it, stop it.”

  Seara’s hand lingered on Moira’s shoulder. Moira stared at her, unsure if she wanted the feelings to go away. Seara traced a fingertip up Moira’s neck. Moira pushed her away.

  “Stop. I’ll try this your way, but stop. I want to feel my own feelings. Not some messed up side effect of your sad love life.”

  Seara looked at Breasal and raised her eyebrows. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere,” she said.

  Breasal grinned, at that moment looking much like Rhett Butler catching a glimpse of Scarlett’s petticoat. “Maybe,” he agreed.

  From that point, Moira started truly watching. At the next bar, Hootananny’s, she pushed past the music and the smell of human pheromones. She began to listen. She listened to their heart-beats.
She realized she could tell whose was beating faster, stronger, whose heartbeat was sickly and slow. She could smell the blood alcohol levels of those she stood next to and sense which mortal would taste better and which would taste stale. She noticed the more she simply watched and waited, the more her own heart beat slowed down. She felt calm and powerful. She could snap the neck of any man in the place and suck him dry before the hordes of people could clear the room. The image frightened her, but it also calmed her. She would never be the prey. There would never be another man who would overtake her again. She was one of Na Fuilteacha. Breasal leaned over and touched Moira’s arm.

  “You can, if you wish, focus on any aspect of a person. You can hear their thoughts, divine their intent. As you’ve realized, you can smell the alcohol in their blood, or even what they ate for dinner. You can alternate through all these senses. Practice this. Take your time. You have all the time in the world, after all.”

  They found a table and ordered three pints of Guinness.

  “Ah, they pour a good pint here,” Breasal said as he took his first sip. “Best let it settle first, Moira. Give it a bit. And when you sip, sip the foam until you reach the beer.”

  Moira waited for her beer to settle, watching the light bubbles pull upward into the foam, then began to sip. She decided Guinness really was good for her. The buttery foam was like no American beer she’d had. The drink was dark, rich. She was an instant fan.

  “So, this Tribunal, is this what it was like in the old days?”

  “No, not really,” Breasal said. “But the words, we kept the words to reclaim who we were. In ancient times, the Celts had an extensive and incredibly just system of law—Brehon law--quite unlike anything of their day.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “The Brits. The Brits happened to it,” Seara spat out. “Remember the Peelers? Well that was just a part of a systemic tearing down of Celtic culture. It took centuries, and they never quite won. We Irish may be the underdogs, but ya gotta love us. They tried to steal our language, our songs, and they did a good deal of damage. But we got ours in too. ‘All their wars are merry and their songs are sad.’ And songs and poetry and art, it’s how we kept our spirits. And laughing, somehow laughing despite it all. I have to say though, all this time and all in my lifetime as long as that’s been, it did me good to see the Queen lay a wreath at the Garden of Remembrance in memory of the dead Republicans who fought for freedom. It was a start. That it was.”