He waved, leaving the room, and I found myself unable to meet Gabriel’s eyes. I knew they’d be flaming violet. And quite possibly a tiny bit angry.
‘I’m fine,’ I said at last, once I realised he wasn’t going to start the small talk. ‘Luca came to say hello, and, well … did you know that’s the first time I’ve ever touched a man’s chest?’ I blurted out. Dignified, as usual.
‘And that’s the way you chose to start?’ he asked. ‘With a vampire drummer?’
The drummer. Of course. They were always the ones to watch, quietly dangerous in the back. Explained the fabulous arms as well. I quickly shut down that train of thought, uncertain when Gabriel’s pesky telepathy would kick in.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to upset you. It was just … I needed it, I suppose. After everything that’s happened. To be able, finally, to touch someone. It’s been … for ever. I got carried away.’
I knew I had no need to apologise. Despite his belief that I was his mate, I still hadn’t consented to that and was, as far as I was concerned, a free agent. But he looked so hurt, so worried, that I wasn’t enough of a heartless bitch to remind him of that. That was probably something I needed to work on.
He nodded, and I could feel the effort it took for him to drop the subject.
‘I understand. Just be careful,’ he said. ‘With Luca. With all of them. They’re allies, but they’re animals. Their control can slip.’
Right. Another gem to add to the list: don’t poke the vampires.
‘Where’s Carmel?’ I asked, deciding to change the subject.
‘She’s gone home to call work – said she was “throwing a sickie”, whatever that means – and she’ll meet us later. She said she needed to feed the cat, but to be honest, I think she was drunk. I need to restock the vodka if she’s coming round again.’
‘And is she? Coming round again? You’re not going to do some, I don’t know, Jedi mind-control trick and erase it all from her memory?’
He sat down opposite me, eyes running over my face, lingering on my neck as though checking for potential vampire mayhem.
‘I could, if that’s what you want. I have the magic to do that. But apart from the alcoholism, she seemed to take it all in her stride. For a mortal. And she is tough, also for a mortal. It would help my mind rest easier if I knew she was with you, when I can’t be.’
I pondered the issue, not overly thrilled at the prospect of a new life where I seemed to be in need of a bodyguard twenty-four/seven. But I needed Carmel as well – not only for babysitting duties, but because she was mine. In this world of weirdness, she was my friend. I didn’t doubt Gabriel’s dedication to his duty, but to him, I was Mabe. Mother of the Mortals and potential consort. To Carmel, I was Lily McCain, retarded pop girl and late-night news desk buddy. And whatever else I got dragged into, she’d always see me as that.
‘Will she be safe?’ I asked, trying hard not to be selfish.
‘I can’t guarantee it one hundred per cent,’ he replied. ‘But we’ll do our best to guard her. It’s something we do well. I have no intention of letting anything happen to you, Lily, or to Carmel.’
‘And Coleen? Nan?’ She might be a grade-A battleaxe, but I was in no rush to sit by that hospital bed.
‘Don’t worry about her. She’s being watched.’
‘Right,’ I said, tucking my knees up to my chin. Ugh. My jeans were smelly. I still hadn’t had that shower. ‘Well, let’s ask Carmel. I’m fairly sure what the answer will be, but we’ll let her make an educated decision. What time is it anyway? I assume after dark, unless Luca’s the kind of vampire who takes sunshine risks?’
‘Luca takes no risks at all when it comes to his own well-being,’ said Gabriel, ‘so don’t worry on his account.’
There was an edge to his voice, a slightly bitter anger I’d not heard before.
‘Are you … jealous?’ I asked, unable to keep the grin off my face. ‘Are you, High King Cormac macConaire, feeling a touch of the green-eyed monster?’
He stood up. His usual height, which was quite tall enough. Looked at me with slight haughtiness, the kind of expression I supposed a High King would have been practising for years.
‘Of course I am,’ he replied. ‘I am consumed with it. I feel the need to run a stake through Luca’s heart, disembowel him and spread his entrails in the midday sun. He touched you in a way you won’t let me touch you. You touched him in return. I felt it all, every one of your breathless sighs, every one of your heartbeats. And I hate him for it. Does that answer your question, a ghra?’
Uh. Yeah. I suppose it did. Even if I didn’t know what that last bit meant.
Chapter Eight
Same time, same place, different world.
We were back at the Coconut Shy, and I was nursing another beer. This time, Gabriel was by my side, as my High King totty, and just a few hours earlier I’d been feeling up the band’s hunky dead drummer boy. And, last but not least, the fate of the whole world now rested upon my shoulders.
What a difference a day makes.
The band – The Cloaks of Darkness – were on stage, doing an ironic cover of The Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings’. As Isabella, the singer, drawled that opening line about the world being a vampire, my heart constricted: even knowing what she was, I’d have happily walked over and opened a jugular for her.
I tore my eyes away, and instead looked at Gabriel.
‘Why are we here?’ I asked, accepting now that he’d hear me, despite the din.
‘You need to meet some of my people,’ he replied. ‘So you know who is on your side, and who to avoid.’
‘And your people – you – where do you fit in? You look mortal, and you say you’re a king, which sounds mortal. But then there’s the whole body-swelling-up thing, and the fact that you talked about humans as “them”. Sorry if it’s a drag but I need to know a few things.’
He nodded, still scanning the room for his killer leprechauns. Or whatever.
‘The High Kings were mortal once. They ruled in Tara, and the Otherworld was the realm of the Tuatha de Danaan – kings, gods, the dead, that kind of thing. And at the start of each High King’s reign, the sacred stone – the Lia Fail – would shout his name, and the new king would be ceremonially mated with Mabe, which would ensure well-being across the mortal lands.’
‘Mabe? That would be me, then?’ I asked, pretty sure I’d not done any ceremonial mating in recent times.
‘No, not then. Then it would be the priestess that represented Mabe in the mortal world. But over the millennia, the lines have become blurred. The lines of the High Kings … mingled, shall we say, with those of the Tuatha de Danaan. The blood mixed, and the race developed. I am the High King of the mortal realm, but I am also a descendant of gods.’
I took a sneaky look at him – the violet eyes and the master-race body – and decided I could believe that. He certainly looked like one, and he was definitely bossy enough to be both.
‘So where do you live, and, you know, hang out? When you’re being human?’
‘Dublin, mainly, sometimes New York. But I move around. I’m what you might call an older man, and too many questions would be asked if I stayed in one place for too long. My body clock doesn’t work in quite the same way as a mortal’s. I can pass as human, but I’m not. I can visit the Otherworld and pass as Tuatha, but I’m not. I’m both.’
‘So … what am I? I feel mortal. I get hangovers. My nails need cutting. I don’t see a goddess when I look in the mirror.’
He laughed and, before I could stop him, stroked my face, with the speed of light.
‘That’s in the eye of the beholder, Lily. But to answer your question, you are the spirit of Mabe, born into human flesh. Your sisters were, also. And I’ve been waiting a very long time for you.’
Right. To do the whole mating thing. Yay.
‘Why me? Why this whole spirit-into-flesh affair? Why not the priestess, like it’s always b
een?’
‘Because that cycle has ended and a new one has begun. It was always prophesied that this would happen. I was raised to believe it, to wait for you, to secure the fate of humanity. It is a moment of great weakness in time, and one the Fintna Faidh are looking to exploit. That’s why I need to keep you safe, Lily. That and a few other reasons.’
My mind was a whirl of questions, and there was a whole new sister issue I was having to clamp down on for the time being, but any further conversation was halted by the arrival of a short, stocky, dark-haired man. Not quite a leprechaun, but stick him in a green suit and he could give it a go.
‘Finn,’ said Gabriel, clasping him on thick shoulders with both hands. Finn grinned at me in a manner that can only be described as impish, and gave me a quick bow.
‘My Lady,’ he said, ‘it is an honour to be at your service. My sword arm is yours to command.’
‘That’s … very nice of you,’ I replied, unsure of the whole goddess/leprechaun etiquette. Behind me, Kevin the barman approached, his floppy blond hair falling over one eye as usual.
‘And this is Caemgen,’ said Gabriel, ‘although you might know him as Kev.’
I stared at Kevin, who was grinning while he cleaned a glass with a dirty tea towel. Kevin, apparently pronounced Kwe-veen. The barman who’d always kept an eye out for me.
‘Kevin!’ I said, feeling even more out of control. For a goddess, I didn’t have much of a sense of power. ‘Are you … one of them?’
‘Aye, milady,’ he said. ‘Caemgen ni Niall. Also yours to command. And to supply you with fresh bottles of Peroni whenever your heart desires.’
‘Who else?’ I asked Gabriel. ‘Which of your other secret squirrels have been watching me all this time?’
‘A few. Remember Miss McDonough?’
‘My old head teacher?’
‘Yes. She was with us. And Roisin, your friend at university?’
‘The one who mysteriously moved to Peru as soon as we graduated?’
‘That’s the one. You’re too important to risk, Lily. Coleen … wasn’t enough.’
Damned right she wasn’t. She wasn’t enough for anyone, never mind a six-year-old girl who’d just lost her parents. I swallowed down the bitterness. I had no idea why I’d ended up with her, but I’d always carry the scars. Someone had made a very bad choice somewhere along the line, and when I found out who, there’d be a hefty wet-kipper slapping session.
‘These men are to be trusted,’ said Gabriel. ‘With your life. They would give up their souls for you, Lily.’
I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone giving up their souls for me, whether they were willing to or not. I was starting to yearn for the days when the most responsibility I had was whether to give a band three stars or four.
I could feel all of their gazes upon me, as though they were waiting for something, some command, some request, some sign that I was anything but an ordinary screwed-up Liverpool girl in a battered pair of Doc Martens.
‘I need to pee,’ I said, which may have been slightly less than they were hoping for. Gabriel nodded – as though giving me permission – and I headed towards the ladies, slamming my way through the metal-clad doors and leaning against the graffitied wall.
I didn’t actually need to pee. I needed to breathe. Away from all the testosterone and mumbo jumbo. Away from the noise and the crowd and my new-found soul-sacrificing friends. I considered climbing out of the window and making a run for it, but it was too small, and the ledge was covered in a suspicious-looking brown gunk. Ah, the glamorous life of a goddess.
My hyperventilating was interrupted as the door slammed back again, and a woman walked in. A woman who actually looked like a goddess: tall and slender, with a swanlike neck and lustrous ebony hair.
She smiled at me, and walked over to the mirror, fluffing her already perfect do into a big, black cloud. She pulled out a lipstick, and started to draw a blood-red circle over her lips.
I had the feeling she wasn’t a regular at the Coconut Shy. And I had an even stronger feeling that she was one of them. Privacy was clearly a thing of the past. I should have locked myself in a stall, but it probably wouldn’t have done any good.
‘So,’ she said, pouting and checking the lippie, ‘he’s given you the spiel, has he? Cormac Mor?’
‘If you mean Gabriel, then … yes, I suppose he has. Are you with him? Are you one of his people?’
‘Hardly!’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m one of the bad guys. Or at least I suspect that’s how he painted it. He always was a little narrow-minded. Pretty enough, I’ll grant you that, but haughty with it, don’t you think?’
I shrank back against the wall, feeling a wave of strength flow from the modelesque creature in front of me. I felt its shadow wrap around me, like tendrils of invisible smoke, clogging my nostrils.
‘Well, sweetie, he hasn’t told you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me, Goddess. I am Eithne, of the Tuatha de Danaan. And I’m here to tell you that we don’t wish to annihilate the mortals – we wish to improve them. Make them better. Bring them … up to standard. To reclaim what was once ours, and to share all that we have learned. Has he told you what the Otherworld is like? The Land of the Young? No illness, no pain, no ageing. Doesn’t that sound better than’ – she gestured around the admittedly less than glamorous surroundings of the Coconut Shy lavatory – ‘this?’
It did sound better, but the picture of well-being she was painting was offset by the fact that I felt like I was choking to death. Nausea was rising from the pit of my stomach, and every breath I took in was tinged with a rich, sickly perfume. Like apples fallen off the tree and left for too long.
She looked at me, at the way I was struggling to exhale, at my clenched fists and whitening skin, and her eyes narrowed.
‘Interesting,’ she said, reaching out to stroke my hair. ‘You can … feel it. You can feel my power. I didn’t expect that. Still, I’m telling the truth. This mortal world is – how might you put it? Fucked up? They’ve covered their sacred groves with shopping malls, their shrines with housing estates. They’ve blocked the magic of their rivers with pollution and waste. They had their chance at bounty. Why should we – why should you, Mabe? – give them another? I mean, it’s not as though they’re worth the effort, is it? Look at that woman he put you with, the dried-out bone that raised you.’
She held up a finger, touching it against my lips, and I felt my mind prised open. I saw the vision clear as day: me, as a child. Six years old. Serious face, and hair in plaits. In a small, dark room, surrounded by strangers. The woman I’d been told was my nan looking at me like I was poison. The two men in black, the men she was scared of. One of them handing her the brown-paper package … Gabriel? His face flashed into view: the cut of his cheekbones, his fine white skin, those unmistakable eyes. He looked exactly the same then as he did now. It was definitely Gabriel. He was the one who’d given me away. Who’d left me to my fate with her, with Coleen, a woman who’d never loved anything in her life. The woman who’d raised me in silence and fear.
Eithne pressed harder on my lips, and I choked in a breath that I knew could be my last.
‘Ah … you didn’t know, did you? Well, now you do. And you have a choice,’ she said, looking at me like I was an insect being divested of its wings. ‘It’s up to you. You don’t have to let him in your mind. You don’t have to feel his touch. You don’t have to play the part he has all laid out for you – the sacrificial spirit, ready to birth a nation. You can choose us. You can choose freedom.’
I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even breathe. She could end it right now; win this war I wanted nothing to do with. Snuff me out like I’d never existed. I dragged my thoughts together, tried to come up with some way to fight back, but she was too strong. That last breath choked in my throat, and my eyes started to blur from lack of oxygen. She had a beautiful face, but it was cruel, and not the one you’d choose as your last sight.
It was Isabella. The singer. A fury of hair and hands, she grabbed Eithne around the neck and threw her hard across the room. Eithne slammed into the sinks in a way that would have broken a human back, and I heard the hiss of water as disconnected pipes spewed out.
Isabella roared, and sank her fangs into Eithne’s shoulder, blood seeping. More blood oozed out as she tore into flesh. Eithne rallied, gripped Isabella’s hair to yank the vampire’s face from her body, then grabbed her arm and pulled with such ferocity that I heard the shoulder dislocate. Shoving her away, she ran for the door, leaving a trail of Eau de Rot behind her.
Isabella stood up straight. Rammed herself repeatedly against the wall until the joint was knocked back into place with a sickening pop. Wiped her mouth clear of blood with the back of her hand, and turned to me.
‘Bloody Tuatha,’ she said, making a gagging sound. ‘They always taste of battery acid.’
Chapter Nine
I’ve been to a few after-show parties in my time, including one with Liam Gallagher, but nothing that could compare with the weirdness in Gabriel’s apartment later that night.
The vampires were glowing with energy, alive with the adrenaline of their gig and the willing post-performance snacks they’d ‘romanced’ just enough to leave their conquests with dreamy memories and mysterious love bites. Luca was prowling round the room, topless and wearing a pair of leather trousers, and Isabella was languid and luscious, draped over the sofa like a Renaissance painting come to life.
Morgan the bass player was on a high, playing Call of Duty on the Xbox with Marcus, the guitarist. I’d be surprised if there was anything left of the handsets by morning. They too had dispensed with the need for shirts, which made for entertaining viewing.
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