Since those far flung times, myth and fable had turned the Olympus Foundation into the Knights of the Round Table and Merlin had become known as a mere magician.
But the Morrigan knew – and so she sacrificed her own time for that of Merlin’s.
Because his sageness and wisdom would be needed once again when the dark ones came to the fore.
Chapter 27
Emily had arrived early, perhaps ten minutes before the boutique opened, and she had sat in the window seat of the coffee shop across the street. She nursed two coffees for just over an hour and then left and took a similar seat in a vegetarian snack bar adjacent to the shop that she was scoping out.
A yoghurt and a carrot juice later she noticed a short, sturdy Jamaican man walk past the boutique, his dreads ensconced in an oversized black beanie with a Rasta stripe. This was the second time that she had seen him so she decided to get up and follow. Leaving handful of change on the table, she walked out.
The Rastaman walked slowly but steadily, never looking back or to the side, his eyes straight ahead and his pace measured. After ten minutes he took a left turn. Then another, before he stopped in front of a matt black door recessed into the front of what looked to be a nightclub. The windows painted black and the exterior, a dark shade of midnight blue.
There was no neon signage or overt advertisements but, using her enhanced eyesight, Emily could make out a discreet brass plaque next to the door.
Club Haile Selassie – Members Only.
The man pushed a button next to the door and waited. It swung open to reveal a dark corridor and, before he went inside, the Rasta turned to Emily and motioned to her.
She hesitated slightly and then ran across the street and allowed herself to be ushered through the door which was closed behind her.
‘How you know about Ben Johnson day?’ Asked a voice in the darkness.
Emily smiled. ‘I remember things,’ she replied. ‘You know that.’ She threw her arms around the lithe Jamaican Shadowhunter who was standing in the gloom. ‘You’re alive,’ she said.
‘You too,’ laughed Bastian as he stood back from her. ‘You looking good, girl.’ He punched her upper arm. ‘Man, rock solid. You been hitting the gym?’
Em nodded, her expression serious. ‘I’m not the little girl that you knew a month ago.’
Bastian’s face darkened. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Some bad stuff be going down.’
He turned and walked down the corridor, beckoning for Em to follow. They walked into a large wood paneled room, a fireplace on the one wall, large windows that looked out onto an enclosed courtyard. Em noticed with amusement that the courtyard had multiple pots growing marijuana plants in them.
There was a long table in the centre of the room and on it was an impressive array of firearms. Semi auto pistols, massive revolvers, mac-10 submachine guns and even an AK47 assault rifle. Piles of ammunition lay scattered casually across the surface and Em could see, by the way the light reflected off the bullets, that the ammo was all silver tipped.
There were six men sitting in the room and all but one stood up when Emily entered.
‘These are my peeps,’ said Bastian. He introduced them to Em, pointing to each as he called out their names. ‘Tagereg, Stakkie, Qwenga, Banton and Samfy.’ He pointed at the man who remained seated. ‘That be Don Dada, the big boss of the place. He don’t stand so good on account of been crippled.’
Don Dada looked the spit of BB King and he laughed out loud.
‘Now, Bastian boy, I told you I don’t be liking that word, “cripple”. I be challenged in the working limbs department, that’s all. So don’t be introducing me as no cripple, boy.’
‘Ah, feel no way, Dada,’ replied Bastian. ‘I say what I say with love and respect.’
Emily smiled. ‘Pleased to meet you mister Dada.’
Don Dada grinned back, showing a row of perfect white teeth and a sizable quantity of gold caps. ‘Me no mister to you, lil-girl,’ he said. ‘You just call me Dada and we gets along fine.’
Em nodded. ‘Unusual names you all got,’ she noted. ‘I’m Emily. Bastian calls me Em so I suppose that you all will as well.’
The man who went by the moniker of Stakkie nodded. ‘Those ain’t be our real names,’ he explained. ‘They be our street names.’
‘Yeah,’ confirmed Bastian. ‘Stakkie is slang for Mental Case. Tagereg means Criminal. Qwenga is Gangster. Banton is Storyteller and Samfy, Con Man.’
Apart from Bastian and Stakkie who had shown them in, the other four men were all six foot five or six. Tall, well muscled and rangy with a palpable well of aggression and arrogance that Emily found both dangerous and attractive.
She could tell straight away that these were men that were quick to smile and easy to anger. A heady combination and one that would keep anyone on their toes.
‘Anyways,’ said Bastian. ‘Sit. We’ve called out for pizza and soda. Now we need to catch up.’
They all sat down but before Em spoke she cast a guarded look at Bastian. He nodded to her. ‘The boys know all,’ he said. ‘They may be Yardies that treat the law a little looser than most but they hate the blood suckers for real. You ask any island boy and he’ll tell you that he ain’t got no truck with monsters or zombies or voodoo.’
‘That be correct,’ confirmed Dada. ‘We sees that crap and we take it out,’ he pat the AK47 assault rifle on the table. ‘We got the tools and we got the skills. Those vamps must learn that the night time streets belong to the Yardies, not the leeches.’
There was a chorus of rumbling agreement from the collected men.
So Em told them her story.
After she had finished Bastian let out a slow, low whistle. ‘Man, you have had a freaky few weeks,’ he said. ‘Bloodborn, shapeshifters. Going on the run and hiding. I see that you’re wearing your Shadowhunter outfit now.’
Em nodded. ‘That’s because I’m not hiding anymore. I’m hunting.’
The Yardies shouted their approval. ‘Cool,’ said Bastian. ‘So what’s the plan?’
Em shrugged. ‘Haven’t got one. I thought that I’d leave that bit up to you, seeing as you’re about a million years old and I’m barely a teenager.’
‘Steady,’ said Bastian.
Tagareg laughed. ‘Dat be true,’ he said. ‘Grandpa Bastian be make us all like little pickney boys he be so old.’
Bastian shook his head. ‘Hey Tagareg, go easy on the patois, right? I mean you went to Oxford University and got a first in English.’
Tagareg shrugged. ‘So? I speak how I speak.’ ‘Well speak normal,’ said Bastian. ‘At least until Emily learns the lingo. But we need to make a plan. One thing, the vamps must be hurting big time right now. The Shadowhunters and your boys, Sir William and Sylvian, have iced over seventy of them, so I can guarantee that you’ll all be top of the most hated list right now.’
Em shook her head. ‘Not William or Sylvian,’ she stated. ‘The vamps have no idea that William’s a shifter and as far as they’re concerned, Sylvian doesn’t even exist.’
‘Whoa,’ interjected Tagareg. ‘So what you’re saying is that the vamps reckon that you are pretty much wholly responsible for taking out a huge percentage of their standing force. Man,’ he continued. ‘I wouldn’t give long odds on your survival. They’re gonna come after you with everything that they got, girl.’
‘Shut it, Tag,’ warned Bastian. ‘I won’t have any of that negative talk here, okay?’
‘You want me to shut it, why don’t you make me,’ growled Tag as he stood up, topping out at almost a foot taller than Bastian.
The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You want to go there again? Ain’t you sick of me beating your ass to a pulp every time that you try this crap?’
Tag shrugged. ‘Maybe this time I get lucky. Whatever, I’m not accustomed to backing down, so face up, man. Let’s go round and round and see what happens.’
Emily stood up, walked over to Tag and, without warning, she punched him
in the chest. The big man took off like he’d been hit by a monster truck, flying across the room and smashing into the wall so hard that chunks of plaster chipped off. Then he slid down the wall and collapsed onto the floor in an untidy heap, his limbs twitching as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
‘Look here,’ said Emily. ‘We don’t have time for any of this macho bullshit. Out there are hundreds of blood suckers. They killed our friends. They’re looking for us and they aren’t going to stop there. If they find the corona potestatem who knows what they’ll do next. This isn’t just about us. It’s about the whole of humanity.’
The Yardies stared at the young Shadowhunter and finally Dada spoke. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘That child jus whipped Tag’s ass big time. I reckon dat we make a plan before she get physical wid the rest of us.’
Bastian grinned. ‘You speak the truth, Don Dada.
Best we get our thinking caps on or Em is gonna tear our arms off and beat us to death with the sticky ends.’
Em stuck her tongue out at Bastian and then sat down. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s make a plan. I reckon that we should get hold of William and Sylvian. See how they can help.’
There was an uncomfortable silence until Don Dada spoke. ‘We don’t want hang with no monsters,’ he said. ‘Damn vampire and werewolf.’
‘He’s a bloodborn,’ countered Em. ‘And William is a shapeshifter.’
‘Sure,’ said Dada. ‘But if it looks like a tiger and acts like a tiger then I learned long ago that you better not pull its tail, or the damn thing will chew your head off. Listen, girly, I don’t mind my people helps to hunt down the dark ones but don’t ask me to team up wid de monsters. We Yardies fight the good fight but we does it alone.’
There was a groan from the corner and Tag pulled himself slowly to his feet. He shook his head and looked around the room. ‘Man,’ he grunted. ‘I just been smashed by a little girl sized truck. Damn, babe, where’d you learn to punch like that?’
‘I’m not your babe, Tagareg,’ snapped Emily. ‘Now are you going to behave?’
‘If I don’t are you gonna beat up on me some more?’
Em nodded. ‘For sure.’
Okay,’ answered Tag. ‘Then I’ll behave. But I’m still going to have to agree with the boss man.
We don’t work with no monsters. Period.’
‘Well then have you got any better suggestions?’ Asked Em.
‘Sure. It’s simple. We get our street merchants to keep an eye out for vamp-whores. Then we follow them to the suck-fest and kill their masters.’
‘Not sure that I understood that completely,’ admitted Em.
‘It’s a good idea,’ interjected Bastian. ‘What Tag is saying is that we get our merchants, the dudes that sell our ganga on the streets, to keep an eye out for familiars. Young guys and girls that are looking to hang out with the vamps. As soon as we get a line on them, we follow them back to their master’s hang out and when the vamps are feeding we attack and kill them.’
‘You can do that?’ Asked Em.
‘Sure,’ affirmed Tag. ‘We got hundreds of salesmen. And there be many Goths and Vamp- lovers out there. We just keep a track on all of them and pretty soon one of them will lead us to a nest. Bish, bash, bosh – we go and machine gun the leeches to death. Then we just keep doing that. Wash, rinse, repeat.’
‘I like it,’ said Em. ‘It’s simple.’
‘Yeah,’ laughed Bastian. ‘Like Tagareg.’
Tag didn’t laugh. ‘Yeah, Bastian,’ he said. ‘You just been all cheeky ’cause you know that the little girl will tear Tag a new asshole if he beats on you.’
Bastian laughed louder and Tag had the decency to join in.
Chapter 28
Kevin no longer went by his given name. Ever since he and three friends had started the real vampire website.com they had taken on more suitable monikers. He had decided on Tarquin. Simon had become Constantine. Brian changed his name to Cyprian and Debbie, the only girl in the group, was now known as Cordelia.
They had written up a list of thirteen rules that applied to anyone who wanted to be a member of their house and, although no one had yet applied, Kevin/Tarquin insisted that all of the rules would be stringently adhered to.
Cyprian had complained, saying that most of the rules were either lame or were simply a differently worded repetition of the first three rules. But Tarquin had explained that any list to do with the arcane had to have thirteen points. I mean, like, it’s not as though vampires work on the decimal system, you know. He had told them. No self respecting Nosferatu would ever make a list of ten points. Or even twelve, I mean, really, what are they? Like bakers or something?
And anyway, most of the points were to do with how to dress. All of the members were in agreement that the most important thing about being a vampire fledgling, is the uber-cool dress sense. Firstly, black, black and more black. Secondly, piercings were cool, tattoos were cooler and it was imperative to wear loads of chunky jewelry featuring inverted crucifixes, the number 666 and Victorian looking amulets.
The four of them frequented a number of the better known Goth clubs and vampire hangouts in London. Places like “The Blood and Velvet” in Holloway Road or the “Being Boiled” in Notting Hill Gate.
But this was the first time that they had visited a lesser known club, situated off a cramped side street in Kings Cross. The club was known as “The Clinic”, and the moment that Tarquin and his friends had entered he knew that it was the real deal.
They had been checked in at the door, as entrance was by invitation only. Tarquin had garnered an invite the weekend before when a cool looking dude, dressed all in black with the palest skin imaginable, had approached him at the “Blood and Velvet” and asked if he would like to try a new club. He had assured Tarquin that this was the proper business. No role playing or pretending. Real vampires, real blood. Proper Nosferatu. And he had flattered Tarquin enormously, calling all the other Goths, Wanabees, Pretenders and Posers. Tarquin had accepted with alacrity and the dude had told him that he was welcome to bring some friends, as long as they were of a similar caliber.
And so here they were. All four of them had been seriously nervous before coming, knowing that this could be their break into the big time. The real McCoy, as it were. So Cyprian had contacted their usual dealer and purchased a couple of ounces of weed off him. He had told the Rasta about the club, boasting that they were now part of an elite, as opposed to the children that were merely playing at being familiars. And the Jamaican dealer had seemed impressed, asking many questions and then wishing Cyprian good luck.
They had smoked themselves into a more mellow state of mind and then left for the club, arriving relaxed and comfortable.
The place was large and well appointed. A bar ran the length of the one wall and a selection of low tables and wingback chairs were scattered about the room. Along the other wall, a row of curtained private booths stood in semi-darkness.
The music was a combination of jazz fusion and funk. No throbbing house beats or sticky modern pop. And the volume was low enough to enable one to have a decent conversation without shouting raucously into their ear.
The group of teenagers went to the bar and ordered vodka, straight up. They would have preferred something sweeter, an alchopop or a ‘something-and-coke’ but vodka was cool. And being cool was what it was all about.
No sooner had they received their drinks than a stunning young man came walking over to greet them.
‘Hi,’ he said with a smile, his fangs glinting slightly in the low light. ‘It’s good to see newcomers at the club. My name is Patrick.’
Tarquin introduced himself and the rest of the group. Patrick raised an eyebrow. ‘Tarquin? Cordelia? Oh, how deliciously Victorian’ he said. ‘Tell me, is this your first time at a real Nosferatu club?’
They all nodded, while at the same time trying to look cool and self assured.
‘And have you ever communed with one of us before?’
T
hey shook their heads.
‘But we are keen to serve,’ assured Cordelia, desperate to garner the vampire’s approbation.
‘Ah, virgins,’ breathed Patrick with another fang revealing smile. ‘Well don’t be nervous,’ he assured. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you join me and a couple of my friends in one of the private booths. We can talk and...’ he paused for a second. ‘Drink.’
The four friends followed Patrick to one of the curtained booths that lined the wall. He pulled the curtain aside to reveal a surprisingly large area. A central table and two long couches. More than ample room for the four friends, plus Patrick and the two more vampires already sitting there.
The other vamps looked like a couple, a man similar in appearance to Patrick and a blonde woman with short cropped hair and a face straight out of Vogue magazine.
Patrick introduced the four newcomers and the female vampire chuckled, low and throaty. ‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Surely those aren’t you real names? Good god, where did you find them? Old Addams family movies?’ She stood up and held out her hand. ‘My name is Morticia and this here is Gomez.’ All three vamps laughed. ‘Not really,’ the blonde continued. ‘I’m Sally. This gentleman here is Toby.’
Tarquin took Sally’s hand and, as he did, she pulled him towards her, lifting his feet off the ground with her strength.
He slammed up against Sally’s body with an audible thump that took his breath away.
She sniffed his neck. ‘Mmm. Yummy,’ she purred as her fangs slid out over her bottom lip.
‘They’re virgins,’ informed Patrick as he motioned the other three friends to sit down on the sofas. Tarquin stayed standing, held upright by Sally’s iron grip.
‘So you kids want to get into the vampire scene? Asked Toby.
They nodded collectively, like a crew of bobble heads on a car dashboard.
‘Why?’ Enquired Patrick.
Emily Shadowhunter - Book 1: VAMPIRE HUNTER Page 12