The deafening chatter of semi-auto weapons being fired in an enclosed space echoed about the building as the Yardies opened up with everything that they had.
But resistance was pointless. There were only four Yardies and the vampires kept pouring into the room. This time they had ensured that there would only be one possible outcome.
Qwenga went first, bitten multiple times. Then Banton and finally Samfy. Don Dada sat alone, his wheelchair pulled up next to the table, his pistol empty.
As the gunfire came to an end, Dada pulled a carved wooden box from a satchel attached to his wheelchair and held it to his chest.
A vampire swaggered up to the boss man. ‘So, cripple,’ he said. ‘This is how it ends.’
Dada kept quiet and merely stared back. ‘Nothing to say?’ Continued the vampire. ‘Can’t walk and can’t talk. How sad.’
There was a general ripple of cruel laughter from the other vampires. The room was full of them. Perhaps fifteen in all.
‘Everything has to end,’ said Dada, eventually. ‘We cannot live forever.’ He clumsily shifted the box in his grip, trying to hide it next to his body.
‘Actually,’ contradicted the lead vamp. ‘We can. And now it is merely a matter of time before your boys turn and then, perhaps they will also be gifted with immortality. Or perhaps not. Maybe they’ll become mere Grinders. Mindless servants. You, on the other hand,’ he continued. ‘Will have to die. I mean, who wants a crippled vampire?’
Again the laughter flowed.
‘So what do you have in that box. Old man?’ Asked the vamp.
‘Nothing,’ answered Dada. ‘It’s personal. Please, it’s only keepsakes. Mementoes. An old man’s memories.’
‘Give it to me.’
Don Dada shook his head.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, old man,’ said the vamp. ‘Give it to me or I shall tear your arms off and take it anyway.’
Dada looked at the vampire with hatred in his eyes and then he slowly opened the box and fumbled inside. ‘Here,’ he said as he held out his right hand.
The vampire leaned forward to look. The head Yardie was holding a small handful of wire rings.
‘What are those?’ Asked the vamp. Genuinely interested.
‘Nothing of value,’ admitted Don Dada. ‘Merely the safety pins for the half dozen hand grenades in the box.’
And he smiled.
The resulting explosion ripped through the building like the wrath of God, igniting the gas mains and destroying everything and everyone in a fireball of biblical proportions.
Chapter 35
William switched off the cell phone, stripped the battery out and broke the sim card in half. It was night time and the five friends had been staying at his New Forest lodge for a couple of days now as they recovered and attempted to formulate some sort of plan.
‘Who was that?’ Asked Emily.
‘One of my retainers,’ answered William.
‘What did they want?’
William took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Almost as though he were trying to expel his emotions. ‘The vamps attacked my manor house last night,’ he informed. ‘Most of the servants got away. Then the blood suckers fired the place and watched it burn.’
‘Oh, William,’ gasped Em. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The Wolfman shrugged. ‘It’s just bricks and mortar. Two of the servants died, that is far more of a tragedy. I have instructed Bartholomew, my chief retainer, to send the servants and their families to my residence on Auskerry Island in the Orkneys. They’ll be safe there. It’s probably an unnecessary precaution but rather safe than sorry.’
‘So your crib is gone, Wolfman?’ Asked Tag. ‘Yeah,’ answered William. ‘I’ll rebuild it when this is over.’
‘But what about all your stuff, man?’ Continued the Yardie, a look of concern on his face. William smiled. ‘No problems, Tag,’ he said. ‘It’s just stuff. Mere possessions. No sweat.’
Sylvian walked into the living room and stood still for a while. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Sir William,’ he said. ‘Although I must admit, over the last hundred years or so, I have almost forgotten what it was like to have a fixed abode. It is difficult in the extreme to live anything approaching a normal life, when one cannot venture out during the daytime.’
William nodded.
Then, as if it were a pre-rehearsed movement, both William and Sylvian cocked their heads to one side, listening to a sound that only they could hear.
The Bloodborn shook his head. ‘Impossible,’ he stated.
‘I agree,’ said William. ‘Nevertheless, we can both hear her coming.’
And out of nowhere a massive crow appeared in the center of the room, hovering in the air without moving its wings at all. Blue white fire flickered along its body as it contemplated everyone in the room. Cold black eyes like wet pebbles.
‘What the hell?’ Shouted Tag. ‘Where did the vulture come from?’
More blue white fire flashed off the crow as it morphed into an ancient woman, her long gray hair reaching to her knees, her back hunched with age, her face a network of lines and crevices. Only her eyes retained the fire of youth. And like the crows’ they were completely black.
She stared at Tag and sneered. ‘Vulture? Kiss me backside you chupid quashie. Fyah fi yuh. I’s a Crow you mowly eediat.’
Tag’s mouth dropped open as he found himself being roundly put down in perfect Jamaican patois. ‘Sorry, everyting cook and curry, mama. You’se a crow, I believe.’
The Morrigan nodded her approval and then turned to face both William and Sylvian. ‘Wolfman,’ she greeted. ‘Bloodborn. It’s been a while.’
‘Not long enough,’ returned William. ‘What do you want Morgan, or is it the Morrigan now?’
‘Whatever you would like to use,’ the goddess answered. ‘I come as a friend, not a foe. The darkness approaches and I have come to assist in whatever way that I might.’
‘The cost of your assistance is oft too expensive,’ interjected Sylvian. ‘Ask Arthur or Lancelot. No,’ he continued. ‘You are not welcome here, goddess of battle. We can do without your…assistance.’
‘Wait,’ said the Morrigan. ‘I have good news.’ She turned to face Emily. ‘Come to me, child.’
Em glanced at William who nodded slightly. Then she approached the bent crone and stood in front of her.
The Morrigan reached out, touched Emily on the cheek and smiled. ‘Such power,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper. ‘Raw and untapped but I have not felt such power since the days of the round table. Good, you will need it,’ she continued. ‘And even with the wealth of power that you have, it may not be enough. Anyhow, girl, your master, Merlin, he is alive.’
Emily frowned. ‘Who?’
The Morrigan raised an eyebrow. ‘Merlin Ambros Caledonensis Aurelius Ambrosius. The mage. Leader of the Shadowhunters.’
Emily looked blank for a few seconds then she finally asked again. ‘Merlin?’
‘Merlin Ambros,’ explained Bastian. ‘We call him by his other name. He prefers not to be called Merlin anymore. He took over the leadership of the Olympus Foundation after King Arthur died.’
Emily didn’t look any more enlightened than she had before Bastian’s cryptic explanation.
‘Merlin? King Arthur. When was someone going to tell me all of this?’
The Morrigan shook her head. ‘Doesn’t this child know anything?’ She questioned scornfully.
‘Wait,’ interjected William. ‘I thought that Merlin was dead. I thought that he died many years ago, after Camelot.’
‘Oh no,’ denied the Morrigan. ‘He slept for many moons, recovering. Even as he does now. But never dead. Not Merlin.’
‘I had no idea,’ admitted William. ‘I left after the battle of Camllan and never returned to the cause. To tell the truth, I had enough. And I assumed that our mission had been fulfilled.’
‘As did I,’ added Sylvian. ‘I also left the fold, except that I continued to pursue vamps on a
more personal basis. So, Merlin alive? That crafty old conjurer will never cease to amaze me.’
‘So why else are you here, goddess?’ Enquired William. ‘I have never known you to go out of your way to bring good tidings. There is always a sting in the Morrigan’s tail.’
‘True,’ admitted the Morrigan. ‘I am oft the bearer of bad tidings. But that is not because I revel in them, it is merely because I do not shy from my duties.’
‘So tell all,’ prompted William.
‘The forces of darkness rail against you,’ said the Morrigan.
‘No shit,’ quipped Emily. ‘Tell us something that we don’t know.’
The Morrigan stared at Emily with contempt. ‘You may have power, child,’ she said. ‘But the scale of what you do not know is so vast that if I had to tell you all, then we would be dust before I finished.’
Emily looked down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That was uncalled for. We’ve had a rough week.’
The Morrigan nodded. ‘So you have. But believe me, it shall only get worse.’ She turned back to William. ‘I have just seen Janus Augusta.’
Both William and Sylvian drew a sharp breath. ‘I thought that he was dead,’ observed William.
‘As did I,’ admitted the Morrigan. ‘But no such luck. However, it is worse. Not only is he alive, he is now the head of the Italian house of the Nosferatu and also the Capo di tutt'i capi of the Federation.’
‘Merde,’ swore Sylvian.
‘How did the two of you not know this?’ Asked the Morrigan.
‘How did you not know?’ Countered William.
‘He is meant to be the mortal enemy of the both of you. Surely you kept track of him?’
‘Obviously not,’ answered William. ‘Like you, we thought that he suffered the true death after the Battle of Camllan. Damn it, I personally saw sir Tristan and sir Lamorak skewer him with their broadswords.’
‘But did you see him die?’ Questioned the Morrigan.
William shook his head. ‘Arthur had just been grievously wounded by the vampires and all eyes were on him.’
The Morrigan looked at Sylvian.
He too shook his head. ‘As you know, the sun was down, it was dark and we were fighting by torchlight. Sir Bors de Ganis and I were busy rushing to King Arthur’s aid. I saw nothing.’
‘Well, he is still alive,’ she reiterated. ‘And is currently the most powerful dark being in the world, not counting the gods, obviously.’
‘Talking of which,’ said William. ‘Any chance of help from that angle?’
The Morrigan shook her head. ‘I tried but they are not interested.’
‘Oh well, there’s a surprise,’ quipped Sylvian.
‘They feel that you have let them down,’ explained the Morrigan. ‘Lost faith.’
‘That’s simply not true,’ countered William.
‘They mean humanity in general,’ continued the Morrigan. ‘Not you and Sylvian per se.’
‘What gods?’ Asked Em. ‘What are you guys talking about?’
‘There,’ said the Morrigan. ‘A case in point. The child doesn’t even know of the existence of the gods, let alone worship them.’
‘You mean like Thor and Zeus and those dudes?’ Asked Em.
William shook his head. ‘No. The Greek and Roman pantheon have long since abandoned humanity.
When the Christian god became popular, the lack of tangible worship reduced the old gods. Eventually they simply went away. There are still traces of them around but they are almost impossible to contact.’
‘Then what gods are you talking about?’ Asked Emily.
‘The Celtic gods, mainly,’ continued William. ‘You see, even though Christianity has been the predominant religion in the United Kingdom and Europe for centuries, many people still pay homage to the old ways. They worship the old gods of earth and field and water. Even if they aren’t aware that they are doing so.’
‘I don’t get it,’ admitted Em. ‘How do you pay homage to something and not even know that you are doing it?’
‘Much of the worship has lost its true meaning to the people that practice it,’ explained William. ‘But the mere fact that they still go through the motions imparts a form of worship and this is enough to keep the Celtic gods alive.’
‘What motions?’
‘Nailing a horseshoe above your doorway to keep out bad luck. Picking a four leaf clover for good luck. Throwing spilt salt over your shoulder. Knocking on wood. All of these little things are parts of greater ceremonies long since forgotten. But they still have power. The power to call, to entreat and to acknowledge. Enough power to sustain.’
‘The point of fact is that you will receive no help from that quarter,’ repeated the Morrigan. ‘And you will receive no help from Merlin for many months still to come. He is recovering but he was as near to death as to have actually crossed over. It is a tribute to his enormous strength and magical powers that he is still with us.’
William took a deep breath. ‘So we’re on our own,’ he remarked. ‘Us and the Yardies. Not the greatest force known to man.’
The Morrigan shook her head.
‘What?’ Asked William. ‘Don’t tell me, goddess of battle. More bad news?’
‘I am truly sorry,’ she said. ‘Your friends, the men of Jamaican extraction, they are all dead.’
Tag jumped to his feet. ‘No way, mama-crow,’ he cried. ‘What you mean, dead?’
‘The vampires,’ said the Morrigan. ‘Yesterday they overwhelmed them. If it is any consolation, they died well, killing all of the vampires that came for them. However, no Yardies survived.’
Tag buried his head in his hands and Emily walked over to him and put her arm around his shoulders. She said nothing. There was nothing to say. So she merely held him and shared his grief.
‘It is time,’ said the Morrigan to William. ‘Enough lurking and hiding in the shadows, Sir William Townsend. Once more the war is upon you. Call on your allies. Gird your loins and fight the good fight.’
William shook his head. ‘Not again. Times have changed. I am no longer that person.’
‘You are,’ insisted the Morrigan. ‘Call them. You are their leader.’
‘No,’ refuted William. ‘I am a lone wolf. I am no longer pack. They have gone their own way.’
‘Call them,’ repeated the Morrigan.
‘They have their own Alpha,’ said William. ‘I am no longer their leader.’
‘They have an Alpha,’ agreed the Morrigan. ‘But you are the Omega Wolf. You are the leader of leaders. Call and they will come. The game has been played out, Sir William. And this is the only move left to make. It is the only option left open to you. Bring them together once more.’
William stood still for a while, his breathing slow and steady. Finally he spoke.
‘You are right, Morrigan,’ he admitted. ‘I shall call on the packs.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘When?’
William looked at her and his eyes flashed with power.
‘I have just done so,’ he said. ‘Now we wait.’
The Morrigan smiled in satisfaction. The look was incongruous on her aged and care-worn face. ‘My work is done for now.’ The air around her shimmered with blue-white light as she transformed back into a giant crow.
Then she cocked her head to one side, flapped her wings.
And she was gone.
‘William,’ said Emily. ‘What the hell is actually going on?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Bastian. ‘My sentiments exactly.
Tell us what’s happening, Wolfman.’
‘I have summoned The Pack,’ answered William.
‘The Pack?’ Questioned Em.
‘The Werewolf pack,’ explained Sylvian. ‘He has called them. They are coming.’
‘What for?’ Asked Emily.
William turned to face her and his eyes glowed with power as he spoke.
‘They come to serve,’ he answered. ‘They come to destroy. They come to die.’
<
br /> A low growl escaped his throat. ‘They come for war.’
THE END …For now.
Well, that’s it for now. Emily and the rest will be back in book 2: WOLFMAN. http://a.co/gF7l9dV
I know that it’s a hassle but could you please leave a short review on Amazon if you can. It really helps others decide on whether or not to buy the book. http://a.co/4hA0dan Here is the link to leave reviews.
Also – as always, if you’d like to have a chat – my email is [email protected] Message me and I’ll get straight back to you.
Here is the first chapter of WOLFMAN …hope that it appeals!
Thanks again for all – Craig Zerf
Chapter 1- WOLFMAN
The patch on the back of his leather jacket was so faded that you could only make out the writing in full sunlight.
“Protectors M.C.”
He stood at the bar, drinking . The barman had left the bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him. It was simply too much effort to keep filling the man’s shot glass every twenty seconds. So instead he concentrated on polishing his beer glasses with a cloth that seemed to be made up of grease and cotton in equal measures, and he left the man to serve himself.
There were only another eight of them in the room, all with the same patch. And they were the sort of men that fill space.
Not only by the dint of their physical size, which was impressive, but also because of their presence. One of them could fill a room. Nine of them would have made the super bowl seem crowded.
These were men with presence.
But, although the barman had never seen them before and despite the fact that a room full of nine long haired, leather clad, visibly scarred, well-hard bikers should have filled him with trepidation – he felt at ease. He could sense that these were men that reacted to violence but they would never be the root cause.
So he provided the drinks and polished the crockery and didn’t mention the fact that smoking indoors was illegal. And anyway, he was thankful for their custom. His pub was situated on an old main road that used to boast traffic and a steady cliental but, since the council had built a bypass, the pub had suddenly found itself in the back of beyond with barely enough traffic to sustain it.
Emily Shadowhunter - Book 1: VAMPIRE HUNTER Page 16