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Brendan Carroll, Novelist
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Brendan Carroll
ISBN-10: 1461185718
Type: Fiction
Pages: 308
Copyright: April 24, 2011
ISBN-13: 9781461185710
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Holy Blood begins with a wedding and a war and progresses to more normal circumstances for the Order of the Red Cross of Gold as Sir Mark Andrew Ramsay, Knight of Death, finally defeats Semiramis' curse and restores the Order to a simpler time, hoping to find a bit of peace for himself.
Holy Blood begins with a wedding and a war and progresses to more normal circumstances for the Order of the Red Cross of Gold as Sir Mark Andrew Ramsay, Knight of Death, finally defeats Semiramis' curse and restores the Order to a simpler time, hoping to find a bit of peace for himself. The Order moves back to the restored Villa in Southern Italy and leaves Scotland to Ramsay and his family. In the meantime, the Ancient Evil has dropped out of sight leaving the powers of the Abyss worried about where he might pop up next. Simon makes an effort to reconcile his differences with his eldest son and Luke Matthew takes Merry on a trip to Texas to visit the orphanage.
The new Grand Master's first order of business is to send Mark Andrew, his son, Luke and Lucio Dambretti on an assassination mission in old Budapest in search of blood-drinkers.
Excerpt
“These people are not for real, are they?” Lucio asked him as he picked up his boots from the bed. “They don’t really believe they are vampires, do they?”
“There is quite a difference in believing and being,” Mark Andrew said cryptically as he drew back the draperies at one of the windows. The ancient city of Budapest glittered below the hotel. A medieval town. It had spread out more since he had last been here, but many of the old churches and buildings remained and in the heart of the city, one could easily imagine having traveled back a thousand years. A dark gap in the lights showed the river that separated old Buda from Pest.
“So you think our target is a real vampire?” Luke turned his deep blue eyes on his father.
“I don’t know. Edgard seems to think so.”
“But I thought they were only myths.” Luke picked up his long, black coat and pulled it on. “If they really exist, then why would they be hanging out with the Goths? Wouldn’t it be a bit too obvious?”
“Obvious is always better. If the Goths are what you say they are, which I do not believe, then they would blend in perfectly.”
“Hmmm,” Luke mused thoughtfully as he smoothed down the heavy, brocaded fabric of his coat. His precious dagger was concealed quite nicely on his right hip. He clicked his heels together and then clicked his new teeth.
“You’d better be right,” Lucio told him again as he donned his own black coat. “We’re going to look pretty and stupid if you’re wrong.”
“Trust me, Massster.” Luke grinned at him with his fangs.
“Famous last words,” Lucio muttered darkly. “Now what?”
“We call a cab.” Luke picked up the phone.
The cab driver barely glanced at them when they piled into the cramped quarters of the rear seat. He’d seen this before apparently. They had drawn some frowns and some smiles from the ladies in the lobby, but no one had made a fuss over their strange appearance. A good sign that they were not too far off the beaten path of their quarry. Their clothes were not too far afield of the latest fashions in the old cities of Europe. Old was new… again. Modern business executives could be seen all over town wearing modified frock coats and ruffled shirts.
The cab drove down some very dark, narrow alleys and streets before dumping them unceremoniously in front of a tall, ancient building made of dark stone. The cabdriver took his fare and his tip without a thank you and sped away, leaving the three Knights standing on the cobbled street in the light of a flickering antique gas lamp. A grossly obese man lounged against the wall of the building near the heavy double doors. An incongruous florescent sign above the doors labeled the place as the Sign of the Dragon in blood red. They could hear the bumping sound of music coming from beyond the scarred wooden doors.
The man straightened up and stepped into the light. He was obviously the door greeter.
Lucio walked up the steps and stood smiling at him.
“What do you want?” the man asked him in the native language of the Slavic peoples.
“I want to dance,” Lucio told him in the same language.
“Who do you want to dance with?” The man did not return the smile.
“The devil,” Lucio told him shortly.
The man nodded and turned to open the doors for them. Lucio looked back at his companions and shrugged. D’Brouchart’s contacts were impeccable.
They stepped inside the building and into a different world. Luke Andrew had been right. He had been very right. The foyer was decorated in blood red satin and velvet. The light was dim and the music was loud. A woman dressed in ragged black lace stood behind a tall podium made of dark wood. Her face was deathly white and her eyes were ringed with heavy black eyeliner. Her full lips were as red as the wall behind her. The only colors here were red, black and white.
Mark Andrew flashed back in his mind to a number of other times and other places when one step had taken him into an entirely different dimension. The pool of mercury in Ireland. The rath in his meadow. The gates in the Abyss. The closet under the stairs in his keep in the underworld.
“Table for three?” she asked them and picked up a stack of black, leather-bound menus.
“Yes.” Lucio smiled at her, but she did not return his smile. Her demeanor matched the man outside perfectly. She led them through the lobby and into an adjoining room. There were multitudes of diners here, sitting at linen covered tables lit only with candles. No one paid any attention to them as she led them to an empty table in the very dead center of the room. Lucio pulled several bills from his pocket and leaned toward her, stuffing the money in the bosom of her low-cut gown. “Something a bit less exposed, please?”
She snatched the money from her dress, frowning at him and then smiled as she saw the denominations on the currency. She tugged the bodice of the dress up a bit and looked at him wickedly. “Is that better?” she asked.
“I meant the table, my dear,” Lucio told her curtly.
“This way, sir.” She led them further into the dimly lit room to a table between two high-backed benches. “Is this better?” she asked again as she returned the dress to its more revealing state.
They slid into the velvety cushions and she laid the menus in front of them.
“This is our first time to visit your establishment, la mia dolce,” Lucio told her. “Where is the dancing?”
“In the next three rooms.” She jerked her head toward the door. “They usually eat and then dance.”
“Oh, they do, do they?” Lucio asked as he opened the menu.
Luke watched in surprise as the woman turned up her rather pointed nose and left them alone. Lucio’s charms had completely been lost on her. Rarely had he seen that happen, but she was most likely bored with their ‘type’.
“Are you hungry?” Lucio looked up at them. He could speak the language, but he could not read the menu.
Luke stared at the incomprehensible gibberish on the menu in the light of the lamp that hung on the wall above the table.
“Who knows what this is?” he asked. “It could be anything.”
“Let’s just order some bread and cheese,” Mark Andrew suggested. A fail safe standby.
“And wine,” Lucio agreed.
The waitress seemed perplexed by their order, but did not say why. She brought them two bottles of wine in dark green glass and three crystal goblets. The bread came a bit later. Sliced, slathered with butter, a crumbly yellow cheese also sliced, slices of a white cheese with holes similar to Swiss, a small wheel of crusted soft cheese, all laid out on a plate surrounded by small clusters of dark red grapes, olives and capers. Not the house specialty apparently.
The nearby patrons were enjoying a repast of what appeared to be steak dinners in the main. Rare. Luke Andrew pointed out to them that it was normal for these types to order their meat rare. And if not rare, raw, with lots of blood. A fad. Something to make everyone else go ‘ugh! According to Luke, most of these patrons were simply misguided youths looking for something different. Or, at least, that was what he had found in Edinburgh. Mark Andrew reminded him that Budapest was a long way from Edinburgh and that the steaks these people were eating probably cost an arm and a leg, more than most of them might make in a month’s salary. Beef had become increasingly rare since the Twenty-Seven Year War, no pun intended.
“Who says it’s beef?” Luke raised one eyebrow and Lucio cringed.
The Italian was trying to look about the establishment without appearing to stare. His appetite dwindled considerably at what he saw. The place could have been straight out of a B grade horror movie. Instruments of torture, chains, manacles and ropes hung on the walls as decorative knickknacks.
The diners were young people, in the main, between the ages of twenty and thirty-five. They all wore outdated clothing in black, white and red. There were capes and mantles with hoods, long frock coats, high boots, lots of silver jewelry. And a great deal more body piercing. Some of the people gathered there were very bizarre with multiple silver decorations through their noses and lips and eyebrows. Some had crosses embedded in their cheeks or foreheads, even between their eyes. The hairstyles ranged from long, elegant curls to mangy spikes. They all wore dark makeup on their eyes, some with painted on, or perhaps, tattooed, crosses, dragons, devils and other diabolical designs on their faces, necks, arms, any visible flesh.
“Well!” he said after a moment. “We certainly blended properly.”
Mark Andrew nodded and poked at the questionable cheese. It looked greasy. He sniffed the wine in his glass and took a small sip. Too sweet. Even for him. They sat for an appropriate time, not eating and pretending to drink until they could signal for their tab.
“Let’s go dancing,” Luke suggested when the waitress disappeared with their money.
They got up again and wandered back to the lobby. They had three open doors to choose from. The music was totally cacophonous in the lobby. Each room had its own music.
“First things first,” Mark Andrew told them under his breath and stepped through the cavernous door over which hung an ornate iron dragon.
The music made more sense once they were inside the dance hall, as it were. The dance floor was three steps down and filled with bobbing couples, moving in bizarre patterns under the flashing red lights, interspersed with green and yellow. The tables were aligned around the floor behind a partition of carved wood about two feet tall. The conversations and laughter was mingled in a dull roar. Nothing was distinct. Everything blurred together. Luke took the lead and they followed him around the raised portion of the room until he found an empty table overlooking the dance floor. A waiter came and Lucio ordered drinks for them. He daringly asked for the house special which turned out to be something akin to sloe gin fizzes with excess fizz. They had added something that made the liquid fluorescent orange beneath the foam.
Lucio leaned forward and whispered loudly to Mark.
“I don’t see how we are going to find anyone in here!” he said. “It’s too dark. Too many people.”
“Then we should make some sort of contact,” Mark suggested. “This is simply a front. Our friend owns this place. These are his acolytes.”
“Acolytes? All of them?” Luke looked about. His attention had centered on two women at the bar near the rear of the room. They were, by far, the best looking prospects in the room. They wore no metal in their faces, but their ears and necks were festooned with silver ornaments. Both were dressed in floor-length red gowns of very seductive cut and both were flaming, redheads. A refreshing change from platinum blonde and brunette.
“Not all of them.” Mark shook his head.
“If I owned this place, I would own them as well.” Luke jerked his head toward the two women lounging against the bar, watching the dancing. They could have been sisters.
The music was produced by one man and an enormous array of electronic wizardry. The beat was driving, hypnotic. This was not a family restaurant. The movements of the dancers were almost obscene, but mesmerizing. Dancing with the devil seemed an apt description of what was occurring here.
“Wait here, while I attempt to make contact,” Luke told them and stood up.
Mark Andrew frowned at his son.
“Don’t worry, Master,” Luke assured his father. “I’ve had a bit of experience with this. Watch and learn something.”
The two Knights watched as Luke cut through the dance floor, directly toward the bar. He stopped in front of the two women and made a short bow. The women smiled at him and then at each other, shaking their heads doubtfully at whatever line he had used on them. He put one hand on his hip and held out his other hand to them as if he were aggravated with them. It almost looked like a challenge or an ultimatum of some sort, not friendly at all. Lucio raised a puzzled brow at Mark Andrew and the Knight of Death shrugged.
One of the women straightened up a bit, shot a defiant glance at the other and then took his hand. He pulled her away from the bar into the crowd on the floor, wrapping his arm about her slender waist. He took one of her hands in his own and kissed it as he spun her around suddenly and then stopped. He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her bare neck as she seemed almost to faint against him and then he spun her around again. The dance was almost brutal.
“My God!” Mark Andrew rose up in his chair and Lucio laid one hand on his arm. “Wot th’ divvil is ’e doin’?”
“I don’t know.” Lucio shook his head. “But it seems to be right and proper here, Brother.”
The woman threw her head back and pressed herself against Luke. He spun her away from him into the crowd and then pulled her back, kissing the other side of her neck in the same manner while running his hands down the side of her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and entwined her fingers in his hair as they moved across the floor.
“Thot’s nae dancin’!” Mark Andrew leaned forward. “He’ll be takin’ ’er down on th’ floor!”
“It’s not so different than what the rest are doing,” Lucio pointed out.
Luke continued this erotic dance with the woman until he had her almost directly under where they sat. He looked up at them briefly and smiled, showing his fangs. He turned her about and pressed his porcelain teeth against the bare skin of her shoulder. She turned around took hold of his coat, pulling it from him. In a strange, almost serpentine movement, she removed his coat. Luke took the coat and threw it up and over the railing to Lucio.
“Santa Maria!” Lucio muttered as he laid the coat over Luke’s chair.
Mark watched in shocked fascination as the woman began to unbutton Luke’s collar and then his waistcoat while she continued to dance very close to him.
“He’s going to be in trouble.” Mark Andrew shook his head.
“He said watch and learn. How long do we wait?”
The woman had his shirt half unbuttoned now and was pushing the high collar back. She closed in on him and lowered her face against his neck. Luke looked up at them again and his eyes widened. He reached for her hair and pulled her head back before biting her neck as well.
“Great Scot!” Mark Andrew stood up.
Lucio caught his arm and stopped him. Something else was happening in the room. The music had changed and the crowd on the dance floor was thinning rapidly as the dancers abandoned the dance and scattered into the tables. A tall man dressed in a white suit walked determinedly through the fleeing dancers to where Luke Andrew was totally engaged in his unholy dance.
“Luke!” Mark Andrew shouted at his son, but the music was too loud.
The tall man grabbed Luke’s arm and yanked him away from the red-haired woman. Luke spun about and stopped. He stared at the man in wonder. The woman placed her hand on her neck and smiled up at Mark. She was very aware of his attention. The music continued and the dancers waited, watching this scene in the flashing lights, from behind the partitions dividing the dance floor from the seating areas.
The man, clearly angry, grabbed the woman’s arm and dragged her away through the crowd. He said nothing to Luke, but left him standing on the floor staring after his lost dance partner with a confused half smile on his face.
Mark Andrew leaned over the railing and waved frantically at his son.
Luke looked up at them and shrugged before making his way back up to the table. He picked up his coat and fell sitting in the chair.
“Wot th’ hell wair ye doin’ out thair?!” Mark almost shouted at him.
Luke wiped the blood from his mouth and pressed one hand against his neck.
“She was serious,” he said after a moment. “And I was right. She belongs to the owner. Our friend in the white suit. Did you see him?”
“Aye! And he saw ye as well,” Mark Andrew said angrily. “She bit you!”
“Of course.” Luke nodded. “And I returned the favor.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his neck.
“But ye didna drink ’er blud, did ye?” Mark was beside himself as Lucio examined Luke’s wound.
“It’s just a scratch,” the Italian announced.
“Don’t do anything like that again,” he told his son and scanned the crowd that had resumed the macabre dancing for signs of the man in white.
“I made a connection with her,” Luke lowered his voice. “They live upstairs.”
Mark looked up at the low ceiling. “Upstairs?”
Luke looked about. The other redhead was still at the bar.
“Your turn.” He smiled at Lucio. “Or will you do it, Papa?”
“Wot?” Mark Andrew looked at his son as if he were crazy and turned up the orange drink. He had not intended to drink the strange concoction. It hit his empty stomach like lead bricks.
“We need to wrangle an invitation,” Luke told him. “We need to get upstairs. We can’t just walk up there. Special invitation only. B.Y.O.B. Bring your own blood.” He jerked his head toward the opposite side of the room. There was a double set of doors leading from the dance floor. The place had apparently once been a grand old house, converted now into a nightclub. Two burly men stood guard over the door. Both were much older than most of the patrons and dressed in dark, rather conservative suits.
“I’ll go.” Lucio stood up.
“No you won’t.” Mark Andrew stood up. “I’ll go.”
“Won’t you both go?” Luke asked them. “Two necks are better than one. You don’t have to dance with her. Just woo her with your combined charms.”
“I wouldn’t dream of dancing with her,” Mark Andrew snorted. “I don’t think I could manage that.”
“You’re a stick in the mud, Papa.” Luke smiled at him and began to button his shirt again. “You need to loosen up a bit. Besides, you might be surprised what you can do if you put your mind to it.”
“Come on, Brother.” Lucio touched his arm. “Let’s go and talk to her.”
They had barely left Luke Andrew alone at the table when another woman sat down with him. She wore a white gown and did not seem to fit into this dark atmosphere. Her eyes were light green and her long hair was strawberry blonde, very curly and pulled into a topknot laced with pearls. She was like the Virgin in all this darkness.
She spoke to him in a language he did not even vaguely recognize and he shook his head. The waitress came and brought her a tall glass filled with a crystalline assortment in multilayered colors. She swirled the colors together and sipped the drink through a straw. When she set it down, it separated again into its layers. She spoke to him again, in yet another language and again, he had no idea what she was saying.
She switched to French. He recognized French. He knew a bit from Jasmine and his travels, but he could not carry on a conversation in the language.
She tried Italian and then Spanish and Greek and then frowned when he made no attempt to help her out.
Her face lit up after a moment and she smiled.
“English! Only an Englishman would refuse to help a lady in distress. I would never have believed it!” she said after a moment with perfect diction.
“Why not?” he asked somewhat ruefully and sipped his own drink.
“Not English, Scottish! How very refreshing. Scots are a bit barbaric, but they have their finer points. They won’t leave a fight unfought, a lesson untaught, a sight unsought or a thought unthought. They won’t leave a buy unbought, a catch uncaught, a fright unfraught.” She leaned her elbows on the table and smiled at him with her eyes.
“I didn’t realize it showed. That’s very clever though a bit odd. You forgot one attribute of the Scotsman. They would never leave a maiden distraught.” He looked out across the dance floor which had returned to its former frenzy. He was intent upon keeping up with the progress of his companions. He did not want to lose sight of them.
“It doesn’t really show. Your accent is very slight. You are related to the other Scotsman. I see that now. The one with the Italian.” She narrowed her eyes. “At first, I thought you were Gypsies.”
“Gypsies?” He looked about at the crowd. Most of them had very dark hair and eyes, but then, so did most Goths whether they should or not.
“Yes,” her voice was silky smooth without a discernible accent.
“And what is such a lovely flower like you doing amid so much mud?” he asked and allowed a quick appraisal of her features.
“That is very lame.”
“Why, thank you.”
“What you did was very foolish. You should be more careful when you are abroad,” she told him.
“I was merely dancing with a lovely lady, though I missed the mark,” he told her. “We complement each other quite well. Light and dark. Good and evil. The faery princess and the goblin prince. I can only wish that I had seen you first.”
“Good and evil? You don’t even know me. I might be the Queen of the Abyss.”
“Oh, no. I am well acquainted with her and I can promise you that you are not the Queen of the Abyss.”
“And you are not a goblin.” She smiled and again he was impressed. “I have known some.”
“I’m sure.” He nodded. “You know the lovely sirens?”
“Yes. They are sisters.”
“I could have guessed that much.” He glanced over his shoulder at the other one. She was leaning on a barstool now, with one of her long legs practically in his father’s lap. Lucio sat on the other side of her facing the bar. She was leaning toward Mark Andrew talking to him, apparently, while she had one hand resting on the Italian’s back. It was disconcerting to see his father with a strange woman in such a suggestive posture. A feeling that surprised him, especially since he had suggested that Mark Andrew go down and talk to her. It seemed somehow sacrilegious or heretical or….
“Your brother is in danger,” the woman told him. “Are you two twins? I saw you come in together.”
“No, we are not twins,” he told her. “He is actually my father.”
She laughed.
“Did she hurt you?” She reached for his collar and he caught her wrist.
“It was nothing. Just play.” He touched his neck gingerly with his handkerchief and she took the cloth from his hand.
“She drinks blood. Does that bother you, Scotty?” She looked closely at the stains on the cloth and pressed it back in his hand.
“Nothing surprises me. My name is Paul.”
“I am called Melodia by most.”
“Melodia? I’ve never heard that one.”
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