The Scarlet Deep
Page 39
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“Not serving blood-wine yet?”
The old one swore. “Not likely.”
“I’ll have the pig’s blood.”
“Heated or cold?”
“Cold.”
“As ya like.”
The barman slipped away, as silent as any of their kind, but Murphy waited. He knew the old man would find him. Hell, he’d probably been tracking Murphy’s every move since his boat landed at the docks.
He heard a door slam in back and a few murmuring voices. A clear glass of thick red blood was set before him, not that Murphy had any intention of drinking it. But it would have been rude not to order. There was a quick female cry from the back. Pleasure or pain, he couldn’t tell, but it was none of his business, so he ignored it and waited.
The old man appeared from one moment to the next, sitting across from him in the booth. Murphy had never understood how the wiry old man could move so silently.
“Good evening, Tywyll.”
The canny old waterman sniffed but said nothing. He looked at the barman, who immediately brought over a brown earthenware mug of what smelled like preserved cow’s blood. He drank slowly, wiping away the smear of red that colored his top lip with the back of his sleeve.
“Someone told me you wanted to kill me,” Murphy said.
“That was some time ago.”
“Good to know.”
“Don’t know as I’ve changed my mind on it though.”
Murphy said nothing. It was best to school your reactions around the old man.
“Ye’ve brought my lass to visit me,” Tywyll said. “So maybe I’ll thank ye instead of kill ye. Fer now.”
“Fair enough,” Murphy said. “So you know, I’m trying to make things right with her.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a soft heart and a hard head, my Annie. She won’t trust ye.”
“I’m working on that,” he said through gritted teeth.
Tywyll gave him a raspy chuckle. “Such a pair of bastards we are. I did like ye, Murphy, until ye made my girl sad. I don’t like seeing my girls sad.”
Murphy had always wondered why Tywyll had turned Anne. It was unheard of for him to leave England in the past century, but he must have roamed at one point. Mary was his oldest known child, but she was English. What had drawn him to Anne?
“I’m doing everything I can to make her happy, but it will take time for her to trust me again. At least she’s speaking to me though. If there’s one thing your daughter has taught me, it’s patience.”
“And is she well?”
It was an odd question about a vampire, but it niggled at something Murphy had noticed in the hallway earlier.
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“My Mary might have mentioned concerns.”
He paused. It was always best to measure your words with a vampire as ancient as Tywyll. “If there’s something wrong with Anne, I need to know.”
Tywyll sipped his blood, staring at him. He tried not to react.
“Mary didn’t say exactly,” the old man finally said. “My Annie, she’s different.”
From the light in his eyes and his near-silent voice, Murphy knew the old man was talking about Anne’s ability to push her will onto other immortals.
“I know,” Murphy said.
“I know you know.”
Another long silence descended between them.
“I would never—”
“Don’t say never when ye already have,” Tywyll said.
“And I learned a hard lesson. I’d never expose her. Never try to take advantage. Never again.”
Tywyll waited for a silent vampire to pass across the room. When Murphy looked over his shoulder, he realized that all but two of the others had left the pub. Afraid of the old man? Eager to remain anonymous? If Tywyll didn’t care about their presence, neither did Murphy.
“She was always so hungry,” the old man said. “Never wanted for food as a mortal—it was the one thing her bastard of a stepfather did for her—but once she turned…” He shook his head. “That first year, Mary thought she’d have to leave her to the day once or twice. Her hunger burned.”
“In all the time we were together, she never had a problem with bloodlust.”
“She grew up. Managed to control it. But she’s always had a rougher time of it. She needs to drink more. I think whatever curious thing her amnis does, it uses more energy. So she needs to feed it.” Tywyll nudged a bowl of peanuts left on the scarred table. “Not food. She has little appetite for her body. But blood? She’s always needed more.”
And human supplies were at risk. Murphy wondered just how many humans Anne trusted to drink from in Galway. Only Ruth? Murphy’s control had been riding a razor-thin edge, and he had an entire household of servants to feed him. If Anne had been trying to exist on little to no human blood or only on animal…
“Bollocks.”
Tywyll nodded. “Ye need to watch her.”
“Is she dangerous?”
“Possibly. Though it goes against her nature.”
“I’ll watch her.” And try to feed her. If Anne would take his blood, it would help. Tom had been right in Dublin. Mated vampires needed less blood, particularly if they were mated to another element. He and Anne were both born to water, but any exchange would help.
“Now, we’ve got family business out of the way, young Murphy. Tell me about this meeting that Ramsay is hosting about this drug nastiness. Who will be on my river?”
The old one swore. “Not likely.”
“I’ll have the pig’s blood.”
“Heated or cold?”
“Cold.”
“As ya like.”
The barman slipped away, as silent as any of their kind, but Murphy waited. He knew the old man would find him. Hell, he’d probably been tracking Murphy’s every move since his boat landed at the docks.
He heard a door slam in back and a few murmuring voices. A clear glass of thick red blood was set before him, not that Murphy had any intention of drinking it. But it would have been rude not to order. There was a quick female cry from the back. Pleasure or pain, he couldn’t tell, but it was none of his business, so he ignored it and waited.
The old man appeared from one moment to the next, sitting across from him in the booth. Murphy had never understood how the wiry old man could move so silently.
“Good evening, Tywyll.”
The canny old waterman sniffed but said nothing. He looked at the barman, who immediately brought over a brown earthenware mug of what smelled like preserved cow’s blood. He drank slowly, wiping away the smear of red that colored his top lip with the back of his sleeve.
“Someone told me you wanted to kill me,” Murphy said.
“That was some time ago.”
“Good to know.”
“Don’t know as I’ve changed my mind on it though.”
Murphy said nothing. It was best to school your reactions around the old man.
“Ye’ve brought my lass to visit me,” Tywyll said. “So maybe I’ll thank ye instead of kill ye. Fer now.”
“Fair enough,” Murphy said. “So you know, I’m trying to make things right with her.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a soft heart and a hard head, my Annie. She won’t trust ye.”
“I’m working on that,” he said through gritted teeth.
Tywyll gave him a raspy chuckle. “Such a pair of bastards we are. I did like ye, Murphy, until ye made my girl sad. I don’t like seeing my girls sad.”
Murphy had always wondered why Tywyll had turned Anne. It was unheard of for him to leave England in the past century, but he must have roamed at one point. Mary was his oldest known child, but she was English. What had drawn him to Anne?
“I’m doing everything I can to make her happy, but it will take time for her to trust me again. At least she’s speaking to me though. If there’s one thing your daughter has taught me, it’s patience.”
“And is she well?”
It was an odd question about a vampire, but it niggled at something Murphy had noticed in the hallway earlier.
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“My Mary might have mentioned concerns.”
He paused. It was always best to measure your words with a vampire as ancient as Tywyll. “If there’s something wrong with Anne, I need to know.”
Tywyll sipped his blood, staring at him. He tried not to react.
“Mary didn’t say exactly,” the old man finally said. “My Annie, she’s different.”
From the light in his eyes and his near-silent voice, Murphy knew the old man was talking about Anne’s ability to push her will onto other immortals.
“I know,” Murphy said.
“I know you know.”
Another long silence descended between them.
“I would never—”
“Don’t say never when ye already have,” Tywyll said.
“And I learned a hard lesson. I’d never expose her. Never try to take advantage. Never again.”
Tywyll waited for a silent vampire to pass across the room. When Murphy looked over his shoulder, he realized that all but two of the others had left the pub. Afraid of the old man? Eager to remain anonymous? If Tywyll didn’t care about their presence, neither did Murphy.
“She was always so hungry,” the old man said. “Never wanted for food as a mortal—it was the one thing her bastard of a stepfather did for her—but once she turned…” He shook his head. “That first year, Mary thought she’d have to leave her to the day once or twice. Her hunger burned.”
“In all the time we were together, she never had a problem with bloodlust.”
“She grew up. Managed to control it. But she’s always had a rougher time of it. She needs to drink more. I think whatever curious thing her amnis does, it uses more energy. So she needs to feed it.” Tywyll nudged a bowl of peanuts left on the scarred table. “Not food. She has little appetite for her body. But blood? She’s always needed more.”
And human supplies were at risk. Murphy wondered just how many humans Anne trusted to drink from in Galway. Only Ruth? Murphy’s control had been riding a razor-thin edge, and he had an entire household of servants to feed him. If Anne had been trying to exist on little to no human blood or only on animal…
“Bollocks.”
Tywyll nodded. “Ye need to watch her.”
“Is she dangerous?”
“Possibly. Though it goes against her nature.”
“I’ll watch her.” And try to feed her. If Anne would take his blood, it would help. Tom had been right in Dublin. Mated vampires needed less blood, particularly if they were mated to another element. He and Anne were both born to water, but any exchange would help.
“Now, we’ve got family business out of the way, young Murphy. Tell me about this meeting that Ramsay is hosting about this drug nastiness. Who will be on my river?”
