From the Hill of Megiddo

By Philip Dickens

Under a full moon the colour of blood, a man is killed in sacrifice on the ancient hill fort of Tel Megiddo. His death awakens an evil that threatens to bring the world to an end.

Myles Dáithín has few concerns beyond hanging out with his friends and winning the affections of the woman whom he has loved half his life. But when two of his friends are murdered, he discovers that the killers are vampires – and that HE is their target.

Hazel Loman has been raised from birth to be a warrior known as The Sentinel. She is about to succeed her father as the main protector of her city, but before she has time to settle into the job an incredible test is coming her way. One that threatens not just her home but the entire world.

Anael has spent lifetimes in seclusion, after hunting down the only man she ever loved. Now he’s escaped from the darkness where she put him, and it’s her job to find and train the only person strong enough to stop him.

Liverpool is a city known for music and football. Now it is at the centre of events that could bring about the end of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip Dickens
• Release date: Mar 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386989592

Philip Dickens

Philip Dickens lives in Pontypridd with his wife Dee, daughter-person Noah, and their two shy and loving but utterly demented cats. As well as writing supernatural horror fantasy stories, he makes videos on YouTube and livestreams on Twitch. You can find him on both platforms, and other social media, under the handle AKblackandred. In his spare moments, he has a full-time job where he is a trade union representative for the PCS Union and enjoys helping his fellow workers take on the bosses. (Unfortunately, instead he spends most of his time in meetings.) Outside of writing, content creation and trade unionism, he enjoys reading stories set in other worlds, watching movies about superheroes and playing computer games involving the indiscriminate slaughter of the undead. Dee, Noah and their two cats are his whole world.

Book preview

ACT ONE:

BROKEN SEALS

CHAPTER ONE

Myles Dáithín was early, because of course he was. It was an uncanny knack that he had when he was trying to turn up late, or at least not first, that everything would take far less time to do than normal. Even the buses, normally reliably late, would arrive not just on time but actually early or late enough to coincide with him reaching the bus stop.

So it was that he reached the City Centre almost an hour before he was supposed to be there. Probably longer before his friends would actually arrive. He jumped off the bus a stop late to delay himself slightly. If he had gotten off by the Adelphi Hotel, he would have had a much shorter walk to McKenna’s. From Queen Square, if he dawdled, he could possibly stretch out when he arrived so that he wasn’t standing around on his own for too long.

He could have gone inside early instead and talked to Lydia. That nearly made him laugh. What would they have to talk about? Even if she wouldn’t have been busy serving, what could he say that would give her any reason to be interested? No, that wasn’t going to happen.

It was just past nine and the sky was just beginning to darken, the first street lights coming on. Around him, most of the people moving about had bags of shopping with them, heading for the bus or the train as the shops began to close. They had fair rides in Williamson Square, though as one tired mother was struggling to get through to her crying child, they had stopped running for the night. This point was underlined by the group of Goths sitting on the edge of the Merry-Go-Round, smoking roll-ups and glaring at anybody who came too close to them.

Myles slowed down. Had one of them been staring at him? He was sure that someone pale with spiky, jet black hair had been standing behind them, but he had only looked that way for a couple of seconds. He stopped and looked back. There was nobody there. He shook his head and carried on, though now there was a cold feeling on the back of his neck.

It was forgotten once he came out onto Church Street and turned in the direction of Bold Street. Just a few hours earlier in the day, this part of town would have been packed. He would have needed to move in constant zigzags just to keep going forwards. But now there were only a few small clusters of people passing in different directions and a couple of buskers still playing as long as there was money to be made.

He did a double take over the road, when a group of three women in washed out jeans and skater t-shirts walked past him. One of them had thick auburn hair, almost orange, and for a split second he thought it was Lydia. It wasn’t. She was younger, and scowled when she caught him looking at her. Once they were further on, he heard them laughing. At him, perhaps.

Myles stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking. It was darker now, and there were a lot less shoppers around, more people who at least looked like they could be heading to a club. Good. Not that he did, really, since McKenna’s wasn’t exactly a shirt, shoes and trousers kind of venue. But at least it suggested that he was no longer out too early. Although when he checked his phone, he was proven wrong since it seemed he had managed to get halfway across town in less than fifteen minutes.

He was in the shadow of the Bombed-Out Church, properly St Luke’s – an Anglican church that World War Two had reduced to a sandstone ruin, and only a short walk up Hardman Street away from McKenna’s. He sighed. He was going to be waiting around either way, and having a drink in his hand would at least pass the time quicker than walking around the block more than once. Hopefully.

If you didn’t know McKenna’s, you would take one look through the glass façade and assume that it was closed. Beyond the small foyer the bar, dance floor, couches and tables were shrouded in darkness. Having frequented the place intermittently since he was sixteen, and pretty much every weekend for the last three years, Myles knew just to push the door open and head downstairs.

It wasn’t much lighter down here, but the gloom was more purposeful, the spacing of the small spotlights on the ceilings meant to give that effect. There were already a handful of people here, mostly propping up the walls with a bottle in hand, and a band was setting up in the opposite corner to the bar. Behind the bar, of course, was Lydia McKenna.

A short, feathered bob of auburn hair framed cheeks spotted with freckles, dark green eyes and full lips that lit her face up when she smiled. When she spotted him and waved, he realised that he had been staring and made his way over to the bar.

Hey chick. She said. What can I get you?

Alright. Err, I’ll have a Bud, please. As she turned around to get a bottle from the fridge, he grasped for something to say. Lacking for anything more profound, he went with, So how are you, anyway?

She shrugged. Oh, I’m alright. You know. How about you?

Not bad. Not much to tell, really. He trailed off. There had to be something they could get into a real conversation about. That was when he saw the Download Festival wristband on her left arm. He nodded at it. How was it, then?

What? She looked down at her wrist and, when she realised what he meant, laughed. Oh, that was last year’s.

Really?

Yeah. Getting them to last this long without falling apart is an art form, you know.

They both laughed. But the laughter quickly faded and they were left there in silence. Myles searched for something else to say. There had to be something, but nothing offered itself up. He cleared his throat and took a swig of his drink.

Something at the other end of the bar caught Lydia’s attention. I’ll catch up with you later, alright chick? She smiled at him but then was gone, heading over to somebody else who wanted serving. Probably relieved to be, too. It had to be more interesting than enduring him staring at her while struggling for something to say.

Shortly, the silence was broken by music that was too loud to hear anything else over it. The band was still setting up, but this marked the proper start of the night. The lights faded away, only to be replaced by strobe lights which sliced through the darkness in time with the music. More people came downstairs, and those that were already there moved away from the walls and onto the dance floor.

His bottle was almost gone by the time his sister appeared. Jess was the same height as him, six-foot-one, but taller with her steel-plated boots on and her dark red dyed hair styled into a high, thick crest. The sides of her head were shaved. She was wearing thick black eye-liner and black lipstick, which emphasised how pale her skin was. Her sleeveless top showed off toned, strong arms; one completely covered by a sleeve of tattoos and one by a half sleeve that reached up from her wrist to over her elbow.

She ruffled up Myles’s collar-length hair as she reached him and put her mouth to his ear to say, Who pissed on your chips?

He scrunched his face up in confusion. What? Oh. No, I’m fine.

Tell your face then, eh kid? She squeezed his shoulder, then leaned on the bar. A moment later, Lydia greeted her with two bottles and a kiss on the cheek. After they had spoken, Jess took the bottles and presented one to Myles.

They were on their third drink by the time everyone else arrived. As they were ahead, Jess insisted on shots for everybody to catch up. Two rounds of them later, and Myles had a pleasant tingle in his head.

The dance floor was packed now. Nearby, a shirtless fat man got a bit too enthusiastic trying to get a mosh pit started and sent a rake of a boy with uneven stubble skidding across the floor. Around him, a hundred-odd people danced and drank and kissed and noticed nothing beyond their own little worlds. Myles sank another four bottles without thinking about it.

As he made his way back to the bar, itself a dance considering how many people he had to squeeze past and how many groups he had to shuffle through the middle of, he got the feeling that somebody was watching him. The tingling heat on the hairs at the back of his neck.

He turned and scanned the crowds, not expecting to see anything. He tensed, however, when again he saw the man with spiky black hair that he had seen earlier. This time, the watcher turned away and ducked into the crowd. Myles craned his head and stood up on his tiptoes trying to catch sight of him again.

A hand slapped him on the back and he jumped, earning a snarl from the short woman he nearly fell over. When he turned around, Kit Sanders was laughing so hard that he was clutching his belly.

Sorry mate, didn’t mean to scare you...

Myles looked around again, but there was no sign whatsoever of the man, so he returned his attention to Kit. It’s alright.

Looking for someone?

Myles shook his head.

Alright, well if you’re after a drink, it’s my round. Kit was large in every sense of the word. At six-foot-five, he towered even over Myles and Jess, and with his shaved head, big arms and barrel chest, he looked intimidating. Although now the biggest threat he posed was that he was drunk enough to fall over and crush somebody underneath him.

No, it’s not.

Oh, well even so... He shoved his hand in his pocket.

Myles grabbed his arm. Stop it, daft arse. A barmaid came over to them, and Myles ordered the drinks. Kit stuck out his hand with a note in it and Myles shoved it away. You’re not allowed to take money off him, love, so just ignore him.

The barmaid raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face. Oh? Why’s that then?

He robbed a bank, but the money’s marked so he’s trying to get rid of it.

She leaned in closer, and traced her finger over his hand. I suppose you’d have to put me in handcuffs, then?

Well, you’d have been bad, so I’d have no choice.

Biting her lip, she reached over and took the note off Kit. When she gave him his change, she also handed something to Myles. Opening it up, he saw that it was a phone number. Kit was staring at him, shaking his head.

What?

It just amazes me how you can do that, but as soon as you’re actually interested in a girl you turn into a complete meff.

Myles punched Kit in the arm before picking up the drinks and heading back from the bar. Kit followed him, laughing.

As the night wore on, Myles’s head got fuzzier and he completely lost track of time. At some point towards the end of the night, five of them ended up occupying a booth upstairs.

Kit was completely non-verbal at this point. He had tried to speak a couple of times, but the incoherent noise that had come out had everyone in hysterics, so he had stopped after that. He was still drinking steadily, though.

Jess, on the other hand, appeared almost entirely sober. She was on at least her twelfth drink, excluding shots of which she had downed more than a few, but wasn’t so much as slurring her words.

There was movement next to the booth, and Myles looked over to see Michelle standing by them. She was almost as tall as Jess but with a slender, dancer’s body. Her hair was an electric purple and her skin was milk white. She was swaying slightly, dancing but not in time to any music they could hear.

Alright chick. Wondered where you’d got to. Jess said.

Michelle grinned. Well, I met this lad, didn’t I? We’re getting off now, so I’m just here to say turrah.

Jess looked past her towards the foyer and nodded her approval. Nice one.

Myles found himself turning around to look, and for a moment he thought he was seeing things. It was the man with the spiky black hair. He blinked several times to be sure that he wasn’t imagining it, then squinted. There was something off about him, something he couldn’t put his finger on. A pulse inside his head, nagging at him like the beginning of a migraine. The man didn’t so much as look at Myles now, but it didn’t make him feel any better. When he turned away, however, the feeling faded.

Give us a bell in the morning. Jess was saying. I want details. They hugged, Michelle gave the rest of the group a wave, and then she skipped off.

Kit nudged Myles. When he looked Kit didn’t try to say anything, but he did raise his eyebrows. It was enough to get his meaning across.

It’s nothing, mate. I’m fine. He must have been imagining things. He shook his head, took a swig of his drink, and tried to put it out of his mind.

Another hour or so later, Myles felt queasy as he downed the last dregs of his drink. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Quarter to five. He’d lost count of how much he had drank, but it was a lot and he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

He leaned over the table and punched his older sister in the arm.

Jess responded by slapping him across the head. Tit.

Ow. He said. Youse fancy getting off, grabbing some scran?

Most of the group shrugged or nodded. Kit said something that might have been ‘I could murder a kebab.’

Whatever. Jess said. But let us finish our drinks first, eh?

Sound. He stood up. Err, I’ll be back in a bit.

Don’t worry, we’ll wait while you get nervous at Lydia. Jess said with a smirk.

Kit laughed and snorted beer out his nose.

Oh, fuck off. Myles said, before heading to the bar in the basement. He found himself an empty spot and leaned over the bar.

Lydia spotted him and came over. Alright chick, last orders is gone, you know. What can I get you?

No. I mean, I’m fine. He said. Uh, we were just about to go and get a burger or pizza or something. What time do you get off?

Not for a bit, cause I’ve gotta close up. And I’m gonna be a bore and head straight home for a kip. Sorry.

Oh. No worries. He paused. You’ll have to get a weekend off soon, so you can come out with us.

Sounds like a plan. She winked at him and he felt his stomach tense.

Jess and Kit came down the stairs.

Looks like we’re off, then. He shifted his attention back to Lydia. Probably catch you tomorrow, hon. When she mimed a kiss, his face flushed and he stammered. So, uh, see you later.

Jess came over and shoved him. She leaned over the bar and hugged Lydia before they headed back upstairs.

Outside, Myles pulled his pack of cigarettes from his jeans. Jess snatched them from him and said yoink as she did, though she was gracious enough to stick a cigarette in his mouth and return the pack once she had taken one for herself. She lit hers first and then his as she exhaled from her first drag.

They headed downhill towards the centre of town. At the intersection with Pilgrim Street, Myles’s eyes drifted towards a young woman limping on bare feet across cobbles whilst her boyfriend held her arm – and her shoes with the six-inch heels. Beyond them, there was a slumped shape –

That’s not right.

He stopped. Even though he could only see the shadow, it was clearly a person propped against the skip. There was something about how limp the arms and the head hung. All the laughter had died in his throat and cold traced its way up his spine, despite the summer heat. He shuddered.

Myles? Jess had gotten a few steps ahead of him before she noticed he had stopped. What’s up? Why’re you– She followed his gaze and let out a breath. Fuck. She took a step forward. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. All the colour had drained from her face. Her breathing became quick and shallow.

Steeling himself, Myles forced himself to walk forward. His stomach lurched and he felt incredibly faint as he took in the scene. He forced himself to put a hand on Jess’s shoulder, but the figure lying against the skip was all he could see. Everything else had bled away. There was only the corpse. Michelle’s corpse.

Blinking, he forced his head away and noticed that his best mate wasn’t with them. Kit! His voice quavered as he called out and didn’t travel far. He cleared his throat. Kit! This time the shout was loud enough and after a moment Kit reappeared at the entrance to Pilgrim Street.

He strolled back to where the other three stood. What’s the hold up? I’m starving here!

Shut up, just get here!

I’m serious! I’m–

Jess snapped out of her trance. Kit just shut the fuck up! Get here now! Her voice raised to a screech.

Kit ran over to them. When he reached them, he opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut again when his eyes fell on the body. He turned away. Only Jess was still staring at it, her eyes wide. Myles was watching Kit’s reaction. He, too, had gone pale and was swaying slightly on his feet.

Who-what-what-

I dunno. Myles said. We need to call the police.

That was when Jess threw up.

CHAPTER TWO

It is the early hours of the morning, still dark. A strong fire fills the air of the roundhouse with thick smoke, as inside the mud walls and thatched straw roof a child is born. Caoimhé finishes pushing and almost immediately the child starts bawling, grasping at the air.

Pwyll feels all tension and worry drain out of him looking at the child’s face. It’s a boy, his son, and they agree to call him Dáithí. He is their new beginning, everything that has passed before now little more than a dark memory to put behind them. The wide eyes of the infant are open upon a new life.

But that isn’t how it happened, he remembers. What came next...

No sooner does he recall the events that followed the birth than the dark shadow appears at the door. Tall, broad shouldered, with long brown hair and a face that closely resembled Pwyll’s own.

Hello little brother. He says, as if he were just there for a casual visit and there was nothing unusual about his presence.

Nuadhu... How...? Pwyll asks.

But he knows how. Back then the creature that his brother had become was called a Son of Cain. Nuadhu is no longer alive, no longer human.

He has eyes only for Pwyll. He forces him to his knees, opens a vein, makes him drink. Only then does he remember the woman and the child. Dáithí is spared, the smallest of mercies. Caoimhé is not. Her blood splatters Pwyll’s face and he cries out in sorrow and despair.

I am sorry Pwyll, but this was necessary.

Why?

Because there are some fates worse than death, brother.

Then he grins and in an instant he is no longer human, eyes red and wings spread wide. They are not in a roundhouse any more, but on top of a hill, surrounded by the ruins of an ancient fort. Pwyll remembers it, but the last time he stood here it was not Nuadhu who stood opposite him.

Nuadhu... How...?

I was always coming back, little brother.

Why?

There are some fates worse than death.

Pwyll sat upright as soon as his eyes opened. He could feel the sweat soaking through his hair and running down his neck and back. He jumped out of bed, shoved the bedroom window open and went straight into the bathroom to set the shower running.

It was just a dream, he told himself. But his heart and his breath refused to slow. He knew differently.

He got in the shower, closed his eyes and let the hot water run over him. When his arms and legs stopped shaking, he opened his eyes and blinked against the light in the bathroom. He washed and dried quickly, then went back into the bedroom to get dressed.

Nuadhu’s words wouldn’t leave his mind.

‘I was always coming back.’

#

Are you sure? Jack MacArthur asked just as he heard the latch on his front door go. He stepped out into the hallway as his wife, Abbie, entered and waved at her.

I’m afraid so, Abelard said on the other end of the phone. The state of Tel Megiddo this morning is testimony to that.

Taking note of the mobile phone in his hand, Abbie came over and gave Jack a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Tea?’ She mouthed.

He nodded. On the phone, he said, How bad? I mean earthquakes aren’t unheard of over there, are they?

No, but it’s clear even from initial evidence that this is no ordinary earthquake. They’re already saying this was a ten on the Richter scale, and the hill of Megiddo has become a crater. Yet the surrounding area, including the kibbutz of the same name, was virtually untouched but for a couple of aftershocks.

Jack stepped out into the conservatory, opening the door into the back garden to let the air flow before sitting down. So it’s more like a collapse or an explosion than an earthquake? There was a pop in the kitchen as the kettle reached a boil. Which, of course, backs up your theory.

He heard another voice on the other end of the line, then silence indicating Abelard had put his hand over the receiver. After a moment, he came back, It gets worse. We’ve just had confirmation that their Sentinel, Gilad, was killed. This can’t be a coincidence. We’ll hopefully have more to report soon.

In the meantime? He looked up and mouthed ‘cheers’ as Abbie placed two cups of tea on the end table before sitting down.

In the meantime, carry on as normal – though make sure your Outfit are aware of developments. Once we know more, we can adapt orders as necessary. A short pause. Now, I’ve got other Outfit leaders to brief, so I’ll say farewell for now Jack.

Okay. Bye Francis. As he hung up, he saw Abbie smile and returned it. So, was Penny alright when you left her?

Yeah, she forgot I was there as soon as she said hello to Grace and Olivia. Abbie laughed. I think I’ll be the one going spare without her rather than the other way round. The smile disappeared from her face. I got a call off our Lydia on the way back.

Jack leaned forward and put a hand on her knee. Everything alright?

No, she – She cleared her throat. Well, one of her mates died last night. Murdered. Some of her other friends found the body.

That’s gotta be rough. Is she alright?

I think so. She’s made of stern stuff, our kid. Plus, her and her mates are all very close so I’m sure they’ll support each other. Her eyes suddenly became very distant. But, I mean, it must have been horrible. It sounds like one of your cases, actually.

What?

Yeah, Abbie re-focused her gaze on Jack, apparently whoever killed this girl bit her neck and drank her blood. She shuddered. It’s horrible just thinking about it.

He rubbed her knee. Then don’t. This’ll all get dealt with. But it’s our first weekend off together in yonks and we should make the most of it. He raised his eyebrows. Especially since Penny’s out the house till tonight.

She giggled as he reached over and kissed her neck. Just by running his hands across her back he could feel the tension fall from her shoulders. But even as it did he could feel himself tensing up. It did sound like one of his cases and no doubt he could expect a call about it later.

#

Several hours later, Jack pulled back the sheet to expose the corpse’s neck and shoulders. As his wife had described, she had been bitten on the neck. The flesh around the bite was raised and red, the skin torn and some strips of it hanging loose.

He pressed one finger from each hand – covered by surgical gloves – against the corners of the wound and examined it more closely. The bite marks came from teeth far sharper than a human’s, either fangs or filed to a point.

Shit. Jack muttered.

He turned his attention to the corpse’s mouth, and it was clear that blood and vomit had been wiped away. He pried the mouth open, ran a finger across and did a quick visual examination of the teeth. After a second check confirmed nothing out of the ordinary, he sighed and took his hands away from the mouth.

Nothing more to see, he pulled the sheet back over her head and left the room. After removing his gloves and mask, washing his hands, and changing back out of medical scrubs, he took out his phone.

When Mike answered Jack said, Gather everyone together for a meeting tonight. Abelard’s given me some worrying information, which I can’t go into here, but there’s also a local problem which I think needs to be dealt with quickly before it gets out of hand.

You at the mortuary, investigating that attack from last night?

Yeah.

Vampire?

Yeah – when was the last one we had like that?

There was a pause, then the sound of paper rustling. I remember we had a brief spate of them in...here we are, 2011. After that, nothing out in the open. They got good at hiding.

Well it looks like they’re getting cocky. Jack said. We’ll discuss it properly tonight.

He hung up the phone and looked over at the pathologist at the desk nearby. He quickly went back to pretending to read the paper. Jack shook his head and made his way out of the building.

#

Pwyll was surrounded by a pile of old books on the floor in his living room when his doorbell rang. It took him a moment to realise what the sound was; he never had visitors, and it had been too long since he’d had the kind of acquaintances who might be inclined to visit him.

The doorbell rang again, and he forced himself to his feet to answer it. He opened the door and was confronted with the sight of a woman he hadn’t seen for a very long time.

Anael. He said.

Pwyll.

Her clothes were different, as was to be expected, but everything else was exactly as he remembered from the last time he had seen her. Her hair fell in soft brown waves and her dark skin had a golden glow to it. She wore a coat whose tail came past her knees, telling him she was concealing a short sword.

A memory arose in his mind.

The red and black glow between them had faded, the wind had vanished and they had stood facing each other in the empty ruins of Tel Megiddo. She had swallowed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn’t said a word, only shook her head and turned away. He had been unable to move or to do anything but let her go, vanishing from the hill and from his life.

Can I come in?

His reverie vanished and he blinked several times. Uh, yeah. Sure.

Anael stepped across the threshold and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the embrace, still feeling numb as though none of this was real. After she broke the hug, he led her through to his living room.

She glanced at the pile of books on the floor then back at Pwyll. You’ve heard about Tel Megiddo?

Yeah. After I saw it in a dream. That’s why you’re here, I take it?

Yes. Her eyes glistened. Pwyll, I’m sorry. I never should have walked away.

Don’t worry. It was a lifetime ago. He said, though the memory was still fresh in his mind.

Several. But that doesn’t make it right.

Ana...

She knelt to pick up one of the books on the floor. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He decided to let the subject drop, for now. So, it’s definitely true then?

She looked up at him. The earthquake happened under a blood red moon and was followed by a meteor shower. That’s not all, though.

He had known Anael long enough, despite the gap since he had last seen her, that he could see her hesitation in what she was about to tell him. He crouched next to her.

Ana?

She stared at him for several moments before dropping her eyes. There’s a new Champion.

Where?

Liverpool.

Ah.

I should have been there. Teaching him about his destiny and training him to use his powers. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back there after so long. I’m still not sure I’m ready.

It’s okay, I haven’t been back either. Not since –

You didn’t have to. She stood up and walked several paces away from him. I felt this new Champion’s birth; he’s twenty-three now. That’s more than enough time, and I stayed away because I couldn’t handle it. It might be too late now, because we don’t know who else could have gotten to him first.

Pwyll stood up. It’s not too late. He said. Come on.

Come on where?

Liverpool. I think I know who might be able to help us.

#

What’s the urgency then? Jack asked Mike as he entered the library a day later. And why didn’t you raise it at the meeting last night?

Inside, sitting at the table in the middle of the room were a man and a woman he didn’t recognise. Jack walked to the table and pulled out a chair, but didn’t sit down.

Jack, this is Anael and Pwyll. Mike said, stumbling over the pronunciation of p-wool-th. Abelard phoned and told us to expect them; Pwyll helped him take care of a lindworm down in Surrey a few years back, apparently. This is Jack MacArthur, head of this Outfit.

Jack shook hands with them. Pwyll? Unusual name.

The newcomer shrugged. My parents were big on Welsh mythology.

I see. So, what can we do for you?

Do you know anything about the Champion of Man?

Jack shared a look with Mike, then shook his head. You’ve got us at a loss. He said. Care to tell us what you know about this Champion of Man and why it’s important?

A Champion of Man is basically someone born with power. Kind of like a Sentinel, only a lot stronger and a lot rarer. Anael said. We believe there is a Champion here in Liverpool, although he probably doesn’t know that he is one. The reason he’s here now is that there’s something bad coming.

Jack recalled the discussion at the previous night’s meeting. This something bad, he said, does it have anything to do with what happened at Tel Megiddo?

Yes.

Abelard said that it was a gateway to hell.

It is. It’s been opened.

Jack went cold. So, what got out?

Not what. Pwyll said. Who. His name is Nuadhu Iarraindorn.

Jack didn’t recognise the name. But from the look on Pwyll’s face, Jack knew that it was bad news.

CHAPTER THREE

When Hazel Loman reached her front gate, she stopped and pulled the bobble out of her hair. She still felt tired and couldn’t get the smells of meat and dairy out of her nose, but just being able to shake her wavy, strawberry blonde hair loose made her feel that bit better.

When she put the key in her front door and turned, the door was pulled open from inside. She yelped, before clamping a hand over her mouth.

Hazel. Her father stood at the door, chuckling. Sorry if I startled you.

She felt her cheeks burning as she stepped inside. Hi dad. Yeah, no worries.

How was work?

It was work. She said with a shrug.

There was a yip and their Labrador puppy Rosie dashed out of the living room to dance around her feet. Hazel’s younger sister Lucy followed the animal, still wearing her school uniform. She was like a miniature version of her big sister, with the same hair and even the same pout when she was annoyed.

Hazel stroked the dog’s head and said hi to her sister, before their mother came out of the living room to call Lucy back in. Melissa shot an apologetic look to her husband and said hi to her daughter before closing herself in the living room with the child and the dog.

Hazel took off her bag and dropped it at the bottom of the stairs, then unpinned her name tag. She stared at the words ‘Happy to Help’ just below her name for a moment before dropping it into her bag.

Is this happening, then?

All set to go when you are. Joel is waiting out back. Joseph Loman looked youthful for a man fast approaching fifty, and still in good shape at that. He headed through the kitchen into the back garden. She gave a sigh and followed her father out to a covered deck in the top-right corner of the garden.

The furniture had been cleared from the deck and a three-branched gold candelabra placed in the middle of the floor, the candles currently unlit. A red cushion had been placed either side of it, at about arms’ length. Joel Morris was waiting for them there.

Alright Joel. She said.

At eighteen, he was a year younger than Hazel, and at five-foot-eight he was around the same height. Looking so youthful, and buzzing with nervous energy, belied the weight of the responsibility that fell to him.

Noting the leather sheath at Joel’s side, the bronze hilt emerging from it. Her stomach tensed and she clenched her hands into fists, though more at the thought of what came after the ritual than of the steel cutting her flesh. She had trained for most of her life, and she was committed. She wanted to do this, and yet now that it was upon her she couldn’t account for that heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Hey. Joel laughed. Warm sunlight isn’t really the right atmosphere for an ancient bloodletting ritual, is it?

Hazel glared at him, not in the mood for his sense of humour.

Joel flushed and cleared his throat. Never mind. Shall we get on with this? He bent down and lit the candles between them as Hazel and her father knelt on either side of it. The flames didn’t flicker in the still air. Joseph, hold out your left hand.

Hazel watched Joel draw the blade at his side, a dagger no longer than a large kitchen knife. As the tip of the blade touched her father’s palm just below his index finger, she remembered to breathe and let out a whistle of air.

Say the words.

I am Joseph Loman, Sentinel of the bloodline of Cimon, and my duty is done. I kneel and with open arms offer the gift of blood to my successor. He didn’t wince as Joel drew the blade across his palm, producing a line of red. Hazel, born of my blood, once again take the gift of my life.

Hazel.

She held out her right hand, felt the cold steel touch her flesh, and spoke. I am Hazel Loman, of the bloodline of Cimon, and my blood is the blood of the Sentinel before me. She did wince, as she felt the steel move across her palm, more from expectation than actual pain. Father, I accept your gift gratefully and vow to carry on your work.

Now, press your palms together.

When both did as bid, Joel clasped his own hands around them. She felt a tension in her arm as he pushed both hands down towards the highest flame on the candelabra. She tensed up as the flame touched her skin, then Joel muttered some words in a language she didn’t understand, and the flame expanded to engulf their hands.

He spoke louder now, in English. Time passes and man grows old. But the work of a Sentinel is never done. From father to daughter, inheritance passes and the fire of Cimon’s struggle burns on.

Hazel closed her eyes. Her head swam and she had to put her free hand on the floor to brace herself. Her breath quickened and she felt something soft and cold run up the skin of her back. Then it was done.

Opening her eyes, she suppressed a gasp as she took in the sight of her father. All at once he looked his age. There were more lines on his face and a streak of grey had taken over his hair. He still looked healthy for nearly fifty, but there was no doubting the sudden transformation. She looked away.

Haze, I’m fine. He said. Though he grunted as he rose to his feet. Anyway, how do you feel?

She hopped to her feet with far more ease than her father. Sound, actually. She laughed at how odd the words sounded after the arcane formality of the ritual. Joel cracked a smile as well.

Well then, her father said, you should be up for your first challenge as Sentinel.

#

Joel was in good shape and had sharp instincts, as she had seen when the two of them trained together. But where with the ritual behind her she now felt at ease, as if this was exactly how things were meant to be, he had hardly stopped chattering since.

What do you think motivates people to fall for them? He was asking. "I mean, I get the romance and all that around the Gothic imagery and that. Well, I don’t get it, exactly. But I know that it’s a thing. But this isn’t some person dressing up a certain way to try and entice a lover, this is a thing, luring in prey. Victims. It’s not human. More than that, it’s dead, so you would have thought that –"

Joel?

Yeah?

Shut up.

He closed his mouth and they carried on walking, her shouldering the weight of the holdall with their weapons in. But it didn’t bother her. In truth, Joel’s words had sent her mind somewhere else.

A voice whispered in her memory: I love you. I want you to be mine...forever.

She gritted her teeth. Joel was right; they weren’t humans, they were things, and they had to be destroyed. She had learned that lesson the hard way some years ago. But that didn’t mean she needed him reminding her of it.

When she looked over, he still had his eyes down to the ground. She had upset him. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

I’m sorry.

He looked over at her, eyes wide.

I just need the quiet to think this through, that’s all. I didn’t mean to upset you.

It’s okay. I’m not upset. The way he puffed out his chest told her that was a lie.

She smiled. Alright, then. How about we get this done?

#

Katie struggled against the rope around her arms, but the knots wouldn’t budge. A dull throb pulsed through her arms and the streams of tears burned her face.

It’s not so bad. The other girls cooed from behind Nathaniel. We all had to go through it. You come out stronger at the other end.

Still she strained and pulled against the rope. Until Nathaniel smiled at her and revealed his true face. His beautiful, pale skin turned yellow and grey and his face became the face of a monster. The web of veins, the bloody red eyes, the skin drawn so far back he looked like a skull. The teeth like those of a shark. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, but instead all she could do was gasp. Then his mouth was on her neck.

Several hours later, she still felt light-headed. There was a burning at her neck, covered over with a bandage. She swam in and out of consciousness, and in the moments where everything went dark she saw her mother’s face, heard her voice scolding her about Satanism and witchcraft. She laughed in the face of her imaginary mother, the laughter becoming tears as she jerked back to reality.

A crash downstairs stopped her tears. It was followed by more noises. Grunts, smacks, clatters, screams. It sounded like a fight, but with who?

The door burst open and one of the other girls – she called herself Shayde – came running in. She was gasping, crying, and looked genuinely terrified.

What... Katie said.

Shayde clamped a hand over her mouth. Don’t. She whispered. They’ll hear you. They’ll kill us. They’ve already killed Nathaniel.

Her breathing quickened and her mouth twitched under Shayde's hand.

Shayde ran over to the door, remembering it was still open. As she closed it over, it flew inwards, splintering and knocking her over.

She held her hands up, pleading. The attacker, a girl with strawberry blonde hair and a slim, athletic figure, didn’t listen. She swung the sword in her hand, decapitating Shayde in one clean blow. The head rolled over to Katie’s feet, now trapped in the same horrific form she had seen Nathaniel in.

This time, Katie did scream.

A young man followed the girl into the room. He was the same age as the girl, short and lean. He’d looked briefly at Katie, then at the girl, but no words had passed between them. He picked up the head in one hand, dragged the body by its collar with the other, and disappeared.

Did you ingest any of his blood?

Did I – What?

The man who brought you here, he fed on you. Did he make you drink his blood? Both her voice and her manner were sympathetic, which calmed Katie down somewhat.

Err, no. No, I never he... Before she could say more, the girl raised her sword and swung. Katie winced and cried out. Her arms came free and she slumped to the floor. When she looked up, the girl had lowered her sword and was offering her a hand.

I’m Hazel. She said as she helped Katie to her feet. The man and women who had you tied up were vampires. They’re gone now. Let’s get you out of here and home.

She could think of nothing to say except Okay. She followed Hazel out of the room and downstairs, doing her best to ignore the trail of blood where Shayde's body had been dragged. In the hall, it joined up with five other trails that all led out into the back garden. The lad Hazel had been with came back from that direction shortly.

Done? Hazel asked. When he nodded, she said, Katie, this is Joel. Her tone was different when she spoke to Joel, harder and more abrupt. Let’s get her home and call it a night then.

She followed them into the street. The whole road was derelict and empty, metal or wooden boards blocking the windows and doors of the houses.

How did you fall in with them? Hazel asked her.

What?

The vampires. As a rule, they groom their victims rather than just snatching them off the street. I take it that’s what happened to you? Where did you meet them?

Grooming. It made it sound so seedy, perverted. Maybe it was, though, since Nathaniel did seem to have been building up a harem of girls he could have his way with whenever he wanted – forever. She shuddered at the idea. They came out of the street onto one with lights on and more traffic, making her realise she had been silent for some time.

It’s okay, take your time. Hazel said.

Katie shook her head. No, it’s okay. I go to this club called Sanguine. It’s like a Goth club, you know. I made friends with Shayde there, and she said she would introduce me to this really cool guy called Nathaniel, if I was up for it. Well... She gestured.

Right, yeah. Hazel shared a look with Joel that Katie couldn’t interpret. So, where is Sanguine?

Oh. No, Katie shook her head. I don’t think they knew anything about it. They’re really nice people and they wouldn’t condone that kind of thing.

Maybe not, but there might be others who pull the same trick in there. We’ll need to find out.

Right, okay. Well it’s in an old warehouse a bit down from the Camp and Furnace. She said, giving some directions so that they could find it. After that, they carried on walking mostly in silence, until she realised the direction they were walking in. Wait, are you taking me home?

Yeah. Joel said. Your mum reported you missing three days ago, and then today someone tipped off the police that they thought someone was being held hostage on that street and gave a description that matched you. You’re really lucky, actually. Usually by the time we find these nests, the people who’ve been taken to them can’t be helped.

Joel! Hazel snapped.

It’s true. He said, with a shrug.

Yeah, but... Katie stopped walking and took several deep breaths. Okay, I’m really glad you saved me back there. I promise, I am. Thank you. But isn’t there, like, a shelter or something for people who’ve been through that?

What about... Joel started.

She doesn’t want to go home. Hazel said. She took Katie’s hand, firmly, and looked her in the eye. Look, love, I know what it’s like when you feel that you can’t handle your family. I promise, I do. Maybe we can help?

Katie swallowed and straightened up, her resolve hardening. You cannot tell my mum that you found me. Or tell her I’m dead. Yeah, tell her that. I bet she doesn’t even cry, I bet she says it was my own fault and I deserved it or something. Tell her that.

We can’t tell her you’re dead. Hazel said. But if you don’t want to go back we can help you.

Katie felt her eyes watering. She didn’t know Hazel, and in all likelihood she would never see her again after tonight. But in that small space of time she had saved her life and had promised to help her get a fresh start. It was more than anyone had ever done for her.

Thank you. Thank you! Thank you! She said, as she threw her arms around Hazel and caught her in a hug.

#

Hazel was still awake as the sun came up outside her bedroom window. She had gotten home not too long after one in the morning, once she had made sure that Katie had somewhere to sleep for the night and someone responsible for making sure that she made out okay. But despite how long a day it had been, starting with a seven am rise for her last shift on a checkout, she didn’t feel at all sleepy. She wasn’t particularly wired either. She just had what her mum would call ‘a busy mind.’

Katie hadn’t told her what her mum had done to her that she would rather be thought dead than go back, and she hadn’t asked. Seeing how much it had affected her had been enough, though the downside was that it now left her speculating on too many grim possibilities.

She’d never had to deal with anything like that, and comparing the angst and drama of her mid-teens to that was probably doing it a disservice. Yet, for that, was the result all that dissimilar? Out of her earshot, Joel had called Katie a fool and Hazel had chastised him for it. But in truth, he was right. She just didn’t like the implications of that.

She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. She needed a distraction, something to clear her head so that she could get some sleep. The fact that she had been coming up on twenty-three hours awake ruled running out as an option. Her mind went to the vibrator buried under her socks in her bedside cabinet. That would do the trick, and without any particularly strenuous effort on her part.

Just then, there was a knock on her door and she turned to see Lucy cautiously peering into her room. Haze, mummy and daddy say it’s too early to get up. Will you make me some Frosties?

The vibrator would have to wait, then. She smiled at her younger sister and got up off the bed. Sure, why not. But we’ll have to be really quiet, okay Luce?

Lucy nodded, then took Hazel’s hand and let herself be led downstairs.

CHAPTER FOUR

In the warmth of the crematorium, Myles could feel the sweat pooling under his armpits. He knew that there would be visible stains there and so kept his arms tight at his sides. In the moments of silence that the service offered, he became conscious of his breathing. He held his breath to avoid breathing too loudly, only to then realise how odd a long exhale would appear and having to release it in shallow breaths.

The priest’s words reached his ears, but he never took them in. He put his hands together when needed, stood and sat on cue, but his thoughts kept wandering. Would as many people turn out for his funeral? What would they say about him? It was a pity that he wouldn’t be able to write his own eulogy. He wouldn’t want this kind of service anyway, with everyone just looking at his coffin and being sad. The prayers went on too long as well, as though they were dragging it out just to throw a bit of faith at the non-believers.

He shouldn’t have been thinking about stuff like that. But what was he supposed to think about? He closed his eyes for the silent reflection and his mind’s eye showed him the skip. The shadow slumped against it; the body which now lay in the wooden box at the front of the room. He opened his eyes and stared at the ground, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

At the end, they were led out to the other door at the back. They were all supposed to share condolences while waiting for the cars to come back around and take the family off to the wake. He recognised Michelle’s mum and took her hand, offering her a sombre nod and a mumbled I’m sorry for your loss. After that he retreated to a corner to avoid having to do it again. Why was it so hard to get the actions right even when the feelings were genuine? Better to avoid having to do it, to make less mistakes.

Shortly, his friends joined him. Then the cars departed, giving everyone else leave to make their way to the venue for the wake. Conversations quickly returned to ordinary volumes as they started walking away from the building. Once they were back at the front, by the car park, then it was safe to light cigarettes.

#

The wake took place at a British Legion social club not far from where Michelle’s parents lived. They were gathered around a couple of tables in the corner. Jess had spent the last half hour fiddling with an empty cigarette packet and was now picking apart the lid. Kit found himself fascinated by the movement of her hands.

Me and Lydia were seventeen and we were in Manchester for a Rigor Mortis gig. She said. "Amazing band. At least, I think so cause we were stoned as fuck by the time we went in there. Anyway, afterwards we were walking back to the station when we saw this girl lying on the floor.

"She had blood in her hair and she was shaking. We didn’t know if she was throwing a whitey, having a seizure or what, but we couldn’t leave her there, so we picked her up and started dragging her to the station. Logical thing would’ve been the hospital, I know, but we were stoned and thought we’d get arrested, so we took her with us and luckily she woke up along the way.

Turns out, she’d drank till she passed out and was shaking cause she was having a bad dream about spiders. Jess put her hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh. Me and her couldn’t stop giggling our tits off about that, but we were all inseparable after that.

Lydia raised her glass. That was Shell.

Shell. Jess agreed, raising her own glass.

They all clinked their glasses before drinking deep.

I missed that gig. Paddy said, the slightest smile on his face. But Shell always had a thing about spiders, ever since she was little. She couldn’t stand them, they scared the hell out of her; but she couldn’t kill them either. Thought it was bad luck. He looked down and sniffed.

Silence followed then, until he stood up. I’m going outside for a fag. He said. Anyone else?

As the only non-smoker in the group, Kit took his phone out of his pocket ready to keep himself occupied when left alone. But Jess declined, so she was sat with him as the rest went outside.

Her eyes were red, he noticed, though her eye-liner was still intact. Her hair reached down to her chest when not spiked up, and he decided that he liked it better brushed down like that. She caught him looking at her and smiled.

You okay, chick?

He smiled back. Yeah, I’m fine. This is all just a bit... In lieu of the right words, he waved a hand in the air.

Yeah. I know what you mean.

I hope they find that guy she was with.

Yeah. Myles is convinced he’s seen him before, watching us and stuff, but I dunno. It’s too weird and horrible. In her hands, the cigarette packet finally came completely apart.

#

After the artificial light of the windowless function room, the glare of the sun took them by surprise as they stepped outside. It was harsh enough that they couldn’t stand by the door, and had to seek refuge in a shady spot around the side of the building to light up.

Mind if I nick one? Lydia asked Myles.

He took another out of the pack, stuck it in his mouth, and used the end of his own to light it. He blew the smoke out as he presented it to her. Fresh off the rack.

She grinned. Ta. I didn’t realise I’d smoked the last of mine on the way from the Crem. I’ve gone from like twenty a day to about sixty in the past couple of weeks.

Sixty? Paddy snorted. I’m pretty sure that I could have done in that many first thing this morning, if my lungs would have allowed it. His brown hair was cropped, just about long enough for a fringe. He had a young face, making him look closer to sixteen than twenty-four, an impression strengthened by his small, slender stature as well as his hair and his clean-shaven face.

When he finished his cigarette, Paddy headed back inside. But Lydia was still smoking, and Myles hung back to wait with her.

How are you doing, My? She asked.

His mind returned to the shadow propped against the skip. He shrugged. I’m okay. I think. How about you?

Yeah... She was still smiling, but now it made her look so much more pained, vulnerable. The moisture in her eyes glistened with the sunlight. It’s strange, her not being around, you know? I just keep thinking I should’ve done what you said.

What’s that?

Taken more weekends off.

Oh, right. Wise man, whoever told you that.

He has his moments. She caressed his arm lightly, absently. He tensed up and felt his cheeks flush and heart rate quicken.

Nah, to be honest I’m terrible at all that sort of stuff. You know, where people are upset and need consoling? I never know what to say.

I think everyone’s the same. She stubbed out her cigarette.

Maybe. But even the little phrases and stuff you’re expected to say, I either forget to say it or it sounds awkward coming out of my mouth. I dunno.

You’re over-thinking it. She reached in his pocket and took out his cigarettes. You mind? When he shook his head, she lit two up and stuck one in his mouth. It does get a bit much, though. Just because of the reason we’re here, even having a drink it feels like I need to take a break from it.

Well, if you want to come with I’ll need to go the shops in a bit. Someone’s been smoking all my fags.

Outrageous behaviour.

Her hand touched his arm again and he found himself smiling.

#

It was dark now, and Lydia’s head was swimming. It was the wine that had done it; how much had she drank in the past few hours, four bottles? Five? Still, it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. There was something about watching the orange glow of the sunset while smoking, with her head feeling as though it was floating several inches above her body that was kind of enthralling.

She was just finishing her cigarette when Paddy came out. He gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, announcing that his taxi was almost there and that he would see her tomorrow.

You take care of yourself, alright? Lydia said. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.

"Yes mum." He said, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

I’m serious – Lydia’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and saw the text from her dad. Shit. The baby’s sick. I’m gonna have to get off myself.

A taxi pulled into the car park, then. This is mine. Do you wanna take it? I’ll call another one.

No, you...

Lyd, honestly. I’m not in a hurry, so stop being daft and get home to your sick kid.

Lydia gave a frustrated sigh, but she knew that she wasn’t going to win the argument, so she ended up taking the taxi. A ten-minute ride later, and she was back at home and talking her two-year-old daughter back to bed.

#

Paddy took longer to get home, opting to walk rather than wait for a taxi. But it was warm enough, a pleasant summer’s night, so he didn’t mind too much. The fact that he had enough alcohol in his system that he wasn’t exactly walking in a straight line may have also