*This is a sample from the first two chapters. This preview is from a work-in-progress novel. The content shown here may differ from the final polished product.
***
I was at a crowded pub in Dublin when he burst into my life, as sudden and shocking to the senses as a bullet breaking the skin.
I sat and swiveled on a bar stool, dressed in a damp windbreaker and jeans. My gaze followed his every move.
His rain-soaked boots squelched as he traipsed across the brick floor. He walked with a straight, confident posture that had a bit of a playful rhythm to it, almost like he was dancing. A tattered duster—right out of a Wild West movie—hung loosely over his shoulders. Underneath it, a damp, navy blue button-up shirt clung closely to his broad chest. A jet-black cowboy hat sat atop his head and covered his pale forehead. Shaggy hair hung over his face like strands of fire.
He passed crowds of people gathered around simple wooden tables and stools. Over his head hung everything from Irish flags to hurling team logos to signs that read, “Guinness proudly served here.” Photos of the tavern’s founders adorned the walls. The smell of battered fish and ale lingered in the air.
I wasn’t the only one spellbound by him, apparently: a raven-haired woman in a glittery green dress watched him with interest as he sauntered to the counter. Her dress trailed along the floor and covered her feet.
Glassy, circular lamps bathed him in their warm glow like spotlights. He was painfully handsome, with a boyish, unblemished face and high cheekbones. A slight smile crept along his lips, casting a playful yet guarded expression. He seemed like a relic from a bygone era, a cowboy marching into a dusty saloon. And yet he relaxed his shoulder on the shiny counter like he fit right in here.
“Conor?” The bartender blinked. He was a burly, middle-aged man with rosy cheeks and a scraggly crimson beard. “Conor, is that you?”
The gorgeous boy nodded. “Aye.”
“Conor, me aul flower! C’mere to me, boi.” He pulled the stranger from his seat and into a tight hug. In the midst of their embrace, the bartender snatched the hat and placed it on his own round head. “I haven’t seen ya fer donkey’s years. Still playing cowboy, ya old sap?”
“Oi!” the handsome stranger said, grasping at the hat. “Quit acting the maggot, ya right gowlbag!”
I giggled. He turned his head and our eyes met. His sparkled like polished emeralds in a dark cave. A lone birthmark—a tiny brown dot—rested in the center of his forehead. Gazing upon his radiant face, my heart threatened to leap out of my throat. I’d never met anyone with such beautiful features in my life. Was he even real? It was like I was staring at an ancient marble statue, chiseled to perfection.
“Aw, bollix,” he whispered. “Not again.” He shot the barkeep an annoyed look as he snatched his hat back. “Watch yer manky hands, ya langer.”
“Just having the craic, ye old narkey hole.” They stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing in unison. After trading insults like that, I couldn’t tell if they were friends or hated each others’ guts.
“It’s bleedin’ bucketing down, like,” the cowboy said. His voice was lyrical and melodic, as if he sang with every word. “Then again, when is it not in this country?”
“Aye. And yet it’s still jammers in here, like. Everybody’s going on the lash tonight. Fancy a gat yerself?”
The emerald-eyed boy nodded. “I’m gaspin’.”
“The usual?”
“Aye. Murphy’s. As a fellow Corkonian, you shouldn’t even have to ask, boi.” He glanced and gestured his head at me. “And a pint of the other black stuff for yer wan there lah.”
The bartender’s bright blue eyes darted between us. “Up to yer old tricks again, are ya, boi? You’re a right nobber.”
“Ah, wind yer neck in, Sean. You’re doin’ me head in.”
The husky man turned and searched the colorful rows of booze lining the shelf. He grabbed a bottle of Murphy’s Irish Stout and poured it into a mug. The cream rose to the top and nearly spilled over, then subsided.
“What’s the story, boi?” he asked the stranger, sliding the mug in front of him.
“Grand. Yourself?”
“Divil a bit.” He stroked his chin, lost in thought, then slammed the counter as he recalled something. “Stall the ball! I was chatting to yer aul fella Liam the other night. Out of his bean he was, mad fer this beour, like. Not bad at all, she was. Wouldn’t kick her outta bed fer eatin’ crisps.”
I listened to their conversation amidst the bustling pub chatter, staring like a deer caught in headlights. Were they still speaking English? I could hardly follow a word of it.
“Get outta that garden,” the cowboy said.
“Here, I swear on me old laid, boi. That Liam is a right meb. He’s been doin’ a line with Nessa fer years, too. If his oul’ doll catches wind of it, she’ll reef him somethin’ fierce, like.”
“Sure look, what can ye do?” He took big, greedy gulps of the stout. “Ah! That’s the job.”
“What brings you back to Éire, like?”
The beautiful stranger shrugged. “A bit o’ this and a bit o’ that.”
“More like a bit of ‘tit’ and a bit of ‘gat,’ right, boi?”
“Chalk it down,” the cowboy said with a mischievous grin.
The two laughed once again. The bartender pulled a lever on a tap that was emblazoned with a golden harp. Like the other drink, the foam rose to the top and settled in a satisfying manner. I secretly hoped and prayed he wouldn’t card me. Then again, half of my body was over 3,000 years old. I didn’t exactly have I.D. to prove that fact, though.
“Here lah,” the barkeep said, setting the glass of Guinness on the counter and winking at me. “Enjoy, lass.” He pointed at the boy. “But be double wide o’ him, like. He’s a right cuncha.”
“Aw, feck off, will ya?” The stranger waved a dismissive hand.
The barkeep chuckled and shuffled away to serve other customers.
After he left, the handsome boy turned to me. “How ya getting on?”
“Um, fine, I guess,” I stammered. I struggled to look into his eyes directly.
“Where are you from?”
“From all over, really. My parents are from Peru and Japan, and I’ve spent some time living in the U.S., too.”
“Japan, eh? I’ve been there meself. Brilliant place.” He folded his hands together and bowed. “Konnichiwa.”
I smiled as he continued. “Never could get the hang of chopsticks, like. The bleedin’ things.”
“It just takes some practice. I struggled with ‘em when I was little.”
“Is that right?” He’d (mercifully) changed his speech when talking to me, slowing his words and using a less thick accent. “And may I ask the name of a right lasher such as yourself?”
“Alice. Alice Pachari Kamiya.”
“Okay, Alice I can do, but the rest? Uh…” He furrowed his brow as he tried to sound out my names. “Pah-cha-ree Kah-mee-ah? I’m sure I made a complete haymes of that.”
I shook my head. “That was actually pretty close.” I kept my eyes on the stool legs. Couldn’t look him in the face. God, he was so hot!
“Grand, grand.” He leaned in closer. He smelled of roasted ale, fresh cream, and the fragrance in the grass after the rain. “So, Alice Pah-cha-ree Kah-mee-ah, what’s the craic?”
I sipped my drink. The black liquid tasted toasty and bitter as it slid down my throat. It was strangely addictive. I took larger gulps, rapidly draining the glass.
“Like father, like daughter,” Daji’s voice echoed in my mind. Our mind. “Pace yourself, my darling.”
The sexy stranger whistled. “Looks like you were gaspin’ yourself, lass. Keep this up and you’re gonna be positively langers.” As I set the drink down, he asked again. “So, what’s the craic?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean…what brings you to the Emerald Isle? Business? Or…” He put on a smile that nearly made my heart stop. “Pleasure?”
“I’m, uh, just traveling around,” I stuttered. No one would believe the real reason I was here. “You?”
The rain continued to patter on the roof as he quaffed his own drink. “Just passin’ through, and catching up with me old fellas, like.” He pointed at the bartender. “Over there lah? That’s Sean. He and I are both from County Cork. He’s a bit of a melter, but he’s got a good heart, do you know what I mean, like?”
I nodded, taking note of the woman in the shamrock-colored dress. She sat in a corner watching him. “Seems like you’re popular around here, cowboy. Do you know her?”
He glanced at her. “Yer wan over there lah? Naw. Never seen her before in me life.”
Not that I could blame her for staring. He was so good-looking. Even cuter than Ace.
Wait…who’s Ace?
I winced as the face of a sallow-skinned boy flashed across my mind. His eyes twinkled like gemstones, one ruby and one sapphire. I knew him, but where? And what was our connection?
“Oi,” the flame-haired boy said, “Have you got the gawks? Er, I mean, are you feelin’ ill, like?”
“I’m…I’m fine. Just a slight headache.”
“All right,” he said, gazing at me with a wrinkled brow. “Pace yourself with the black stuff, or you’re gonna wind up fluthered, like.”
“Thanks. I’ll be careful.”
He chugged his stout and eyed me with curiosity. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your plans later? Have you got a place to stay? If not, you’re more than free to pop over to me gaff later. I’ve got one here in Dublin.”
“That’s okay,” I said, shaking my head. “I appreciate it, though.”
“Say,” my mother’s voice echoed, “This boy seems familiar. I can’t quite place it, however.”
“Have we…met before?” I asked the stranger.
“Naw. I don’t believe so. I’d remember a ravishing face like yours if we had, like.”
My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I’m…I’m not that pretty, really.” I mumbled under my breath, “How can I be? I’m a monster.”
“Sorry?” he said, tilting his head and staring.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“All right. So…just traveling, eh? Been anywhere else?”
“Yeah. Just came here from Spain.”
His eyebrows raised underneath the brim of his hat. “Spain? What’d you see there?”
“Basque Country. Had a run-in with an old acquaintance.”
“An ‘old acquaintance,’ eh? I’d love to hear the story behind that. But first…” He stood and slid the stool in place. “I’m off to the jacks. Oi, Sean!” He pointed at his mug. “Lamp me glass, will ya? I’m headin’ to the bog.”
The burly barkeep nodded. The cowboy strolled over to the restroom entrance. As he closed the door, the girl in green’s black eyes stayed locked onto him. In seconds, the door flung open.
“Whew!” he said, plugging his nose. “It’s right manky in there. I’m popping outside.”
He weaved his way through the rowdy crowd and left the building. Sure enough, as I expected, the girl in green followed him, the train of her dress slinking along the floor as she left.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking? I pondered.
Daji, who shared my thoughts, agreed. “Let’s go after her, my little jewel.”
I stepped out onto the rainy city’s cobblestone streets. Gloomy, stormy night skies thundered overhead. The main concrete roads were lined on both sides with double yellow lines. Strings of flags were strewn between the buildings. I weaved around rows of metal cylinders on the sidewalk as I tailed the two. The green-eyed boy turned the corner into an alley, and the green-dressed woman did likewise.
As I rounded the bend, I entered an alleyway lined with beige bricks and lush bushes. My shoes got soaked as they stepped in puddles in a gray sidewalk made of large, square blocks. In the light of the lamps hanging from the walls, I made out the two figures. The handsome boy in cowboy clothes had his back to the wall. The woman pinned him there, her palms on the bricks. From underneath her skirt poked…deer hooves?
Her face inched closer to his neck. Sharp, vampiric fangs appeared over her gums. “I’ll bet you taste good, feen.”
***
“Funny, that,” he said in a casual, indifferent tone. “I was about to say the same to you, like. Fancy a feek?”
“Wait!” I cried, hurrying closer. “She’s a—”
The vampire unhinged her jaws and threatened to sink her fangs into his flesh. Before she could partake of his blood, a deafening “crack” rang through the rainy skies. The creature shrieked and flailed about in agony. Another crack. She lay sprawled on the wet concrete. Thick, syrupy black liquid flowed from holes in her stomach. It mixed with the rainwater and congealed.
She attempted to move, but the cowboy placed a soggy boot on her chest. He cocked a revolver in his left hand. Smoke billowed from the barrel. The smell of gunpowder penetrated the air.
“You’re a pure gom,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I led you here. Easier to blow your brains out away from the crowd, like.”
“Well, aren’t ye a cute hoor?” she said with a sneer. “Are ye with one o’ them monster huntin’ groups?”
He placed the barrel to her forehead. “Ask me arse.”
Another “bang.” A bullet shell clattered on the ground. Black blood spurted from the monster as her body slumped over, lifeless. Her body dissolved into a purple sludge-like substance. Liquid Aether, the magical energy that flows between the worlds.
He twirled the revolver and placed it in a holster hidden under his cloak. When he turned to me, he let out a yelp and drew his gun.
“Oh, it’s you. You scared the bejesus outta me.”
“What’s going on?” I wondered, keeping an eye on the weapon in his hand. “What was that just now?”
“A Baobhan Sith,” he explained. “Vampiric female Aelithians that like to prey on young men. They especially fancy hanging around social settings: pubs, dance clubs, rock concerts, and the like.” He wiped a bit of the black blood from his duster. “Trick is, just lamp their feet. They’ve always got deer hooves.”
“Who are you?” I asked, gawking at him in awe and bewilderment.
He showed off, twirling his revolver around his fingers with ease. With the barrel, he pushed up the brim of his hat. “Conor Doran at your service. Adventurer of lands far and wide, slayer of all things that go bump in the night, and breaker of the hearts of every fair maiden in sight.” He took my hand and kissed it. “But none as fair as yours, a chara.”
The kiss sent shivers rushing from head to toe. My heart pounded against my chest, about to tear itself out. He was so hot that it physically hurt.
I drew my hand away. “Conor, huh? That speech sounded rehearsed.”
“G’way outta that. My words always come directly from me heart.”
“A-a-anyway,” I stuttered, trying to hide my excitement and blushing cheeks. “How’d you know that was a monster?”
“I deal with their kind all the time, like.” He holstered his revolver and peered at me with suspicious eyes. “Question is…how’d you know that was a monster?”
“Well, I—”
“I smell it!” a grainy voice bellowed. “The blood of my nemesis!”
The teal-green light on the tear-shaped jewel on my necklace came to life, illuminating the alleyway. This was a Magatama, a jewel from Japan that acted as a sort of “warning” to let me know when danger was coming. And one of the final gifts my father gave me before he went missing.
We turned in the direction of the voice. Towering over us in the alley was a hulking beast. The creature resembled an ashy-skinned troll spliced with animal parts. Its lone eye shone a sickly, jaundiced yellow, with rectangular goat pupils. Its breath condensed into mist in the cold autumn air. Its massive, muscly body was adorned with wooden shields, bronze pauldrons, and necklaces made of human skulls.
“Dia ár sábháil,” Conor said with a nervous laugh. “A bleedin’ Fomorian.”
“The blood,” the beast said, sniffing near him. “It comes from you.”
“Houl yer whisht,” Conor snapped. “Your breath is right brutal.”
The road trembled as the monster stepped closer. “The blood of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne flows within you, boy. Who are you? Are you of his kin? ”
“Ask the back of me bollix, ya geebag.”
“Watch out!” I called.
The monster swung a tree-trunk-sized arm at Conor. The gunslinger dove out of the way just in time as the monster’s fist collided with the wall. Bricks collapsed. Dust billowed from the mess. It shook its gnarled fingers and glared at Conor.
“Do not mock me, human. I am the great Searbhan of the Fomóire. Diarmuid was my mortal enemy, the one who slew me. But I have returned from death, and I will have my revenge!”
“Well, aren’t you just the cat’s pajamas?” Conor drew his pistol and waved it at the creature. “I reckon Death misses ya. Allow me to send ya back.”
He pulled the trigger. A bullet whizzed through the rain. As it traveled, a luminous spirit materialized from it.
The spirit of a god.
The bearded ghost deity raised an arm. Electricity crackled in his palm. As the bullet pierced the hulking giant’s skin, the spirit hurled a thunderbolt at it. The beast’s limbs convulsed as it was struck by the lightning. Just as soon as the spirit had materialized, it vanished into wisps that blew in the wind.
“How’s that?” Conor said with a confident smirk. “A bit ‘shocking,’ eh, boi?”
“What was that?” I wondered. “What’d you just do?”
“How dare you!” The giant roared. It twitched as it stomped closer. More thick, black liquid trickled from the bullet wound. “I will crush your bones and drink your blood! The blood of the man I hate!”
It reached down its gullet and made disgusting retching sounds. From its drooling mouth, it pulled out a colossal club made of bones. Probably the bones of its poor victims.
Conor fired another volley. The monster deflected it with a swing of the club. It let out another roar and charged at us.
“Uh-oh,” Conor said, taking a step back. “He’s up to 90 now.” He turned to me and jabbed a finger at the main road. “We’d better leg it! C’mon!”
I followed him, sprinting back to the street I’d come from. An explosion rattled my ears. When I glanced over my shoulder, the creature had clobbered the side of a building. It trudged after us, moving way faster than I’d anticipated. Drunk denizens of the city stumbled about around us, oblivious to the presence of the deadly monster. The most they could detect was the ground quaking as it pursued us.
“What do we do now?” I called.
“We’re on O’Connell Street now. See that?” He pointed to a metal spire in the plaza ahead. “That’s the ‘Stiletto in the Ghetto.’”
“Yeah?”
“Keep going past it to the O’Connell Bridge. We’ll take the langer for a swim there.”
“Got it. What about you?”
“I’ll keep him busy,” he said, puffing as he ran. “The bastard’s after me, anyway.”
“Alice,” Daji’s voice admonished inside my head. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
You got any better ones, Mom? No? Didn’t think so.
I pounded the pavement, rushing past the famous Dublin Spire. Sure enough, the road led to a bridge over the River Liffey. Buildings were stacked nearby like gingerbread houses. Glassy lamps hummed. Green lights illuminated the bridge below, and green buses “whooshed” past me. Lots of green here, as you’d expect. I maneuvered around the crowd and picked up speed.
Shots resounded as Conor fired rounds at the beast. When I looked back, he was clashing with the creature. It shielded itself with the club, then slammed it into him. The cracking of bones filled the air. Conor’d body was sent flying across the road and into the bridge rail. Dubliners screamed and panicked.
“No!” I shouted, reaching out to him in vain. The long nails curled in my balled fist. “Okay, that does it…”
I marched over to the monster. It lurched over Conor with a satisfied, toothy grin. “Even if my enemy is no longer in this world, I will quench my thirst for vengeance with your blood, boy. Slán.”
It lifted its enormous weapon, ready to bring it down and smash Conor to a pulp. I hurriedly blurted an incantation in Japanese. “Honō yo, waga teki wo yakiharae!”
I snapped my fingers. Flames flickered to life and danced in them. I twirled the fire around, then hurled it at the beast. The giant’s skin caught ablaze. The bone club crashed to the concrete. It groaned and howled as it flailed about, trying to put out the fire.
I blasted it with another spell. It stumbled around and clawed at itself, then let out a pathetic goat’s bleat as it tumbled over the edge. The waters of the Liffey splashed and sprayed a group of onlookers.
“Great job,” Daji echoed. “That’s my baby girl.”
I don’t need compliments from you, I hissed back.
“Nice one!” Conor cheered. He leaned against the rail and grimaced. “Ungh, I’ll feel this one in the morning, for sure.”
“Hey,” I said, examining him. “You okay?”
“Just grand.” He peered over the ledge. “We’d better leg it before he comes back.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “‘Comes back?’ What do you mean?”
“Fomorians originally came from under the earth and the sea, like. He’s not likely to drown.”
“That is correct, mortal,” a deep voice boomed. It sounded like the roar of raging wildfire. “We Fomóire are kindred of the sea.”
The atmosphere grew thick and suffocating around me. A foul, acrid scent punched my nostrils. I knew this scent.
The scent of death.
“Another visitor, eh?” Conor challenged. He picked up his revolver and readied it. “Bring it on. The more the merrier, I say.”
The stormclouds parted. A shadowy figure plummeted from the heavens. It crashed into the bridge, sending debris flying. As it rose, the pressure grew stronger. The invader was a hulking giant covered completely in jagged, twisted scraps of metal. A thorny crown rested on top of its makeshift helmet. Like Sauron crossed with Darth Vader.
“I smell the stench of the Fae on you, boy,” the imposing giant in armor said. “Just who are you exactly?”
“I’ll tell you,” Conor said, cocking his gun, “the same thing I told your lackey: ‘ask the back of me bollix, ya geebag.’”
A lone ball of blood-red flames crackled inside the helmet’s visor. “You’re a lively one, aren’t you, boy? Unfortunately for you, I have no patience for such insolence. No one scorns the lord of the Fomóire and lives to tell the tale.”
Conor gasped. “Stop the lights! You’re…Balor?”
“Indeed, mortal.” Metal creaked as he crossed his gauntlet-covered arms. “Now, bow before me and apologize profusely. Beg to be my slave. And perhaps I may reconsider turning you to ash in the literal blink of an eye.”
“Who’s this guy?” I asked.
“King Balor,” the gunslinger explained. “Ruler of the Fomorians, the giants like the one you just sent for a swim. At the second Battle of Mag Tuired, he lead the Fomorians against the Tuatha Dé Danann, the ancient Irish gods.”
A raspy laugh reverberated from inside the suit of armor. “It appears my reputation precedes me. Most excellent, boy. That saves us time.” The glowing, glaring eye swiveled between us. “Surrender yourselves to me. Swear to serve me and do whatever I say until the end of days. Or else.”
In spite of my dread and buckling legs, I stared him down. “You can take that and shove it, you lame Sauron knock-off. Don’t you have some Hobbits to go chase right now?”
“Nice one again,” Conor said with a chuckle. “He really is the bulb off that ‘Lord of the Rings’ villain.”
“You dare insult me?” the armored giant said. “King Balor, the Eye of Blight and Death?”
“Aw, feck off already.”
The cowboy fired a round. A spirit emerged from inside it. This time, it was a woman covered in lava. She slung an eruption of magma and ash at the creature as the bullet flew towards him. The giant turned, and the flaming eye blazed with rage. In an instant, the bullet disintegrated. The spirit accompanying it faded away.
The gunslinger stared at the monster in disbelief. “That was brutal.”
“That,” Balor gloated, “is but a taste of what I am about to do to you.”
I attempted to cast a stream of fire at the giant, but his lone eye snuffed it out. “Oh, crap. What do we do?”
“You pray to your gods. But they will not save you.”
I closed my eyes and winced, hoping my death would be quick and not too painful.
***
Ireland is in danger. Four legendary treasures are needed to save it. Alice must work with the sexy and mysterious gunslinger Conor to find the treasures, but can she trust him?
Better yet, can she even trust herself?
Coming to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited this winter! Pre-order your copy today!
Copyright © M.W. Arita and Aeonian Entertainment
