Kardinal (36 page)

PART TEN. REUNION.

Outer Hebrides, Scotland – 11.51pm (GMT), November 28, 2016

HE knew the shepherd was Howard Vince. The burned face couldn’t hide those mean eyes. And that fake Scottish accent did nothing to cover the former Chief of Staff’s plummy tones.

The Nebs have found me, Jake thought.

He knew it would happen.

Although Britain had improved and rebuilt itself over the past few years, old hatreds had returned. Newspapers were cynical and grew more powerful. Politicians were corrupt. People were greedy, just like the old days.

It was as if humans had learned nothing.

Christine Murray remained as Prime Minister, but because of unemployment and poverty, her leadership was under scrutiny.

Her old friend Liz Wilson was now a political enemy, and polls conducted for the forthcoming election had them neck and neck and at each other’s throats.

The Nebs, too, had resurfaced. They denied their old alliance with vampires. Just like modern days fascists denied any links they’d had with Nazism.

But they were back. They had regrouped under a new leader. A former actress named Zella Shaw. She was blonde and attractive, and knew how to put on a show for the cameras. She appeared to have no links with the old Neb regime. But he knew different. He’d seen her. He’d seen her at Religion nearly ten years before. She was there, among the leaders of the movement. She was old Neb dressed up as new.

And when Vince had turned up pretending to be a shepherd, he knew they were on to him.

And their resurgence was down to one thing.

They had a vampire in their midst.

The Nebuchadnezzars’ objective was to build a new Babylon. Nothing else mattered. It was their secret manifesto. The tradition that gelled them as a movement. They were humans who had an ancient coalition with the undead, and there was no way they’d be back in the limelight, bold and arrogant, unless they had a vampire – and a powerful one.

The croft filled with the smell of meat. He went to the stove and lifted the lid off the pan. The casserole bubbled, and he salivated at the aroma. He gave it a taste. It was perfect and would be ready soon.

Good
, he thought,
I’m starving.

He only ate once a day now. A mountain of a meal at night. He lived like a warrior, seeking out food during the day, gathering fruit, killing prey, eating nuts or berries. Then at home at night, he would cook what he’d killed and have a feast. And after eating he would do something he had not done in years. He would sleep. Every night.

He scratched his beard and wondered about his meeting with Vince earlier that day.

Were they sending a human assassin to kill him? It surely wouldn’t be Vince. He was an ex-solider, a former general, but he wasn’t strong enough anymore.

More probably they were carrying out reconnaissance on him before a vampire attack.

His heart beat hard. The old fears rose up inside him. He was suddenly not so hungry any more. He put the lid back on the pan and turned off the heat. He would let the food stew, and if he were hungry later, he’d eat.

But for now, he would sit and wait.

The croft was just one room. He slept under furs and blankets. He cooked at the stove. He warmed himself at the fire, reading and thinking. His life was this one room and the island on which it stood. He’d rebuilt the croft five years before, on his own. The villagers would drop by now and again, say hello. But he mostly kept himself to himself. And they left him alone.

Just as he liked it.

He kept abreast of what was happening through his radio. He had no TV, and even if he had one, most stations were only just coming back on air full-time after the vampire wars. It was really only the BBC and Sky who operated now, and it was still a limited service.

He missed his friends, Murray, who was running the country, her son, David, Kwan Mei, all his other allies.

He couldn’t make contact with them, because it might put them in danger.

Because ever since Jake Lawton had crawled out of the earth, three months after he’d first entered Irkalla, he knew something was hunting him.

Something that wasn’t human.

Something that wasn’t dead or alive.

Many would argue he was merely suffering some form of post-traumatic stress. But he knew his fears were real. And that was why, partly, he chose to live in isolation on the Scottish islands.

But he feared now that whatever had come out of Irkalla after him had found him.

That’s why the Nebs had turned up.

“They’ve got a fucking vampire,” he told himself.

And it was the creature that had slithered out of the underworld in pursuit of him.

It must have been a powerful vampire. A vampire born of Nimrod. An original sin of the monster. Something unkillable by the Great Hunter’s death.

It was a bride.

It was Aaliyah.

He sat by the fire, Apostol Goga’s cane leaning against his armchair.

At midnight, something scratched at the door.

Dread filled Lawton. He had to brace himself. He removed the gold ferrule from the cane to reveal the blade.

He opened the door to her, keeping the cane behind his back, and he nearly died of horror.

She wore a white dress that billowed on the breeze. Death had paled her dark skin, but her eyes blazed red. Her mane of pitch-black hair fanned out in the wind.

She was beautiful, and the horror saturated his veins.

But he kept himself steady.

“Your eye looks terrible,” she said, her voice like silk. “Are you blind?”

“I can see OK.”

She sucked in the air, making a hissing noise. It chilled his blood.

“Why did you leave me, Jake?” she said.

“I looked for you. For months I stayed there, under the earth. I ate rats and insects. I crawled through caves so narrow I nearly suffocated, and I swam great underworld seas. Three months, Aaliyah. But you weren’t there. You’d gone. You have gone.”

He gripped the cane tightly behind his back. He wondered if he would be able to kill her.

“You sent Vince?” he asked.

“The Nebuchadnezzars have been looking for a queen, and I’ve given them one. I rewarded Vince for his valour. A touch of my flesh. He died happily. He was weak. Much too weak to be a lover to me. But you’re not weak, Jake. You were my lover in life. Will you be mine in death, too?”

She moved towards him.

He swelled his chest.

“You can’t come into my home, Aaliyah.”

“Why not, babe?”

“Because if you do, I’ll kill you.”

“My enemy, my lover,” she said. “Did you become Ereshkigal’s lover before you killed her?”

He said nothing.

“Let me in, Jake.”

He stayed quiet.

“Let me in so that you can love me just one last time.”

He didn’t move.

Her eyes flashed.

“Let me in,” she hissed.

He stepped out of her way. She breezed into the croft. He shut the door. He shivered. She’d brought the cold in with her. His grip on the cane tightened.

THE END.

Thomas Emson has published eight horror novels including Maneater, Pariah, and The Vampire Trinity trilogy. He was born and raised in Wales, but now lives in England with his wife, the writer Marnie Summerfield Smith, their Staffordshire Bull Terriers, Frank and Tippi, and a rabbit called Mabel. His books are available on
Amazon
.

FIRST an apology: sorry it has taken so long to bring Kardinal, the last part of The Vampire Trinity to Kindle. All sorts of to-ing and fro-ing occurred with my publishers, but I finally decided to do it myself. So, it’s done. The trilogy has been completed. I hope you have enjoyed it. Thank you so much for buying it, for borrowing it, for reading it, and for enjoying it – well, I think that applies to most of you. In fact, thank you for buying, borrowing, reading, enjoying, all my books – without you, the readers, it would be pointless. I write to be read, it’s as simple as that. So there’s the first thank you: my readers. THANK YOU!

Also, everyone at Snowbooks, who
have been excited about all my books, and supported them. I’m grateful to you Emma, Anna, and Rob, for the opportunity to be published.

Because of my books, I found myself an agent, Mariam Keen of the Whispering Buffalo Literary Agency, and I thank her for fighting my corner, and for
her continued faith in me.

Thank you to my mum and dad, who I don’t think have read any of these books – and to be honest, I don’t think they should. Also my brothers, Rhys Edwards and Dr Llifon Edwards, and their families. They’ve always supported me, even when I wasn’t Thomas Emson, and I’m sure they’ll support me when I am no longer Thomas Emson, as well.

Thanks must also go to my brother-in-law Greg Smith and my remarkable mother-in-law, Maureen Smith MBE, who is astonishingly supportive.

And also to friends: Katie Clifford, Lisa Devlin and Chris Found, Graham Bickley and Peggy Riley, Jo Roberts and Richard Corrall, Wojtek Godzisz and Michelle Kreussel,
Sue McMackin, Holly Kirwan-Newman (proof-reader extraordinaire) and Greg Lawrence who have read my books, and said nice things about them.

Gratitude also goes to my fellow writers on Twitter, who are fun and informative to follow.

Finally, the biggest thanks of all goes to my utterly wonderful, gorgeous wife Marnie Summerfield Smith who has been unflinching in her support. Never, ever has she even hinted that I should get a proper, full-time job to pay the bills. She has more faith in me than I do. Her love fuels me, and she is an inspiration.

Thomas Emson

September 2013