Padraig O'Connell was not a happy man. His life sucked, my life sucks, he thought morosely. I've a wife at home who has no more interest in me then a, then a…well some damn thing that she's not interested in and three unhappy and whining teenagers who can't wait to get their hands in my pockets and then bugger me by eating me out of house and God damned home.
Maureen, oh I once loved her, I remember that smile and the sparkle in her eye, I still love her, but does she really need to be nagging at me all the live-long day, her endless yammering stomping out the glowing embers of the love in my heart. He sighed; he had the soul of a poet lodged in a bricklayer's body.
He could hear her even now if he concentrated. You're naught but a drunken lout Padraig, look at you man, four or five nights a week down to the pub. Off drinking with your fellows and leaving us all here at home wondering if you're alive or dead!
Well he wasn't dead yet, at least he was pretty sure that he wasn't dead, though the way the world tipped and spun from side to side as he wound his way along the street, he was considering the fact that it might be a good idea to be lying down before he was falling down.
Just another night out with the lads, it had seemed a good idea at the time. A few pints to celebrate Saint Padraig's Day, to celebrate his Irish roots, that was what Harris had said. Yeah, to celebrate your Irish roots.
Padraig O'Connell's family had not set foot on the soil of the Emerald Isle for four generations now. Toronto was their home and they were as Canadian as poutine and Hockey Night in Canada. All that remained of Ireland in them was their name. His father, the family historian, in a fit of ancestral nostalgia had named his first born son, Padraig, in honor of the Holy Saint Padraig.
Well there is not a whole damn lot I would have in common with a holy man, Padraig thought muzzily as he sauntered a weaving path along the deserted street; I can't bloody remember the last time I went to confession. He paused, tipsy, at the mouth of a dark laneway that was overhung by two tall, old brick buildings.
Pad-rag, Pad-rag, he could still hear the school yard taunts and the witless teachers who year after painful year, perpetrated their pitiful Anglo-pronunciation of his name. Pad-rag…pah, the stupid ass-holes!
It was very late and very dark and he knew Maureen was going to have his head, well that is if she hadn't thrown his clothes out all over the front yard…again. He smiled to himself, self indulgently. Well Padraig m'lad, at least you're not driving.
He paused to lean against the wall at the mouth of the lane. Shakily he brought his watch up to his bleary eyes. The illuminated dial said 4:10 AM. Holy Mary, I've been walking for an hour and a half.
He turned his head as he heard a whoosh, at the end of the lane there was a heated red glow of light, wavering in the dark, blurred silhouettes, moved back and forth in front of the brightening glow.
Padraig thought, well now that looks like a trash can fire, it would be nice to warm up a bit, and without any more thought he began to make his way down the lane, steadying himself with a hand on the rough brick of the walls and keeping his eyes on the ground as he picked his way among the refuse on the laneway floor.
He was so involved with staying upright and watching his step that when the dark figure collided with him, he was dragged completely over in a comic tangle of milling limbs and the hit the ground, hard landing on his back and driving all the air from his lungs.
There was a muttered oath and then the weight lifted quickly off him.
Gagging and gasping, Padraig lifted his head from where he lay flat on his back in the stinking wet of the floor of the lane.
He could see a young man, who appeared to be locked in some kind of combat with a …with a…
Padraig propped himself to one elbow and struggling to regain his breath, he knuckled his eyes.
It can't be, he thought, it can't be…but it was. There in the lane stood a great bloody, red demon with bull horns and all, just like the ones from the pamphlets at church.
Padraig rolled to his side, struggling to get his legs under him. I have to stop drinking, I have to stop drinking. Please Holy Father, if it's just gone when I turn around I swear that I'll…
Padraig could hear the sounds of the ongoing battle behind him and he risked a glance over his shoulder. Oh Christ, it was still there, waving its spade ended tail about and flapping its bat shaped wings as it hunched forward shifting from foot to…hoof to hoof?
He was trying to stumble to his feet, the wind from the demons wings, sending his clothes flapping and trash and papers scuttling by him down the lane. Finally, finally, he fetched up against the solid surface of the wall.
Padraig was wide –eyed in fright, every terror that the nuns and brothers had planted in his head in parochial school, was coming to life tonight.
The long-haired young man attacked the creature again, with all the beautiful agility of a cat, leaping forward and up to strike at the demon while twisting away from the slashing talons.
Padraig couldn't look away, he could see now that the red glow was coming from the air that churned as though super-heated behind the demon. Like the fires of Hell, Padraig thought.
He could see from where he sheltered, that laying open on the ground between the demon's hooves, was a book, the pages covered with a fiery writing that moved, crawling across the page. As he watched it became clear that the young man was attempting to get the book away from the demon. He would move in with a dancer's grace, but as soon as he stretched out his hands for the volume, the demon would slash at him with razor sharp talons and he would be forced to dart out of reach.
Padraig could see that he was not always successful in this tactic and his shirt was torn to pieces, Padraig could glimpse the dark and bloody rents in the pale flesh of his chest and shoulders.
He watched as the demon reached out and then feinted back into the young man's charge, wincing inwardly as he watched the gigantic creature lift him in one clawed hand and then slash repeatedly across his chest with the other. Then with a sudden negligence he tossed the young man's body aside where he landed with a bone crunching impact on the ground at Padraig's feet. Padraig shuffled forward to kneel and lay a hand on the young man's shoulder, his hand came away red with blood.
"Get back" the young man wheezed as he rolled to his elbows with a groan. "Run."
"You need to get that book." Padraig shouted against the hot wind of the demon's wings, a wind full of the horrid stench of brimstone.
"I'm trying." The lad said as he levered himself to his hands and knees, glancing up into Padraig's face.
The demon's slitted eyes scanned the scene in front of him, he could not touch the book, but he could destroy the one who would use it to send him back to hell.
Padraig leaned forward, helping the young man to his feet, even in the heat of battle and slick with his own blood, his skin was cool under Padraig's fingers.
"Look you," Padraig said. "You're never going to get it that way." Whether it was inborn recklessness or pity or the multiple celebratory whiskeys that sloshed around in his gut, Padraig was not sure, but he heard himself say. "You distract the bloody great bugger, and I'll nip in and grab the book."
He had the impression of clear blue eyes and then saw the lad's swift nod.
Faster than he would have thought possible he watched the slim figure attack again, a swift feint towards the book and then off to the left. The horned head of the demon swung to follow his movement, dipping…
Padraig gave it no more thought than, I've naught to lose…and he darted in to almost between the cloven hooves, scooping up the book and then scuttling backwards with it cradled in his arms.
He looked up in time to see the long smooth horn pass through the young man's chest, goring him and then withdraw. Then the demon was picking up the slowly crumpling form, hoisting him in the air and then throwing his body towards Padraig where he crouched with the book held to his chest. The lad landed in a boneless bloodied mass on the ground at Padraig's feet.
"You have not the power, human, the nightmare voice that issued from the demon's maw taunted. The beast reared up and took a single step forward on the cloven hooves.
"Saint Michael, protect us," Padraig breathed.
"Sancte Michel, Archangele…" he heard the lad whisper from where he lay broken and bleeding on the ground.
He turned his head to look at Padraig, "P-please open it, sh-show me the page with the drawing of this beast, quickly," the lad gasped.
The demon moved forward another menacing step. It lifted its wings to flare above its head, the moving membranes casting running and flickering shadows across the gruesome scene.
Padraig opened the book with a quick prayer to whichever of the saints which might be watching, and miraculously, it opened to the image of the demon before him. He quickly stooped down to hold the open book in front to the young man on the ground.
Padraig thought, he should be dead, one of his arms was obviously broken, his ribs were collapsed on one side of his chest and there were just too many gashes across his body to count. But the worst, by far the worst, was the dark red blood that flowed from the huge puncture under his heart, the same dark red blood that flowed past his lips to dribble down his chin.
"You're dying man." Padraig said as his eyes fell to the writing on the page, it seemed to twist and turn in and of its own accord.
"Not yet," the lad wheezed, he lifted his head with an anguished moan and Padraig slid an arm beneath his shoulders to support him, all the while holding the open book above his chest.
He began to read in a language that Padraig had never heard, and at his first whispered words the demon halted its advance, as though stricken.
Padraig was watching the demon, but he heard the change in the young man's voice, it deepened and became somehow stronger, compelling. When he looked down to the lad's face he saw that his eyes had gone completely black, iris-less and indecipherable. The power that originated from that broken body was staggering, and Padraig began to tremble anew.
Holy Saint Padraig, he thought, it is the Lord's might come down to strike the devil himself.
The demon was retreating now, but the air began to spin, cyclone-like around the creature, sucking in trash and paper from the ground, it spun faster and faster. Padraig could see the demon screaming but he could hear nothing but the voice of the lad and his commanding tone.
The words drew to an end and suddenly the lane was quiet and Padraig and the lad were alone, the only sound the bubbling rasp of the lad's breathing.
Padraig tossed the book aside and reached out to cradle the young body in his arms. The pale, blood smeared, face turned to him, the eyes black and bottomless. "Now I'm going to die." The lad said in a whisper.
"No, you can't, it's not right." Padraig shouted.
The black eyes shuttered with translucent lids and with a shuddering breath the lad whispered. "In my pocket… get my phone. Call Victoria Nelson, tell her…t-tell her where we are. She, she'll k-know what to do."
When Padraig had done what he asked, and was listening to the ringing on the other end, he heard the phone pick up and a woman's voice.
"Henry? This had better be good, at this time in the morning." The woman's voice said in his ear.
"This is Padraig O'Connell, there is a young lad who is injured here, and he asked me to call you." There was a momentary silence and the woman spoke again, "Let me speak to Henry."
"Henry, is that his name? He's not conscious, he just said to phone you and tell you where we are and that you would know what to do."
"Padraig, Can you stay with him? I'll have someone there as soon as I can, Christ the dawn can't be more than half an hour away… Padraig will you stay with…"
"Of course I will, hurry though, I'm afraid that he's dying."
Perhaps three minutes later, Padraig watched the lashes tremble on the pale cheeks and then the lids draw back to reveal bottomless black depths. Padraig felt his heart lurch in his chest, and crossing himself with his free hand he asked, "Are you an angel?"
The lad turned in his grasp, moaning, and his lips moved, lifting back over ivory fangs. He spoke past the blood that dribbled down his chin.
"No, no not an ahhh," the eyelids fluttered and then the black gaze sharpened.
"Your name, friend, what is your name?" he whispered twisting again in Padraig's grasp.
"Lie still man, help is on the way," Padraig said and then glancing at the worn silver cross that dangled from the lad's neck, continued. "If you are not an angel, then what are you, for you're sure as hell not a man?"
The lad stiffened and then turned and coughed wetly, twisting his face aside, to spit a flood of bright red blood on the pavement.
When his breathing had calmed again and Padraig had ceased to stroke his back Henry said, "I am Vampire, Nightwalker, Nosfera…tu"
"Vampire? Well, vampire or not, you sure are one hell of a scrapper Henry, it is Henry isn't it?"
At the vampire's nod, Padraig continued, "So if you're a vampire, are you going to die then?"
"Not unless the dawn finds me, though I am gravely injured…?"
"Padraig," Padraig provided.
"I am injured Padraig and I will not heal until I can feed." A shudder racked the pale frame and Padraig tightened his grasp.
"Feed on blood, is that what you mean?" Padraig persisted.
"Yessss," Henry hissed the answer, and shifted uneasily on the ground, he could feel the sun's inexorable approach even as he could feel the broken and crushed ribs that had punctured his lung that was even now slowly filling with blood. He hoped that Vicki hurried, he was weak, he couldn't move and the lethargy of the coming day was stealing over him.
His surprise was complete, when he felt Padraig's wrist at his lips. He held back the clamoring beast by the slimmest of controls.
"You should take what you need." Padraig said matter-of-factly. "I watched you fight that…thing lad and you sent it back to Hell, that's for sure."
Henry's ebony gaze travelled to Padraig's face. "We sent it back to Hell, Padraig, the both of us."
"Have it your way, Henry," Padraig laughed shakily, "but have a care, you don't drink too much. The way I was courtin' Madam Whiskey, earlier this evening, you may find yourself just a wee bit tipsy."
Padraig's voice faded off as Henry's fangs pierced his skin.
Here is nourishment, here is life, here is…Padraig, his saint…Padraig. The vampire drew on the rich, red life of the human's blood and closed his eyes as he felt his body begin to heal.
Five minutes later there was the loud squeal of brakes and the flashing of red and blue lights at the opening of the laneway. Padraig watched as a tall, blond man in a long trench coat, climbed out of the patrol car and popped the trunk. Then he moved quickly down the lane to squat down beside Padraig and the Vampire, who still suckled, eyes closed, at his wrist.
"Are you okay?" he asked Padraig, though he was visibly shaken by the vampire's condition.
"Yes'" Padraig replied, "Well, I'm a little drunk officer, but…" he nodded towards Henry who slowly opened his eyes, "he said that didn't matter."
"Uh-huh," Mike said as he shifted and got one arm under Henry's shoulders. The vampire looked a complete wreck, and he knew that lifting him was going to hurt, but dawn was only minutes away.
"Let go now, Henry" Mike said lowly and to his utter amazement the vampire obediently released his hold on Padraig's wrist.
Grunting with the effort, Mike got his other arm under Henry's knees and doing his best to ignore the Vampire's hissing moan he straightened, until he held Henry in his arms. Fuck Fitzroy, you weigh a fucking ton, I'd say ease off the donuts except I happen to know that you don't eat…
A cab screamed to a halt behind the squad car and a moment later Padraig watched a blond woman, in a leather jacket, run down the lane towards them..
"Henry …" She called as she ran up to the man who held the vampire in his arms. She passed a hand over the cool pale cheek and then the other hand hovered over the ruins of his chest.
"Fuck Mike," she shouted, "It's almost dawn, we need to get him into the trunk of the car." She started to yank up the sleeve of her coat.
He's already fed." Mike said as he started to struggle towards the car with his burden, he tossed his head to indicate Padraig who was standing, albeit a bit wobbly staring at the tableau in front of him.
The sky was beginning to lighten to a yellow grey with the approach of the dawn, when Henry registered the slick coolness of the black plastic sheeting surrounding him and heard the hollow slam of the trunk lid closing over him and then he knew no more.
Padraig watched the woman as she approached him with a coiled energy that looked a hell of a lot, like anger. She held out her hand and as Padraig, took it in his own, she said, "I'm Vicki Nelson, I'm a friend of Henry's and Mike here," she indicated the tall blond who was climbing behind the wheel of the car, "is a policeman. Thank you for helping Henry and for contacting me." She paused for a moment and then continued, "I know that you have seen some things tonight that are…unusual, but Henry's safety depends on…"
Padraig laughed, "Oh I'll keep his secret, don't you worry, and who'd believe an old drunk like me anyways?"
After Vicki had taken Padraig's information she offered to drop him at his home and Padraig accepted gratefully, as his knees were beginning to feel a wee bit wobbly. He slid into the backseat of the squad car and as he looked out at the early morning light he thought well that was a hell of a Saint Paddy's day, it's been quite a night, now the police are bringing me home and there is a vampire in the trunk.
They were about to drive away when he leaned into the front seat and said to Ms. Nelson, "We can't forget the book." Once it had been retrieved, he leaned back in the seat the fuzziness of blood loss and too much whiskey, overcoming him at last.
They roused him, in front of his house and Vicki escorted him to the door that had opened immediately to reveal a very worried and very irate Maureen.
Vicki pointed to the squad car and then asked, "Maureen O'Connell?"
Maureen nodded stiffly, "Yes."
"Good, we are just bringing Padraig safely home, he has done the city a great service, and he's a real hero." Vicki said.
As Maureen took his arm, Padraig leaned his weight against her and whispered…"There you are, my love…"
When Vicki climbed back in the car, Mike turned to her and said, "Where to?"
"I think that we should take him back to the condo, we'll be able to get him inside without too much risk and we can use the freight elevator. We should call Bettie, I'm sure she'll know what to do, oh and Rajani. She already knows what he is but she never says anything. Then there will be you and I as donors….
***
Three days later, Padraig was relaxing in his easy chair, watching a boxing match and thinking idly, these fighters look so ungainly compared to…
There was a knock on the door and a courier delivered a fat envelope.
Maureen came out from the kitchen drying her hands on her apron, "What is it, Paddy?" she asked, as he tore the package open. Inside there was a packet of airline tickets and tour itineraries and a thick wallet of travelers checks. He read from the single sheet that accompanied it.
Padraig:
Please accept this token of my appreciation, for the timely assistance you rendered me in a difficult situation, I appreciate your valor and discretion.
Ms. Nelson has made some discreet inquires on my behalf, and from what we have learned, we thought, that you and your family might enjoy an all expense paid tour of the Land of Saint Padraig.
You have my eternal gratitude.
Your Servant,
Henry Fitzroy.