The Journal of Michael O'Shane

It is a story I don’t share with anybody, and for very good reason. Yet, as I sit at this desk, hidden away in Tokyo, Japan, it is one I can’t help but relive, especially knowing somebody I love is currently in danger. Just like the person in my memories, she walked into the arms of danger willingly and like her counterpart, she did for a good cause. I can only hope Lydia’s fate differs when the end comes around.

Love is a strange animal for me. I’ve loved several times through my one hundred sixty-two years on this planet, but never so intensely as I’ve fallen for Lily and Lydia. Sabrina, my maker… our torrid affair stretched decades, but she could neither reciprocate what I felt for her, nor inspire me to feel anything deeper than the carnal infatuation I harbored. I cared for Timothy before he proved his affections for me to being superficial and Katerina, I yet care for as a maker should for his child. Even Peter, I admire as my brother, possessing that form of love which exists between birds of a feather, and Victor, I look upon in much the same manner. Éilis was different, but I only knew her for one, special night.

After the winds of change swept through Europe over twenty years ago, I found myself a wanderer without a coven, mine destroyed, I thought, when Sabrina met her end. It wasn’t safe for me to stay in Romania with Emil and, quite frankly I didn’t want to. The more I walked around Bucharest, the more I realized my heart longed for home.

Home. Ireland. I’d visited only twice since leaving Dublin as a newly-turned vampire, and the last time I laid eyes on Kilkenny, it was as a mortal linguistics professor. I don’t know what provoked me to seek refuge in my hometown. Perhaps I needed the comfort of my roots. Perhaps I realized I’d been so many places and not back to where it all started. I only know I found myself waking one night in Bucharest, longing for the Irish countryside, knowing I would never lay eyes on the verdant green of its rolling hills again, but wanting them surrounding me just the same. I packed my belongings and started the journey which led me to the place I once called home.

So much had changed. Not everything, but nearly that much. The old buildings and narrow, winding roads remained the same, but shops had changed. People had changed. The entire atmosphere seemed a century out of place in a world I was expecting to still resemble the late 1800’s. I watched cars maneuver roads horses had once traversed and saw modern man leaving their footprint on the historic landmarks I once revered. I found the gravestone of my sister, traced her children until I gave up somewhere around the third generation. Even my former place of work, looked the same, but so irrevocably different.

The world had changed. I was the one left behind.

It inspired a bout of melancholy I couldn’t seem to shake. Oh, I hunted its populace and spoke Irish again for the first time in decades, but it wasn’t the same. I found my immortal brother Patrick leading a coven nestled in the heart of the city and we would meet for brandy and random trysts when it seemed the mood suited us. His company brought me no comfort and I found myself settling in without direction, surrounding myself with books the same way I had when I was a mortal. I could still hear my sister Katherine somewhere in the deepest recesses of my memories.

“You surround yourself with paper so much, you’re losing touch with the world around you.“ The thirty-two year old bachelor failed to heed her warning then, and the one hundred and forty-two year old vampire hadn’t learned his lesson. Instead, I sought to learn the world’s languages without experiencing its flavor. It was against the very thing which had led me to becoming immortal. Except now, I was an immortal without any direction.

Only five months in, and after using my extensive savings to buy a house on the outskirts of town, I had a dream one morning about a town I’d visited only a handful of times when I was a mortal. On the other side of the country, nestled on the coast, just outside the country’s largest Gaeltacht area laid Galway and the memories which enticed me all bore a siren call. I remembered the autumn I walked the halls of University College Galway, tempted to accept an open position as a professor there, a step up from the demotion I took in Kilkenny. Tempted toward a change of pace away from the rut in which I’d fallen when I moved from Dublin. For some reason, I passed up the offer and a scant few months later, I would be turned immortal by Sabrina.

Now, however, the temptation to visit became so overpowering, I couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard I tried. I spoke with Patrick about the strange enticement and recall him shrugging and telling me a short holiday might help my disposition. With that in mind, the next night, I packed a bag and within a few hours’ time, found myself in the coastal town, sitting in a hotel room. The first night, I settled in without much investigation, content to whittle away the remaining hours until dawn reading a book. By the next evening, though, hunger nipped heavy at my heels and I could ignore it no longer.

Fetching my suit jacket, I threaded my arms through the sleeves and set out without any intentions, walking into the mist of a light rain. I dug my hands inside my pockets, hearing the faint sound of Irish music playing in the distance and passing pubs and shops where people sat laughing and enjoying themselves. The environment became so infectious, not even the presence of an Atlantic storm could prevent me from allowing myself to relax. I slipped inside one tavern, ordering a brandy and surveying the patrons for who might make a proper meal for the night.

My eyes shifted about the room. I saw a raven-haired beauty breaking into impromptu song and chuckled at the whimsy present in her actions. Two male suitors both vied for her attention, which made her a more difficult conquest. I had bedded two mortals at once before, but even I knew better than to leave myself outnumbered three to one. Raising the glass to my lips, I shifted my focus to a single man seated at another table and mused upon that possibility for a few seconds. So lost in thought was I that I didn’t notice the woman who sat at the counter beside me.

Not until she leaned close, whispering in my ear, “That one’s a tough nut to crack.” I turned around immediately and looked at her, blinking at the way she smiled at me, with her lips pressed tightly together and her blue eyes sparkling with a latent mischief inherent in them. I stole a moment to admire the dark brown locks which fell along both sides of her face in a gentle wave and when she spoke, the thick, Irish accent permeating her voice was not as surprising as the slight glimpse of two fangs lying in slumber. She inched closer to me and eyed my prospective victim. “With him, you need a woman’s touch. Somebody to purr in his ear and whisper sweet nothings.”

I laughed, still looking at her. “You don’t think he would follow a man out of here?” I asked, sipping my brandy.

She grinned. Her sapphire gems found me once more. “Well, if any man could do it, I suppose it could be you.” Shaking her head, she glanced at him again. As she spoke, I felt her hand slide up my arm, settling on my shoulder. “But he’s craving a woman. Soft skin to touch and taste. I can smell it on him.”

The way she touched me sent a tingle up my spine. So much so, I wondered if she was talking about the man or me. “Ah,” I said, lining him in my sights again. I polished off the contents of my glass and set it down onto the bar. “Well, I can hardly blame him. If an Irish maiden so fair sat beside me, I would find the offer too good to pass up, Miss…”

She chuckled. “I don’t know if my name is safe with such a flatterer.” As our eyes met, she winked. “But I’ll take a chance on you. My name is Éilis.”

“Éilis.” Even saying her name brought a smile to my face. The Irish form of Elizabeth. “A gift from God.”

Éilis grinned in something of a devilish manner. “A vampire pure of heart.” She chuckled and my smile broadened for a few lingering moments before I felt her hand sliding closer to the collar of my shirt. Fingertips touched my neck and it was all I could do not to shiver from the reaction. Éilis tilted her head. “And you, regal stranger?”

Regal. I hadn’t been called that since Peter and I parted ways. I swallowed hard and glanced away quickly before looking back at her. “Mícheál,” I said, allowing more of my native accent to surface.

“Oh… Mícheál.” Her eyes closed, the tips of her fingers finding my ear and running along the lobe as though acting beyond her will. “I thought I heard the Irish in you despite the way you hide it. And if I had to guess…” She hummed, her lids remaining shut until she lifted them slowly. “Kilkenny.”

I laughed. “How in the heavens did you know I was from Kilkenny?”

Éilis smiled. “Oh, I’ve been around Ireland at least a dozen times or better. From Dublin to Cork, Limerick to Waterford and Galway to Kilkenny. From the Northern tip to the Southernmost coast.” She paused. “No matter where I journey, I always find myself back home.”

I nodded. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I became aware of her digits brushing my suit jacket, down to my tie, but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off her. I inched closer, settling my elbow on the bar behind us. “I hadn’t been back in decades.”

“I can tell.” Her eyes rose to meet mine while her fingers ceased their sensual exploration of my clothing. “It took until you said your name for me to realize where you were from.” I watched a form of sadness surface in her gaze, which never overtook her sapphire gems enough for their sparkle to diminish. “I heard British, American, and a hint of Irish. Why do you disguise it so much?”

I shrugged, sighing. “Because I’ve lived everywhere but here for so long. In fact…” My eyes drifted down the skin of her porcelain neck before I could stop them. I forced them back to her face the moment I became aware. “… I’ve lived in America for the better part of the last fifty years.”

Éilis smiled. “The Irish in you becomes you, Mícheál. Pretend you hadn’t left for an evening. How did the educated man speak before he first pricked the flesh of a mortal with his teeth?”

Laughing, I looked away. I felt apprehensive, willing the butterflies in my stomach to fly away first before looking back at her and clearing my throat. When I spoke again, my voice was bereft of its British and American influences. “Now, how did you know I was an educated man as a mortal, a mhuirnín?”

She squealed with delight. “Yes! Yes, I knew it. Kilkenny, clear as day.” Her excitement settled as it seemed something occurred to her, perhaps the word I’d used transforming the merriment to a soft bashfulness. “A Stór, there are some things a woman can tell about a man simply by looking at them.”

“Such as what?”

She leaned closer, our faces mere inches apart. “Such as when he’s lonely. When it’s been a while since he’s allowed himself the chance to feel alive.”

I grinned. “We are hardly amongst the living any longer.”

“Oh, I think we are more alive than the beings amongst us with pulses.” The wide grin resurfaced, the tips of her fangs more evident with this smile. “We experience things none of them ever could. Even the way we see the moon and stars is so different from the way they see it.”

Nodding slowly, I felt the draw toward her all the more potently. My gaze turned more intense, mirroring the desire which had started to course through my veins. I drew in a deep breath, smelling something I could only describe as meadows after a springtime rain, soft and inviting. Warm as the sun, sprinkled on her skin and tangled in her wavy locks of umber. “And how would a woman help a man to feel alive again?”

Éilis grinned mischievously and stood, breaking the gravitational pull drawing us together. With a deliberate look in her eyes, she glanced first at me, then at the man we had been surveying when we first began our conversation. Lithe, graceful footsteps punctuated her stroll to his table and as she caught his attention, she let her gaze fall on me again, and in that look, I saw fire and intensity. She then leaned closer to her conquest and whispered at him, her delicate fingertips sliding up his neck while her breath caressed his ear. I watched him look at her with something of a drunk expression and chuckled, knowing she already held him in her thrall by the way he rose and offered her his arm. She winked at me and blew a kiss and I groaned, knowing full well what she was hinting at without her needing to speak the words.

I rose from my stool and straightened my jacket before walking in the direction where they disappeared. Following at a safe enough distance, I could still hear his pulse as they opened the back door to the establishment and their footsteps sounded on the cobbled street winding behind the pub. I felt the light mist hit my skin, a trifle colder than I remembered, or my flesh a trifle warmer than it had been when I entered. With brisk steps, I pursued Éilis, until I found her disappearing inside what looked like the back door of a narrow, abandoned business. The door yet remained open, the lock broken undoubtedly by the Irish beauty. I followed her inside and paused by the doorway when I saw her standing there.

The rain gave her pale skin an ethereal sheen as the iridescent glow of a nearby streetlight reflected on her through one of the dusty windows. I stepped closer and caught sight of the mortal man standing against a wall, shivering not from fear, but from a sensation I was becoming all too familiar with myself. The room bore not a speck of furniture, seemingly left to whatever fate its owners had decided upon for the old building. I heard the faint strains of music playing somewhere in the distance.

Her eyes found mine while she pressed against the man, her fangs fully descended, making her look something like a devilish waif. She kissed his neck, our gaze locked throughout the entirety of the action. I walked closer and felt my sharp teeth slip from their hiding place, both at the scent of the man and the intoxicating sight of the vampiress who held him under her spell. His heart beat out a steady rhythm, inviting me closer, and yet I could not stop looking at her.

She grinned at me and nuzzled against his skin. “Isn’t a strange dichotomy,” she asked, “How death can make us feel the most alive?”

I grinned and took the mortal by the hand, raising his wrist to my nose and imbibing a deep whiff of the blood flowing beneath the surface. “As they die, we live,” I said.

“Mmm… but there is more to it than that.” She dragged her tongue up his neck, provoking a moan from the man as though strumming a chord on a well-tuned instrument. The reaction provoked a chuckle. “Do you hear that, a mharfóir? He doesn’t realize he won’t live to see the sunrise, and listen to him enjoying his last moments on this earth. We have neverending evenings, and yet we waste them away.”

I licked his skin the same way Éilis had, eliciting the same response. It forced my eyes shut as I savored the mixture of lust and blood wafting in the air around me. “I would call him the fortunate one, then.”

“No, we are the fortunate ones.” I opened my eyes in time to see her scratch at him with her fangs. Beads of crimson red ran down, staining the collar of his shirt. “He only has moments. We have the rest of the night.”

She drove her teeth into his neck the same time I plunged mine into his wrist and at once, a tidal wave of warm, viscous liquid ran down my throat. I groaned, my lids fluttering closed again as I drank, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood with the faint sound of Éilis depleting him winding its way around my consciousness. I drew a little deeper, becoming a bit more incensed the longer I fed, until the warmth of precious life permeated my entire being. I withdrew. He fell as Éilis did the same. No sooner did his body crumple to the ground than Éilis’s pressed against mine with dire urgency.

Our lips crashed together. My back hit the wall and I groaned as our exposed fangs cut into each others’ lips, mixing the taste of the man with a hint of each other. I felt her leg wrap around me and clutched at her back, sliding down to cup her and push her all the harder against the want already evident beneath my clothing. “Mícheál!” she called out, her fingers making quick work of the buttons of my vest, my tie sliding from my collar and my shirt becoming a fast casualty to her manic actions. I lifted the material of her skirt until my fingers touched bare skin and turned quickly, slamming her into the wall.

Éilis groaned and laughed as her back touched the concrete this time. I opened her blouse and kissed down her neck while her body arched and her hands slid down my bare chest. I felt her working on the belt around my pants while I lifted her skirt and her undergarments hit the ground around the same moment my trousers did.

Her strong legs wrapped around me. The hardness of my length pressed against her before becoming engulfed in the slick folds waiting for me. She cried out the moment I entered and from there, we both thrust against each other, becoming desperate for completion while savoring every blissful stroke along its path. Her fingers tangled in my hair, knocking strands loose from my ponytail and I kissed her with primal ferocity throughout the throes of our wild coupling. As her lips parted from mine, a series of loud moans built to a crescendo with words emanating from both our throats I couldn’t begin to remember without tasting the experience again for myself. I knew the moment her fingernails dug into my back and her channel tightened around me that she had reached climax. I called out for the first time, not giving one whit for the volume of my voice as I came inside her.

We remained in this position for what seemed like an eternity, my lips touching her cool skin several times over and her hands sliding down my back before lifting to nest in my hair. Our mouths met and commenced a long series of rolling kisses and she bit my lip as she pulled away. “How do you feel now, Mícheál?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper.

I grinned, touching noses with her. “Alive, a mhuirnín.”

Her smile brightened, her eyes opening the same time mine did. We stared at each other for interminable seconds before I pulled away, allowing her feet to touch the ground and giving her the chance to bring order to herself as I found my clothes and slipped my pants around my waist again. She walked up behind me before I could put on my shirt, her arms wrapping around my torso and her eyes lifting to the dusty window where the light continued filtering from outside. “Would you like to take a walk?” she asked, nuzzling against my shoulder.

I shut my eyes, feeling the warmth pour through me again, this time not brought by blood or the indulgence of a glass of brandy. I touched one of her hands with mine and nodded. “Have you ever danced in the rain?” I asked, the volume of my voice lowering to match her tone.

Éilis chuckled, kissing my neck before relinquishing her hold on me. “So many times, but never with a partner.” As I turned around to face her, her eyes glinted mischievously again and I had to laugh at the way she lifted a finger and beckoned me to come with her. I fetched the rest of my clothing, slipping it on quickly as I followed her out onto the cobbled streets once more.

She spun around when the rain hit her, arms raising from her sides and skirt lifting while she twirled around in circles. I shook my head and dashed to her, taking one hand in mine and wrapping an arm around her waist as the strains of distant music reached my ears again. She laughed and I could not help but to chuckle myself as we danced away from the empty building, both of us carrying on uproariously. “We are going to attract attention,” I said, not minding the volume of my voice.

She grinned at me. “So?” she asked. Éilis hummed along with the music and increased the tempo of our dance. “We might be like that mortal man, mo mharfóir. Tasting our last night and savoring it together. Why should we worry about a tomorrow neither of us are guaranteed?”

I had to shake my head. Still, I did nothing to deter the way she twirled and spun us around the corner onto an intersecting road. The music became louder. I hummed with her and began to sing the moment I recognized the words. She joined me and together, we belted out the melody of an Irish tune, dancing until we reached its source. The music stopped and a crowd began to applaud the musicians. Éilis and I broke from the dance and I bowed as she curtsied in front of me.

As I turned to stroll toward the main thoroughfare, she took hold of my arm and together, we walked and spoke, carrying on for what seemed like hours as we drifted through the city like two lost vagabonds. When I asked her how old she was, she only answered, “What does it matter?” and I had to shrug and grant her a small piece of mystery. Still, I spoke of returning to Kilkenny, of my brother Patrick and then, my brother Peter, relaying the tale of our adventures through Europe for her. She listened and did not question one word of the inexplicable tale, answering instead with, “Do you miss him?”

“Peter?” I shrugged. “He is with his lover and happy, wherever he is.”

She smiled softly. “Still, there is so much you’re not saying that speaks so many words.” Éilis wrapped an arm around my waist. “You had a purpose, then you lost it. Now you’re wondering what you should be doing with yourself.”

I nodded, a frown emerging despite myself. “I’ve been a mentor and a second, a lover, a brother, and a traveler.” I sighed. “Now, I’m simply me and haven’t stopped in over a hundred years to ask exactly who that is.”

Éilis hummed and leaned close to me as we stopped close to the harbor. Looking up at me, she smiled and said, “Who does it feel like you are right now, Mícheál?”

As our eyes met, I felt a surge of apprehension, as though gazing at the doors to another world I wanted so desperately to walk through. I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly, another voice pierced the night air, the exclamation as much an accusation as it was a statement of fact.

“Vaimpír!”

I glanced up in time to spot two shadows looming in the darkness, one of them armed with a sword poised by their side. They drew the sword and my eyes widened as I clutched Éilis against me. “Oh no,” I whispered.

“What?” she glanced in their direction and sighed the moment she saw them. “More of those, are they?”

I frowned. “You know what they are?”

“Oh yes, not the first time I’ve seen the green-eyed devils.” She grinned. “The seers are all over Europe.”

“They are?” I asked, but Éilis slipped from my side and took hold of my hand, tugging me along with her. She immediately launched into a sprint I struggled to keep up with, and yet, I sensed no fear from her. Only a very determined gumption which led us back to the cobbled streets and winding roads in town. She paused at one intersection and looked around, leading us down another narrow passage until we wound our way close to an alley. She ceased her steps and turned to face me, kissing me deep, then pulling away. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

I blinked. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Good.” Éilis sighed. “Then I apologize for doing this, Mícheál. Promise me you’ll live.”

“I don’t understa-” I began, but she interrupted me by hurling me against the wall, using her grip on me to whip me so fast for the granite, I had no chance to brace myself for impact. I hit my head and felt consciousness seep from me, the world turning to black almost in an instant.

I have no notion of how long I was asleep, except to say I woke in building where Éilis and I had killed the mortal man we lured away. His body still laid in the shadows and when I scrambled to my feet, a profound wave of dizziness punctuated the motion enough to cause me to stumble backward. I closed my eyes. I indulged in a deep breath, then rushed as fast as I could muster for the now-closed door, slamming my shoulder into it to break it open again.

The streets were quiet. I glanced around, then jogged in the direction of the main thoroughfare. The moment I rounded the corner, I spied three shadows headed in the opposite direction and whipped around, pressing my back against the wall and closing my eyes as I struggled to listen.

A male voice. “I’m not stupid, vaimpír,” he said. “I saw you with another.”

“And the other isn’t any of your concern,” a female voice I recognized as belonging to Éilis said. She chuckled. “He isn’t an elder, but I am. Isn’t that what you’re after now, you minions of the Order?”

I heard a sharp thud and a moan of pain. I winced and peeked around the corner, watching the one seer tug Éilis away from the wall and take hold of her wrists again. “No,” I whispered, but yet, I remained frozen in place, too stupefied to run after them. Not yet sure what she expected me to do. My heart sank and I recalled her final words. ’Promise me you’ll live.‘ ”Not like this,” I murmured. “Not with you putting yourself in harm’s way.”

They rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. I dashed for the end of the road, but felt another wave of dizziness which sent me crashing to my knees. Crawling toward the side of one of the adjacent buildings, I brought myself to my feet again and struggled for the intersecting street, but by the time I reached it, it was too late. I saw no sign of Éilis or her captors anywhere in the distance.

My back hit the wall again. I shut my eyes and could not help the tears welling in them as I realized even if I was to find her, there was no way I could free her without the Fates sending me a miracle. Still, I stumbled for the next road and the road after that, fighting against the knowledge the hours were hastening toward dawn, hopeful I might find her before then. When my searching yielded no results, I returned to the hotel and threw the door shut behind me. Collapsing onto the bed, I wept bitterly and drifted to sleep curled in this repose.

I searched for her the next evening, but knew better than to try the following night after my fruitless wandering failed to help me find the Irish beauty. The following day, I returned to Kilkenny and there I remained, still lost. Still without a place in this world and now, all the more morose because of it. Some time later, when Peter found me there and begged for my assistance, I shut the door on his face, my anger flaring with my brother the scapegoat for everything that had happened in Europe during those intervening years. As he stood outside my house entreating me, I heard Éilis in my thoughts for the first time in a while, asking me if I missed him.

I heard my response. I listened as she asked who I felt like right now and had to answer the question. “I am his brother,” I whispered, not with the words I wished to speak to her that night, but with words which summarized the truth of things at that moment in time. “And he needs my help.” With that, I opened the door and allowed Peter to sweep me up into his world of utter chaos once more. I had to be honest with myself, however. I had a purpose again and since then, something has always granted me an identity.

Now, however, I sit in Tokyo and think of Lydia. I think of how much she and Lily have made me feel alive, even more than my one evening Éilis provided, with more intense a love than the fledgling embers which began to burn during my short hours with the Irish beauty. I think of how Lydia ran into harm’s way while, once again, I sit here and wait. Wait for somebody else to determine her future and pray The Fates will return my young lover back to me. I miss her terribly, and even though I told her I love her before she departed with her brother John, I know the sense of loss would eclipse the melancholy of any loss I have ever experienced before.

If I ever look into her eyes again, I will pray for time to stand still so I can revel in the miracle of her presence once again. Until then, I remain lost in my thoughts, seeing Tokyo as another Galway and me as another drifter without a hand lent in this battle.

Tá grá agam duit, a stóirín óg mo chroí.

Sláinte,
Michael