Will the Real Vampire Please Stand Up?

Today, I'm posting a blog by Tony-Paul de Vissage, about his upcoming novel to be released by Class Act Books:

Romania—specifically that section of it called Transylvania—isn’t the only place having vampires. It’s just the main one people think of, thanks to Bram Stoker’s little epic. In fact, the first vampire novel to gain attention in the literary world was set in England. Yes—that’s right. The Vampyre by Dr. John Polidori, was an English creation, but how many, other than we vamp-aficionados, are aware of that. And if asked to named the world’s most famous vampire, how many would say the name of its villain, Lord Ruthven? Dracula wins that title, fangs down!

When I wrote Vampires are Forever, I decided to de different, ignoring Transylvania in lieu of Ireland, which has its own special vampire. Oh, my hero/villain hails from Hungary but that’s only mentioned briefly. The action takes place in Balleywalegh, a little Irish town which knows what you do with vampires and it doesn’t involve giving them the key to the city, unless it’s presented on the end of a well-sharpened stake.

Ireland has its own vampire. The dearg-due. Though the vampire in Vampires are Forever is male but called a dearg-due, the true one is female, a cross between the succubus and the vampires…the Red Blood-sucker. Her story is typically romantic and tragic. A young woman forced by her father to marry a cruel man, she kills herself, then rises to exact revenge upon husband and parent. After that, she carries her vengeance far afield as she attacks any man she meets, draining him dry of his life…and his blood. The only way to prevent a dearg-due from rising and creating its own special havoc is to pile the grave high with stones. Their weight holds the evil spirit inside.

Don’t think my tale of a vampire descending on a little Irish village is a tragic one, though. Nor is it bloody. It’s more whimsical, filled with Irish lilts and brash Gaelic characters…though it does have its shivery moments.

EXCERPT:

All four headed toward the house. Then, they were up the steps and on the stoop running the length of the building, all of them—even Father Ryan at this point—milling around like sheep, none wanting to be the one to actually step up to the door and knock.

Seamus gave a grunt of exasperation. Walking to the door, he studied the knocker—an ornate, brass thing with a horseshoe-shaped flange—seized it, and brought it down against the metal plate. Three times. The echo of the last strike had barely died away when he heard footsteps inside. The others heard, too, and huddled closer together. Like a bunch o’ chickens listenin’ to a fox outside th’ henhouse, he thought scornfully.

There was a rattle of keys, a click of a lock. Slowly, the door swung open. Everyone prepared to run. Even Seamus tensed, though he would never have admitted it.

“Yes sir?” A man stood there. A very dignified man, dressed in dark, conservative livery. He blinked slightly as the sunlight struck him directly in the eyes. “May I help you?”

“Oh…uh… Right.” That brought Seamus out of his trance. “We—that is, th’ others an’ I—” He gestured behind him at his mates. “We’re from Balleywalegh an’ we saw th’ light last night, an’—”

He stopped, uncertain of what to say.

“Yes, sir, you’re from the village, and—?”

By now, Seamus had gotten a good gander at him and decided he didn’t look as he thought a vampire should, especially a dearg-due. Hadn’t they always been described as extremely ugly, having fiery eyes and the palest of skin and rows and rows of sharp teeth like those piranha-fish he’d read about as lived in South American rivers? This fella… Why, he looked to be about as old as Seamus himself, and certainly neither pale nor fiery- eyed. And definitely not ugly. Pleasant-looking, as a matter of fact. Blond and fair, with blue eyes squinted in the sunlight. And his teeth? They might be a trifle large—what Seamus considered English teeth—but there were no more than the usual number. And they certainly didn’t look sharp.

“—an’ we saw th’ light an’ thought we’d stop by an’ offer a welcome to th’ village.” Conor had finally come out of his daze and managed to speak up, if a trifle weakly.

“Oh. I see.” The man smiled and that transformed his face to something totally human and completely harmless.

“So if your master’s around,” Seamus picked up the thread again. “We’d like to extend an invitation—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment, sir,” the man interrupted.

“But—”

“The master is unavailable. He’s out for the day.”

“Out?” Conor spoke up again. “We haven’t heard any motors passin’ by, an’ anyway, his car’s still here, so how did he travel? Did he fly?”

Conor, you idjit! was all Seamus could think.

The butler—for that’s what Seamus had decided the man was—didn’t appear insulted however. In fact, he smiled again, though his answer was a trifle frosty, this time. “Master Novotny has several motor cars. He occasionally drives himself, Mr—?”

“—Leary. Conor Leary.” It was a moment before Conor spoke, reluctantly supplying his name, then adding, “Mayor o’ Balleywalegh.”

“Mr. Leary.” The butler acknowledged this with a nod. “If you’d care to come back this evening, I’m certain the Master will—”

“We wouldn’t mind waitin’,” Seamus put in quickly, knowing it would take a team of horses and a blast of gunpowder to get Conor or any of the others back here again. Even in daylight. “Until he returns.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be proper,” came the answer, as he expected. “I’ve no authority to allow anyone in without the Master’s permission.” He was pushing the door shut as he spoke. “Just come back this evening.”

The door was closing fast. Seamus attempted to insert one of his Size 13 brogans into the still-open space. “Wait—”

“Good day, sir.” It was said with finality. The door was nearly shut.

“What’s the problem, Steven?” The question came from behind the man, somewhere far inside the house. Asked with a slight accent.

“Sir? W-when did you get back?” There was bewilderment in the question.

“I never went out.” Footsteps came down stairs. The door was pulled open again, the butler looking back. Once again, those on the stoop braced themselves.

The man standing beside Steven couldn’t have been more different. Seamus felt his heart sink as he looked at him. Now here’s what a vampire should look like, was all he could think. Tall, longish dark hair, very much out of style—more like what one of them stage actors would sport, Seamus thought—framing a pallid, narrow face contrasting with the lightest of blue eyes, so pale they appeared nearly colorless… Handsome, yes, the Master of the house truly could’ve graced the screen of any cinema.

As a creature of the night.

“Karel Novotny.” It was an introduction as he peered out at Seamus, blinked as Steven had done, then took a step backward out of the doorway and into the shadows inside. Seamus nodded an acknowledgement and offered a hand.

After a moment, it was accepted, Novotny stepping forward and clasping it in his own. Seamus was surprised at how warm it felt.

“You must excuse Steven,” Master Novotny said, releasing Seamus’ hand. Not much of an accent, Seamus decided, but enough to give his speech an odd melody. His voice was well-modulated, carrying all the way to the men standing on the steps though he wasn’t speaking loudly. “So…you’re a welcoming committee from Balleywalegh,” he summed it up with a smile revealing another set of white teeth. But no pointed ones, as far as Seamus could see. He’d like to get a closer look at those eye-teeth, however. Master Novotny glanced out at the others, as if assessing whether they might be carrying flaming torches, pitchforks, or crucifixes. “And you’ve come to…?”

“—to invite you to th’ Fall Fellowship Festival. To be held this Sunday at th’ town hall.”

“A festival? How interesting. At what time?” That was asked a little quickly.

“Starts at six in th’ afternoon,” Conor spoke up. “So’s we all have time to finish our chores aforehand.”

“Six in the afternoon…” He appeared to consider that. A bit of a scowl appeared on the smooth forehead. Caused by the sun slowly creeping over the threshold?

He’s going to decline. Seamus could tell. He felt his heart sink a little. He was startled to find himself actually believing that nonsense Conor and the others were spouting the night before. He’s goin’ to give us some song-an’-jig about bein’ too busy when in reality, he can’t come out in daylight. ’Tis just a fluke he’s awake now at all.

He was surprised, therefore, when Novotny asked, “And what does one do at a Fall Festival? Will there be food?” Did he imagine it or was there a quick flick of a tongue across a pale lower lip? “And drink?”

“Anything you could want,” Seamus forced joviality into his reply. Aye, the treacherous thought wiggled through his mind, an’ which o’ us will you be wantin’ to sip from? “’Tis to celebrate all th’ good Lord has given us in th’ way o’ bounty this past year.” Was there a slight cringe at the mention of God? If so, it was so brief, he wasn’t certain. Perhaps Novotny’d simply shifted his weight a bit. “There’s be plenty o’ good cookin’ an’ beer an’ even some home-brew…” He let his voice trail away because Novotny was speaking again.

“I’m certain I can make it, Mr…?”

“Flannery. Seamus Flannery.” Now why did I give him my full name?

“…Mr. Flannery. I definitely wish to meet everyone, though I hadn’t expected to quite so early.” Did this second smile hide a secret meaning, some darkness?

“Sir? Y-you’re going?” The butler turned to stare at his master, looking astonished at his acceptance of the invitation.

“Of course!” Novotny looked almost gleeful as he answered.

“But sir. What about…?” Steven looked from him to the interior of the house, nodding slightly.

“Any tasks here can wait, I imagine.” Steven’s concern was dismissed with a shrug and a third smile, this one slightly wolfish. “Have you ever known me to turn down a chance for a good dinner…or liquid refreshment? Home brew, you say, Mr. Flannery? I’ve found homemade drink the best kind.”

Now Seamus was certain of it. There was a hidden meaning there. Without meaning to, he shivered. It didn’t go unnoticed. The smile eclipsed a moment, then was back in place.

“I’ll see you all there. On Sunday. Around six.” The door was closing again. Seamus turned away. The door reopened. “Ah…Mr. Flannery…?”

“Yes?” He looked back.

“I was wondering. Could you possibly refer me to a good carpenter? There’s been some damage to one of the rooms. Looks like a fire. Vandals no doubt.” He paused slightly.

“Aye,” Seamus replied. “Vacant houses do invite such.”

“So I supposed. But it will need to be repaired. So…?”

“Ah…well…Sean Sweeney does most o’ th’ carpentry work around here. You might ask after him. If ’tis not too big a job…”

“Sean Sweeney. Excellent.” The dark gaze swept past Seamus to the men on the stoop. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve some things to attend to.”

With a click of finality, the door shut.

Vampires are Forever will be available this month from Class Act Books.