Chapter 20

Late that evening, Blanca set her brush beside the silver-handled comb on the dressing table, too exhausted to braid her hair. She heard Gabby laughing softly and humming even as he smoothed the wrinkles in his boss's blue dark pants next door.

She stared at herself in the mirror. She was too pale, and there was no laughter in her eyes or on her lips. She was drained, so very drowsy, and it was deep, all the way to her soul. She could feel a terrible wrenching inside of her. She knew what it was as well. She wanted to go home, back to London, to her nonna. She hates Ireland now. But does she have a choice?

But she couldn't tell her boss that. After all, she wasn't done with her research yet, so why did everything turn into a mess?

Meanwhile, the next door, Dimitri sighed, how his life had turned into a mess since the early winter of the 17th century when his father died. He remembered it vividly.

It was a week after they buried his father. The Earl of Desmond, Lord Damascus Norton.

Desmond had suffered several attacks over the past few weeks, but a big one had occurred a few months ago. After three years of scorched earth warfare by the English, Desmond was racked by famine. The provost marshal, Dimitri's uncle, Sir Graham Lejer, estimated that 30,000 people had died of hunger in the previous six months. A plague broke out in Cork city, to which the country's people had fled to avoid the fighting. People continued to die of starvation and plague long after the war had ended, and it is estimated that by the end of the year, one-third of the province's population had died.

But no one knew what really happened. It was years later when Dimitri found out what occurred. It was no ordinary famine or plague. It was because of the witch's curse and black magic, those supernatural healers, and demons who made the disease possible that almost killed one-third of Desmond's humans.

The difficulty of controlling the supernaturals of Ireland from London or Dublin early in the 17th century was demonstrated by the presence of supernatural folk on the Munster coast. In particular, the townland of Leamcon, County Cork, became a supernatural being's stronghold. By pleading "benefit of the clergy", non-humans in Ireland could escape temporal trial, making their prosecution much more difficult until Supernatural Council law was brought into line with the human law in 1613.

However, in the early years of the 17th century, because of the immigration of non-human settlers, Ireland could be peacefully integrated into British society. However, this was prevented by the continued discrimination by the English authorities against supernatural grounds. A massive vampire attack had killed many supernatural beings, forcing the witches, demons, elves, and werewolves to flee to neighboring villages. After the death of his father, Dimitri began haunting them and befriending a young witch, Lady Morgana. A few days before, he had tried to pitch a tent and erect temporary keeps, but vampires and uncivilized hordes had razed them not long after. The countryside was in an uproar; people were running in the fields to escape the dark enemy, squealing and shouting with relief. However, Dimitri was one of the few who wanted to fight the creatures. He was willing to fight the vampires in retaliation. Yes, it was futile and senseless goal because he was less than a warrior. Young and naive, Lady Morgana had used him, without him ever knowing.

That day, however, on his right, the hills were decadent with green foliage and new-sprung buds, and the valley was the most friendly place of them all. Sunlit and serene, they rose as if they were the proud parents of the greenery they supported on their rock foundation.

It was on the first morning of the first week after Dimitri came and warned the townlet about the vampire's attack that the villagers noticed a small plume of smoke rising on the highland that loomed over the village from the east, near the road to the church. The cloudy morning was shafts of light, the blue-grey and the soft promise of sweet rain, each sole upon the cornerstone alley, each soul riding upon the clouds, ever warm in that bright sunlight.

The young witch, Lady Morgana, was sent to observe, being the bravest, and reported back that humans had been in the midst of hunting witches and other creatures, and they'd been careful since the death of their high witch. But she came across Dimitri on a suicide mission. The young son of the late Earl, Damascus was nothing but full of hatred and vengeance. She met him as Dimitri had returned and set up camp for the voyage in the hope of killing a vampire. He lengthened his welcome, yet was unable to notice anything amiss with the young, beautiful woman. After all, humans thought a witch was nothing but an old, ugly woman in the forest.

Many took up his offer to accompany him on his mission with the hope of gaining more silver and gold. That night, Dimitri stopped by to trade a cup of wine and ask about what had happened in the South. Rumors said that most of the southern territory had been attacked by some vicious supernatural creatures of the dark, vampires. He supposed someone was responsible for his father's death, though the answers he gave were cryptic at best. In turn, he asked for events in the village in his absence. Learning that the parish church's father, Gabriel, was ill, confining the old priest to his bed, the worst scoundrels of thieves that were freed from the priest's negligence combed the village for the vampire in hopes of showing up and killing them. Instead, they raided the village's church, tavern, and inn, as they put it, "The Vampire Hunters," though, without any sign of success, they ended up in the church dungeon.

There. Dimitri stayed in his little camp, waiting for the man of darkness to attack the village, and there he would save his fellow villagers and kill the vampire, saying only that he would return at the proper time when he had found clarity. Weeks passed, and though he spent his days at the small fire he tended, the young man was sighted now and again wandering through the woods at night, seemingly lost in thought yet moving as silently as a ghost through the thick undergrowth. Unbeknownst to him, Dimitri was under Lady Morgana's watch and the young witch insisted that she had seen Dimitri knelt in prayer in a niche of moonlight, deep in the wilderness, surrounded by a delegation of silently watching owls, but no one believed a word of it. Of course, to the humans, Lady Morgana was nothing but a young maiden, and spreading rumours about the son of the Earl was nothing but hearsay. All the same, change was in the air, and the village's anxiety surged in time with the enormous moon when another death visited them twice that night.

It was at dawn when a letter arrived, informing young Dimitri that Father Gabriel was on his deathbed and urging young Dimitri to attend him and young Lady Morgana, as always at Dimitri's side. They were both too naive to fear the darkness. The witch had liked and admired Dimitri so much. It was in the darkest of moments that his angry soul would shine brightly, and that was what made him too likable for Morgana. He became the village guardian and hero, and even cruelty wasn't seen as stupid or wrong anymore. Dimitri was the one that rode into battle when the rest couldn't find their way to nobility when bravery was a whisper of the past. He had his shining armor and the most glorious stubbornness to stand up for what was right. And so the young witch never saw him as a powerful human. To her, he was as powerful as those demons, so she never left his side. He became someone who took the tongues of tyranny and rammed them back down their throats.

The village children surrounded Dimitri and applauded as he strolled through the borough, but the bleak cast of his face did not alter, nor did the shadows under his eyes lighten. It was only as he entered the village square that he hung back. He gazed, face set harder, at the newly-built gallow, its jagged shafts now forming the edge of the village courtyard, a hangman's rope already drooping from its wooden crossbeam, a thick bar of wood that was placed between two other structures, especially to support the roof.

Dimitri's gaze skimmed the courtyard to see the same congregation of pudgy men he had met in the forests, and seeing his awareness of them, they snickered and made mocking motions of hanging and strangling. He turned his stare away from them without acknowledging them and walked on.

Finding themselves ignored, the youngsters scattered as Dimitri arrived at the church and tethered his silver stallion, but as he entered the church's door, the wind shifted and an odor interrupted him in his tracks. A disturbing, flowery-patterned smell, and one that he knew. Each time that beautiful witch, Lady Morgana, visited him, this was the scent of her skin, remaining even after she had disappeared.