Enemy Within (Moira Ashe Book 1)

Lincoln still couldn’t believe what had happened last night. The way Moira just killed that man without remorse, without mercy. It made him question just how safe he was with her around. When he first laid eyes on her, he could feel that she was dangerous; but after getting to know her, he thought her appearance had just spooked him. Lincoln shook his head. What a fool he was. After all, he hadn’t even known her for a full day yet. He took a drink from his glass and sat silently by himself.

He was sitting in The Midnight Hour again. It was close to his room, and he enjoyed its atmosphere. Lincoln scrubbed his face with his hands. Growing restless, Lincoln decided to get some fresh air. He stood up, dropped some coins on his table, and left the inn to walk the soaked morning streets.

Alone with his thoughts, he had no idea what to do now, so he wandered aimlessly through the streets. The town seemed empty, with only the sounds of the soft prattle of rain and the faint rushing of water underneath his feet.

The town of Quinn was seemly unaffected by the deaths of the three guards from the night before. People continued on with their lives in the same manner as they had the day prior. The only exception being the Quinn flag—lowered down the pole, it no longer flew defiantly in the wind but instead hung limply against the flagpoles that bore them.

Lincoln continued to wander Quinn’s streets, the rain seeming to highlight his sombre mood. During his stroll through town, Lincoln heard an unexpected sound. He stopped dead in his tracks. The sound was faint, but he could swear that he heard it. It sounded vaguely like people celebrating. He was confused—surely people wouldn’t be celebrating, given the circumstances. He turned in a circle, trying to determine the direction the sound was coming from. Once he came to a decision on its origin, Lincoln hurried towards the noise.

It didn’t take him long to find the source of the disturbance. It was a pub, much more in line with your typical building. For one, it actually had windows, unlike The Midnight Hour’s bar. The sign hanging above the door simply read Sullivan’s. Through the large windows surrounding the establishment, Lincoln could see a large gathering of guardsmen.

Despite the seemingly casual atmosphere that the gathering had generated in their area, there were a small number of armed and armoured guards outside the building. But as Lincoln began moving towards the gathering, the equipped guards left, waving goodbye to their fellows.

Lincoln slid into the pub. As he waded into the crowd, he received some looks of distrust, some even of disdain, but mostly of confusion at his presence. He was a speck of blue in a lake of green overcoats, but no one tried to stop him as he drifted through the pub desperately searching for a familiar face to ask the questions burning in his mind.

Lincoln turned to see Flynn seated at one of the tables. His fellow guardsmen dispersed from their seats, leaving Flynn alone calling for Lincoln’s attention. When Lincoln spotted Flynn, the other man beckoned Lincoln over to him. Relieved to see a familiar face, Lincoln hurried to join him.

“What’s going on?” Lincoln asked as he pulled up a seat at Flynn’s table.

“It’s a gathering for the men we lost last night,” Flynn answered sombrely.

Lincoln looked around the room and spotted a group of individuals laughing in the corner. “I guess they weren’t well liked around here?”

Flynn chuckled at Lincoln’s comment. “No … no … this is a celebration of their lives. The time of mourning comes after they are avenged.”

“Did you know any of them?”

“There aren’t that many guardsmen in Quinn, so we tend to know each other.”

Lincoln hesitated before speaking. “I saw Kaleb die. He was bit, and Moira killed him!” Lincoln felt the anger fill his chest.

Flynn only nodded without looking at Lincoln as he finished retelling last night’s events, and after a moment he responded. “That’s usually how it goes.”

Lincoln’s brow shot up as he felt the heat rise in his face. How could Flynn take the news of a man’s death so casually? “She didn’t even try to help him.” Lincoln barely managed to keep his voice low in order to avoid drawing the attention of the crowd.

“There was nothing she could have done,” Flynn answered, inspecting the bottom of his drink.

“There must be some kind of cure for it.”

“There isn’t. Believe me—we’ve tried.”

Lincoln’s mind raced, trying to come up with some kind of solution to the problem. Maybe there was some kind of undiscovered remedy, or maybe amputation!

“Even if there isn’t. She should have at least let him say goodbye to his family first.”

Flynn sighed. “We used to do a thing like that in the past, and it only made the situation harder to deal with. You don’t know how hard it is putting a man down while his wife and kids cling to him, begging for his life. Even though, come night-time, that same man would tear his family to pieces. I know it’s hard to accept, but Moira did the right thing.”

The heat drained from Lincoln’s face. He had only dealt with lycanthropy for the past three weeks. He could only imagine how many years people like Flynn and Moira had been dealing with it. He decided to trust in Flynn’s experience with the subject.

“What’s Brinn?”

Flynn became concerned. “Who told you about Brinn?”

“Moira said she was from there,” Lincoln answered, growing curious of Flynn’s reaction.

Flynn laughed. “Did she now!”

Lincoln nodded.

“I’m telling you—she’s playing you for a fool! No one’s from Brinn anymore, especially not someone like Moira Ashe.”

Lincoln was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Flynn regained his composure. “Well, it is still inhabited, more or less, but the whole place was massacred,” Flynn searched his memory, “about … fourteen years ago, I think. They erected a memorial with the names of all the village’s inhabitants a few years back, after people began migrating to the area.”

Lincoln was baffled by Flynn’s story about the fate of the village. Both from the prospect of being lied to by Moira for no reason and by the thought of a whole population being completely wiped out.

“What happened to them?”

Flynn leaned back into his seat. “No one knows for sure, but they found most of the people near the front gate, which was found unlocked. Twenty-three people lost their lives that night.” Flynn mumbled a prayer for the dead to himself when he was finished speaking.

The story of Brinn and the fate of its inhabitants sparked a morbid interest in Lincoln, so he inquired further. “Did they ever catch what did it?”

“Not as far as I know.” Flynn leaned in to whisper to Lincoln. “But I wouldn’t utter anything about the ‘Beast of Brinn’ to anyone else, especially to anyone who lives near there. It’s the reason it took so long for people to start repopulating the village. And some of the people who live there are still afraid that it might come back one of these days.” Flynn leaned back in his seat.

“So why can’t Moira be from Brinn?”

Flynn held up three fingers. “Three reasons.” Flynn dropped all but one of his fingers then continued. “One, she’s too old—the whole place was massacred when she would have been … maybe … twenty-one then.” He raised another finger. “Two. No one with the last name ‘Ashe’ has ever lived in Brinn.” Flynn raised a third finger. “And three, she’s from a city west of here called Kilmore. She told me that herself.”

Lincoln’s stomach cramped, and his head suddenly felt too light. He slumped into his seat as one hand fell to his side, the other went to his head. A mixture of emotions swirled in his gut as his mind tried to sort out the confusion.

Flynn put his hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad—it took me almost a year to pry that bit of information from her. But, regardless of your opinion of her, I can promise you that she is still the best shot you have of getting what you came here for. Trust me, if there is anything I know about Moira for certain, it’s that she truly cares about the safety of everyone around here. And having to put someone down is extremely hard for her, even if she doesn’t show it.”

Lincoln forced a smile and nodded. He wasn’t sure what to think about Moira now, but he didn’t really need to know who she was in order to get what he came for.

He decided to think about it later as Flynn removed his hand from his shoulder.

Both of them turned to face the stage as a man stepped up to the small platform, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. A hush fell upon the crowd as he stood silently, sweeping the room with watchful eyes. Before speaking, he cleared his throat and buttoned closed the highly decorated coat that hid his gut.

“It is a real damn shame to see you all here again.” His voice boomed through the room. “Last night we lost three more of our brothers in arms to a monster that has already claimed nine others.”

Some members of the crowd muttered quiet prayers for the deceased and their families.

“As commander of the guard, it is my responsibility to protect all of you. I have failed in my duty.”

Several guards began disagreeing with his statement and commended his service as their leader. He silenced them with a wave of his hand and a turn of his head.

“And while nothing can be done for those we lost, we will ensure that their families are cared for and that this bastard doesn’t live to see another night. I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to make them pay for what they’ve done!”

The crowd cheered as the commander reached into the throng and retrieved a drink. He lifted the beverage to the crowd. Those with drinks of their own mirrored the action.

“For the fallen.” The commander took a drink as the crowd echoed his words and did the same.

“Now back to work!” The commander barked as he saluted the crowd, passed the empty glass back to its original owner, and marched off the stage as he attempted to wipe the foam out of his beard. The crowd returned the salute and left.

Flynn pulled his hat onto his head and turned to Lincoln. “You heard Commander Murphy. Duty calls.”

Lincoln left the establishment, but he lingered outside, leaning against the smooth damp wall of an empty street. He might have enough to return home with, and he might get himself killed staying here, but this was a golden opportunity he felt he couldn’t pass up. It wasn’t until he could feel the chill in his bones that he came to a decision. He wouldn’t tell Moira of his choice, but he’d give her until tonight; if he didn’t trust her, then he would leave with what he had. Satisfied, Lincoln pushed off the wall and began finding his way back to The Midnight Hour.