Rebirth of the Seer

by Peter W. Dawes

  I cut her off, in part as a mercy to her. “Yes, I am a vampire, Chloe.”

  Chloe swallowed hard. “Are you sure you can trust yourself, then? Maybe I’m speaking out of ignorance, but isn’t it a bad idea to tempt a vampire with the sight of blood?”

  Permitting myself a moment to linger on Chloe’s question, my eyes drifted to Monica again. There laid my watcher, frail and pale with crimson continuing to ebb from her wounds. For the first time in a while, I could not summon the gumption to assuage my own self-doubt. Once I pulled the stake out, nothing would hold back the deluge of blood, and I would have to fight my vampire instincts every step of the way. What if her lung had been punctured? Or an artery nicked or, even worse, damage done to her heart? How would I hold my composure when I could already feel my fangs straining to descend?

  Chloe spoke up again, as though sensing the dilemma. “I’m going to give you another incentive to get out of here and leave this to somebody else.” She waited for me to look at her before continuing. “That guard I chased off your back was brought here because of you. You’re lucky nobody’s recognized you yet. Stick around here and somebody’s bound to put the pieces together.”

  “Damn it.” My hand rose, fingers thrusting through my hair and gathering a fistful in my palm. I shut my eyes, barely able to piece thoughts together after having the temptation to feed brought to the forefront of my mind. I drew a deep breath inward, fighting myself for what my reaction should be. “Fuck. Very well, alright.” I lowered my hand and opened my eyes to look at her again. Worry had begun consuming her gaze.

  “Get the hell out of here, Peter,” my old friend said, prodding, and I swore under my breath again while gathering my coat from where I had thrown it, almost moved to say something to Monica in departure while not wishing to do so in Chloe’s presence. One last, lingering gaze given to my watcher and I spirited from the room, not giving a whit who in the emergency room saw the weapons I brandished along the way. One doctor opened their mouth to speak to me, but I shot them a glare which silenced them despite the impediment of my sunglasses. Ducking down an adjoining corridor, I rounded a corner and circumvented the security guard by leaving the hospital through a different exit.

  The rain had become a steady drizzle outside, prompting me to slip into my jacket again. I lit a cigarette and paced around for a few minutes, consuming the nicotine and tossing its remnant into a puddle once it was depleted. As its embers sizzled into nothing, I indulged another deep breath and considered how to occupy my mind while a distinct part of me could not let go of the notion that I had just given Monica over to the care of complete strangers. Gritting my teeth, I knew fretting would do nothing for us. It was a welcome distraction when I caught sight of a shadow in my periphery and spun around to face it.

  While it revealed itself to be little more than a city rodent, it brought my instruction as an assassin back to the surface. I paced to the edge of the walkway, where it opened into a side street. The cacophony of Broad Street filtered toward me, calling to mind my spirited dash to the hospital. How was I so certain we had not been followed? Frowning, I snuck away from the glow of the streetlights and immersed myself in the shadows to study the surrounding area.

  Perhaps I could be some use in a less direct manner.

  Instinct took over. I immersed within crowds and scanned the people arriving and departing for minutes upon hours. At times, the billows of cigarette smoke were all which distinguished my position. I was one of a multitude or one with the darkness – that figure which had stalked these neighborhoods as a killer for half a decade. I ventured no further than a block away from the hospital on all sides, and as I wound my way back to the main building each time, I ensured not a pulse or a footstep was unaccounted along the way. When I was satisfied with my assessment, I ventured inside and started the more difficult patrol.

  Rufus was not the only security guard to be added to Temple Hospital’s employ. Another sat near the front entrance and a few more were caught either in strategic positions or walking the corridors, asking the patients if they could be of any assistance. I ducked out of sight from one guard on foot and frowned as I realized my weapons – no matter how cleverly concealed – were problems simply waiting to occur. I hid all but a dagger in a utility closet, promising myself I would retrieve the arsenal once I had determined my watcher’s fate. It was not until I had examined the establishment from morgue to roof and back that I breathed a sigh of relief. For the time being, we were safe. I could only hope it would last long enough to allow Monica to recover from her injuries.

  The rays of dawn were threatening to burst through the twilight when I found where she had been officialy admitted. Three floors above the emergency room laid the Critical Care Unit, and no more than several yards from an elevator laid a nurse’s station with the overnight crew making the final rounds of their shifts. I slipped Monica’s chart from their desk when they were not looking and flipped through the contents in as idle of a fashion as I could manage. The surgery had gone well. A foreign implement had been removed; the doctor described it as a decorative piece of wood, which brought a smirk to my face. There had been a transfusion and a brush with dangerously low blood pressure. In the end, however, the only true friend I had left would live to see another day.

  “Goddamn it, someone get in this room immediately!”

  My head jerked upward, my eyes fixing on the end of the corridor as a nurse raced past me. The sound of monitors screaming at the waking world made the area a sudden war zone. My heart nearly restarted when I saw a doctor emerge from Monica’s room for a brief moment until another nurse disappeared inside after handing him a syringe. I clutched the wall, bracing myself for the eerie sound of a flatline to follow the ensuing fracas.

  Instead of this, however, a sharp voice called out, “Goddamn it. She’s going to hurt herself if she keeps this up.” I furrowed my brow, risking the chance of being discovered when I returned her chart to the desk I had found it. I snuck closer to the edge of the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when the monitors ceased screaming. Retreating into a visiting area, I stole a glance as her doctor emerged a few minutes later.

  “Leslie, I want you to leave a note for the day shift,” he said to one of the nurses who walked out behind him. “Keep that girl under heavy sedation for the next few days. If she’s going to be tearing at her IV, I want to prevent her from being a danger to herself.” He added the next comment underneath his breath. “So much for letting her regain consciousness.”

  “I’ll add the note to her chart, Dr. Yana,” the nurse said. Their discussion evolved into how much of a dose of what would be administered, but I could contain myself no longer. Ducking out from hiding, I walked cautiously to Monica’s room and stepped inside with only the click of a door marking my entrance into where she laid.

  Once inside, I could not help but to recognize the solemn air surrounding everything. Darkness shrouded the immediate area, with only the faintest embers of ambient light filtering through the drawn blinds from outside. I walked closer to her bed – the sole one being occupied in the room – while studying the frail girl lying in front of me.

  “Damn quixotic woman,” I said. “How did I wind up with a watcher whose singular ability is to vex me?” Machines produced a digital cadence, a sound I found both unnerving and comfortably familiar the longer I listened to it. I followed the leads germinating from electrodes and stared at the heart monitor keeping time with Monica’s pulse. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth as I interpreted its readings. “I wish I could have been of better assistance to you. I shall simply have to prepare myself for tending to your wounds as you recover.”

  A wave of sentimentality washed over me when my eyes settled on her, causing me a moment’s pause. I could not determine what brought it to life; and debating it seemed an exercise in futility from a mind climbing down from such a chaotic night. Sighing, I slid my hands into my pockets and rested my hip on the corner of her bed. Whatever I felt
, guilt encompassed a large part of it. There she lay, under an assortment of blankets with an oxygen tube running under her nose, and she laid there on my account.

  My lips curled downward in a frown. “I shall never understand you, witch. With each passing day, you do something which is either increasingly more courageous or utterly foolhardy for my benefit. Why the devil is this?” Monica failed to respond, evidence that whatever the doctor had given her had fully worked into her system. Still, I felt compelled to continue. “That you would use yourself as bait, get bitten twice, and almost killed… Then dash in the way of a stake, nearly to die again? I shall spend an eternity attempting to figure you out and never accomplish the task.”

  My final words had inspired a smirk which gradually evaporated. A solemn expression overtook my face. “I shall keep watch over you, my dear. I know you know nothing of my oaths, but I vow to protect you until you are better.”

  With a sigh, I rose to my feet, drifting closer to the windows overlooking North Philadelphia. The bustling metropolis gazed back from the other side, a guardian preparing to shift to the rhythm of early morning. As much as I knew I should be seeking refuge from the dawn, I found myself getting lost in thought, revisiting our fateful conversation from the night before.

  It was becoming too much of a pattern for this ragtag duo Monica and I had become, one tending to the other while they healed from infirmity. It left me to wonder how much of our time would be spent in such a position as we sought to follow the instructions we had been given. She had warned me this might happen, however. I simply had simply failed to think it possible at the time.

  It came on the heels of a promise, the night before our date with infamy.

  Chapter Three

  In my mind’s eye, I saw the living room to our modest safe house, her sitting on the couch while I cleaned my knives on the floor. Smoke drifted lazily from an ashtray beside me, a rag in my hand running the length of my final knife. I paused to draw from my lit cigarette, but shifted my focus from my weapons to Monica when the weight of her gaze settled on me.

  As much as her eyes were fixed upon me, though, they seemed a thousand miles away. A mental wall granted her private thoughts sanctuary from my psychic prodding. I perked an eyebrow, reaching forward to extinguish my cigarette and set the dagger down. “Your expression is pensive, yet your mind is closed,” I said, white plumes billowing outward with my words. Reclining back against one of the other chairs, I adjusted my position so I could face her. “Is there something you wish to say?”

  Monica glanced at my blades before looking at me again. The room was dark enough for me to have my sunglasses off, so she could not ignore the deliberate stare I maintained. She did not answer at first, though – not until shifting in her seat and pointing at the collection of blades. “Have you always taken such good care of those?” she asked, a question I recognized as an obvious diversion.

  Still, I shrugged, apt to temporarily indulge it. “I learned to do so early on, at first for the sake of ritual, but later for the sake of use.” Sliding my leg into a bent position, I rested an arm on my knee. “Neglecting to polish even the finest steel will cause it to rust and deteriorate. It is hard to depend upon a katana which lacks a sure cut, especially as an assassin.”

  “I bet.”

  “Now, are you truly curious about proper weapon care, or is there something else on your mind?” I smirked, an expression which turned more bemused the longer I maintained it.

  She narrowed her eyes in response, but betrayed the action by grinning as well. “Maybe I’m just curious. Haven’t thought that might be it? What’s the matter, don’t I look like the sort of girl who’d be interested in whipping a sword around?”

  “Yes, I can just envision you throwing knives and decapitating vampires. Perhaps someday you might even get around to drawing the blade you keep strapped to your thigh.”

  “Are you trying to say I don’t know how to use it?”

  “A knife is easy enough to use if you are able to recognize which is the sharp end.” My grin broadened. “You do know which one that is, am I correct? Or must I extend you the offer of teaching you?”

  “You sarcastic son of a bitch.” Monica laughed

  “You flatter me, miss.”

  “That wasn’t a complement. I’m still wondering why I didn’t drive a stake through your chest when I had the chance.”

  “Because you were overwhelmed by my charm and my good looks. It is a burden to be so attractive, but one I bear nonetheless.”

  She shook her head, a gesture which caused me to smile. Finally, she settled enough to regain her composure. “Before I need a pin to pop your ego, I’ll come clean with you. Yes, there is something on my mind and, no, it’s not your burdensome good looks.”

  I nodded, leaning back against the chair again. Resting my arm on the cushion, I motioned with my hand as I spoke. “One does not need to be psychic to see that. You have been wearing it on your face all night. Please, tell me what it is. I am yet unable to sift through your private thoughts.”

  “It’s a lot of things, actually.” Monica drew in a deep breath. She exhaled it slowly and allowed her disposition to become serious. “Lydia’s gone. It’s finally hit me that she won’t be there to offer us guidance any longer.”

  “It is just as well. I have thought about it and concluded that watching me become a sadist could not have made the afterlife lovely in any way.”

  “No, I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Be that as it may, I do agree. Her oversight was beneficial.”

  Monica sighed. “It was the only oversight I ever knew. She’s the reason why I went looking for a duplicate pendant; how I knew everything that happened before she was murdered and where my insight into you came from. Granted, she never spoke to me in my dreams, but she at least talked enough about you that I knew where to look for information. If it had been left up to the Council…”

  She trailed off. I furrowed my brow. “What of it?” I asked.

  “I would’ve been completely in the dark. When I first told them I meant to rehabilitate you, they told me it was my funeral. I’ve been hoping that after what happened with Sabrina, we’ll regain their oversight, but…”

  “… You do not think they will hear our case?”

  Monica nodded. “Exactly. They might even seek action against us.” She paused to glance away again, frowning. “I haven’t wanted to deter you, Flynn, but they were pretty pissed off with me the last time we spoke. What I told you before, about your life possibly being in jeopardy – I still think it is. Though I’m hoping for the best, I’m preparing for the worst.”

  “Well, I thought the idea somewhat whimsical anyway, no offense toward this blind optimism you possess with regard to me.” My own gaze became distant as I studied my knives, seeing in them not merely my current mission, but the havoc I wrought with them as an assassin. “To be perfectly honest, I am not entirely certain I deserve to go on living.”

  “If Lydia said you must, then you must. The Fates have their own agenda. That they gave you a mission in the first place means you have to stay on this path.”

  “And what path might that be?”

  Monica offered me a sober smile, her eyes speaking comfort to my unsettled soul. While such a look would have ordinarily repulsed me, I found it soothing for a change. “That’s for you to find out. I’m afraid I might not be able to give you much assistance beyond tonight.”

  Those words caused me to straighten my posture and regard her much more seriously. Not asking for permission before doing so, I delved into her mind as far as she would allow me, to search through the thoughts troubling her. She did not offer me any resistance. Instead, the message she could not bring herself to saying played inside my mind.

  I was yet unacquainted with the ways of the Supernatural Order, but already knew one thing – their roundabout ways confounded me. As a creature of action, I reckoned that if I was such a threat, I should have been done away with desp
ite any words of defense Monica might have already presented. They allowed me to be the devil for four years, though, and did nothing but watch and wait. Monica waited for me to find her, they waited for me to realize my supernatural powers – everything those daft mortals did seemed to involve waiting. I could not fathom such a passive attitude. But as I plumbed Monica’s thoughts, a much different picture was being painted with the brush strokes of anxiety. The Council could be spurred into action. They just needed to be prodded.

  “So, they would finally send a hunter to pursue me,” I said, breaking the brief silence which had settled between us. “The killer becomes a penitent and yet they would put me to death?”

  The look in her eyes turned haunted. Monica sighed, glancing away while straightening in her seat reflexively. “Not just any hunter, Flynn. A seer. Probably even a master seer. Someone with a hell of a lot more training and experience than even you have.”

  I could not help but to scoff. “Please, witch. The covens sent assassins to exterminate me and not a one of them was successful.”

  “The kinds of people I’m talking about would make your assassins look like amateurs.” Her absurd posture turned all the more confusing when her fingers began tugging at the fabric of her skirt. “Think about your fight with Sabrina for a moment and take this seriously when I say a fully-trained master seer would have mopped the floor with her. I know where this brash level of confidence is coming from, and I’m not trying to crush your ego, but these men go through intense physical and mental training. They infiltrate covens and can take entire droves of vampires out without breaking a sweat. The chances of us surviving one of those encounters borders in the slim-to-none category.”

  Her eyes found mine again. “I want you to make me a promise,” she said, mustering a sobering amount of seriousness in the way she regarded me. “When I go in to speak to the Council, I want you to hide outside and listen. If they threaten action against us, I want you to get as far away from here as possible, with whatever you can carry on your back. Don’t come for me, just go.”