Fate of the Seer: The Vampire Flynn - Book Three

by Peter Dawes

  “Thank you, Robin,” I said, fingers brushing the pendant tucked underneath my shirt. Once inside the room, I removed the glasses and shut the door behind us, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Robin switched on the light. I hid the spectacles in my coat and slid the garment from my shoulders, hanging it on the back of a chair adjacent to a small, antique table. My brother headed for the bedroom, while chuckling softly. “I remember a day that sound passing through your lips came from the lights shutting off, not turning on,” he said.

  I nodded, reaching to unfasten the sword hanging from my hip. “Not that you accommodated me much. I still cannot believe you were the first person to see my eyes change color.” Propping the sword against the table, I then unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and rolled up my sleeves. The piece of furniture appeared to have been meticulously restored, with couches I could only assume were replicas of earlier counterparts. I studied the Persian rug beneath my feet and fought against rolling my eyes. “Some things never change about vampires, regardless of where one travels. Their fascination with lavishness knows no end.”

  “You’ve just forgotten the finer pleasures of being immortal, Peter.” Robin emerged from the room again, this time without his wool coat and suit jacket. A chain hung from the pocket of his vest, his frame just as lanky as I remembered it. A smile played across his lips. “You love extremes. Either too human or too vampire and never the twain shall meet.”

  My smile turned solemn. “It was you who said one such as I was not meant to be immortal.”

  “I did, indeed. So, I’ll forgive your lack of enthusiasm. I simply think you’ve been staying under the Order’s roof for a mite too long.” A knock at the door interrupted our discussion. Robin walked past to answer it and emerged again holding a metal tray with a carafe and two glasses balanced in the center. He set it down on the table and immediately plucked one glass, filling it halfway with the opaque, viscous liquid we had been offered. Blood. I should have known. “If you’re not of the mind to eat, brother,” he said, “There is a liquor cabinet and James stocks an exceptional brandy.”

  “I think I shall pass on both,” I replied. “And speaking of the Order, I believe I should check in with them. At the very least, before we retire.”

  “If you feel you must.” He sipped from the glass while walking over to one of the couches and placed his dinner down on a side table as he sat. Kicking off his shoes, he reclined as much as possible while I sat on the couch opposite him. His eyes shut, a placid expression washing over him as he took his glass in hand and sniffed its contents. “I never bother to ask the man where he acquires his blood, but it has to be some of the finest not tapped directly from the source.”

  I crossed one leg over my knee. “I shall have to take your word for it.”

  “So peculiar for you to be the one abstaining from feeding.” Robin’s lids lifted. He met my eyes and took a drink. “Perhaps The Fates are undoing some of your curse.”

  “Would such a thing make you jealous?”

  “Bah.” He flipped his free hand dismissively. “I’ve no desire to relive that part of my existence. You can be human enough for the both of us.”

  “Consider it a deal.” I watched my brother drink from the contents of his glass again before setting it back down on the table. The miracle of him even having an existence struck me once more, prompting me back to thoughts harbored back in that dark alley. “What message contains such severity that The Fates themselves would raise a vampire from the dead?” I asked, finally issuing the question.

  A soft smile manifested to life on Robin’s face. “Have you become slothful since we spoke last, master seer?” He sat upright, hands folded on his lap as he raised an eyebrow at me. “Search my thoughts and see for yourself.”

  The room around us fell silent, the dare hanging in the space between us. I mirrored his posture, lowering my foot back to the ground and locking our gazes so I might begin to plumb the depths of his memories. It took a moment, but his thoughts began drifting toward me, first as a hum and then a litany of images gaining depth and texture the more I focused.

  A scene painted itself upon the canvas of my mind – a familiar one as it had been where I last saw my brother. Only, instead of the polished meeting room in Matthew’s coven, what I saw resembled little more than a crypt; something vacant and desolate, providing a stark contrast against the life I reclaimed in the same room. Frowning at myself – avoiding the recollection of Robin’s death – I allowed the movie to play out and relived it as Robin summoned it. In fact, his thoughts formed a narration to guide me along.

  “Everything you know about the fires of hell pale in comparison to the actual truth. I am fortunate. I remember little more than this fact and consider the blocked memories a mercy. As you can imagine, however, it was a shock when I was thrust from the realm of the dead back onto this mortal coil. Confused and disoriented, I looked around only to see nothing. I woke at the place where I met my end with no one to greet me. Only the darkness and the ash of those killed there beside me.

  “That is, until she appeared…”

  Chapter Two

  I stood while the scene played out inside Robin’s mind. The meeting room in Matthew Pritchard’s coven formed around me, still the same as I remembered it except not a soul had entered since that fateful day. The notion inspired a shiver; where once I could imagine it had been a hub of activity, it had become quiet and lifeless. The tables were still arranged with only one knocked haphazard. Chairs were displaced and piles of ash gave a chilling reminder of the execution which had transpired. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth, my thoughts turning toward more depressing matters until the sound of groaning forced my attention away.

  Turning, I looked in time to see my brother lying on his stomach, both palms pressed against the tiled floor. His head lifting, his eyes were open, gaze frantic as it scanned his surroundings like a man waking from a frightful nightmare. I furrowed my brow as I walked closer to where he laid, suddenly realizing I was watching his memories as an observer, the same way I did when he died. The same way I had while touching walls at Wesley’s house and the abandoned hotel. The epiphany threatened to jar me, but I stole a deep breath, steadying myself and focusing more intently on my brother.

  Robin still wore the same clothing he had the day I killed him, his hair disheveled as though he had merely fallen after our battle and not perished. He pulled himself to his knees, but remained on all fours, staring down at the floor for what seemed like interminable moments. I pictured him lost somewhere in a mental maze, chasing the rabbit and unable to determine if he had imagined the entire journey. A hard swallow preceded him shutting his eyes and drawing another shaky breath inward. “What just happened?” he asked the empty room.

  I jumped when he the volume of his voice rose. “Hello?!” The word was drawn out, almost forming a scream toward the end. He continued, still yelling. “Hello?! Is anybody else here?” Robin settled onto his backside, shaken to the point of subtly rocking back and forth. He turned his head, seeing the room and it finally looked as though it dawned on him where he was.

  Blood tears welled in his eyes. “What happened? Oh gods, what is this? Is this…?” Drawing his knees close to his chest, he embraced them with his arms and shook. “This is some twisted dream. Or cruel joke.” His eyes clenched shut, fangs descending seemingly despite himself. “Speak, whoever is responsible for this. Speak or stop this torture. I’m begging you.”

  “Michael, calm down, I’m right here.”

  The intrusion of a female voice caused us both to turn around and face the doors in near synchronized movements. Robin clamored to his feet. My eyes widened and for a moment, I swore her gaze met mine before settling on Robin’s and focusing there. Her lips curled upward, her body clad in a white gown instead of the bloodied clothing she had worn when she appeared to me. Lydia sighed. “Michael Patrick O’Shane,” she said. “I know this is jarring, but I promise it isn’t a joke or an illusion. You�
�re home now.”

  “This isn’t home.” His first steps tentative, he used them to stumble close to a table and rest his weight atop the flat surface. I frowned at the way he surveyed the room, the wide-eyed horror still present in his expression. “This is Matthew’s coven. We were here and talking and suddenly, all hell broke loose.” He glanced at Matthew’s chair and frowned, rising to his feet again and hobbling over to it in what appeared to be a laborious stride. It slowly gained confidence, only to waver when he got close enough to pull out the seat and gaze at it inquisitively. Whatever he saw confirmed whatever questions lingered about the coven master’s fate. He shut his eyes and clutched onto the table in front of him for support.

  “He was my mentor,” he said. “My friend. He didn’t deserve this fate.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Lydia said, her voice soft and reassuring. She remained standing in the same place. “He was an unfortunate casualty in this mess. Everyone else here was as well.”

  “His child Eunice? The other coven masters?” Robin opened his eyes and looked at Lydia.

  She frowned. “All gone, Michael. I am so very sorry.”

  “Go hifreann leat.” I did not understand the expression, but the intent had been conveyed clearly enough in the harsh way he spoke the words. He clenched his eyes shut, allowing a wave of annoyance to pass. “How much of me was that woman determined to take? Death after death, they were all my fault, all because I dared to defy her.”

  “They were her fault.”

  “They trusted me!” His eyes shot open, arms extending to gesture around the room. “And I led them to their execution. I told them to place their faith in me and this is what happened.” The frown which overtook his expression descended so quickly, it made my stomach sink. Robin looked toward Lydia again. “Flynn...”

  “...was manipulated.” She strode closer to him, one hand extended outward. “Sabrina seduced him. You know how she was, Michael. We’ve both watched him be led around by her whims. By her magic. He fought hard to resist her, but she snared him in a trap.” Lydia paused just shy of him, mirroring his frown. “I know he betrayed you – how much that hurts – but even that wasn’t his fault.”

  Robin swallowed hard, not responding at first. His gaze fell to the ground, lingering there until he finally shook his head and exhaled a shaky breath. “It isn’t as though that matters now,” he said. “If she claimed him, this city is forfeit.” When his eyes found Lydia again, they looked pained. “You brought me back here. Why, except to torture me?”

  The soft smile returned to her lips. “Have more faith. The Fates haven’t fallen asleep on the job.”

  My brother’s brow furrowed and Lydia laughed, finally reaching forward and placing a hand on his back. The gesture looked deceptively corporeal, but must have been enough to force Robin’s posture to relax; his shoulders to lower and frown to even. She held steady eye contact with him for several seconds. “Things have changed. A lot of things have changed, in fact.”

  “And you mean to tell me the world hasn’t ended?”

  “Give my sister a little more credit. She’s the one who brought out his gifts, after all.” Lydia drifted away from him, walking toward the tables and perching herself on top of one. Her legs crossed and facial expression turned more serious without losing the slight curl of her lips. “He did kill you, Michael. You are remembering that correctly. But your death presented him with the gift of clarity. He’s held himself to blame for my death and finally saw what drove him to doing it. My sister was able to remove him from Sabrina and retrain him.”

  The words took a moment to process. Robin’s expression remained impassive. “And what of Sabrina?”

  “Dead by Peter’s hand.”

  “Peter.” Inhaling a deep breath, he held onto it, exhaling it only as he spoke. “Why did you summon me here?”

  Lydia nodded. “We need your help and yours alone. He’s trusted you before, Michael, and he’s going to need your skills and friendship in this next part of his journey.”

  “Friendship, I understand. But skills?”

  “You’ll figure it out very quickly.” She held a steady gaze, raising an eyebrow after a few seconds. “You are an elder. You remember what that means. More than once you’ve faced a tough decision with the knowledge you’ve been given. Knowledge that pertains to Peter.”

  Robin nodded, his eyes becoming distant before shutting altogether. I continued to watch as he took a deep breath, but the air he exhaled brushed the entire scene away, changing it and thrusting me into yet another memory, this one removed from Matthew’s coven. The scenery which formed around me was all-too-familiar, painting the image of Sabrina’s vestibule and our old coven home.

  I found myself standing next to a different manifestation of my brother – undoubtedly from at least two years in the past. He remained ignorant to my presence just as he had in the previous vision, his hair tied back and regal air restored from the disheveled look he bore only seconds ago. His eyes settled on a figure strolling past, headed for the grand staircase with a brisk, purposeful stride. I felt my shoulders sink, a weight newly deposited when I recognized the man Robin began to pursue. My attire might have changed since then, but the black, wing-tipped shoes were ones I yet wore.

  “Flynn!” Robin shouted, closing the distance between him and my former self. I followed closely, thrust more into the surreal when I – he – stopped walking and turned to face our brother. At once, I was struck by the wicked being I had been as he smirked at Robin, a sinister intonation to the upward curl of his lips. The black suit hanging from his shoulders framed the perfect metaphor for the intentions of his heart; the knife barely visible beneath his jacket was the blade of an assassin. I frowned at the recollection of inhabiting his steps, a cold shiver running down my spine at being confronted with how recently that had been my nightly state.

  I also recalled this encounter the moment my former self spoke.

  “Robin,” he said, pausing at the lowest step. He lingered there, waiting for Robin to close the distance before continuing. “I was wondering when you and Sabrina would return. I thought you both gone for the rest of eternity.”

  “And leave you in charge of the coven?” Robin scoffed, one hand resting on the banister. “Perish the thought.”

  “Well, when did you return? Just this evening?”

  “Yes, about an hour ago. The mistress is out on the town fetching dinner, but I had no desire to accompany her.” A conspicuous pause lingered between us. He sighed and finally glanced away. “I was on my way to find you. Timothy said you’ve been staying close to your room when not on the prowl.”

  “Yes, I have been reading.” My former self perked an eyebrow at Robin, the heavy air finally registering. “Is everything alright? You seem bothered by something.”

  He shrugged. “I am sick of the matters of immortals right now and have need of far too much liquor for my own good.” His gaze returned to the assassin. “Come and sit with me in the parlor before you retire to your room.”

  “Very well.” Flynn stepped down from the staircase, following Robin as he led the way to the common area and past several of our brethren without acknowledging them. I pursued them both, more aware of the strange mood emanating from Robin than I had been even then. My curiosity piqued, when Robin approached a door leading to the cellar, my former self lingered, but I walked with Robin to where he paused in the doorway’s threshold. “Stay here, brother. I will return shortly.”

  Flynn nodded, but I focused my attention on Robin more intently as we walked down the stairs and toward where Sabrina kept wine and hidden reserves of blood. I had never bothered to visit the room but once, when sent to collect a bottle for my mistress at her behest. My eyes scanned the area as Robin reached the final stair and pivoted for where the finest liquors had been housed. I expected us to head in that direction and wondered for the briefest of moments why this memory was so important.

  My brother, however, remained frozen in place. H
is gaze was fixed on that side of the room, but indecision held him firmly in place until he turned his head and peered in the other direction. The already heavy air plunged fifty fathoms deeper and a frown overtook his face which bordered on pained. When he finally alighted from the stairs, it was this direction that he headed, as though driven by an invisible force.

  I paused with him outside another door. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he slid a hand into his pants and produced a ring of keys from within. The effort of finding the right key took interminable moments, something I was sure had been a deliberate stall on his part before having to face whatever lay behind that door. Furrowing my brow, I watched in silence, though tempted to prod him along with words he almost surely would not hear. When he finally unlocked the door, we both walked a few feet into it and stopped beside a cord dangling from the ceiling.

  Here is where I plunged further into the abyss of confusion.

  He gave the cord a yank and light flooded the immediate area. Before me, an entire compliment miscellaneous items appeared, filling shelf upon shelf in the depths of the hidden room. Robin entered, gaining a newfound confidence in his stride as we passed books, trinkets, decorations and other assorted fixtures on our way to a shelf hidden in the back. There his footsteps ceased, his eyes settling on a plain wooden box. Reaching for it, he opened the lid, pulling an ornamental dagger from a bed of crushed red velvet.

  The way the light played off his eyes revealed they had taken on a shimmer.

  “Does this make me worse than you?” he asked, “To plot your demise with you none the wiser? Is it better for the world that I play Brutus to your Caesar and end you now to spare us all?” He stared down at the weapon, both hands coiled around its sheath and tightening as he brought it close to his chest. I watched, dumbfounded, as one blood tear escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheek, on a solitary journey. His voice lowered to a whisper as he broke the silence with his confession. “Brother, forgive me for what I am about to do.”