Fate of the Seer: The Vampire Flynn - Book Three

by Peter Dawes

  “The only way you learn is by trying.” Hitching up on her knees, Monica freed her hand from my grip in favor stroking the side of my face. I settled against the comforting touch, shutting my eyes. “You’re writing the rules as you go along,” she continued. “You might only be limited by your imagination.”

  “That is a frightening prospect.”

  “I know, isn’t it? Pretty soon you’ll be wearing a cape and tying up criminals.”

  I lifted my eyelids, shooting her a weary scowl which she reciprocated with a giggle. My mouth opened to issue some form of protest, but she slid her hand away, holding it up to stop me. “You have to come to terms with what you are, Peter. You might be able to will any spell into existence or bend the rules of nature for all I know. The point is – we won’t ever know if you don’t push the envelope a little.” Her hand settled on my face again. “You’re always so reluctant to accept who you are and what you’ve been called to do.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are. You question it instead of embodying it.”

  “You say that as though this is easy to swallow, but it never has been. I had to forget myself in order to accept being a vampire and now, I have to become some formidable seer when I have never fancied myself anything significant.” I sighed, resting my forehead against the metal bars separating us.

  “You know, you angsting about it isn’t going to help anybody.”

  “I am not angsting.”

  “You’re wallowing, sweetheart. While swimming down that river in Egypt you’re so fond of.”

  I sighed, about to issue a response when her hand settled on the back of my neck, tilting my chin forward. The suddenness of the action took me aback, her lips pressing against mine and flooding my senses with temptation. I fought against the groan wishing to rumble from my throat, ignoring the metal bars pressed against our faces to allow for such a deep, lingering embrace. In fact, my hand drifted upward, fingers tangling with the locks of her hair as I returned the kiss with just as much passionate fervor. It took several, very taunting seconds for her to finally pull away and draw a shaky breath inward.

  Oh, for the chance to lay her down with me again.

  Monica swallowed hard, taking a few additional moments to compose herself while shooting me a conciliatory grin. “Enough of that,” she said, straightening out her skirt to sit cross-legged. I caught her expression waver, her focus darting away and a hand lifting to rub at her eyes. The faintest glimmer of tears still lingered, regardless, captured by the light from the lamps around us. “You should get some sleep. Sounds like you have a lot of work ahead of you.”

  I frowned as a reflex, not wanting to leave her just yet. “I am coming for you, Dearest.”

  “You have other things to worry about, Peter. Important things. Do I want you to come storming the castle to come after me? Of course, I do. But this thing is bigger than us.”

  For a moment, I wrestled with the temptation to tell her what Zachary had shared, that wherever she was being held, we would find another one of Ian’s scrolls. Watching her compose herself, however, I could not bring myself to summoning what she would read as false hope. Instead, I reached for her hand again, clutching it between my palms and smiling softly. “As though I could do anything other than search for you. I shall follow the path being shown to me, but I have faith I shall find you along the way.”

  “Here’s to hoping, right?” Monica fought to summon a smile, entirely for my benefit, I knew. “Come back and visit me. I’ll think more about the scrolls and tell you if anything else comes to mind.”

  “I will not be satisfied until we have a proper visit. Without these bars separating us.”

  She barked out a laugh. “We’ll put in a petition for a change of venue, then.”

  “Allow me to second that petition.” Tracing her cheekbones with my fingers, I then lifted my hand to run my fingers through her hair and nodded, my smile brightening. “Hold steady for me,” I said, but before I could add anything else, the dream began to dissipate.

  My consciousness slipped away from worlds imagined, my actual eyelids lifting and the final sight I had taken in before resting flooding my line of sight. I saw a darkened hotel room, in Portland, Oregon, with heavy curtains drawn and my brother resting soundly in the bed next to mine. I felt the warning siren of daylight on the other side of the window and frowned, rising from bed and padding into the bathroom before my wakefulness could somehow rouse Robin from sleep. My stomach sank when I shut the door and switched on the light. In the mirror, I beheld the immortal seer again and frowned at his countenance.

  My mission had been laid out before me, my next steps determined by destiny and laden with impossibility on both sides. Tumble one way, and I might become a threat, the other and I might win back my lover. Such things could wait until later to be sorted out, though. I told myself as such as I turned on the tap and splashed water on my face. We had arrangements to make in the interim and a riddle to solve along the way. Padding back from the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. Monica waited somewhere out there, in some lonely cell without me.

  It was time to discover what Ian Carmichael had been hiding up his sleeve when he captured her.

  Chapter Eight

  It had been decided upon while we sojourned in Portland, just another of Robin’s tools kept in his pocket for future use. “I can do absolutely nothing with this document on my own,” he had said staring down where he had placed it, on a desk in our hotel room. Both hands settled on his hips, his jacket removed and sleeves rolled up. I fought the urge to note out loud that he appeared more ready to do manual labor than translate a document.

  “What language is it in?” I had asked, lifting my head from my pillow to get a better look at my brother.

  He sighed. “That I even knew this much.” Turning it around, he frowned pensively, one hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. “Grecian seems wrong. Perhaps Coptic? Either would render me useless, brother. I never learned to read either.”

  “Then what do we have to do?”

  “Find someone to help us translate it.” The hand on his neck slid down until his finger pressed against his bottom lip. Robin remained in the same position for several seconds. “Dr. Yamamoto in Tokyo is always irritated at last minute interruptions. I am tempted to say we should impose upon the hospitality of Dr. Singh.”

  I perked an eyebrow at him. “And where does Dr. Singh hail from?”

  A smile broadened on his face, his eyes still fixed on the parchment. “How would you fancy an excursion to India, brother?”

  “An excursion…” I trailed off and lifted to a seated position again, staring at my brother as though he had gone mad. “You mean to have us leave the continent?”

  “Well, there isn’t much other way we can get this looked at in a timely manner. And I don’t trust it in the hands of anyone else. God help us all if it became lost.” Robin finally glanced up at me, his expression sobering. “Trust the Fates,” he said after a significant pause, with us both locked in a stalemate. “We will take this quest step by step if needs be, but we need to have faith in the path we walk.”

  “That it could be so simple,” I had said. And yet, I gave in to his plans, procuring a few items for our travel while he made a phone call to his acquaintance in India. As he hung up the phone, I stated my intentions to inform Malcolm Davies of our impending travel.

  “How much did you plan on telling the Order, brother?” he had asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Only as much as they have need of knowing,” I had said. “Which is to say, not very much at all. Not until we know better the devil with which we are dealing.”

  “Very well.” His tone of voice had indicated his relief, but such a thing was to be short-lived. My report to Malcolm Davies merely informed him I had a lead which required flying overseas. He followed the implication left hanging without much prompting – that I would require suitable arrangements for a vampire to travel. T
he remainder of our exchange was spent negotiating the details, and the man proved himself shrewd and thorough. However, I could not help to observations nagging at me. For one, he had failed to ask about his daughter’s welfare. The second matter came in the form of our transportation.

  It was a small, private jet, fitted with comfortable seats and equipped not merely with a pilot, but someone assigned to coordinate our living arrangements once we landed. Robin had promptly dismissed her, leaving the woman nothing but a spectator now, and a bored one at that. “We have everything we need already set up, thank you kindly,” he had snidely quipped. “Perhaps you might be more comfortable in the back.”

  More comfortable in a holding cell, to put the matter more bluntly. As I stared at it, I knew why this vehicle in particular had been selected for us. Vampires hardly ever darkened the doorstep of the Order as ambassadors, and even then, probably favored their own methods of transport. I took a deep breath, attempting to see the humor in a window-less section, set apart by bars and with silver shackles attached to the seats. We would have to retreat there once we lost the sanctuary of night, but at least it would only be for a day.

  At the same time, it reinforced the notion I should not involve the Order much further in our affairs.

  I spent some time lost in that thought, engaging in as much idle conversation as I could with Robin, given the presence of our babysitter. We finally retreated into the cell a few hours later, and remained immersed in chatter until we broke up the monotony with periods of extended rest. He complained of hunger during our first stop to refuel and disembarked for what he called ‘stretching his legs’ to the human host.

  “Playing with fire?” I asked with a grin when he took his seat again.

  He shrugged, glancing out the window at the woman still standing on the tarmac. “I care little of their opinion on the matter,” he said. “I am not in violation of the natural order.”

  “One of these days, you are going to force me to defend you from the human authorities.”

  We exchanged a look, his gaze dancing with amusement as we fastened our seatbelts. “Be mindful of divided loyalties, Peter. I don’t think your employers would approve.”

  Smirking, I allowed my facial expression to serve as my response. The last leg of our trip to Delhi, India commenced after he returned, lasting the better part of the day and bringing us to the Indian province later that night. As we landed, I watched Robin stand and strip off his coat, placing it on the back of his seat while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. My brow furrowed when he folded his jacket across the crook of his arm. I stood as well, and blinked. “Dressing down?” I asked.

  “Ah, brother, I keep forgetting this is your first trip abroad.” He paused, turning to me to size me up. I remained still under his examination. “We aren’t in America any longer, and while we are tourists, we must at least act the part. Now, fetch me our bag and strip off your sword. I am going to teach you how to blend in with the locals.”

  It took a moment for me to realize how serious he was, and an additional second for me to follow suit. Once we climbed from the confines of the plane, however, I had my long, wool coat folded in my arms, grateful for the briefest of moments not to have needed my shoulder holster full of knives. Slinging the strap of a vinyl bag around my shoulder, I took my final step from the plane and paused to examine my surroundings. Not having my sword at my hip made me feel somewhat naked, as did being forced to don the same rolled-up sleeves my brother. I had not been without at least a suit jacket in years.

  Still, I understood Robin’s directive almost immediately. Vampires might be impervious to the weather, but one can still tell when the air around them bears a chill or a sweltering amount of heat. Barely into spring, and the city of New Delhi already felt like a sauna, ensuring we would be conspicuous if we attempted to march around in full suit regalia. The lack of sweat itself would garner its share of unhealthy attention.

  Robin alighted from the plane, not sparing our coordinator a second glance as he marched toward the airport terminal. I followed close behind, casting a quick glance over my shoulder in time to see the woman disappear inside the aircraft again. Alone at last, it would seem. Authorities from the airport greeted us on the tarmac and escorted us inside for inspection. It took only moments for Robin to glamor the guards and slightly longer for us to find the currency exchange.

  I paused the moment we emerged onto the main street.

  While the view from the plane had hinted at the world waiting to greet us, it struck me at how much could change and yet still be the same. The urban metropolis bore all the familiar aspects of a city; busy roads with bustling cars and buildings both large and small. The populace clad themselves in varying attire. Darker and lighter-skinned humans engaged in conversation and English blended with a language I did not recognize.

  For as many things as had transpired, the Fates’ ability to astonish me still resonated the most.

  I kept pace with Robin as he continued onward. Taxi cabs picked up the overflow from the main terminals before bulleting onto the main roads. My brother lifted a hand, hailing one and promptly tossing our belongings into the trunk when the car halted. I settled into the back, waiting while Robin slid into the seat next to me and provided the address to the driver.

  We remained silent for a few minutes, waiting for the taxi to put the airport well behind us before my brother glanced out the window, a soft smile playing across his lips. “My gods, how this city has grown since last I was here,” he said, as though the words slipped across his tongue beyond his volition.

  I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the driver before looking at Robin. “How long ago was this?” I asked.

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “The 1920s. In the midst of the British Raj. Sabrina had the desire to cross the Orient before we finally ventured to the United States. We started in Turkey and worked our way East.” Wonder continued dancing in his gaze, his eyes jumping from one landmark to the next as though not knowing where to settle. I peered out the window with him and beheld it as much as I could with the landscape passing so quickly.

  A sea of cars kept pace, with landmarks visible beyond the highway boasting exotic architecture and a prominent, if decaying, history. Green, flourishing trees contrasted against pollution riddled skies. Large blocks of housing filled neighborhoods teeming with humanity. For a moment, I felt lost in the pages of an adventure novel, living out a different story. Pulling off the main highway only added to the sensation. We passed bicycles pulling rickshaws – men and women strolling idly down the road – and entered a section of the city reserved for large bungalows.

  “Vestiges of the old empire,” Robin commented, as though reading my thoughts. He failed to look away from the window. “So much of this city still is.”

  I nodded, pausing a few moments before answering. As much as I wanted to allow the spirit of tourism to carry me away, I knew I had work to do. It was best to know what we were heading into. “So, your friend,” I said. “He offered to provide accommodations?”

  Robin nodded, finally peering in my direction. “Yes. He makes it a common practice to assist –” his eyes quickly shifted to the driver before returning to me, “– those with unique requests. Most from other parts of the world. He made the offer previously for me to visit, but I wasn’t inclined to travel at the time.”

  “I suppose certain things are easier to work with face-to-face.”

  “Relics from the Middle Ages, especially. But yes, considering his areas of expertise and the price tag he charges, it behooves him to be hospitable.” The corner of his mouth curled in a cunning grin. “He doesn’t live in this neighborhood on a professor’s salary.”

  Laughing, I studied the homes once more as the car decelerated, stopping near the gates of one and parking on the street. The driver turned in his seat, proclaiming the amount owed, which Robin paid in full before we exited the vehicle. We took possession of our things and strolled part of the way up the path wi
nding from the opened gate. “Does the professor know of seers?” I asked.

  “Hardly.” Robin adjusted his grip on our suitcase, throwing his suit jacket over his shoulder with the other hand. “He stays out of our private business and political problems.”

  “Thank heavens. I can keep the bloody sunglasses in my pocket.”

  My brother laughed, withholding commentary until we approached the Professor’s door. Pressing the buzzer, he then turned to look at me, eyebrow arched. “Once again, foulness expressed at the art of deception. Did you lose your humor when you accepted your human calling?”

  “Yes, I misplaced it. Somewhere between realizing my powers and having my watcher kidnapped.” The corner of my mouth curled in a grin, in some effort to soften the sharp tenor of my words.

  Robin scoffed, shaking his head just as the front door swung open. The movement drew my focus away from him, directing it toward a dark-haired man standing in the entryway, his brown eyes settling first on Robin before shifting over to me. Tall, with an athletic build, he appeared to be a native local and far too young to be the professor. I caught him startle when we regarded each other, something which drew his attention immediately back to my brother.

  “Dr. Singh?” Robin asked, brow furrowed.

  The young man shook his head. “No, I am his servant Darshan,” he said, recovering his composure. Darshan pressed both palms together and lifted his hands below his chin in greeting. His English heavily accented, I was still impressed at how fluent he spoke it. “Namaste. Are you the guests Dr. Singh told us to expect?”

  He exchanged the gesture Darshan performed. “Namaste. And yes, I am Professor O’Shane.” One hand parted to point toward me. “This is my assistant, Peter.”

  With a nod, I fell into the greeting custom with no small amount of aloofness, curious when I saw the hint of a forced grin on Darshan’s lips. He moved out of the way, allowing us entrance into the house and shut the door behind us once we were inside. I caught his eyes linger on me an additional moment, perhaps a beat longer than I felt comfortable with, but he shifted his focus back to Robin too swiftly for me to address it. “I will inform the Doctor you have arrived,” he said. “Please, make yourselves comfortable, Professor O’Shane.”