by Peter Dawes
“We will be certain to do so.” My brother smiled amiably until our greeter nodded and turned to walk away. As Darshan disappeared around a bend, Robin walked further into the house, gaze jumping from one fixture to another. “He certainly has no issues taking his work home,” he said, pausing by a table with several aged figurines positioned in an aesthetic manner atop a silk cloth. Setting our suitcase down close near where the vestibule ended, he strolled into what looked like a sitting area, hands folding behind his back in quiet contemplation.
I cinched the strap to my bag further up my shoulder, unwilling to be parted from it just yet. A smile ghosted across my lips as I admired the tapestries hanging from the walls, each bearing similar patterns and culturally inspired themes. “Is that your professional opinion, Dr. O’Shane?”
“Professor O’Shane. You are the only doctor between the two of us.” He smirked, not making eye contact with me. “In my day, there wasn’t a doctoral distinction for a linguist – at least, not one of my level. I didn’t have the monetary luxury of becoming a scholar, so instead, I taught.”
“Amazing how much I have yet to learn about you.” We exchanged a glance, any further discussion curtailed by the emergence of another man into the room. Heavier-set and with traces of white in his beard, he smiled more readily when he caught sight of us than his servant had. Darshan hung back by the corridor where they had emerged, while Dr. Singh approached us and brought both hands together, in the same manner Darshan had.
“Namaste,” he said, his accent not as thick and with a much more British intonation. His arms lowered to his sides, amusement dancing in his gaze. “I finally lured you into our part of the world, Professor.”
“Please, call me Robin,” my brother said, exchanging the greeting once more. I opted this time for simply nodding. “My assistant is Peter. A brother of sorts, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, of course.” Dr. Singh turned his attention to me, nodding in the same manner I had. “And please, call me Palash while you’re here. I hope your flight was uneventful.”
“All said. With the exception of a few unpleasant formalities.” Robin walked over to one of the chairs and sat, crossing a leg over the opposite knee. “Travel is never completely without incident. Now that we’re here, I am eager to get to work on our project.”
Our host laughed, lowering into a chair as well. “I had hoped I wasn’t being rude in admitting I’m eager to take a look at this artifact of yours. I have an associate who works in Anthropology willing to examine it, too, if you’d like.”
“We’ll see. The scroll itself is my primary focus, though its container is an ornamental sight to behold as well.”
“Splendid.” The doctor turned enough in his seat to line Darshan in his sights. “If you bring our guests something to drink, you can be dismissed for the evening.”
My gaze shifted to the servant, making full eye contact with the younger man. His brow was creased in a slight furrow, a pensive frown tugging at his lips as well and this time, the unabashed scrutiny could not be denied. It seemed a fight for him to look away, toward the doctor. “Of course. Thank you, Dr. Singh.” A rehearsed smile replaced the frown. Darshan glanced at Robin. “What may I get for you, Professor?”
“A brandy, please,” my brother responded, but if he noticed the odd behavior from Darshan, he remained apathetic toward it. His air dismissive, he focused on our host again without casting a second glance at his servant.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” I said, knowing the moment I spoke, I would engage our staring match again. Darshan looked at me, his smile fading, and bowed just enough to keep his eyes focused on me. A dare lingered in the exchanged glance, as though we had just entered a standoff. When he left the room, an air of tension lingered in his wake.
I continued staring in the area where he had been standing. Distantly, I heard my name and snapped my attention over to Robin, surrendering to a polite smile when my brother asked if I would like to sit. A mental image broke through the veil of my thoughts, conjuring what the next few hours would be like, seated in the room while listening to the two men discuss the parchment’s contents. I cringed inwardly and shook my head. “If it is all the same to you, dear brother,” I said, “I might take a walk around the neighborhood, if you do not mind my parting company for an hour or two.”
“Not at all.” Robin raised an eyebrow. A slow grin crept across his lips. “Afraid we might bore you?”
“Almost certain you would. And that would only be a distraction.” I shot him a wink, nodding at the doctor once more as I pivoted toward the front door. “No offense intended toward your hospitality.”
Dr. Singh laughed. “None taken. Please, leave your bag and I’ll have Darshan take your things into your room.”
“I think I might hang onto this, if it is all the same.” My expression remained pleasant and even. I turned fully and walked toward the front door, at least depositing my coat on top of the suitcase and freeing myself of one encumbrance before heading back into the night. The tension followed me along the front walkway, lingering like a shadow, as though Darshan’s eyes were still upon me all the way to the gate. I sighed once the sensation abated, relaxing within a few strides of leaving the grounds.
It had been my first true moments of solitude since coming upon Robin. The cosmos finally ceased its breakneck hurtle just long enough for me to take a deep breath inward, a slow exhale accompanying the sudden settling of my nerves. The street on which I walked remained bereft of traffic, a condition which persisted until I turned and headed toward the major thoroughfare. While the number of pedestrians increased, it was not until I passed two women that the anxiety returned in all its fury.
Furrowing my brow, I paused to peer over my shoulder.
The women rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Still a shiver persisted, prompting me to increase the tempo of my steps and turn from the main road off into an adjacent neighborhood. A small patch of houses gave way to an abandoned lot and paranoia forced me past a rusted fence. Several trees shot from the dirt like hodgepodge weeds, one a silent sentry on the edge of the property. I walked toward it and stopped, my eyes scanning the darkness for the source of my unease.
A sound rustled in the distance. I turned, but saw nothing, and began to wonder if I had truly lost my mind. When the sound occurred closer, yielding nothing yet again, my mind raced through theories. A small animal, perhaps? Maybe even a child too scared to emerge from their hiding place. That did not explain the absence of a pulse, however.
“Alright,” I said, spinning again to regard the area at my back, “What the bloody hell is –?”
Footsteps crunched upon debris, cutting my words short. As I pivoted, I felt the air displace and dodged as a reflex, narrowly avoiding some form of metal which caught the gleam of a nearby light as it sailed past. Jumping backward, I lost my footing and fell onto the ground, the strap to my case sliding to my elbow. It landed on the ground altogether when I scrambled to a stand.
My attacker reared up for another swipe, but hesitated. Our eyes met and my brow furrowed. While I knew there had been something suspicious about him at the house, I would have never suspected to turn around and find him armed. The wild look in Darshan’s eyes betrayed him, however. He lifted his hand, revealing a fist weapon, two blades long enough to carve my heart out jutting from a wrist strap.
“Hunting, vampire?” he asked, stalking forward. I paced backward, stepping over my sword in the process. “Assistant to a professor? I think not. What are you, really?”
My facial expression had to have turned the corner into bewildered. “What the fuck are you?” I asked.
Neither of us moved. He assumed a defensive stance, but as the stalemate continued, something peculiar overtook his eyes, the light in them shifting until what had once been brown turned a bright, emerald green. My stomach sank, heart lodging itself in my throat.
“I am a seer,” he said, lifting his fist weapon again. “Now, your
turn, vampire. And I better like your answer.”
Chapter Nine
The abrupt shift set me aback, rendering me mute for a few key seconds. “Wait,” I said, bending and making a blind grab for the bag holding my sword. When I failed to take hold of it, I straightened to a stand again. Darshan advanced once more, but I held up both hands. “I am a seer as well. Might we discuss this in a more civilized manner?”
He answered by narrowing his eyes and taking another swipe.
Jumping backward, I narrowly avoided the jutting claws and spun when he attempted a follow-up attack. I bent and ducked his next onslaught, lifting a hand to use my telekinesis with disastrous consequences. While I managed to avoid being cut again, the next swipe forced me back on my feet and nearly knocked off my center of balance.
“That bloody well does it,” I muttered, placing a hand on a tree to steady myself.
He pivoted again, but this time Darshan left his left side exposed, presenting an opportunity I would be hard-pressed to ignore. The action might have been considered a cheap shot, but pushing him aside made him off-balance long enough for me to advance past him and to where my sword laid. By the time I had the bag snatched in hand and the sword freed from within he had recovered. “I knew you were armed,” Darshan said, eyes locking with mine as I spun to face him.
I freed the blade from its sheath and held it aloft in a defensive posture. “Yes, I am. Seer, if you recall?”
“You’re an idiot if you think I believe that.”
“And what would I stand to gain from lying?” Both hands tightened their grip on the sword’s hilt. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but think for a moment. If all I had were idle assertions and bravado, I would be playing a very dangerous game right now.”
I watched the hard swallow my words inspired, his expression evening for a moment. He never let his guard down, though, and for a moment, we seemed locked in a stalemate. Still, it was the first moment I saw him waver. His jaw clenched. “Vampires cannot be seers,” he said.
With that sentence, he ended the debate.
Darshan came at me fast, hurtling a telekinetic wave which threw me back and against one of the adjacent trees. I groaned with the impact, eyes shutting briefly. As they opened, I saw him charge for me and dove for the ground, narrowly missing a direct shot to my chest. “Taking no prisoners,” I murmured, rolling once more when he jabbed the fist weapon downward. The blades sunk into the dirt and a look of panic overtook Darshan when he failed to withdraw them with the first tug.
A wicked grin curled the corners of my lips. It was my turn.
Just as the blades started to give way, I kicked his jaw and sent him sprawling onto his back. He clamored to rise as I leaped to a stand and we situated ourselves in unison. Still, now we had a sufficient amount of distance between us and sidestepped each other with our gazes locked. He took a testing swipe at the air and I turned my blade to intercept whatever jab he tried next. Metal clanged together once and I swung the sword at him when it looked like another telekinetic surge might be forthcoming. I did not wish to harm the man, but neither did I wish to be harmed.
“My name is Peter Dawes,” I blurted, intersecting another serious of swipes. The only thing holding back a sigh of exasperation was my need to focus. He spun and deflected a defensive strike. I shielded myself against his counter. “I report to the High Council in Seattle. If you would like, I can refer you to Malcolm Davies himself.”
“Vampires cannot be seers,” he said, his gaze shifting from my sword to my eyes and back again in rapid succession. The mantra had gained conviction since last being uttered, as had the intensity of his blows. He caught my hand with one violent swing, wounding me and forcing me to retreat around a tree for cover. I shifted one direction, and then the other when his strikes turned frenzied, waiting for a pause to dash for the far side of our impromptu battlefield. He reached around and caught the rolled sleeve of my shirt while I retreated. My eyes stole to the torn fabric as I put a few feet between us and spun to face him.
Instinct took over where finesse had failed.
One hand released its hold on my sword’s hilt, lifting while I braced myself against an oncoming strike. Using mind, rather than steel, I finally sent a telekinetic push toward my opponent and felt a surge of relief when Darshan flew backward in response. The other seer groaned when he hit the ground and came to a shaky stand, brow furrowed at first when our eyes met. Whatever skepticism I had managed to conjure, I watched it bounce from the wall of denial he kept firmly in place.
Darshan squared his shoulders, lifting a hand to counter.
Swallowing hard, I kept mine extended, even when an invisible force pushed against me. My compatriot gritted his teeth, strain evident as his surge forward met with resistance. I kept the force at bay, advancing mine back inch by inch with not a speck of it claimed easily. Intensity bled from every pore in my body. It fused itself with the atoms of the air until a light caught the corner of my eye, tempting me to look away from Darshan.
He noticed it as well, however. His eyes widened and whatever effort he had expended collapsed in itself, the fellow seer toppling downward and not a moment too soon. Sparks of energy had consumed my fingers and hit such critical mass as to swallow my hand up to my wrist. Without Darshan to counter it, the energy rocketed forward and even I gasped as light hurtled toward the tree I had used as cover mere seconds before. Upon impact, it reduced one side of its trunk to splinters.
The sight of us both had to be comedic. For several seconds, neither of us remembered who we were or what we had been doing prior to my spectacle. Or such is how I interpreted Darshan’s expression; he stared at the gaping hole in the tree without making any effort toward moving. I furrowed my brow, arm hanging limply by my side, still clutching my sword, while I extended the other hand in front of my chest. Swallowing hard, I looked toward Darshan, just as his gaze shifted toward mine.
Skepticism had transformed into outright confusion. “That wasn’t dark magic,” he said.
“No, it was not.” My voice soft, I chanced a stolen moment to study my fingers before assuming a much more confident posture. Chest expanding in a deep breath, I expelled the air slowly and continued, “Do you believe me now, or must I do that again?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“Perhaps we might talk like civilized men and you can determine where your prejudices lie afterward.”
We locked eyes in a tentative stalemate, Darshan still desperate to cling onto doubt while rapidly losing any ground on which to stand. He swallowed hard, a quick peek spared to the tree again before nodding. “Whatever you are, you aren’t a dark magician.”
“Finally, a point of agreement.” I perked an eyebrow. “Perhaps a drink is in order.”
“Yes, definitely.” Darshan finally rose to his feet. Several beats punctuated the space between his metal blades retracting and his eyes meeting mine again. In the space between us, I read that unwelcomed reminder that I was now, and would always be, an anomaly as far as the Supernatural Order was concerned.
“Follow me,” he said. “Just don’t be offended if my watcher isn’t very hospitable.”
***
She poured the tea in a slow, methodical manner, her gaze focused on the kettle until she lifted it and moved on to the next cup. I watched her movements, not entirely sure I could settle yet, using the steam as reason enough for why I failed to lift my drink and imbibe it. Tall, and with long, black hair, she held a pleasant grin on an otherwise comely face, but I could see its strain despite her best efforts to mask it. I gaged her at her mid-twenties, much the same as my host.
“You are, admittedly, the first seer and watcher with whom I have become acquainted,” I said, flashing my best attempt at a smile. “I began to wonder if the pairing was more mythical than the Order would have one believe.” The observation fell flat the moment it had been issued, however; the watcher raised an eyebrow, but h
er gaze never strayed from her task. Resting my elbows atop the small table where we sat, I steepled my hands and turned my attention toward Darshan. “How long have you been a seer?”
His gaze shifted from the pouring to meet mine once more. Reclining in his seat, my compatriot folded his arms across his chest, his hand having since been freed the encumbrance of his weapon. “Seven years,” he said, a subconscious frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “Three of them spent here.”
I nodded. “Do both of you originally hail from India?”
“Originally, though not from this city. Kamini is from the South. I was raised further north, in Srinagar.” Our conversation paused long enough for Kamini to finish filling his cup. She stepped away from the table and Darshan lifted his drink, blowing the steam from the top to take a sip. A grimace punctuated the action. “You are an American?”
“Yes, I am. More specifically, from the Northeastern part of the country.”
“Your traveling companion, though…”
“He is Irish.”
The seer nodded. “I was trained in London. So was Kamini. Most train in either London or Seattle before being sent out somewhere else.” He hesitated, as though allowing the question that poured forth to linger on his tongue before being presented. “You received your training in Seattle?”
My grin wavered. “Yes, although my training has been a bit unorthodox. As I am certain you can imagine.”
“I can’t imagine a vampire being trained as a seer at all,” Kamini said, situating herself in a chair next to Darshan. With curt strokes of her hand, she smoothed the pleats of a long skirt, her posture rigid even when she had settled. Gone was the strained smile.
“As far as I know, I am an anomaly,” I said, breathing the words through a sigh. The weight of their stares threatened to sour my disposition. “I know I am stretching your imaginations, and the two of you would not be the first to meet my existence with disdain, but humor me. I would like to think, at the very least, I have piqued your interest.” I stared directly at Darshan with that comment.
