by Peter Dawes
The sobriety in her gaze spoke volumes. We stared at each other for interminable moments, a silent conversation taking place, though I could not be certain of its contents yet. Words dangled on the tip of my tongue, swallowed back when an amused grin curled the corners of her mouth. “Rip my clothes off and make me scream your name,” she said, reaching up to run a finger down the side of my face. It crossed from my cheek to my mouth, tracing the top lip first before running down to the bottom. “I want this to be what I think about when I wake up.”
“A kiss to build a dream upon,” I said, capturing the taunting digit between my teeth and lavishing on it before slowly allowing her to pull it back. I bent enough to kiss her, allowing this embrace to be more drawn out – more deliberately passionate. Her back arched and a groan marked her first pause for breath. I took hold of her and rolled her on top of me, pushing up her shirt as she reached to take it off.
The black shirt joined my crimson-colored one on a rapidly forming pile. Her skirt shortly followed, as did her gloves when I used my teeth to tug them from her hands. Our movements alternated – from slow and taunting, to manic and needy – each change in tempo claiming another garment until our bodies pressed together, nothing between us but the air she claimed in gasps. My mouth traversed the entirety of her skin’s topography, lips bent to memorize every inch claimed and each wriggle provoked. Her back arched when I focused my attention on her breasts. And when I traversed lower she cried out, “Oh, God, Peter,” for the first time.
‘… Don’t stop…’
The pace escalated with that one thought. I moved back up her body and kissed her as though consuming her. She grabbed hold of me, wrapping both legs around me, hands clutching onto my back with her nails digging in teasingly. A drawn out moan punctuated the union of our bodies, both of us singing in harmony while moving in one accord. Time froze and the world itself ceased to exist, a blank tapestry in the background, as it had been the few times fate permitted us similar indulgences. We became a mess of tangled limbs and heated kisses, working toward that common goal of pleasure.
And together, we found it.
Her grip on me tightened. I felt her nails dig in, beads of blood filling in the trenches while sweat rose to the surface of her skin. Frenzied panting permitted soft evocations of my name, but little else; by the time she spilled over the edge, Monica had been reduced to sensual prayers offered up to the gods of lust. I joined her in the haze of climax, and floated with her somewhere in the space between euphoria and contentedness.
It took one softly spoken, “I love you,” to bring me back down from the pinnacle.
A hard swallow preceded a meeting of our eyes again, my vision clearing as I focused on her once more. Softly smiling, I leaned close and kissed her while parting our bodies, both arms wrapping around her to gather her close to me. We rolled onto our sides, facing each other with Monica curling up against me. “I love you as well, beloved,” I said, lips pressing against her forehead and eyelids shutting.
Stillness wrapped us in a blanket of serenity for a while. Neither of us seemed inclined to break it, and while I had no notion of what she might have been thinking, I sprang from one thought to another, until the silence had turned pensive instead of pleasant. She wriggled and nudged me, forcing my eyes open while she looked up into my eyes. I offered her an apologetic grin. “Relishing the moment,” I said.
“Uh huh,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t kid a kidder, Peter. Even I was starting to go off into La La Land.”
An eyebrow lifted in response. “And where were your thoughts?”
“Oh, you know… Here, there, and everywhere. Mostly glad you’ve been in one piece.”
Humming, I tilted my head downward to give her a kiss. “You are lying, but I hesitate to call you a liar.”
“And besmirch my good name, sir?” Monica scoffed mockingly. “I’d have a gentleman challenge you to a duel if I knew one.”
I laughed, feigning offense. “I shall have you know, gentleman or not, I am a dangerous being, Miss Alexander. A threat to your well-being. Be careful how much antagonize me, I might come after you next.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes widened, one arm sliding free to rest on her hip. “Well, look who’s suddenly all full of himself. Beat up a dark magician?”
“No mere dark magician. A crypt filled with crazed elder vampires.”
“Oh ho ho. A crypt full of them? Well, be still my heart. Look who’s suddenly a big damn hero with a katana.”
The smirk that had started to surface bloomed fully into existence. Another chuckle escaped before I could stop it, the hand I had settled on her back sliding down to pinch her backside. She yelped and slapped my shoulder, which did little to deter the humor present in my expression. “If you must know,” I said, pulling her flush against me again, “I was not merely using a sword to best them. That light trick I can conjure? Apparently, it can incinerate immortals.”
She barked a laugh out, eyes widening and head shaking in disbelief. I nodded in response and she settled a hand on her chest. “Well, then. My boyfriend is talented. He can burn up vampires, swings a mean sword, and leaps tall buildings with a single bound.”
“Superman only wishes he could be me, love.” Her choice in words lingered, however. An eyebrow perked once more. “Your boyfriend? Is that what I qualify as being?”
“Well, considering we didn’t exactly have time to figure out titles before I was watcher-napped.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Why? Did you have a better idea?”
“You would taunt me with that question.”
“Seek an honest opinion more like it.”
I sighed, noticing the deliberate way she continued to stare at me. My stomach knotted, mind trailing back to words spoken minutes earlier. “You were mentioning my stealing you away for an extended period of time…” Hesitating, I trailed off for a few seconds before recovering. “How about the rest of our lives?”
She raised an eyebrow. “The rest of my life is more like it.”
“This is where I beg to differ. I cast a reflection and no longer need to feed. Could you imagine me bearing a pulse once more? Who knows what the Fates have in store when this mission has ended?”
“That’s a nice fantasy and all, but that’s not how this all works, Peter.”
When I saw the skepticism latent in her gaze, my expression fell a little. “Would it take being human for you accept my hand in marriage?”
Another laugh slipped past her lips before she could stop it, prompting her to cup her palm over her mouth. Brow furrowed, Monica stared at me while slowly moving her hand away again. “You’ve gone crazy,” she said.
“One could dispute if I had ever possessed sanity from the start, though now I am forced to ask if that is a rejection.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. You just shocked the hell out of me.”
I nodded in response. My smile faltered, though only marginally. “You need not say yes or no to me.”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to say yes to you, but…” Monica’s hand lifted, fingers running through my hair in what I took to being reassuring strokes. Or such is how it felt to me. “I’m sorry. I’m just afraid to hold onto that much hope right now. You’re in Northern India, and I might as well be on the moon. We’re not at the happily ever after yet.”
My fingers ran along her side, tracing outlines on her skin. Our gazes remained unwavering. “I mean to find you,” I said. “I shall find you. If it takes ripping the Fates from the sky and bidding them to bring you to me, I promise you this… One of these days you shall see me approach the bars keeping us apart and know you are not dreaming.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. She held onto her smile, even when it looked ready to give way. “What do you think you are, some powerful seer or something?”
I leaned closer, my lips hovering above hers. “I take it this is an acceptance.”
“Come and find me first. If you can move that many mountain
s, then I’ll believe anything’s possible.” A languid kiss commenced, lasting for several moments before she pulled away. I rolled onto my back and gathered her against me, and she rested her head on my shoulder. “Could you hold me here?” she asked, her voice suddenly soft. “Until I fall asleep?”
Nodding, I kissed her hair, allowing that to suffice as my answer. My fingers combed through the long, dark locks, reaching to tuck her bangs behind her ear while she shut her eyes and nestled against me. Within moments, her rhythmic breathing turned quiet and soon afterward, I drifted away from our lover’s nest, into a dreamless sleep.
Our fantasies held my infatuation from that point forth, however, becoming the rallying cry for my continued mission even more than before. The vampire within held no authority, claimed no foothold when I rose to greet the next evening. As I boarded the bus departing from Srinagar, I held my head high, shoulders straight and mind resolved to accomplish this task.
And as the train headed back to New Delhi departed, I felt capable of achieving anything.
Part Three
Before the Fall
“I am not proud, but I am happy;
and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride.”
Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Chapter Twelve
“I didn’t know when to expect you back,” Robin said, throwing open the door for me and allowing me inside. I acknowledged the sigh of relief my brother exhaled with a smile of appreciation, my gait confident while I pushed past him and further into Dr. Singh’s house. The door clicked shut behind me, a set of footsteps bringing up the rear while I bypassed the entryway entirely, holding my coat and cinching up the strap of my duffel bag when it slid down my shoulder. “I trust this means you found whatever you were searching for.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “And it took less time than I thought it might.” Emerging into the sitting room, I paused in the doorway to regard its state. Books had been stacked in a haphazard fashion on a table with notebooks and pens beside them. The sight of the first jewel-encrusted box with its parchment unrolled reminded me of what I had brought back with me. Walking over into a high back, leather chair, I lowered my bag onto the ground and sat, exhaling a deep breath while doing so. “As such,” I continued, “I am looking forward to a long shower and the next task ahead of us.”
“Eager, aren’t you? I should like to think you wouldn’t mind a day or two of rest.”
“Rest is for the unencumbered, dear brother.”
“Of which you are not.” Robin chuckled softly, a sedate walk punctuating his journey from the entryway to where I sat. When he crossed into my line of vision, I looked up at him, perking an eyebrow at the amused grin curling the corner of his mouth. He reached for my coat, taking it from my hands and draping it across the back of a couch. I breathed a soft chuckle at the proper way he attended to it.
Robin shoved his hands into his pockets as he drifted back to where I was seated. “Definitely a novice journeyman,” he said. “And yet, you have now seen a portion of India that even I haven’t, so consider me jealous.”
“I am not certain my excursion warrants jealousy,” I said with a laugh. “All business and no pleasure.”
“Perhaps someday, I might convince you toward a holiday.”
“Speak with me after this is all said and done and I might be more amiable to the idea.” Crouching enough to take hold of the shoulder strap, I used it to pull the duffel bag onto my lap. “Is Dr. Singh resting?”
“Yes. He has university in the morning. I am allowed to make use of his books in the meantime, though, so I’ve been keeping myself busy while waiting for word from you.”
“I apologize for not calling. Have you made any progress?”
Robin freed a hand, lifting it to rest its palm on the back of his neck. His smile dissolved as he watched me open the bag. “Some. I might ask the same for you. You said you were chasing the ghosts of your seer friend’s past.”
“Friend might be a trifle strong of a word.” My attention shifted to rummaging through the contents. “I hope you have kept Darshan’s confidence.”
“I know better than to raise the ire of any seer.” He paused. “What were you looking for?”
“I come bearing gifts.” Glancing up at Robin, I smirked when his posture straightened, as if he knew what I was about to produce. I could not help but to chuckle; my older, more regal, brother resembled an anxious boy on Christmas morning, his eyes alight even if he tried to keep his expression impassive. I kept my focus on him as I shifted my sword out of the way inside the bag and took hold of the other pearl contained therein. Hesitating only for effect, I pulled out the second box when it seemed Robin might reach over and snatch the bag away.
He released a breath even I did not know he had been holding and lowered his arm slowly.
“The scroll finds one of its companions,” he murmured, stepping closer and extending his hands to take hold of the parchment’s receptacle. I passed it to him carefully, both hands setting on my lap while my brother handled the prize with awe. He opened the box and pulled out the second scroll, his gaze shifting slightly from wonder to cautious admiration. It took several moments for him to glance at me again. “The ruins?”
“Yes, it would appear Ian wished to find them for good reason,” I said. “There were guardians protecting it, but I managed past them.”
“Managed to kill the lot of them, you mean to say.” His gaze returned to the scroll, leaving me to wonder if he intended the comment derisively or not. Walking over to the table holding his work, he set the box next to its match and unrolled the parchment to read its contents. “I am getting better at reading the alphabet. Still much to be learned, but this is substantial progress.”
“What have you discovered?”
Robin sighed, drifting back toward what I assumed had been his chair and slowly sitting in it. His eyes failed to lift from perusing the scroll throughout the duration of his actions. Still, I knew he had heard me from the pensive frown which overshadowed him. “This is going to take a little while longer,” he said. “Although having another example will make our work easier.”
I reached into my coat for a new pack of cigarettes I had acquired at the train station. “I admit I know very little about what it is you are doing.” Lighting the end, I stuck my smoking supplies back into my coat and relaxed against the back of the chair again.
“Translating is a fine art, especially when it comes to parchments this old. Meanings of words often get muddled over time and context factors heavily in understanding the writer’s intent. Reading from one scroll was akin to pulling a paragraph from a novel and hoping to understand what the story was about. Thus far, I only made one discovery worth noting.”
He looked up at me and turned the parchment to face me. Pointing at the corner of the document, he tapped at a symbol which had been drawn much smaller than the other characters. I squinted at it. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a number. Perhaps to help arrange the parchments in order. At least, that was what I surmised and this seems to lend credence to that.” Robin grinned when I made eye contact with him again. “That is the number seven.”
I perked an eyebrow and he chuckled softly while reaching for the parchment’s companion. “The other one bears the number three,” he said, turning the first scroll around to point out its location, the seventh still clutched in his palm as he did so. He waited for me to nod in recognition before flipping both around to face him. I marveled at just how quickly the pair stole his attention. “Beyond that, I have Dr. Singh’s notes from the visits of our predecessors, but even he was at a loss as to what our dark father might have been prattling on about.”
“How do you figure Ian thought to ask about ruins in the first place?” Bringing the cigarette to my mouth, I drew deeply from it.
Robin shrugged. “Who knows? Either it was part of Ian’s search for the eternal needle in the haystack or he found his at a comparable site.
”
“I suppose so.” A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth as I watched Robin’s gaze shift from one parchment to the other and back again. Even the sight of him reading had started to bore me. “Is that to be my lot, then? You say the scroll I obtained in Srinagar had been marked with the number seven. By our best guess, then, that leaves us with five scrolls left to gather.”
“At minimum.” Robin mirrored my frown without taking his eyes from his work. “Zachary did say seven was a likely number, but the myths are inconsistent.”
“Do we even know yet what these bloody things do?”
Robin finally spared me a quick glance. The downward curl of his lips deepened. “No, we don’t. I explained to you how translation works.”
“I know you did, but this all has me at a loss. I followed one string to another lead under the pretense that I would find the rest of my mission. This seems to be a dead end.”
“Hardly. We simply don’t know if there are any clues as to where the remaining five scrolls are located.”
“Only that I am apparently to assemble them together?”
“Finding one could be an accident, dear brother. Finding two is providence.” Robin set both parchments on the table, his expression relaxing as he continued perusing the latest addition to our collection. He shook his head and sighed. “I wish I could give you better than that. But it will take a few days before I have even the slightest guess.”
“I might go mad before then.” A wave of annoyance overcame me, enough for me to reach for one of the boxes from the table and sit back in a huff. I shook my head while shifting the container from one hand to the other, turning it around and looking it over in some effort to mask my frustration. Robin fell silent, perhaps for the best, permitting me enough solitude to study the intricacies of the artifact with at least some passing interest.
Its design bore no rhyme or reason. The bottom bore a Christian cross while a vined column had been etched along one whole side of the container. “Whoever fashioned these bloody things had no sense of artistry,” I said, frowning. Flipping around the box, I considered the Celtic knot which overlapped the lid and shook my head. “You have a neoclassical column on one side, then something which looks born far closer to your homeland. Was art so schizophrenic in the Middle Ages?”
