by Peter Dawes
“Very well.”
Fetching his coat, my brother exited the room without any ceremony, leaving me to wonder. Did he know what I had just done? Would he have reason to suspect how much I was falling apart? The taste of blood still covered my tongue as evidence of my sins, my head swimming somewhere between lucidity and madness.I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my hands, while the question wove itself over and over in my head.
What had Valeria done to me?
Chapter Twenty-One
The next evening passed without any further incident, my wits sharp with my mind focused on the extraction of the fourth scroll. It had been hidden away in much the same manner as the Romanian one, and proved to be just as well-protected as its predecessors. In short order, however, we drove away from the ruins, another scroll in hand, and spirited directly to the airport in Munich.
While we managed to get settled onto the plane with little incident, neither me, nor Robin, seemed apt to break the silent vigil we had settled into. Any attempt at occupying myself with something other than my thoughts proved to be a failure, and as such, I left myself no further recourse than to drown within the abyss once more. By the midway point in the flight, it had me tangled in its throes.
It began simply by staring into the clouds below, beholding a spiral of darkness in the formation and likening it to my internal struggle. The more I focused upon it, the more the thin layer of calm I had maintained splintered apart, giving way to that damning enchantment again. The thrum of pulses around me rose in volume, imagery flashing across my sight that forced me to clutch tighter onto the arm of my seat. I worked to steady myself, chest rising and falling in a series of steadying breaths, but it became more than I could bear.
Among them, Ian taunted me with his twisted smile, reminding me I could be a god among vampires. Sabrina and Valeria stared me down, offering two completely different forms of temptation. I watched the woman I had killed in Munich die anew, the taste of blood rising up in my throat while the sound of humanity rose to cacophonous levels. Gasping against the urge to allow my fangs to descend, I bolted to my feet and glanced down at Robin. “If you would excuse me,” I said to him, not certain if my words had come out sounding terse, but not entirely settled that they had not.
Robin peered up at me, his gaze shifting from confusion to concern so rapidly, I began to wonder at how distressed I appeared. If nearly as much as I felt, the sight had to have been harrowing. “What is it, Peter?” he whispered.
I took a few deep breaths, attempting to steady myself before saying, “Just, please. I need a moment.”
My brother nodded, standing and moving into the aisle to permit me a chance to slip past. I all but ran for the restroom, weaving around the flight attendant without as much as making eye contact in order to charge inside and lock the door directly behind me. When I pivoted to face the tap, twisting one of the knobs to start the flow of water from the faucet, I gazed into the mirror and froze.
Whatever resolve I had left dropped into my feet at what I saw.
While I remained in the same posture, waist bent and the sound of water covering whatever noise passed through my lips, all I could do was stare. Instead of the brown-haired, tall man with emerald green eyes, the reflection bore only a view of the wall behind me, with me conspicuously absent. That my eyes failed to ache remained the sole miracle in what had become a nightmare, my stomach twisted and mouth slack-jawed. Whatever Valeria had done to me, it seemed I had truly been rendered powerless to stop it.
I remained inside until the call for us to fasten our seatbelts broke me out of the trance. Head down, I settled back into my seat, ignoring the inquisitive stare of my brother for several minutes before risking meeting his gaze. I was unraveling too fast. “We need to end this,” I said, “And quickly.”
He nodded, his hand settling on my arm, fingers giving it a gentle squeeze. “What has come over you?” he asked. Voice lowering to a whisper, my brother frowned. “You’re behaving erratically.”
The urge to collapse inside myself became both real and present. “The longer we tarry, the more I feel myself slipping away.”
Robin raised an eyebrow and I shivered, as if prompted to by a force speaking my fear aloud. The stewardess paused beside us, giving him enough of a lull with his own thoughts for his expression to turn from concerned to sober. We waited for her to advance past us, locked in a silent conversation with me unable to figure out what was being asked of me through his eyes. Sobriety gave way to severity and his frown deepened, gaining an intonation I could not read. “I will do my best,” he said “I will call in every favor I have outstanding and do my part to see this through to the end. But you must hold your resolve steady. This is your destiny, dear brother, not mine.”
I flinched against the directive, but managed a nod in response. “Very well,” I said. “I shall.”
“Then stay with me. And stop fighting yourself.” He shifted in his seat, releasing his hold on my arm to stare forward at the passenger in front of him. “Feed when you need to feed and rest when nature coaxes you to rest. Flights of whimsy will get us nowhere.”
It took several seconds for me to relax, but the message had been received, and if nothing else, the absence of my reflection had been enough to underscore my brother’s point. It felt like finishing a race while falling short of its mark, but when I nodded, I did so with conviction.
As such, I went out on a hunt the following evening without being prompted and kept my wits steady enough not to kill the woman I lured into seclusion. When I returned to the hotel room, I read my brother’s studious posture as being avoidance as much it was attentiveness to his work. The scrolls remained opened before him, a notebook flipped to a page with notes scrawled around the paper like scattershot. We exchanged the briefest of greetings and I slipped into bed well before dawn.
He woke me the next evening, claiming a phone call had been received by Dr. Singh. “His associate in the Anthropology department finally finished sorting through a mess of research we gave him,” he said, sitting beside me on the bed. Robin paused, waiting for me to sit upright before continuing. “I believe I might have our last two sites sorted out.”
Rubbing my face, I chased away the haze of sleep. “You know where the last scrolls are located?” I asked, noticing the shivers which had afflicted me gone, leaving numbness in their wake.
“That or an approximation. I’ve no doubt your witch might be near one of them.”
He studied me as though gaging my response, but I only sighed at the evocation of Monica. My heart ached to reach out to her, but no matter how many times I felt the urge, one thought provided more of an obstacle than I could surmount. It would not be my humanity she gazed upon as we exchanged words. She would see Flynn more than Peter again, and all it would take was one flicker of disappointment in her eyes for my shaky resolve to completely fracture. Glancing away from Robin, I chased away the melancholy notion, training my focus on rescuing her. Maybe once we were together in body, I reasoned, she would be able to break this spell upon me. Or at least reassure me I was not a lost cause.
With a nod, I trained my attention back onto my brother, feeling the weight of his stare. “I shall be relieved when this whole sordid mess is finished with,” I said.
“The end is in sight, brother. Don’t lose hope.” He adjusted his waistcoat while straightening to a stand. “Our next battle lies within an hour’s drive from here. So I suggest you get dressed and fetch your sword. If we can be there and back before sunrise, we can be on our way to Italy tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, Italy.” The words lilted past my lips in a daze I quickly shook myself from. Robin left the room without acknowledging the comment; I figured, for the best. Rising to my feet, I padded into the bathroom to shower. Two more left. Then, I could finally find peace.
When we arrived at the site of the ruins, I felt that familiar twinge in the air and the seer in me woke anew. Each trick in my arsenal worked without fail, just
as it had been in Germany and much the same as Greece. The final guardians fell and with their demise, their possession became mine.
As I departed, however, I cast my thoughts into the wind, pausing by the exit of the crypt to wait for any sign of my watcher. When she failed to respond, I frowned at Robin, stopping him before he led the charge back to the car. “Please allow me a few moments to search around here,” I said, handing off the antique box I held. “I want to make absolute certain Monica is not being kept somewhere nearby.”
He nodded, glancing back to the ruins where I had just emerged and looking back at me with a raised eyebrow. “If she wasn’t in there, dear brother, I am not sure where she could be.”
“I know.” We exchanged a frown and yet, he indulged my need to circle the area until I was satisfied. I felt no connection to her, and my telepathic attempts to rouse her went without response. An hour later, we headed back to the hotel, where we sojourned for the day.
At dusk the next evening, we set out for the airport. I nearly succumbed to seeking her in both the car ride and while distracting myself on the airplane, if only because the silence had begun to lose its comfort. My vow to wait survived the travel intact – even if by the barest of margins – and remained in place as we checked into the hotel in Rome. Then, and only then, did I cast one thought into the wind.
‘Dearest, where are you? Are we close yet?’
Still no response. My stomach turned in knots, sleep impossible to come by once we had settled in for rest. The next evening, I spent the entire duration of our journey to the final set of ruins waiting for a small shred of hope. Robin drove us through the Italian countryside, pausing far short of our destination and moving with me as I exited the car. The familiar hum of white magic surrounded the area, failing to settle me with its presence, but providing validation regardless. I strapped my sword to my side, taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly.
‘Please tell me you can hear me.’
We remained frozen in position while I waited for anything in response. My eye caught Robin shift in my periphery, his gaze set on me at first before shifting elsewhere. “You won’t know for sure until you enter,” he said, nodding in the direction of a crypt.
I sighed and looked away. “I find it conspicuous just the same.”
“Perhaps she is resting?”
“Heaven only knows.” I glanced at where he stood first, his arms folded across the roof of a rental car, and then cast my sights around the immediate area. Taking my first confident steps toward what I perceived to be the entrance, I drew my sword and clutched onto it with both hands.
The door had been knocked askew, time and weather taking its toll on the stone edifice and eroding what looked to have been ornate engravings once upon a time. I perked an eyebrow at its condition and entered tentatively, waiting for movement or a sign of the olden vampires who should have been charging for me.
When I made it fully inside without incident, I felt my stomach twist.
A corridor stretched out before me. The surface of the floor and the ledges carved into the walls bore a healthy amount of dust, leading me to wonder how long it had been since a soul had crossed this part of the crypt. When a winding staircase led down to a basement floor, I paused, waiting for the onslaught and furrowing my brow when it failed to come. Lowering my sword, I stepped into the middle of a catacomb which resembled the one in India, marveling at what I saw before me.
Ash. Piles of it. Scorch marks on the floors and rock displaced as though by great force. Freeing one hand, I allowed my fingers to light up, adding extra illumination to the immediate area while confirming that mine had not been the first foreign shoes traversing this path. Some of the ash had been displaced by whoever paved the way and as I stepped forward, I found myself following in their wake. They wove around one corner, coming to a wall which, if I had to guess, had been intact when they made their way through. Pushing aside debris, I stepped into the adjoining room, my shoulders slumping when I realized where I was.
In the middle of the room stood a short pillar, and just like every other site, bore the earmarks of where the scroll should have been kept. Tendrils of magical energy drifted lazily about me, but they bore no potency, as though their power had dissipated many years ago. I frowned, walking further in and stopping when the sight of crimson-colored fabric caught my eye from where the scroll should have been. If I yet bore a pulse, it would have jumped into my throat at the sight.
No, there was no jewel-encrusted box. Though something else held my enchantment more in that moment, I did take notice both of the indents for the receptacle and another oval-shaped carving directly beneath it. Sliding my sword back into its sheath, I walked closer.
‘These artifacts you seek… I have gazed upon their secrets.’
“It is impossible,” I murmured. Yet I would have recognized the article folded atop the pillar in my sleep. The last time I had seen the scarf, it had been tied around Monica’s neck. My frown deepened, fingers grazing the material until a strange image flashed across my mind, knocking me backward. The room flickered in and out of existence, leaving me disoriented for a few lingering moments until I could get my wits about me again. This time, when I looked at the scarf, sentimentality faded into the backdrop, given over distrust and curiosity.
Not hesitating any further, I snatched the fabric in hand.
The visual explosion which erupted across my field of vision subsided, taking form. I felt a shiver of déjà vu when I realized where I stood; it was the corridor I normally walked down to reach Monica’s cell. As Valeria materialized before me, I had to fight to maintain my composure.
She smiled. “I know I won’t be there when you see this, but I can just picture the confused look on your face.” With a sigh, she pointed one hand toward one wall, and the other at its opposite. “Considering some of the things your beloved human has spat at me, I’m willing to wager you’ve seen this before. Just in case you’re unfamiliar, though, this is where I have her. Almost close enough for you to touch right now where you’re currently standing, but yet so far away. I do so hope I’ve saved the best for last.
“You want her,” she continued. “I want something out of you, too. I need those parchments of yours in a very specific place, however, and you’re going to keep being a good errand boy. Considering I know you have your brother with you, I think you should put him to good use. In those scrolls is a mention of catacombs, which will lead you to this place. I’m not going to tell you any more than that. It’ll keep you honest – after all, what fun would it be if you came to the party without all of the prizes?
“In case you were wondering, though…” Her grin turned mockingly delighted. “It isn’t on the one I have.”
Slowly, the transmission faded out of existence, leaving me in the crypt again still holding Monica’s scarf. A tempest of emotions swirled through, rendering me unable to determine which I should latch onto first. Inhaling a deep breath, I held onto it, glancing downward at the oval-shaped carving again and furrowing my brow. Summoning the mental image of Valeria, I saw the gemstone she wore around her neck and scowled.
“You were the one who had been here last,” I murmured, staring at the pillar before me. “Somehow, you found a way in.”
A surge of anger rose from the center of my psyche. I tightened my hold on the scarf, feeling my hand tremble until another draw of air forced the rage to subside. My gaze stole to the article of clothing, remaining fixed on it long enough to steel myself. This had been my final destination. I was supposed to have my pearl at the end of this. Monica was supposed to be here, not elsewhere to continue dangling before me like a carrot. I should have been able to gather her in my arms and watch my brother destroy the parchments, but just as the dark magician had shaken my confidence, she had taken the task and left it incomplete.
Shoving the scarf into my coat pocket, I finally emerged from the ruins, the look on my face undeniably crestfallen. Robin furrowed his brow, spurred over t
o where I stood, an action I barely registered through the haze of disbelief. “Peter?” he asked. “What in God’s name is the matter?” He searched me over and I did not need my telepathy to figure out what my brother sought.
“It was not there,” I said, answering the unspoken question. “She got in here somehow and took it.”
“How would she have been able to?” Robin glanced back at the site before regarding me once more. “Everything we’ve been told –”
“Yes, I know, but I found this in there.” Slipping my hand into my pocket, I produced the scarf and finally allowed my eyes to make direct contact with my brother. He frowned as he glanced at my hand, a look of confusion prompting me to recall that he had never met my watcher in the flesh. “This belongs to Monica,” I explained, exhaling a shaky sigh with the admission. When Robin looked at me again I frowned and hid the scarf from sight again. “The dark witch left it here as a message.”
“What sort of a message?” My brother asked.
“Where to find her. She said you would be able to find it in the parchments.” I perked an eyebrow at him. “Does anything about catacombs ring any bells?”
Robin lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I believe there was some mention of it, yes, but I skipped it once we determined which site to examine here in Italy. None of the other parchments have been in catacombs.”
“Apparently, this is where she has Monica.”
“Why would she have her there?”
“Heaven only knows.” Shaking my head, I peered toward the horizon. “The box was gone, brother. Either way, she has the parchment. Even if I was to leave my watcher to her fate –”
“You wouldn’t.” The sharp way he issued the words brought my attention back to him. His expression turned unreadable, his gaze straying. “Neither should you. No, she played her hand and held a card neither of us could have guessed. Little wonder the Fates wanted this dealt with this, then. If one of the parchments escaped and into the wrong hands –“
