Fate of the Seer: The Vampire Flynn - Book Three

by Peter Dawes

  “– It means there is one more piece of the puzzle out there than they might have preferred.”

  “Two, if Ian captured the first of our scrolls,” Robin said. He relaxed his posture, pivoting to face me again. “This is a trap. You know this and I certainly know it, but she’s left us with little choice. We have to dance.” My brother did not wait for my response before turning away. His stroll took on an air of confident resignation, deliberate in its steps and yet, each one intoned by the tune of another person’s fife. I nodded in agreement with that posture, hurrying to catch up to him.

  We walked the distance to the car in silence, the air thick with contemplation between the two of us with no further thoughts exchanged. Robin stopped at the driver’s side door, fingers settling on the handle, but pausing as I finished catching up. He sobered when I stopped opposite him, his eyes lifting to regard me. Our gaze met for a beat, something unreadable in his expression.

  Swinging open the door, he slid inside. “Come, Peter,” he said. “Let’s find your nemesis.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The notion of calling in the cavalry crossed my mind no less than two dozen times, dismissed just as readily as the thought had been conjured, for various reasons. Certainly explaining the whole sordid matter to somebody would take far too great a time, as would waiting for somebody like Darshan to arrive in Rome. Either headquarters – the one in Seattle or the one in London – seemed an impossible distance and with Monica so close, I could not stomach the delay. As such, I relegated myself to pacing the floors of our hotel room in Rome, the phone left on the cradle.

  Robin spread his work across the bed, his attention jumping from one parchment to the next. The need to rest and the urge to seek nourishment both nipped at my heels, but I ignored them. Instead, I buried my hands in my pockets, grateful for the shades covering the windows while I attempted not to inquire after my brother’s progress with each passing moment. As it was, I had already been barked at twice for disrupting his train of thought.

  He sighed when I stopped pacing and loomed over him. “Peter, there is a chair on the far end of the room,” he said, no small amount of annoyance present in his voice. “I suggest you avail yourself of it.”

  With a sigh, I crossed the room and fell into the chair, one leg settling across the opposite knee. My elbow settled on the armrest, hand cradling my chin as I continued my vigil. “Have you gleaned anything further?” I asked, before I could stop myself from issuing the question.

  “Only the same thing I told you two hours ago. The site is local, though I have no notion how far into Rome and where.” He shifted his focus to a different parchment. “So much sacrilegious gibberish about relics and burial points. Our father bore a flair for the dramatic if nothing else.”

  “His flair for the dramatic is threatening to vex me.”

  “Many things do, dear brother.” With a frown, he settled back into work, setting himself toward ignoring me. I watched, until my eyelids began to grow heavy and I started drifting off. I had fallen asleep for several hours, still propped in the chair when a firm nudge woke me.

  The sudden jarring disoriented me. I searched frantically for its source until my eyes focused on Robin, my brother clutching several of the parchments in his hand with his hair partly disheveled. “I believe I might have our spot,” he said.

  It took several blinks and scrubbing my face with my hands before I was able to fully comprehend. “You found it?” I asked, lifting to a stand while doing so.

  Robin paced away from me nodding. He began rolling each parchment up, exercising care in assembling them together on the bed. “Yes, no thanks to you falling asleep on me. I have not rested a wink.” His actions defied the sentiment present in his voice. A nervous form of energy had settled over him, making his movements both methodical and manic. “Gather your things together. If this is where both your antagonist and your witch are, we have quite a lot of work ahead of us.”

  My brow furrowed. “You mean I have quite the battle ahead.”

  “I wish that I heard those words with the caution they deserved, given how your last entanglement with the dark magician went.” When we made eye contact, he raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready for this, Peter? Do you believe yourself truly prepared for a confrontation? Your behavior as of late has suggested otherwise.”

  For as odd as the question struck me, I could not figure out what about it concerned me. “I want this over,” I said. “I told you as such.”

  “Then let us make haste.”

  All I could do was nod, feverishly gathering all of the weapons at my disposal. He busied himself around the beds and within moments, I had polished my appearance and he had finished packing our things. “We might have to flee from here rather abruptly,” Robin said when I perked an eyebrow at the suitcases he gathered. “If you manage not to catch the dark witch’s attention, perhaps it might be best to retreat with your watcher and call in your cohorts.”

  My brow furrowed. “Have you suddenly lost faith in my talents?”

  “Your talents have not faced situations such as this.”

  Robin allowed his statement to linger without anything further added to it. We left the room with brisk steps and wandered to the rental car once more, tossing our things into the trunk before situating ourselves in the front. It was as we sped away that I felt my skin crawl, something nagging at me in my periphery, but evading any further scrutiny. I sat straighter, fingers drumming on the door handle as I tried to ignore the chills which suddenly came over me.

  They only became more pronounced, however, the deeper into the city we wandered. I drew a deep breath inward to steady myself, shooting a quick gaze at my brother when he glanced over at me. “Are you sensing it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I blurted before I could prevent the word from rushing out. My gaze remained fixed on him even when his attention returned to the road. “The scrolls told you this?”

  He sighed. “It gave reference to a site that used to be in existence at the time the scrolls were penned, I simply had to find its modern day location. Take heart it wasn’t buried in the Sistine Chapel.”

  “I would if I felt so inclined.” A full shudder jostled me in my seat. I gasped against it, spying a church and somehow fixed on the sight of it. “Pull over,” I said, the words spilling past my lips beyond my own volition.

  “But, brother, I –”

  “Please. Pull over.” I cast a frantic glance at him. He nodded, complying by pulling into the closest available spot and letting me out of the car. Pedestrians strolled past. I narrowly avoided a motorcyclist as he swerved around a stream of other traffic. Clutching onto the car for support, my gaze settled on a church located across the street while my stomach churned, hands almost to the point of shaking. If the ruins bled white magic, then the sensations ripping through me burned me with the force of its polar opposite. I furrowed my brow as I tried gathering my wits, unable to look away from the large wooden doors and stained glass windows before me.

  “Dear brother,” I said, “Please tell me we are at least in the correct neighborhood.”

  The sound of a car door opening and closing preceded the scrape of Robin’s shoes against the city grit. He paused before answering. “Yes. I was simply driving us to the exact location,” he said.

  “I think this might be more accurately so.” A sardonic laugh bubbled from my throat. “Have we found wolves in sheep’s clothing?”

  “More like ignorant humans.” He walked up beside me. I saw him slip his hands into his pockets from my periphery. “This is too modern, though. I had intentioned to take us to a much older building. Still not old enough to have been in existence, but I figured to start with antiquity.”

  “Is it possible this might be where the catacombs originate? As I seem to understand it, they do sprawl.”

  “Very possible. I don’t think we can discount much without taking a look. She could be playing a ruse.”

  “This is no ruse.” I frowne
d. “This is a summons.”

  Robin raised an eyebrow when I turned my head to peer at him, lifting an eyebrow back as a counter. He sighed and nodded, walking around the rental car and pulling the bag containing my weapons from the trunk. We both crossed the street once the flow of cars abated enough to permit it. I drew a deep breath inward and opened my mouth to speak, interrupted when Robin lifted a hand to stop me.

  “I will not stay behind this time,” he said, taking the lead and marching up a short flight of stairs to the front doors of the church. “You concern yourself with keeping sharp.”

  An exasperated sigh passed through my lips, but I could not bring myself to start an argument with my brother, especially not when we had already crossed the threshold and entered the church. It sole occupants – two priests – stood from the front pew, both spinning to face us, which prompted Robin to walk ahead of me and lift a hand. “Bounasera, signori,” he said, in an amiable tone of voice while casting a deliberate glance at me. I read the gesture clearly, even when a smile broke out on his face with him crossing the length of the aisle to greet the clergymen.

  Deviating toward the back, I walked along the last row of pews and followed them to the far side of the church.

  One of the priests responded to Robin’s greeting with one of his own; I saw him gesture in my direction and ignored the rest of the exchange in favor of concentrating. Crouching beside one of the pillars lining the narrow walkway, I set my bag down and pulled the sword from inside. Both daggers slid easily into folds of my coat, and when I lifted to my feet again, this left only my katana. I strapped it to my side while Robin turned his new friends to face away from me.

  Using one last gesture to kick the bag beneath a pew, I shut my coat and continued forward.

  The sounds of conversation echoed from the tiled floors, becoming little more than background noise in time the more I opened myself up to observation. Exhaling the air in my lungs slowly, my steps turned lither, my posture more relaxed, and my senses more attuned. Everything bore the signature of magical tampering, making it difficult for me to figure out where the masks ended and the truth began.

  Slowing my steps, I examined each egress, gaze flicking from the doors leading back into the vestry to the stairs which winding up to a choir loft. I turned my sights to the altar and raised an eyebrow when I saw a seam on the wall behind a crucifix.

  “Brother,” I said, interjecting, “Please ask them where the door behind the altar leads.”

  All other chatter ceased. Robin hesitated, then spoke in Italian, undoubtedly offering translation. One of the priests spoke in a fevered tenor, requiring a brief exchange before Robin could switch back to English. “He says he has no notion of what you’re asking.”

  “I assumed that might be the case.” My frown deepened, feet daring up a small flight of three stairs which placed me at the elevated area where the priests delivered mass. Images of my youth flipped across my thoughts, summoning a recollection of the church services I had attended with my family. I imagined an entire congregation completely unaware of what slumbered beneath their noses.

  It reminded me of Ian and the false coven in Chicago, and that was enough to set my blood to a boil.

  Extending both hands to my sides, I summoned as much light energy as I could muster through the murk of darkness, hearing gasps behind me when both hands illuminated. Robin worked on calming the priests while I narrowed my eyes, studying the seam and imagining myself the only one who saw through the ruse. When I pointed both palms toward it, however, I dispelled all other ignorance.

  The force of the blast I generated blew holes through plaster, disturbing some of the items in the immediate area. Unlit candles tipped and the crucifix listed forward but did not fall altogether. On the other side, however, I saw a narrow passageway carved in stone.

  “So much for secrecy,” Robin murmured from where he stood.

  I glanced over my shoulder, seeing my brother and two wide-eyed humans. “Do what you must with them and get to safety,” I said. “I need to be swift about this.”

  Robin nodded, touching a shoulder on each gentleman and pivoting them to face him, his Italian turning hurried and emphatic. I stepped over a pile of debris and took hold of one of the larger holes, using it to pull at a slab of concrete until it opened enough for me to slip around the other side. When I disappeared into the passageway, I froze at what I found on the other side.

  Oil lamps lined a set of downward stairs. Ahead of them stretched another corridor and had my heart the ability to restart, it might have that moment. Memory summoned pictures I had only hoped to behold with my own eyes. “Monica.” The name passed through my lips as a plaintive whisper, a prayer issued to whatever gods might have played host to the desires of my heart.

  This was no illusion. This was no vision.

  I snapped out of my stupor and sprinted down the stairs.

  As the hallway lead to a row of cells, my heart leaped into my throat. The candlelight of humanity within my soul flickered back to life, defying the knowledge that Valeria might be close – that this would be a trap – in search of some form of hope. I ran for the last cell along the line, issuing prayers along the way that I had found my watcher at last.

  When I skidded to a stop, however, that spark of hope within me perished.

  The door had been bent and left ajar, no occupant contained therein. Had that been all, I might have only lashed out in exasperation, but fate was not to be so merciful. On the floor in front of the cell, stains of deep red littered the ground, and as I walked toward the bars, my hands began to shake.

  Spatters of blood had turned the interior into a macabre work of art. My heart sank, tears welling in my eyes and yet, I refused to believe what I beheld. Even when I noticed marks which bore the appearance of dragging. Even when a small part of my mind registered the blood – oh gods, the blood; too much of it – and recognized its scent. I entered the cell and fell to my knees in front of the remnant of what had been a small pool.

  No. I refused to believe it.

  Not after I had come so far. Not after we had endured so much.

  I stumbled to a stand, disoriented and desperate for answers. Eyes darting from floor to ceiling and back, I walked to the far wall, both hands pressing against the stone in search of some sort of message. I gritted my teeth, feeling for it. A vision. A glimmer of hope. Whatever the Fates would offer my tortured soul. When nothing happened, I slammed a fist against the wall once, twice, three times and let out a scream before hurtling obscenities at the cosmos. Raising my hand, I impacted once more, the strike hard and causing an image to jump out as if knocked loose.

  The thought forced me to stagger backward. It had flashed for mere seconds, but in it, I saw a woman screaming – a woman who looked conspicuously like my watcher. My eyes clouded by tears forming faster than I could hold back. Squinting against the sudden onslaught, I lifted a hand to swipe a few strays from my cheeks and inhaled shakily. My fingers pressed against the wall once more, attempting to push through the panic and back into clarity. The next images bore less graphic undertones, but revealed the truth in all its horrid ugliness.

  Within the realm of visions, I heard her voice and turned to face her, my physical form still clutching onto the wall while my ethereal one stepped back to observe. She stood in the middle of the cell with both hands flat against her sides, looking taller than her stature in the way she held herself. Monica tilted her chin defiantly against the woman who stood on the other side of the bars. “I knew you’d do it eventually,” she said. “What took you so long?”

  Vitriol accompanied the sight of the other party. Valeria smirked at the shorter woman, one hand playing idly with the amulet while the other wrapped its bony fingers around the bars of her door. “You have spirit,” she said. “Enough to turn a vampire’s head. I can see why he fancies you. I’d even forgive it if you had the desire to become one of us.”

  “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” Monica a
rched an eyebrow. “Getting rid of the competition?”

  “You say that as though we are peers, witch. You and I are anything but.” The dark sorceress lifted her hand from the bars, allowing both arms to lower to her sides. “I could humor you by calling you a distraction, if you wanted, but the truth is you’ve been entertaining the bed of a higher being about to find his calling. And I promise you it isn’t with your Order.”

  “Please. Even I wasn’t seeing them as his retirement plan. But you’re not either, bitch.”

  “You call me names when I’m here to do you a mercy.”

  “What mercy is that?”

  “Ending you before you suffer the heartbreak of being ended by him.”

  “You’re such a giver.”

  “More of a pragmatist, dear, without any further use for you.”

  Monica took a deep breath, stepping backward and into the center of her cell as Valeria lifted her hands. Both palms pointed at the door, an invisible force jerking at the metal and bending it just enough for the entrance to swing open. This left Monica without any barrier between her and the vampiress. A lump formed in my throat as I watched, the faint presence of further tears not enough to force my eyes from the horror of what was about to take place.

  My watcher seemed aware of it, as well. A quiver settled over her body, lips moving in the time with the cadence of spells even I knew would be impotent. Valeria grabbed her by the neck and forced their bodies flush. The vampire’s fangs descended while Monica clenched her eyes shut, struggling against the grip as Valeria removed her scarf and tossed it aside. An unfinished spell went abandoned, silenced by a scream when Valeria sank her teeth into Monica’s neck.

  She finished with Monica, leaving her alive, but weak enough to force her down to her knees. A slow smile blossomed on Valeria’s face, a dagger produced while she licked the remnant of blood from her lips.