by Peter Dawes
“Call for him now, beauty,” she said. “Perhaps he will finally come.”
I pushed away from the wall, ending the vision abruptly. One foot slipped across a part of the floor still slick from blood, forcing me to catch myself before I could tumble. Still, I felt like collapsing. My soul bellowed with such agony, I could not tell if I had actually issued the heart-rending scream I felt building to a crescendo deep inside.
This could not be over. It would not be over until I claimed the dark magician’s ashes for my own.
If she had wished my attention, she had received it in spades.
My sobriety fell unhinged. I turned and wished for something to hurtle or punch and found myself outside the cell, marching toward the stairs while pulling my sword from its sheath.
‘Call for him now, beauty. Perhaps he will finally come.’
“I am on my way,” I muttered, bounding up the stairs and circling around until I emerged into the church again. Instinct told me she was somewhere. She had left the evidence behind to push me toward our final confrontation and I found myself marching willingly into her plan. Storming out toward the altar, I stopped a few feet shy of it, keeping it between me and the rest of the room.
“Whatever you thought killing her would accomplish, you only managed to ensure your own funeral,” I shouted, relishing the echo my words produced. The church’s sanctuary was empty, but I refused to buy the illusion presented to me. The hair on the back of my neck had begun standing aloft and my senses detected something foul on the wind. “Out with you, Valeria! You and I have unfinished business.”
Pacing forward, I lingered by the altar, eyes frantically jumping from one pew to the next, up to a choir loft in the back and across the panes of stained glass surrounding me. My grip on the sword tightened, feet sidestepping a few paces and pausing once more as I caught movement in my periphery. My head turned at the exact moment a rush of wind charged at me from behind, both happening nearly simultaneously.
Before I could react, the damage had already been done.
I flew forward and dropped my weapon, both hands extending to catch my fall. Instead of hitting the floor, I impacted with the altar and clutched onto it in an effort not to slump downward. I had no sooner pulled myself upright, however, than an agonizing pain ripped through my midsection, pinning me in place with both palms flat atop the altar.
My eyes widened, a gasp escaping while I struggled to figure out what had just transpired. Moving brought with it a torrent of misery; I peered downward in time to see my red shirt turn dark with my own blood. How had Valeria managed to surprise me again? I had felt the chill of her magic, but her presence was nowhere near my immediate proximity.
Perhaps because she had not been the one who just ran me through with a blade.
I struggled to form words, squinting through a fresh surge of pain and waiting for it to dissipate. “I –” managed past my lips. Swallowing hard, I fought for coherence. “I cannot believe… please tell me it is not you –”
“Naïve to the very end,” he said, pacing behind me, his steps nearly soundless and his tone of voice derisive. He tsked and motioned closer to me, one hand settling onto my back, inspiring more grief with the amount of pressure it placed on muscles and nerves being raped by a piece of steel. I gritted my teeth, failing to hold back a moan and he laughed. “Oh, do you not care for the way that feels? Yes, it does hurt. Imagine what it felt like through the chest.”
“You betraying son of a bitch,” I managed.
“Silence, brother,” Robin said, his Irish brogue laced with mockery as he whispered in my ear. “What irony we have before us – you at a loss with me the turncoat this time. Turnabout is fair play, is it not?” A bitter laugh filled the space between one statement and the next, the world having taken a turn for the surreal. “Now, I believe we might actually be even.”
Part Five
A Dance with the Devil
“If the road is easy, you’re likely going the wrong way.”
Terry Goodkind
Chapter Twenty-Three
A distant part of my mind reminded me of my sins while the current state of affairs still rang of treason. “Were you not the one claiming to be in my debt?” I asked, forcing pained breaths in and out to steady my fraying nerves. My head lifted enough for me to gaze out across rows of empty pews, my hands beginning to tremor while struggling to maintain their grip on the altar. “Whatever happened to that?”
“That you believed me proves you are far too trusting, Peter,” Robin said. His hand lifted from my back, and I almost cried from relief as the pain stopped tearing through my body. All that remained was the aching throbs radiating outward from my abdomen. “What I find remarkable, however, is how readily you accepted my help solely on the basis of two memories.”
My mind had already been in a tailspin, and now, had been knocked so askew, I could not conceptualize what had just taken place. “Brother,” I groaned, the word taking too much effort to produce. It felt like wading through quicksand. The world inhabited such a dreamlike state, I could hardly bring myself to accept it as reality.
Robin twisted the sword, however, proving just how real this all was.
A mocking laugh filled the sanctuary again, competing against my wails for which sound was the loudest. “My, that will never get old,” he said. “Making you experience hell in retribution for the amount of suffering you put me through.”
“Your life had been restored,” I bellowed, through another shockwave of pain.
“As though that could even scratch the surface of what it has been like for me these last five years!” He barked out another laugh and paced away from me. “There is no quid-pro-quo in this. You ended my life and the Fates brought me back to be your dog. You spat in my face through the duration of our travels and think for one second I would even begin to skirt the edge of forgiveness with you?” Robin scoffed. I became aware of him in my periphery. “That you believe that proves how little you have repented for what you did as an assassin, Flynn.”
Clenching my jaw, I attempted not to issue tears, regardless of how hard it was becoming to hold myself upright. “I have repented. That is what this has been all about!”
“Spare me. Explain that to the vampires you killed.” He circled around to the other side of the altar, facing me and placing both hands on the altar right next to mine. Distantly, I feared he was about to loosen my grip and leave me to carve myself in half. “Matthew Pritchard. Anthony and all his elders.” His expression turned pained as we made eye contact. “Demetrius. You cold-hearted bastard.”
I blinked. “I do not understand.”
“No, of course you don’t. Because you were too busy thrusting yourself between the legs of any willing woman who would lie down before you.” He leaned forward, our faces mere inches apart. “He was my lover, you ignorant idiot. And begged me repeatedly to be done with you and leave the coven, damning you to your fate. But I refused to. Out of guilt and stupidity, I actually dared to care about you and look where that got me, Flynn. Look what my payment was for that. I had to deliver your godforsaken black rose to his maker and still look you in the eye afterward, believing you something more than the executioner Sabrina had trained you to become.” He stood up straight once more. “And your pièce de résistance was to slaughter a room full of immortals just as foolish as I had been – upstanding men and women willing to take a gamble on my fatal whimsy. What kind of an ass does that make me?”
My lips struggled to fashion words my mind could not conjure. “I never asked for this,” I said, a dull throbbing taking up residence in my temples, beating out a cadence similar to the jolts of pain radiating from my stomach. My fangs itched to descend, the vampire within being coaxed outward. I swallowed hard, forcing him back. “Any of this. I never wanted to be turned in the first place.”
“Oh, don’t play stupid with me. No man who has ever become a vampire didn’t desire the dark gift in some manner. What was it with you?” He as
sumed a satirical contemplative pose for a few seconds before snapping his fingers and pointing at me. “Ah, yes. That’s right. Permanence. And didn’t you receive it in spades when you woke, screaming like the day you’d been birthed by your human mother.”
“I was fooled. One such as I was not meant to be a vampire. You yourself said it.”
“And you in all your worldy wisdom thought I was only referring to you as a seer.” A bitter smile curled the corners of his lips. His hand lowered, arms folding across his chest. When the grin faded, what I saw underneath chilled me to the marrow. Contempt, far beyond that of any he had directed toward me at any other time. Even our earliest days.
His gaze shot through me like razors forged in the fires of hell. “You took away my position. Destroyed what remained of my relationship with our maker. That I had fallen out of favor with her was insult enough, but you? Oh, you were the salt rubbed into the wound. You became her favored son. And what I find incredulous is in the moment I begged silently for your help, you cowered away from her death only to bed her like the harlot she has always been.”
“At last,” he finished, “I will finally be rid of you.”
Robin turned his back to me and began pacing away. I struggled, twisting to attempt reaching behind my back, which forced a shout of offense outward. The world became dizzy and my footing, ready to give way at any moment. Somehow, I managed the words, “What shall you do with me? Kill me?”
I faintly heard him laugh. “Death would be too good a reward to you and the rest of the world, Flynn. Somehow, I thought your demise more fitting if you destroyed the very thing you grew to fancy again.”
“Destroyed… what?”
“Humanity. Such a waste, if I do say so myself. Perhaps the assassin had it right all along.”
The headache grew in intensity, and with it, another shiver traced a path up my spine. As my fangs lowered to full extension, I felt the siren song of the dark magician begin its lure. “What of the natural order?”
“Listen to you. Still fancying I might be the same man I was before being sent to my eternal judgment. Your train of dead witches and the Fates should have known better than to cast their lots with me.” He paused just at the corner of my eye, head turned, gaze settling on someone standing behind me. When he spoke again, I knew his words were not intended for me. “He is yours, just as you requested.”
“Brother…” I breathed the term of endearment, despite hearing the sound of advancing footfalls. The world began to fade, but I tightened my hold, both on the altar and on consciousness. Both had become laborious and the former impossible when the blade was pulled from my back, allowing me to topple to the ground. I groaned, rolling supine and peering up at the ceiling..
The darkness creeping in from the edges of my sight became a plague, rapidly spreading and taking no prisoners in its wake. My body became still, my mind engaged enough to hear the remnant of a conversation as I lay bleeding on the floor.
“I have brought you the remaining scrolls and the seer,” Robin said, “I trust you saved my reward.”
The woman’s voice bore a smile in it, its cadence straight from recent nightmares. “I did, indeed, “she said. “I admit, I had my doubts your plan would work, but look at what we have here. You proved yourself more trustworthy than your eternal mother.”
“With all due respect, I couldn’t care less about your comparisons to that whore. I only want what I came here for.”
“Patience, patience. I made you a promise and I intend to deliver, so long as he proves cooperative.”
A pause followed my brother’s response. “You bloody dark magicians. If you’re going to tarry, then I have another demand.”
She sighed. “Speak it, Master O’Shane.”
“That sword of his. I should like to have it.”
“Take it, then. I have no use for it.”
Her footsteps closed in on me, a smile in her voice again as Valeria addressed me. “You’ll not be getting away from me this time, Pet,” she said. “Take a nap. Then maybe, this time, you’ll wake and find yourself more willing.” As her words echoed, I lost my precarious hold on consciousness, slipping into the abyss which rose to claim me.
***
I had to fight it. Monica would have wanted it that way. I told myself this, but the idea rang hollow against the knowledge I had lost her, emotional weakness threatening to impair my judgment further. There would be no light at the end of this darkness, no angel to redeem this devil. I could not even be certain if I was awake or sleeping, but I knew the hour of my final temptation had come at last. And there was nothing left to save me.
“Open your eyes, seer,” Valeria said, the rhythmic cadence of her voice bearing hypnotic undertones. “You should know resisting me has become useless since you put my wrist to your lips. Besides, I don’t think you really want to fight me anymore.”
“You would like to think that, I am certain,” I murmured in response. “You killed my watcher.”
“You knew it was inevitable. She knew it was inevitable. I trust you saw our little exchange.”
“I saw you murder her.”
“I took her as an offering, Flynn. A tribute. Listen to how conflicted you sound, lost in the shadows with nobody to guide you. Nobody to teach you how to celebrate what you are. You talk of feasting as a sin and prosecute yourself over and over, when all the while you’re merely living out the nature you possess. I am not the reason why you’ve been struggling these past few days, child. You are.”
“What do you want of me?”
“I want you to see the truth. Open your eyes. Allow me to show it to you.”
Despite my better judgment, I did as instructed, lifting my lids and frowning when I saw myself back in the Philadelphia coven house. A dream, I determined, but unlike my previous dreams, I sat alone in the common area rather than bound to a chair in my former room. Brow furrowed, I scanned the collection of empty seats, wondering what Valeria hoped I would discover here.
No sooner had the question crossed my thoughts than the scene sprang to life. Sabrina appeared in the couch in front of me with Timothy seated beside her, him clad in the one of his favorite suits and her in the same plunging necklines and tight skirts she used to favor. A taunting smile played across her ruby red lips, beckoning my gaze to hers as if my ancient craving for her could be summoned from the grave. My posture stiffened, shaky resolve fortified as much as I could manage in my state.
My former mistress inched closer to the edge of the couch. “Are you on the path to self-destruction again, my dark son?” she asked one leg crossing over the other. Tilting her head, she folded her hands atop a knee and sighed. “Didn’t I tell you what a pity it would be to lose one with your talents? What were the words I said?”
I blinked, the memory she evoked gaining clarity with swiftness. “You said it would be a loss for our coven and for the vampire collective,” I responded. My eyes flicked to Timothy, who silently met my gaze. Frowning, I glanced back to Sabrina, playing along with the charade despite myself. “I am no brooding, ignorant vampire, though. I know what I am now.”
“Do you?” Sabrina laughed, as did Timothy. She glanced at him. “He’s missing the most important part of that statement.”
Timothy nodded. “The vampire collective,” he said.
“Exactly.” Sabrina’s eyes found mine again. “Oh, I used you, Flynn. I’ll admit that much. I turned you, exploited you, and when I was done, I would have cast you off, but you underestimate what that means.” All sweetness from her smile faded, leaving a sinister glint in her eyes. “There’s a good reason I never told you of your destiny. Your idiot brother thought it only involved the second sight, but I knew so much more about you.”
“You were made to destroy the world,” Timothy added.
“Yes, you were. And you’ve discovered your destiny despite yourself. That witch of yours be damned.”
My jaw clenched. “You whore,” I said. “I ended you once and I will do
so again.”
“I am not here for you to end,” she said. Her eyes danced with mirth. “The prodigal son has returned home. He has his gifts and his immortality, and now, he’ll bring us all back together again. One big, happy family.”
They mocked me with their laughter, their last comment a cryptic one I chased away as I came to a stand and retreated from the common area. I rounded the corner toward the vestibule, but before I could question where to go next, some movement on the stairs caught my attention. While its source had disappeared, a compulsion assailed me, telling me to continue. My hand touched the banister, feet beginning an ascent before I could stop myself.
The urge did not abate until I reached the door to Sabrina’s penthouse. With no guards present to stop me, I opened the door and pressed onward, pausing once inside the entryway. Rather than being my maker’s private quarters, a clean – if luxurious – office lay before me, one evoking a different form of memory. I saw the wall sconces and thought of Chicago, walking forward just as I had then and sitting in the chair in front of Ian Carmichael’s mahogany desk. As I settled into place, the dark-haired vampire appeared in the seat opposite me, his hands steepled and his cobalt eyes dancing with delight.
“You think I’m evil,” he said, meeting my gaze with his. As his lips moved again, they uttered words previously spoken to me, “Just because your little troop of boy scouts has been following me around for the past few years like a swarm of pestering gnats? If your Fates were the ones commissioning you, they should’ve revealed the true monster in this equation. Maybe they have, and you’ve been too stupid to understand it.”
I frowned, calling also to mind the deaths of the three vampire hunters we had joined in Chicago. “That was not all you said,” I responded, as much to spur him to continue as to rid myself of the gruesome memory.
