by Peter Dawes
While I attempted to answer with words, a raspy noise passed through my lips instead. We managed past the debris of the front door and out toward the front steps again, at the bottom of which a car idled, waiting for us to climb inside. Robin lead me around to the passenger side and, unceremoniously, I spilled onto the seat once the door had been opened for me. Adjusting my sword on habit, I remained in place while the door slammed shut and Robin raced around to the driver’s side.
The final burst of awareness my mind could handle commenced when he sat beside me, avoiding the exposed wires which hung from the steering column.
“Did you...?” I began, clearing my throat when it threatened to lock up. “Did you hot wire a car?”
“I wasn’t always the second-in-command of a coven, Peter,” Robin said. He shifted his hands to the steering wheel, gripping onto it while his foot pushed down the gas pedal. “Stay with me long enough for us to leave. I know how much you’ve given, but more might be demanded before the night is out.”
“You are more of an optimist than even I am.” My vision waned again while Robin shifted the car into gear and my body slumped against the door while I began to shake. I swallowed back what felt like sandpaper, hearing a voice whisper in my mind which did not match the dark passenger I carried inside.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asked.
“Far away from here,” I murmured.
“Yes, that is the idea,” Robin said as if I had been speaking to him. We sped toward the edge of the villa, on a direct path to impact two men who seemed to be attempting to shut the wrought iron gates. They raced out of the way, exhibiting more presence of mind than their counterparts in the building. I found myself staring at the passing landscape after the car pushed its way through the menial opening.
“Peter, are you still awake?” Robin asked.
Something about the horizon captured my attention. The memory of Patrick holding onto Monica ran through my head, the red-haired, Irish vampire mocking me with his smile as he stood behind my beloved. I remembered the fear in her eyes, but somehow found myself staring at him more than I did her. His gaze met mine as if he knew this.
“You and I have unfinished business,” he said, his voice echoing as he spoke. He thrust Monica against his body as if to make a point. “Though, I suppose I’ll let you and your lady love slip away for the time being. Our next dance can wait until later.”
My brow furrowed at his words. “You forced us to make a monster of her,” I said, speaking for both sides of my psyche – the assassin and the seer. Our sentiment continued to be voiced in unison. “What further business do you think we have? If we see you again, we will kill you.”
“I love the staggering amount of confidence you have when you say that. Are you sure you can’t be talked into your senses?”
“Better villains have tried and none of them succeeded.”
A smile spread across Patrick’s lips. “As they say, there’s a first time for everything.” He glanced down at Monica. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
She did not have the opportunity to respond. The vision of him dissolved, replaced by the Italian countryside as a hand gripped my shoulder and shook me. Jostled back into reality, I felt a chill run through me again while Robin asked, “What were you just muttering and to whom?”
“I do not know,” I responded. My eyelids turned heavy, the need to feed overwhelmed by a greater need to shut down. As my vision blurred, overtaken by the dark, the part of me belonging to the assassin rose up to speak for us.
“My apologies, Robin, but I believe we need to rest.”
‘How long have...?’
‘At least a day. Maybe more. We need to hunt.’
‘What happened? My head hurts.’
‘I’m aware of that. Remember, I occupy the same body. That isn’t going to get any better until we eat.’
‘Is Monica alright? Oh gods, we turned her.’
‘Now isn’t a good time to angst about it, Peter. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to wring our hands about it as you seem to love doing. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to tend to our needs.’
‘What should I do?’
‘Go back to sleep.’
While I could not speak for Peter’s motivations, I was relieved when he fell silent, allowing me to focus more on the world around us. The faint sound of voices beckoned me forward, though at first I could not determine if the talking or the pain creeping across my temples had been what had woken me. A coppery taste lingered on my tongue and as I tried to speak, I emitted a moist wheeze which demanded I clear my throat. Reaching for words, I grasped hold of the first which came to mind, not even bothering to form a theory before asking the question.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” I asked. “And would you kindly keep it down? I have a headache.”
At once, the chattering stopped. When I opened my eyes, I recoiled against the light from an adjacent lamp, clenching my lids shut again. Rolling away from it, I lifted my hands to scrub at my face.
“Peter?” a familiar, male voice responded. “Was that you?”
“No, wrong guess. Care to try again?” The question was rhetorical. I knew Robin would not have sounded so uncertain if he did not suspect it could be me. Swallowing back the metallic taste still lingering in my mouth, I focused on it long enough to recognize what it was to the detriment of my lucidity. They had forced blood down my throat. Now, however, I needed more. My fangs lowered, a shudder running through me, and while I clung onto what little coherence remained, I felt it starting to ebb away. My world had been reduced to a singular need. “Blood,” I muttered.
“What did he say?” another person, this one female, asked.
“He said blood,” Robin replied. I felt something – Mattress? No, not mattress. Cushion. Couch. – shift beneath me as a new occupant joined me where I lay. Seated beside me, they settled a hand onto my shoulder, attempting to coax me out from the ball of self I had formed. “Hand me the glass,” he said, his voice louder, coming directly from the figure now seated beside me. “Apparently, the bit we gave him earlier wasn’t enough.”
“Enough to keep him from tearing our throats out, at least.” I heard footsteps approach and stop beside us. A scent wafted toward me – Perfume? – before I abandoned placing it in favor of latching onto the aroma of something else. Something far more desirous. The glass had barely been extended to me before I shot to a seated position, almost displacing Robin in the process, and took it in hand. Drinking down the offering in one lusty swallow after another, I felt a trickle of blood run down my chin and cared little for how I must have appeared to them. It was not until I had wiped the spilled contents with my fingers and licked them clean that I wandered back my senses. Eyes opening, reacting less against the light, I marked my return with a groan of approval.
Robin came into focus first before the rest of the room did. Sconces illuminated the sitting area, with rich-colored woods and light-toned fabrics adorning the furniture. Persian rugs added vibrant hues to the collection, which brought the arrangement together. In that moment, I realized I had been in the room before, albeit briefly, and had only seen it through Peter’s eyes. We had somehow returned to the coven in Toronto.
I glanced up at the owner of the female voice, confirming this. Her chestnut hair fell across her shoulders, an olive tone to her skin which somehow complemented the typical vampire paleness. Ophelia, the coven mistress, arched a brow at me and I smirked, looking from her to my brother, who had shifted his position to face me. “Well, I see we managed to escape Italy,” I said, my hands still shaky and gradually lowering the glass I held onto the floor. I sat straight again when I had freed myself of its encumbrance. “I wonder what gods I should be thanking for that.”
Robin tilted his chin upward by a slim margin, though enough for me to see the posturing evident in the action. He tensed while evaluating me. “Is there a reason why you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, Flynn?” he aske
d.
“Because my presence is worth gracing others with. Do I need any other reason?” My smirk held steady, though maintaining it had become a slight strain. “I will say, though, that maintaining our wits often falls to me. Peter didn’t seem ready to wake just yet.”
“Should I ask if you actually do have your wits?”
“I think you’d be able to tell with certainty if I didn’t.”
We held a shared gaze for a while, him evaluating me and me gathering fragments of memory like tidying shards of broken glass. When the sarcastic façade I presented finally faltered, it did so only because I recalled everything that had happened in Italy, including the wild goose chase which had preceded it. Distinctly, I remembered Patrick Flynn, the man Robin had named me after, and tasted bile in the back of my throat. Regarding Robin became difficult.
“I should hunt now that there’s no fear of me slaughtering half the city,” I said, lifting to a tentative stand. Chancing a step forward to gage my footing, I determined it would be best if I did not strain myself. “Let me know if you intend to screw anything else up, though. I await your next folly with bated breath.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Robin asked, standing behind me. I had claimed another step before I found myself turning – slowly, very slowly while the dizziness subsided – to face him again. The look of offense painted on his expression should have frozen me into ice. “You don’t look steady enough to be out there on your own.”
The laugh I produced escaped before I could even care to stop it. “Oh please, are you concerned for my welfare? I’m touched.”
“Concerned for Peter’s welfare primarily.”
“Well, so am I. Look at us, agreeing on one thing.”
Robin frowned. His gaze shifted toward Ophelia, who watched us with quiet fascination. I graced her with a momentarily glance before looking back at Robin, aware his eyes had returned to me as well. “You can go back to pandering to her,” I said, reaching forward and patting Robin’s shoulder. Sweeping a piece of lint from it, I lowered my arm again and slipped my hand into a pocket. “As you love to cite, I’m quite capable of killing people all by myself.”
Presenting my back to Robin, I strode for the exit to the room. A vague awareness of my sleeping paramour swept over me, but I scolded myself not to indulge following it. As much as I found myself wanting to lay eyes on Monica – to ensure she had safely made the crossing, both in body and being – I lacked the desire to do so while addled by hunger.
I had almost made it to the room’s exit when he spoke.
“Wait.” Robin hurried to make up the difference between us. I listened to his footfalls, breathing an exasperated sigh as he closed the distance between us. When I felt him nearly upon me, I turned once more to face him, not bothering to mask my frustration. He seemed unmoved by it. “You’re being stubborn,” he said, instead, “And when you’re stubborn, you’re more likely to cut off your nose just to spite someone else. I remember you in these moods all too well.”
“Brotherly concern, then? Just for old time’s sake,” I said, flashing him as sarcastic of a smile as I could muster. “Thank you, but no thank you, Robin. I have no desire to relive our pursuits from ten years ago. Besides, as I seem to recall, you wanted Peter to get rid of me.”
“I wanted the two of you restored into one. There’s a large difference.”
“Be that as it may, your concern is sickeningly hypocritical. And, frankly, I don’t trust your judgment right now.” I motioned to depart again. “Leave me alone. I’m sure someone else here could use your compromised guidance.”
Robin scoffed, taking one step forward for each I attempted and making it obvious that he would not grant me my wish without a fight. “I beg your pardon?” he asked. “My compromised guidance?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you want me to spell it out for you?” Teeth gritted, I hardly noticed that I had faced him again until the scant distance between us had disappeared, swallowed up when I shoved him away with the heel of my hand. “It means you’ve been fucking the enemy,” I yelled. “Your guilty conscience needs a salve and you’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling indulgent. The one person who has been there for me the past ten years nearly died because of it.”
He bristled. “If I had known for one minute what Patrick was doing –”
“You would have what? Pled with him to stop?” I scoffed, stepping back and appraising him with derision. Raw emotion gave my mind clarity, despite my body’s need for sustenance. “Look at you. Attempting to atone for being played the fool. Where were you when that charlatan sent sorcerers after me? After her?” I pointed in the direction from where I felt Monica’s presence, my gaze not straying once from Robin. Shaking my head, I laughed, the sound bitter. “Tell me, brother, was his cock so far up your ass you couldn’t think straight?”
“Flynn...” The way he spoke my name made it sound like an involuntary reflex. I saw how deep the knife I had driven into his chest afflicted him, yet shut myself off from any sympathy I might have had. There was a sadness in the way he regarded me, buried beneath the sternness in his eyes. Yes, he had lost a lover, while forcing Peter into the position of saving ours. It was the latter fact which prevented me from being moved.
“Time heals all wounds,” I said, spreading my arms to my sides and bowing slightly at the waist. “I’m certain you’ll find love again. In the meantime, leave me the fuck out of this.” When I straightened my posture, I finally consummated my departure, tugging at the ends of my suit jacket to restore myself into some form of order. Robin did not pursue me this time, something I considered a mercy. As I passed my reflection, I saw both my pallid complexion and the lingering evidence of blood on my face.
It took retreating into a bathroom for me to clean myself enough for a hunt. One of the first things I did while walking the streets of Toronto was to purchase a pack of cigarettes and light one once outside the shop. Anger burned slow and long within the pit of my soul, agitating my already-present hunger and serving to make me impatient. I pulled aside the first meal of opportunity, depleting the human in an alley and leaving his discarded remains for somebody else to handle. While it quelled my thirst, it did nothing to settle my frustration with Robin.
‘Let me have control again,’ Peter chimed from within me, causing me to bristle. I ignored him at first, until his prodding became more insistent. “No,” I muttered out loud, smoking the third cigarette I had lit since walking out onto the street. A light drizzle had begun to fall, forming a fine mist on my jacket. “I will let you back when I’m ready.”
‘And when will that be?’
‘The more you ask that bloody question, Peter, the longer it will take.’ I dared not add the remainder of my sentiment, though I knew it well enough to say it to myself. I would not be sent into the shadows again until I trusted our ability to function.
The posture felt familiar, though I assumed the mantle of protector without the one with whom I had always shared it. Memories swept through my mind of Monica and I guarding her family; the nights that I had spent walking around the homes we occupied in Costa Rica and Venezuela, ensuring the enemy had not approached the gates. Except that I had broken the unspoken promise I had made to her. If nothing else, she would always be able to rely on me to keep her safe.
I had failed her.
My wandering brought me back to the coven house, clothing wet from the walk without being soaked through. The faint connection I had my sleeping lover sprang to life once more and this time, I could not stop myself from tracing it to its origin. Ignoring everyone that I passed, I motioned for the stairs and, upon alighting a few, realized she had been placed inside one of the larger, unoccupied suites. The closer I got to her, the more urgent my pursuit became until I found myself on the third floor, racing to the quarters from where her aura emanated.
Entering the room, I quietly shut the door behind me. Even without the aid of light, I saw an expansive area open before me, the effect only heightene
d when I reached to switch on a lamp. Before me lay a parlor with a couch and two plush, leather chairs; end tables separating the furniture and a television set finishing the remainder of the living room. A writing desk – flanked on one side by a bookcase – had been positioned beside a short corridor leading to what I assumed to be the bedroom. My eyes scanned across what remained, making only momentary note of the bathroom before I continued forward. Once I reached the end of the hallway, I paused near a partially-ajar door and froze.
Of all the things I could have made note of first – from the shaded windows to the ornately-carved wardrobe on the far end of the room – my eyes shifted to the four-post bed poised at the center. Examining the rest of the room became irrelevant, placed on a shelf to be rifled through and vetted at some later date. My steps slowed, muffled by the carpet beneath my shoes, and as a trickle of water ran down my neck I both remembered and forgot that my hair and clothes still bore moisture from the rain. The moment I caught sight of her, nothing else mattered.
Slowly, I sat beside the angel lost in slumber, the mattress dipping under my weight. Reaching for her before I could stop myself, I traced the contour of her face, making note of the vampire transition that had already begun twisting its magic around her. The dark hue of her hair had deepened by several shades, though as my fingertips reached her cheek, I found myself brushing away the blonde streak in her bangs, lightened nearly into white. Her pale skin looked luminescent and through her parted lips, I saw the sharp tips of her new fangs.
A primal force within me stirred at seeing her in this state, the woman I had damned myself by loving. As I cupped her cheek, I leaned toward her, bending until I could touch her cool lips with mine. My eyes shut and in the seconds which followed, I memorized her again, from the texture of her skin, to the changes in her scent. I allowed myself to relive a hundred memories, from the first time she had ever rested her head on my chest to the last harsh words we had exchanged. Silently, I hoped she would still love me, while I feared learning what sort of monster she had become.
