by Peter Dawes
He frowned, adjusting a cap he had worn as if it encompassed the last piece of armor he needed for the ensuing battle. “If they attack, I am trusting you to rescue me,” he said. “I deliberately didn’t arm myself to ensure they wouldn’t have cause to take exception to me.”
“It fits with your role as my cultural emissary.”
“I think you take too much pleasure out of referring to me like that.”
Flashing Robin the briefest of smiles, I patted his back and started up the stairs. As he strode behind me, following my ascent, Robin fell silent and my expression faltered. Sleep had been impossible for me, both on the train and during our stop in Paris. We had checked into a hotel late the previous evening, and only then did I consent toward allowing my eyes to shut. I did not know yet what I feared from sleep. I could not deny, however, that something felt like it had crept up from the shadows, bent to capture me when I had lowered my guard. Taking a deep breath, I motioned with my hand as if to dispel that idea, reminding myself that security would be a constant illusion from this point forth.
Later, I would finally catch up on sleep, I told myself. Until then, formalities awaited.
The further up the stairs we ascended, the more I saw the way the grounds blended into the neighborhood and wondered how much magic had aided in the camouflage. A chill crept over me and the closer we came to a set of glass double doors, the more it felt like I should turn back and retreat. While I watched Robin fight against it, I also noted the sizeable amount of energy emanating from the ground and realized my unique nature made me the only person both drawn to and revolted by the presence of this building. As it stood, however, the sheer flow of power held my interest far more. Standing there alone, it seemed, would be enough to recharge what of my battery remained to be filled.
“Shall we, dear brother?” I asked, taking hold of the metal bar in front of me.
Robin nodded and squared his shoulders. Yanking the door open, I held it for Robin to enter, but strode ahead of him the first moment I could. A large desk had been set up only a few feet away, bearing the sigil of an all-seeing eye I had seen hanging in the Seattle headquarters. While nobody sat at the desk, and the stairs which lay to the left – behind a locked and sealed glass door – contained no passersby, the corridor which led further into the ground floor suddenly became occupied with people. The three armed men who strode to the front all had the same emerald-colored eyes as me.
One unarmed gentleman stood beside them, however – younger and with blue eyes more characteristic of the natural-born sorcerers. Folding his hands in front of him, he tilted his chin as he evaluated us. “What business to you have here?” he asked, his accented English still clear enough to be understood.
I chanced another step forward, in part to block Robin. “My name is Peter Dawes,” I said. “I am here to speak to Brandon Gillies. He should be expecting me.”
“And what of the other vampire?”
“Robin O’Shane. My immortal brother and cultural liaison.”
“I am a linguist,” Robin said, “And an expert on foreign cultures. I assist Master Peter with his travels.”
Our greeter temporarily shifted his attention to Robin, studying him first before looking at me again. I straightened my posture, but while I held his gaze, my alter personality woke within me, using my eyes to evaluate while I remained in control of our tongue. “As for my business,” I said, “I am here to discuss with Mr. Gillies how I might assist the Order with the crisis in Europe.”
“As I recall, you caused this crisis and walked away,” he countered. “Unless more than one vampire-seer exists in this world. Why do you care now about our plight?”
“I care about the plight of my kind. Is that not enough?” Slowly, I pivoted toward the door. “If you would like for me to leave, then I can do this on my own. Or are you so sore about my absence that you would cut off your own nose to spite your face?”
“The Order only wants you to remember your place, sir.”
“I am aware of my place.” Quirking an eyebrow at him, I fought the urge to sweep my coat aside and decided against brandishing my sword. All the same, I felt a small glimpse of the assassin finally bled through onto the surface. “If you know who I am, and know what I have done, then you know what I am capable of doing. Continue having an attitude with me and I promise, I will show you why I have a reputation.”
The sorcerer bristled. While I saw his jaw clench, if he had the urge to counter my threat, he wisely chose to suppress it. “Please tell Mr. Gillies his visitors have arrived,” the sorcerer said, addressing the seer who stood the closest to him. “He should still be in his office.”
The seer nodded, directing a glance of warning at me first before turning to disappear down an adjoining hallway. Nobody acknowledged his departure with any further ceremony and as we waited, we seemed embroiled in a stalemate, neither side apt to be the one who broke the ice. It took a matter of minutes – all of them interminable and tense – before the seer returned with another man in tow.
“I said to ensure he didn’t come to cause trouble, not launch a Mexican standoff,” the newcomer said, bearing an obvious English intonation to his speech. He broke through the crowd enough for us to make eye contact, both spending a moment weighing the other man. While I had no idea what assessment he made of me, I saw a man in his early forties, with irises the same color as the sorcerer and yet, a frame which suggested he had not always been relegated to desk work. From perfectly coiffed hair to the suit he wore, he boasted enough authority for one to almost ignore the scar barely present above the collar of his shirt.
Brandon Gillies completed his examination of me as I did, his. “Well, the Prodigal Son returns,” he said. “There’s a chap in Seattle who claims you owe him a phone call, but I’ll tell Malcolm you’re indisposed for the time being.” He lifted a hand and motioned us forward. “Come now, and let’s discuss what brings you back to us.”
“Thank you,” I said, for the lack of anything better to quip in the moment. Robin and I exchanged a glance and while I did not need the reassurance, Robin nodded anyway, as if saying he detected no sign of a trap lying in wait for us. Not yet, I added drolly in my thoughts. Frowning, I shifted my attention back to Gillies, bypassing the welcoming party and making certain to ignore the sorcerer especially as I strode through. The seers left us alone to follow Gillies, who held his tongue until we had disappeared behind another set of locked doors on the far end of the hallway. Once we had, however, he relaxed as much as we did.
“You’ll have to forgive them, they’re on edge lately,” he said. The casual way he spoke betrayed the sobriety of the topic, something he seemed more than aware of when he added, “Not that they have no valid reason to be.”
“No, Master Reichlin explained the situation,” I offered. “I apologize if my involvement seems tardy, but I was half a world away for a decade, unaware that the conflict had gotten out of hand.”
Gillies barked a laugh. “Oh, out of hand is one way of putting it. An incredible shitstorm would be more accurate. Not that I fault you directly for that. Julian says you’ve drawn out the mastermind of the whole mess and that’s no small feat. He’s evaded us the entire time.”
I caught Robin frowning and said nothing in return. The next section of the building boasted a series of offices, doors shut with small plaques on the wall denoting the occupant of each room. White walls continued the utilitarian theme of their decorating, with the same tiled flooring I had seen in the vestibule. Sardonically, I mused that if the Supernatural Order had a record of things it considered frivolous, interior design would have made it near the top of the list.
Brandon Gillies paused by the door of one office and produced a set of keys from his pocket. “Back in the day, we had a set of enchanted coins we used to secure private sectors,” he stated, in some attempt to fill the time while unlocking the door. “Then somebody got the brilliant thought that we could spellbind the keys themselves as locks evolved. I
always find it fascinating, the way science and superstition blends together in this establishment.”
The door swung open. Gillies reached in to switch on the lights before pointing inward. “This way, gents,” he said. “We can get down to business now.”
I stepped inside first, subconscious in my role of guardian until I saw a small grin of appreciation curling the corner of Robin’s mouth. He walked ahead of me, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he did, and sat first while I adjusted my sword so I might settle in the chair beside him. Gillies shut the door and walked toward the desk in front of us, taking his time while doing so. “Would either of you care for a drink?” he asked.
“Not me,” I said, more concerned about taking in the interior of the office. My mental quip about the utilitarian nature of the London office lost its veracity as a mixture of colors and dark wood surrounded us, giving the appearance of a proper and yet, personalized space. Picture frames containing images of Gillies with a wife and children dotted the immediate area, interspersed between a collection of shelves and commendations for valor. I glanced at a bookcase filled to the brim with tomes on spells and witchcraft before glancing back at Gillies himself. “I think Master O’Shane and I would prefer keeping this pithy.”
“Pleasantries aside, then,” he said, sitting behind his desk at last. He folded his hands on his lap, reclining back in his office chair while silently weighing us at first. “Let’s begin.”
I nodded. Robin remained silent, allowing me to take the lead. Stealing a moment to compose my thoughts, I regretted refusing the drink, if only to have something to clutch onto for stability. “I crossed paths recently with Master Reichlin,” I said. “My interests and yours have aligned and I explained as such to him when we spoke. Something was stolen from me that I want back, but to claim it, I need to retrieve it from this bastard who calls himself Napoleon.”
“Yes, the vampire Patrick Flynn. Sadly, this isn’t our first tangle with him.” Gillies picked up a pen, turning it around in his hand as if wishing for that glass to cling onto as well. “We killed him back in the 1960s. Had been tracking the wily bastard for months when he slipped up. I searched through the archives when Julian gave us his name and I didn’t find much of note. A charlatan who seemed as apt to betray his brethren as he was to learn from them. His mentor – Jasper Ashcroft – met his end in the 70s, courtesy of Julian Reichlin himself. That is where the file on him ends.”
“That it would’ve ended there,” Robin murmured.
His entrance into the conversation drew Gillies’s attention toward him. The human set his pen down and folded his hands together again, this time on top of the desk. “Robin O’Shane,” he said. “Birth name Michael. I didn’t need to look you up. Your name almost always comes up a heartbeat away from his.” He nodded in my direction, his eyes never leaving Robin. “His cultural liaison, though. Now, that’s a clever title. The people I’ve questioned over the past few days had another title for you, though.”
“And what is that?”
“Patrick Flynn’s lover.”
Robin bristled. I frowned, straightening in my chair enough to draw Gillies’s attention. “I do not see that my immortal brother’s personal affairs pertain to the matter at hand,” I said.
“Actually, they do,” Robin interjected. We both looked at him as he frowned, his gaze shifting between the two of us. “Master Gillies wants to know that my loyalties aren’t divided. That I am not some spy planted here by Patrick.” His focus settled on the elder. “I assure you, his subterfuge was as much a surprise to me as it was to everyone else.”
“Forgive me if I find that incredulous,” Gillies said. “Did you lose track of him for two decades?”
“My dalliances with Patrick span a century with spaces in-between. It’s hardly unusual for us to go years between conversations.” A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth I watched him fight desperately against. Whatever he saw inside his mind – whatever ghosts had chosen that moment to visit him – he shoved them back into place, with all the dignity of the brother I had always known.
The regal and refined gentleman who kept his composure tilted his chin up at Gillies. “I assume, given the timing, I was the reason he died,” he said. “That was around the time when I told Patrick I had returned to our vampire mother. He and I parted on unpleasant terms and two decades of silence didn’t raise my suspicion. Him calling me no more than a few weeks after the resurrection of a host of vampires should have, though. If you’d like a confession from me, I offer you this: I loved a lie and became complicit in a false reality. My presence here is to make amends for that.”
Gillies frowned. “My apologies to you, Master O’Shane,” he said, sounding chagrined, “but you can’t fault me for considering all ends before we form an alliance with you two.”
His gaze shifted back to me, as if he had assured himself we could proceed. “Our reputation over the last few years precedes us,” Gillies said. “I won’t try to defend our actions. And we need the help enough for me to accept what assistance you might have to offer. Even if just for the time being, as Julian Reichlin suggested would be your preference.” The way he looked at me felt as though it might be underscoring a point. As if continuing any further meant I had agreed to the terms of a tenuous truce, and could rest assured at some point it might be ended. Aware of this, I held his gaze until he realized the message had been received.
“Very well,” he said. “We have an informant we have been working with in recent days who might agree to speak to you. I would like to try this route first before pursuing anything else. When we’ve heard back from them, is there a number at which you can be reached?” Once more, his gaze served to punctuate the severity of his words. “Both to relay their answer and to assign you any further duties?”
“Hand me something to write with,” I said. Scrawling down my mobile number, I passed the slip of paper to Gillies once finished and after a few additional formalities, we were dismissed for the time being. Robin and I met with little resistance in leaving, much to our surprise, though as we strode onto the streets of London again, we realized we had been placed in the uncomfortable position of having to wait. I retired for the morning in our hotel room, as I promised myself I would.
Discordant images laced my dreams, however. When one of them became Monica, I startled awake, only to discover dusk still hours away. An itch crawled up my spine and while I found ways of whittling the time until sunset, I still felt a lingering presence, as if she had become a spirit bent on haunting me. I saw her reflection from the corner of my eye when I passed by a mirror. As I showered, I felt her hands sliding up my back with such certainty that it surprised me when I turned and failed to see her. Wherever she was, Monica had broken her silence to send a message. She had me in her sights. What happened in Toronto had not been the end of our standoff with each other.
In fact, it had only just begun.
Chapter Twelve
The sound of the phone ringing startled me awake, though I could not remember when I had fallen asleep. As I startled, dropping the newspaper I had been thumbing through, I peered toward the other side of the room from where I sat, seeing Robin glance up from the book he had been reading with Katerina. The young sorceress weighed me uncertainly, though I lacked the clarity to judge whether the noise or my reaction had inspired the expression on her face. Fumbling through my pockets, I produced the phone and blinked at the display. An unfamiliar number flashed while the ringing persisted, unabated.
I pressed the button to accept the call and lifted the device to my ear. “Hello?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep.
“Good evening, Master Dawes. I hope I didn’t wake you,” Brandon Gillies chimed on the other end, sounding far too animated. I heard an accusation in his voice when he continued. “I thought it was well enough past sunset to hazard a call.”
“Yes, it is. Apologies. I did not sleep well earlier.” Shifting in my chair to straighten my posture, I also worked t
o wake more fully, not speaking again until I had collected myself. “How might I help you?”
“Well, the reasoning behind my calling is more informational in nature, though I do have one task for Master O’Shane at his earliest convenience. We’ll get to that in a moment.” Gillies paused to sigh. “Regrettably, I have bad news. My contact has declined a request for a meeting, claiming she doesn’t see how you could be of any further assistance to her.”
The comment left me to wonder if I misunderstood him. “I beg your pardon, but did you say she did not know how I would be able to assist?”
“Ludicrous, isn’t it? I tried to share your resume with her, but she seemed to think it no better than any of the other master seers we’ve sent into the thick of things. I’ll attempt to persuade her otherwise, but for now it looks like I’ll have to charge my sorcerers with finding where to send you first. They’ll need an evening or two before I have something suitable to offer.
“Regarding the request,” he continued. “Do you think sometime in the next few days Master O’Shane can free himself of his duties to you? Our field operatives found some suspicious-looking notes earlier, in a place where we suspected dark magical activity. While our archivists seem confident we can decipher the notes in time, I have my doubts. They seem to be in some strange, archaic language.”
“I am certain he could decipher them. He has helped me with similar items in the past.” Realizing I had blurted the answer without even consulting Robin, I amended, “I mean, I will ask and he can call you when he is available, but it should not be an issue. We obviously are going to continue pursuing our own leads until you have an assignment. I might need some time before I can release him.”
“Understandable, though I would advise to consult with me first before you leave London.” While something about his comment made me bristle, he spoke before I could open my mouth to respond. “If your brother does decide to help us, we would appreciate it greatly. In the meantime, though, Master Dawes, I hope you have a restful evening.”
