by Peter Dawes
I blinked a few times, the vision dissipating and transporting me back to the landing where it had begun. My physical hand still pressed against the wall, I lowered my arm to my side and felt a chill creep up my spine, my sensitivity to the magic in the air seeming to have escalated in the interim. I shuddered and walked down the stairs, back to where I had left Robin.
He frowned at me as I paused in front of him. A corner of my mind screamed out for Robin to notice the disquieting darkness which had started to creep closer to me, but I could not give voice to it. “Sabrina has the pieces of some sort of crystal or gemstone scattered about,” I said. “They came here to retrieve it and left immediately.
“Did she mention what it was for?” Robin asked, turning away from the human he had been supervising, who remained huddled where we had found him.
“No.” My eyes flicked to the young man for a moment. He tensed and when I looked at Robin again, I mirrored the frown my brother yet wore. “She knew we would be coming and held her tongue.”
“How could she have known? Your friend isn’t conspiring with them, is she?”
“Highly unlikely. More so, I am certain they have confidence we would find our way here. We have Katerina, granted, and they might have spies Supernatural Order, but even if they knew about Evie, I doubt it would matter. They did not seem concerned we might be retracing their steps.”
“Which means either they don’t care because they have the upper hand, or we’re following a trap.”
“If not both.”
Robin sighed. Stealing another glance at our skittish human, he seemed to weigh him before finally shaking his head and walking away. “I suppose the only thing we have left to do is erase this one’s memory. I tried talking to him while you were upstairs, but he had nothing further for us.”
“I can handle that,” I said. “Wait for me by the car.”
Raising a hand to wave to me, Robin continued toward the door. I watched him leave, intending to follow his instructions and facing the human to follow through with it. The moment our eyes connected, another violent shift asserted itself before I could track its source. The numbness faded, and while what ebbed in its place contained the chill of malice, I still inhabited emotion at last. I might yet be Peter, but if I was, my vampire nature had completely overshadowed me.
Slowly, my fangs ran downward, a cold smirk crossing my lips as I paced closer to the human. “What better way to purge your thoughts than to erase you?” I asked, the question rhetorical; my gaze turning severe. His eyes widened, but before he could say a word, I reached for his shirt, pulling the man to his feet and slamming him against the wall. The human groaned and, as I pressed my body against his, he produced a sound loud enough to force me to cup my hand over his mouth.
My teeth plunged into his neck, filling my mouth with what should have simply been another sampling to keep my hunger contained. Instead, I tasted blood sweeter than I could remember, drawing in mouthful and mouthful in an insatiable manner and gripping onto the human so tight, he had no hope of escaping. His body went limp; his pulse beginning to fade until it vanished altogether. Only then did I release him.
His body collapsed onto the floor. Reaching up to wipe the evidence of what I had done from my mouth, I turned away from him, the change which had swept over me receding almost immediately. A veil lowered itself, protecting me from reflecting on the murder of the eyewitness – from even wondering if he had been placed there for that specific purpose. In fact, when I emerged from the house, I had forgotten that I even fed from him.
Robin lingered by the car, watching my progression toward him and holding his tongue until I reached where he stood. “Did I hear something in there?” he asked.
I shrugged, glancing back at the dilapidated residence before peering back at Robin. “Not certain what it would have been,” I said. “I enthralled the human and left when finished. Nothing else happened.”
“Might have been my imagination then.” He raised an eyebrow, lingering in his appraisal of me for an extra moment before producing the car keys from his pocket. The lock to the trunk disengaged, allowing me to divest myself of my sword, and once I had settled into the passenger side, Robin entered as well. We drove toward the hotel, spending the first few moments in silence.
When he spoke, he sounded as convinced as me that everything was fine.
“You need to get on the phone to your contact,” he said. “If there are other locations where these things are being kept, then I suspect they’ve had similar signatures. Maybe we might retrace their steps and determine what exactly it is she’s collecting.”
I nodded, a wave of fatigue overcoming me. “I will leave a message for her. With any luck, maybe she can have us elsewhere tonight.” Sinking further into the back of my seat, I fought the compulsion to close my eyes and yet, knew it might be a losing battle. I had not slept near enough. “If this has the potential of being a trap, should we pursue it?”
“We might have no choice but to walk the path and tread carefully.”
“If you insist.”
My lids finally fluttered shut. If Robin spoke to me at all, I did not hear it, following the compulsion to sink into unconsciousness, even if it might be short-lived. That feeling which had led me toward murder swept over me again, a voice whispering to me from the darkness. She spoke to that part of me that craved her, that part which would always succumb when she came calling.
‘Tell me where you are, my devil. We’ll be together soon, but I need you to wait a little longer.’
‘What if I want you now?’
‘Be patient. We have plans.’
Details spilled with little additional persuasion, splashed across my thoughts as images. Once they had passed from one mind to the other, I slept again, and woke remembering nothing. Regardless of how much I felt her following me, Monica remained an afterthought, a shadow lingering just out of sight.
And I had become her unwitting accomplice.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Found another item of interest for Master O’Shane. Please respond. – Gillies’
Reading the display, I groaned and pocketed the phone. Robin raised an eyebrow at me, looking up from the bench where he had been jotting down notes in his journal and setting it on his lap when I sat beside him. “Is Ms. Stanton still taking umbrage with our decision to use the trains instead?” he asked.
In the distance, I heard a voice over the speaker, making an announcement in German to the rest of the station which echoed across the large room surrounding us. Travelers whom it influenced peered upward first before directing their attention a fluttering split-flap display which changed to reflect their amended itinerary. I peered at it myself before glancing back to my brother. “Not entirely, though I think the idea of traveling on something other than a private jet is a strange concept for her,” I said. With a sigh, I settled further into my seat and crossed one leg over the other. “No, I keep forgetting to respond to Mr. Gillies.”
“Has he been in contact?”
“Unfortunately.” Reaching in my pocket again, I produced my phone and cycled through screens again until I brought up the ignored texts. Robin took the phone in hand when I offered it. “He wants your help with a few documents they have been pouring over. I apologize if his request has seemed tertiary to me.”
“No, it is, but at the same time, now I am fascinated.” He frowned while reading over one message and flipping to the next one. “I would think they’d have people equipped to handle this.”
“He suggested your linguistic expertise could assist their archivists in hurrying their efforts.”
Robin rolled his eyes and handed me back the phone. “We’ll have to respond to him so he doesn’t get suspicious, but if you can find a way of putting him off, I’d prefer it.”
I breathed a chuckle and nodded, figuring out how to reply to the message and struggling through the response. After what felt like double the time it should have taken me, I managed a pithy reply.<
br />
‘Currently busy. Will call when no longer indisposed. – Peter’
My phone disappeared into my pocket again, this time with the intent of being forgotten. Robin resumed writing whatever he had started to pen, leaving me alone to my thoughts. When the loudspeaker chimed again, my brother lifted his head and this time, I knew its message affected us by the way he reacted. “They’re boarding for Budapest,” he said. “Best we get to the platform.”
I nodded, attempting to appear relieved that we would be departing. As Robin slid his journal back into a messenger bag, I reached for my things and brought them with me to the place where we checked our luggage. Within a few minutes, we found ourselves seated in the confines of a passenger car, the presence of so many other people setting me on edge. My hunger woke, as I suspected it might, and while I ignored it enough to keep a level head, I had also used the plea for a cigarette as an excuse upon rising, if only to conceal the need to eat again from Robin.
‘Not that he does not know something is wrong,’ I thought drolly to myself as the train departed from the station. Robin extracted his journal a brief while later, though the way he studied me first suggested he knew my mind harbored discord. Setting the book onto a tray, he rested his hand on top of it, the gesture an odd mixture of affection and protection. “Have you ever considered writing down your thoughts?” he asked. “I find it centering sometimes. It also helps me sort through conundrums like this to see my ideas compiled together in one place.”
I shrugged. “I wrote a little while in Costa Rica,” I said. “My friend Father Santiago suggested it more for catharsis.”
“Did it help?”
“Somewhat, though I never knew if I had Monica to thank for most of that.”
Robin’s lips curled in a small, sympathetic smile. Releasing his hold on his book, he dipped into the messenger bag again and produced another tome, this one skinnier than the other one and not bound in leather. “I brought this in the event I might need to jot idle notes instead of more long-sweeping ones. Perhaps you can use it.”
He handed it to me, reaching next for a pen and offering that to me as well. I perked an eyebrow, opening the book and seeing his penmanship on the first page, containing what I assumed to be his own form of shorthand. ‘Vienna – Ilya. Budapest – Marcell. Boston? San Francisco? Paris?’ When I looked up at him again, I saw Robin already settling back into whatever entry he had begun and pushed aside my own curiosity for a moment in favor of turning the page. There, a blank sheet greeted me, feeling almost like a welcomed friend. After a short time of reflection, I scrawled a few lines of what became poetry.
Every night, your memory tortures the pit of my being
You prick my heart with knives that only wound and do not kill.
And I thank you for it.
I mutter the hymns of angels in sweet exultation
As you tease me with the wiles of the devil.
As I taste your poison lips.
As I am murdered a thousand times over.
And still I wake without your presence.
Drawing a deep breath inward, I held it long enough to hope I might latch onto the feelings of angst passing through me and discovering myself still blandly unaffected. Shutting the book, I decided to close my eyes and hoped not to be greeted by the nightmares I feared might be dancing in the shadows when I rested. The mercy of dreamless sleep followed, bearing a quiet that unnerved me as we arrived in Hungary. Everything surrounding us felt like a calm before the storm. Like a viper waiting to strike.
As Robin and I alighted from the train, I wondered if I could ever trust sleeping again.
He remained silent and stoic, collecting our luggage and passing mine to me without a word exchanged. Without the passive intake of his thoughts, I forced myself to consider whether I should actively employ my gifts and struck the notion down as if adhering to some code of honor. Rewarded by either my brother or the universe itself, I received a boon when Robin spoke and began to discuss matters like finding a hotel and settling in for the morning. “We’ll visit this address given to you by your friend once sunset passes,” he said. “Though I have a suspicion we’ll find more of the same if this does turn out to be another of Sabrina’s haunts.”
“You think it might be?” I asked, weaving my way around a group of passengers blocking us from the main doors and pausing our discussion until we emerged from the station. Robin assumed his place beside me again and we matched the gait of each other’s stride. “I saw what little you had written in the book you offered me. Something about somebody named Marcell?”
Robin’s frown deepened. “There might be some method to her madness, though it might be premature to suggest it yet. I simply had another reckoning of memory upon hearing we were to travel to Budapest.”
“Was he another lover?”
“Yes. Only not mine.”
We exchanged a look. The way Robin regarded me answered the question enough for me not to speak it out loud. A lost lover of Sabrina’s had called Budapest his home and suddenly, I understood the other locations written in the form of questions. Paris. San Francisco. Boston. I had seen the two latter places in his thoughts the same time he had granted me the knowledge of his beloved pianist, and mused about Paris as we rode toward the hotel. The fatigued way Robin settled into to our room, however, spoke of a man belabored by his own concerns, so I chided myself not to add to them. Instead, I settled in for the day and fell asleep attempting to scrawl additional lines of poetry.
I woke with a start an hour before sunset, surprised to see Robin already awake and dressed for the day. Groaning, I slid out from under the covers, padding groggily toward the bathroom for a shower. Hunger nipped at me anew and a distorted memory drifted through my mind of what a bloodthirsty psychopath I had been when Flynn and I had been one-in-the-same. ‘This is who you really are,’ it told me. ‘Don’t deny it. Embrace your true nature.’
Shutting off the water without responding to it, I dried myself off and dressed for the night. As Robin worked on fastening the buttons of his vest, I watched him, the feeling of becoming disembodied mounting the more my gaze followed him moving from one portion of the room to the next. His voice faded into the background. I became stuck on the thought of how easily I could simply sink the abyss and bathe myself in blood again. Robin stopped and looked at me, knocking me from my thoughts.
“You traveled somewhere,” he observed, the shirt I had worn the night before in his hands. He raised an eyebrow. “If I am still talking to you, Peter.”
I blinked and lifted a hand to rub at my eyes. “Yes, you are,” I said. “Apologies. I want to be done with this entire affair. It has begun wearing on me.”
“I think that might be a gross understatement.” He studied me in silence and added, as if he himself had acquired the gift of telepathy. “Let yourself feel it, brother, only channel it. Whatever you’ve been writing in that book. Whatever you need to do to make it to the other side of this. You’re more effective when you’re screaming and right now, I see you more composed than you should be. It has me troubled.”
“Yes, I know, but I cannot help it. I feel too tired to even indulge my emotions.”
“Well, you are one way or another, because you don’t look like you’ve been feeding very well when you do trouble yourself enough to hunt.” He nodded at the door. “I demand we attend to that before we get down to business tonight. If sleep remains your enemy, then you should take care of yourself in other ways.”
He shook out my shirt and added it to a collection of my clothing, transferring the stack from his bed to an unoccupied chair. I frowned at the thought of still looking peaked, fighting the urge to examine myself in the mirror again while not sure what else to do about it. Some small voice shouted toward Robin, bearing confessions about my feeding habits, my dreams, the detachedness that even I knew was odd for me, but the urge to speak those concerns out loud faded.
We went about the motions of hunting and I immersed my
self inside of it as much as possible. On the other end of feeding, some form of satisfaction settled over me and provided what I needed to push myself back into my body again. When we arrived at the location given by a vampire Hungarian prince, we found another abandoned building, this time with a safe which remained ajar. “You know,” I said as Robin and I examined it, “I think you might be right about there being a method to her madness.”
“You haven’t even touched a wall yet,” Robin observed. Allowing a small grin to escape, he nodded toward the closest one and waited patiently while I walked toward it and placed my hand on the cracking plaster. Some dislodged, falling onto my fingers, and as I sank into the vision, that tangible sensation faded and immersed me within what had happened before our arrival.
Seeing Sabrina walk into the room with her two supervisors did not alarm me this time. Neither did it come as a surprise when she broke whatever spell had kept the safe secured and produced another shard from within. This time, however, her supervisors took the shattered piece of gemstone away from her before they had even departed, the male one saying, “Our master is becoming angry over how long this is taking. How many more places do we have left?”
“Not many,” Sabrina said, her smile fading. She scowled, walking as close to the man as she dared and staring him in the eyes. “If your master is still angry over the notes he left in Kilkenny, you can tell him to take it out on somebody else.”
“I think he’d remind you of the reason why we had to leave Kilkenny so abruptly in the first place.”
“He knew it was coming. I’m half tempted to accuse him of leaving them there on purpose just to have a reason to be verbally abusive toward me.”
