Undone By Blood (The Vampire Flynn Book 5)

by Peter Dawes

  “It’s not her any longer,” Robin had tried to warn “Surely, you know that.”

  I pushed myself forward, somehow scraping the last of whatever remained in my powers to charge through her next burst of energy. For a moment, I felt driven outside of myself, watching the actions which unfolded like a bystander and not the person perpetrating them. Monica summoned the same dark energy which Sabrina had held and readied herself to throw it at me. I deflected it with the last drops of effect I could muster.

  And after that, I drove my sword forward.

  Something twisted my insides as I watched the blade push through her. I screamed – the noise sounding disconnected – and shoved the steel further into her, looking her in the eyes as she peered into mine. A stunned expression overtook her countenance; a gasp escaped her lips as she beheld me with confusion. Afraid to move, I held my sword steady and kept my gaze trained on her.

  “I love you,” I said. “Please, forgive me.”

  Slowly, Monica flaked into ash. The look of surprise dissolved into dust and as she flecked onto the ground, I felt the most profound horror I had ever felt in my life. Too many thoughts threatened to crowd in at me, all at once, making the rest of the world fade into white noise while my hands began to shake. We had done it, I thought toward Flynn, though neither of us felt any sense of accomplishment – any victory – in the fact that we had done what we knew in our hearts to be the right thing. As Monica transformed into nothingness, I felt carved in half, wanting to jump into the abyss after her.

  “Peter!” the female voice yelled, soft and through a tunnel until she repeated her evocation. “Peter!!” Snapping out of the trance I had entered, I beheld chaos erupting before me, seeing a host of seers and a contingency of sorcerers surround us, all being taken on my Patrick and his ilk. The earth rumbled and the darkness sweeping over us became more pronounced, flecks of purple light dancing through the black mist which reminded me of my fight against Valeria. The spell being cast had found its origin in the scrolls, I reminded myself. And it had entered its final stages.

  Blinking away the onslaught of tears and focusing on the fight again, I saw Evie standing near Katerina, the former being the one calling to me. Through the chaos of magic – white energy making an impotent stand against its darker counterpart – I saw them gesturing toward me and ran along the edges of battle to reach where they stood. Along the way, I noticed two things. Patrick’s people were not only protecting their master, forming a hedge around him, they were also deflecting every attempt by the Order to stop them.

  I also noticed the assassin within me had gone completely silent.

  Evie frowned when I reached them. “He’s going to finish his spell before they determine how to break through,” she said, shouting through the clamor of swords and the winds which had picked up around us. “Is there anything you can do?”

  “Not without my powers,” I said. For as much as it felt like keeping my head above water, I forced myself not to indulge the hole rapidly forming in my chest. “Flynn gambled on us having the ability to reclaim my energy from the gem. Where is Julian?”

  “He’s injured, but he’s alive. And just as disabled, if not more so. I think he’s got a broken wrist.” She did not bother to waste time pointing out where he had crawled to or been taken. “Can their sorcerers help?”

  “No,” Katerina said, interrupting. “By the time they figure out the spell, it’ll be too late.”

  “Did you not tell them everything happening?” Evie asked.

  “I did. But there wasn’t enough time.” Robin raced up to join us, holding a sword I assumed he had either been given or lifted from someone else. Katerina looked at him first, taking a deep breath and seeming to resolve something before looking back at me. “Keep me protected,” she said. “I’m going to try to break the spell.”

  Nodding, I glanced at Evie and Robin and blocked Katerina from view. I heard her pouring out the contents of one of her bags, and within moments, chanting emanated from where she was crouched, hiding behind three vampires, none of which had the same power to block her as the ones who shielded Patrick. The further she carried on, however, the more something remarkable began to happen.

  Slowly the mist began to dissipate. The dark magicians protecting their master worked harder to keep up the wall between them and us, straining until one of them fell, leaving a side of Patrick unprotected. The cadence of his speech became faster, like a race to the finish line with only seconds remaining until he stood the chance of losing. “Please, keep her safe,” I called to both Evie and Robin. “This needs to end.”

  Evie nodded and Robin frowned, but I gave them no further consideration. Rushing headlong into the thick of it, I pushed through the seers and sorcerers blocking me from Patrick’s ilk, holding up my sword and remembering what my brother had told me about allowing myself to feel. The anger which took over bore a sting to it I knew would only worsen, dulled only by shock, and as the resistance began to buckle, I directed strike after strike toward the closest vampire to me until my impotent blows finally landed. They focused on me entirely, until a strange surge of energy flowed through me, nearly making me dizzy.

  “They’ve got a sorcerer undoing the spell,” Patrick said. “One of you, find them!”

  I shoved my sword through the vampire in front of me, recoiling against the sight of them turning into dust and forcing myself not to think on it much further as I pressed onward. The one who had helped carry Patrick’s things raced forward to intercept, but as he did, I felt a crude, but functional, version of my powers awaken, enabling me to throw him to the side. As Patrick came into view, I centered all my anger and hate on him, sparks tracing up my hands until the light which followed completely engulfed up to my wrists. I made a swing for Patrick the moment he spun around to face me. In doing so, he broke his spell.

  But it also meant he could protect himself from me.

  He cast a bolt of energy at me, narrowly missing, as he simultaneously dodged my attempted blow. As he hurtled another burst of magic at me, I allowed the light engulfing my hands to rise to my sword. The blade glowed and deflected the arcane attack, intercepting each volley, and while Patrick stepped away from me, I trod forward. Teeth gritted, I drew enough energy to force him back with my next attempted swing and while the blade only scratched his arm, he tripped over the makeshift altar he had formed, landing beside the box which housed the gem.

  A cunning smirk crossed his lips. When I swung my sword at him, he plucked the jewel and held it up, intercepting the blow. The impact of hitting the gem generated enough of a shockwave for me to stumble backward, and while I remained upright, the effect stunned me for precious few seconds.

  Enough time for Patrick to stand and begin to run.

  He cast a spell around him, his arm gesturing in a semi-circle while he fled. I extended a hand to reach for him, but he slipped out of the telekinetic hold I attempted, running directly for a set of doors with the intent to flee. Other seers threw attacks at him that he deflected. When Evie sped to intercept him, he captured hold of her instead and wrapped an arm around her neck, spinning her around to point her at the rest of us.

  “Not another step,” he warned. “Not so much as a misplaced breath. The sun’s about to come up and if you don’t let me leave, she’ll die with me.”

  “You are not escaping alive,” I said. “Make this easier on all of us.”

  “Yes, you would like that, Peter. Claim another victory – another notch in your belt of conquests – when you get to behead me.” A grin crept across his face, reaching from ear to ear. “I’ll do you the favor of dying. But you aren’t claiming me.”

  As he finished speaking, Evie narrowed her eyes at the members of the Order who lifted weapons intended to cut through her first. While Patrick had not counted on her being the one to attack first, her reaching for his arm distracted us and though we heard bone break, we had been denied precious moments in which we could have struck. Patrick cried out in pain
and shoved Evie toward us. Waving around with his arm again, he created a screen made of dark energy and when I raced after him, I impacted with the shield and bounced. “Somebody get this bloody thing down!” I shouted. It took another of the sorcerers only a matter of seconds to disable it, but we lost more valuable time in the process.

  I ran ahead of everyone, not paying any mind to anything other than finding Patrick. While I could not locate him at first, the scuffle of shoes somewhere else in the museum pointed me in the direction of the front doors. Racing ahead, I passed the bodies of fallen security guards on my way out onto the street, intent upon my goal and pouring everything I could into the action. My shoes crunched on broken glass when I reached the main entrance. I stepped over the door’s frame and rushed down the stairs, finally spotting Patrick when I reached the edge of the street.

  He ran as fast as possible for the bridge in the distance. Stepping outside of the Petit Palais revealed just how light the sky had become, threatening us with dawn, but despite this I chased after him. Slowly, I began to gain on Patrick, my sword still clutched in hand, providing a sight to the few cars which had started to populate the streets. They became part of the background, as did the faint sense that a few members of the Order might have emerged to pursue us. I only cared about intercepting Patrick, and almost did halfway across the bridge.

  Patrick abruptly stopped running. Jumping up onto the concrete guard wall which protected pedestrians from the waters of the Seine, he turned to face me with both arms extended. I skidded to a stop, looking up at him as he smiled down at me.

  “No victories, little brother,” Patrick said. “Please, tell Michael I love him.”

  It startled me when he jumped. Diving backward, he flew into the open air behind him with the gemstone still clutched in his hand, light beginning to crest over the horizon in the distance. I ran to the concrete barrier in time to see him hit the water and winced when the ache of sunlight had begun to afflict me. It made me recoil, slinking behind the stone wall again. My mind struggled to interpret too many things happening concurrently. Patrick would be dead within minutes – the river would not be deep enough to shield him from the sun. But I would be denied the satisfaction of seeing him perish, like he wanted. I felt the discomfort from ambient light growing more painful and thought of Monica, turning to dust in front of me.

  Before I could summon the thought to join her, the others descended upon me.

  “Where did he go?” asked one, and while I vaguely remembered him being the one they had called Berwick, I could not summon the wherewithal to answer him. Somebody shoved me onto the pavement. Grit from the concrete pressed into my cheek as another bound my hands, and when Berwick crouched to meet my gaze, he glowered. “Where did Napoleon go?”

  “He is dead,” I said, lacking the ability to describe what had happened any better. One of the other seers or sorcerers barked to Berwick that they had seen ‘Napoleon’ jump and as Berwick ordered them down immediately to begin searching, he directed his attention back to me. I thought for a half moment about fighting, but lost my taste for it as quickly as I summoned the thought. “Go on and kill me,” I added. “There is no way you could punish me worse.”

  “Those aren’t my orders, Mr. Dawes.” As he produced the artifact Patrick had left behind, he pressed it against my forehead. “Go to sleep for now and we’ll make sure you get back in one piece,” he said as his voice began to fade. What energy I had reclaimed ebbed away from me again, and this time, I did not have the voice of Flynn to join me in the blank space which followed. The ache which had begun to afflict me faded, the threat of sleep a merciful escape I allowed myself to sink into.

  Even if I knew worse punishments did await when I woke.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They left me alone for hours, and as the time passed, I wondered if it had been their intent to drive me insane. The lack of commentary from Flynn had turned conspicuous, leaving me alone in my grief, and though I knew it would take a lot for him to forgive me, I longed even for his arguing. Anything to avoid reliving the moment Monica died.

  Perhaps, I reasoned, that was the beginning of the revenge he had threatened.

  I sat on the tiled floor of a cell, surrounded by glass walls with the eyes of other prisoners on me, silently judging me. My wrists had been cuffed in silver, enchantments etched into the shackles, and ankles bound in a similar manner, as if I had any desire to run. Artificial light shone down on me, an obscene contrast against the dark tenor of my thoughts, which had crept further into recognition of how violently my life had been ripped apart. Warring emotions played through me. I curled up, knees huddled against my chest, and cried. When I ran dry of tears, I stared vacantly at the wall and as I felt more like an exposed nerve, I wondered how anything could ever dull such palpable emotional trauma. If I was fortunate, the Order would starve me. They would condemn me and as I knelt before the High Council, this time I would not fight my final judgment.

  Footsteps approached, however, drawing my focus toward a figure approaching me. While something about him struck me as familiar, I could not remember the gray-haired man who paused in front of my cell, taking a moment to regard me with disgust. Searching my memories for him felt too tiresome and after spending the whole day in various stages of mourning, I could not lend him more than casual consideration. Whoever he was, he had flown to London from Seattle. That was all I knew for certain.

  “Mr. Dawes, you’ve been summoned,” he said, his lips pursing inside a sea of salt-and-pepper, the scowl he directed at me making the lines in his face more pronounced. Rather than lifting a set of keys, he presented his hand and as the lock to my cell clicked open, he pulled open the door. I grimaced when he reached for my shackles and as he pulled me to a stand, I could not help the gasp of pain which followed when the silver slid and touched my hand. He continued to coax me forward, seemingly unmoved.

  Once I had rotated my wrist, covering the exposed skin, I relaxed and allowed myself to be led. The silence which settled over us bore ominous overtones, unnerving me despite the acceptance of my fate. “And who might you be?” I asked.

  “Wallace Alexander. If the name sounds familiar to you, then good.”

  “Alexander.” I frowned. Taking a deep breath, I shut my eyes for a moment, becoming aware that mine would not be a swift demise. As I lifted my lids and paused with him at an enchanted door, I hazarded a glance at him. “I take it Malcolm and Kaylee are waiting somewhere.”

  “Oh, you’ll face them next.” He looked back at me, though just for a moment. As he breathed the words to a spell, he watched with satisfaction when they worked and this door clicked open as well. The shove he gave my back bore no kindness to it, adding a punctuation mark to the point. “I’m Monica’s uncle. We passed each other by a few times a decade ago, but I don’t think we ever spoke.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  “Isn’t it, though? Maybe I could’ve warned my sister better not to let her daughter get involved with you.”

  His words twisted an already-present knife, causing me to prefer the silence. The grip of his palm on my shoulder ensured I knew better than to try anything, if the stated antipathy had not been enough warning, and as I strode along with him toward our destination, I found something poetic about the moment. ‘I hope you find some comfort in this,’ I thought morbidly, not projecting my words into his mind for fear of the response. Instead, I continued until we passed through another door, entering a much larger area.

  It reminded me of the room in which I had received my first condemnation. Built like a college classroom, in a semi-circle which pointed everyone toward a raised platform in the front, its seating featured plush chairs with half of them occupied. My chains rattled, an echo that filled the room, as I strode into the center and inside a circle enchanted by runes. The whole experience had become laden with déjà vu, only now I had nothing left to fight for.

  As such, I only lifted my head once Wallace had left my side in part
to sate my curiosity. While I recognized Berwick, I did not know anyone else, save but for the two people who sat beside him, Malcolm Davies and Kaylee Alexander. Monica’s parents bore the weather of a decade, and while I knew she had spoken to her mother in the intervening years, I had never seen her to know how she looked now. Malcolm had hair almost as gray as Wallace. Kaylee bore extra lines, but looked as though she had dyed her hair. The darkness around her eyes read of more than age, however. They read of grief.

  I frowned, but forced myself to continue looking at them, wondering if they saw it, too. Not expecting mercy, but bearing the silent hope that they knew none of this had been easy for me. Malcolm appeared impassive, but Kaylee tilted her chin and became the first person who addressed me. “We seem to be in a similar position, don’t we, Peter?” she asked. “It makes me wonder about our decision to show you mercy all of those years ago.”

  “Prophetic, is it not?” I said. Quirking a small, bittersweet smile, I could not hold it for long and did not dare to. “Kaylee, I am so sorry.”

  “I’m not here to either condemn or forgive you. Neither Malcolm, nor me, trust ourselves enough to. We don’t know what happened to her, but whatever it was, it happened because of you. I hope you remember that as we continue.” She sat back in her seat. I could not tell if she held me with contempt or pity, but the cold demeanor she assumed suggested the former. “We have a list of charges to present you with. Do you want to guess at any of them?”

  “I know one of them concerns the unfortunate death of Brandon Gillies. I would also marvel if you had not included the murder of my wife.”

  “It’s funny to hear you consider one a murder and the other simply a death.”

  “Because I take full responsibility for the one. The other was spell work. Manipulation.” In the silence that followed, I glanced over each Council member seated before me, weighing them before continuing. “I can think of a hundred other things for you to charge me with, as though any of you has the creativity to condemn me worse right now than I might condemn myself. My wife was dying and I turned her vampire. I failed her as her maker and I had –” My voice broke, suffering the sudden rise of emotion swelling up within me. I blinked back tears and cleared my throat so I could continue speaking. “– I had to... put her down. Put her down like some rabid dog. You will never brand me deeper than I have already been branded. Any punishment from you would be a mercy in comparison.”