Rose threw back her head and laughed before jumping into my arms and devouring me with kisses. We stumbled to my bedroom and fell onto the bed while she popped the buttons from my shirt and raked her fangs across my bare chest. Enraptured though I was, the fatigue of the hour began to make its presence known. So I rolled on top of Rose and took the reins, exchanging her typically slow, deliberate pace for one of my own.
I was sound asleep by the time she left, comatose within mere minutes of achieving our satisfaction. The scorn of Sabrina awaited me when I woke, but at the moment, the wrath of any being seemed far-removed.
Or, so I thought.
***
I had been asleep for a while when the ancient premonition returned.
The first thing I became aware of was a flash of brilliant white light, throwing me into a sterile environment lacking even walls. The bright illumination surrounding me should have had me writhing and praying for death, but pain remained conspicuously absent even without my dark spectacles to protect me. At once the solution became transparent, something impossible and yet, the only explanation I could conjure.
I was dead. One of my enemies slipped in as I slept and plunged a blade through my chest. If I had gone on into the hereafter, however, I could not help but wonder if the paperwork had been misappropriated. The waiting room surrounding me could hardly be described as the portal to hell.
“Hello?” I said, turning around only to find the same endless room surrounding me on the other side. “Would anybody care to explain where I am and what the fuck I am doing here?”
“I remember him,” a voice said in response, one too familiar for me to ignore. My skin crawled as she continued speaking somewhere behind me. “But he wasn’t this ‘Flynn’ person back then. I believe his name was Peter.”
I sneered. “Miss Davies, it has been a while.” Turning to face Lydia, I scowled at her while her emerald eyes shined defiance back at me. This time, my former lover possessed no sword of which to speak and none of the past wounds I inflicted bleeding through the white dress she wore. She held herself with an air of authority; not a victim, but a force.
“Yes, it has been,” she said. “Four years, to be exact.”
“Indeed,” I said, “And I seem to recall telling you then that your Peter does not live here any longer. Now, have you come to bore me further, or do you have something relevant to say?”
Lydia held her gaze, even when mine turned sinister. “You looked for the necklace again.” Moving forward, she strolled as though having all the time in the world. “If Peter doesn’t live there anymore, then why did that dream haunt you?”
“So that was you? I should have known, with such a memory returning after so many years locked away.” Knitting my hands behind my back, I paced around her. “The adulterous wench returns. And she wishes me to recall such trivialities as a necklace. Why is this, Lydia?”
“Who says I was the one who gave you back that memory?”
“These things do not simply happen on their own.”
A smirk played across her lips. “Are you sure about that? Maybe that meddlesome mortal you think died five years ago is still alive in there somewhere. Have you ever stopped to think about that?”
“No, dearest, I have been too busy entertaining notions of what I might do with this pendant.” I stopped pacing and smiled, baring fangs at Lydia. “Perhaps I might drape it over the necks of the women I seduce right before I murder them. I could use it as a token to lure them to their deaths.”
My former lover laughed. “Surely you’re much better than that. Needing to dangle cheap jewelry in their faces to seduce them?”
I bristled. “Then what might be a fitting tribute?”
“Not feeling creative?” She raised an eyebrow, her gaze turning deliberate. “Why don’t you just wear it to spite me?”
“Wear your ‘cheap jewelry’, as you put it?” Seeing a dare issued before me, I could not back down from it. “Splendid. Perhaps I shall.”
“Wasn’t so hard was it?” Shaking her head, she folded her arms across her chest. A sigh escaped her lips. “Look at all of this swagger. I don’t buy the persona. It’s nothing but a facade.”
“I can show you what a facade looks like.” Walking closer to her, I raised a hand and touched her chin, pointing her neck toward me. Instead of plunging my fangs into her throat, though, I leaned close and whispered in her ear. “How about the facade of telling somebody that you love them and then whoring yourself like the slut you were? That you pretend not to be with your self-righteous bluster? How is that for a facade, Precious?”
“Why does Flynn care about that?”
“Oh, make no mistake about it, I do not give a shit about your mortal infidelity any longer,” I stepped back, pushing her head away. “I have no lack of lovers. I can pick and choose whom I please and have my way with all of them at once if I wish. I am merely exposing your hypocrisy.” Pausing, I waited for her gaze to return to mine. “Now, it is my turn for questions. Why have you visited me again?”
“Because I want to speak to Peter.”
“And what do you wish to say to him?”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “You’re holding back his gifts.”
I scoffed. “Gifts,” I said. “Here we go with this cloak and dagger bullshit everybody feeds me without anyone explaining what the devil they mean.”
“Kind of makes you think.” Lydia grinned. “Doesn’t it?”
The smug look on her face raised my ire at once. I sneered. “Fuck you, and fuck that name you keep evoking. Stuff these bloody gifts of yours; if you have answers for me, then I am all ears, but if not, then leave me alone and never come back.” My voice rose in volume as my irritation grew. “I am sick of being touted as some special creature without being let in on the riddle. The last thing I need is your voice in the chorus.”
My voice boomed throughout the room, a hush falling only as the echoes dissipated. Lydia held my gaze for a moment. We seemed fixed at an impasse until she said, “There are more things going on than you can begin to imagine. Things that have been in existence longer than there’s been a vampire named Flynn. All I can tell you is that the answers are coming.” Lydia frowned. “I only hope there’s enough of Peter left in there to hear them.”
I did not respond. Lydia turned to depart from my presence, but something caused her a moment’s hesitation. She looked back at me. “Just remember, not everything is what it seems to be. If Peter is still there, past the violence and death, he will understand this phrase. ‘The only thing worse than being blind is having sight, but no vision.’” Her eyes fell to the ground. “And I never stopped loving you. You’re the one who stopped loving me.”
Lydia consummated her departure as though carried off by the wind; there one moment and gone the next. I stood in the midst of the white room with nothing but another riddle until the light began to fade. My waking eyes opened to reveal my slumbering body had never left the bed.
The darkness of heavy shades was not enough to fully mask that it was daytime and my retinas were none too thrilled with this fact. The ache rose to a burn, so I covered my face and slid out of bed, carefully maneuvering around the memorized layout of my room and avoiding a collision with several pieces of furniture along the way. ‘Damn Rose,’ I thought to myself. ‘She left my sunglasses next to the door.’ I muttered obscenities until finding the table in the entryway, locating my spectacles entirely by touch.
A sigh of relief punctuated shoving the dark lenses over my eyes, but from there I was unable to settle into sleep again. So, I showered, dressed, and whittled away some time staring at Lydia’s necklace, wondering why I was entertaining her words as much as I found myself doing. Sight, but no vision. I remembered the quote as being one of her oft-recited proverbs, although I had no notion of why it was relevant to me. “Mortal nonsense,” I said aloud, wrapping the chain around my fingers and allowing the pendant to dangle toward the palm of my hand. “That is all this amounts to.” I
shook my head and thrust the offending piece of jewelry into my pants pocket, rising from my chair to find something else to occupy my mind. Ghosts from the beyond, whispering their idle threats and veiled insight, were the least of my concerns on the fifth anniversary of my death.
I had a coven mother to face when the sun set.
Chapter Twelve
Robin ingrained the rules of being an assassin in me far before I set out to kill my first target. I could recite the three credos in my sleep. ‘Be quick. Be accurate. Do not let one set of eyes spot you.’ I held them as dear as a religion and paid sacrifice at the altar of my god each time I drew a blade. As much as I enjoyed my position, though, and relished the sadism it ensconced me in, being a vampire hit man lent itself to a peculiar conundrum.
After my first target turned to ash, a disturbing notion shattered the high of the experience. And the more I considered it, the more it troubled me. Once my mission had been completed, I had no way of proving I was the one who sent the departed packing from this mortal coil. Vampires are oft to wanderlust and can meet their end in a variety of manners. I wished to make certain all knew exactly what happened.
Anthony, of Matthew’s coven, would be no different.
It seemed to take an eternity for the sun to set. I whittled away the hours by alternately reading and testing my newest sword, acquired after visiting a shop on the northern edge of Center City. A handsome piece of craftsmanship, the katana boasted of superior quality steel and a hilt styled with black and red adornments. I made certain to inform its maker of my approval before I left him bleeding out on the floor of his establishment.
The sword hung at my side when I left my room and strolled into the corridor, headed for my brother Robin’s private quarters. Not his original room either, it represented my brother’s strange behavior as of late. I could only guess what occupied his mind, but Robin often provided me an ear of counsel despite his frequent misgivings with my personal code of conduct.
I approached his door and listened for activity inside his room.
Silence greeted me. I rapped my knuckles on the sturdy piece of oak, but still no sign of life made its presence known. Sighing, I adjusted the black, leather gloves on my hands and pounded on his door much harder. This time, a groan drifted outward and inspired a grin to curl the corner of my mouth. “Rise and shine, brother,” I said. “Sunset waits for no vampire.”
“Flynn,” the groggy voice of Robin answered. “Please do not tell me you are waking me prior to sunset.”
“Sunset passed a half hour ago, Robin.” In a much lower tone of voice, I added, “Perhaps if you were not merely taking up space in this coven, you might be more aware of the time.”
I heard his feet hit the hardwood floor and pad closer until the door swung open. The coven’s second stared at me, disheveled and half-asleep. His shoulder-length hair fell alongside his face, not tied back as normal, and nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants kept Robin from standing bare before me. “What the devil brings you here so early?” he asked. “You’re lying about sunset. I just checked my watch and it has not been a half hour.”
My smirk grew more devilish. “A half hour, fifteen minutes, what does it matter? It is evening, brother, and once again you are wallowing in sloth.”
Robin opened his door wider to permit me passage through before shutting it and surrounding us with darkness. I raised my hand to remove my sunglasses, but no sooner did I touch the hard plastic than my brother switched on a lamp and thwarted my plans. “Just because I did not bound out of bed does not mean I am lazy,” he said, walking toward his closet, his voice still hoarse from sleep. “Not all the world rises two strokes past dusk.”
I followed. “They should. Night perishes too quickly for us immortals.”
“I hardly think that is the reason why you rose early tonight. I think it has more to do with what day it is.”
“What would that have to do with it?”
Robin scoffed. “Oh come now, Flynn, I know how the mistress likes to thank you for being her angel of death. The entire coven has their designated moment when she spreads her legs for them and birthdays are yours.”
“Well, somebody is in a mood.” I perked an eyebrow as Robin picked a shirt and pair of pants out of his closet. “Do you have need of getting laid, dear brother?”
“Are you offering?” Robin shot me a look of annoyance before sighing and bringing his clothing to his bathroom. I lost sight of him, but heard the change in his demeanor when he spoke again. “I am sorry, brother. Last night simply wasn’t a pleasant night for me.”
I walked toward a wall and leaned against it. “What happened?”
“Nothing worth discussing. Give me a moment to freshen up. I’ll be out as quickly as possible.”
“Very well.” No sooner did I respond than the bathroom door shut, severing our conversation. I sighed, glancing toward the heavy shades blocking his windows, already feeling the siren song of the night beckon me out for a kill. The blood thirst was not all that made its presence known in my consciousness, however. Embers of dread caught fire once more, playing an unfamiliar tune within my normally cool and focused demeanor.
I indulged in a deep, steadying breath just as the bathroom door opened. Robin strolled out, his hair tied back and a dress shirt and pants on his slender frame. Order reigned over his regal appearance. “So, brother,” he said, walking back into his closet. “What did you come to discuss?”
“I wished to ask you a question,” I said, drifting closer to my brother.
“A question.” The words were spoken not as an inquiry, but a statement. I watched Robin select a tie from his collection and slide it around his throat, not bothering to tie it before moving onward to fetch a pair of shoes and socks. I began to think him ignoring me until he added, “Well, Flynn, speak your question. I can hardly read your mind.”
“Very well, then.” I took one step back, allowing Robin to exit his closet. “I wished for you to do me a favor.”
“How did I know?” Robin huffed as he walked toward his sitting area. “I do not suppose this has anything to do with a black rose.”
My grin turned cunning, the killer responding to his calling card. “As a matter of fact, it does. I must report to Sabrina, but while I do, would you see to delivering a present?”
My brother sank into a chair, placing his shoes on the floor. “Do I have much of a choice when it comes to your little errands?” He sighed, and began slipping on his socks. “Where am I headed tonight, Flynn?”
“I do not suppose you will be strolling past Matthew’s coven anytime soon?”
“Why? Who is the dearly departed?”
“His little scavenger Anthony is no more.”
“Matthew will be thrilled about this.” Robin frowned, moving on to his shoes. “No, I do not merely stroll past his coven. I already have the death of one of his elders on my head for the last time I came close.”
“Yes, no doubt.” My eyes returned to Robin. “The mistress is still quite suspicious of why you were speaking with Demetrius in the first place.”
The words provoked an immediate reaction. A smile laden with bitterness touched the corners of his mouth, his eyes remaining set on the task at hand. “Yes, I imagine she is.” Robin finished lacing his shoes. When his gaze met mine again, I had to frown at the way he regarded me. “Well, I ceased trying to please the mistress a very long time ago. She can question me all she wants and find herself a new second if she so desires. I refuse to justify my actions to her.”
I continued watching the cavalcade of sentiments within Robin’s eyes until he looked away. Standing, he started to thread his tie, glancing at me again when he realized I was yet staring at him. The frown that surfaced struck me as peculiar. “Be careful, brother.”
I smirked despite myself. “When am I not?”
“Oh, you are plenty careful on the streets,” he said. “Just not where it matters the most.” Robin stood, plucking a suit jacket from an adjace
nt chair. He threaded his arms into each sleeve. “I see you have a new sword.”
He glanced at the katana by my side. I grinned. “Do you like it?”
“It suits you.” Robin adjusted his jacket and nodded. “You shall have to allow me a better look when time permits. In the meantime, I will leave your black rose on Matthew’s doorstep and you shall see to the mistress. You know it is best not to keep her waiting.”
“Yes, indeed.” My eyes rose toward the ceiling, as though I could see through and into Sabrina’s bedroom. Once again, my skin crawled before I shook off the premonition. I looked back down at Robin and nodded. “Join me for a hunt afterward? We can slay mortals and drink brandy like brothers.”
“I do not know.” For the first time that night, Robin smirked. “Every time we go out together, you wind up corrupting me.”
“I get you to remove that bloody stick up your ass, you mean.” I smiled in return and felt somewhat more at ease when my brother chuckled and walked ahead of me to his door. He opened it, but paused to look back at me, his hand still on the doorknob.
I perked an eyebrow at him. “What is it?” I asked.
Robin sighed and nodded. “I will look for you when my business is finished. To ‘remove the stick up my ass’ as you so eloquently put it.”
Laughing, I walked out to the corridor and strolled beside him when he shut the door. “Did you just swear, Robin?”
“No, I quoted you. There is a difference.” His grin resurfaced and remained a fixture until we reached the stairs and headed in opposite directions. I nodded at him when he said, “Until later, brother,” and watched him trudge down the first flight of stairs. Then, I turned toward the path to Sabrina’s door.
Swift footsteps carried me upward. As I reached the top of the stairs, I took notice of a familiar face departing from Sabrina’s room and suppressed a groan. Timothy adjusted his suit jacket, combing his fingers through his disheveled hair, and paused the moment our eyes met. Where the look on his face read of mirth, I fought to maintain the even expression on mine.
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