PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Frozen in position for several interminable seconds, it took what seemed like an eon before I worked up the nerve to open my eyes again. As I did, though, I discovered no crowd gathered to witness my mishap. Only a tall vampire with all the grace of an elephant, standing straight and dusting off his coat. “Losing your fucking edge, Flynn,” I said, but any further words were cut off by the sound of shoes scuffing on the pavement. Immediately, my attention shifted back to the sidewalk leading up to the house.

  I looked up in time to see her approach.

  A cautious stroll punctuated the steps of a short, emaciated girl who appeared no older than her early twenties. Her hair just as Sabrina described it, its long, brown locks flowed down her back and a distinct patch of blonde framed one side of her face. She wore a tight, black shirt with a long, matching skirt, and the crimson-colored scarf tied around her neck concealed any patch of skin that might have otherwise been uncovered. I regarded the black gloves on her hands and studied her figure, deciding that if not for how thin she was, she might have almost been attractive. As it was, she was barely fit to be an appetizer.

  She paused on the sidewalk directly across the street to turn her head and look around, prompting my hand to fall to the hilt of my sword in reflexive anticipation. Her eyes failed to settle on my hiding place, however, and passed over the quiet street without hesitation until she faced away from me, regarding her front door. I slithered into the shadows of the porch’s open doorway while she ascended the stairs to her stoop.

  Her heartbeat thudded in her chest. I listened to its cadence while she produced a set of keys from her purse, becoming entranced by its siren song. My fangs emerged before I could stop them, thoughts of making a snack out of the girl polluting my thoughts with temptation. A little something to get me by, until I could return home and hunt with Robin.

  I shook my head, not certain from where such a notion came. ‘No, no,’ I admonished myself, ‘One strike, one kill . . . like the samurai of old. Now is not the time to lose sight of my sacred credos.’

  She slid her key into the lock.

  I drew my sword, taking the hilt in both hands while she twisted her wrist. The lock clicked. Readying my weapon, closing in on her brought with it a gust of breeze carrying her scent in my direction. Her sweetness wrapped itself around me; thoughts of my teeth puncturing her skin infected me with such a dire need that the compulsion to feed became a pounding ache. She removed her key and I lunged for her, thrusting my blade forward. Only, rather than impaling her, I pinned her to the door by the fabric of her scarf.

  The mousy girl yelped. Leaning close to her, I cupped her mouth with my hand, hissing in her ear through protruded teeth desperate to claim purchase on her neck. “Hello, little woman,” I whispered, drawing another deep breath inward, the intoxicating aroma of my new-found prey sending bolts of temptation rocketing through my senses. “Has nobody ever told you to watch out for strangers?”

  I ripped my sword out of the door, taking hold of the girl by her shoulder and throwing her around to face me. Her eyes widened with surprise. I made certain she took a lingering look at the teeth that would soon be the instruments of her demise. Her pulse quickened in response. “Afraid, Precious? Just the way I like it.” I raised my sword to eye level for her, showing her the razor edge. “Come now, Pet. Scream for me.”

  With one quick swipe, I cut her scarf from her neck. As it descended to the ground, I focused on the gash that had been inflicted, watching the decadent sight of blood rising to the surface. Her screams became a sweet symphony to my ears while I closed in on her neck, eyes shutting and aware of nothing more than her blood and terror. She flinched when my teeth touched her skin. As they did, though, she committed one last act of defiance and smacked the side of my face.

  The impact sent my glasses flying. I heard them hit the ground. Opening my eyes on reflex, I subjected myself to maddening, acute pain in the process, and yelled as the familiar burning radiated from my retinas. “Fucking hell!” I said, dropping my sword and covering my face.

  My target wriggled free for a moment, but I grabbed hold of her and slammed her back against her door. My eyes had been open just long enough for her to regard their crystal blue color, but shut before I could fully register the smug grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. My fangs plunged into her neck and warm blood spilled down my throat. I groaned in response, drinking deep until a disquieting sensation enveloped my entire body with sharp pinpricks of heat.

  I ripped away from her, stumbling backward.

  My eyes opened. Searing pain conspired with a sudden wave of dizziness and my vision became distorted. Before I could compensate, I tripped and spilled onto the porch, brought hard onto my knees and moaning as I was forced to catch myself with my hands lest I collapse fully. Her blood trickled down the sides of my mouth, burning my skin while my throat screamed enough agony at me to rival my visual handicap. Through the haze, I watched the figure of my target stroll closer, crouching to pick up her scarf and press it against the wound on her neck. Her voice possessed a strange dissonance to it when she spoke.

  “Hello, Peter,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a while now. Didn’t think this was how we’d finally say howdy, but hey, I’ll take it.”

  I blinked, mouth and throat attempting to issue a response. Whatever her blood had done to me, it rendered me incapable of speech, bringing with it a creeping blackness that threatened to overtake me. Finding myself unable to fight against it, I slumped onto the ground, supine and at her mercy.

  My last memory was of her crouching next me, touching my forehead.

  ***

  “Good thing you didn’t drink any more than that, Peter. It might’ve killed you.”

  The voice startled me into consciousness in a manner much like being thrown into a pool full of ice water. I found myself on my back, lying on a bed, with a slight tinge of pain radiating in my eyes from the glow of candles in the room. It provided sufficient illumination to cast shadows on the wall, yet shrouded enough in darkness for me to realize my vampire sight was not adjusting to my environment. I raised my hand to rub them, but jumped, startled when something caught my wrist and yanked my arm back down.

  I tugged at the restraint. Hearing a rattle, I turned my head to look at it and groaned when I caught sight of a shackle wrapped around the sleeve of my shirt. I rolled my head to the other side to confirm its mate and moved my legs to discover that my ankles were likewise bound. “You best release me, little girl,” I said as the hazy memory of crumpling before the sorceress came to mind. I kicked at the shackles on my feet. “Unless you wish to see a very pissed off vampire when I get ”

  My words were cut off as metal shifted up my ankle, touching the skin of my leg past my sock. Rather than exhibiting the chill of steel, it burned, searing my flesh and provoking another holler of offense past my lips. Two hands slid the restraint back down again, away from skin. I paused for a moment to blink past the sudden onslaught, and then growled. My fangs descended. “What the bloody hell was ”

  “Peter ”

  “Shut up.”

  A pause. “I beg your ”

  “Leave that name where you found it, bitch! Peter does not live here any longer!”

  At first, silence punctuated my words, but then, the witch began to laugh. I sneered at the mocking tone, not something I was used to hearing. Looking to my left, I saw her standing beside the bed, dressed just as I remembered. A swatch of gauze covered the area where I had bitten her. I would have hardly guessed her injured, however, judging from the unwavering confidence in her stare. “Oh come on, Flynn,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “What do you think you’re going to be able to do to me from there? Bite me again?”

  I scowled and tugged at my restraints again. “We shall find out soon enough.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. Unless you want a repeat performance of what just happened to your leg?” She started pacing away from me. “The shackles are made fro
m silver. It burns when it comes in contact with your skin, oh high and mighty vampire. I was merciful and at least made sure I wrapped ‘em around your clothing, but if you keep wriggling like that, it’s not going to matter. Kind of makes getting free a lost cause.”

  I growled. “The pain would last just for a minute before I tore free and ripped out a piece of your throat.”

  “Doubtful you would tear free. For what, though? To be in the same position you were outside? Which, by the way . . . thank you for making all that racket.” She turned to face me again, smiling in a smug manner. “It gave me enough time to cast a protection spell.”

  “Stupid mortal nonsense,” I spat. “Silver. Protection spells.”

  “Oh, I promise you there’s nothing stupid about it. You’re staying right there until I say so.” My unlikely nemesis strode back to the bed. The mattress dipped with her weight. I lifted my head to regard her as her eyes searched mine. “Mommy vampire didn’t tell her special boy much about me did she? I bet she’s short on information a lot these days.”

  Hissing, I snapped at her, fangs exposed. She did not budge, except to lift her hand and narrow her eyes at me. I furrowed my brow at the glint that surfaced in her gaze, but had precious little time to do anything else. An invisible force threw me back against the bed, rendering me incapable of budging an inch.

  My eyes had closed briefly with the impact, but I opened them again to find myself staring at the ceiling. The shadow of my captor crept against the plaster, the play of the candlelight making her loom more imposing than she truly was. She chuckled. “You think you know it all, Mr. Bad Ass Assassin, but you’ve only been a vampire for what? Five years now? That’s not enough time for you to have any clue what you’re talking about.”

  I sneered. “And I suppose you are the scholar, Miss . . . ”

  “Miss nothing. C’mon, Flynny, we’re buddies now. Call me Monica.”

  “I shall remember that for your funeral.”

  Monica laughed. “This is hilarious. You hate losing control of the situation, don’t you? Ironic how often you let Sabrina take it away from you.”

  The mere mention of Sabrina’s name sent my mind spiraling. Visions of my mistress perched upon my lap, speaking her final instructions to me, spun me around, reminding me I had a mission to accomplish. I moaned, scolding myself for screwing up and rendering myself at the mercy of my target. Slipping, yes. Perhaps Timothy was right. I was slip

  Monica snapped her fingers.

  I opened my eyes without knowing I had closed them. Something ripped the thought of Sabrina from my mind as though eradicating it by force. Monica spoke once more, her voice subdued this time. “Damn, Peter,” she said. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”

  Blinking, I attempted to lift my head and discovered myself able to do so again. I looked to my right, seeing Monica standing there, hands on her hips and a look of grim concern on her face. I frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked as our gaze converged. The way her eyes traced over me left me feeling as though a colony of ants were crawling around inside my brain. I shut my eyes to stop her. “Damn it, I asked you a question.”

  “I didn’t recognize you at first,” she said, her voice distant. “When you attacked me, I mean. I’ve seen pictures of you, but they were from before you were turned. You have no idea just how dark you look now. And your mind . . . ” Monica issued one sharp, incredulous laugh. “My God, your mind is more screwed up than you can begin to imagine.”

  I opened my eyes again, brow knitted at the mortal sorceress. Monica’s eyes regarded me in a normal manner once more. “You’re a unique fellow,” she said, “And yet, you don’t know the half of it. Do you, Flynn?”

  We stared at each other, until my lips twisted and a chuckle escaped from my mouth. The noise invoked a stream of laughter and within seconds, I sounded like a madman being driven over the edge. Monica blinked at me, her facial expression falling as I continued to chortle like a raging lunatic. “Oh, this is precious,” I said. “We have reached the part where you talk about the gift, right? Oh, here comes the grand reckoning. The Fates help me; I am at the mercy of a witch.”

  Monica raised an eyebrow at me. “I’d think by now you’d be begging for the answers.”

  “Fuck your answers!” I said, snapping at her without warning. My mirth dissipated at once, given over to blind rage. “And fuck your psychological trash speak your damn incantations and hoaxes. Hear me now, little bitch, I do not know what you expected to find, but all you have before you is death. If you knew with what you were trifling, you would be pleading for your life.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I could stake you right now if I wanted to.”

  “So, why do you hold back?”

  “I don’t know, Flynny. I kind of like you.” She sat beside me on the bed again, closer to my chest. “I’d only heard about this vampire egotistical bullshit before. Now, I get a front row seat to it.” Monica winked. “Besides, if I stake you, I’ll have to get your ashes out of my sheets and I hate laundry.”

  “Then humor me with your ‘answers’ or let me go.” I glared. “Either way, I wish to know why you are holding me captive if not to kill me. I am hungry and grow weary of your presence.”

  “Yeah, the last snack didn’t agree with you, huh?” Monica adjusted her black gloves and cracked her knuckles. The action struck me as odd; I watched her do it with a feeling of dread beginning to surface in the pit of my stomach. She smiled in response. “Beware of sirens, Flynn. I’ve been attacked more times than these pretty mortal women you seduce and I know how to arm myself.”

  Monica shifted closer to me. “You see, I am the scholar here,” she said, “And you’ve been trapped in the dark for five years, convinced you’re nothing more than this sadistic prick you troll around town being. You have your walls up to everybody but Sabrina and she only fuels it, while holding back who you really are. This is where I come in.”

  I perked an eyebrow at her when her grin broadened. “We could make a good team, Flynn,” she said. “But first, we need to teach you how to see.”

  Lydia’s words suddenly echoed in my thoughts sight, but no vision. A queer notion originating some place outside me, it hinted at finally being able to discern that which I remained blind toward. Monica nodded as though able to read my mind and placed a hand on my forehead. “Do you want to know why Sabrina never tells you what this special sight is? It’s because she wants to make sure you’re completely wrapped around her finger before your abilities surface.”

  “Abilities?” I asked the question on impulse, captivated despite myself. Part of me still wanted to bleed the mortal woman dry, but another part studied her, listening to what she had to say.

  Monica nodded. “Quite frankly, I don’t think she even knows what it’s going to look like when you get them. The important thing to remember is you were chosen for a reason. There’s a game of chess being played out around you and you’re the piece everybody’s after. It has nothing to do with this egotistical demeanor you’ve created. That’s all Sabrina’s doing. She made you love to be a killer.” She positioned both hands on either side of my head. Dread escalated by leaps and bounds when I caught sight of the look in her eyes. “We’re going to teach you how to do it right.”

  A flash of light threw my head back, the colony of ants evolving into a swarm of bees within the confines of my subconscious. I cried out on impulse as the witch’s hands pressed harder against my skull and the sensation of synapses being redirected files being reorganized forced me into submission. The demon within me bucked and screamed. I settled, helpless, against the bed, until an inexplicable calm lured me toward slumber. Resistance, by then, was more than futile.

  Monica lifted her hands. The sound of her cracking her knuckles once more became the final sound my ears took in, along with the distant resonance of the words she spoke. “Rest for a bit, Flynn. You’re going to need it. Life as you know it has just gotten fli
pped upside down.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sound of knocking ripped me from my dreams.

  I shot to a seated position, surprised to find myself back in my room, surrounded by the pitch black of night. Blinking several times, I raised my hand to rub my eyes and began the standard survey of questions one indulges when disoriented. Was it still the same night? Some night afterward? How long had I been asleep?

  The person on the other side of the door was not about to afford me the time to sort myself out, however. Another knock, this one more persistent, caused me to flinch. “Flynn!” the muffled voice of Robin yelled. “Brother, have you yet returned or are you still missing? Please answer. I would swear on my life I heard your door close no more than a few minutes ago.”

  “Yes . . . ” The word came out sounding groggy and uncertain. I cleared my throat. “Yes, yes, I am here. Wait a moment, Robin.” Running a hand through my hair, I smoothed back my disheveled locks and indulged in a deep, steadying breath. Flashes of my final moments of consciousness before slipping into sleep ran through my mind Monica touching my head, the sensation of everything being reorganized within my brain. I blinked again and studied my hands, starting the self-examination there.

  There was no evidence of the silver shackles on my wrists and my vision had not changed in the slightest. I still wore the same clothing, and did not feel different than I had before departing from the coven. The same attitude infected my thoughts and the same perspective lay behind my eyes. “Perhaps it was a dream,” I said, both disbelieving the notion and desperate to take hold of it. Lowering my hand onto the bed, however, I touched something that shattered my theory in a heartbeat.

  My katana. It laid beside me, placed atop my wool coat. Draped over the sword was Monica’s red scarf. The sudden sight of both caused me to jump and reach beneath my shirt. The necklace yet dangled from my neck. I furrowed my brow. “Have I been screwed with by a sorceress?”