PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  My cohorts at the hospital regarded us with surprise, stopping to ask what had happened as they took stock of my bloody nose and the gash on Lydia’s neck. I heard a flurry of ‘Pete!’s and offered a quick explanation to one of the attending physicians. He asked if I felt comfortable stitching Lydia myself and I nodded in response while leading her to one of the open beds in the emergency room.

  Lydia appeared to relax as she studied the large group of people gathered around us. I puzzled over the tidal wave of relief that crested over her evident by the change in her demeanor but at least considered it a good thing she felt at ease there. She settled on the empty bed and I excused myself to wash up and clean my bloody nose. By the time I returned, she was able to smile brightly at me, ignoring the heavy-set nurse assessing her to watch me study a tray of equipment prepared for me.

  Lydia was the first to speak while I slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. “So, do you always take women to the emergency room on the first date?” she asked.

  The nurse, my old friend Chloe, raised an eyebrow while turning to depart. I thanked her quickly for her assistance, ignoring the knowing grin she shot my way before redirecting my attention to Lydia. “No,” I said with a chuckle. I picked up a swab of rubbing alcohol and began cleaning Lydia’s wound. “If I’d have known I was going to be on a date, I would’ve made dinner reservations instead.”

  Lydia winced a little while I worked, and then jumped slightly at the prick of the needle when I began sewing her wound closed. Still, a smile surfaced through the pain. “Dinner reservations? That sounds a lot better than a night at the hospital.”

  I could not help but to glance into her eyes once more before redirecting my attention to the task at hand. “Oh yes, with candles and everything. Might even include some flowers. Much better than a night at the hospital.”

  “Ah.” She chuckled. “Somebody’s a romantic.”

  I shrugged. “I just know how to treat a lady.” My eyes were drawn to hers again, so I winked. “You look like the kind of girl who likes being doted on.”

  A contagious grin broke out on her face and I found myself mirroring it. As tempted as I was to continue gazing at her in such a manner, I forced myself to finish attending to her cut and drifted back into small talk until I secured the final stitch into place. Lydia offered the occasional response, but made it apparent her mind was occupied by more than our idle banter. I felt the weight of her stare on more than one occasion, though I did not mind the attention.

  I removed my surgical gloves after securing a bandage over the freshly patched wound. “You’re all fixed now,” I said, placing the gloves down on the tray. As we regarded each other, I found myself wishing it not to be over. I hesitated, considering how I could draw the moment out; how I could savor it before Lydia walked out of my life. A nervous fidget infected me as I struggled to remember if I had forgotten to do anything. “Um, you’ll have to change the bandage at home. And come back in to have those stitches removed in a couple of weeks.”

  “Will you be here?” Her eyes remained fixed on me, her body still. I could only interpret her actions to mean she did not wish to leave, either.

  I nodded. “Absolutely. There aren’t many other places I go.”

  She smiled. “I’ll ask for you, then.”

  “Sounds like a second date.”

  Lydia chuckled and I smirked, but the exchange only served to make me melancholy. It still felt as though we were delaying the inevitable, so I turned away while saying, “I’ll have one of the nurses ready your paperwork so you can be discharged and”

  She cut me off by reaching for my hand, directing my attention back to her. I felt her fingers graze over mine and my heart leaped at the contact. “Peter,” she said, her touch lingering, “You know what would make me happy?”

  Her soft words and coy smile forced my words to descend to a whisper. “What would make you happy, Lydia?”

  Lydia’s grin turned all the more bashful. “Going out on that date with you. The one with dinner reservations, not the other one.”

  I laughed. She chuckled as well, before opting for a more concrete answer. “You make it sound pretty inviting.”

  “Then we’ll have to make that the second date instead.” I am not certain if my smile or eyes betrayed me, except to know the spark of desire the simple contact of her hand inspired blossomed into full-blown infatuation at the thought of our time together continuing. I had linked fingers with her without realizing it. “So, when are you available?”

  Our conversation focused on schedules until we decided on a suitable time and day. It was a peculiar way to meet a woman, to have her crash into my life and invite herself to stay, but it epitomized Lydia. Nothing about her was subtle or ordinary. Riddles dotted her life, as did private treasures and personal pains she did not share with anyone else. Her eyes never failed to hold me in an aura of wonder, but her lips issued enigmas she would only allude toward before backtracking when it was apparent I did not comprehend what she was saying. Of the many stories I could regale involving Lydia and I, one weighed heavily in my thoughts as my struggles with Sabrina became more pointed.

  It was the first evening Lydia and I shared ourselves with one another, bare skin touching bare skin as we laughed and rolled under my sheets. I could still see her face as she reached a climax and smell her scent as I buried my nose in the crook of her shoulder, just below the healing cut inflicted on her neck. Her hands held onto my back tightly and a breathy moan punctuated the crescendo of our coupling, our bodies still joined and the euphoria of afterglow taking hold. I kissed her skin and waited several lingering moments before parting from her. She rolled to face me when I settled on my side beside her.

  I remember her looking at me in ‘that way’ again when our eyes met. While the evidence of our intimate union infected the way it surfaced that time, I could not deny its presence. She beheld me as though gazing at something more than her new lover. I kept silent and studied her in return, until she rolled on top of me and playfully bit my lip.

  Chuckling, I nipped at the air above me, which made her laugh. My grin broadened, but as Lydia continued regarding me, her smile faded and her gaze turned inquisitive. I furrowed my brow at her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, reaching up to brush some of her hair away from her face.

  “Do you believe in fate?” she asked, her eyes not leaving mine.

  I blinked. “I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of things called fate that were nothing more than nice coincidences. Not a lot of things that defy explanation, though.” My smile turned playful. “Except for you.”

  Lydia giggled and leaned in to kiss me once more. When she pulled away, I shrugged. “I’m really not sure what I believe in,” I said. “I don’t give fate a lot of thought.”

  “I think we definitely cause our own fate sometimes.” Lydia looked away, her fingers brushing through my hair in idle strokes. “It’s the things that can’t be explained I’m talking about.” Her eyes met mine again. “Sometimes you stumble across something and you know you weren’t supposed to find it. But it found you anyway.”

  I smiled. “Like somebody who makes you laugh? Whose eyes could break the deepest spell?”

  Her smile sobered, but remained present nonetheless. “There are very deep spells in this world, Peter. Are you sure mine can do that?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “Then remember my eyes for me.” She laid her head down on my chest and sighed as though releasing a heavy burden. “Because I’m afraid there’s a lot of darkness waiting for you. You have rare gifts and the power-hungry will always seek to take advantage of people like you because of it.”

  Her words were a riddle and while I took them as a metaphor at the time, it did not occur to me to heed the larger warning that had been issued. It would not be the last time she would caution me against danger, but the skeptic within always thought her fears irrational. They were the things a lover speaks to the one they hold most dear and I offered them an obli
gatory smile without taking them to heart.

  A lot of darkness waiting for me, she said as she lay in my arms.

  She must have been talking about Flynn.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It would be quite rational to assume a lot of remorseful brooding followed my evening with Monica. Indeed, if one were so inclined, they could believe I spent the subsequent nights wringing my hands, wondering what to do with myself now that these mortal gifts had been brought to the surface. Such a notion, while noble, is incredibly fool-hearty because nothing could be further from the truth.

  When water trickles from its source, it takes the path of least resistance. Likewise, when faced with a decision that calls for defying one’s nature, the easier road always serves to be the most appealing one. So, I spent an evening licking my wounds, recovering from my brush with the unexpected. Then, I ventured back into the night to subjugate it.

  Certainly, their voices rang inside my mind as I dispatched of body after body, and before too long I could summon their thoughts simply by touching them. After a while, I found ways to use this information for my gain. I looked them in the eyes and evaluated who they were, what they wanted and how best to lure them into my clutches. It made me that much more dangerous of a killer; a master manipulator. They tasted that much sweeter, were that much more satisfying to toy around with, and I became drunk on more than blood. Power wrapped its coils around my psyche. None of the miserable lot had the foggiest idea a vampire-seer had duped them until it was too late.

  This deception would have been more enjoyable an experience if not for the return of my self-appointed conscience. Monica had the bad habit of surfacing in my life at the most inopportune moments. “Flynny,” she said once, using that bastardization of my name I was growing to despise, “You mean to tell me you’ve learned how to derive some sort of sick pleasure out of knowing these people before you kill them?” She shook her head at me and sighed. “That’s incredibly fucked up.”

  On this night in particular, I found myself standing in a back alley, laughing with arms extended and teeth bared. January had dissolved into late February and while the chill of the air had not dissipated, it seemed the wind that blew past me became all the more frigid with my words. “Incredibly fucked up does not begin to scratch the surface, Precious,” I said. I grinned like a devil as Monica folded her arms across her chest, hugging a warm coat against her slender frame. “I can name them all to you. I can tell you where they lived, what their last thoughts were . . . ” I swaggered close to Monica and bent at the waist, my face mere inches from hers. “Shall I begin with the girl I just murdered? Or would you prefer to hear about the couple I toyed with the night before last?”

  Monica regarded me, trying her best to appear unfazed. “What are you trying to prove to me? That you’re a sadistic badboy vamp? The act is charming, Flynn, but you’re the one in denial.”

  I laughed and pressed one finger into her chest. “No, Pet. You are the one in denial if you still see me as anything but what I am.”

  “Running scared? Killing as many people as you can to silence your humanity? Do you think if you murder the rest of the world, you’ll shut up Peter indefinitely?”

  “No,” I said, standing straight and allowing a brutal sneer to envelop my countenance. “It is much simpler than that. I am going to kill them one precious soul at a time and watch you suffer as I conquer the world with the toy you gave a vampire.”

  Monica studied me without speaking, locking us inside a stalemate. She held her expression steady while my declaration hung in the air. After what seemed like interminable minutes, she walked over to a stack of boxes poised next to an adjacent building and hopped to a seated position on top. “Then why haven’t you told Sabrina about it yet?”

  Her words whisked the smirk from my face. “How did you know that?”

  Her grin turned mocking again. “Oh, I can read it loud and clear. I know what would have happened by now had you. In fact, I’ll blow you one better. You haven’t asked her anything yet. Not even why you were turned.”

  “Bah.” I looked away. “What use is that information? Regardless of her reasons, she granted me the dark gift and I have worn it as though it was my natural skin. If anything . . . ” My gaze returned to Monica. “I thank her for allowing me these pleasures.”

  “Now, I thought Flynn wasn’t ‘one to be trifled with’ as you put it. That is what you told me, right?” Monica jumped down from her perch and walked closer to me. “It doesn’t make you the tiniest bit annoyed that someone had the audacity to walk all over your free will?”

  “I asked to be made immortal.”

  “That’s what she wants you to believe.”

  “I do not give a fuck. So long as I am the one with the power, I shall take my lot and use it how I deem fit.”

  Monica smirked. “Not the least bit curious why she wanted Lydia dead? Just so long as you’re the one with the power?”

  Her question stunned me into silence. She nodded when I failed to respond. “You think this is all about you becoming a spoiled, licentious predator, but it’s about a hell of a lot more than that,” Monica said, pacing around me with her hands knitted together behind her back. I knew she was not referring to Sabrina when she added, “She saw it, didn’t she, Flynn? What was it she said?”

  “Darkness,” I said. Lydia’s words reluctantly drifted past my lips and inspired fresh echoes in my mind as some distant chorus grew in volume. “She warned me about the darkness. About those who would take advantage of my gifts.”

  “She warned you for a reason, and not because she’s a good guesser.”

  My head turned, eyes studying Monica as I furrowed my brow. “Lydia was one of your kind?”

  Monica smiled. “Remember, Flynn, there are more sides to this equation than you realize. You need to consider the possibilities. Was it truly Peter who killed Lydia or were you the assassin then as well? You haven’t confronted Sabrina about it. You haven’t told her about your abilities. You’re not running to her to conquer the world, as you put it. Why is that?”

  My eyes shot away from her, in an effort to conceal my one weakness. It was difficult for me to deny any misgivings, because while my lust for blood had been unaffected, my desire for Sabrina dwindled into nonexistence. Sabrina used to be able to snap her fingers and have me running to perform whatever duty she had planned for me that night. I would have traversed the seven continents to please my mistress and yet, whenever I found myself in her proximity in recent days, my thoughts were not steady, my reflexes not as sharp. For being such a murderous bastard, I could see a far more profound evil lying inside Sabrina, a predilection toward atrocities that eclipsed my own. The sight unnerved me beyond measure.

  It should not have bothered me, but it did. I should have been savoring the thought of plotting the demise of her enemies, yet I knew what the end to such a thing would be. She would assign me a permanent place of worship, feared by all as a ruthless dictator second only to her as my queen. The neophyte would become a lord and master whose iron fist would capture coven after coven and claim them all for the woman who created him. I would assure nobody ever dared overthrow us. Yes, the thought should have been consuming me to the point of madness. But here I stood, playing parlor games with my gifts instead of surrendering myself to every vile thought I could conjure inside my twisted mind.

  I spoke after a period of silence. “Why do you unnerve me, witch?”

  Monica regarded me with sympathetic eyes. “I unnerve you, Flynn?” She grinned. “Maybe this is a sign your humanity isn’t as dead as you think it is, if there’s an evil you still fear. Why do you fear it?”

  The words I spoke drifted from some corner in the back of my mind. “The consequences of Sabrina having such power would be grave.” A frown enveloped my countenance. My gaze shifted to the ground. “Depart from my presence,” I whispered. “I grow weary of your company.”

  Turning as though to leave, I realized Monica had not moved a
n inch. I glanced back her way again and found her eyeing me in an intent manner, with a heavy gaze that was refusing to waver. “Is this how it goes with you?” she asked. “Your worldview begins to unravel and you decide you can’t take it anymore when it starts hitting too close to home?”

  I scowled. “If you wish to be my helper, then do me the courtesy of leaving. I shall solve these riddles on my own.”

  A flash of rage surfaced on her face, but her expression quickly evened. She nodded solemnly at me. “As you wish.” I watched her walk away, my eyes set upon her fading figure as my thoughts strayed back toward Lydia. Had she truly been a witch? Granted, I knew of her interest in the occult and supernatural, but never before had I thought there might have been anything behind it. As Monica turned down an adjoining road, I focused on her, attempting to employ my new-found talents to read the sorceress the same way I read the mortals I slaughtered. The moment I tried, though, I encountered a form of resistance, something my current level of experience could not bypass. Monica disappeared, leaving me with more questions than I had answers.

  My hand drifted upward subconsciously, and my fingers reached underneath my shirt for the necklace, which I kept secured around my throat. As I pulled it out, I felt energy buzzing from the pendant, something I had been daft to before. “Damn you, Lydia,” I said. “Damn your ghost and your infidelity. Why do you continue to trouble me?” My eyes lifted toward the heavens, dark without even a hint of stars overhead. Sighing, I tucked the pendant back into its hiding place.

  The entire episode angered me. I had started to derive some pleasure from my curse and now Monica had ripped it away. Disgusted with myself, with Monica, and with the entirety of the universe, I started back for the coven house. My gait betrayed my tumultuous, doubting thoughts, and I garnered more than a few stares from the sentries at the front doors as well as the brethren I passed on my way to the stairs. Placing a hand on the banister as I began my ascent, I winced when I heard a pair of feet rushing to catch up with me and a familiar voice calling my name.