“Monica . . . ” I sighed. “I cannot sense this purpose toward which you allude. From where I am sitting, there is merely madness. I see only what I have become and the things I have done.”
“There’s a lot more on the line now. Especially after what happened tonight.” Monica returned to her chair and placed her hands on its back. “You might be the only hope we have left. The local council’s been crippled for years. They haven’t had a replacement elder since the one you killed, and they lost . . . ” She pointed at me. “One of the most powerful seers to walk the planet. Not to mention a very talented sorceress. Sabrina has been nothing but a growing threat and more than once, they’ve discussed having another seer brought in to kill you.”
I blinked. “They have?”
“Oh yes. They’ve wanted your whole coven blown into next Thursday, but I stopped them.” Her eyes met mine in a deliberate manner. I felt them dig deep into the innermost parts of my psyche as though driving a message home. “I staked a claim on you, Peter. Because what Lydia said about you was true. I waited for a sign and when you made your first move, I jumped in with both feet, because I believe Peter Dawes was meant for bigger things than to be some she-vamp’s bitch.” She paused to grin. “And, tonight, you finally proved me right.”
Nodding, I allowed my eyes to fall to the ground, knitting my hands together on my lap. “I have been what I am for so long, I am uncertain how much of what I did was Peter and how much was Flynn. There is a distinct part of me which looks back on the past five years with utter revulsion, and another part which savors every moment of it.”
“So we’re going to have to reprogram you. You’re still a vampire. Nothing’s gonna change that. But if we can use your vampire abilities to our advantage, we could make you one hell of a force to be reckoned with.” She waited for my gaze to return to hers and offered a soft, reassuring smile. “You have the hard part behind you already. You’ve faced death, you know violence, and while it’s made you jaded, you can still work that to your favor. What we’re doing now is teaching the killer how to tap into his humanity. Because in the humanity lies the seer.”
We stared at one another until one of her thoughts drifted into my mind as though on a wisp of wind. “First, we make it through the next day,” I whispered. “And the next day after that, until we piece this splintered being back together.”
“I hope I exonerated Peter enough in your eyes to make that possible.”
“Either make it possible or baffle me further, I do not know.” I sighed and allowed my gaze to become distant. “The demon has been injured, but he yet lives. I sense him in there.”
“And he might never die entirely. It might be something we have to deal with for a long time, but I think you can do it. It’s just going to sting like a bitch at first.”
My eyes focused on her again. “Please be mindful of your protection until we know if he can be beaten back. Do not be so open with me again past this evening.”
“I won’t. At least for now.” Monica nodded in the direction of the hallway. “I have a room for you. Typical room, but with a sturdy door and a few hexes placed on it.”
“Hexes?” I perked an eyebrow.
She chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not completely stupid. Once you enter the room, I have to invite you into the rest of the house for you to get out. It’s just so that you don’t snap and kill me in my sleep or that you don’t roam the house in a bloodlust-fueled tirade.” Monica smirked. “I’m sure you’ve thought this stuff was only folklore, but you’ll discover there’s more to magic than the myths.”
I rose to my feet and nodded. “Well, then I suppose you should lock me up for now. I doubt I shall sleep all that much, but I am mentally exhausted and need to think matters through.”
“Okay.” She stood and walked ahead of me, taking the lead as I followed her to the end of a short hallway. Pointing to the room, she grinned. Monica waited for me to enter before snapping her fingers twice. “There you go. You’ll be secure in there. I have books and candles in case you want to read, but all your weapons’ll be kept out here so you don’t do anything to yourself.” She paused, and then added. “Or me.”
“Very well.” I gazed at her across an expanse, which constituted only a few feet, but might as well have been miles. She looked back at me, offering a solemn grin before shutting the door and locking me inside. I surveyed the four walls of my new classroom, regarding the bed and heavily shaded windows. The faintest embers of moonlight were filtering through, causing me to wince slightly. Once I ensured the shades were firmly in place, I sat down and sighed, knowing this first day would probably be the hardest I would weather from this point forward.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was the first thing I became aware of when I opened my eyes. Hunger; pure, insatiable thirst demanding to be requited.
I shut my eyes and indulged in a few steadying breaths, exhaling each in a slow manner as I began to realize the scope of my newest foe. I had waged war against the nightmares that marked my attempt at rest, and stolen precious moments of sleep when exhaustion finally overwhelmed me. Now, however, the night was upon me, and sunset left me wrestling my nocturnal appetites.
“Fuck,” I whispered, burying my head into a pillow. Reducing my blood intake would take time, and I expected it to result in some form of withdrawal. Knowing this, though, did not stop my head from swimming and my fangs from descending, drumming the cadence of palpable desire. Yes, it was time to feed; time to seek nourishment and savor the pleasure of a proper hunt after only nipping at scraps the night before.
Of course, Monica standing outside my door was not helping.
“Monica, you would do well to depart from my presence.” I attempted to steady myself. For as much of a physical battle as this would be, I knew it would be a mental one as well, and I had no choice but to win it.
She hesitated. “Do you need me to find you something to ”
“No!” I shouted, not meaning to chastise her, but to assert past the demon screaming, ‘Yes!’ inside my mind. “Do not expose the addict to his addiction before he is able to break his need of it. If I become weakened, I shall inform you. For now, I simply need to concentrate.”
“Would talking to someone help?”
With a sigh, I sat up on the bed and ran my fingers through my messy hair. My shirt cuffs were unbuttoned and my shirttails hung loose. My pants were wrinkled and I looked every bit the worthless piece of refuse that I felt like at the moment. I had to confess, though, that engaging my mind might be a good idea. “Open the door, but do not come in. I am not faring well at the present.”
I heard the lock turn and the door creak open, but refused to open my eyes. Instead, I scooted my legs into a bent position, resting my head on my knees while focusing past the onslaught of her tempting pulse resonating in my ears. Knowing she stood on the safe side of the threshold became my only comfort when I realized that having her company would also make retracting my fangs painfully difficult.
I felt the weight of her gaze before hearing her lean against the doorframe. “You’re either really brave or a closet masochist, Peter,” she said, a hint of humor in her voice. “I intended to have you wean yourself, not go cold turkey.”
Breathing deeply, in some effort to calm my nerves, I shivered when the action brought with it an unhealthy dose of Monica’s scent. The perfume provoked a deep moan to rumble from my chest. “Fuck.” I rubbed my eyes. “A masochist might be more apt than assigning me with any form of bravery. At the same time, I spent the past twenty-four hours weathering the memory of every victim I have killed since acquiring my abilities. I have no desire to add another to the collection.”
“I didn’t say I’d let you kill anyone.”
“Right now, you would be hard pressed to stop me.”
“Good point.” Monica sighed. “I understand.”
“Please . . . ” I swallowed hard. “Talk to me about something other than feeding, unless it is your intent to drive
me insane.”
She chuckled. I heard her settle on the floor and could not help but to smile at the way she laughed. It might have been the most human response, besides conciliatory remorse, I had manufactured in years. “Insane?” Monica asked. “No, we can talk about something else.” She paused, either to study me or adjust her position to get more comfortable. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Many, but so few which could be answered.”
“Well, start with the ones I can answer.”
I nodded, summoning the gumption, somehow, to retract my fangs. Lifting my head, I kept my eyes clenched shut, in the event the now-open door brought more of the offensive moonlight with it. “Well,” I said. “I suppose the first question would be to ask where my sunglasses are.”
“On the stand next to the bed. I put them there while you were asleep.”
Frowning, I sighed. “I could have woken up.”
“I knew what I was doing, Peter.”
“Quixotic imp.” Reaching to the side, I fumbled for where the nightstand was, only vaguely recalling the layout of this unfamiliar room. It added one more item to the list of new things toward which the assassin had to adjust. “Where the bloody hell is . . . ?”
“Hold on, Peter.” Monica paused, and, for a moment, I thought the madwoman daft enough to enter. Instead, I heard her crack her knuckles and shift her position. “I’m going to teach you your first lesson as a seer. You ready?”
I sat straight and nodded, wondering what precisely she intended.
“Alright.” She paused. “You’ve had that euphemism about sight and vision thrown at you a lot, but it’s for a reason. Seeing things as they are involves more than just the use of your eyes. It involves your mind, too. Now, I’m looking at the stand your glasses are on, and I’m pointing at it. One of these things will help you and one of these things won’t.”
“Well, with my eyes closed, I can hardly see your hand.”
“So, use my mind.”
Nodding, I focused my thoughts on Monica and attempted to see the world through her eyes. A mirror reflection of me seated on the bed formed in my mind, along with an image of the rest of the room. The perspective I borrowed showed me the stand and, poised atop it, my sunglasses. I reached to the side and captured the spectacles in my first attempt.
Slipping them on, I opened my eyes and erased the mental map that had formed, but her lesson had been learned. I turned my head to regard Monica. “So, I’m to see the world through other sets of eyes, then?”
“Well, think of it this way.” Monica stood and brushed off her skirt. “When you see how other people look at the world, you can see where their motives lie. Sometimes, it’s as simple as where their focus is.”
“Fascinating ability.” I nodded. “So, if the way others regard the world says something about them, then what does my visual impairment say about me? I never cared for the light even as a mortal, but becoming a vampire seems to have given it an especially painful level of contempt. Why?”
Monica tucked the blonde patch of her bangs behind her ear. “I don’t have an answer for that. The sight of a seer and the soul of a vampire are two totally different things. I don’t know if that explains anything, but imagine this might be part of it.”
I nodded. “It is possible Lydia herself would not have known.”
“She might have. She was pretty sharp.” Monica smirked. “Plus, she knew you for two years. I’ve only known you for a few weeks.”
The comment struck me. I looked away. “Before I ask the question, allow me to preface it by saying I know Lydia loved me. That being said . . . was our meeting happenstance or did she get too close to me?”
“Nothing’s happenstance, Peter. Lydia might not have planned to run into you that evening and probably wasn’t the first in line to become a watcher, but those facts don’t change what happened.”
“Was she told what I was, though, and set on a path to find me?”
I glanced back at Monica. She grinned. “No. She knew when she looked into your eyes. And by that point, she had already fallen in love with you.”
Nodding, I acknowledged Monica’s assertion, but was in no mood to expound upon it further. The hunger started to encroach again as we conversed about inconsequential things. When it became too difficult to handle, I asked Monica to lock the door and not let me out, regardless of how belligerent I became. She agreed, albeit with no small amount of reluctance. The night wore on and my mind became consumed by the insatiable desire to kill.
“Damn you, Fates,” I muttered at one point, clawing at the sheets and close to the verge of hyperventilating, useless breaths or not. “Damn purpose . . . damn reason . . . damn it all.” By the time exhaustion took me under, I was a mess in all senses of the word. That evening was only to be the tip of the iceberg, however.
Four days of hell followed. Over the course of each evening, my condition deteriorated more and more. I knew Monica was listening. She neither spoke to me, nor intervened, which only served to piss me off. “Fuck you, woman!” I yelled. “Let me out of this room at once!” On the final evening, I found myself punching through one of the walls, leaving a gaping hole in the plaster.
I had oscillated through so many different emotions; one might have been convinced I had gone fully mad. It started with throwing things and turned into ripping other things apart. I went so far as to destroy pieces of furniture. My room looked as though a zoo full of animals had paraded through it. I drove my fist into the wall again and hissed when my knuckles hit a wooden beam.
“Fuck!” I yelled, retracting my hand and clutching it. My eyes drifted to the crimson liquid oozing from the deep gashes inflicted on my hand and I shuddered. “Damn it.” The red contrasted against my pale skin, mesmerizing me after days of not having my thirst sated. Before I could stop myself, I licked the wounds eagerly, groaning as all my senses were held hostage to the need. I collapsed onto the ground, slipping into the fetal position.
I held myself in a tight embrace, shaking and clenching my eyes shut while the room began to spin around me. Fangs down, I felt them ache while the knot forming in the pit of my stomach tightened. “When shall I be rid of this curse?” I asked, not expecting an answer, but still wishing one could be afforded to me. After four nights of shouting obscenities, I felt weak; tired. Nearly to the point of throwing myself upon my katana if just to end it all. Whatever would free me of the chaos in my head.
Even if it cost another mortal life.
“No, I must not do that.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Lydia speak of how much she admired my profession as a doctor. “You heal people,” she had said once, a glint of wonder and respect in her eyes. “I don’t think there are many jobs with a higher calling. It represents the kind of person you are.”
I recalled asking her what kind of person that was, and receiving one of her typically mysterious answers in return. “Very few people are called to do what you’ll be doing. Healing people, yes, but saving them as well.” She smiled. “It makes you a hero. That’s what you are, Peter Dawes.”
It was difficult to think of myself as much of a hero while I shivered on the floor. No, if I was honest with my self-criticism, I was more like a whining vampire, lamenting his enslavement to his own nature. “I have to stop this,” I said, placing my hands onto the ground while indulging in another series of deep breaths. “I am not a monster. I am not an addict. I shall not give in to these desires, no matter how badly they afflict me.” Swallowing hard, I managed to retract my fangs at long last, unable to recall the last time in the past four days when I had been able to do so.
With this task completed, I forced my useless breathing to slow and sat up. Crawling toward the bed, I reclined against it and leaned my head back as I settled into a seated position on the floor. My hands shook, but I clenched my eyes shut and inhaled deeply once more. This was the defining moment. Break the addiction, or die trying. “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,” I murmured, rec
alling the oft-cited Bible verse my parents enjoyed quoting when I was a young boy. I spoke the words not to evoke a higher power, but to do something other than dwell on my weakened condition. Latching onto the thought, I continued. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
My hands gradually ceased their shaking as the words poured from my lips, running together on an infinite loop. I felt my tense body begin to relax, bringing with it a tremendous wave of fatigue. My vampire nature had been lashing out with such sound and fury, I had not realized how starved I truly was. Still, I could not bring myself to call for help. The calm washing over me felt too euphoric for me to disturb it yet.
“Though I walk through the valley . . . of the shadow of death . . . I will fear no evil . . . ” My eyes fluttered shut. My arms slackened and hands lifted from the floor. “ . . . for thou art with me.” The black of unconsciousness engulfed me in its abyss. I hit the carpet just as it pulled me under. Lying on the ground, I fell asleep at last, completely unaware of the world around me the moment my body relaxed.
Had I been any closer to lucid, I might have heard the door open or sensed Monica standing on the other side of the threshold. As it was, when she walked into the room, I did not stir, and as she lowered to a crouch, I remained as still as a corpse. She sighed and touched my forehead. “It’s about damn time, Peter,” she said. Lifting her hand, she cracked her knuckles. “I was beginning to think this would take all week.”
A grin tugged at the corners of mouth. Extending her hands, palms facing upward, she lifted my body without touching me and pushed me gently toward the bed. I settled limply onto the mattress, my head resting on a pillow and eyes shut tight while sleep still held me soundly in its throes. Monica snapped her fingers to release her spell, then brushed her hands together and glanced at the wall. “Wasn’t bad enough that you broke everything else? You had to go and punch the wall, Peter.” She shook her head and frowned. As she glanced back at me, she raised an eyebrow.
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