Dark as the Grave

by Peter Dawes

  “You would bleed for me, but do you desire me?”

  “I do, Sabrina.”

  “You have for some time, haven’t you?” When all I could manage was a simple nod, she chuckled softly, her hand trailing downward and toying at the waistband of my pants. “Tell me what you want, Flynn,” she demanded.

  “I want you,” I said, gripping onto the metal railing in front of me so tightly, my knuckles turned white. “I want you more than I have wanted anything else.”

  “And you will get me, but first you need to promise me,” she said. “Let me hear you swear it. No truces. No survivors. No mercy. Punish those I tell you to punish and I will reward you. Stain the streets red with the blood of my enemies and you will have all those carnal fantasies you harbor.”

  “I swear to you, my Mistress.”

  “Then, you are ready to be my killer.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Turn to face me. Claim what your loyalty has earned.”

  I felt drunk, pivoting to regard Sabrina with my lids lifting to mere slits. The sight of her entreated me beyond all self-restraint. Lust dripped from her gaze, her lips more of a temptation than I could resist, and I bent to capture them as though starved for their sustenance. Sabrina thrust her body against mine in response, and as she wrapped a leg around my waist, I consumed her in violent, passionate kisses, tasting nothing but poison and craving each embrace. Sabrina grabbed hold of the lapels of my jacket and ground against me once.

  Then she threw me onto the balcony floor.

  Jumping on top of me, Sabrina kissed me once more before pulling away. I craned my neck to capture her lips again, but she used the opportunity to plunge her fangs into my throat, producing a howl of pleasure from my lips. At some point in the manic, tawdry episode that followed, my glasses were removed. I clenched my eyes shut, savoring with my remaining senses the thrill of having every unspoken desire consummated by Sabrina.

  Oh yes, she had my loyalty.

  She had control of my strings and I was but a puppet.

  Later that evening, I felt like a changed creature while I hunted, as though I had tasted fruit from the tree and made a pact with Satan himself. Sabrina and I exchanged wicked smiles when I returned home and I relished the knowledge of being her co-conspirator. Her assassin. No other held my affections nearly so pointedly.

  Except for my brother, Robin.

  I returned to my room to find him standing by my door, leaning with his back against the wall as though he had been waiting all night for me to arrive. The vexed look in his eyes remained a fixture, shrouding his face and twisting my stomach in the process. I hesitated for a moment and then marched forward with forced confidence. “Robin?” I asked, my voice colder than it had been to my brother in some time. “What brings you here?”

  Robin did not flinch from my tone and regarded me in silence until I stopped a few feet shy of him. “How did your talk with the Mistress go?” he asked evenly.

  “Good.” I paused. “She agrees that I am ready to assume my responsibilities as her assassin.”

  “Because you slaughtered two immortals in cold blood?”

  “Because I defended her honor, dear brother.”

  Robin nodded. His hands slipped into his pockets while his eyes shifted to the wall opposite him. “I see how little my opinion matters in this coven.”

  “With all due respect,” I said, “I do not think I need to be as coddled as you want me to be.”

  “This has nothing to do with being coddled.” His gaze returned to mine. “Flynn, you think, with all of the wisdom of a one year old immortal, that you understand the way this world works when nothing could be further from the truth. I walked the streets of Kilkenny before cars occupied roads. I sailed on ships when flying machines were the things of fiction. I am much more experienced than you.”

  I perked an eyebrow in defiance. “And you do not think I am ready for this? Even after I have proven I can hold my own?”

  “This has nothing to do with holding your own and everything to do with the type of wisdom you lack.” His eyes flashed anger as his finger rose to point at me. “The mistress may not care about this sort of thing, but I do. You are being thrown to a horde of enemies while lacking even rudimentary understanding of the ways of this world. You are being sent out there like a lamb to the slaughter and not because you have no notion of weapons and fighting. We have already established that the student eclipsed the ability of his master far before now. I hold no egotism. I admit my place as your inferior, but that is just it. You haven’t the foggiest notion of why things are the way they are.”

  “And neither do I care to know!” Gritting my teeth, I held back the compulsion to bare fangs. “I am through with this cloak and dagger bullshit about special gifts.”

  “Lang–”

  “Fuck off, Robin,” I spat. “I think you are jealous and are being spiteful because of it. I have proven and will prove myself. If I need a tutor at this point, it is trial and error.”

  Robin recoiled first before nodding. In his eyes, I saw a form of hurt which pierced my heart, making me instantly remorseful. “Very well.” The way he spoke his concession only drove the dagger further in. “Since you have no additional use for me, I will find some place in this coven where I am needed.”

  He stood straight and began a brisk stride away. A frown surfaced on my face, the moment of clarity, long enough for me to say, “Wait,” to him, though I did not move to follow.

  Robin stopped. His back remained to me, but he turned his head to view me from the corner of his eye. “What is it, Flynn?”

  “I never said I did not have any use for you.” My statement was enough to coax him toward facing me fully, but he did not speak. I continued, “You are the only one in this coven who teaches me anything. I am going to need help. I simply do not want to be treated like an infant.”

  We regarded each other in silence until Robin nodded. “I will not leave you destitute,” he said, “But you are to understand this.” A pause punctuated his words. His stare became severe. “You’ll have to deal with the consequences of your actions from this point forth, Flynn. You chose this path. Now it is your burden, not mine.”

  “I never asked it to be yours in the first place.”

  “Indeed.” Robin narrowed his eyes. “You are fortunate. Had those men you killed been of the mind to end your life, they would have done so before you could’ve stopped them. Keep that in mind as you pursue this course.

  “Now, settle in, dear brother, and savor every moment of it. Because I promise you, this is the last restful sleep you will ever enjoy.”

  He turned away again and this time, I did nothing to stop him as he made his way to the stairs. Instead, I remained standing in the same place, puzzling over his warning for a few seconds before shrugging it off and entering my room. Once inside, I shut myself in solitude and sighed from relief over the darkness that wove around me like a cocoon. Removing my glasses, I leaned against the door, a sadistic smile spreading across my face. I did intend to enjoy resting that day. In fact, I planned to do so every subsequent morning regardless of what Robin had to say.

  My dreams were not to be so accommodating, though. As I slept, I tossed and turned until the vision of a white room materialized in my mind. So much like the dream of my old apartment I had weathered a mere two mornings ago, this one inspired the same chill of dread, without any of the familiar surroundings filling in the blankness of the voice. Instead, I stood inside a sterile vacant place, left to search for the reason behind my being there.

  That was when I saw her.

  The ghost of Lydia appeared inside the void, standing across from me with one of my swords in her hands. Regarding me with more disdain than even Robin had, her eyes remained set on me, chin lifting while she sized me up in silence. “Hello, Peter,” she finally said. “It’s been a while.”

  My eyes stole briefly to the bloodstains on her chest, marking the place where I had plunged a butcher knife inside her body. If she
was aware of their presence, she gave no indication. “Well, well, well,” I said, meeting her gaze again. “If it is not the cheating whore. Death does not seem to become you, Pet.”

  “Being its angel doesn’t suit you much better. I’ve been watching you this whole time, in case you were wondering.”

  I raised my arms to my sides and bowed. “I hope you have enjoyed the show. Especially the night before last.” Standing straight, I adjusted my suit jacket, a snide grin surfacing on my face. “That was for you, by the way. I thought if you wanted to fuck with me that turnabout was fair play. Lovely touch, placing me inside my old apartment. Especially with those pictures of you and my parents.”

  “You needed a reminder of the things that used to matter to you.” Lydia held an even gaze, head shaking in a rueful manner. “Listen to yourself. You sound more like a demon and less like the man that I once fell in love with.”

  “I am a demon, and you would do well to remember that.”

  “You don’t even see how far you’ve fallen.” Lifting the sword, she presented it to me like evidence in a trial, gesticulating with it while she spoke. “You used to heal people. Now you slaughter them. You’ve been given unspeakable gifts and I know I never told you about them, but I ran out of time. You’re wasting them, Peter, and you’re losing yourself in the process.”

  “What gifts are these?” I perked an eyebrow, presenting her with a dare. “Since you’re bent to repeat the same line everyone else offers me, perhaps you might shine a light on it.”

  Lydia hesitated. As she stared back at me in silence, I nodded, producing a bitter laugh. “No, I did not think so,” I said. “Just as tight-lipped as the rest of the crowd and I lost my taste for it. Your Peter was a healer, was he? Some sort of Boy Scout that you found so easy to manipulate? Well, allow me to disabuse you of the past.”

  I strode toward her so quickly, it startled her. Lydia relinquished her hold on the sword when I reached for it, and before she could react, I freed it from its sheath and drove it through her stomach. Holding her close, I kept her upright as I spoke. “Listen to me because I will only say this once,” I spat, “Peter is dead. He no longer owns this body and neither do you. I suggest you enjoy your afterlife and leave mine alone, or more people will die. Each time I sense your shiver or see your ghost, I will murder like a tyrant until you relent. Are we clear on this?”

  “You have no idea,” Lydia said, a pained expression on her face as her eyes returned my look of severity tenfold. “You don’t see it yet, but you will. When we come back to finally deal with you.”

  “Lovely. Do be sure to drop in any time –” I twisted the sword. “– So I can continue doing this to you.”

  I did not expect her hands to rise, but they grabbed me by my jacket and pulled me even closer, although it impaled her further with the blade. Noses a hair’s breadth from touching, her green, ethereal eyes stared into mine as her tone of voice turned sharp. “You can’t outrun your destiny,” she said. “It’s looking for you and it will find you when you least expect it. Remember that.”

  Lydia’s grip on me relented. Her body slid from the blade as gravity worked against her corpse and forced her to fall. I watched her crumple to the floor, an inner voice attempting to speak; a dying flame staring down at her, wanting to ignite again. The ember surrendered its life in a puff and ceased to exist.

  Flicking Lydia’s blood from the blade, I strode off into nothing, thinking this would end the visits from the shadows of my past. Her threats held no merit and did nothing to sober me, forming nothing more than the last breaths of a dead woman. I regarded them with less concern than I did Robin’s words of warning. When I woke, the evil consuming me yet thrived beneath my skin, calling me to greet the evening and plunder it once more.

  Some time later, as I rummaged through my pockets, I found the necklace I had ripped from Lydia’s throat shimmering inside, staring at me as though possessing the stern gaze of its former owner. I held it in my fingers for a matter of seconds before making a detour to a pawnshop. Mere days after that, I received orders for my first assassination. The vicious glare in my eyes became a permanent fixture, a callous expression I wore each night with every murder I executed.

  My sword stayed by my side. My coat concealed the knives I kept always on my person. My senses were attuned, my will as cold as steel and as sharp as a blade honed by the most skilled craftsman. I became the hit man of the undead, death personified and a force with which to be reckoned. Over the next four years, I established the name of Flynn through a testimony of ashes. All who stood against Sabrina feared the day when they would meet me face to face. I reveled in the power with reckless abandon.

  The adage remained as true to me, however, as it does to all who possess a special calling. Eternity does indeed catch up with you. And it found me in the most unlikely of manners.

  Part III

  Four Year Later

  “Autumn to winter, winter into spring,

  Spring into summer, summer into fall --

  So rolls the changing year, and so we change;

  Motion so swift, we know not that we move.”

  Dinah Maria Mulock

  Chapter 10

  I despised when others kept me waiting.

  My fingers twirled an unlit cigarette twice before inserting it between my lips. The bright orange glow of embers sparking to life followed a quick search through my pocket for my lighter, and had anyone been watching, they might have been impressed by the deft, fluid motions of one action flowing swiftly into the next. The thick crowd of mortals seemed distracted by other things, however – loud music, for one, and the putrid stench of their own sweat as they gyrated about the dance floor. I sighed and glanced away, scanning the area again for my target.

  Each day I indulged his pitiful existence, I risked both my neck and my reputation. I should have never allowed it, I scolded myself, lest my brethren speculate that the assassin might be growing soft or worse, merciful. Even I pondered the paradox – if hesitating indicated a latent weakness rising to the surface – but again, I reminded myself why I chose to stay my hand. When Sabrina had whispered his name in my ear as my next target, I knew I needed to use this opportunity to its fullest. And he had ways of finding things that left all the seven covens in awe.

  It did not mean I cared anymore for the chosen venue for our meeting, however. A nightclub he frequented continued its pulsating cacophony, making me long for a retreat where I could think in peace. Never mind that my nerves already had me on edge, reminding me that Sabrina had left town for three nights and, as this was the final evening, the time had come for me to settle debts with a man living on borrowed time. “Where the bloody hell are you?” I muttered while continuing to scan the crowd, bringing the cigarette to my mouth and drawing from it once more.

  For the lack of a better way of spending the time, I mused on the path which had led me to the present, in part to continue assuring myself that my mental stability remained intact. Four years had elapsed since the first night I taken a vampire’s life, days passing until another month had ended, and another year wound to a close. Throughout it all, Robin’s forewarning had proven apropos. I sensed it each evening when I woke.

  I was a shadow and yet, I was infamous. The name ‘Flynn’ possessed such power, it set the entire immortal populace on edge, making them long for my death. Speaking my name seemed to garner a reflexive glance across one’s shoulder, the creeping suspicion following that they had done something to warrant my Mistress’s ire. I relished it, savoring the way death saturated my life with crimson decadence.

  Even if it had turned me into a monster.

  “Losing your bloody edge,” I said in response to the unease which filled me, dismissing it as quickly as it had surfaced. I knew what had caused this recent lapse, however, and relived the lost memory I had recovered each time I indulged this exercise. To recapture one after such a length of time was nothing short of a miracle, regardless of how little I cared f
or the way it afflicted me.

  Glancing at my watch, I frowned at the time before shifting my attention back to the task at hand. The urge to peer at my wrist came and left a half-dozen more times until my quarry finally arrived. I spotted him strolling across the dance floor, clad in crushed velvet and lace; a stark contrast to the men and women dressed in shiny, modern material. Rolling my eyes in response, I stole a moment to reflect upon how often our kind indulged in the most garish fashions possible. His pale skin nearly glowing from the combination of dark clothing and strobe lights, Anthony seemed only to lack a flashing sign to advertise what he was.

  The mortal woman holding onto his arm added to the absurdity with her too-thick makeup and poorly-matched attire. Together, they made their way to one of the empty tables, Anthony kissing her hand and sliding out a chair for her in deference toward the lady. I stepped from the shadows, drawing from my cigarette and exhaling smoke to give myself away. My movement, coupled with the puff of white worked their magic. Anthony glanced at me while I shot him an impatient glare.

  “Excuse me, my dear,” Anthony said to his companion. “A little business to attend to.” He winked at her while stepping away, leaving her to watch his departure until she summoned a waitress to order a drink. He looked at me and cocked his head toward the back, prompting me to straighten. I pivoted to stroll for the exit, not bothering to wait for him.

  Once outside, a rush of cold air hit me, settling my nerves especially when the noise from the godforsaken establishment faded. I strolled to the other side of the vacant alley and leaned against the building opposite, finishing my cigarette and tossing its remnant onto the pavement. Just as the depleted nicotine smashed into the ground, the door swung open again, bringing with it a painful reminder of the music and stench from inside. Anthony smiled as he advanced toward me, a loud click stilling the night once more.