by Peter Dawes
My reflexes responded before my brain could process. I leaned forward, feeling a rush of wind behind me, and spun on my heels to face whatever had caused it. As a fist sailed for me, I arched my back, the air displacement too close for comfort this time. Retreating several paces, I barely had a chance to identify my attacker before the next onslaught.
Timothy stood before me, the closet door partially ajar behind him. As he swung for me again, I clutched my sword with both hands, having only a second to realize I should not kill him before muscle memory demanded that I defend myself. The brief hesitation gave his fist a chance to impact, however. I expected pain to blossom from my jaw, but when a wave of agony crested over me, I recoiled and fell to the floor. One of my hands let go of the katana’s hilt. When his foot crashed down on top of the other, I released my grip and howled.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Flynn not used to someone able to fight back?”
He motioned to kick me, but I rolled out of the way, hitting the side of the bed and using it for leverage to come to a stand again. When he swung for me again, I reached to capture his fist, but even that hurt, causing me to marvel over the force with which he hit. “Not playing fair, keeping something like that to yourself,” I said, grimacing while attempting to clutch onto him. Doing so caused an inordinate amount of discomfort and in the end, I had to push him away. I jumped up onto the bed and vaulted over the side, placing it between us and instigating a temporary lull in the process. “Where is our Mistress?”
“Had she known you wanted to come home, Flynn, she’d have greeted you herself. Your recent activities seem to suggest you don’t though.” He smirked. “The Black Rose Assassin befriending humans. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“There is an expression. You reap what you sow.”
“Quit with the bravado. We both know you can’t kill me. Not if you truly want to find Sabrina.” While I expected another onslaught, Timothy stood straighter, extending his arms at his sides. “I’m supposed to subdue you. You want me in at least good enough condition to talk. Whatever will we do?”
“Suck on this, asshole.”
The response did not find its origin from me, but from the impish sorceress who entered the room. Timothy turned to face her and as he did, a bright burst of iridescent energy flew from her hands, impacting him in the chest. He sailed toward the wall, colliding with it, and as he did, a small trinket flew from his grip. I furrowed my brow while she extended her hand, pointing her palm at him and muttering words under her breath. When he only rose to a partial stand and froze in place, I blinked, glancing from Timothy back to Monica.
“You guys posture way too much,” she said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Believe it or not, you are the first,” I said, moving hesitantly away from the corner where I had sought refuge and toward our captive. His eyes followed me, but when I was assured whatever spell she had cast would not break, I permitted myself to look away from him again. “Well, I was wrong,” I said. “Sabrina is not here, but it appears she left her spymaster in the house.”
“Oh, goodie. Just what I love, another thread to follow.” Monica sighed. Walking closer to us, she paused by my side, still a healthy distance away from Timothy. When she crouched, I belatedly remembered the trinket he had been holding and studied it when Monica stand with it in hand. “Not bad,” she said. “Mommy Dearest left him with a little something to help him fight.”
“What is it?”
“Mostly just a charm. Gives the holder an extra burst of strength and stamina.” Monica held it up to me, allowing me a better look at what appeared to be little more than an etched rock. “She’s got a good supplier. This kind of magic isn’t her level.” She looked at Timothy. “Probably the person who taught her what she’s already learned.”
He sneered, but remained mute. Just when I motioned to ask about it, she snapped her fingers and he coughed. “Brave words for a junior sorceress,” he said. “I take it you’re the Order’s minion who pulled him away from us.”
“Yeah, minion. That’s me.” Monica nodded at me, catching my eye enough for me to direct my attention toward her. When I did, she pointed at a chair on the other side of the room. “Grab that and bring it over here. We can get him comfortable so he can start talking.” I nodded and as I strode over to retrieve the chair, I heard her continue. “You’re Timothy,” she verified. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but circumstances and all that.”
“Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name?” he asked.
“Maybe if you’re lucky.”
I focused on them both while walking the chair behind Timothy. With a gentle push, he settled onto the chair and as Monica whispered another spell, he seemed to lock into place again. Whatever effect the magic had on him, it inspired him to wince. “I told the Mistress your defection was probably inevitable,” he said. “She always thought she could continue to coax you toward servitude.”
“This makes me wonder if pragmatism or petty jealousy fueled your prophecy,” I said, bending to pick up my sword and sheathing it right afterward. Once I had adjusted my coat, I made eye contact with him again. “If you saw this as being inevitable, then I feel I should suggest you make this easier on yourself.”
He laughed. “Oh, sure, Flynn. Let me draw you a map so you can kill me right afterward. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Perhaps, but at least then your death will be quick.”
“You say that, but we’ve never been close brothers. Not, at least, since you and Robin became such good friends.” His smile broadened. “Did you let him fuck you? I never had the chance to ask you that before you murdered him.”
Fueled by a sudden burst of rage, I reached for a dagger, pulling it and having it poised above his chest within seconds. Monica leaped for me, and as I felt her hand on my arm, I gritted my teeth at Timothy. “I have you and Sabrina to thank for his death,” I said.
“You have yourself to thank,” Timothy snapped back, the humor dissipating from his expression. “And this only proves that sadist is still inside you. You’re enjoying the charade, but everyone knows that bleeding-heart human you once were died the moment you became the bastard you are today. Torture me if it makes you feel better, but even if you stab me, you’ll still have yourself to live with.”
“Hey, whoa, Flynny,” Monica said. “Listen, I’m getting as tired of the sound of his voice as you are, but let’s not get stabby until we have the intel. Okay?”
While I did not acknowledge her plea, I also did not drive the blade into him. He and I stared at each other for interminable moments until I lifted the knife, but even then, I swiped it across his cheek, satisfied, for the time being, with that small amount of pain inflicted. “I doubt he will provide any,” I finally said, standing straighter, but not sheathing the blade.
Timothy sneered while Monica sighed. “Maybe if he stews and the two of you stop whatever alpha male thing you’ve got going on here.” When I looked at her, she frowned. “I want to check the place for phone books or anymore hidden rocks. Can I trust you not to kill him?”
“If you insist that he will be any good to us.”
“Believe me, I have ways of making him talk.”
I glanced at her, but she turned her back on me, leaving the unspoken demand that I calm my anger in the meantime. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I produced a cloth from my pocket, directing all my attention toward wiping the scant amount of blood from the knife while forgetting Timothy’s presence for the moment. I heard Monica descend the stairs, then lost track of her movements, especially when the soft sound of laughter lilted from our hostage. At first, I refused to pay him any mind. But when he sighed, I finally looked up at him.
His smile betrayed the heaviness of the breath he took. “Do you know what I find remarkable?” he asked, and though the question bore a hint of rhetoric, he waited patiently for me to acknowledge him.
I frowned, pushing aside the fabric of my coat to sli
p my knife back into its sheath. “No, but I suppose nothing I say is going to stop you from disclosing it.”
“You don’t resemble all of the frightening tales about seers we’re brought up hearing. We deliberately didn’t tell you any of them – and that includes your beloved confidante, Robin – but usually they’re so much more… I don’t know… intimidating than you are? At least in myth.”
“Timothy, I know we’ve not been particularly close, but I never imagined you had a death wish.”
“No, no, I promise I’m not saying this to get a rise out of you. It’s just striking to me right now.”
The way he spoke the words carried enough of a double entendre that I repeated them back inside my head. As I raised an eyebrow, Timothy chuckled, glancing toward the stairs leading downward before looking back at me. “How did you find me, Flynn?” he asked.
“None of your damn business,” I muttered while feeling my stomach sink, suddenly overcome by a chill of dread.
“It was Allen Hughes, wasn’t it? Or one of Matthew’s ilk? We caught them nosing around right after you launched your little tirade and didn’t imagine the two could be unrelated. Though really, Flynn? Consorting with that lot? It disappoints me to see that we were right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think finding me was a coincidence?”
I opened my mouth to say, ‘No, of course not,’ but found myself struck by Monica’s extended absence. Not hearing anything in the rest of the house, I glanced toward the stairs like Timothy had only moments ago and looked back at my prisoner as if to confirm the suspicion. He greeted me with a wolfish grin, adding nothing else to his cryptic comments which was, in and of itself, maddening.
The thought of killing him made an unpleasant resurgence. Something about the look in his eyes suggested he wondered if I might follow through with it. But remarkably, Timothy did not look concerned. “What the hell have you done with her?” I asked.
He laughed, but said nothing else. As I sprung up from the bed, I raced toward the stairs and gave my immortal brother one last glimpse to ensure he was secure before starting my descent. Racing to the bottom, I attempted to listen for Monica’s pulse, and while I could make out a steady cadence from somewhere in the house, I did not trust its calm. Instead, I clambered for the stairs to the first floor, bypassing the other rooms in the process.
A strange sensation forced me to pause, however, before I reached the end of the hallway.
Sharp pain radiated from my back, near the shoulder blade, and as I reached around for its source, my fingertips brushed the end of a throwing knife. Before I could take hold of it, an invisible force knocked my footing out from beneath me, causing me to fall on the blade and drive it further into my body. I cried out in pain. Staring first at the ceiling, I winced when a shoe settled onto my chest, the person looking down at me inspiring that same unwelcomed dread I had experience when I smelled her perfume.
Sabrina smiled when my eyes focused on her.
“The Prodigal Son,” she said, pushing the end of her heel deeper into my stomach. I winced and yet, something about the way her gaze took hold of mine made it impossible for me to look away. My head started to swim; my lips producing the one name it seemed capable of saying, “Monica.”
“Don’t worry. Rose has your little human pet and has been instructed leave her in one piece.” Sabrina’s lips curled with amusement. “I should’ve known that was a lie, though – you telling me you’d still managed to kill her after she got the better of you. Fool me once, shame on you.”
Her foot lifted from my stomach. After she snapped her fingers, I heard the floorboards creak from upstairs and although I knew she had broken whatever incantation had kept Timothy secured, I still could not resist her. She crouched low, ensuring my full focus settled on her, and arched a brow as if to challenge me.
“My darling Flynn,” she said. “Lost in the human world pretending to be one of its defenders. You poor thing.” Settling on one knee, she leaned close to whisper in my ear. As her breath caressed me, I barely suppressed the urge to moan. “Don’t worry about that pesky conscience, Dark Killer. I’ll make it all better for you.
“You’ve had your fun. Now, it’s time for you to come home.”
Chapter 32
The irony of being bound had not been lost on me as Timothy secured my wrists behind my back and Sabrina ensured I remain subservient throughout our march to a waiting car. Monica had been knocked unconscious, and as I watched her head lull throughout the course of our journey, my eyes settled on her pulse point, the hypnotic beating of her heart filling the space surrounding us with its maddening cadence. I had gone from freedom back to captivity and fighting it seemed more difficult than I could have imagined.
Still, nothing emphasized how far I had fallen until Timothy forced me to kneel before what remained of our coven. The empty echo of a few braver souls who had managed to escape filled the spaces between the subservient ones; the ones deliberately brought up to be dependent on the woman who now had me at her mercy. I knew immediately I had been brought before them as a lesson. Once I had been broken, Sabrina would prove she could break any of us. And again, she would have me as her enforcer.
My gaze fixed on the floor of the common room, the darkness a welcomed mercy as my sunglasses had been removed upon entering the building. I wriggled my wrists a few times to test the strength of my ties, but whatever incantation Sabrina had placed on them made the effort useless. My one hope remained the sorceress who had freed me in the first place and even she had been placed at a loss.
Taking a deep breath, I looked upward, searching for Monica. The moment I caught sight of her, however – awake now and being held at a distance by Timothy – Sabrina stepped between us and bent to take hold of my chin. My head turned, eyes meeting hers as a reflex which quickly became a compulsion. “Your witch is alive,” she said. “That’s all you need to know for now. It’s time for us to have a chat, darling Flynn.”
I tried to look away, but found myself unable to. “Perhaps you could cut to the chase and tell me what you intend to do to me,” I said. Managing one act of defiance, I smirked at her. “Are you going to tell me what a bad boy I have been?”
She laughed, but I hardly had the chance to register the lack of humor in her voice before she slapped me across the cheek. The impact forced my head to the side, and while the respite of being released from her gaze became a welcomed one, it proved to be short-lived. Sabrina took hold of me and pointed my face toward hers again. “Oh, you’ve been a very bad boy and you know it. Beyond lying to me about killing the sorceress, you let whatever mind games she’s been playing lead you away from me. In case you’ve forgotten, I was the one who laid claim to you first. Not the Supernatural Order.”
“And I rebuke your claim. You are not my lover and I owe you nothing for what you did to me. You turned me against Lydia. You are the reason why she died. I will never forgive you for that.”
Sabrina’s fangs lowered to full extension, and while she meant them as a threat, I felt another wave of assaults crash into my precarious free will. I tried desperately to block out the siren call of my vampire instincts, but they screamed at me nonetheless. ‘Obey her,’ they said. ‘Give into your base desires. Is it not easier than having to fight against the monster you truly are?’ I sneered, but made the mistake of getting lost in her eyes again. “I will not surrender to you again,” I said. “You can try all you want, but I refuse to be your puppet.”
“You think your will is strong because you’ve let yourself become infected with that girl’s nonsense,” she countered. As if realizing the effect it had on me, Sabrina continued to flash her pointed teeth, her tongue coasting across one before a sly grin crossed her lips. “Two weeks ago, however, you delighted in the chaos your hands could inflict. Oh, I wished I could have stayed to watch it all. Body after body turning into ash, filling the floor of that meeting room.” She leaned in closer, her voice a sultry whisper as sh
e spoke into my ear. “Our bid for power is almost complete, my dark son.”
My eyes shut, a shiver running the length of my spine. “I am not your assassin any longer, you loathsome bitch.”
She threw me onto my back. As my head hit the hard, unforgiving floor, my eyes flew open again, seeing Sabrina tower over me once my vision cleared again. “You fight as though there’s any reason to fight,” she said. “As if you haven’t already presented this city to me in a gift-wrapped box. You want to pretend you’ve had a change of heart, but I know the man I see before me and how he’s reveled in murder these past five years. Why fight when everything we’ve wanted is primed for the taking?”
“What you have wanted, not me. I want no part of it.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve tried to find yourself in the light, but the darkness feeding your soul will always overshadow it.” She paced around me but became hard to track, the room tilting and dizziness overtaking me. “Be honest with me, Flynn. Tell me even the seer hasn’t relished each time his blade plunged through a vampire, craving the sensation of killing. You have a lust for blood that will never be quenched, and will only grow darker the more you deny the monster you are.”
My eyes shut again, my hold upon the mental ledge from which I dangled becoming precarious. I could feel my grip weaken; my footing start to slip. “You would convince me I am beyond redemption only for your gain.”
“For our gain, Flynn. And I am convincing you of nothing. You bathe in ashes and you delight in it.”
“As I will delight when it is your ashes I am bathing in.”
“You say that and yet, I don’t believe you really want it.” Her footsteps ceased, replaced by the sound of a blade sliding from its sheath, and I tensed. “Search your heart,” she said. “You could slay me right here and now and yet, you’re lying on the floor, completely under my spell. If you wanted to break it you would.”
