Peter W. Dawes's Blog: The Man Behind the Curtain, page 10

Eyes of the Seer – Chapter 7

Prologue | Chapter One | … | Chapter Six |
Chapter Seven

I opened my eyes to find myself standing in the middle of a lifeless crypt. Heavy wool coat atop my black suit, I was dressed as though I anticipated an outing but could not recall leaving the coven. I adjusted my sunglasses, focusing on my surroundings through a darkness that had only part to do with the lack of illumination. Something rang familiar about it, though. I made out the presence of a lamp by my side and after I switched it on, light heralded far more than déjà vu.

My mortal living area. Fate transported me into my old apartment.

I perked an eyebrow. An immediate rush of memory swept past me, threatening to drown me in the undertow as the place I had not called home in nearly a year swam into view. A thin layer of dust rested on everything. Familiar pictures hung on the walls and every piece of furniture remained undisturbed.

That could not be right, though. Fingerprints had littered the murder weapon that killed Lydia Davies and would have led investigators here. Anything not nailed down should have been confiscated by the police, yet books and vinyl albums still rested on tables. Old mail lay piled on a stand in the entryway. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. A light blinked on the answering machine and the red, pulsing beacon piqued my curiosity. I strolled toward it and pressed play, listening as the tape rewound and settled into place.

A beep; a crackle. A moment's hesitation. Then, a voice.

"Hey, Pete!" a boisterous woman declared in opening. My mental Rolodex settled on a face. An obese, middle-aged nurse named Chloe Poole. "Pat and the Indian Mafia say you haven't been showing up for your shifts. Is everything alright? It's not like you to leave the ER hanging minus one doctor. I said I'd give you a call. Let us know what's going on."

The corner of my mouth curled upward in a smile. "I'm sorry, Peter won't be coming to work due to an acute case of vampirism." I rolled my eyes. Another beep punctuated the message, giving way to a short pause and another female voice.

This one, however, sent a shiver up my spine.

"Peter," she said, but in that name alone, I heard so much more. Lydia. The tone of voice pleading, it plucked ancient heartstrings and caused me to start. "Please listen to me before you take another step. It's not too late."

I furrowed my brow, but remained silent; listening. She inhaled deeply and exhaled a shaky breath before talking again. "You have to stop," Lydia said. "She's deceiving you, but she has you too hypnotized for you to realize it." A pause. "I'm sorry. I should have called you sooner, but I've been trying to get you help."

I stepped closer to the answering machine on instinct and folded my arms across my chest. A few seconds passed before Lydia spoke again. "Remember what I told you? Remember… Two years ago, when we were lying on your bed? You looked into my eyes and I told you what I saw inside of yours, Peter? She sees it, too. You're a pawn in all of this… Oh God…" The shaky voice surrendered to a sob. I found myself swallowing hard and shut my eyes. That part of me was dead. She killed it with her adultery. I killed it with homicide.

"You're going to regret this Peter."

"No," I said. I inhaled deep, steadying breaths and shook my head. "You will not have your way again this time, bitch."

"I bet you don't even recognize yourself."

"I know what I am." I gritted my teeth. "Damn you, woman, I have known who I am for some time now. How dare you attempt to meddle in my affairs?"

"You've lost what you are, Dr. Dawes. Wake up. It's not too late."

"No!" My face contorted with rage as my eyes flashed open. "Oh no, no, no… I know what you are up to and it is not going to work. Do you hear me?! Not going to work!" In one, swift movement, I ripped the answering machine from the table and threw it across the room. The cheap plastic splintered into a thousand pieces when it hit the wall and the tape inside partially unwound as it remained attached to the mechanism. My fangs slipped from their hiding place and I hissed at the remnants of the unwelcome harbinger.

Two hands wrapped themselves around the small table where the answering machine once rested. It, too, splintered into pieces when I threw it. Wood shards rained down on the carpet, letters scattered from being displaced, and I stormed forward, eyes blazing fury, continuing to demolish the living room.

I tipped over the couch and hurled pictures around. A framed photograph of my parents hit the window, breaking glass. Another of Lydia met with a similar fate, shattering another window. Had I my wits about me, I might have noticed the cacophonous ruckus my actions created, but I had no concern for such a thing. I continued uprooting everything in my path like a hurricane until I reached the bedroom.

I studied the tousled sheets. Memories wished to surface. The one Lydia cited mere seconds ago nagged at the threshold of consciousness, but I did not allow it entrance. Using rage to blind my thoughts in a veil of burning white, I destroyed my old bedroom in the same manner I had the living room. Dismantling the final vestiges of my former life; destroying Peter Dawes himself. I reached in my pocket for my lighter. I flipped open the top.

In one deft movement, I ignited the flame and tossed it onto the bed. Fire licked at the bedclothes until they caught and a blaze spread outward across the sheets. Turning my back on the room, I adjusted my coat and began a brisk, purposeful stroll for the door. Stepping over fallen debris, I reached the entryway, but hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. I pivoted, lining up the pieces of answering machine in my sights, Lydia's voice yet playing in my mind.

"Peter…"

"Peter is dead," I muttered to the empty apartment, all of its fixtures uprooted by the immortal force of nature I had become. "My name is Flynn now, bitch. Deal with it."

***

Not now. Not while Robin still doubted my mental faculties; not while I was trying to prove to both him and Sabrina I was ready for an assignment after months spent in training. As I opened my eyes, beholding the pitch black of my heavily-shaded room, I found my head still steeped in something too palpable to be a mere dream. My body back at the coven, my mind was yet gripped by the heat of my fury. I gritted my teeth and sat up in bed.

If she wished to play a game, she was trifling with the wrong vampire.

I stood, infuriated. Destroying the apartment in my dreams was not enough. There would be hell to pay and blood spilled if I had anything to say about it. I unbuttoned the shirt I had fallen asleep wearing and ripped my arms from the sleeves. Stripping my pants, I tossed my clothing onto a chair, then marched into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water scalded and my anger boiled. How did one shake a ghost bent on being a conscience?

"Murder," I muttered through the haze of steam. "The same bloody way she met her end before." My fangs ached at the mere prospect of it. Death; I did not give one whit whether the mortal authorities whipped themselves into a frenzy over a pile of bodies on the street. I would relish the hunt that night with a particular form of sadism I had not entertained previously. I gave little thought toward whether or not Robin or Sabrina would tie a bout of carnage to me. I merely wished the adulterous wench silenced for good.

Plucking a fresh suit from my closet, I dressed quickly, but hesitated before putting on my suit jacket. My eyes surveyed the instruments of destruction on my walls, each waiting for a victim to pierce and bleed. I played by Robin's rules – used Robin's finesse and followed his guidance with religious fervor – while my dark side clamored within the confines of a self-imposed prison. What would happen if I released the monster for once?

A sinister smile spread across my face. The poison in my black soul released into my bloodstream again.

Opening a trunk filled with other accessories, I extracted a shoulder holster with slots designed to sheath daggers. After securing it around my arms, I reached for the set of matching throwing knives, plucking three from their display. One final adjustment and they nestled close to my body, whispering decadent thoughts.

I placed my sunglasses over my eyes and secured my favorite sword by my side, strapping it around my waist. A full-length wool coat would conceal the obviousness of my weaponry, so I selected one from my closet. Black, leather gloves slid over my hands. Spiky hair stood aloft in gelled, organized chaos. By the time I departed from my room, I knew I embodied the word assassin and wanted the world to know that as well. Including the set of eyes fixed upon me from the cosmos.

"Ready for a show, Precious?" I muttered under my breath while alighting from the main staircase and strolling across the tiled floor of the foyer. Wing-tipped shoes did not make a noise. I did not pause to engage anyone in either conversation or eye contact. I passed by the doorman with cool indifference and held back my final proclamation to Lydia until the night air nipped at my face with its brisk bite. "Look me in the cold, blue eyes and tell me you see Peter now."

At once, I slipped into the darkness, just as I had been taught, the words of my mentor a sacred creed I was bent on both honoring and vandalizing. Being armed within the city makes you conspicuous, stick to the shadows. Do not make eye contact with anyone. Do not allow anybody to see you unless you wish them to. I almost muttered the words underneath my breath while following the scent of humanity and honing in on its tempting pulse.

Move swiftly. You are vampire, Flynn.

I jumped for a fire escape and pulled myself up for a better vantage point. My shoes made a slight sound on the metal platform when I swung over the railing, but I bounded up the remainder of the stairs in silence and leaped onto the roof of the five story building once at the top. The wind kicked around the ends of my coat and ripped through the strands of hair atop my head. The corner of my mouth curled upward in a devious smile. I jumped onto a ledge and extended my arms by my sides while closing my eyes, absorbing the wind and moonlight as though to steal its power.

'Meet your new god,' I thought as my palms rose heavenward. 'Bow to him and tremble.'

A sound. My eyes opened and my head snapped in the direction of the noise. A man and a woman walking down the street, nearing a narrow passageway between two buildings. My grin broadened and my feet moved swiftly to intercept, dashing across one rooftop before leaping across the expanse and running along the opposite ledge. Climbing onto the precipice, I jumped and landed on the ground below, allowing my knees to buckle as I absorbed the impact.

Slowly, I stood. I reached deftly into my coat and slid one of the knives out with taunting care. Cradling the hilt in my hand, I stalked toward the end of the passageway, fangs slipping out as two heartbeats came closer… closer… closer still.

They were engaged in conversation when I struck.

Neither was prepared for what transpired. I grabbed the girl, wrapping my arm around her neck, and pulled her into the shadows with me. Her significant other ceased walking immediately, reacting to the startled yelp she issued before I cupped my free hand over her mouth. As he dashed into the passageway, he came to an abrupt stop when I raised the blade and pressed it against his neck. The mortal man's eyes widened.

I chuckled. "Pleasant evening for a stroll, is it not?"

He motioned to yell. I impaled his windpipe with the blade before he could do more than squeak. Blood ran down his neck and the startled look in his eyes turned to confusion. The woman I held made up for his failed attempt at noise by yelling into my hand. "There, there, love," I said, whispering in her ear, nearly salivating over her flesh. "You shall get your turn, too."

A final thrust severed the mortal's spinal column. He fell like a lifeless mannequin as I extracted my blade and flicked it to the side, splattering blood all over the wall of an adjacent building. The woman I held continued screaming and a sliver of moonlight caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, causing them to glisten. I chuckled. "Now, it is just you and me. I like it so much better this way, do you not?"

A tear rolled down her cheek and over my leather glove while I raised the knife close to her neck. Tears became sobs and sobs shifted into wails the moment the cold blade touched her skin, starting her to bleeding as well. I chuckled while she struggled, pressing the knife against her throat in a more forceful manner. "Now, now. Hold still or I will slit your jugular and make this senseless violence with no purpose. You wouldn't want that."

She stopped, still weeping, but shook her head in an emphatic manner. "Just relax," I said, leaning close, my breath grazing her neck. "This will all be over in a minute."

The girl jumped when fangs pierced flesh. As I imbibed lustful swallows of her blood, however, she settled against me, given over to shock and then, unconsciousness. I fed from her over several minutes and pulled away once her heartbeat began to fade. Her head bobbed to the side, two puncture wounds still weeping blood in rivulets. I licked away the remnant and raised my knife again.

Dragging the blade over the bite wounds to conceal them, I then dropped her body on the ground. She landed atop her significant other, a gesture I thought only fitting as I stepped over them, cleaning the blood off my knife while strolling away. I slid the blade back into its sheath, adjusted my coat, and emerged onto a side street, crossing with a nonchalant air as I sought out my next victim. Not to imbibe, though. Heavens no.

Now, this was about murder.

I pinned the next mortal I found to the side of a building with one of my knives. After torturing him with another blade, I slit his throat before he could flirt with unconsciousness and allowed him to bleed out onto the gritty, Philadelphia asphalt. Collecting my weapons, I cleaned these, too, and continued onward.

My next victims were another couple, found walking through Fairmount Park. Knives thrown from a distance plunged deep into their backs, hurtling them face-first onto the sidewalk, where they came to a rest. Retrieving the knives, I licked them clean, a foreign laughter rising from my throat which exhibited becoming more drunk with power the longer I indulged it. My eyes rose toward the heavens. I wore the devil's grin even after my laughter had subsided. "Is this registering loud and clear yet?" I yelled.

I returned to the more populated part of the city where I stabbed one man in the gut for looking at me in an ill manner. Another, I ran through with my katana when he came upon the murder of my previous victim. After this, I found another woman, whom I lulled into the by-and-by through a prick of my eyeteeth on a quiet, narrow street, my own thirst needing to be sated after witnessing so much blood spilled since my last meal. I tossed her lifeless body aside after cutting the side of her neck. Turning away while wiping the blade clean, I discovered three people staring at me.

Each of them pale, they parted lips to flash their identity through fangs. I smirked and slid my knife back into place. "Ah, familiars," I said, adjusting my coat and sweeping my hand across my mouth to catch any stray droplets of blood. "How can I help you?"

They regarded me in silence, three male vampires I begun to take for mute when they refused to respond. I raised an eyebrow at them. "Nobody here speaks English?" I asked.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, neophyte?" one asked, breaking the silence. His long, brown hair was tied back in a ponytail reminiscent of Robin's.

I laughed. "I am sorry… What do I think I am doing?" Glancing at the downed mortal, I looked to my new friend then and shrugged. "Looks like I just murdered a woman. What do you think you are doing in asking me such an asinine question?"

"We were stalking this woman first. Has nobody taught you manners?"

"Many have tried. Few have succeeded." I folded my arms across my chest. "All three of you were stalking her? Fascinating. And were you all going to share her?"

He bristled. "That is none of your damn business."

"You were?!" My laugh rose in volume. "Good God, what kind of coven produces such pitiful hunters?"

"We are of Matthew's coven," another said, stepping forward. Shorter than his compatriot, he possessed shoulder-length hair hanging free of restraint. "And you?"

My attention shifted to the other vampire. I bowed in a sweeping, gentlemanly fashion. "I am Flynn, of Sabrina's coven. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

As I stood straight, the first vampire laughed. "Sabrina? No wonder he's without manners, he has a wench for a mother."

I furrowed my brow. "I beg your pardon?"

He smiled. "You heard me, neophyte."

"First of all…" I held up a gloved hand, raising one finger. "… I told you what my name is and it is not 'neophyte'. Understood? Secondly, what type of disrespectful bastard do you think you are, insulting the mistress of a coven?" I snickered, arms lowering to my sides. "You know what? I think that is what I will call you. Bastard. Since you lack the proper manners to even tell me your name."

He made the mistake of baring fangs at me, as did his friends. The look in his eyes turned from indifference to malice and a growl underscored the words he spoke. "You have not earned the right to know my name, you piece of refuse. And I will show you what we do to the garbage that wanders into our territory."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Bring on the lesson."

He hissed and stalked forward. My fangs slipped outward in response, my hand hovering over my stomach before sliding in a feather touch across my chest. The tall, long-haired immortal leaped for me, but I drew a knife and stepped back a pace just as he landed. Thrusting the blade through his chest, I sneered in his face. A look of shock enveloped his countenance as within seconds the immortal became dust. Uninhabited clothing and flakes of ash descended to the ground.

My eyes fastened onto the remains of what used to be a vampire, my mouth agape. Never before had I either facilitated or witnessed an immortal killed and with this virginity now broken, I reflected on just how I felt about it. Most vampires I knew spoke of the death of our peers with disgust. I, myself, had wondered if killing a familiar would be difficult when the time came. Instead of being repulsed, though, I found myself smiling. The devil himself must have been dancing in the shadow I cast, for when I looked up at the others, they both retreated one pace, their skin a bit paler than it had been moments ago.

My focus settled on the shorter one with shoulder-length hair and my grin became more pronounced. Fate reduced him from vampire to experiment in mere seconds and he must have sensed it, because he turned and began to run. I adjusted my hold on the knife's hilt, and then flicked it with the same focus I possessed while working with my instructors, yielding the same results. His back became a bull's-eye, his startled scream a death rattle. He fell to the ground, transforming into ashes as well, and I laughed as I regarded the last one standing.

He shook with fright and held up his hands, a man with short, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. I hissed and reached into my coat again, but he ran to the side and disappeared into an adjoining alley before I could draw another knife. Rather than pursuing him, I flipped my hand in his general direction, my demeanor apathetic. The death of the others more than expiated my fury. I retrieved my knife and stared at the pile of remains, wishing I could leave behind a calling card.

Lacking an appropriate homage, I started back for the coven without the desire sated.

That one would have to wait.

When I returned, I beheld my brethren with different eyes, knowing I had turned a corner from whence I could not retreat. One night had changed me beyond being a mere vampire; I knew the demon I was capable of embodying with a new-found intimacy and I could no longer deny my carnal need to kill. It would remain part and parcel of my soul from that night forth.

As I shut the door to my room and immersed myself in darkness, I removed my sunglasses and nodded to the silent jury of my weapons arsenal, bidding them all a good evening. I took each down to practice, placing them back into position reverently before moving on to the next. Night hastened into day and the shades protecting my windows began to lighten, provoking a yawn past my lips.

I stripped my suit and slid into a pair of black, pajama pants, settling in for what would be a day of troubled rest.

***

The next evening, a knock at my door woke me, forcing me from the twisted choke hold of nightmares that lacked any form or substance to articulate. I trudged for the entryway, slipping on my glasses along the way. Not bothering to locate a shirt, I opted to greet whomever this was bare-chested, hoping that maybe it might be Rose so I could ease my frazzled mind with a proper romp in the sheets.

As I opened the door, however, I beheld something that did the exact opposite of soothe me. Robin stood before me, a serious expression on his face.

I furrowed my brow. "Is everything alright, dear brother?"

"Get dressed," he said tersely. "The Mistress wishes to see you."

I nodded, watching him turn and walk away. Shutting the door once he was was out of my line of sight, I frowned at the darkness enveloping me in silence once again. The tenor of my older, more regal brother's words hung heavy in the air, his displeasure more than evident. I showered and dressed as though preparing for my execution, my deeds of the night prior still a fresh taste in my mouth.

And perhaps a foul taste in Sabrina's.

My gait to Sabrina's penthouse lacked the confidence of the night prior and although I strolled past her tall, stocky bodyguard, Paul, with an indifferent air I was preparing for the worst tongue-lashing of my immortal existence. I opened the door as slowly as possible before slipping silently into the vestibule. Quietly closing it behind me, I indulged in several steadying breaths before working up the courage to call out toward her living area. "Mistress," I asked, "Did you call for me?"

A deliberate pause preceded the authoritative voice of the siren who had gifted me immortality, the redheaded vampiress with a temper cleverly hidden underneath a veil of sensuality. "Hello, Flynn," she said in a tone I could not interpret. "Come inside. I would like to have a word with you."

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Eyes of the Seer – Chapter 6

Prologue | Chapter One | … | Chapter Five |

Rise of the Assassin

***

"A sword is never a killer, it is a tool in the killer's hands"

- Seneca

Chapter Six

 

My room became a different sort of refuge in the weeks which followed. What once was a cell for the conscience-laden became a haven for a sociopath, a proclivity creeping through my system like a slow poison releasing its toxin into my veins. The mortal inhibitions which kept my dark side at bay were gone; I rose each evening to find temptation crawling up my spine, something which worsened the more I used the blade.

It was a good thing Robin kept me too busy to indulge. The inevitable might have come to pass much sooner otherwise.

Oh, I still hunted. Robin demanded it, but he refused to leave me to my own recognizance. His constant presence irritated me a great deal at first. Where my brother had once been the mocker in the corner, he now became a demanding taskmaster. And his instruction did not end with sword skills and weapon handling.

Robin became determined to reinvent me altogether. My speech, my stalking, the art of luring and seduction – the Victorian vampire held nothing back and I, in turn, could not so much as spit without it evoking commentary. "Who the devil taught you how to hunt?" Robin asked one evening, his arms folded across his chest with his blue eyes observing me as I held a mortal in my arms. Her head tipped back, vacant eyes beheld the heavens while I drank from her violated jugular.

I raised my head, fangs still elongated and stained with red. "Are you going to critique the way I hunt now?" I asked.

"You kill like an animal. This isn't what I taught you."

"Your way takes too damn…"

"Language, Flynn."

I grumbled. "Fucking prude."

It happened too fast for me to react. Robin closed the short distance between us and smacked the glasses off my face. Dropping the mortal, I raised my hands to cover my eyes and yelled as my victim's body hit the ground. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"First of all, your reactions are too slow. You should have been able to move out of the way before I reached you. If you have a weakness, then you must be on guard for those who would expose that weakness at all times, be they friend or foe."

Doubled over, I pressed my palms against my eyes while turning in the direction I heard the hard plastic land. Robin stepped forward, though, and pulled one of my hands from my face to slap the frames into my grip. I thrust the glasses over my eyes and grumbled at Robin again. "You have a lot of fucking…"

"And two… Watch. Your. Language." He scowled at me when I met his gaze. "You sound uneducated and ignorant when you indulge this habit of yours. Now…" He glanced at the body lying on the ground before looking up at me again. "… Are you an animal or a vampire?"

I raised a hand to rub my eyes. "Your method takes too long."

"Takes too long? Did you learn nothing from that first day? You grow lazy and stupid and apt to produce bodies which look like animals were set loose, instead of learning to do it correctly."

"Does it matter either way?"

Robin paced around me. "Yes, it does, in fact, for several reasons. Cleanliness, for one. Finesse, for another. It is much like your sword skills; you can raise the sword, but your blows lack discipline. This is what I am trying to teach you." As I looked at him, I beheld the upturned eyebrow directed at me, a hint of the old Michael surfacing in his gaze. "Besides," he said, "You were a doctor and have not heard of the carotid artery?"

"Of course I've heard of the fu…"

"Language, Flynn."

"…Carotid artery."

Robin nodded. "Then you should know what to do with those teeth of yours. I showed you, for the love of all things." He huffed and leaned against a building in the side street where we stood. The breeze of an early spring evening blew past Robin, as though bent to tousle his hair while unable to ruffle even a strand. "Timothy taught you ill. He has a taste for the jugular. The man never possessed a drop of aristocracy in his veins that he did not drink from a victim. Your teeth are long enough to nick the artery and drawing from it will force the blood flow through the wound."

"Why does it matter, Robin?" I asked. "We are predators. Who cares how we do it?"

Robin looked at me, an even expression on his face. "I am teaching you the difference between a butcher and an assassin. If you wish to be an animal, suit yourself."

I furrowed my brow while he walked away, giving chase the moment I saw he was being more than a scornful twit with me. He did not look at me, but continued speaking as though repeating a mantra. "An assassin has finesse. He leaves nothing in his wake but death. Everything is clean and done with precision. Patience should be demonstrated when patience is called for and expediency at the ready when that is in order. It translates into everything, Flynn. From the way you stalk, to the way you kill."

I smirked, my eyes fixed on the city. "When do we get to the swords?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "You are still an impossible nuisance, Flynn. Don't think my sentiment on the matter has changed."

"You're too old to know the definition of the word 'change,' let alone how to do it."

His jaw clenched, Robin answered with silence and I continued to smirk in the same cocky manner. My arrogance was relatively short-lived, however. Robin savored a cup filled with schadenfreude the moment my weapons instruction commenced.

An open room typically used for meetings between Sabrina and the other vampire elders of our area facilitated our sparring sessions. On the first night, Robin stood halfway across the room, nothing more than tiled floor between us with all tables and chairs removed from the immediate vicinity. Suit jackets stripped and sleeves rolled up, we held the blades Robin insisted we use. Two European swords; light, straight, and sturdy.

"Bring me to my knees again," he said, poised for attack.

Yet, he did not move.

I wrapped both hands around the hilt of my weapon, then leaped for him and swung the blade just as I had the night I bested him. This time, however, Robin ducked and shifted to the side. My swipe cut through nothing but air and my landing left me vulnerable.

I felt a sharp blade slice across my shoulder. Turning, I hissed at Robin. He smirked at me and rotated his wrist to swing his sword around in an idle form of mockery. "What the hell?!" I asked, freeing one hand to clutch my shoulder.

"You're lucky I am not nearly so incensed tonight, dear brother," Robin said. He smirked. "I could have had you impaled through your back."

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the sword's hilt with both hands again. Robin remained still, not bothering to motion one way or the other. He kept his sword lowered to his side with only one hand clutching it. The nonchalant posture infuriated me and as I made another aggravated pass for him, aiming for his neck and too angry to care one whit over chancing his demise. But he merely perked an eyebrow at me before dropping to one knee. My blade sailed past, again, not connecting with anything.

The resultant momentum spun me around on my heels until I caught myself, and in that millisecond I felt the tip of Robin's sword pressed against my trachea. Robin rose to his feet while his eyes remained set upon mine in a deliberate manner. I felt the tepid blood beneath my skin seep down my throat. "Death blow number two," Robin said. "Care to make it a third, or have we learned our lesson yet?"

"What fucking lesson?"

Robin pressed the sword against my throat again and more blood trickled from the aggravated wound. I yelled, startled, wondering if he did intend to have my head after all. "I swear by The Fates and heaven above, I shall now start bleeding you a pint for every crass euphemism you employ. Now, as for what lesson; the very lesson I have been trying to teach you for days now."

"Yeah, yeah, finesse. Assassin. I get it." I growled. "Please lower the sword. That hurts."

He did as I requested, but still held a defensive position, as though not trusting me to hold back a cheap shot. "Precisely, but there is another lesson latent in this whole exhibition, Flynn."

I touched the weeping cut on my neck, glancing at the crimson staining my fingertips for a brief moment before my eyes rose toward Robin's again. "And what lesson is that?" My voice took on a subdued tone. I was angry, yes, but far more frustrated with myself than Robin's attack. He had sent me crashing from my ivory tower back onto the ground in two blows. Perhaps I was not the prodigy Sabrina thought I was.

The smug expression on my older, more regal brother's face evened, the half smirk fading into a frown. I thought I caught a flash of sympathy cross his gaze, but it, too, smoothed itself out as though an unintended wrinkle in his otherwise polished appearance. "Respect," he said simply.

My brow knitted at the one-word response. "What do you mean?"

"You lack it to your downfall." He shook his head. "You claim I have been your antagonist from the start. I do confess, when I first had to carry your unconscious body from the street and into our coven, I decided you were a mistake and have acted accordingly. I might have been swayed otherwise, though, if not for your attitude."

"I don't understand. What attitude?"

"Never once have I detected an ounce of respect from you." His frown became a scowl, yet I did not sense absolute disdain in it as I had before. The man was bent to level with me and for once, he had my attention. "Not when I attempted to teach you your initial lessons," he continued. "Not from any subsequent time we passed each other in the halls. Had you not been an antisocial miscreant, I might have expected to see you snickering with the others behind my back. I may have made my disgust of you apparent, but you have done the same in spades."

The scowl relaxed. I lowered my hand from my throat, wiping the blood-stained digits against the fabric of my pants. "You probably think this is how I've always been," I said. "Rude and stubborn. Moody. I admit, I'm not the Boy Scout I once was, but I'm not 'uneducated' or 'ignorant' either, as you put it the other night."

"And you think me nothing but pretentious."

"You definitely act that way sometimes."

"And you the same, but now we have something more than our petty differences to focus on." He raised an eyebrow at me. "Do you wish to learn how to do this all the proper way? Then assent me a modicum of respect. I have been alive over a century longer than you have, dear brother."

He and I stared at each other, locked within a silent stalemate with neither of us breaking eye contact. After a significant amount of time, I nodded. "Alright," I said. "I'll listen to you. But you should respect me a bit, too. I don't know what happened here before I came or why you think I was that big of a mistake, but it's not fair to take it out on me. The least you could do is tell me why you hate me so much."

Robin shook his head. His eyes drifted toward the other side of the room. "I don't hate you. And perhaps someday I will explain these things to you. But, for now, I made a promise and you accepted a commission." He turned his head to regard me once more. "You wish to please our mistress, don't you?"

The question shot a tingle up my spine, inspiring immediate agreement from my lips. "Yes." Yet, it also brought to mind the other notion nagging at me just as much as Sabrina's wiles did. "And I want to know what I am. Everyone else seems to."

"You are a vampire," he said with finality, and I knew I would not hear any further explanation on the matter this night. "Now, raise your sword." Robin nodded. "And allow me to show you what you were doing wrong."

Sliding my shirt sleeve across my neck to wipe away the blood, I nodded and took hold of the sword's hilt with both hands. This time, Robin did not engage me. Rather, he walked around behind me, hands placed on my shoulders, adjusting my posture and stance. He bid me deliver a blow into the air afterward and corrected my failed attempt, stepping back to watch as I performed the action once more. I glanced at him while he placed his sword down on a table in favor of folding his arms across his chest. "Again," he said.

I nodded in response and complied.

***

Weeks persisted. Days lengthened and nights shortened while the weather turned from chilly to sweltering within the confines of our urban estate. Robin remained my shadow throughout the better part of the months which followed, first instructing and then overseeing when I began to eclipse his own ability. It happened much sooner than he anticipated – than either of us anticipated, for that matter. The level of skill and composure I achieved by summer's end could not be denied, though. A mortal familiar from Japan flew in by the beginning of autumn and the blade I first came to admire found its way into my hands again.

The skill of a master. The focus of a far more patient man than I ever was before. That being hinted at by Sabrina started to fill my shoes and embody my tailored suits. I was a vampire's vampire by the time the winter months wrapped Philadelphia inside a blanket of frost and snow. I recall sparring with Robin one night, brother to brother, as became common practice between us. Throughout the course of my instruction, we crossed the threshold from enemies to friends, and the tenor of our sessions changed as a result.

Still stubborn and set in his ways, Robin held his European styled sword in hand while I whipped the curved blade of my katana from side to side. My sleeves rolled up, I stalked Robin as I had been taught, throwing occasional strikes without warning and anticipating the blows he issued in return. We conversed as this continued. "I'm growing bored," I said, thrusting my sword forward while Robin parried, using his blade to deflect my shot.

"Define bored, dear brother," he said.

"Tired. Listless. My lessons are redundant." I intersected a counterstrike from Robin. "When do you think Sabrina will finally give me something to do with all this?"

"You mean an assignment?"

"Yes, an assignment."

Robin frowned. We engaged each other in several silent back-and-forth exchanges before he responded. "Flynn, I would not hurry things. When we finally set you loose, you will have a target affixed to your back. You do not shed the blood of an immortal without there being consequences."

"I can handle it." I threw another strike his way. "I think I've proven my ability. My instructors have just about packed up shop and gone home."

"You mean you have mastered everything?"

"Everything. Every bloody thing."

Robin sighed. We crossed blades once more. "I still dislike it when you swear, regardless of what English dialect you use while doing it."

"Be thankful I stopped saying the other words in front of you." Steel caressing steel, I halted Robin's blade and held it in place, my eyes shifting from our swords to his eyes. "You're ignoring me."

"I dislike that you do it at all, and no, I am not." Robin stared me in the eyes for a few seconds longer before lowering his sword. I did the same. "Have you practiced with the knives?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes, both close combat and throwing them."

"And what is your current level of aptitude?"

It was my turn to sigh. I freed one hand to scratch the back of my neck. "The same level as my sword skills. The same level as everything else. I stalk and take prey like a shadow. Nobody sees me whom I do not want to. Everything you taught me."

Robin drew in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly as he regarded me. "Brother, you have done well," he said with a nod. "You have done very well. I simply worry about a neophyte being exposed to the sort of danger you'll be exposed to. I never thought you would take so quickly to your lessons. I counted on this taking years, not months."

"I've done everything asked of me," I said. "You've commended me to Sabrina several times."

"I know. And I underestimated just how much your… nature… would factor into your proficiency."

I raised an eyebrow and adjusted my glasses. "What does that mean?"

Robin hesitated. He studied me, his mouth open as though willing something past his lips which was difficult to say. Just as it seemed actual noise would follow, the sound of stiletto heels clicking against the tile floor redirected our attention toward its source. I smirked at her the moment her brown eyes found me. "Good evening, fair Sabrina," I said, turning my back on Robin for the time being in favor of meeting her halfway.

Stunning as always, the black suit she wore clung to all of the correct curves. Each time I saw her, Sabrina called to me like a siren and I found myself helpless to resist. What began as touches on my face and through my hair had become seductive brushes of her body against mine, her fingers sliding across my shoulders, her lips almost nibbling at my ear as my training fashioned this assassin of which she dreamed. I became more and more the item of interest to her and that night was no exception.

Sabrina's gaze wriggled into mine, ignoring the dark lenses protecting my eyes. If seduction could be made picturesque, it would have been as tendrils of smoke lacing around my body, wrapping around me like an anaconda seeking nourishment, strangling first before consuming. I died willingly within such an embrace.

"Hello, my devilish assassin," she said, her smile possessing the slightest hint of fangs. "How are you tonight?"

How much I longed for those teeth to find their way into my body the same way Rose's did each time we slept together. The vixen before my eyes could hardly be equated to the coven harlot, though. "I am well, Mistress." Bowing at the waist, my eyes remained set on her. "And you?"

She reached out as I straightened, hands touching the collar of my shirt and tracing their way down to play with the top button. "The night belongs to its predators." Her eyes shifted from her finger's play up to my gaze. "I am doing well, too, my dear. I heard you two were sparring and thought I would check on my prodigy."

A half-smile blossomed on my face, yet my eyes fell partially closed. I felt her hand slide across my chest and struggled with mental images of taking hold of Sabrina and doing the wickedest things with her body. "Your dark son lives to serve you," I said.

"I know he does." Sabrina's head tilted to the side, exposing the pale skin of her neck. "You are eager for a kill, aren't you, Flynn?"

"I am." I motioned forward before I could stop myself. My lips touched her cool flesh in a feather kiss before pulling away. "What good is knowing all of this without having some use for it, after all?"

"Soon." Sabrina met my eyes with hers as I stood straight again. Her hands left a burning impression where they had been when she lifted them. I became aware of Robin's presence again when she turned to regard him. "How is he progressing, mentor?"

I pivoted to align Robin in my sights, catching a look exchanged between him and Sabrina that read of a thousand things. Robin's words hardly seemed a summary of any thought I saw in his eyes. "Remarkably well, Mistress," he said, his tone chilled without being frigid. "Prodigy does not begin to summarize it. We should have expected as such, though."

"Yes, quite." She raised an eyebrow. Her eyes shot venom at Robin before returning to me. At once, the flames of wrath settled into soft lights when we regarded each other. I noted the change with passing interest, lost inside her seductive stare once more as though a switch had been flipped. "Is he ready yet, then?"

"Yes."

"No."

Robin and I spoke at the same time – I affirming and he stating the negative – which jarred me from the trance. I turned and looked at him, furrowing my brow. "Brother?"

He stared at me, rather than looking at Sabrina. "You are too young for this," he said. "There are lessons only time can teach that supersede sword skills and knife proficiency."

"I can handle them," I said, frowning. I looked back at Sabrina as though pleading between two parents. "I don't understand what I still have to learn."

Sabrina looked at Robin, brow knitted. "Which lessons yet remain?"

Robin sighed. "Self-preservation. He minds his own, but he needs to do more than slip through shadows. He must be prepared for all ends and everything to possibly go wrong." His eyes finally settled on Sabrina. "You know what setting him loose will do. The moment somebody hears his name, he will become a public enemy, in more manners than one."

"I thought we came to an agreement on this several months ago, when it all started," Sabrina said.

"Yes, we did." Robin's eyes shifted back at me. "And the concerns I have now are ones I didn't have before. I did tell you some things might arise along the way."

"What else?" One of Sabrina's hands settled on her hip as she shifted her weight onto the opposite foot. "If that is your only concern, then we shall let the other six covens know that touching him means war."

"That is not as easy as you think it is, and you know it, Sabrina." Gone were formalities. Robin stared Sabrina down as a peer. "There are other things as well."

"Such as…?"

"Such as his mental state. I have been careful not to indulge his bloodlust nearly as much as he would like." I caught a quick shift of his eyes from Sabrina to me and back again. "He needs time to settle into immortality."

"I am settled," I said, interjecting.

"Brother, you do not know the half of it." Robin frowned. "You…"

"That is enough." Sabrina broke through our impromptu debate. We both looked at her as she sized each of us up. "I believe I am still the mistress in this coven, am I not?"

Robin muttered something in a foreign tongue, dropping his sword onto the ground in favor of walking off toward where his suit jacket laid. Sabrina scowled. Proverbial steam rose from her head, threatening to reignite the flames of wrath and consume Robin whole. "Ne tournes pas le dos à moi," she said, answering Robin back in the language he spoke in hushed tones.

"Pourquoi? Tu as décidé déjà." Robin slid his arms through his suit jacket, and then looked at me. "I will leave you to decide this with the Mistress," he said. "You are her child, not mine. Please know I do not doubt your aptitude, Flynn. There are only things about your mental preparedness which have me concerned. I would like to see you mature as a vampire first. It would put my mind much more at ease." Nodding, Robin looked away, leaving Sabrina and I the sight of his back as he hurried for the exit. I furrowed my brow at the display.

It lingered with me for the remainder of the evening.

Sabrina dismissed me shortly after Robin's departure. After indulging in a quick hunt, I returned to my room, my need for blood sated as the dawn sky threatened to intrude upon the matters of immortals. The air outside grew colder by the day as my first year as a vampire came to a close and I wondered just how many Robin thought I needed to weather. Five? Ten? A hundred, as he had? I shut my door with a bit more force than normal and leaned against it, arms crossing my chest while my eyes took stock of the room surrounding me.

What was once devoid of any blade of which to speak now boasted the beginnings of an arsenal. Several katanas, throwing knives, daggers, and short swords adorned the walls of my private quarters, with more housed inside the closet. Weapons with which I planned on experimenting had their place of honor on a side table. Everything Asian and all types of tools short of rifles, guns, and bullets. Had I been commissioned to be an assassin of men, those weapons might have had enough worth to be included, but I knew from the start who my victims would be. I would be killing other immortals. "A target fixed upon my back," I said, revisiting Robin's words.

I could handle it. I knew I could.

While I understood my brother's concern, I also had a healthy sense of egotism throbbing through my veins as I plucked one of the swords off the wall. Swinging it as the others had taught me, I heard the streams of praise bestowed upon me echo in my ears. I was born for this. I was a natural. Handling the blade only seemed to confirm it.

I set my weapon down atop my dresser as the hour called me toward slumber. Yawning, I stole a quick glance inside a half-opened drawer where something shimmered from within. I found myself plucking it out and lifting it before I could stop myself.

The necklace I ripped from Lydia lay nestled in the palm of my hand. My fingers slid over its pendant while my eyes became distant and the mantra continued playing. I was born for this. I knew it as surely as I knew my name was Flynn; it had knitted itself with the killer instinct I possessed. Even as the sainted doctor, I had slain that which I loved with such precision, it would have made the surgeons I once worked with envious. What would it take to demonstrate to Robin that I could handle being an assassin?

Clutching the necklace in hand, I thrust it into my pocket, not entirely certain why I did such a thing except to keep the trophy close to my person. Throwing my belabored body onto the bed, I neither bothered to strip, nor did I tuck myself under the covers before succumbing to fatigue. Instead, I allowed the tidal wave to crest and carry me off in its wake. I should have been lulled into the soundest of dreams.

That morning, however, I weathered the most terrible nightmare I had experienced since my fledgling days. Despite months of cold cruelty and intense focus, there yet remained one voice that refused to surrender her mission to redeem my soul.

The ghost of Lydia Davies returned with a vengeance to haunt me.

| Chapter 7 |

Eyes of the Seer – Chapter 5

Prologue | … | Chapter Four
Chapter Five

Not even one year into life as an immortal and the end already seemed nigh. A blade to my throat and a vampire standing before me who eclipsed my years by over a century, I sneered in defiance of my peril.

But a foreign temptation was still whispering in my ear.

It happened when my eyes caught sight of the armory. Time itself seemed to pause, affording me the chance to study Sabrina's weapons. The same sentiment which tickled at me in the common area – when I admired the Japanese swords on display – came over me again. I did not have the foggiest idea how to wield anything besides a scalpel, but I knew I needed to get to the blades across the room.

If I could ever get off my knees.

Looking at Michael, I held a firm and steady gaze with him as time resumed its normal course. "What are you waiting for?" I asked, indulging in a dangerous smirk.

He pressed the sharpened tip against my larynx, causing me to wince. The sword did little more than create a superficial cut, but Michael's case was stated. "Beg me, neophyte," he spat. "What cause does a useless waste of space like you have to exist?"

"You can't do it." His weapon parted my flesh, suggesting otherwise and causing a thin rivulet of blood to run downward.

Michael scowled, fangs elongated. "I'll make you suffer first if you continue taunting me."

"You can't do it," I continued, "Because if you could, then you would've already."

"Do not try my patience."

"What do you want from me?" I scoffed. "I'm not going to beg you for shit. You know why? Because you bark like the big dog trying to piss on his territory to mark it. You throw around your weight like you own the place without showing any respect in return."

"I have no cause to respect you." Michael's hands began to tremor, his voice descending even further into an enraged snarl. "You're nothing more than a nuisance. Her new little pet I am expected to coddle and train when he has been nothing but a disgrace to the word immortal." The fraction of a pause was just long enough for me to see deadly intent resolve itself in his eyes. "Now, I'll end you like I should have when you were just a pitiful human."

A voice cut through the crowd assembled by the broken door. "Michael!" Poised to drive the point of his sword through my throat, Michael hesitated when he heard Sabrina. My instincts seized the moment and both hands captured the blade. I threw it to the side, knocked Michael off-balance, and leaped to my feet.

Michael hissed, his feet planting on the ground to steady himself as mine took their first steps past him. Sabrina clamored to break through the crowd while I ran for the blades, feeling Michael pursue me all the way. While the weapons in the parlor were intended for show, these swords were more than display pieces. A Japanese-styled one found its way into my hands with sheath flying to the ground in an instant. I swung an untrained blow out of instinct as I whipped around to face Michael.

Our blades connected, saving my neck from a fatal strike.

My eyes widened, both hands wrapping around the katana's hilt. As Michael moved to attack again, I raised my blade and blocked another blow, but the edge of his sword came within a hair's breadth of cutting my cheek. It forced me back, and he took advantage of the opening to slash my arm as I attempted to dodge.

Fangs elongated, I hissed and responded with a strike.

He twisted his sword downward, deflecting my shot. Our blades caressed for a split second before he threw his weight into it and sent me to the ground. I hit the floor. He drove his weapon toward my stomach, but I rolled away from harm and raised my sword when he struck again. Michael gritted his teeth, hesitating only for a second as he paused to study me with his brow furrowed and our swords touching.

Now, I took the offensive. I pushed his blade away and came to my feet.

He and I swung at the same time. Together, we filled the room with the harsh sound of metal clanging. The awkward blows I threw somehow met his, which brought a look of confusion back to the forefront of Michael's eyes. Metal struck metal again. Michael whipped his sword upward and immortal reflexes saved me as I avoided the tip of his blade. I could not keep this up forever, though. The sight of blood staining my shirt invaded my periphery with the reminder I would not outlast my brother in my hunger.

"What do you want from me?" I asked. Our swords intersected again. "To die? To go away? Tell me what the hell you're really upset about, because you've had it out for me from day one."

"You aren't supposed to exist," Michael said through gritted teeth.

I stepped back. Michael stalked forward. We each poised our swords in anticipation of another strike, but neither of us moved. "What does that mean?"

"It means you are a mistake. You want a name? I'll give you one." Michael's eyes shifted to the side, glancing at someone standing nearby. I did not see who before his gaze returned to mine. "I think you should call yourself Flynn."

"Flynn, eh?" I smirked in defiance of the veiled insult. "I like that. But if I get you to your knees with my sword about to give you a tracheotomy, then I think I deserve the right to name you back."

"Name me what?"

"Robin." I paused to regard Michael. "Seems like a good name for such a pompous prick."

"So be it then," Michael said. I watched his rigid posture relax a bit, his mouth opening to issue more condescending banter. He began to say, "I'll not give you the chance," but his drop in guard worked to my favor.

I was already moving with the first word.

Ignoring it all – the dizziness, the hunger, the anger – I summoned a form of focus I had never experienced before. The movements played out in my mind before they even commenced. I leaped for Michael and swung my sword in a confluence of instinct and vampire prowess. No sooner had he spoken than I landed before him and knocked his weapon from his hands. The attack set Michael aback. Too stupefied to respond, he could not block the sweeping kick to his knee that sent him crashing to the ground.

He fell. The tip of my blade pressed against his throat, drawing blood. Michael's eyes widened as they met mine.

I held the sword steady. "You were saying?"

"Child!" Sabrina's voice cut through the heat of battle. I felt a hand touch my shoulder, but did not turn to look at my mistress. She persisted just the same. "Let him go. I will reprimand him in private."

Michael and I continued to regard one another, but there was a difference in the gaze he returned to me. I could not put my finger on it at the time. A small dose of fear, perhaps? A subtle awe? Maybe a fledgling form of respect rising to the surface? Whatever the matter, I withdrew my blade and allowed him to stand. Then, I looked at Sabrina.

She furrowed her brow at the expression on my face. "What is it?"

"I like the sword," I said, smirking in a manner that hinted at the dark side who wanted out again, who hungered for blood to make up for his weakened condition. He knew exactly what he held in his hands. He held fate. "I'd like to keep it, please."

Sabrina did not respond. I turned from the field of battle, walking past stunned bystanders and stepping over shards of wood with sword in hand. I made it to the threshold separating the two rooms before Sabrina ran for me and grabbed my arm, coaxing me to face her. She held the disregarded sheath out toward me. "You forgot this, dear," she said. As I reached for it, she leaned in and kissed my cheek, whispering, "Dark killer Flynn, go do what it is we immortals do."

The name resonated in my ears with decadent sweetness. Another identity. Another life. Someone other than the Peter stopping me from vampire fulfillment. I nodded at Sabrina and slid the sheath over the blade while I walked past my brethren.

Everything changed from that point forth.

Striding to the stairs, I passed a mortal familiar assigned with managing our affairs and shot him a hungry look. The short, wiry human scurried away like a petrified mouse. I grinned. The added sense of power draped about my shoulders like a cloak of arrogance and clothed me even as I entered my room.

I kicked displaced furniture aside and set the sword onto my dresser. Stripping off my violated shirt, I tossed it on my bed before walking into the bathroom to clean the blood from my mending wounds and freshen up. That accomplished, I opened my closet and picked through the woefully sparse collection of hand-me-downs gifted to me upon my awakening. It uncovered one item donated to me by Michael himself.

A black suit, perhaps the most contemporary piece of clothing my older brother owned before he passed it down to me. It was tailored to his lankier frame, but our overall similarities permitted me to experiment with a different style. The more formal attire with its inky, midnight hue contrasted against my pale skin in a curious, yet satisfying, manner.

I wore it onto the streets to sate my hunger with a proper feed.

 

***

That night, I brushed past an unassuming mortal girl and followed her into a club. She lost several pints of blood and her life in the back of the establishment, with the suit-clad devil that lured her there gone long before anybody found her lying face down in the remnant spilled from her jugular. My feet possessed the stride of a killer entirely unlike my previous self when they touched Philadelphia asphalt again.

I returned to the coven. The smile I shot Rose as I passed caught her attention and halted her conversation with Rebecka. The latter still wore splatters of blood across her dress, but said nothing and parted company with Rose without one word of protest. Rose floated toward me with lithe footsteps and pressed her body against mine, a million intentions stated in that one action.

The sounds shaking the walls that night were of a much different nature than the ones in weeks prior. Claw marks and puncture wounds littered my body. The name called in the throes of passion reverberated in my ears, cementing my new identity in decadence. When I closed my eyes to rest, I slept much sounder that morning than I had since my earliest days as a vampire.

When I opened my eyes the next evening, it was as though I had experienced a second awakening. My tongue still tasted the woman I murdered the night before and my hand buzzed with the recollection of holding the sword. While I did not see Michael in the hallowed halls of the coven, I crossed paths with Sabrina in the main vestibule as I returned from another outing.

My mistress placed her hand on my shoulder, stopping me. I studied her, eyebrow raised, while her fingertips brushed across the fine linen of my suit. "Did your brother give this to you?" she asked.

I nodded. Sabrina shook her head and raised her eyes from my lapel to my glasses. "You need a few of your own, my dear. I will summon a tailor at once. For now, come to my quarters. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

"As you wish, Sabrina," I said. She flashed a seductive smile and I followed her up the stairs, marveling over the change a day brought with it. The people who passed us all looked at me in a different manner, word having spread by then, no doubt, of the coven second-in-command being brought to his knees by an untrained neophyte. Where once their gazes were laden with disdain, now I saw the same expression on their faces I had seen on Michael's at the finale of our duel. The experience was intoxicating.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, as we approached the door to Sabrina's penthouse.

Sabrina nodded at the stocky bodyguard beside the door. Paul only offered me a quick glance. "We shall discuss this in more detail inside, but I believe I have an offer that will interest you." A deliberate pause followed while her eyes traced over me. "Flynn."

A wicked smile surfaced in response, one I could not have contained if my life depended on it. She chuckled in response. "You like this new identity?"

"Yes, I do, actually." My smile broadened.

She raised an eyebrow at me, her grin never wavering. "Well, I believe we can help you make some good use of it, child." Sabrina turned before I could answer and opened the door to her private quarters, pausing to allow me to step inside ahead of her.

I stopped, though, the moment I saw him standing in her living area.

Michael raised his head, his eyes studying me longer than they did Sabrina. Standing in front of a leather couch with a book in hand, he lowered it onto a table and then straightened again, slipping one hand into a pocket. He did not flash condescension or loathing, but gazed at me, neutral. I had not crushed the elder vampire's spirit, but he did not regard me as an inferior nuisance any longer, either.

Sabrina closed the door and preempted any exchange of greetings. "I believe we are on the dawn of an epiphany, my dears," she said, stepping past me into the room where Michael stood. "And while I should be reprimanding you both for that childish little fight you engaged in, I'm actually tickled that it happened."

My mistress sat in a matching leather chair and crossed her legs. Her eyes studied me. "Well, come. Sit." Sabrina pointed at another chair. "Robin and I have a proposition for you."

"Robin?" I stepped forward, remaining standing for the time being.

Michael looked away. "What's fair is fair. I accepted your wager and you bested me."

"I think it's splendid," Sabrina said, a chuckle in her voice. "Flynn and Robin. Suits both of you, if you ask me. You wish to act like a pair of brigands? Then you will wear their colors." Her amusement dissipated as quickly as it surfaced. "Now, sit."

I lowered my frame into the chair and watched as Michael – Robin – did the same. He settled onto the couch, his focus on Sabrina, which compelled me to regard her as well. Sabrina glanced between us. "As I said, I should be handing out punishments for the spectacle of last evening." Her eyes settled on me. "You, for insubordination to a second-in-command and the blatant lack of respect you have displayed toward him."

Sabrina looked next at Robin. "And you, for threatening the life of a member of this coven. You know what type of punishment I exact on those who threaten my offspring. You acted as though a mortal child, not a vampire of your years, and should count yourself fortunate I do not send you into exile."

Robin dropped his gaze toward his hands resting on his lap. "If exile is the punishment for…"

"Oh, stuff it. We have spoken of how you are going to pay your dues." The red-headed vixen turned her attention back to me. "Prior to that little debacle, I believe you and I were talking about gifts and talents. You only seeing a curse and me telling you the talents would emerge when you embraced what you are." Her grin resurfaced, in all its decadent wickedness. "And then I witnessed you with that blade and saw a prodigy in the making. Tell me, dear Flynn, have you ever wielded a sword before?"

I scoffed. "The only thing with a sharp edge I used before was a scalpel." I stifled adding the butcher knife assassination of my former paramour to my resume.

"Which makes this all the more of a wonder to me." She shook her head. "You creatures truly are born with that proclivity."

"Excuse me?"

She flicked her hand to the side in a dismissive manner. "Never mind, dear. The point is, what you did transcends astonishing. I think we need to cultivate this."

The way she suddenly regarded me caused a shiver to run up my spine. Sabrina opened her mouth wide enough to flash fangs at me "You liked that sword, yes?" she asked. I nodded without needing to consider the question. Sabrina nodded as well. "This is why you wanted to keep it. You have a pull toward it, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." I furrowed my brow. "Even before I stole that sword off the wall, I was looking at the display weapons in the parlor and felt something strange. Like something was –" I pointed to my ear. "– Whispering at me."

Sabrina's expression turned amused. "Child, you hear too many voices. You need to put that all behind. I need you to have your wits sure and steady. Robin is going to teach you how to properly use that blade. I am going to keep an eye on you to see how you progress. You might have great things in store for you."

"Robin's going to teach me?" I looked at him as his eyes shifted toward me. A smug grin enveloped my countenance. "Didn't I just beat him in a sword fight?"

"Don't get cocky, neophyte," Robin said, a dash of annoyance bubbling to the surface. "You barely won. Had I not been so incensed, I would have impaled you before you found the opportunity to play dirty."

"Sour grapes?" I asked.

"Hardly." Robin scoffed. "You swung the sword like a madman. No discipline to it whatsoever. There were only two things working to your advantage." He raised a hand, lifting fingers to enumerate his list. "Passion and instinct. One could have just as easily resulted in your demise and the other is what took over when you had no idea what the devil you were doing. If you want to do anything other than throw a piece of steel around and pray for impact, then you have need of instruction. A lot of instruction."

"Alright." I looked at Sabrina. "So, if I learn how to use the sword correctly, what's going to happen?"

"Oh, there is much more to it, my dear. Not only learning how to use the sword. Learning a love for the blade as a whole. I believe you have it in you to become a virtuoso." Sabrina uncrossed her legs and slid forward in her seat. "Robin will instruct you at first. If you do well with him, then I will summon the best instructors from the four corners of the world to train you. You fancy the Japanese blade? I will have somebody direct from Japan come to this coven to ensure you become a god with it. And Robin will teach my blade-wielding assassin how to become a shadow and a myth."

"An assassin?" I asked, a queer rush of excitement springing up from the depths of my soul, awakening the sadist inside that much more. My mind spun, dizzy with the prospects. "You think I can become an assassin?"

Sabrina flashed her decadent smile once more. "I think you were born for it, Flynn."

The rest of the conversation flew by like a blur, a matter of formalities and little more. Sabrina dismissed Robin and I, leaving us to depart together with a heavy silence hanging between us. His eyes remained fixed ahead of him, his mouth pursed in thought.

The change in tenor begged to be recognized.

"Why did you get in my face last night?" I asked as Robin closed the door to Sabrina's private quarters.

Robin paused, looking at me with a scowl. "'Get in your face?' For God's sake, speak English." He shook his head as he looked away. "You have need of learning more than sword skills."

"You're going to teach me how speak properly now, too?"

"Whatever it takes."

Robin fell silent, but did not walk away just yet. "What provoked your outburst last evening?" A smirk punctuated my question. "Is that better?"

"It's a start." Robin's eyes returned to mine. "Personal matters which are none of your business."

"Then at least explain 'Flynn' to me."

"A child of red," he said smoothly. "The name comes from my native country. You are a vampire, brother." He looked me over from head to foot before staring me in the eyes. "Start behaving as such."

Robin turned and started for the stairs. I did not give pursuit, allowing him enough time to put distance between us before I followed his path to the second floor. It was just as well that we would not encounter each other again that evening; the bruises of a wounded ego were apparent in Robin's behavior and I was yet adjusting to my new way of life.

I slipped into my room and was reminded of the chaos of the past few weeks when I took stock of the mess that had accumulated. I began to sort through the wreckage, bent on finding the contentment and order I once possessed. The changes taking place by my hands and beneath my skin were relished equally, like a taste lingering sweet on my tongue.

The knife-wielding mortal, transforming into a bloody assassin.

Only fitting to see Peter off by the same razor edge which made him a killer as well.

| Chapter 6 |

Eyes of the Seer – Chapter 4

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |
Chapter Four

Suspicious eyes seemed all about me, following me wherever I went. Paranoia infected the inner recesses of my psyche, not merely from the gaze of my brethren, but from the very cosmos. I felt as though the world watched each step I took, scrutinized me, weighed me and found this new manifestation of myself wanting. It disquieted me down to the pit of my soul.

I became a belligerent bastard.

Hunting lost its intrigue. Snapshots of my mortal life ebbed into my consciousness with maddening slowness and tainted the thrill. I would see manifestations of Lydia while feeding, and when the lifeless bodies of my victims dropped to my feet, I saw her face on them. Blinking past the sight did nothing to eliminate the shivers which ran up my spine. A week of flirting with the threshold of insanity brought me face-to-face with the truth. I was a conflicted man with half his memories.

Although the prospect of recalling anything else should have scared me away from exploration I pursued it nonetheless, as much teased as haunted by the gaps in my memory. I spent several nights pondering Lydia's murder until the distorted memory of the knife sunk deep into her chest caused me to remember ripping her necklace from her throat. I furrowed my brow at the thought. Had I dropped the chain or carried it with me? Through the haze of trauma, I could not remember either way.

It led me to Sabrina one evening. She and I strolled down the corridor, Sabrina tapping her long nails against her chin as she spoke. "What happened to your personal effects?" she intoned, repeating the question I had cautiously posited to her. "Honestly, I have no idea. Your clothing was covered in blood and the rest were just mortal trivialities."

We passed another immortal as we walked down the corridor. Sabrina waved to him while I frowned. "Does that mean you threw them away?" I asked.

"The clothing, I'm certain, but Timothy might've stored away your other items." Sabrina stopped and turned to face me. "Why do you want them anyway? Is something the matter?"

I thanked heaven for my sunglasses as my eyes shifted away from her scrutiny. Shrugging, I buried my hands in my pockets. "Not exactly, no. I'm just having some issues with my…" I tapped my head twice. "… Memories."

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. "What about them?"

"They're incomplete. I can remember a few bits and pieces, but there are gaps."

"Why do you need to know such things? That life is over." Sabrina stepped closer to me, far closer than she had since the days of my awakening. She reached up, her fingers brushing through my hair and tousling the locks. "You are not a mortal any longer, dear. Why trouble yourself with the recollection of being one of those inferior humans we consume? You are forming a new life. Let the past lie in the grave."

"I know, but it's important to me." I caught one of my useless breaths in my throat when her fingertips slid past my cheek, her razor nails dragging across the flesh in a deliberate manner. "I… need to fill these blank spaces in so I can move on. Otherwise, they'll keep nagging at me." I attempted a disarming smile. "And we don't want that, right?"

"You concern me, my son." One finger coasted past my lips, and then her hand abruptly dropped to her side. She sighed and raised her eyes to mine. "If it will help you put matters to rest, then I will look for your mortal possessions. Beyond the clothing, what were you carrying?"

I glanced away, indulging in a steadying sigh to calm my spirit past the lingering sensation of Sabrina's touch. Focusing on my blurry memories, I replayed the mental picture of stabbing Lydia. "A watch. I'm sure a wallet. Some keys and…"

I paused. The image of Lydia's necklace in my hand shot a tingle through me as I saw my former self slide his hand into his pocket.

"And what?" Sabrina asked.

Shaking off the recollection, I looked at Sabrina again. "And a necklace, I think." I tried to conceal my enthusiasm over that last object, not having the slightest notion why it held my interest. My nervous gaze met Sabrina's. "The necklace would at least be worth pawning."

Sabrina eyed me for a few tentative moments before nodding. "Very well. I will have Timothy look for your personal items." Without any further words given over to the matter, Sabrina turned and walked away. Two nights later, a small bag containing these items found their way to my doorstep. I took it into my private quarters and dumped its contents onto my unmade bed.

I saw the keys and wallet I expected. The driver's license verified my identity and my last place of residence, and there was a small amount of money. Other forms of identification and old receipts were tucked into various pockets in my billfold, but no necklace. Sitting on my bed in an exasperated huff, I threw the wallet across the room and shoved the other items onto the floor without any further thought. As my eyes drifted back to the bed, however, I caught sight of something shimmering atop my black sheets.

The thin chain attempted to disappear within the folds of bedding before my fingers pinched around it, allowing me to raise it level with my line of sight. Even through my sunglasses, I noticed dried blood streaked across the pendant, staining two hearts with a thorny rose atop. On an impulse, I licked the blood, but dropped the jewelry when the remnant burned my tongue. I hissed at it on instinct, and then left it with the other discarded items.

Shortly thereafter, the dreams commenced.

***

These were no mere shadows slipping from behind the veil; full-fledged memories took flight through my mind, painting animated snapshots of my mortal existence in its entirety. I witnessed twisted metal and death. I felt an ancient, psychosomatic ache in my leg. I saw the youth I once was and bolted awake from a sound slumber on more than one occasion as the defining moment in my life played out in nightmares.

Not that it was the first moment I recalled my parents were killed in a car accident. I remembered telling Sabrina about it in the coffee shop, but it had lacked any depth of detail. Now it was vivid. John and Marjorie Dawes gained life and lost it just as quickly as reverie gifted it to them. I was a petrified thirteen year old when they died, and their death changed the entire course of the rest of my life.

My father, a service veteran, met my mother in England and they married within months. Home became a farm in the middle of Pennsylvania and together, my parents created an environment of discipline and faith, one that possessed the warmth found in television shows and wistful paperbacks. I was a headstrong only child, but never had cause to question my parents' love for me.

It all ended in a car accident, giving birth to the real Peter Dawes.

The ambulance carried me, the sole survivor, from the scene with a compound fracture in my right leg. It left an indelible mark on me, even after I was sent to live with my father's sister in the suburbs of Philadelphia. An uncertain future as an orphaned boy in the care of an aunt and uncle he barely knew left me petrified as it was, but lingering memories of the accident also haunted me. I found myself reliving the hell of watching two parents succumb to their injuries even after the first of two surgeries to repair my broken leg. Tears were shed at the funeral, but no more after that. The rest of the time was spent ruminating on a fledgling form of survivor's guilt.

Had I been a doctor, the possibility existed that I could have saved them. After a short while spent musing on this notion, my mouth opened with questions for my physician during my post-operation examinations. How did he come to practice medicine? What type of schooling did he receive? The singular motivation to become a doctor possessed me and the saint who emerged from the carnage of a mangled automobile held a near religious passion to save souls with a stethoscope and scalpel. Everyone I met from that point forth saw the would-be doctor and extolled my determination.

Now, I murdered the lot of them with my teeth.

The ghosts railed at me.

My mother joined Lydia in the chorus. A transplanted German, she lived in Great Britain for half her life and developed a strange accent in the process; a confluence of Bavarian and British which stretched across the years to accuse me of my sins. "You let the devil in, Peter," she said. "And now you've become a demon yourself."

My father regarded me through the sweat of his brow – the man who instilled in me the work ethic which pushed me through medical school. "Have you forgotten what you were?" he asked. "You used to care for people, Pete. Remember what I told you – if you lose your love for others, then you risk losing your humanity."

I held my head in both hands, screaming past the sound of all the people who knew Dr. Peter Dawes. "Who are you?" they asked. "Where is the Peter we loved?" I spent nights arguing with them, my wandering footsteps leading me throughout Philadelphia as the vampire sought to feed and the mortal died a little more with every human that was consumed. Two months past my awakening, the dualism had me so at odds with myself, I agonized over every person I stalked.

When I fed, though, I reveled in the taste again. I wore a wicked smile and drank deep until the demise of one sated the needs of the other. The fledgling vampire did not wish to give his life and yet, mortal and immortal sides could not reconcile. The voices persisted in their mission to silence the blood thirst. They might have succeeded if not for one thing.

Their sainted doctor was a hypocrite. The immortal gritted his teeth and issued a response. "An impostor," I said. "No benevolent doctor kills two people in cold blood, one the woman he was going to marry. He had all of you fooled. The man was as much a murderer as the vampire he begged to become." When the ghosts could not issue a response, my new nature planted its roots deep.

My erratic behavior did not go unnoticed, though. The coven watched me lose my grip and listened as I carried on inside the confines of my private quarters. I railed and ranted until the walls shook. I fought immortal thirst during nights when the chilling memories kept me indoors, though it drove me mad with hunger in the process. My outbursts sent my housemates clamoring to Sabrina for relief when it got to be too much.

Peter the vampire was going insane. Something needed to be done.

***

Ten weeks after my awakening, sunset heralded another night in the battle of a tortured immortal faced with shaking off the relics of his past. I sat on my bed, fingers tangled in my hair as I shuddered through an escalating craving for blood. The whole manic episode came to a head with a knock at my door. Shooting a quick look at the entryway, I furrowed my brow when a voice followed the gentle tapping. "Dear Peter," Sabrina said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Please open up, I wish to speak with you."

I stood and walked to the door, dizzy from the effort, but not about to have Sabrina enter and see the state of my quarters. When I opened the door, I stood behind the gap, holding it just barely ajar. Sabrina raised an eyebrow at me with her lips pursed in a frown. "How long will you do this to yourself?" she asked. "I've been told you continue to torture yourself, and the people around you, and have grown quite irritable in the process. This is becoming taxing, Peter. It must stop."

I was forced to look downward. "I don't know what to do about it," I said, my voice a hoarse whisper.

"About what, dear son?"

I shook my head.

Sabrina grabbed my chin, forcing me to look her in the eyes. "Tell me why you have been in such a foul mood lately or I shall take those glasses away and leave you to writhe in pain in a well-lit room. First, Michael tells me you have been acting snippy with him. Then, you ask for your old personal effects. And now, you have become insufferable – locking yourself within your quarters. Carrying on, being a nuisance to your brethren, who all tell me you have gone insane." She paused expectantly, her eyes shooting flames at me. "I demand a response from you."

I could no longer hold back the words. "Ghosts, Sabrina. I keep… seeing people I knew when I was mortal. They've been torturing me and I can't shut them up."

"So, you become the coven terror." Sabrina forced the door open and grabbed my hand. "Come now, Peter. We will converse in the common area. You have need of removing yourself from this room."

After weeks of wrestling, I had no resolve with which to fight her. I acquiesced to the coaxing, even when I spied a group of onlookers watching from the hallway, snickering at me. I sneered back as I closed the door to my room. Then I followed Sabrina to the staircase.

Neither of us spoke until we began to descend and Sabrina gently broke the stillness. "I told you at your awakening that this would not be easy and, in some regard, I think I took too much for granted when I saw you embrace this new life you were given. Your memories have not been kind. I had no idea they would cause this much pain."

"There are constant voices, Sabrina," I said, eyes focused straight ahead. "Every time I try to feed or sleep, I see those I used to know, reprimanding me for being a vampire. Sometimes I see their faces on my victims." I frowned, shaking my head. "I feel like it's going to rip me in two."

"Rip you in two?"

"Into this bleeding heart mortal that listens to the voices and the immortal that still enjoys the kill."

Sabrina nodded, but said no more. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, we turned toward the grand parlor where my brethren once received me with open arms. Now, the reception was lacking. They watched me with disdain, prompting me to avert my eyes while Sabrina received nods and bows of respect, which she reciprocated.

I indulged one glance upward, however, when I sensed someone studying me from across the room. My gaze countered Michael's dare, but only for a moment. Suppressing a hiss of rebuke, I looked back at Sabrina as she paused beside two empty chairs.

Sabrina sat and crossed her legs. "I fear you are on the path to self-destruction," she said sighing, her eyes shifting away. "And this would be a pity, not only to us, but for the vampire collective as a whole, if we were to lose a being such as you."

"What? A brooding, neophyte vampire?" I asked as I dropped, defeated, into the chair beside hers.

"You don't know all ends to this matter." Sabrina paused, as if turning a notion around in her mind before nodding to herself and folding her hands atop her lap. "I didn't plan on telling you this for some time, but you need a bit of motivation. Child, there is more to your identity than even you know."

I scoffed. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Your eyes. You've dealt with this handicap, but have not asked me why they are this way since the first night you woke."

"You mean you know the reason for this?"

"Yes, or, at least what I suspect is the case. You are a unique being. It is difficult to know for certain that one matter has caused the other."

"Sabrina I have no idea what you're…"

"You have the Second Sight," Sabrina said, interrupting me. "Gifts beneath the surface which have yet to emerge. Your infirmity is the sign of something greater."

"You call this a gift?" I pointed at my sunglasses. "All I see is a curse."

"Only because you choose to look at it that way."

"Is there any other way to see it? If it tortures us so much to be vampires then why don't we all just kill ourselves and be done with it?"

"You are the tortured one, child." Sabrina frowned at me. "You are the one who has allowed these visitors from your past to dictate what your life is worth and now, you see ill where you should find delight."

I sighed, studying the rug beneath my chair. "Delight in what?"

Sabrina inched forward in her seat, her body angling towards me. I looked into her eyes again. "Do you not recall it? The way it felt when you fed from your first victim? Have you not experienced it since then when you have killed? When you last relished the blood of the feed and allowed yourself to experience it as only immortals can?"

"I don't know. I can't even enjoy the kill anymore."

"Because you look at immortality like a mortal. You are not one any longer. You are something far better." Sabrina grinned. "A higher being, if you will. And you, with gifts precious few creatures possess. Bonded to immortal form, they could make you a formidable vampire someday if you allowed yourself to become what you are destined to be."

I shook my head. "I think you're telling me what you think I want to hear. I don't have any special talents."

"I speak the truth."

"Then explain this second sight bullshit."

Sabrina shrugged. "You will recognize it when you see it. It will never find you, though, if you continue to cower instead of evolving into the creature you were meant to become."

"Evolving?" I huffed, pointing about the room as I spoke. "I look at the others and don't see evolution. I see a group of lazy, decadent immortals. They hate me and I hate them, too."

She smirked. "You are part of a coven. Everything you fire at your brethren will be returned tenfold. They see your inability to assimilate and think you spiteful, Peter."

Cringing away, I all but spat, "I hate when you call me that." My words were laden with disgust.

Sabrina hesitated before replying. "When I call you what? Peter?"

"Yes, when you call me Peter. I don't know who the hell I am now, but every voice inside my head makes sure to tell me that I'm not Peter any longer. I get sick and tired of hearing it."

My brow knitted at the sight of Sabrina's eyes. Her impish orbs of brown danced with amusement, ruby lips curled in a smile. "Well then, dark son," she said. "If you dislike the name and wish to distance yourself from this Peter who troubles you, why don't you change it?"

"Change my name?" A sardonic chuckle rose from my chest. "If I change it, then Michael won't be able to call me Peter the Blind anymore."

Sabrina laughed and I could not help but succumb to a quick grin. "You harbor such disdain for him," Sabrina said. "I have never seen two vampires in the same coven so at odds with each other. Again, you fail to take note of your attitude, though. What you dish to him will be returned."

"I don't dish anything to him."

"A proper amount of respect might be nice. He is my second-in-command, after all."

"Right, sure." I narrowed my eyes. "Maybe when he shows me a little respect, first."

Sabrina sighed. "There is much Michael could teach you. You could become fast friends."

"When hell freezes over." Looking away, I frowned, moving back to the point at hand. "So, what am I failing to do, then?"

Sabrina touched my face, directing my attention back to her. As our eyes met, she stared as though she could behold the bright, blue irises staring back at her through the lenses of my glasses. It unnerved and excited me all at once. She could have kissed me and I would have plunged into the embrace without a second thought. She kept her distance, however, while still maintaining that intimate closeness.

"You are not the same being you once were," she said. "You are the vampire who rose and sank his teeth into that mortal girl, regardless of what these shadows of your past try to tell you. You can feel him, can you not, my dark son? The creature you are within?"

I nodded in a daze. "I feel him every time I kill." Thoughts of feeding reawakened the thirst in me, causing a deep groan to ebb from my throat before I could stop it. "Oh, the taste of blood is incredible."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Sabrina leaned closer still, her cheek brushing against mine before her lips touched my ear. "That is the vampire, my dear. Stop stifling him with the artificial heartbeat of humanity. That siren call is your true self speaking. And when you embrace your nature, you will discover gifts that would make the lot of your brethren jealous." Sabrina backed away enough to wink at me. "Michael included."

My eyes met hers. "What do I do, then, Sabrina?"

Sabrina smiled. "Find a new identity, my unnamed one, and bid the mortal within to remain dead where we ended him. You found your escape from the mortal world covered in the blood of those who dared to trifle with the dark killer you were meant to be. Peter is dead and you thrive. Silence the voices with the blood you consume."

I felt her place a kiss on my cheek before she stood and patted me on my shoulder. As she walked away with a lithe, carefree air about her, I found myself likening Sabrina to an angel and felt a loyalty to her in that moment unlike any I had experienced before. With a sigh, I stared until she left the room, and then focused on the others milling around me.

I studied those bound to me as immortal brethren, attempting to connect with them. They spoke amongst themselves, drinking wine and blood while reclining about plush couches and pillowed chairs as though content to waste away eternity in slothful decadence. I frowned. Perhaps I did need a new identity, but I could not abide by the prospect of being such an utter waste of space.

I stood, but had to steady myself through a wave of dizziness. Yes, something had to change. I could not spend eternity scared of my own shadow, ignoring my base needs. Crossing to a pair of vampires engaged in conversation, the hallowed argument resurfaced in my mind while I snatched a glass of blood from a dark-haired vampiress named Rebecka. "Your doctor was a hypocrite," I said aloud, draining the contents of the glass in one drought before wiping the remnant from my mouth and throwing the empty goblet at its previous owner.

Rebecka gasped in horror. I ignored her. The eyes of my brethren shifted toward me, undoubtedly wondering 'what the devil Peter was doing' while I continued my argument. "You defend him and you tell me what to be, but none of you bastards can tell me why he killed his girlfriend. I don't give a shit if you think he was a saint, or not. Saints don't slash through two people." I continued walking until I stopped in front of a set of Japanese swords mounted to the wall beside Asian-themed tapestries. My hand lifted to caress one of the blades without breaking my train of thought. I smiled. "Argue all you want, but there's your real doctor. He's a killer, just like me."

"So, he speaks to himself like a madman. What the others say about you losing your mind is true."

I turned at the sound of Michael's voice, seeing him standing behind me with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his fine linen pants. The regal, pompous bane of my existence, clad in a suit, his hair tied back once again as though the Victorian era came and departed while leaving him behind. "I'm sorry," I said. "Was that directed at me?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "I don't see who else I would be talking to, unless you have imaginary people to accompany the voices in your head."

I shrugged and looked back toward the wall. "Doesn't matter either way. I plan on ignoring them now."

"You don't have the resolve to accomplish that."

Turning my head to regard him again, I furrowed my brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're weak." Michael narrowed his eyes at me. "I've known that from the start, when you were writhing on that bed like we'd set you on fire. And you have been utterly useless ever since."

"Oh, I see," I said, smirking. "So, I take it that you rose and immediately became the king of all vampires."

"I didn't scream like a stuck pig." He folded his arms behind his back and walked two, measured paces around to my side as if sizing me up. I shifted to face him fully and allowed him to continue. "Utterly useless," he repeated, eyes surveying me from head to foot. "Nothing more than a deathless mortal. And an insane one, at that. You will be nothing but a burden to this coven for all of your miserable existence."

"You have a lot of room to talk, you reject from an antique store." I shook off a wave of irritation as it surfaced. "You call me a madman? Well, what does speaking with a madman make you?"

Michael huffed. "As if your words could wound me. You are no better than our prey, Peter the Blind."

I felt my fangs start to peek from their hiding place, and clenched my jaw to hold them back. "I'm going to love having a new identity and telling you to shove that pet name up your ass."

"A new identity?"

I stepped closer to him. "Yes, I'm choosing another name. Going for a change of pace."

"So we can mock another moniker instead?" Michael smirked.

"No, so I can show you just how little you actually know about other people. You're nothing more than an arrogant prick."

He laughed and I saw his fangs slumbering inside a sea of porcelain. "Bold words for an arrogant neophyte afraid of his own shadow. Do you think me just weaned from my mother's breast? I have lived for many years while you have barely left a footprint on this mortal coil."

The corner of my mouth curled. I closed our distance with another stride. "How old does that make you, then?" I asked.

Michael's blue eyes steadily held mine behind the sunglasses. "One hundred and one years, with thirty-two mortal years prior to that."

My eyebrow rose in defiance. "And in all those years, you never checked the calendar?" Tension filled the space between us. "You look like you haven't left the last century."

"And you speak as though you were not educated in this one."

"You don't know anything about me," I spat.

"Allow me to enlighten you," Michael said, a smirk enveloping his countenance that possessed such smugness it made his words drip with malice. "I can tell you have no clue what you are now. That you have no notion of what it is to be an immortal despite what others have attempted to teach you, and as such, do not deserve that title." He paused. "I can tell one other thing, too."

"Oh?" I asked. I held his gaze and reciprocated it measure for measure. "What would that be?"

Michael's grin broadened. "That I have a coward of a being standing before me, not having the strength or the genitalia to keep his mortal girl happy. Little wonder she sought greener pastures. I would have as well."

The anger bubbling up inside me burst in a glorious spectacle of fist meeting face. I punched Michael across his jaw before he could dodge the blow. The impact sprawled him on the ground, blood running from a cut on his lip, but I had no chance to relish the moment. Michael swiftly came to his feet and hissed at me, fangs elongated.

He wished a fight?

I hissed in return, more than willing to oblige.

Michael swung for me. I moved out of the way prior to impact, but failed to dodge his other fist when it came for my face. He avoided breaking my sunglasses only by a hair's breadth and I determined not to give him a second chance. I grappled with him, attempting to pin one of his arms before resorting to throwing another punch that smashed him on the cheek.

A crowd was gathering around us as Michael threw me off him. The force sent me flying into the group of onlookers, knocking several off balance. They remained on the floor while I came unsteadily to my feet, woozy from hunger. Rage compensated for what I lacked in nourishment, though, and powered the violent swings I threw in Michael's direction when I charged back in. He dodged one and captured my hand with the next, crushing my fist with all the immortal strength he could summon. I gasped in pain, but was close enough to knee him in the stomach in instinctive retaliation. The blow doubled him over and freed my hand from his grip. I stepped back and followed it through by connecting my foot with his chest, taking him off his feet again.

Hate shot from Michael's eyes as he stood, hair half-hanging out of his ponytail, suit rumpled and askew. His hands balled into two weapons as he stalked me. The intimidating look should have been accompanied by venom dripping from his fangs, and caused me to take another step back. The full measure of a vampire pounced at me and before I had a chance to react, he hefted me by the fabric of my shirt and snarled into my face. "I care little for what she says you are," he hissed. "You were a mistake."

Michael threw me. The door which separated the adjoining room buckled and splintered as I crashed through it, and when I landed on tiled flooring on the other side the second impact completely knocked my glasses from my face.

The effect was instantaneous as light seared my retinas with exquisite pain. I wailed in agony while cupping one hand over my violated eyes.

A shiver ran up my spine. I rolled onto my stomach and groped with my free hand for my sunglasses. It took several frustrating seconds for my fingers to locate the frames and slip them where they belonged. No sooner did I come to my knees with glasses on, though, than a sharp point touched my throat just above my Adam's apple.

Opening my eyes, I swallowed hard and looked up to find Michael standing before me, a European-styled sword in hand. "Beg for your life," he said, "And I might allow you to retain it."

In the perfect position for doing just that, I strangely found myself smiling when my eyes finished adjusting. Knives and swords, some hanging on the walls and others situated on display shelves like prized jewels, were arranged around the room. Sabrina's armory surrounded me, whispering sweet temptation into my ears.

I looked back at my older, more regal brother, and sneered with more confidence than I had any right to exude. In one manner or another, I knew my salvation was in this room.

| Chapter Five |