Chapter Seven

I opened my eyes to find myself standing in the middle of a room, uncertain of how I came to be there. Heavy wool coat atop my black suit, I was dressed as though I anticipated an outing, but I could not recall leaving the coven for this lifeless crypt no matter how hard I tried. I adjusted my sunglasses, focusing on my surroundings through a darkness that seemed impenetrable. Something rang familiar about it, though. I made out the presence of a lamp by my side and, as I switched it on, artificial light illuminated the area and recollection screamed in a volume louder 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 a year appeared around me. A thin layer of dust rested on everything. Familiar pictures of familiar people hung on the walls and every piece of furniture remained undisturbed. That could not be right, though. Fingerprints littered the murder weapon that ushered Lydia Davies into the afterlife. Anything not nailed down should have been confiscated by the police.

Yet books still rested on tables. Old mail piled on a stand in the entryway. A refrigerator hummed in the kitchen; a light blinked on the answering machine. The red, pulsing beacon piqued my curiosity. I strolled toward it before I could stop myself and pressed play, listening as the tape rewound and settled into place before clicking.

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

“Hey, Pete!” a boisterous, nasally voice declared in opening. The mental Rolodex settled on a face. An obese, middle-aged nurse named Chloe Poole. “Pat and the Indian Mafia say you’re late for your shift. Is everything alright? You haven’t seemed to be all there lately and 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 said. “Stupid fucking mortal.” Another beep punctuated the message. Another 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 an ancient heartstring and caused me a start. “Please listen to this message before you take another step forward. 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 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. Its pitch became high through the filter of shed tears. I found myself swallowing hard; closing my eyes. Not affected, or so I attempted not to be. 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’ll 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’ve known who I am for some time now. How dare you attempt to meddle in my affairs?”

“You’ve lost what you are. A healer. Dr. Dawes, wake up. It’s not too late.”

“No!” I opened my eyes. My face contorted with rage. “Oh. no, no, no… No you don’t. I know what you’re up to and it’s not going to work. Do you hear me?! Not going to work!” In one, swift movement, I ripped the answering machine from the wall and threw it across the room. The cheap plastic splintered into a thousand pieces. The tape inside unwound partially as it remained attached to the player. My fangs slipped from their hiding place; I hissed at the remnants of the unwelcomed harbinger.

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

I tipped over the couch. 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 vampire hurricane until I reached the bedroom.

Memories wanted 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. As though dismantling the final vestiges of my former life. As though destroying Peter Dawes himself. I reached in my pocket for my lighter and flipped open the top.

In one deft movement, I ignited the flame and tossed the lighter onto the bed. The fire licked at the bedclothes until it caught and a blaze began to 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’s dead,” I muttered to the empty apartment. Destroyed; 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 still found my head steeped in something too palpable to be a mere dream. My body back at the coven, my mind still felt the sting of fury. I gritted my teeth and sat up in bed.

She wished to play hardball? Well, she was trifling with the wrong vampire.

I stood, infuriated. Destroying the apartment in my dreams not enough, I tasted blood on the tip of my tongue. There would be hell to pay if I had anything to say about it. I unbuttoned the shirt I fell 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 blood boiled all the more. How could one shake a ghost bent on being their 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 up in a frenzy over a pile of bodies on the street. I would relish the hunt that night with a particular sadism I had not entertained prior. 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, hesitating 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 furvor. My dark side clamored within the confines of a self-made prison, though. What would happen if I released the monster for good; if I gave into those compulsions I held back?

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

Before I could stop the action, I opened a trunk filled with other accessories and extracted a shoulder holster with slots designed to sheath daggers. Securing it around my arms, I adjusted it into place and reached for a set of matching throwing knives, plucking three from their display and sliding the cold steel into place. One final adjustment and they nestled close to my body, whispering decadent thoughts into my mind.

I placed my sunglasses over my eyes. I secured my favorite sword by my side, strapping it around my waist, and pulled a full-length wool coat out 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 bled the word assassin and wanted the world to know that as well. Including a single 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 vestibule. 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 shadows, 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. 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 a vampire, after all.

Seek out higher ground for a better vantage point, but make no sound in doing so.

I jumped for a fire escape and pulled myself up. My shoes made a slight tap on the metal platform when I swung around the railing and landed on the other side. I bounded up each set of stairs with swift silence and leaped onto the roof of a five story building once at the top. The wind kicked around the ends of my coat and ripped through the strands of brown 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 palms raised 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 for one rooftop before leaping across the expanse and running for the opposite ledge. Climbing onto the precipice, I jumped and landed on the ground below, my knees buckling from the impact, but my body holding in a crouched position.

Slowly, I stood. Slowly, I reached 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 were prepared for what transpired. I grabbed the girl, wrapping my arm around her neck and pulling her into the shadows with me. Her significant other paused his steps at once, 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, wouldn’t you say?”

He gasped and motioned to scream. 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, about to salivate over her flesh. “You’ll get your turn, too.”

A final push thrust the blade past 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 glisten of tears in her eyes. I chuckled. “Now, it’s just you and me. I like it so much better this way, don’t you?”

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 just slit your jugular and make this senseless violence with no purpose. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

She stopped, still weeping, but more compliant now. She shook her head in an emphatic manner. “Just relax,” I said, leaning close, my hot breath touching 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 lobbed to the side, two puncture wounds still weeping blood in rivulets. I licked the remnant and raised the 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 for the edge of my hiding place. I slid the blade back into its sheath, adjusted my coat, and emerged onto the 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 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 the blood from them, a foreign laughter rising from my throat that became more drunk with power the longer I indulged it. My eyes raised toward the heavens. I grinned the devil’s grin even after my laughter had subsided. “Is this registering loud and clear yet?” I yelled.

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, 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, but turned while wiping the blade only to discover 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 jacket 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 figure 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’m sorry? What do I think I’m 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’re 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? Huh. That’s interesting. 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 constraint. “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 isn’t ‘neophyte’. Understood? Secondly, what type of disrespectful bastard do you think you are, insulting the mistress of a coven like that?” I huffed a chuckle, arms lowering to my sides. “You know what? I think that’s what I’ll 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 preceded the words he spoke. “You have not earned the right to know my name, you piece of trash. And I will show you what we do to the trash 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 pounced for me, but I drew a knife before he could descend upon me 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. Within seconds the immortal standing before me became dust, which descended with uninhabited clothing onto the ground.

My eyes shot to the ashes of what used to be a vampire, my mouth agape. Never before had I either killed or seen 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, wondered if killing a familiar would be difficult when the time came. Instead of being repulsed, though, I found myself smiling and the devil must have been dancing in the shadow I cast, for when I looked up at the others, they both retreated one pace, then froze in position. Before me stood two male vampires, their skin a bit paler than it had been moments ago.

My focus settled on the shorter one with shoulder-length hair. My grin became more pronounced. Fate reduced him from vampire to experiment in mere seconds and he must have sensed it too, for he turned and began to run. I adjusted my hold on the knife’s hilt, then flicked it with the same focus I possessed while working with my instructors, yielding the same results. His back became a bullseye; his startled scream a death rattle. He fell to the ground, but transformed 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 off 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 toward the coward. The death of the others more than expiated my fury. I retrieved my knife and stared at the pile of ashes I found it nestled in, wishing I could leave behind a calling card.

Lacking an appropriate homage, I started back for the coven without my 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. The night changed me; I knew the demon I was capable of being with a newfound intimacy. A carrier of his disease, I could no longer deny this 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 and practiced with them, placing them back into position before moving on to the next. The night hastened into day; the shades protecting my windows began to lighten, provoking a yawn past my lips and spurring me toward slumber.

I stripped my suit and slid into a pair of black, pajama pants. Then I settled in for a day of unsettled 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, looking to 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. It jarred me all the more.

Robin stood before me, a serious expression on his face.

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

“Get dressed,” he said in a terse manner. “The Mistress wishes to see you.”

I nodded and watched him turn and walk away, shutting the door once he was was out of my line of sight and frowning at the darkness wrapping 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, in my mind, I was preparing for the worst tongue-lashing of my immortal existence. I opened the door as slow as possible. I slipped into the vestibule and indulged in several steadying breaths before working up the courage to call out toward her living area. “Mistress?” I said. “Did you call for me?”

A deliberate pause preceded the authoritative voice of she who gifted me immortality, the redheaded vampiress with a temper hidden underneath the 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.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Story Beginning

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 prison 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 held at bay gone, I rose each evening to find another temptation crawling up my spine, something which went from bad to worse the more I learned about the blade.

Twas 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. This time he accompanied me, though, and refused to leave me to my own recognizances. 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 taskmaster of a mentor. 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 bastard held nothing back and I, in turn, could not so much as spit without it going noticed. “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 red. “Are you going to critique the way I hunt now?” I asked.

“You kill like an animal. This is not what I showed you on your first evening.”

“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, desperate to prevent any beams of moonlight from raping my corneas until the last possible moment. I heard the sound, however, of Robin stepping forward one pace, followed by the sensation of one of my hands being pulled from my face and my glasses being slapped into my grip. I thrust the spectacles over my eyes and grumbled at Robin again. “You have a lot of f… .”

“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 shut my eyes while raising a hand to rub at them. “Biting into the neck takes too long.”

“Takes too long? Did you learn nothing from that first day? You grow lazy and stupid and opt to produce bodies which which look like zoo animals were set loose out here, 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. This 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 any 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 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. “So, when do we get to the sword lessons?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “You are still an impossible nuisance, Flynn. Do not think any of this has changed my sentiment on the matter.”

“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 short-lived, however. Robin savored a cup filled with schadenfreude the moment my weapons instruction commenced.

An open room 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, poisied for attack. Yet, he did not move.

Both hands wrapped around the hilt of my weapon, I 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. 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 shouted, freeing one hand to clutch my shoulder.

“You are lucky I’m 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 and made another aggravated pass for him. 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 swung the sword again, I aimed for his neck, too angry to care one whit over his demise. Robin perked an eyebrow at me, but dropped to his knees, arching his back. My blade sailed past, not connecting with anything.

The resultant momentum spun me around on my heels until I went from charging away to facing my brother. In that millisecond, though, the tip of Robin’s sword pressed against my trachea, Robin still on his knees, but rising 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. 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,” Robin said. “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 held the sword in hand with elbow bent, as though not trusting me to hold back a cheap shot. “Precisely, but there is another lesson latent in this whole exhibition as well, Flynn.”

I touched the weeping cut on my neck, glancing at the crimson staining my fingertips for a brief moment before my eyes raised toward Robin’s again. “And what lesson is that?” I asked. I issued the question in a subdued manner. Infuriated, but far more frustrated with myself than Robin’s attack itself. He sent me crashing from my ivory tower back onto the ground in two blows. Perhaps I was not the prodigy Sabrina boasted of before.

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 surface in 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, respect?”

“You lack it. To your downfall.” He shook his head. “You claim I have been your antagonist from the start. I confess, when I first had to carry your unconscious body from that street 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 with me.”

“I don’t understand. What attitude?”

“Never once have I detected an ounce of respect from you.” His frown becoming a scowl, I still did not sense absolute disdain in it. Not like 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. Not from any subsequent time we passed one another 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 a ‘Neanderthal’ 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. “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. I nodded after what seemed like minutes. “Alright,” I said. “I’ll listen to you. But you should respect me a bit, too. I don’t know what happened in 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 do not hate you,” he said. “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, do you not?”

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

“You are a killer. A vampire. 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 raised my weapon, taking hold of the hilt with both hands. 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 attempted once more. I glanced at him while he placed his sword down in favor of folding his arms across his chest. “Again,” he said.

I nodded again in response and complied.

***

Weeks of this 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 that followed, first instructing, 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 surgeon. 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 embodied my tailored suits. A vampire’s vampire, the toxin reaching its height of concentration within the chill that settled in my veins by the time the winter months wrapped Philadelphia inside a cold 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 went 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, taking hold of the sword’s hilt with both hands. I thrust it at Robin while he parried and used his blade to deflect my shot.

“Define bored, dear brother,” he said.

“Tired. Listless. My lessons are redundant.” I raised my blade to intersect 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 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 utilize in 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?”

I sighed, freeing 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,” Robin said with a nod. “You have done very well. I simply worry about a neophyte being exposed to the sort of danger you will 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, frowning. “You’ve commended me to Sabrina several times.”

“I know. And I underestimated just how much your… nature… would factor into how fast you became proficient.”

I raised an eyebrow and adjusted my sunglasses. “What is that supposed to 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 the source. I smirked at her the moment her brown eyes settled on me. “Good evening, fair Sabrina,” I said, turning my back on Robin for the time being in favor of meeting her halfway across the room.

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 started as touches on my face and through my hair became seductive brushes of her body against mine. Her fingers sliding across my shoulders; her lips almost nibbling at my ear. As my training started to fashion this assassin she dreamed of, I became more and more the item of interest to her. That night was no exception.

Sabrina’s gaze wriggled into mine, despite the dark lenses protecting my eyes. If seduction could be made corporeal, it would have been 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 not be equated to the coven harlot, though. “I’m well, Mistress.” Bowing at the waist, my eyes remained set on her. “And you?”

She reached out as I stood, hands touching the collar of my shirt and tracing their way down to play with the top button. “The night belongs to its predators, right?” Her eyes shifted from her finger’s play 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 its way onto my face. Yet my eyes fell partially closed; a bit intoxicated. 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 fell to her 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 and winked at me. Her hands left a burning impression where they had been when she lifted them. I became aware of Robin’s presence again in the room 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, with none of them vocalized. Robin’s words hardly seemed a summary of any thought I saw in his eyes, but he spoke them just the same. “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, flames of wrath settled into soft lights when her gaze met mine. I noted the change with passing interest, lost inside her seductive stare once more as though a switch engaged inside my psyche. “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 enough from the trance I fell under to turn and look at him. “Brother?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

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 exceed 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. “What lessons does he have need of learning?” she asked.

Robin sighed. “Self-preservation. He minds his own, but he needs to do more than slip through shadows with proficiency. 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 the name Flynn, 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.

“Dear brother, you do not know the half of it,” Robin said, frowning. “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, 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, hurrying toward the exit. Leaving Sabrina and I the sight of his back and ponytail hanging down past his shoulders as his parting statement. I furrowed my brow at the display.

It lingered with me for the remainder of the evening.

Sighing, I entered my room again after indulging in a quick hunt, my need for blood sated as the dawn sky threatened to intrude upon the matters of immortals. The air outside growing colder by the day, I sensed one year as a vampire coming to a close and 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. 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 more worth, but I knew from the start what my targets 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 around as others taught me, I revisited words of praise bestowed upon me. I was born for this. I was a natural. Whipping the blade around only seemed to verify 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. Something shimmered from within. I found myself plucking it from inside and lifting it up before I could stop myself.

The necklace I ripped from Lydia as I murdered her 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 was evident in the killer instinct I possessed. Even as the sainted doctor, I slayed that which I loved with such precision, it would have made the surgeons I once brushed shoulders with envious. What would it take to demonstrate to Robin that I could handle the responsibility of 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 a trophy close to my person. Something that proved even the hypocrite doctor was a murderer. 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 who refused to surrender her mission to redeem my soul.

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

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