In the background, the bathroom faucet was dripping.
Staring up at the ceiling, my arms enclosed around Victor with his somewhat slackened from sleep, I found myself unable to rest as a thousand thoughts ran past my mind, a veritable parade of concerns without any concrete origin. Such had been present ever since earlier today and yet I could not figure out for the life of me what could be causing the heavy thoughts I entertained.
Was it the blood bond? We knew that had to be it, in part. Blinking in wonder, I contemplated this strange, new phenomenon endemic in Victor’s bloodline which knitted my maestro and I together; this eternal seal which would link us until one of us departed from this mortal coil.
“… Even the gods or fates would find themselves facing two very powerful beings if they ever tried to separate us.”
“… I know you and I would slay the gods themselves just to be with one another.”
And neither of us had any plans of allowing the kiss of second death to brush its cold lips past ours any time soon. Read the rest of this entry
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I remember Monica Alexander Dawes very well.
She had bright green eyes like mine, with dark hair flowing down past her shoulders and a blonde streak which framed one side of her face. This strange permeation of her supernatural gifts was something I always wondered about, even when I met her as an assassin. Even when I hated her. My, how much things changed. Within the span of a few months, I went from loathing the wiry, impish sorceress to falling headlong into love with her. In time, I found myself pining for my mortality, if just so we could be together as a typical man and woman. I traveled across four continents for her. I fought to the death to defend her. And in the end of it all, I woke lying in a scrap heap of rubble, possessing a pulse and breathing air once again.
We escaped from the Order we served to be away from its demands. I, a master seer. She, a gifted watcher. Commodities to an entity whose sole purpose was to hunt and slaughter that which I had been… vampires. We woke late one night, trapped in a hotel in Rome, with little more than the clothing on our backs and my sword by my side. Somehow we made it to Naples and, subsequently, to a small Catholic mission buried deep within Costa Rica. Read the rest of this entry
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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
***
Enjoy the Silence
The creeping sound of the inevitable is one I have learned to loathe and yet, something I have become accustomed to after fifty-five years on this mortal coil. Everything seems to have its own pulse and while a steady, healthy beat thumping in time with the rhythm of life lets us know the body around us is healthy, when the heart starts to fail, the results can be devastating.
“Words, like violence, break the silence…” Read the rest of this entry
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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
***
Forgive Me
As the night wore on, I found myself wondering about the knot forming in my stomach. One of the unfortunate side effects of being a seer is the uncanny ability to sense the strangest things. A wicked set of eyes upon me; the intent of evil beings when they mean harm or malice to others. Much of that has had to be tempered, as my own intentions toward a mortal can be less than noble, especially as of late. Embracing what I am has forced things to be as such, but it is a path I care little for retreating from as I find peace with my vampire nature at long last.
So, these whispers and chills have taken on a different form. Intuition, some call it. That heavy weight which deposits itself on my shoulders when I scent something in the air without a face or name. Once upon a time, I boasted of great power and wielded it with authority. I used to gather energy to my fingertips and use it to throw man and vampire alike around like rag dolls, but such had not been the case for years. At best, I became a petty magician after Monica’s death.
Things were different now, though. Ever since meeting Victor, my past had the habit of surfacing during my most private moments with my lover. Years ago, I swore never to speak of who or what I was to any depth and only violated this covenant with Robin and, in very limited instances, with Celeste. Now, though, I spent hours with Victor, exchanging stories over who we were to the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves. I spoke names I had stricken from my lips. I shed tears I bottled years ago. I explored my abilities in more depth behind closed doors after demonstrating them to Victor.
I opened the doors wide and allowed somebody into the innermost recesses of myself. Read the rest of this entry
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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
***
A Fixed Point in the Cosmos
It took several seconds of fishing through pockets for me to find the metal cigarette case gifted to me when I yet lived with Ophelia in Toronto. The moment I pulled it out, though, I reconsidered my urge for this lingering mortal crutch. I had wandered outside for this purpose alone and yet, it seemed now that I was outside, I needed something else. My eyes raised heavenward while I turned the case around in my hand idly.
The stars seemed exceptionally bright, but still my thoughts could not help but to drift to when I was a boy, regarding the heavens from the fields my father tended. In rural Pennsylvania, we were surrounded by nothing more than land, it seemed – expansive as the eye could wander either north, east, south, or west. As such, when my much younger and more alive self stared at the stars, he beheld bright crystals shimmering in the black expanse above him. I have wandered many places and looked to the sky each time my feet have touched unfamiliar soil. Never have I seen the stars so brilliant as I did back then. Read the rest of this entry
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Celeste had the piano shipped from France, from her Parisian estate, the moment she found what she deemed to be ‘the perfect spot’ for it. Our new home filled up quickly with an assortment of furniture brought in from the four corners of the world and I gladly entrusted her with the task of decorating. Words being my vice, color schemes, furniture arrangement, and Feng Shui were all concepts lost on me. So long as I had a desk to sit at in a study, I would not be found complaining about anything else. Especially when an artist demanded a corner of a room filled a certain way.
I passed by the instrument several times a day without giving it much thought. At first, the polished grand was one of those fixtures which blends into the background, something we glance at without really seeing. I set papers on it when I found myself within its proximity and leaned on it while conversing with another, but none of these actions ascribed any real appreciation for the piano on my part. It never once complained about my apathy or neglect and sat in its perfect spot throughout the days which passed. I did not pay it any mind. Until the sheet music appeared out of nowhere one day.
A brisk stroll punctuated my movements through the room it slumbered in day after day. My head buried in a book, I finished reading one page and turned it to continue in my literary journey. As I did so, though, I caught sight of something light-colored contrasting against the dark wood. I paused my steps at once. Perking an eyebrow at the strange vision my eyes took in, I recognized the notes and symbols arranged on the page. Walking closer brought out the title of the piece. “Clair de Lune” by Claude Debussy. A memory swelled immediately from the recesses of my heart and I placed the book down while sliding onto the piano bench to take a closer look. Read the rest of this entry
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I love this time of year, because seducing prey becomes far too easy on All Hallow’s Eve. For one night, mortals imbibe their darker pleasures and leave their inhibitions at the door, becoming whatever they wish to become and doing everything they feel like doing. Costumes adorn the masses and masks hide their identities. While I could have joined in the festivities, there is something to be said for being one’s self while the rest of the world is busy being something else.
Especially when one is a vampire.
The one night a year when my smiles become wider, my words of seduction more pointed without fear of it scaring away my target. These days, I do not kill in such a wanton manner, but during my days as Sabrina’s assassin, the world was an oyster and I feasted until my heart’s content. At times, I could even get my older, more regal brother to join in the fun.
It should be noted that Robin is no saint and he would never purport to being as such. At the time, however, the vampire elder who was my mentor realized what kind of creature I became under his tutelage. I loved sadism; lived for the kill so much that I became irritable on the nights when I had to refrain from the cat and mouse of predator and prey. Robin blamed himself for the monster in the black suit with the evil grin, and knew a demon had been fashioned rather than a hunter of the night. As much as he attempted to dissuade me from my immortal games, though, he still had his base instincts to contend against.
I passed him in the vestibule on my way out the door. Read the rest of this entry
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“Hello, Peter. How are you this evening?”
I lower my hands from the keyboard the moment I hear him. He starts as a shiver up my spine, but then becomes a voice and the voice echoes only to gain strength the longer it reverberates. I shut my eyes and lean back in my chair, rolling my head around once, slowly, as though attempting to work out a kink in my shoulders.
My failure to respond does not deter him.
“We go through this every evening,” he says. “Every evening I ask you the same questions and you offer the same responses. Back and forth until you relent. Wouldn’t you like to be spared the argument tonight?”
“I would like it,” I finally say, “If you would leave me the hell alone.” Read the rest of this entry
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