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, but did so to my peril. No more than a few minutes prior, I had no hope in the world of wriggling out of this dilemma.

But then, a foreign temptation whispered in my ear.

It happened when my eyes caught sight of the armory and, as if to accentuate the importance of the moment, time itself stood still and afforded me the chance to study Sabrina’s weapons. The same sentiment that came over me while admiring the Japanese swords in the parlor resurfaced, as though a force outside myself was directing my next steps. I did not have the foggiest idea how to wield anything besides a scalpel, but I knew I needed to get to the blades on the wall.

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 blade tip against my larynx, causing me to wince. I closed my eyes. The sword did little more than create a superficial cut, but Michael’s case was stated. “Beg me, neophyte,” he spat. I opened my eyes once more. “What cause does a useless waste of space like you have to exist?”

“You can’t do it.” I spoke the words although the weapon pierced my flesh, causing a thin rivulet of blood to run downward and suggest otherwise.

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 mock and 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 a snarl. “You’re nothing more than a nuisance. Her new little pet that I’m expected to coddle and train when he has been nothing but a disgrace to the word immortal.” When he paused, I saw reason slip like rocks into the ocean. The death blow loomed imminent. “Now, I’ll end you like I should have when you were just a pitiful mortal.”

Michael reared back, but a voice called through the crowd assembled by the broken door. “Michael!” Sabrina yelled, and it was more than enough. He hesitated. 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 at last.

Michael hissed when he turned back to me. 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 no 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 wrapped around the katana’s hilt. Michael moved to strike in another violent arc. I raised my blade and blocked another blow, but could not counter Michael’s finesse. He parried and thrust and sliced 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 me back and sent me to the ground. I hit the floor. He drove his weapon toward my stomach. I rolled and raised my sword when he struck again. Michael gritted his teeth, hesitating only for a second, with his brow furrowed at me, our swords touching.

This time, I took the offensive. I pushed his blade away and rolled again.

Coming to my feet, I swung as he did and 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, damn it, you’ve had it out for me from day one.”

“You aren’t supposed to exist,” Michael said through gritted teeth.

I backed away. Michael stalked forward. Both swords poised in anticipation of another strike, neither of us moved. “What the hell 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 whom. “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 to anyway,” 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 to the side 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 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 shot back 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, my son?”

“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. Still, 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 gawkers and stepping on splinters 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 sword’s sheath out toward me. “You forgot this, dear,” she said. Then she paused and kissed my cheek, whispering, “Dark killer Flynn, go do what it is 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.

I walked to the stairs, passing 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 my shoulders like a coat of arrogance and clothed me until I reached my private quarters.

I kicked displaced furniture aside and set the sword onto my dresser. Stripping off my violated shirt, I tossed it on my bed and walked into the bathroom, cleaning the blood from the mending wounds and freshening up again. I rummaged in my closet through the sparse collection of clothing I possessed. Pushing back the hand-me-downs given to me upon my awakening, I uncovered one item donated 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 frame – designed for a lankier being – but our overall similarities in height and weight 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 a mortal girl and followed her into a club. She lost her life and several pints of blood in the back of the establishment, with the suit-clad devil that lured her there long gone before a patron found her. I left her lying face down in the remnant spilled from her jugular. My feet possessed the stride of a killer 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 paused 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 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 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 saw on Michael’s. 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 length inside, but I believe I have an offer that will interest you.” A deliberate pause followed. Her eyes traced over me. “Flynn.”

A wicked smile surfaced in response, one I could not contain if my life depended on it. She chuckled in response. “You like this new identity?” Sabrina asked.

“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 first and 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 in a pocket. He did not flash condescension or loathing, but gazed at me, indifferent. 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 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 leather chair matching the couch 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 asked as I stepped forward, remaining standing for the time being.

Michael looked away. “What’s fair is fair,” he said, murmuring. “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, looking at Sabrina and compelling me to do the same. Sabrina glanced at both him and me. “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 studied his hands on his lap and nodded. “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.” A 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, the smile an indelible fixture on her face. “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 regarded me caused a sudden 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 bothering to consider the question. Sabrina nodded as well. “This is why you wanted to keep it. You have a bit of 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 grin turned amused. “Child, you hear too many voices. I need you to push that all past you.” The smile finally faded. “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 he turned to look at me. A smug grin enveloped my countenance. “Didn’t I just beat him in a sword fight?”

“Do not 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 stumbled upon 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 bring you 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 amongst men 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. The sadist inside, finding his way to the surface again, woke 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 an awkward silence between us. I observed him, however. 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. I raised an eyebrow. “What provoked your outburst last evening?” I smirked. “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. 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. I allowed him enough time to put distance between us and did not encounter him again that evening. It was just as well, the bruises of a wounded ego were apparent in Robin’s actions and I was yet adjusting to a rediscovered way of life.

I slipped into my room and began to sort through the mess, seeing in it the chaos of weeks and bent to find that contentment and order I once possessed. I saw the change taking place and relished it. Its taste lingered sweet on the tip of my tongue.

The knife-wielding mortal, turning into the bloody assassin.

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

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Story Beginning

Suspicious eyes seemed all about me, following me wherever I went. Paranoia infected the inner recesses of my psyche, not merely from the eyes of my vampire brethren, but from the very cosmos, as though the world observed 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 an inconsolable and belligerent bastard.

Hunting lost its intrigue. Snapshots of my mortal life ebbed into my consciousness with maddening slowness and tainted the thrill with its imagery. 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 shiver 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 troubled 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 necklace or carried it with me? Through the haze of trauma, I could not remember either way at first.

It led me to Sabrina one evening. She and I strolled down the corridor, Sabrina tapping her long fingernails against her chin as she spoke. “What did happen to your personal effects?” she asked herself. “Honestly, Peter, 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?”

“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 my sunglasses concealed my eyes as they 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 at me as my gaze returned to hers. “What about them?”

“They’re incomplete,” I said, attempting to guise my unease at what I did remember. “I can remember bits and pieces, but there are gaps that are bugging me.”

“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. Her fingers brushed through my short, brown hair and tousled 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, until her hand dropped to her side abruptly. She sighed and looked me in the eyes, nodding. “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 blurred recollections, I played the mental picture of me stabbing Lydia a million times over, studying myself and my appearance. “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 myself 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 from me and within two days’ time, a small bag containing these items found their way to my doorstep. I took it with me into my private quarters and dumped its contents onto my unmade bed. I did not see the necklace right away, though.

Instead, I saw the keys and wallet I expected. The driver’s license verified my identity and my last place of residence  It held little interest for me, as did everything else in the sparse collection of mortal items. A small amount of money. Other forms of identification and old receipts tucked into various pockets in my billfold. Sitting on my bed in an exasperated huff, I threw the wallet across the room and slid the other items onto the floor without any further thought. As my eyes shot 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 it and raised 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 from it, but dropped the jewelry when the remnant burned my tongue. I hissed at it on instinct, leaving it to lie 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 saw twisted metal and death. I felt an ancient ache in my leg, although it was psychosomatic. 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 visceral 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 coffeeshop without recalling all the details. John and Marjorie Dawes gained life inside my mind, however, and lost it just as fast as reverie gave 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 surrounding me, one that possessed the warmth found in television shows and wistful paperbacks. I was a rebellious, headstrong only child, but I 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 as my battle wound. The wreck 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 with an aunt and uncle he only knew through family-related events left me petrified as it was, but lingering memories of the accident also haunted my thoughts. After the first of two surgeries to repair my broken leg, I found myself peering around the room, recalling the hell of watching two parents succumb to their injuries. I cried once 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 day of musing on this notion, my mouth opened with questions for my physician. How did he come to practice medicine? What type of schooling did he receive? The singular motivation to become a doctor possessed me as though I could bring my parents back from the grave, and the saint which emerged from the carnage of a mangled automobile held a 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 shouted in louder tones

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, looking at me through the sweat of his brow. The man who instilled the work ethic which pushed me through college and 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 I knew as 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 I consumed. Two months past my awakening now and the dualism had me so at odds with myself, I agonized over every person I stalked as though I could survive without their blood.

When I fed, though, I reveled in the taste again. I wore a wicked smile and drank 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 unrelenting mission to silence the bloodthirsty immortal. 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 my ghosts could not issue a response, the immortal planted its roots as deep into my soul as my imagined accusers seemed to be. 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. It drove me mad with bloodlust in the process. My violent 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 at once.

***

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

I glanced around my room as 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 looked through a crack and nothing more. 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 a bit taxing, Peter. It must stop.”

I stared at her until 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 clamor at me telling me you have gone insane.” She paused, but her eyes shot flames at me. “I demand a response from you.”

My eyes dove into hers until 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 nonstop 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 before I am forced to hire someone to renovate it.”

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

Neither of us spoke until Sabrina broke the stillness at the top of the stairs. “Dear son, 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. “Every day. 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 and it sends a shiver up my spine.” 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 who 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 as the newest member of their collective. Now, the reception was a bit different. The other vampires watched me with disdain, provoking me to frown as I gazed away, not apt to make eye contact for the time being. Sabrina, however, received nods and bows of respect, which she reciprocated.

I indulged one immortal a final glance. My eyes met Michael’s when I sensed him studying me from across the room. Suppressing a hiss of rebuke, I looked back at Sabrina. 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 such would be a pity, not only to us, but to the vampire collective as a whole, if we were to lose a being such as yourself.”

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

“You do not 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 did not plan on telling you this for some time, but you need a bit of motivation. My child, there is a bit more to your identity than even you are aware of.”

I scoffed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Your eyes. You have dealt with this infirmity, but have never asked me why they are this way.”

“You mean there’s a reason for this?”

“There is an explanation, yes. Or, at least, this is what I suspect is the case. You are a unique being; it is difficult to know for sure 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 here.”

“Only because you choose to see it that way.”

“Is there any other way to see it? To see any of it? If it tortures us so much to be vampires then why don’t we all just kill ourselves and get it over with?”

“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 and studying the rug beneath my chair. “Delight in what?”

Sabrina inched forward in her seat. 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 have relished the blood of the feed and allowed yourself to experience it as only immortals can?”

“Yes, there was a time, but I can’t even enjoy the kill anymore.”

“Because you look at immortality like a mortal. You are not one any longer, dark son. 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 allow yourself to become what you are destined to be.”

Scoffing, 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. But it will never find you if you continue to cower instead of evolving into the killer you are 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 creatures. 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.”

Turning away with revulsion, I spoke before I could stifle my disgust. “I hate when you call me that,” I said, muttering the words.

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 am not Peter any longer. I get sick and tired of hearing them say that name.”

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

“Change my name?” I asked. “Because it’s what you all call me. Besides, 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. But once again, you fail to take note of your attitude, my son. 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, too.”

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 through the lenses of my glasses, Sabrina sank her gaze into mine as though she could behold the bright, blue irises staring back at her. 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 maintaining an intimate closeness at the same time.

“You are not the same creature 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?”

I nodded in a daze. “I feel him every time I kill,” I said. 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 lips touching my ear. “That is the vampire speaking, my dear. That is the immortal you are supposed to be. Stop resisting the inevitable and stifling his pulse 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; where you found your escape from the mortal world. Covered in the blood of those who dared to trifle with the dark killer you have become. 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 the shoulder. Walking away with a lithe, carefree air about her, Sabrina looked like a fallen angel and I 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, I focused on the others gathered around me.

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

I stood and recoiled against a slight wave of dizziness, sensing the vampire within clamor for attention. Yes, something had to change. I could not spend eternity scared of my own shadow, ignoring my base needs as an immortal. The hallowed argument resurfaced in my mind and I mouthed the words while snatching a glass of blood from a dark-haired vampiress named Rebecka. “Your doctor was a hypocrite,” I said, drinking the contents of the glass as though starved before wiping the remnant from my mouth and throwing the drained goblet at its previous owner.

Rebecka gasped in horror. I ignored her. The eyes of my coven 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 he was a saint or not in your opinion, 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 knowing why. 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 stand behind me with his hands 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 Michael 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 do not 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 said. He 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, huffing a chuckle. “So, I take it that you rose and immediately became the king of all vampires.”

“I certainly didn’t scream like a stuck pig.” Michael folded his arms behind his back and paced around as if sizing me up. I turned to face him fully and watched. “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 in my consciousness. “You called 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 your pet name up your ass.”

“A new identity?”

I stepped closer to him. “Yes, I’m choosing another name. Thinking about 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.”

“And you an ignorant neophyte.”

“We’ll see just how ignorant I am.”

“Bold words for somebody afraid of his own shadow. As though you could show me anything.” Michael laughed. I saw his own fangs slumbering inside a sea of porcelain. “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 upward. I stepped closer to him. We regarded one another from the span of mere feet now, and I closed the distance further with another stride. “How old does that make you, then?” I asked.

Michael’s blue eyes held mine steady. “One hundred and one years, with thirty-two mortal years prior to that.”

“And in all those years, you never checked the calendar?” My eyebrow raised in defiance, my eyes affixed on him with tension filling 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 seethed.

“Let me tell you what I do know about 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 taught you and as such, do not deserve that title.” He paused. “I can tell one other thing, too.”

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

Michael’s grin broadened. “That I have an impotent coward of a being standing before me, not having the strength or the genitalia to keep his little girlfriend happy. It is 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’s jaw before he could dodge the blow and the impact sprawled him on the ground, blood running from a cut on his lip. I had no chance to relish the moment. Michael came to his feet and hissed at me, fangs elongated. I hissed in return.

He wished a fight?

I was more than willing to oblige.

Michael swung for me. I moved out of the way prior to impact, but failed to dodge the other fist when it came for my face. He avoided breaking my sunglasses only by a hair’s breadth and I was not going to give him a second chance. I tackled him and threw another punch, smashing him on the cheek.

A crowd gathered around us. Michael threw me off him. The force sent me flying into a group of onlookers. They remained on the floor while I came to my feet, woozy and wobbly at first from hunger. Rage compensated for what I lacked in nourishment, though, and powered the violent swings I threw in Michael’s direction. He dodged one and captured my hand with the next swing, crushing my fist with all the immortal strength he could summon. I gasped in pain and kneed him in the stomach. The blow doubled him over.

Then, I kicked him on the chin and sent him flying onto his backside again.

Hate shot from Michael’s eyes as he stood, his hair half-hanging out of the ponytail and his suit dirty and disheveled. Hands balled into two weapons ready for their target, he stalked me. The intimidating look in his eyes caused me to step backward. Venom should have been dripping from his fangs. The full measure of a vampire pounced at me and before I had 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. I sailed through a wooden door. It buckled and splintered. When I landed on tiled flooring on the other side, the impact knocked my glasses from my eyes. The effect was instantaneous.  Light burned my pupils and 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 over my eyes. No sooner did I come to my knees with glasses on, however, 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.”

I was in the perfect position for doing just that. I smiled when I peered around the room, though, noticing the knives and swords, some hanging on the walls and others arranged on display shelves like prized jewels. Sabrina’s armory surrounded me, whispering sweet temptation into my subconscious.

I looked back at my older, more regal brother and sneered.

With that, round two of our fight commenced.

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