***

I took a deep breath, my thoughts returning to the present. My eyes adjusted, fixing on the computer screen again and the manuscript bent to taunt me, as though compelling me to click it open. I resisted, though. There were still too many ghosts with no use in conjuring them up; no real reason to revisit the event any more than I already had. So, I stood and pushed the office chair in, shutting off the monitor and nothing else before trudging my way back toward the bedroom again. I paused by the music room, but this time my eyes did not drift toward the shelves. I found myself studying the piano, willing myself to hear its music playing in my thoughts.

A kaleidoscope of images fought to accompany the blissful serenade. The first time Victor played for me, the first moment I realized the feelings within me were more than platonic, more than mere brotherly affection. The first time he sat at the piano after our relationship had turned romantic; the kiss I placed gently on his shoulder as I walked up behind him. I fought him so hard because I knew how deeply I was falling in love with him. And I plummeted into a bottomless well of sentiment when I finally let go.

I swallowed hard. “I need you does not quite summarize it, does it, lover mine?” I asked the empty room, imagining him sitting there. His back to me, his fingers moving deftly over the keys. My maestro, subjugating ebony and ivory under his firm, yet gentle, command. My heart swelled with affection and yet my eyes turned misty despite myself. I could not imagine a day when those keys would be stilled forever and prayed I never would have to.

Still, something taunted at me. Something I knew I was missing.

“A shower.” I nodded to myself and moved forward, following the suggestion just as quickly as it surfaced within my thoughts. I stole a moment to open the door as soundlessly as possible. Then, I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me and creeping toward the bathroom without lingering, knowing the temptation might coax me into bed. ‘Not yet, but soon. I need a little more time to think.’ Taking a deep breath, I locked myself inside the bathroom and switched on the light. Once again, the quiet wrapped itself around me, only this time I appreciated it.

Perhaps because my lover laid in blissful sleep on the other side of the door.

I had to chuckle. “One thing about this bond,” I said as I unbuttoned my pants, “I cannot deny the comfort of being closer to you, my maestro.” Switching on the water, I turned up the temperature and watched steam rise from spray once it started getting warm. I stepped inside the shower. “One of the reasons I could not bear to be away from you for long.”

A bond would have been handy when I searched for Monica in Europe.

We had a psychic link, but I had never been able to use it for the purpose of locating the one to whom I was connected. It enabled us to speak over long distances, communicate face-to-face while being miles apart from one another. Such is why she was almost my undoing. Even when I gave up on speaking to her, she would come to me and wear me down, tempting me with surrender while distracting me from locating where her puppetmasters laid. I fought a long battle for my soul and the only person who knew about it was Robin. Even still, he could not bear to confront me with the inevitable. Not even when I almost killed him.

I recall him on his knees in front of me, my sword poised on his throat with the tip puncturing his skin. The superficial cut still managed to spill a thin rivulet of crimson which was staining the collar of his white shirt. He dared not even flinch. Still, his eyes met mine, refusing to glance away. “If you wish the mortal world to go to hell, then fine,” he said, speaking calmly as though we were having a relaxed conversation. “But realize you would be damning your children as well.”

“Ignore him!” the voice ringing in my mind belonged to Monica, who had finally managed a foothold. The wild look in my eyes as I stared back at Robin indicated how close to slipping from the edge I was. How much I wanted to give in. I hung from the precipice by the tips of my fingers, fangs out, the darkness within almost overshadowing me. Still, I could not help but furrow my brow at Robin’s words. Monica might have been enchanting Flynn, but Robin had not given up on Peter.

My hands became shaky. I gritted my teeth while the look in Robin’s eyes turned sympathetic. He frowned. “That is what you’d be doing, Peter. Your little boy and little girl… Sabrina and Patrick don’t care about them. Neither does Monica. You’re the only one who can protect them.”

I tightened my hold on the sword, but gasped, feeling my heart break again. Tears brimmed in my eyes. “I want my family back,” I whispered to him. “I want my wife and children. I want to live as we once did. Damn it, Robin, I want her.”

“I know you do, dear brother.” One hand lifted, tentatively touching my wrist; pulling the sword away very slowly. He shook his head once he was able. “You cannot save her this time, though.”

“Please do not say that.” My eyes shut. A tear trickled down my cheek.

“Ignore him!!”

“I apologize, Peter, but I couldn’t lie to you. Not about this.”

“Damn it, no…”

“It pierces like a knife. I know.” My eyes opened as Robin rose to his feet. He continued clutching onto my arm, though. “The woman taunting you is not Monica, though. Giving in to her will not bring your wife back. It will only destroy your children.”

The sword dropped from my hands. I pushed Monica from my mind and collapsed into tears, both hands covering my face and my body convulsing with sobs. Robin sat beside me, wrapping his arms around me and allowing me to weep on his shoulder as I realized what this meant. As if I needed further confirmation, though, the next night I received a visitor. The infamous night where I stood on the banks of the Danube, staring out at Vienna.

Even I could feel the chill of the wind as it blew my coat around, compelling me to clutch the fabric tight against my body. The cigarette in my hand took forever to light and at that moment, I would have sold my soul for a pair of gloves if I had one yet to barter. Temperature does not affect vampires; it was the dark magic floating about, the spell which had Europe locked in a deep slumber. I had not been able to find any warmth since arriving there.

Or, it could have been the decision I was rapidly coming to terms with which left me feeling hollow.

I sighed, raising the cigarette to my mouth, pausing to draw deeply from it before exhaling smoke and staring at the embers. When I first made love to Monica, I swore I would always protect her. When she was a prisoner, I vowed to do whatever it took to save her. When we were married, I pledged to be with her until death parted us, and when I made her immortal, I extended the pledge to include eternity. Now, her death warrant sat on a table before me. I had become precious little more than an assassin again.

“No, this is for the greater good,” I said as I rubbed my eyes, raising my hand to smooth back my hair before burying it deep within the warmth of a pocket. As I drew from the cigarette again, I felt the sword pressing against my side – the knives hugging my torso from their resting place inside a shoulder holster with multiple sheathes – and frowned. Not the assassin? Bullshit. That was precisely what it amounted to. I had only baptized it under the wing of the Supernatural Order by calling myself a seer.

Sighing, I walked to a bench and sat. The wind whipped the tendrils of smoke rising from my cigarette around. I stared at the ground, one arm draped over a knee, and realized… I could not go through with it.

“Do you ever feel like fate is playing a cruel joke on you, Peter?” a familiar voice asked, approaching from behind. I did not need to turn around to know who it was. Female. Lydia. Not my daughter, but the lover I had killed prior to being turned immortal. My messenger from the other side, often charged with delivering the news I never wished to hear.

I brought the cigarette to my mouth again and exhaled a puff of smoke through my nostrils. “Dear Lydia,” I said, a sardonic edge to my voice, “Where oh where have you been for the past eleven years?”

The ethereal form of my former lover sat beside me on the bench, unmoved from the biting wind and winter chill. Clad in a white gown as she was whenever I saw her true colors, she possessed an aura the dark night only brought out more. She was the closest thing I had ever seen to an angel. “I’ve been dead,” she said, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “And you’ve been forced to live through this mess.”

“Yes, I have, have I not?” My gaze shifted to fix on a building far in the distance. Truth be told, I did not wish to look at her. “What do you wish of me, Lydia? To ensure I am a good boy and I murder the possessed witch?”

She did not respond. Rather, she sighed and glanced in the same direction where I had fixed my sights. “When I first sensed you slipping away – when you were still human and Sabrina was seducing you – I called Monica.” She chuckled. “Woke her up in the middle of the night, crying hysterically on the phone with her. I’ll never forget how desperate her tone of voice got when I told her the vampires had their hooks in you. She kept telling me to leave the Order out of it and do whatever the fuck I had to do to save you.” I looked at her in time to see her smile. “Her words.”

I could not help but to flash a quick grin. “I can tell. I think I could count the number of times you have used the word fuck on one hand.”

“Oh, I’m not that much of a saint.” She winked, then sobered. I did as well. Lydia nodded before continuing. “She wanted me to march into the emergency room, yank you from your work, and bring out your powers. ‘Don’t even bother with the sales pitch,’ she said. ‘Let him sort it out afterward.’” Lydia paused. She drew a deep breath inward. “I didn’t, though. Somehow, I realized I couldn’t stop the wheel that began turning. I still tried, don’t get me wrong, but when you stabbed me through the heart… and I told you I was sorry… I was really saying, ‘I’m sorry for what you have lying ahead of you. I wish I could be there to help.’”

I nodded slowly, swallowing hard. The breath I drew was shaky, the cigarette in my hand forgotten for a moment. “She saved me from myself, Lydia. I am to repay the favor to her by running a blade through her?” My gaze met hers, but only for a moment. The more I looked at her, the more I felt pained about what was being forced upon me. I shook my head. “I find it humorous, to hear of how many times she vowed to save my life or threw herself in harm’s way as the quixotic being she is and now that she’s gone, I have to run contrary to everything I ever swore to her.”

“Not run contrary.” I saw Lydia frown in my periphery. “Do you think the real Monica – the woman you married – would want the blood on her hands she’s accumulating by helping Patrick? Would your wife and the mother of your children be able to live with herself if she knew?”

“Then why can I not save her from herself?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Lydia’s gaze weighed heavy, compelling my eyes to shift back to her. I frowned. “There is nothing left,” I muttered.

“There never was anything.” Lydia placed a hand on my shoulder. I could not feel the weight, but I felt the comfort she attempted to bestow. “You knew it when she first woke.”

I nodded and clenched my eyes shut as tears welled again. “This is all my fault.”

“No.” Warmth hit my cheek. I opened my eyes to see her hand had shifted to my face. Her eyes glistened with tears as well. “This is Patrick’s fault. You turned her because you wanted to save her.”

“But now I have to end her,” I said, hearing the small, pitiful way I spoke resonate in my ears and not caring. “How the devil am I supposed to do this? I have a very clear cut weakness they have come close to exploiting on multiple occasions. I cannot even think past this to fathom how much it will break my heart to kill her, because my dark side is bursting through the seams wanting to take over. And I am the one who has to do the impossible?”

“Did it ever occur to you that this is exactly why you have a dark side?”

I sighed. “Lydia, please cease the double speak.”

“You keep fighting with yourself instead of working with him.” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “You know damn well whatever Patrick’s been teaching her is going to make everybody else who tries to kill them a sitting duck. You have exactly what you need right inside of you if you can find a way of forcing him to obey.”

I laughed. “That is rich. I am to get Flynn to cooperate?”

“I bet you could.” Lydia stood. “Remember, he’s you. He’s just the other side of the mirror.”

Staring at her, I exchanged a few additional words with her before turning my confrontation toward Flynn. The fight which commenced between us was bloody and intense, but in the end, I stood the winner. Flynn was forced to be the executioner for me, the one who could accomplish that which I could not on my own. Through the guise of his coldness, I was able to slip into their ranks and at the right moment, I was able to direct the army standing behind me to where my estranged lover hid with her two cohorts. The moment I tipped my hand, I found myself standing opposite Monica, dark magic fighting against me, the only thing stopping me from relenting being Flynn’s stubbornness. One hit impacted her and I ruthlessly followed it up with another swipe of my blade.

Monica fell to the ground. I poised the blade over her heart.

She looked up at me, stunned shock in her eyes while she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “Peter, I love you.”

I thrust the sword forward. Tears fell from my eyes, staining my cheeks crimson red, a reaction Flynn himself could not hold back from rising to the surface. I drew a shaky breath and said, “No, dearest. I love you.”

With that, she was ash and nothing more.

Standing in the shower, in the present day, I could not help the misty haze which settled over my eyes. I watched that final moment play out again, swallowing hard and forcing my reaction to it back as much as possible, wondering why I was even allowing it to cycle through my thoughts not once, but twice. I saw myself standing frozen in place, the last remains of my wife on the ground below me, with something trying to capture my attention from the corner of my eye.

I blinked a few times, stepping out from the shower spray. Furrowing my brow, I touched the tile wall and felt a sudden rush of anxiety overwhelm me. The scene played out again, only this time, I evaluated it as an observer and not a participant. Something stood just out of sight and yet, my senses screamed at me as if to say, ‘Yes, that. Right there. Focus on it, seer!’

“Focus on what?” I asked aloud, wiping water from my eyes as though that would make the vision in my head any clearer. As much as it pained me to do, I backtracked to the fight between Monica and I, trying to ignore the sadistic pleasure I saw in her eyes each time one of her hits impacted me. Pushing aside each time I felt Flynn laugh at her attempts to break us, mocking her purely with his actions in response. I tried to focus on everything but her, hoping that whatever was screaming at my senses would stand out in one of the other frames, but it was useless. The only time I sensed it was in that final moment and within seconds, it was gone.

I could not remember the very thing I knew I needed to recall.

“Son of a bitch.” I beat my fist against the wall, gritting my teeth as that last scene remained paused within my mind, not a single piece of evidence present to help me decipher what stood just out of sight. And yet, I knew I had solved the puzzle with more questions left than answers. I indulged in a deep breath and furrowed my brow. “So, something is occurring that has some relevance toward what happened with Monica?” My stomach sank. “You have got to be fucking kidding me, Fates.”

“As much as you and I like to think they have a sense of humor, we know better than that, dear.”

My eyes shot over to the door of the shower. I immediately spun around, turning off the spray and sliding the glass to the side to stare at the owner of the voice. As I reached for a towel, I wrapped it around my waist, and the steam cleared enough for me to spy a dark-haired woman sitting on the bathroom counter. Her legs dangled from the edge and the characteristic streak of blonde hair framed one side of her face. She grinned. “Oh, so now we’re modest, Peter? Did you forget how many times I’ve seen you naked?”

“Monica?” I issued the question not to challenge her identity, but to figure out what the devil had summoned her. I stepped closer to where she sat. “So, do I only need to bring up your name now to summon you from the other side?”

She laughed. “It’s been a while.” Her smile faded. It turned solemn. “I’ve been making the rounds, though. Ever since our little leaky faucet talk, you know I spoke to Victor and helped Lydia. God, she’s grown up, hasn’t she?”

I could not help but to grin. “Yes, she has.” Inhaling deeply, I chased away the smile without meaning to, an unpleasant reminder surfacing of what these visits usually meant. Monica had taken her sister’s position as my messenger, something she established to me a year prior when we had our first talk in sixteen years. The tenor of that discussion revealed the future to me like an open book. Getting married to Victor, getting settled in who I am, summoned my calling from its slumber. It seemed the other shoe was about to drop. “What am I missing, Monica? What is it that I cannot see?”

She smiled. “This is the part where I say something cryptic, it drives you crazy, and we go around in a few circles until I cut to the chase. So, let’s just move to the point.” Monica sighed. “I can’t tell you, darling. I wish I could, but you know how The Fates work. You picked up on it, though. That’s what matters.”

“How can it matter when I have no idea what I am supposed to see?”

“Because you can’t see it yet. A few things have to happen first.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. You could probably fill in half of my dialogue just from how many times my sister and I have given you the run around. Trust your senses. What are they saying? What does that twisting in your gut tell you?”

I stared at her, expressionless. “Nobody is laying a hand on Victor.”

The corner of her mouth curled in a smirk. “There’s that passion. We could hit you a million times in the gut without you blinking, but pluck one of those dark hairs from Victor’s head, and you start a riot.”

“For good reason.”

“For excellent reason, Peter. You do need to be protective of him as much as he needs to be of you. And he’s going to need you to be there for him now. That’s all the preview I can give you.”

“That is it?” I scowled at my deceased wife. “Damn it, Monica, I would rather not see you at all than have to be delivered these maddening messages and become vexed with you. Why?”

“Because it’s my penance.” Her expression turned pained. “You, Lydia, John, Victor, the family. I have to be the bearer of the bad news. I have to look you in the eyes and say, you’re about to make a decision that’s going to cloud everything. The Fates don’t even know what’s going to happen when the dust clears. And before you even realize it, you’re going to find out what’s teasing you from out the corner of your eye. And I’m sorry, damn it. I can’t even guarantee you the decisions you make will give you what you want. Because you can’t know. Because those choices have to happen.”

“Why am I constantly the puppet?!”

“You?!” She shook her head. “All of us. Including the children. Including Victor. That’s really the price we all pay for being what we are. We’re the exceptional ones, but we’re the ones who have to stare down bullets normal people – normal vampires – never have to dodge. Because there are bigger things than us. Because everything has a ripple that hits another ripple and forms a tidal wave. These are dangerous times right now, darling. And this is all the warning I can give you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Fight, damn it. What do you want the most? Fight for it. Don’t listen to me. Don’t listen to anybody else. Fight for it, because it isn’t about you any longer, master seer. It isn’t just your life this affects. It’s everybody else. They’re going to have their battles and they’re going to fight just as hard. And I hope like hell I’m talking to all of you on the other side.”

Like that, she disappeared, fading so fast I did not have the chance to issue a response. I stared where she had been seated, seeing that moment replay in my mind, the final moment before her corporeal form turned to ash. Me holding the sword. Something taunting at the corner of my eye.

I glanced toward the door and took a very deep breath.

After drying off, I set the towel aside and walked into the bedroom, not bothering to reach for a stitch of fabric before settling into bed, curling up beside my husband as I wrapped an arm around him. My mind spinning too much for me to rest, I did not set myself to sleeping. Rather, I drew in a deep breath and savored Victor’s scent. My eyes drifted toward Flynn and as I considered the three of us, I heard Monica’s question echo in my thoughts.

‘What do you want the most?’

“This,” I whispered. This family, this life I had become accustomed to. Above all else, this man I held in my arms, whose wedding ring I wear upon my finger. I might not know the face of my specters, but I know my heart’s desire, and if the cosmos needs me to hold up my end of a battle, I shall do so in spades.

Still the riddle taunts me, and shall until I know its solution. Why now? What about what happened seventeen years ago has become so important today? I wish I knew the answer, but it seems to be lingering somewhere off the camera, waiting to step into the limelight as the next act plays.

***

Sometimes, I find it hard to believe I live as charmed of a life as I do.

Things have been both quiet and momentous all at once here. I suppose stating ‘things have been quiet’ is a luxury only afforded to a seer when one takes into consideration recent events, but compared to last year, this year seems somewhat more peaceful. We began the year in the throes of adventure, forced to leave the country when John and Lydia ventured to the Supernatural Order as seer and watcher. My turning Lydia made me no friends and the situation was not resolved until we found ourselves in Spain, besting an old foe of my maestro’s named Samuel. Lydia and John returned shortly thereafter. We all settled back in San Francisco for the first time since before Victor and I were married.

In being back here, though, it seems as though things slowly reverted to how they were prior to the wedding, in a manner of speaking. I say this with a laugh as I have marveled on the irony fairly recently. Victor turned John in April, and he came to live with us. By May, Flynn had returned. Victor and Flynn have been lovers and John… well, he seems to have settled into being a vampire rather well. I suppose the only two things which have ‘disrupted’ the status quo since then have been the addition of Flynn’s former lover Gabrielle to our menagerie and the explosive disagreement Victor had with Delilah over John. I still, for the life of me, have no notion of what that whole debacle was all about, aside from the obvious fact that Delilah and John bedding each other angered Victor considerably. My maestro was justified in his anger; both had promised to refrain from such relations until John had settled more into his new life and could handle a blood bond.

On the other hand, he has confessed he overreacted a trifle.

The amusing aside to that whole mess is that Victor and Robin have come to realize some affection as lovers because of it.  Not to the same degree as Victor’s care for Flynn and I, but yet, I am rather curious for when Robin returns from his travels. My brother is reserved for the most part, much like my husband, but I wonder what it shall look like when he is closer to Victor again. Not out of any doubt or fear, I simply look at the changes in our dynamics with one another as a nest of vampires – as a family of sorts – and find myself intrigued by what form the evolution takes on.

Maybe because the fact that Flynn inhabits Gabrielle’s body while she sleeps has led to some fairly bizarre encounters between the two of us. At the same time, when Victor, Flynn, and I lay in bed, entangled and just prior to drifting to sleep, one could nearly see the tranquility settling upon us. Palpable, it is why I pen the words, ‘I find it hard to believe I live as charmed of a life as I do.’ Because I would not trade that afterglow – that serenity – for anything in the world.

All said, there has been only one minor disruption to the calm. I felt a strange shiver up my spine the other night, but could not detect from where it came. My senses as a seer fire at odd times, and this instance was one of the rare occurrences in recent years when the presence of a vampire has caused the ‘alarms’ if you will. I shall have to inquire with John as to if he sensed it as well. I am blaming that unsettling episode for the bad dream I experienced later on that day. All that aside, though, I have had no reason to complain and all the reason in the world to believe, whatever storms shall find their way to our doorstep, we shall endure them all.

It seemed almost magical.

I recall driving up to the resort, fresh from a five hour flight with Victor behind the steering wheel, leading us through winding paths toward our destination. As the snow appeared into view, I marveled over it, grinning at my soon-to-be-husband and making an offhanded comment about snow angels. The corner of his mouth curled upward. He countered with what precisely we would be doing on the ground if such a thing were to transpire.

Needless to say, the shiver running up my spine, then, had nothing to do with the temperature.

This time, though, I slipped my hands inside the pockets of the wool trenchcoat I wore, as though I could sense the chill the same way our mortal son could. It was not lost on me how long it might be before I saw him and his sister again. When we yet lived in San Francisco, I said goodbye to them, not knowing what the future held as Victor and I left for Las Vegas. While our plans to globetrot were delayed then, we now held the tickets to verify our next destination would be Europe. In another continent. Heaven only knew what would change between now and the next time I saw John and Lydia.

Victor spoke my name, breaking me from my thoughts.

I shifted my focus to the man I just married, and could not help but to grin when our eyes met. He smiled in response. “Are you ready to depart, lover?” he asked as his hand touched the handle to the driver’s side door.

I nodded. “Whenever you are, maestro,” I said, winking and studying Victor for a few lingering moments before opening the passenger side door and slipping inside. Within moments, we found ourselves nestled in the confines of the Mustang we rented, en route to the Reno airport. The soft melody of classical music streamed from the radio’s sound system and for a short time, I became lost in the notes and measures being played. Until Victor spoke again.

“Is everything alright, my poet?” he asked, glancing at me quickly before focusing on the road once more.

The question itself might as well have been a formality. My lover and I could sense nearly every sentiment not being blocked from the other through the ties of our blood bond. My own powers provided a psychic link between us and Victor had the ability to borrow my talents if he wished to read my mind. Still, I much preferred it this way at times; speaking our concerns aloud rather than taking verbal communication for granted.

“For the most part,” I said, punctuating my words with a smile. My hand reached for his leg on impulse, seeking the comfort of touch. “Simply pensive, but not in a bad way.”

“Anything you wish to talk about?” One of his hands lifted from the steering wheel, finding mine. Our fingers intertwined.

I looked toward the car in front of us, making out the taillights of Robin’s rental somewhere on the winding road ahead of us. As I began to speak, my thoughts took form, some of them the content of a conversation we had engaged in earlier that day. I had showed him a photograph of Monica and the children I held onto for fifteen years, taken during my brief years spent in mortal form. A necklace belonging to Monica was brought to me by Robin as well when he joined us in Lake Tahoe. I relayed to Victor my intentions with both items of nostalgia.

Our conversation drifted into thoughts about the past.

The photograph and necklace had been in storage for eight years. Relics of another life, I once cared very little for revisiting those years, as the thought alone would often threaten to consume me with melancholy. Eight years were spent in Philadelphia, helping Robin manage his coven, my duties enough to occupy my attention with the day-to-day problems of nesting with thirty vampires. On occasion, however — when the nights were bereft of activity — I would take long walks. My mind would stray toward what drove my family apart.

In my darkest thoughts, I can imagine what it would have been like had I kept the photograph especially on display. Rising night after night with a constant reminder of what was missing in my life staring me in the eyes. A spouse with which to share my life. Being able to hold John and Lydia and watch them take their first steps; watch them form personalities of their own. They were five and three when I had to leave. Fifteen years flew by, like the passing of the wind upon the desert sands.

Had my life been left to this emptiness, I can imagine my years as a vampire might have been short. The next time fate knocked on my door, demanding I become the seer again, I might have become reckless on purpose, to see how long it took before a sword pierced my heart and rendered my form to ashes. As it was, I struggled to maintain some semblance of composure, fooling the world into thinking I was a calm, settled immortal.

Fate, however, had other plans for me.

In the present, I smiled at Victor, pausing for a moment to look at him and whisper my love for him. The grip on his hand tightened and my lips produced the next line of thought which held me soundly in its throes.

***

My mind strayed to the past year. Within the span of these short months, everything transformed into the reality I now inhabited. I met Celeste and only weeks later, a young lady mustered the courage to come knocking at the coven door, requesting to speak with me. By the night’s end, my now-grown daughter wound up tight in my embrace, both of us compensating for years lost within the span of hours. I began to believe the miraculous was not finished with me, after all. What followed only reinforced that conviction. My son, John, turned eighteen under the Philadelphia coven’s roof. Now a young man, he resembled me as though a twin carved from my very DNA, his personality reminiscent of the woman I said goodbye to all those years ago.

Some time after this, a roller coaster ride of sentiment swept me along for the ride of my life.

I left Celeste. I left Philadelphia, with Lydia and John in the able hands of their Uncle Robin as their caregiver while I journeyed to California. The trip intended to help me clear my thoughts, I operated under the guise of assisting local covens as an adviser while spending most of my time mired in the tumult of love lost, found, and lost again. The most cunning psychologist could not have told me just what this vampire’s heart was seeking. A companion, this much was certain, but under what form remained to be seen.

I bounced around in fruitless pursuits. I returned to Philadelphia, then ventured back to San Francisco again with Celeste and the children. The entire episode threatened to rip apart my sanity, especially after Lydia fell sick while yet in Philadelphia and had to be turned. The world drew in a deep breath and exhaled a mighty wind of change, reinventing the entire landscape of my life. I failed to make sense of most of it while lost in its manic throes. It would not be until some weeks later that the world finally made sense.

He was waiting on the other side.

***

I squeezed Victor’s hand, feeling the ring recently placed on my finger. My smile turned soft and memories spilled out as though given the stage for their proper deference. I relayed to him thoughts of our first encounters and we shared a laugh over the sheer irony of it all.

***

Had any creature or mystic of the mortal world informed me one day Victor and I would be married, I would have deemed them a lunatic and doomed them to a life of insanity. We nearly came to blows in one of our first conversations and a thorn stuck in my side from that point forth I could not pluck out. I wanted to hate him. The more I learned of him, however, the more I lamented the fact that circumstance prevented us from being friends from the start. When I returned to California, the grand humor of the cosmos reunited me with my one-time rival. Only this time, things were different.

Within a matter of weeks, he came to live with Celeste and me. A nest formed from the unlikely threesome, with a strange attraction to Victor rising to the surface I could neither deny, nor bring myself to fully realizing. As we lingered in each other’s presence, though, I felt myself become more drawn toward him. The first time I kissed him, my psyche shook. My soul quivered with the realization I had fallen in love with him. The depths of this would be plumbed more as weeks turned into months.

I remembered visiting Victor in Las Vegas after a few days spent apart from him. At the time, I wanted to run into his arms and kiss him, losing myself within the embrace while clutching him tight against me. It was the first time I understood how much he meant to me; how much being away from him pierced my heart. From there, the love we fostered rapidly turned from flame to conflagration.

Not much later than this, he asked me to run away with him.

Two weeks later, we pulled up to his residence in San Francisco and the next day, I woke to find myself lying beside my lover as the next phase of our life commenced. I recalled walking around the spacious house in wonder, aware now it would be Victor and me together, inseparable for the remainder of our eternal existence. The surreal met with the delightful; the stress of the preceding weeks broke like cloud parting, permitting the moon to shine once more. As I skimmed a hand over counter tops, furniture, and any other surface I could touch, I confirmed to myself this all was truly happening.

I felt the same the first time I woke with him in Las Vegas, and each night afterward settled me into this life, while speaking in louder and louder tones that my soul and Victor’s had become completely entangled. I recalled the look in his eyes when he asked me to marry him and flashed forward to the gaze we shared as we exchanged vows.

***

Stealing a glance at the ring on my finger once more, I spoke the words I once penned about my eternal companion.

Everything was different, and everything was blessed.

We pulled into the Reno airport as the bout of nostalgia came to a close and exchanged a kiss before getting out of the car. As I plucked our suitcases from the trunk, I paused to pass one to my lover, then stole a glance toward the heavens while setting out for the terminal, hand-in-hand with Victor. A silence settled between us, both of us lost possibly in the same train of thought. I stared at the passersby and stole a quick glance at our children as John, Lydia, Robin, and Delilah strolled beside us through the airport.

It seemed the world came full circle in that moment, the past meeting with the present, with the future lying in wait before us. Lydia and John would return to California with their uncle, and whatever laid in wait for them would find them whenever the time was right. We would see them again, this much was certain. I needed no visions of the future to verify this in my mind.

Victor and I were headed to London, to sojourn a few days before catching a flight to Rome. I looked forward to the journey with eager anticipation. Yet, one thing remained to be done before I could board the plane.

We reached our gate and regarded our family, both of us smiling and exchanging our goodbyes. After parting from embraces and accepting kisses and well-wishes, I held up a finger and asked Robin to stop before leading the others to the gate of their departure. He perked an eyebrow. “What is it, dear brother?” he asked.

“I have something to give the children,” I said, placing the bag in my right hand onto an adjacent seat and lowering the one slung around my shoulder to the floor. Unzipping the first bag, I extracted two gift-wrapped packages, handing one to John and the other to Lydia. They glanced at each other. Lydia nodded her head, indicating John should open his first.

He shrugged and peeled the wrapping off quickly, reminding me of a child on Christmas morning.

As he extracted the photograph, I smiled on impulse and watched as he ran a finger across the glass protecting the picture. The frame not its initial home, I reserved the original encasement for a photo of Victor and my wedding and chose a new frame to house this picture. John stared at it for a long, lingering moment, then looked up at me. “This is us and Mom?” he asked.

I nodded, the smile remaining a fixture on my face. “Yes, it is,” I said. “The only one we ever had. It was taken just before we all were separated. I have kept it with me all these years and wish for you to have it.”

John nodded in response, his eyes settling on the image again before returning to mine. “It’s awesome. Thanks, Dad, I really appreciate this.” He reached forward, hugging me tight, and in the embrace I read all the sentiments a young man had trouble expressing. He held no memory of his mother. I only hoped this would fill the space where a void lingered.

I patted his back twice. “You are very welcome, John.”

He pulled away. I thought I caught a glisten in his eyes as he looked at Lydia, telling her to open hers now. A much smaller package, it rested in her hand without much evidence of what laid underneath. I watched as she turned it around once and peeled back the wrapping with much more care. She opened the lid to the jewelry case with an air of reverence. Lydia stared at its contents before asking what it was.

I plucked the necklace from inside the case, helping her fasten it around her neck. “This belonged to your mother,” I said. “She wore it for a long time for protection, and then as a memento of our first days together.” When Lydia turned to face me, I grinned. “I thought she would wish for you to have it. I am only sorry I did not give it to you sooner.”

She looked up at me, an expression on her face I could only read as wonder. Her hand lifted slowly, her fingers touching the pendant as though attempting to memorize it by feel. Two hearts, with a thorny rose engraved on top, were covered by her hand and her eyes became distant in thought for interminable seconds. I smiled softly when she looked at me again, and held her tight when she wrapped her arms around me.

The kiss placed on my cheek emanated a warm sensation even when she stepped back and nodded at me. “Thank you, Dad. Really. This is…” She paused to lift the pendant to her line of vision. Then she looked at me again. “… This means a lot.”

“You are very welcome, my dear,” I said. Lydia and John exchanged a quick glance before my eyes found Robin. I nodded with a smile.

Robin smiled back and clasped Delilah’s hand in his. “Come now, let’s make our way to the gate before boarding starts,” he said, addressing the brood around him. I chuckled as he winked at me, then watched with Victor as our family strode away from us, fading from our sight before disappearing altogether.

Victor’s hand reached for mine and our fingers laced together once more. I looked at him, my smile brightening. “I love you, my maestro,” I said.

He nodded, mirroring my grin. “And I love you, my poet.” Our lips touched in a tender kiss and it seemed that everything surrounding us faded for just a moment, long enough for me to see the overarching topography of the world in which I live. It remained little more than background noise even as we waited for our flight to board, and continues to be somewhat muddled in the distance compared to the link I feel with the man sitting beside me on this plane.

There are many things about the future I can guess, some things which time itself will not erode no matter how many years drift past. There are, however, the variables of existence which none of us can foresee and yet, for the first time in my short years, I neither fear, nor dread, the concept of the world shifting while I stand still. As I look out the window beside me, seeing a view of London tease us with the first place we shall encounter in our travels, I cannot help but to be excited for tomorrow.

Change affects us all. And having somebody to walk beside makes all the difference in the world.

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.

I still remember when she told me she was pregnant.

We had been married in a very small ceremony with little more than priests, nuns, and peasants gathered around us as, in fledgling Spanish, we exchanged vows and consummated our union with a kiss. Little more than a month later, Monica confronted me on the balcony of our small room after a very frustrating day in the clinic I served in as a doctor.

***

Monica closed the door, but paused when I failed to greet her in the customary manner. Instead, I continued to look off towards the other side of the room. “Peter?” she finally said, in some effort to break the silence.

I glanced at her, then looked away again.

Monica stepped cautiously toward me. “Your thoughts are closed off,” she said.

Our psychic link. Her ability to read my thoughts and mine, hers, although my ability at least permitted me to raise walls of resistance against her prying. “You do not wish to be in my thoughts right now,” I said curtly.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I do not wish to be in them presently, either.”

Monica sat on the bed across from me and folded her hands on her lap. Studying me without saying anything, she seemed to be using peeling through the layers of my mind, but as I sensed no intrusion inside of my subconscious, I realized she was merely waiting. Waiting for me to crack. Knowing I’d get around to expressing my thoughts if she’d just give me a chance to organize them first. We sat in this manner for a few minutes, until I finally took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” I said to her with a frown. “I’m supposed to be a human, but I’m more pissed at the mortal world now than I’ve been in months.”

Her gaze turned from curious to sympathetic. “What is it, dear?”

I closed my eyes and wrestled between the compulsion to stay aggravated and the soothing melody of her voice. I didn’t want to be comforted and wasn’t ready to let go of the anger. So, I gritted my teeth and said, “These people are impossible. I try to prescribe remedies to them and they assume I am visiting witchcraft upon them. I can’t connect with this mentality that dictates one must cut off their nose to spite their face.”

“Which is something vampires never do, right?”

I opened my eyes and flashed annoyance with my gaze. “Please don’t contribute to the problem.”

The grin that had touched the corners of Monica’s mouth quickly vanished. It was her attempt to be playful with me – a characteristic endemic in my wife’s makeup – but it failed miserably. “Contribute to what problem?” she asked, with a trifle more defensiveness in her tone.

“Humanity,” I said. “These counter-intuitive creatures with death wishes. I cannot believe this is where I am now. . . in the realm of the daft.”

“Excuse me. . .” Monica laughed. “Who crowned you as the sharpest tool in a shed full of dull instruments?”

“I don’t know,” I spat back, harsher than I intended. “Maybe, just maybe, The Fates made a fucking mistake when they made me mortal again. If I’m going to be forced to reason with the insane, it would have been better for them to have struck me down and kept me as dust.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”

I looked away and scoffed. “Yes, well, I can’t believe this is my sentiment at the moment, but it is nonetheless. I’m absolutely… lost. Dumbfounded. I can’t do it. That is simply the problem, I cannot be this forgiving of simple-minded foolishness and if this is what it takes to be human… .”

I trailed off as I stood and marched outside to the balcony. Not bothering to look back at Monica, I walked all the way to the railing and placed my hands upon it as my eyes traced across the horizon. The air was sticky with humidity and the breeze blowing past me was warm and hardly comforting. But I stood there and continued staring, even when I became aware of Monica’s presence in the doorway.

“What happened?” she asked, exasperation still present in her voice despite her attempt to mask it.

“Nothing,” I said, once again being curt with her.

“Peter, please. . .”

“I’m done discussing it.”

She walked closer and touched my shoulder with her hand. “Talk to me,” she said.

“What do you want me to say to you?” I asked, my eyes darting around the outside as another warm breeze blew past me. “What do you wish to hear? That I have one frustrating day and I swear at humanity? What kind of damn human being does that make me, Monica? How the fuck am I going to make it through the next ten or twenty or thirty years in this manner when I still think like a vampire?”

“Peter, this isn’t going to get better overnight.”

“It is not going to get better at all!” I turned to look at her and nearly shouted my words as my fingers interlaced with my hair. “My God, it’s been a few weeks now and I. . .” I shook my head, allowing my arm to plop back down to my side. “How long does it take? Am I ever going to be fully human again?”

Monica continued studying me until I turned toward the railing again and looked down. She was silent for a minute, but then spoke softly. “Every human wrestles with frustration.”

“Yes, but never before did I want to damn the enter human race when I got aggravated. I’m still not the person I remember being. I swear, I could have damned every one of the patients I saw today and would have felt justified in doing so, but I never had the temptation to do that before. It’s like I can’t get this notion out of my mind that I’m walking among different beings.”

“You still have the same heart, Peter, you just have to let go of the reflexes you developed when you were Flynn.”

“Which shall take years to happen.”

“That’s ok,” she said. “If it takes years, then I’ll still be with you to see you through it.”

“Why the hell do you wish to be with me?” I asked as I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

Monica kissed my shoulder. “Because my daughter needs her father and I need my husband.”

I opened my eyes and looked down at Monica, raising an eyebrow at her as she finally acquiesced to another subdued grin. “What do you mean by that? Your daughter?”

The grin held steady. “I mean exactly what I said, Peter Dawes. You’re going to have a daughter.”

At once, my brain registered the words without fully processing them. “I. . .” escaped my lips, but the rest of the words refused to come. Instead, they remained trapped in my throat, tangled with the other thoughts that couldn’t decide if they wished to be vocalized or merely locked inside my mind. A daughter? No, that was impossible, because only mortals have children and I surrendered that right five years prior when I chose to become a vampire. Getting married was one thing. . . but there wouldn’t be any family for me. Because that would make me human again and I wasn’t. . .

My face broke out in a smile despite myself. “You’re pregnant?” I finally managed to ask.

Monica’s smile became brighter. She reached for one of my hands and clasped it in hers. “Yes, I am,” she said.

I laughed abruptly; a short laugh full of delighted disbelief. “And it’s. . . a girl? You know this? How the devil do you know. . .” I chuckled again, assailed by a giddiness that reminded me of insanity. Only, this didn’t feel near as bad as the other form of lunacy which had me within its throes a few minutes prior. Whereas the words had been stopped up before, now they came spilling out like a torrent. “Of course you know. You’re gifted and smart and beautiful and oh God. . . I love you.” I looked her in the eyes. “I absolutely love you.”

I captured her in my arms and raised her off her feet, spurring her to wrap her legs around my waist. She laughed as I nearly spun her around. “I love you too,” she managed, but I cut off any further words with a deep kiss, something which prompted her hand to my face as she indulged both long and short, pecking kisses from me. “I love you,” I said to her again, unable to figure out what else to say to her.

“I love you too, Peter,” she said and when she thrust a deep kiss onto my lips, I become completely immersed in it. Everything else that followed became lost in a haze of rapture.

***

Bliss comes in different forms, I have discovered.

I remember when my children were born.

Lydia Marjorie Dawes, the first to breathe life and fill the air with shrill screams while I held her in my hands, laughing over the miracle of it all. Small legs flailing, little hands balled in fists with her wails echoing across the room where her mother still laid recovering from childbirth. My hands were the first to hold Lydia and I still recall noting how small she seemed within the large expanse of my palms.

John Michael Dawes, the second to be born. It seemed the circle was complete; I had a daughter and now, I had a son. His eyes bright and blue much as mine had been before my seer powers were made manifest, I knew I held more than my progeny, as much as I knew Lydia was no typical girl herself. My daughter could sense the future, even before she had the proper vocabulary with which to convey it. My son bore so many of my physical attributes, I knew the powers I was born to embody would someday be manifest in him as well. Together with their mother, they were my pride and joy for nearly six blessed years.

That was when the world came crashing down upon my shoulders.

I still remember when my mortality crumbled like rocks slipping into the sea. I remember the dreams which plagued my years with my family becoming more intense. The taste of blood springing forth to tempt me. The thoughts of the kill, the swirling haze of the vampire instinct rising to claim me and drag me under once more. I ran to my brother Robin, begging him to help me save my dying mortality. Instead, I discovered the truth. This seer, this powerful hunter, this blade-wielding psychic held one ability he had not realized before – I could summon a mortal form and had for nearly six years until my true nature rose forth once more.

I recall the first mortal I fed from after returning to my vampire state, an Irish girl on the streets of Dublin.

I recall sitting on the airplane, headed to a coven in Toronto where I would readjust to being the bloodthirsty creature I once was. Saying goodbye to my son, my daughter, my wife as I stared out into the black expanse of night and figured they were lost to me for good. And then fate making it a reality, my wife dying, my son and daughter captured by the Order I tried to hide them from. My ability to assume mortal form being stripped from me, and the dark years which followed.

Sex and alcohol became my panacea. My nightmares became even more intense. I lost myself in trysts with as many women as I could possibly become entangled with; I lost myself in dulled emotions and endless nights, and finally in the work of being my brother’s second-in-command. I forgot who I was until I fell in love with Celeste and Lydia came looking me, finding me in Philadelphia helping to manage my Robin’s coven. With Celeste’s help, I freed her and her brother from the Order and once again, I held my son and daughter.

Only now, fifteen years had passed. The little girl who used to make me chase her through Costa Rica was now a young woman. The small boy now stood nearly as tall as his father and looked me in the eyes the first time I said hello to him. Being little more than the shell of the man I once was for years, I did not know any longer how to relate to what I had. I ran away to California for a short time. Soul-searching and breaking connections only to establish them once again, I went through periods of knowing who I was and valleys of forgetting what I was supposed to be. It was not until I met a certain dark-haired man that the existential questions started to form answers.

I remember meeting Victor.

If there had been an angel perched upon my shoulder, telling me this was the one I would be bound to for the rest of my immortal days, I would have laughed at it and questioned its sanity. Our first meetings were rocky at best, with the threat of fights commencing in fits of jealousy I harbored. The road smoothed when he met Celeste and then became a path to the future the first time we exchanged a knowing glance with one another. The first time I looked at him and saw something more. The first time I touched him and meant something else.

I still remember the first time we kissed.

***

I sat in a chair, looking at him, somehow on the subject of my affections for him. Afraid to take the next step, nudging at the line in tentative measures while towing the point of no return. Finally, my thoughts found unction. “This all is so… new to me,” I said. “Everything is. At times I have eloquent words and other times, I only have the sentiments I harbor without any clear way of communicating them. Maybe one of these days, I will have the words.” I paused, summoning a half smile. “When I can believe I am harboring the thoughts I am thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and the knowing smile on his face indicated he figured out where I was headed. “Thoughts, dear brother?” he asked. “Someday you will have to tell me, but no rush. I’m not adept at expressing my emotions, but I expect that will change in time, too.”

It was now or never. I indulged in a deep breath, eyes holding steady with his while wondering what all he saw when he looked at me. “I expect, in time, I shall become more adept at articulating these sentiments as well.” I nodded, looking away. “In time, we shall discuss it. In the meantime, suffice to say, I am very glad you are here.”

My eyes returned to his.

Victor nodded slowly, his head tilting as he considered me. He moved to stand beside my chair and leaned down, touching his lips to my forehead, in a kiss which could have been construed as brotherly, but hinted at more behind the motion. He pulled back and grinned, as though he knew I would be shaken by the embrace.

And startled, I was. I did not move, though. My eyes met his once more and a shiver ran from the base of my spine to the top at the touch placed on my forehead. I furrowed my brow at the reaction and yet, I reached for his hand and held onto it, stopping him from walking away.

The action served its purpose. His grin became a questioning expression while our eyes searched back and forth as though commencing a tentative dance. Victor leaned forward, but paused, studying me as though waiting for what my reaction would be.

I refused to break the gaze, no matter how many knots knit themselves in my stomach. I regarded his face, then looked at his mouth and froze on the sight of his lips. Drawing in another deep breath, I took in his scent and at once, the truth came rushing into my senses, capturing each one. I had never loved another man the way I love Victor. I had never desired one the way I desire him. My apprehension might as well have pinned itself to the same shirt sleeve my heart resided on and bridging the gap became an internal dare I had to answer. Before I could stop myself, I shut my eyes and touched his lips with mine in a tentative embrace.

His lips were gentle, but quickly became encouraging. The kiss started light, but became much more natural. As I lost myself within the strange new reality I embodied, I realized very rapidly how right this was and opened my arms wide, allowing abandon to take over. Never before had I known something with so much clarity, the wanting him and the needing him. The loving him, as well. I knew life would never be the same again.

***

Now, I see the future, in the clearest tones I have ever seen it.

There is an impish sorceress I once knew who smiles at me from the sands of time, glad to see my troubled soul at rest, once and for all.

There is a young woman, turned vampire by my own blood, who smiles at me and calls me ‘Dad’ as she carves out her own path in the world.

There is a young man who looks me more and more at eye level every day, who someday shall know what it is like to wield more than swords and consider more than his life’s daily events.

And there is a man I stand beside, whose hand and mine fit together like puzzle pieces which were always meant to be connected and whose silent hearts find a pulse with one another.

There is a future waiting for me, past the broad horizon and into the panorama of endless nights. For the first time in my life, I am looking forward to seeing what fate brings to my doorstep. Because, today, I know what I have.

The pendant felt as though it was burning a hole in my pocket as I returned to the coven house, bent on retiring for the morning and putting the whole sordid episode with Anthony behind me. Masking my discomfort at smuggling contraband through the front doors with a casual gait, I offered the doorman a cursory nod. Then I continued onward toward the stairs, my pace not skipping a beat.

Wing-tipped shoes took the stairs two at a time while my mind remained fixated on Sabrina, not sensing the redheaded vixen anywhere nearby and yet, feeling unsettled just the same. My meeting with Anthony marking the eve of my fifth immortal birthday, it reminded me how my mistress enjoyed celebrating the anniversary of my awakening. I suppressed a shiver at the notion. In my thoughts, I saw her lying naked on her bed, her brown eyes piercing into mine. Her finger beckoning me to come closer. I feared vexing her away from our yearly tradition, granted, but found myself far more troubled that she would discover the pendant for some peculiar reason.

Shrugging off the premonition, I continued ascending the stairs. The hour was growing late and I needed to rest.

I passed my brethren without making eye contact, but sensed their gazes falling on me; their facial expressions the standard fare I had come to expect after years of debauchery. Cold stares. Distrust latent in the way they regarded me and a slight tinge of fear at knowing with what ease I could end each and every one of them. The corner of my mouth curled upward. I finished my ascent, musing on how much my station had afforded me, aside from an added dose of paranoia and a very small circle of friends.

My accommodations, for instance. No longer slumbering in a neophyte’s closet, I sojourned in a spacious living area normally reserved for older vampires. No, I had no need of Anthony’s reminder to realize how much jealousy flew about me and how many hands itched for the tools to my undoing. Not a one of them dared to cross Sabrina, though, and everybody knew better than to attempt and fail. Others had tried. None had succeeded. They all found themselves visited by the same fate which embraced my latest target.

Still, as I approached the door to my room, the sound of a familiar being milling about inside my room reminded me I yet held favored status with some. I paused to remove my leather gloves and slipped them into my pocket. My fledgling smile blossomed into a full-blown grin. I did not love the woman, this much was certain, but her precence pleased me, nonetheless.

I opened the door. “Rose. Sweet Rose,” I said as I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, blocking out the artifical lighting in the hallway. Darkness wrapped itself around me, broken only by the soft glow of a sparse collection of candles. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Came for a visit prior to lying down for the day?”

The slender figure of a blonde-haired woman stood no more than ten feet away. Rose turned to face me, revealing a low-cut black dress hugging tight to her curves with her hair flowing over her shoulders and spilling onto her breasts. She returned my grin with one of her own and closed the distance between us. “I haven’t seen you for a while, so I thought I would claim the elusive Flynn first,” Rose said as she reached up, touching my sunglasses and sliding them from my face. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you, my dear,” I said as I blinked a few times, adjusting my eyes to the dim light. Rose set my glasses onto a table beside the entryway while I started into my room, removing my coat as I walked. “I had hoped to be back sooner, but had a few matters to attend to before I could return.”

“As did I.” Rose slithered behind me, taking my coat from my grip and tossing it onto a chair before placing her hands on my shoulders. I felt her fingers run down, along my back, and suppressed a soft groan. “But you were out quite a long time,” she said. “Have you become suicidal on top of being fearless, staying out so close to dawn?”

I laughed. “No, it was that twit Anthony from Matthew’s coven.” I let Rose slip her hands underneath the black, linen suit jacket I wore and felt it slide from my torso before being tossed where my coat landed. “I had to finish my business with that overinflated piece of refuse before I could sate my own needs for the night.”

“So it is done, then?”

Rose’s hands caressed the blades against my body and I closed my eyes in response, as though she was stroking more than steel with those long fingers. “Yes, it is done. Though there is no doubt in my mind that Sabrina shall be upset with me. I had at him twice before completing the act.”

“Living life dangerously? You will need a very convincing tale to escape Sabrina’s wrath.” One of her well-manicured nails taunted with a button.

The corner of my mouth curled upward. “I will tell her I sought a trinket for you,” I said as I turned to face Rose. “Something as beautiful as you, thus giving him an impossible task.”

Rose smiled. Past her parted lips, I saw her fangs lying in slumber. “And now, Flynn flatters me,” she said as she leaned close. Her voice descended to a whisper. “Tell me a story before you seduce me.”

“What type of story?”

“What did you really ask Anthony to retrieve?”

“This is a boring tale with a disappointing ending. He was unable to locate what I requested.”

“Then tell me that he thought he had a chance to escape when you feigned showing him mercy.”

I chuckled at her schoolgirl-like enthusiasm. “Oh, he did. That he did, indeed.” Reaching up with one hand, I brushed her hair away from her chest and allowed my gaze to drift southward. My fingertips ran along her cleveage line while my devilish gaze rose to intersect hers again. Her eyes glinted with evil, her smile just as wicked as mine. “I tore his garish clothing,” I said, “And ran him through his gut while he bled like a stuck pig. Then I sank my blade deep into his chest and watched the wind carry him away.”

She laughed. “Reduced to a pile of dust.”

“Only ash and nothing more.”

Her lips crashed into mine, our bodies pressing together despite the blades I yet wore upon my person. Rose pulled away from the kiss, but her chest continued heaving into mine. “Tell me another story.” The words dripped with lust. “Who did you kill before Anthony?”

Grabbing her head, I pushed her into a kiss and bit her lip as I responded. “Demetrius, again of Matthew’s coven. One of his elders. The stupid bastard tried to ferret information from Robin.”

“Stupid bastard, indeed.” Once more our lips met. “Tell me you made his death slow. Tell me you made him suffer.”

“He suffered good and proper, Pet.” Stripping off my shoulder holster, I tossed my knives out of the way, then grabbed hold of Rose again. “I pinned him against the wall with my katana and then rid him of the curse that was his head.”

“Soon there will be nothing left of Matthew’s coven.”

“Not when I’m through with it.” Our mouths hovered dangerously close. “I shall kill them all, one by one. Their blood shall form a river of crimson underneath my feet and I shall laugh like a madman as they perish. How does that sound, Rose? Does this fantasy please you?”

Rose threw back her head and laughed before jumping into my arms and starting to devour me with kisses. We stumbled to my bedroom and fell onto the bed while she popped the buttons from my shirt and raked her elongated fangs against my bare chest. Enraptured though I was, the fatigue of the hour began to make its presence known and threatened to take me under if I did not hasten our tyrst along. So I rolled on top of Rose and took the reins, exchanging her slow, deliberate pace for one of my own.

I was sound asleep by the time she left, comatose within mere minutes of finishing with Rose. Settled against the bed and lured into the repose of slumber, my mind fell silent, my secret safe within my unconscious body, at least for the time being. The scorn of Sabrina awaited me when I woke, but at the moment, I seemed safe from any being’s wrath.

Or, so I thought anyway.

***

I had been asleep for a few hours when an ancient premonition invaded my dreams.

The first thing I became aware of was a flash of brilliant white light, throwing me into a sterile room, seemingly without walls. The bright illumination surrounding me should have had me writhing and praying for death, but as I opened my eyes, I furrowed my brow at the absense of pain without my dark spectacles to protect me. At once the solution came to me, something impossible and yet, the only explanation I could conjure.

I was dead. One of my enemies slipped in as I slept and plunged a blade through my chest. If I had expired and gone on into the hereafter, however, I could not help but wonder if the paperwork had gotten misappropriated. The waiting room surrounding me could hardly be described as the portal to hell.

“Hello?” I said, turning around only to find the same endless room surrounding me on the other side. My eyebrow arched. “Would anybody care to explain where I am and what the fuck I am doing here?”

“I remember him,” a voice said in response. Belonging to the female persuasion and one too familiar for me to ignore. My skin crawled as she continued speaking somewhere behind me. “But he wasn’t this ‘Flynn’ person back then. I believe his name was Peter Dawes… wasn’t it?”

I sneered. “Miss Davies, it has been a while.” Turning to face Lydia, I scowled at her while her emerald eyes shined defiance back at me. This time, my deceased former lover possessed no sword of which to speak and none of the wounds I inflicted on her bled through the white dress she wore. I found myself facing a woman holding herself with an air of authority, not a murder victim.

“Yes, it has been,” she said. “Four years since the last time we saw each other, to be exact.”

“Indeed,” I said, “And I seem to recall telling you then that your Peter does not live here any longer. Now, have you come to bore me further, or do you have something relevant to say to me at last?”

Lydia held her gaze, even when mine turned sinister. “You went looking for the necklace again.” Moving forward, she strolled as though having all the time in the world. “If Peter doesn’t live there anymore, then why did that dream haunt you so much?”

“Ah… so that was you.” I laughed. “I should have known. Such a memory returning after so many years locked inside a vault.” Knitting my hands together behind my back, I paced around her as if to size her up. “The adulterous wench returns. And she wishes me to recall such trivialities as a necklace, sending me on a quest for her gaudy piece of trash. Now, why is this, Lydia?”

“Who says I was the one who gave you back that memory?”

“These things do not simply happen on their own.”

Lydia smirked. “Are you sure about that?” She perked an eyebrow. “Maybe that meddlesome mortal you think died five years ago is still alive in there somewhere. Have you ever stopped to think about that?”

“No, dearest, I have been too busy entertaining notions of what I might do with this pendant.” I stopped pacing and smiled, baring fangs at Lydia. “Perhaps I might drape it over the necks of the women I seduce right before I murder them. I could use it as a token to lure them to their deaths.”

She scoffed. “I’ll suggest one better, Flynn. Why don’t you just wear it and spite me with it.”

“Splendid. Perhaps I shall.”

Lydia laughed. “I don’t buy the act. The whole persona, it’s nothing but a facade.”

“I can show you what a facade looks like.” Walking closer to her, I raised a hand and touched her chin, pointing her neck toward me. Instead of plunging my fangs into her throat, though, I leaned close and whispered in her ear. “How about the facade of telling somebody that you love them and then whoring yourself like the slut you were? That you pretend not to be with your self-righteous air of pompous bullshit. How is that for a facade, precious?”

“Why does Flynn care about that?”

“Oh, make no mistake about it, I do not give a shit about your mortal infidelity any longer,” I said, pushing her head away. “I have no lack of lovers. I can pick and choose whom I please and have my way with all of them at once if I wish. I am merely exposing your hypocrisy.” Pausing, I waited for her gaze to return to mine. “Now, it is my turn for questions. Why have you visited me again?”

“Because I want to speak to Peter.”

“And what do you wish to say to him?”

“You’re holding back his gifts.” Lydia narrowed her eyes. “And you’re using them as your own.”

I scoffed. “Gifts,” I said. “Here we go with this cloak and dagger bullshit line everybody feeds me without a single person explaining what the devil they mean.”

“Kind of makes you think…” The corner of Lydia’s mouth curled upward. “Doesn’t it.”

The smug look on her face raised my ire at once. I sneered at Lydia. “Fuck you, apparition. And fuck that name you keep evoking. Stuff these bloody gifts of yours while you are at it; if you have answers for me, then I am all ears, but if not, then leave me the fuck alone and never come back.” My voice rose in octave the more insensed I became. “I am sick and tired of being touted as some special creature without being let in on the grand riddle and the last thing I need is another damn voice lending in the chorus!”

My voice echoed throughout the room, a hush falling as the echo dissipated. Lydia held her gaze and for a moment, we seemed fixed at an impasse until she said, “There are more things going on than you can begin to imagine. Things that have been in existence longer than there’s been a vampire named Flynn. All I can tell you is the answers are coming.” Lydia frowned. “I only hope there’s enough of Peter left in there.”

I did not respond. Lydia turned to depart from my presence, but something caused her a moment’s hesitation. She looked back at me. “Just remember, not everything is what it seems to be. If Peter is still there, past the violence and death, he will understand this phrase. ‘The only thing worse than being blind is having sight, but no vision.’” Her eyes fell to the ground. “And I never stopped loving you. You’re the one who stopped loving me.”

Lydia consummated her departure as though carried off by the wind, there one moment and gone the next. I stood in the midst of the white room with nothing but another riddle until the light began to fade and my eyes opened to reveal my slumbering body never left the bed.

I rubbed my eyes while an ache rose to a burn, the darkness of heavy shades not enough to mask that it was indeed daytime and my retinas were none too pleased at being exposed to anything but pitch black. As a gasp of pain escaped my lips, I covered my eyes with my hand and stumbled out of bed, fumbling around and colliding with several pieces of furniture on my way to the entryway. ‘Damn Rose,’ I thought to myself. ‘She left my sunglasses next to the door.’ I tripped and muttered obsenities until finding the table and using my sense of touch to locate where my spectacles had been placed.

A sigh of relief punctuated shoving the dark lenses over my eyes, but from there I was unable to settle into sleep again. So, I showered, dressed, and whittled away some time staring at Lydia’s necklace, wondering why the devil I was entertaining her words as much as I found myself doing. Sight, but lacking vision. I remembered the quote as being one of her oft-recited proverbs, although I had no notion of why Helen Keller’s words were relevent to me. It defied my understanding.

“Mortal nonsense,” I said aloud, wrapping the chain around my fingers and allowing the pendant to dangle toward the palm of my hand. “That is all this amounts to. Utter and complete mortal nonsense.” I shook my head and thrust the offending piece of jewelry into my pants pocket, rising from my chair to find something else to occupy my mind. The shiver of ghosts from the beyond, whispering their idle threats and veiled insight, was the least of my concerns on the fifth anniversary of my death.

I had a coven mother to face, who would undoubtedly discover what I did in her absence.

Sabrina was a force to be reckoned with when vexed at one of her children.

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Story Beginning

I lingered in the vestibule for an additional moment, knowing I did so to my own peril. To keep Sabrina waiting could mean my execution rather than my admonishment, but I found myself attempting to interpret Sabrina’s tone and read the tea leaves in the cup. Her voice did not give me any hope of knowing what I might face when I finally stepped into her sitting room, so I glanced into as much of the living area as I could see from this vantage point. I perked an eyebrow at what I found.

In all of the times I had visited the palatial penthouse on the top floor of our building, a sparse collection of lamps always seemed to be illuminated. Enough that I knew never to remove my sunglasses for fear of burning my retinas into blindness. This time, however, the darkness staring back at me caused me to perk an eyebrow. I stepped forward just one pace. I hesitated once more, casting a wary glance at the soft glow emanating from the corner of the room. When I saw it flicker as if caught by a gust of wind, I reached up and did something I had never done before in there.

I touched my sunglasses and slid them from my face.

My eyes registered a slight tinge of pain from the candlelight, but not enough to burn. As such, I pocketed my glasses and stepped around a corner, into the sitting room where Robin and I met once with our immortal mother; where she presented me the charge to become her assassin. Thrusting a hand through my hair, I walked further into Sabrina’s personal quarters. When I finally caught sight of her, I paused my steps on instinct. My feet refused to budge any further.

Sabrina stood near a heavily draped window, her back to me, and raised a hand to part her curtains just enough for her to stare into the night. Her posture did not speak as many volumes as her manner of dress did. A blouse clung onto her slender, yet shapely, frame and even from my perspective I noticed a few buttons undone and a collar parted that hinted at how much cleavage I would see when she turned around. I swallowed hard at the tight skirt formed to her hips, ending inches shy of her knees. The stiletto heels raised her calf muscles into sensual curves.

Suddenly, I began to suspect I was being seduced. And I did not mind it in the slightest.

“What is it, my son?” she asked, her voice soft and smooth as silk.

My skin prickled. I studied her, regarding the red hair cascading down her shoulders, and fought the compulsion to follow the sight of her into decadent thoughts. “Nothing, Mistress,” I said, surprised at how subdued my voice proceeded forth from my lips. “Why?”

“You hesitated. I called you in here, didn’t I, Flynn?”

“Yes, you did.” I nodded as she turned her head to line me in her periphery. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to expect.”

Sabrina released her hold of the curtain, allowing it to fall closed while she faced me. The open blouse I fantasized about stared at me, presented forth as though meant to be a gift for my eyes. I shifted my gaze quickly, hoping she did not see where I had been looking while hoping she did at the same time. My blue eyes had nothing to hide behind now. They looked directly into her chocolate-colored irises and had I a pulse, it might have seized at the moment from the tension building in the air between us.

My mistress pretended she was unaware of it. “When I bid you to come,” she said, “You are to come. Are we clear on this matter?”

I nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” Sabrina nodded. She pointed toward one of her couches. “Sit. I wish to speak with you.”

Nodding once more, I walked almost precisely to the place where she directed and sat, settling back against the leather upholstery and listening to it creak underneath my weight. Sabrina sat across from me, her legs crossing and her arm raising to recline against the complimentary sofa that was at once so close, and yet, so far away. Her hand touched her lips, which pursed while she studied me. “Do you know why I called for you?” she asked.

I suppressed the urge to jerk at the collar of my shirt. “No, I don’t,” I said.

“You don’t?” The corner of her mouth curled upward. “You don’t even want to guess, my dear?”

Indulging in a deep, steadying breath, my mind traced across the events of the night prior. I scratched the back of my neck, engaging in an internal debate. Come clean or hold my cards close to my chest in the event she did not know what I had done? I relaxed in my seat more and permitted the ghost of a smile to surface. “I believe I know what this is about, but I’m not sure.”

“You believe you might know?” An eyebrow perked as her eyes locked onto mine, refusing to relent in their scrutiny. “Then enlighten me.”

“You heard about what happened last night?”

“Did something happen last night, Flynn?”

“Yes.” The ghost grin vanished, dissipating like smoke. Yet I held a steady gaze with Sabrina.

Sabrina nodded. “Assume I have no notion of this and tell me what happened.”

I nodded in turn and sighed. “I ran into three immortals from another coven,” I said. “We exchanged words and things ended… poorly… for them.”

“And what does that mean?” I could have sworn I saw the smile return to Sabrina’s face, but it may have been a hint of amusement present in her eyes and nothing more. Or simply my imagination. “Did you do something to them?”

“I was armed.” Dipping my toe into the pool, I created a ripple to see where it would lead.

Sabrina did not crack a smile, but did not cast a frown. “You were armed with a blade?”

“Several. Throwing knives.” Well, she did not need to know about the sword.

“Why were you armed?”

“Protection. Self defense.” I paused. “To become used to carrying my weapons around with me.”

Sabrina nodded. “And what did you do with these blades, Flynn?”

“I murdered two of the three.” Inching forward in my seat, I held up a hand to stop Sabrina before she could shoot furious words at me. “But only because they were insulting you. They called you terrible names, Mistress, and insulted me in the process. When they threatened me, I retaliated. And…” I hesitated, but only momentarily. The time had come to be truthful. “I don’t regret it. Not at all. I would do it again, in fact.”

“How did it feel?”

I furrowed my brow. “How did it feel to kill them?”

Sabrina nodded, but said no more. I looked away, my brow yet knitted and considered the question for a few seconds before my gaze returned to Sabrina’s and a sinister smile spread across my face. Her eyes glinted a recognition of this, almost reflecting evil as though a pool of water with me yet possessing a reflection. “I must confess,” I said, a tone inhabiting my speech that hearkened back to the first mortal I ever consumed. “I liked it.”

She perked an eyebrow at me, but her lips betrayed the gesture, curling into a grin with my mistress nodding and placing a finger across her mouth. My mind conjured wicked thoughts of her licking the digit in a sensual manner, double entendres flying between us until I took her into my arms and did the most erotic things to her. I swallowed hard. The thoughts seemed to be outside me and yet, I could not help but to succumb to their taunting. Her eyes melted into mine and although we both remained seated, I felt her presence overshadow me.

“I can tell,” Sabrina said. “I see it in your eyes. I have seen it in your eyes from the beginning, though. I still remember the first time you took that girl into your arms and finished her off. I knew I had a killer, Flynn. And a killer is what I see before me.”

I stared, attempting to discern what it was I felt; what it was I wished to say in response. “Thank you, Mistress,” I managed, “But I have only just begun this journey.”

“I know you have. And you desire more.” She nodded and stood, walking toward me while extending her hand. I placed my hand within hers and furrowed my brow while she smiled. “Come with me, dark son. I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

Standing, I nodded. “Where are we going?”

“To the balcony.” Her footsteps slow, her she walked me in the direction of two french doors. “You may want to put your glasses back on, lest the moonlight hurt your eyes.”

My free hand slid into my suit jacket, producing the dark spectacles again which I secured over my eyes before we reached the exit to her balcony. Sabrina relented her hold on me to open the doors and as they parted, a gust of cold air blew past us, touselling my hair and kicking hers up behind her like a cape taking flight. I stood in the threshold while she strolled to the railing and only when she turned to peer back at me did I assume a place beside where she stood. Her gaze shifted to the distance and I looked in the same direction as well, losing myself in the sight of moonlight reflecting off the windows of a skyscraper.

“It’s a rather interesting city, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve been to Hong Kong and New York City – wreaked havoc in Los Angeles and Chicago – but none of those cities enamored me as much as this place has.”

I nodded, allowing my eyes to drink from the sight as though just as enthralled with it as Sabrina. “I haven’t traveled much,” I said. “Only from home to my aunt’s house and then to college. This is all I’ve known for the past decade.”

“And to think. . . you have forever to examine it all.” Sabrina shot me a smile, directing my attention back to her as an amiable grin touched the corners of my mouth. No sooner did I gaze at her, however, than did her grin dissipate, a frown taking its place while her eyes lifted toward the concrete jungle surrounding us again. She sighed. “I have many enemies,” she said. “You could live over a hundred years like Robin and not have my list, and I have only had thirty years in this place to develop such adversaries. They, in turn, have had thirty years to plot my demise.” She paused. “Jealousy amongst vampires and the heads of the seven covens are not immune to it themselves.”

I furrowed my brow. “I didn’t realize there was so much competition.”

Sabrina issued a sardonic laugh. “We are a lot like the mafia. Our peace with one another is always tentative and the slightest thing could snap our precarious coexistence. We maintain order only for the sake of common interests. No other reason.”

“Why don’t they like you?”

“They fear me.” A smile surfaced on her face again. “They know I did not come here to be some subjugated puppet on a string. I came to lead a coven and to protect the interests of my immortal children. They see me as a threat because they are too incompetent to manage their own affairs.”

I huffed a chuckle. “The three I encountered were definitely incompetent.”

Sabrina turned her head, her eyes meeting mine. “Were they truly?”

“Oh gods, yes.” I laughed again. “I only spared the third one because I didn’t think he was worth chasing after. I could have easily caught up with him and slit his throat.”

“Yet, you didn’t.” She paused. “Isn’t it strange how fate works sometimes, my dear Flynn? How it brings us into these impossible situations and leaves us with an entirely different future as a result?”

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice coming out sounding small.

“Because you spared the one, he returned to his coven master and informed Matthew of what happened. My shadow in the night, you must not spare a one again, but this time, it was for a purpose. The name of Flynn has been spoken on the lips of an immortal quaking with fear. You have given them a reason to tremble.”

Our gaze remained fixed, one onto the other, with Sabrina looming over me again without stepping forward one pace. Rather, her eyes met mine and sank in deep, becoming two fangs plunging through flesh to imbibe the lifeblood contained therein. I felt a chill run up my spine, but confused warning with pleasure, allowing it to consume me. Our bodies drifted closer and Sabrina nodded as if to confirm we were locked in this death dance, mistress to fledgling.

“Your aptitude has proven your readiness,” she said. “I have seen it with my own eyes as you and Robin have sparred and heard it from the mouths of your instructors. But now I must hear it from you. Are you ready to be my assassin, Flynn?”

“Yes.” The one word drifted outward with ease. “I am.”

“They underestimate us both.” Sabrina’s hand touched my shoulder. It slid across my back as she circled around me and this time, I closed my eyes when another shudder assailed me. Her voice continued wafting into my ears; a wicked lullaby. “Matthew thinks you merely a neophyte in need of scolding, but you are so much more than that, are you not?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What are you, Flynn?”

“I am a killer. I am your assassin.”

“You live to serve your mistress, do you not?”

“Yes.” My fangs slipped from their slumber. Her body pressed against mine, her lips touching my neck as she leaned in close to me.

“And you desire me, do you not?”

“I do, Sabrina.” I exhaled a shaky breath.

“You have for some time.” I felt her tongue on my ear, caressing the lobe before she began to nibble on it. “Tell me,” she added. “Tell me what you desire.”

My hands gripped onto the railing, knuckles white from how tight I took hold of the metal. “I desire you, Sabrina. I want you more than I have wanted anything.”

“No truces,” she said. “No survivors. No mercy. Punish those I tell you to punish and I will reward you. Stain the streets red with the blood of my enemies and you will have all of those carnal desires you harbor. You are ready to be my killer and I will give you a taste of what your reward shall be.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Turn and claim what your loyalty has earned.”

Eyes opening, I felt drunk, pivoting to look at Sabrina with my lids lifted to mere slits. Enough to line her in my sight and see her looking at me, lust dripping from her gaze, her lips more of a temptation than I could resist. I captured them as though starved for sustinance. Sabrina thrust her body against mine in response and as she wrapped a leg around my waist, I consumed her in violent, passionate kisses, tasting nothing but poison and yet, craving each embrace with intense need. Sabrina grabbed hold of the lapels of my jacket and ground against me once.

Then she lowered her leg and threw me onto the balcony floor.

Jumping on top of me, Sabrina kissed me once more before pulling away. I craned my neck to capture her lips again, but she used the opportunity to plunge her fangs into my throat and send a howl of pleasure resonating into the air straight from my lips. At some point in the manic, tawdy episode which followed, my glasses were removed. I clenched my eyes shut, my remaining senses left to experience the thrill of having every unspoken desire consummated through Sabrina. Clothing was shed. Bites littered my body and my will found itself at Sabrina’s mercy, subject to her whims with the moaning, thrusting, and release that followed a precursor of things to come.

Oh yes, she had my loyalty. She had me wrapped around her finger and I was but a puppet on a string.

Later that evening, that sense of something changed carried with me while I hunted. As I took mortal life, it felt as though I had tasted the fruit from the tree and could not retreat now on a pact made with the devil. Not that I had any desire to; in fact, she could have ripped my soul from my body and cloaked me in eternal darkness and I would have begged for more. She smiled the wickedest smile at me when I returned to the coven house and I grinned at her in turn, now her co-conspirator. Her assassin. No other being on the planet held my affections so pointedly.

None other, with the exception of my brother Robin.

I returned to my room to find him standing by my door, leaning with his back against the wall as though he had been waiting all night for me to return. The vexed look remained a fixture, consuming him in the most visible manner possible. I hesitated for a moment, then marched forward with renewed confidence. “Robin?” I asked, my voice more cold than it had ever been to my brother. “What brings you here?”

Robin regarded me in silence until I stopped a few feet shy of him.”How did your talk with the Mistress go?” he asked. Robin did not flinch at my tone. His remained just as even as mine.

“Good.” I paused. “She agrees that I am ready to assume my responsibilities as her assassin.”

“Because you slaughtered two immortals in cold blood?”

“Because I defended her honor, dear brother.”

Robin nodded. His hands slipped into his pants’ pockets while his eyes shifted to the wall opposite him. “I see how little my opinion matters in this coven.”

“With all due respect,” I said, “I don’t think I need to be as coddled as you want me to be.”

“This has nothing to do with being coddled.” His gaze returned to mine. “Flynn, you think, with all of the wisdom of a one year old immortal, that you understand the way this world works when nothing could be further from the truth. I walked the streets of Kilkenny before cars occupied roads. I sailed on ships when flying machines were the things of fiction. I am much more worldy and experienced than you.”

I perked an eyebrow in defiance. “And you don’t think I’m ready for this? Even after I’ve proven I can hold my own in a fight?”

“This has nothing to do with holding your own in a fight and everything to do with the type of wisdom you lack.” His eyes flashed anger. His finger raised to point at me. “The Mistress may not give a care about this sort of thing, but I do. You are being thrown into a world of enemies without beginning to understand the ways of this world. You are being sent out there like sheep to the slaughter and not because you have no notion of weapons and fighting. We have already established that the student eclipsed the ability of his master far before this present reality. I hold no egotism. I admit my place as your inferior, but that is just it. You haven’t the foggiest notion of why things are the way they are.”

“And neither do I care to know!” I said, shouting back at him. I gritted my teeth, holding back the compulsion to bare fangs. “I am through with this cloak and dagger bullshit.”

“Lang…”

“Fuck off, Robin.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I think you’re jealous and are being spiteful because of it. I have proven and will prove myself. If I need a tutor at this point, it’s trial and error.”

Robin nodded. “Very well.” The words spoken softly, the subsequent statement was issued with harshness as a stark contrast. “Since you have no further use for me, I shall find some place in this coven where I am needed.”

He stood straight and began a brisk stride away. A frown surfaced in a flash moment of clarity, long enough for me to say, “Wait,” to him without moving to follow.

Robin stopped. His back remained to me, but his head turned to line me in his perephery. “What is it, Flynn?”

“I never said I didn’t have any use for you.” My statement was enough to coax him toward facing me fully. He stared, but did not speak, so I continued. “You are the only one in this coven who teaches me anything. I am going to need help, I just don’t want to be treated like an infant.”

For a moment, we regarded one another in silence. Until Robin nodded. “I will not leave you destitute,” he said, “But you are to understand this.” A pause punctuated his words. His stare became severe. “You will have to deal with the consequences of your actions from this point forth, Flynn. You chose this path. Now it is your burden, not mine.”

“I never asked it to be yours in the first place.”

“Indeed.” Robin issued a short nod. “Now, sleep well this morning, dear brother. Savor every moment of it. Because I promise you, it is the last restful sleep you will enjoy.”

He turned again and this time, I did nothing to stop him as he made his way to the end of the corridor and turned for the stairs. Instead, I remained standing in the same place, puzzling over his warning for a few seconds before shrugging it off and entering my room. Once inside, I closed the door and removed my sunglasses, sighing from relief over the darkness which wrapped itself around me like a cocoon. I leaned against my door. A sadistic smile spread across my face. I did intend to enjoy resting that night, but planned to do so every night from that point forth, regardless of what Robin had to say.

My dreams were not to be so accommodating, though, and Robin’s warning not to be the final word. As I laid in bed, I tossed and turned while the vision of a white room materialized in my subconscious and the chill of dread settled into my bones, so much like the dream I had weathered a mere two mornings ago when I destroyed my old apartment. No familiar furnishings surrounded me this time as I opened my eyes to behold the sterile, vacant place where my dreaming form found itself standing. I spun around to survey my immediate area.

That was when I saw her.

Standing across from me inside the void, holding one of my swords, the ghost of Lydia regarded me with far more disdain than even Robin had. On her chest were bloodstains, crimson-colored patches on clothing hiding the wound I inflicted when I shoved the butcher knife into her body. She lifted her chin, sizing me up. “I’ve been watching you,” she said. “My eyes haven’t left you even though I haven’t said anything to you recently.”

The sight of her brought loathe to the surface like bile rising to burn the back of my throat. I sneered. “Well, well, well… how fortunate does that make me? To have an audience?” I raised my arms to my sides and bowed. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show, Pet. Especially the night before last.” Standing straight, I adjusted my suit jacket, a snide grin surfacing on my face. “That was for you. I thought if you wanted to fuck with me that turnabout was fair play. Lovely touch, placing me inside my old apartment, by the way. Especially with those pictures of you and my parents.”

Lydia held an even gaze. “You speak just like a demon.”

“I am a demon, mortal. You’ll do well to remember that and leave me alone from now on.”

“You used to heal, Peter.” She shook her head, lifting up the sword as she spoke. “Now, you kill. You’ve been given unspeakable gifts and you’re wasting them.”

“So wrapped up in the past. Allow me to help you with that.” I strode toward her. Lydia did not move and relented her hold on the sword, shocked as I grabbed it from her hands and impaled her with it in one swift motion. Holding her close, I spat venom as I filled her ear with the harshest whisper my lips ever produced. “Hear me now, you adulterous bitch, Peter is dead. He no longer owns this body and neither do you. I suggest you enjoy your afterlife and leave mine alone, or more people will die. Each time I sense your shiver or see your ghost, I will murder like a tyrant until you relent. Are… we… clear on this?”

“You have no idea,” Lydia said, a pained grin on her face as her eyes returned my look of severity tenfold. “You don’t see it yet, but you will. When we come back to finally deal with you.”

“Lovely, do be sure to drop in any time.” I twisted the sword. “So I can continue doing this to you.” As I pulled back to stare into her eyes, I did not expect her hands to raise, but they grabbed me by my jacket and pulled me even closer, noses a hair’s breadth from touching while she shook her head at me.

Her green eyes appeared almost ethereral. Her tone became sharp; stern. “You can’t outrun your destiny,” she said, pausing to cough before continuing to speak. “It’s looking for you and it will find you… when you least… expect it…”

Lydia’s grip on me relented. Her body slid from the blade as gravity worked its wiles on her corpse and forced her body to fall limp at my feet. I watched her crumple to the floor, an inner voice attempting to speak; a dying flame staring down at her and wanting to ignite again while failing miserably in its task. The ember surrendered its life in a puff of smoke. Within a few seconds, it was no more.

I flicked her blood from the blade and strode off into nothing, satisfied with myself, thinking now this would be the end of my entanglement with the shadows of my past. Her threats held no merit and did nothing to sober me as had been Lydia’s intent. I saw nothing more than the last breaths of a dead woman and regarded it with far less concern than I did Robin’s words to me. When I woke, the evil consuming me yet thrived beneath my skin. I rose to greet the evening and plunder it once more.

A few days later, as I rummaged through my pants pockets, I found the necklace I ripped from Lydia’s throat shimmering inside, staring at me as though possessing the stern gaze of its former owner. I held it in my fingers for a matter of seconds before thrusting it back where I found it and making a detour to a pawn shop on my way to sate my bloodlust for the night. Only days afterward, I received orders for my first hit and the vicious glare in my eyes became a permanent fixture; a callous expression I wore that night and each night forth with every murder I executed.

My sword stayed by my side. My coat concealed the knives I kept always on my person. My senses were attuned; my will as cold as steel and as sharp as a blade honed by the most skilled craftsman. I became the hitman of the undead, death personified and a force with which to be reckoned. Over the next four years, I established the name of Flynn through my actions. All who stood against Sabrina feared the day when they would meet me face to face. I reveled in it. I thrived within its confines.

The adage remained as true to me, however, as it does to all who possess a special calling. Eternity does indeed catch up with you. And found me, it did, in the most unlikely of manners.

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Story Beginning

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.”

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Story Beginning

- Friedrich Nietzsche

***

Chapter One

I cannot recall what caused the clarion bell to sound alarms through my psyche, but at once, it was as though the haze shrouding the world around me began to lift. Time froze and for a moment, an epiphany struck in all its horrible glory.

I had completely and utterly screwed up.

Blood covered my hands. I gazed down at the knife I held, both staring at it and failing to see it all at once. All I could think at that moment was that she committed the initial mistake and this was all some twisted cause and effect playing out before me. My mind struggled to compose facts, piecing together disjointed thoughts in a mosaic I focused hard on deciphering with wide eyes and furrowed brow. It left me naked before my own scrutiny, lost within the unpleasant reminder my life seemed little more than one calamity after the next. Only, this event trumped all others which preceded it.

Lifting my gaze from the weapon poised in my palm, I spied them lying there. Two people, a man and a woman. And both of them were dead.

My knees gave out; I slid down the bedroom wall. Settling on the floor with the knife dropping from my grip, I brought both hands to my head and started rocking back and forth. I walked in on her, this was true. She looked at me and screamed; yes, yes, I recalled this as well. It was when the other person shot out of bed that my memories seemed to shatter like a pane of plate glass. I struggled to replay the events, my head throbbing and the sensation of the knife’s hilt still fresh on my skin.

The knife. I fetched it from the kitchen. Oh God, what had I done?

Curling up as though a boy frightened of his own shadow, I winced as the dam of shock buckled under the weight of too many images crowding in at once. Too many images, such as her calling out, “No, Peter! This isn’t what you think!” and me spitting out the words, “You selfish whore, what did you do? What did you do?!” An involuntary laugh floated past my lips when I remembered the bastard she was fondling not more than thirty seconds prior. He fell to the floor, tripping over his own jeans and barely came to a stand by the time I rushed upon him.

Tears formed in my eyes. Hysterics burst forth from my lips. Neither of the actions lent themselves toward any hope I yet possessed my right mind, but did nothing to make me feel justified in what I did next either. Rather, I plunged deeper into the abyss while crimson stained the black and white movie playing my mind.

He was my first victim. I did not pause to ask his name. I gave no warning of what I meant to do. Instead, I charged forward with the kitchen knife and sank it deep into his stomach. He bent over and when I kicked his head upward, I paused to stare at his neck, beholding a sight strange and delicious. One swipe across his throat and he screamed no longer after that.

My senses should have come screaming back when he hit the ground, begging me to realize what on earth I was doing, but my lover of two years – the woman I felt was my soul mate – gazed at me with glassy eyes and her tears were not for me. This only enraged me further. I grabbed her by her necklace, snapping the gold chain and pendant from her throat. Plunging the dagger into her chest, I held it there, as though removing it would cause her black heart to rejuvenate. We stared each other in the eyes. The instrument of her death slipped from her body as she crumpled to my feet.

I wished she had fallen to kiss my feet, but there would be no pleas for forgiveness anymore. No, two dead bodies laid before me and lifetime of remorse loomed on the horizon. “I have to get out of here,” I whispered, swiping at my cheeks. My fingers left tribal war paint smudges and my clothing bore conspicuous blood stains, but I didn’t care. In fact, I was amazed when my weak knees supported my weight and allowed me to pick myself back up.

I stumbled down the hallway to her front door. The thought traced across my mind that her neighbors might have heard the screams emanating from the apartment, but I remained apathetic toward it. They might be gathered outside, a lynch mob with pitchforks and torches to carry off the monster I had become, but I welcomed it, to be honest. When I swung open the door, however, I saw nothing more than an empty corridor. So, I trudged forward, not knowing where I intended to go, yet realizing I could not stay there.

The images assailed me again.

I saw the look in her eyes as our gazes locked, her brain not yet dead from the lack of life-giving oxygen cycling through her veins. “Peter… I’m sorry.” That miserable bitch. Why did she say she was sorry? Why did she rob me of a pure lover’s vengeance by staining my actions with her repentance?

My walk became a run.

I saw the scowl of hate I shot her in return. “Burn in hell,” I muttered. How could I say that? Did I not realize what I had just done? Even if her love for me was cast aside with capricious ease, mine for her was still strong and in seconds, I destroyed the one thing I cared for the most.

Hysteria threatened to claim me. I dashed for the door to the outside and slammed into it, knocking myself into the night air and recoiling when the cold of January rushed headlong into me. Once again, the idea of being lost – vulnerable – struck me.

I continued running toward the street, trying to escape the guilt pounding heavy through my head. The mob crowd might not have been following me, but my conscience was gaining and its feet moved swifter than mine. I passed through upscale apartment buildings, through a park, and ran until I came to a patch of Philadelphia asphalt and darted down it without caring one iota for the traffic.

One car swerved, then another, but I did not remain on the street long. I turned down an alleyway and continued running from the pain wishing to tear me limb from limb. Its footsteps closed in. I felt its breath prickle my skin. I sensed its presence enveloping me, but nothing prepared me for the abrupt way my sprint came to a halt.

It was as though my conscience became personified and obtained corporeal form; or, so I thought at the time. Ignorance converging with my own frenzied panicking prevented me from understanding what took hold of me when a set of hands grabbed me, followed by another. I struggled against the grip, screaming, “I was going to marry her! It isn’t my fault! Oh God, why did she do this to me? Why did she make me kill her?!” The hands kept firm hold of me, however, until my attackers silenced my rant with a swift smack against my throat. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t being held back by my conscience at all.

The second clue was much more painful.

I felt a tongue slide against my neck milliseconds before a set of sharp teeth pierced my skin. Hollering as an afterthought, I gasped through the pain, trembling while blood ran down my chest and intermingled with the sweat which came from running. The lips pressed against my flesh drew inward, a sickening sucking noise resonating in my ears while the hands around me tightened. I felt an overwhelming urge to sleep wash over me and did not have the energy to fight it. A chill sent shivers through my entire body.

My eyes fluttered shut. My head bobbed. I could not see the face of my attacker, but had little desire to anyway as my pulse became faint and my knees threatened to buckle again. Whoever held me prevented me from falling over while my brain commenced the same shut down which must have transpired when Lydia fell to my feet. I whispered her name – Lydia – as though remembering it for the first time through all the chaos. It formed all the apology my dying breaths could manage. I did not have the chance to add any further words of remorse.

Instead, the cool flesh of somebody’s wrist touched my lips. It silenced me and focused my fleeting attention toward a viscous liquid which ran past my parted lips. The moment I tasted their blood upon my tongue, a foreign premonition stirred my senses, the same way seeing the slit throat of Lydia’s newfound lover had while I yet remained in the throes of homicidal rage. A female voice spoke in a soothing manner. “Drink,” she said. “Take it in, Peter. Because tonight, we will fulfill your destiny.”

I drew inward once, heeding the woman’s command. The strength which had escaped me returned enough for me to drink again. I wanted it without knowing why. In fact, I became more and more ravenous with each mouthful of blood and did not realize I’d grabbed hold of her arm until a violent pulse of pain forced my fingers to tighten, my mouth lifting from her wrist so I could cry out in agony. Before I figured out what was happening to me, another wave of fatigue throttled back with all its sound and fury.

My legs finally gave out. My body slumped into a set of arms. The world drifted from my consciousness while voices spoke around me in a dissonant manner. My breaths became shallow and ceased altogether and soon I drifted off to sleep.

Little did I know, as my heart stopped its rhythmic beating, that the blood I drank belonged to a vampire. I had just lived my final night as a mortal.

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