Rebirth of the Seer

by Peter W. Dawes

  My frown deepened. “And how are you so certain of this?” I asked.

  “I just am. Call it blind faith if you want. I don’t care. I just hope one of these days you learn to believe it, too.” The smile returned to her face, shrouded in sympathy at first. I felt relief surge like a torrent when the look of pity gave itself over to her typical amount of amusement. “Now stop this angsty bullshit. When I first met you, you would’ve retched at seeing yourself turn this introspective.”

  I rolled my eyes, pivoting to face her fully. “See what you have done to me, witch? You have turned me soft.”

  An exaggerated sigh escaped her lips. “I know. I have that effect on guys. That’s why my relationships never last.”

  “Ah, so that is what happened with Wesley.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Monica slapped my shoulder when I walked past and I smirked on my way to the front door. I heard her scoff and turned to face her partly as I swung the door ajar. She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ve noticed you haven’t asked me much about him and his buddies. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”

  I laughed. “As though somebody named Wesley could make me jealous.”

  “Oh ho, you see? Resorting to insults.” Monica’s voice lilted as she strolled into the hallway. “Jealous.”

  “Fucking sorceress.” With a huff, I shut the door, accompanying her to the staircase leading toward the main foyer. The night air swept around us in gusts when we emerged onto the city streets and I felt less burdened, if only for the time being. Monica kept on the topic of her friends, explaining each of them to me while I listened, grateful for the chance to simply listen to her talk. The concerns the past few days escaped me with her by my side. For a moment, I almost believed the hazy sky above could shroud us from the stern eye of the cosmos.

  When we returned, however, the phone rang as though it had been expecting us. I shrugged off my coat as she dashed for the kitchen and within seconds, the familiar sound of a one-sided conversation filtered into the living room. I sighed and draped my coat across the back of the chair again before sitting to remove my shoes. Not paying attention to Monica, I found it a surprise when she returned to the room wearing a serious expression on her face.

  I furrowed my brow. “Your friends?” I asked.

  She nodded. Her hesitation only served to pique my interest all the more. It took several moments, but her lips quirked in an apologetic smile which rapidly flickered out of existence. “It seems their little expeditions have revealed something fishy with the local vampires. Wesley asked if we could finally meet.”

  “About bloody time.” I set my shoes aside and rested my elbows on my legs. “I wondered if the next phase of our mission was to learn how to play cards.”

  “Very funny, Flynn.” As something indistinguishable traced across her eyes, she looked away and glanced back once it passed. “I’m going to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. Don’t stay up too long past dawn, okay?”

  “Very well.”

  When she failed to brush past and place a kiss on my cheek, I furrowed my brow. The door to the bedroom shut with an ominous resonance, something unspoken lingering in the air before falling flat onto the floor. I do not know how long I stared across the room, only that seconds turned into minutes before I finally plucked a book from the shelf and began reading. The shades blocked out even the glow of the moon. Through the dark, I let my eyes trace over each line, my mind lingering on her departure.

  While the respite of the past few days had been filled with equal parts quiet and discomfort, that which troubled me the most had nothing to do with resuming the task at hand. An itch which could not be satisfied left me floundering in a mire not apt to surrender me just yet. The devil clung on through what felt like a series of death throes.

  But somewhere in the back of my psyche, a familiar ghost had been roused.

  Chapter Eleven

  If it could be that said keeping a man waiting was a woman’s prerogative, I had to wonder if being supremely frustrated with the lady in question could be a man’s.

  Monica had parted ways with me to meet with her cohorts alone after a walk spotted with awkward silences. She seemed torn between leaving me alone and asking me in despite her better judgment leaning toward pre-empting my entrance. I made the decision easier by patting her on the shoulder and all but shoving her into the establishment.

  That had been an hour ago, though, and as each minute passed, I became more restless. A light rain had begun to fall, coating the sidewalks with a wet sheen which reflected the glow of each headlight passing by. I squinted more than once, averting my gaze when the glare threatened me with blinding pain. Protecting by an awning jutting overhead, I flanked the entrance to an Italian restaurant with a man punctuating quick glances at his watch with intermittent sighs while humans strolled beneath the safety of umbrellas. The sound carrying through the busy area blocked out any attempt at listening in and I thought the better of invading Monica’s thoughts. I could not help the nagging question, however.

  What the bloody hell was keeping her?

  Exhaling in a huff, I watched steam billow from my mouth and considered lighting another cigarette. The debate led to the action which consumed the remaining few minutes until Monica emerged, in time to see me flick the depleted embers away. She watched it sail into a gutter, then turned and looked up at me. “I’m sorry that took so long,” she said. “The unfortunate thing about meeting with people you haven’t seen in years is that they spend forever catching up.”

  Both of us glanced in the direction of the other man as a horn blared. He dashed through the rain to a waiting automobile. Once he was out of earshot, we faced each other again. “Catching up how?” I asked.

  She whipped the end of her red scarf over her shoulder and shrugged. “The Order. The things that’ve changed in the past four years. Lydia and everything else.”

  “Lydia?”

  “They knew her, obviously.”

  “Obviously.” I perked an eyebrow at the way she shifted on her feet. “So, they will not think to associate me with the would-be seer who ended her life?”

  Monica stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I told them you’re a new seer. That you realized your powers within the past few months and helped put down the coven responsible for Lydia’s death.”

  “A creative interpretation of the facts.”

  “We work with what we have.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but did not linger. “Don’t worry, they’re so far out of the loop, they don’t know any better.”

  “Do they know of our discord with the Council?”

  “Yes, they know we’re not team players. They don’t know about the trial, but they didn’t have a hard time believing I’d gotten myself in trouble with the elders.”

  Her facial expression turned chagrined, which caused me to smirk. Monica’s eyes sparkled with deviousness and mine seemed to mirror her gaze. “So, fellow miscreants. None of us have been good little boy scouts and girl scouts.”

  She laughed. “In other words, act natural.” Walking up to my side, she winked. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you to act the part of the rebel.”

  “A role I was born to play.” I bent slightly at the waist, bowing. Her smile brightened and together, we strolled inside, bypassing the hostess stand to head deeper into the restaurant. A haze of smoke settled over the entire area, shrouding the collection of blue collar workers and disheveled college students while pop music blared in the background. Bottles of beer were lifted and subsequently imbibed between bites of food and draws from their cigarettes. I jumped when one table burst into sudden and uproarious laughter. For as tempted as I was to stop and glare at them, Monica tugged me forward and saved me from a spectacle.

  As we approached the seating area near the kitchen, Monica slowed her steps and I followed suit. Three men seated in the confines of a booth paused whatever they were saying in favor of glancing up at me and taking an appr
aising look. I perked an eyebrow, suddenly self-conscious, and steadied myself with the reminder I had fed upon two pints of blood purely not to look so ghastly to them. The extra ruddiness to my complexion must have helped me pass whatever test they orchestrated over the course of the next several seconds.

  I stole the moment to evaluate them in return, flipping through their minds like a magazine and combining what I discovered with what Monica had shared about them. The first gentleman appeared to be my age in mortal years, with a goatee and long, slicked back brown hair. Wesley Parker. He taught at one of the local art schools by day, but by night indulged a hobby he was no longer equipped to handle. He had been one of the unfortunates stripped of his powers when he dared swim against the current.

  The man seated beside him was younger-looking, with short, black hair. Piercings adorned his eyebrow, chin, and ears, and a tattoo was barely visible above the neckline of his shirt. Jesse Owens. He held a cigarette pinched between two fingers and lifted his hand to his mouth so he could take another drag. “Now, Monica said you’re a peculiar one, but she didn’t mention you being blind,” he said. His accent sounded British in origin, with a very informal tenor to it.

  “A blind seer would be an irony, indeed,” I said, careful how much in the way of teeth I revealed as I spoke. “I am anything but, though. Bright light hurts my eyes – a condition I have weathered since an unfortunate accident. It makes me a nocturnal creature, but just as well when one hunts vampires.”

  “Good point there, mate.” He extended his other hand out toward me. Smoke billowed from his nostrils. “The name’s Jesse. Monica said your name’s Flynn?”

  “Yes, it is.” Reaching forward, I shook his hand for a brief moment and released it as quickly as possible. The sentiment, at the very least, was becoming less forced. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “You favor the katana,” said the third man, directing my focus back to him. He sat alone on the opposite side of the booth, a man of Asian descent who also spoke with a slight British intonation. Mark Shinto. Monica had mentioned he and Jesse were exiles from a London branch of the Order, but I could not recall for what infraction. He was the sole member of their trio who managed to retain his magical abilities. “I’ve known many swordsmen, but not many who liked the Eastern style.”

  I succumbed to a smirk. “I take it you favor the sword yourself?”

  “I prefer sai. Have trained with the katana, but I prefer shorter swords.”

  “As Monica can attest, I have not met either knife or sword I did not fancy.”

  Monica nodded, bending to slide into the booth beside Mark. “He has uncanny aim with those throwing daggers,” she said.

  “One of us has to,” I said with a sigh. She slid over to permit me some room, but I held up a hand and turned to face one of the empty tables. Taking hold of a chair, I flipped it around and sat on it with both legs straddling the back. After reaching in my pocket for my cigarettes, I lit one and set the pack down, resting both arms across the metal frame. “Monica has told me a few things about you lot, but not much. How do you all know my watcher, more specifically?”

  Wesley sat forward in a manner which suggested I had just summoned him into the conversation. He cleared his throat. “Well, we were all members of the Supernatural Order at one time,” he said. “I knew Monica’s family pretty well.” He offered me his hand. “The name’s Wesley, Flynn.”

  I indulged the handshake just as I had the other. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And yours, Mark.” My gaze shot to Mark. “I shall not reach over Monica, but consider the greeting extended.”

  Mark nodded in recognition, while Wesley raised an eyebrow. “I guess she did tell you all about us,” Wesley said.

  “Not in explicit detail, but she gave me a brief explanation into who you were.” The corner of my mouth curled in a grin. “I confess to a shallow examination of your thoughts. Such is how I knew Mark’s name.”

  “Truly a seer. Monica said you were a powerful one, but I didn’t even feel a thing.” When I failed to respond, he leaned back against the cushion of the booth again. The way his hands folded atop the table indicated he was ready to get down to business. “I’m used to having outlaws cross our path, but a seer at odds with the Supernatural Order? Now, that has me curious.”

  I indulged a deep draw from my cigarette. “I do not suffer fools lightly and that is what I saw before me – a band of hypocrites. I told them they ignored the bigger picture in favor of their personal grievances. Needless to say, they… disagreed.”

  Jesse snorted. “You might as well have called them full of shit. I think what Wes is driving at is they don’t take seers going rogue lightly.”

  Monica shimmied in her seat. “We haven’t officially been declared off the rails just yet,” she said.

  “Which makes time precious in our economy,” I offered in support. My eyes found Wesley again. The subject begged to be changed. “So tell me, you know of the stirrings within the underworld? If you no longer work with the Order, why do you burden yourselves?”

  Wesley shrugged, taking the bait. “Why does anyone follow a calling, really?” A broad smile followed the rhetorical question, causing me to think of Monica’s comment from a few nights prior. Wesley’s heart beat with the cadence of his former employer. “I was born and raised in Seattle. I loved what I did. Served as the assistant to Mr. Davies before Malcolm dismissed me with extreme prejudice.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Decommissioned,” Jesse said. He snuffed his own cigarette out in the ashtray. “No more spells and bells.”

  “You live by the Order and die by the Order, or else you get sent into retirement,” Wesley said, nodding.

  I perked an eyebrow. “What did you do to cause such an extreme reaction, if I might inquire?”

  Wesley glanced away, sighing. “Let’s just say Mr. Davies didn’t like me pointing out how much he was mishandling his daughter’s murder investigation. I told him I thought someone had something larger in store with her killer and he lost his temper. I was hauled in front of the High Council by the end of the week.”

  My gaze flicked to Monica, who furrowed her brow, before returning to Wesley. I ignored a line of ash which fell from the end of my cigarette onto my fingers. “What lead you to believe the vampires had something more planned?”

  “I knew that would get your attention.” Wesley smirked. A pregnant pause separated his comment and the remainder of his explanation. “I don’t know what kind of a speech they gave you when they found you,” he said, “But seers are never recognizable outside of realizing their gifts. Now, I’ve argued for a while we need to do more to uncover our potentials, but the fact that this guy had been on not only Lydia’s radar, but a vampire’s, set off warning flares for me.”

  “Had he?” I asked, prodding Wesley along.

  “Oh yes, he had some weird shade of blue eyes that led everyone into a tailspin around him, apparently. Same shade as the green all the seers get, which might have been a fluke if not for one important fact. The Order has dossiers upon dossiers suggesting the vampires have been trying to get their hands on a seer. Somehow, they figured out the same thing Lydia did.”

  I stared at Wesley, his words catching me off guard enough for my gaze to linger several heartbeats. Belatedly, I noticed the ash and knocked it from my fingers with a shake of my hand. It afforded me an extra moment to swallow down the mere notion. “The collective have been attempting to turn a seer? Not merely his maker?”

  Wesley chuckled and reached for a half-empty bottle of beer. “Pretty ridiculous, isn’t it? No one has any idea why, but it’s true. And when I told Malcolm Davies, he thought I was a few cards short of a deck. But then I found myself in exile out here in Chicago and got bored sitting around.”

  Jesse grinned and turned to drape his arm across the back of the booth. “This is where me and Mark come in,” he said. He flipped his hand in Mark’s general direction as he conti
nued. “I left the Order after one too many rows at the pub and Mark was one of the low tier gents who didn’t get around much. Mark knew Wes and I knew Mark and we all wanted something more to tap around at.”

  “And I had more than just something.”

  My eyes returned to Wesley. While the expression on his face was sober, a hint of feral excitement danced in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at me, a dare latent in the gesture. “Monica said the two of you brought down the bitch that turned Lydia’s killer. What if I said we’ve been tailing one of her known associates? What if I said I got into her file back at the Order and hit pay dirt when I started snooping around here? How would you like to dig a little deeper into that?”

  I brought my cigarette to my mouth and took a slow drag of it. “Such is precisely what we had hoped to accomplish.”

  The corner of his mouth curled upward. “I have a confession to make. I invited you both up here not just to help you off the radar. I don’t have any magical abilities any longer. Neither does Jesse. Mark keeps us protected just fine, for using our guile to tail around a few vampires who seem like they have more than a recreational hobby. If we tried storming the gates, we’d become a grease stain on a floor, especially if we’re dealing with dark magic. And I think we’re knee-deep in it.”

  I perked an eyebrow. “What do you wish me to do, then?”

  “What it is seers do best. Stop these bastards.” He took a hearty swallow from his beer and set the bottle down only to snap his fingers at Mark. Mark produced a black book, with creased binding and pages which looked to have been flipped through hundreds of times. Wesley took it from him and immediately held it out in my direction. “This is a record of our investigation. We’ve been at it for three years now, non-stop.”

  “Fascinating.” Reaching forward to snuff out my cigarette, I accepted the book once I was finished. It fell open with little effort as it rested in the palm of my hand. I began paging through it. “So, you have been tailing one of Sabrina’s known associates?”