Rebirth of the Seer

by Peter W. Dawes

  My eyes shut. My throat became that much drier. “And then, I shall die?”

  “Oh no. The Order is nothing if not given over to its own form of pomp. The moment you’re too weak to fight them – past the point of even your most animal impulses – they will finally come for you and drag you bound into their place of judgment. That is where you will die.”

  Slowly, I sat, palms touching my legs as my eyes focused on the door and the impossibility of escaping. My lids drifted shut. I sighed. “So you have come to mock me in my final hours.”

  “Far from it, Flynn. I’ve come to tell you that your witch is alive.”

  My eyes flew open again. The fangs which had been impossible to retract slid back into place while I came to a wobbly stand. My hands balled in fists, desperate to hold onto hope anew. “You have not killed her?” I asked, incredulous.

  Ian laughed once more. “What use would she be to me dead, Flynn? She’s much more valuable alive. Untouched, too. Well, for the most part. You do have to keep in mind she’s very stubborn and doesn’t see any of us as the heroes in this equation.”

  I perked an eyebrow. “What have you done to her?”

  “Detained her, admittedly. You both are like wounded animals. You would still bite the hand that frees you, so here you linger and there, she does.” His pacing stopped abruptly. I heard the sound of shoes scuffing against the gritty ground. “She tries to speak to you. I have even caught her crying for you. The one human on this earth who longs for your presence and fate holds you cruelly at a distance.”

  My heart sank at the mere notion of Monica just as alone as I was. Sentiment threatened to summon tears. I barely suppressed the urge to allow them to the surface. “What do you want of me, then?”

  “To finally learn the lesson, dark one. To see the way of mortals before you. This is how they truly are, no less flawed than us. Hiding behind a supposed veil of righteousness while their hands are stained with both the blood of our people and the blood of theirs. They drown in hypocrisy while we are unapologetic about our natures. And this is what they condemn us for.” His voice faded for a moment. It resurged beside the door again. “Would you lie down and die for them after all they have done to you? Would you truly still fight for them?”

  I sighed. “I have no resolve left with which to fight anything.”

  “Ah, but you do. Or you will, when we reach the time of your reckoning.”

  I did not respond, mind beginning to swim with a myriad of conflicting thoughts. Ian continued speaking in softer tones. “You know I have my plans, Flynn. And I mean to exact them very, very soon. I promise not one hair on her head will be harmed if you cooperate with us, and unlike the humans I don’t speak such promises falsely. It will be done as I say. I’ll neither kill her, nor torture her, nor force her to turn. Her fate lies in your hands.”

  “How can I do anything so long as I am locked in here?” I asked.

  “You’ll see.” A light tap echoed on the ground. It brought with it the memory of Ian’s cane. “I wish I could free you now and wreak delicious vengeance upon the Order this very moment, but everything has its time. And your lesson isn’t fully learned. Just remember, when you emerge from your private hell as a battered, weakened shell of yourself, precisely who put you there and chains you to face their kangaroo court.”

  I drew a shaky breath inward. “And if I refuse?”

  Ian chuckled, his voice taking on a diabolical tone. “Then I will enjoy every minute of killing your watcher. I’ll savor her blood and her body until she begs for death and then, I will grant it to her slowly. Not what you want to hear, I know, but once again, I’m a man of my word.” He paused. “Is that what you want, Flynn? Surely it’s not.”

  I shut my eyes tightly, refusing again to respond. The edge from Ian’s voice had vanished when he issued his final words. “You don’t have to choose your path this moment. Endure your final trial first. But when your mortal reckoning is asked for, mine will be as well. Be mindful you choose wisely, lest you send your lover into the afterlife.”

  His cane tapped the door twice and with that, he was gone. I settled onto the ground again, bringing my knees up to my chest and resting my forehead against them. As my nerves settled, the remaining embers of mental clarity were spent wrestling against the devil. Without hesitation, I knew what Monica would have to say if she were seated beside me. Talk of larger consequences would be met by assurances that this is what the Fates would have deigned, but I was too tired to care for the greater picture. Desperation filled my mind, leaving me flailing like a drowning man for whatever might save me. Surely there was a line to be walked. Surely I could succumb without damning the entirety of the Council.

  My remaining empathy would be extinguished in the days to come, however.

  The next evening, I awoke with a moan, taunted by even the faint scent of blood still attached to my clothing. By the next night, though, a feral need ripped through me, the night a blur of ranting and screaming. My progression into insanity reached its apex when my fingers bled after scratching at the ground and my only blessed moments of peace came after clawing at the walls submerged me in the magical dampeners protecting the confines of my prison. I blacked out only to wake hours later and rage myself into exhaustion again. The constant smell of my flesh searing against silver filled the air. My steady climb downward left me a deranged, damaged mess.

  By the fourteenth day, my mental faculties flickered on and off, but I was too weak to move. When my cell door flung open, I hissed against the light and tightly shut my eyes, forced to endure blindness once more. A pair of strong hands freed my shackles only to secure new ones around my ankles and wrists.

  “Don’t hiss at me, little vampire.” I was barely able to form the thought that the dissonant voice vaguely resembled Julian’s before he demanded, “Now, get up.”

  I felt like saying I could not, but found myself dragged to my feet anyway. A hearty shove forward threw me against a wall, but when hitting it failed to bring the same magically-induced delirium, I knew I stood outside the confines of my cell again. Strong hands gripped my bound wrists and forced me forward, searing my skin in the process. The pitiful moan I heard being issued in response was detached and yet, sounded distinctly like it passed through my lips.

  Still, I knew a psychic lock had been secured around me because when I failed to turn around, my feet motioned forward of their own accord. I had been made into little more than a puppet. The jarring action after so many days of exhausting isolation did wonders for my thought process, though. Cogency returned, no doubt only briefly, but enough to ask, “Am I to face them blind?”

  I barely recognized my own voice.

  A forceful shove gave me all the answer he was apt to give. His pulse beat so close to me, it taunted my fangs to full extension again. Several bouts of dizziness threatened to bring me to my knees, but whatever hold Julian maintained kept me from stumbling to the ground. Reliant upon my other senses, I used them to paint the picture of what would be my death march.

  The wind beat against my face when we exited their prison. I smelt the confluence of coastal air and industry as a light rain tickled at my skin. The water offered my wrists a small reprieve from the metal burning with every shift of my restraints. My shoes slid against gravel and for a few minutes, our walk was devoid of any other noise but stones and any other smells than Julian’s taunting scent.

  An army of heartbeats encroached upon us, though, the further we walked. The murmur of voices soon joined the orchestra of pulses, the former ceasing abruptly as we wound around the path to where they stood. I visualized an entire crowd in my mind, filling in their faces by jumping from mind to mind for what they saw as they regarded me. Each set of eyes was also joined by an accompanying thought.

  “That vile creature…”

  “They look so… ghastly when they’re that pale.”

  “The list of his atrocities…”

  “… He murdered the Davies girl. Both of them
, I’ll bet…”

  “So, Malcolm gets his justice at last.”

  With each mind I touched, it seemed to be easier to reach the next. What should have been an exhausting drill became revitalizing, lucidity returning all the more as I expanded my mental range. I continued to do so, despite the loathsome judgment cast by each onlooker.

  “Contemptible is hardly the word for him. More like a tyrant.”

  “…The Devil himself.”

  “…Finally getting what he deserves.”

  “I hope they execute him immediately.”

  I kept my head bowed as I walked past, tempted to sneer while far too weakened to summon the energy. The march indoors seemed to last interminable minutes until an inner set of doors were opened, and the crowd who watched me enter formed a procession behind me. The expanse of room felt monumentally larger past the entryway. I borrowed another set of eyes to study my place of reckoning, frowning when I beheld what had gathered to watch my demise.

  Men and women from all walks of life were seated in plush chairs arranged in stadium seating. The tiers stretched upward at least a dozen rows and what few seats were unoccupied were swiftly filled in by the entourage who followed me in. The room itself was fashioned in a semi-circle and at the front, there was a platform with seven chairs and a table situated in front of them. The chair in the center bore added adornment on its hand-carved, wooden back.

  What bore more direct significance to me was the floor in front of the platform. Through my borrowed sight, I saw Julian leading a ghastly shadow of myself into a circle etched in the hardwood flooring with runes carved around the circumference. A metal plate bolted into the middle bore a conspicuous-looking ring in the middle. Its use became apparent to me as we stopped in front of it. The end of the chain held by Julian latched into the center and with that, I was secured into place. He released his psychic hold on my body, leaving me kept upright by only the force of my will.

  The elders emerged from a back door after the rest of my jury took their seats. Four men and three women arranged themselves in proper order with the man I had met in Chicago taking the middle seat, as I suspected he might. Malcolm Davies made himself comfortable and glanced at the others, waiting until they had done the same. He and a blonde-haired woman seated beside him made eye contact. With a nod, he passed the invisible baton to her and as she turned her head, her gaze panned the entirety of the gathered throng.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Supernatural Order,” she said. “We’ve gathered you all together because tonight, we face a trial and sentencing with dire repercussions for the Order itself. This vampire before you has been accused of high crimes against humanity, not the least of which includes the murder of one watcher and direct responsibility in the possible death of another. The blood of an elder and three former sorcerers of our Seattle and London offices are on his hands as well. But even these atrocities are not the gravest of his crimes.

  “The extent of his charges will be laid out for you tonight. Suffice to say, each of them are severe as this vampire has also been given the gifts of a seer. All of you have been called to witness his execution as a warning. Anyone who associates with the dark arts will face the same condemnation, regardless of their position.” She paused to glance at the other six elders. “If the High Council is ready to proceed, we will begin.”

  They all gestured in some form to indicate their readiness – some with a nod and others with a wave or word. When she directed her attention to me, her gaze turned severe.

  “Vampire, this trial will list your deeds before the Order and explain the High Council’s decision to put you to death. You will not be granted pardon. You will not be freed from the confines of that circle until your sentence has been carried out.” Her voice turned louder, her eyes not straying from me. “Peter Dawes, you – the accused – stand to give an account your actions. This meeting will now begin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A wave of dizziness threatened to knock me from the borrowed eyes I used to witness my own condemnation. I saw myself waver slightly before regaining my composure. Head bowed, I could not tell if the woman addressing me knew I saw anything of her response. The corner of my mouth curled reflexively when I saw her sneer. “Mr. Dawes,” she began.

  “If I may–” This time, my voice was stronger. “– Address me as Flynn if there is to be judgment rendered. Peter’s name should not be marred with my misdeeds.”

  The Council glanced at each other, visibly befuddled. One man, seemingly of African American descent, shrugged at the woman. She glanced at Malcolm, who nodded, before looking back at me. “Very well, vampire. I should like to remark that whether we call you Peter or Flynn, your charges remain the same. Just so that the rest of the Order is made aware, though, Flynn is–”

  “My immortal name.” I summoned the gumption to straighten my shoulders. “The name was a gift bestowed by my brother, the vampire Robin, before he was slain by my own hand. The colors black and red that you see on my person are a reflection of this name, for I have been called a child of red.” Pausing, I lifted my head. “I am certain the Council would find the imagery appropriate.”

  “Quite, though we seem to take your deeds with far more gravity than you do.”

  “Make no mistake, I view my deeds with much more severity than even you can. I am the one who lives in their shadow.”

  She paused. “If that’s the case, you can do us the favor of listing them.”

  “So be it.” I drew a deep breath inward, speaking through a dry throat and fangs which refused to retract. “Most of what has been said about me is true. Some things have even yet to be mentioned. I am the monster responsible for the death of Lydia Davies, my girlfriend and would-be watcher. She and the elder she reported to were my first kills, committed on the night I was turned. My maker, Sabrina, had seduced me into turning and their deaths were prompted by her skills in dark magic. I take full responsibility for them.

  “As a vampire, I have murdered more souls than could fit inside the confines of this room. I killed without conscience – both human and vampire alike – and relished each death as only a sociopath can. That is, until I met Monica Alexander and retrieved a talisman left to me by Miss Davies.” My voice softened, emotion laden in the next words I spoke. “They have strived, from earth and the grave, to redeem this devil standing here before you. That I have any conscience now is due solely to their effort.”

  The woman twitched. What caused the recoil, I did not know. “Yes, we know all about Miss Alexander’s interference with the natural order. Is it true she was the one who brought out your gifts?”

  “Yes, it is true.”

  “And what did you do with these gifts?”

  I sighed. “I used them to lure and seduce humans before murdering them.”

  Her voice turned louder, a broadcast to the others gathered. “You used the powers and abilities of a seer to seduce and murder human beings,” she said. I used my borrowed sight to watch her shake her head. “Do you understand the gravity of such an action, vampire?”

  “I realize it is an offense to the natural order.”

  “It’s downright blasphemy toward the Fates, sir.” She paused, but only for a beat. “Considering how you have abused your powers, why did you run away from your judgment in Philadelphia?”

  “Because the Fates had further work for me, Miss…” I let my voice trail off in an unstated question.

  “Kaylee Alexander. Monica’s mother.”

  The admission set me aback. I floundered for my response, but then determined any recognition I gave toward her relationship with her daughter would be ill-appreciated. “I had… other duties to perform – ones of higher significance. Through Monica, I have rediscovered my calling. I have slain my maker and the vampires of my coven and other covens which sought to initiate a power struggle in the city of Philadelphia. I have received dreams and visions, from Lydia Davies and the Fates themselves, showing me what has been, what will be, and
what orders I have from the Fates along the way. Miss Davies informed me of my tasks and I was set upon that mission when I was captured.”

  “What about Wesley Parker, Jesse Owens, and Mark Shinto?”

  I turned my head and shifted focus to Malcolm Davies. He scowled at me as I frowned. “Mr. Davies, I am not responsible for their deaths. I warned them against visiting that building and, after discovering they had not listened, entered it myself so I could save them.”

  “And you expect us to believe that?”

  “What I expect is of no consequence. It does not make my words any less true.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “And my daughter?”

  “Monica, you mean?” I wrestled against tipping my hand, knowing where she was while still desperate to prove a point. “Sir, with all due respect, I begged you to look for your daughter while you were busy kicking me around and hurtling insults at me. Not only did you ignore me, your friend here –” I nodded toward Julian, something that caused a slight stir over the fact that I knew where he stood. “– Confessed to a half-hearted attempt to search for her while I was unconscious.”

  Emboldened with a spark of energy, I twisted to face as much of the crowd as I could. “Bloody humans. The lot of you. This seems to be an epidemic within this establishment and this Council especially.” I shifted back to the panel of elders. “If I am to be condemned, you are equally guilty. Your prejudice and lack of discernment led us to this mess in the first place. You are the ones with the blood of those three men on your hands.”

  “You will silence yourself!”

  “I shall do no such thing, sir!” My voice echoed throughout the room. I forced myself to take several deep, steadying breaths before my hunger whipped me into a frenzy. “If I am to face my death, then let the Council heed my final words. I stand before you as your failure. Miss Davies plead on my behalf to bring out my gifts before I was turned vampire. Miss Alexander lobbied for an intercession when I became a ruthless assassin. And both times, the Council ignored them – both times you idiotic creatures washed your hands of me.”