by Peter Dawes
‘As though I could ever love her less,’ I chided myself, pulling away only enough to admire her again. Yes, she had been changed; by our blood, no less. She would never be the human I had once craved above my very nature, but death’s eternal kiss had sealed her here with me. Despite how damp my suit jacket remained, I crawled into bed and curled myself around her, my fingers unable to stop from tracing her features. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to her. “But I promise I won’t let anything else happen to you from this point forward.”
A hundred concerns filled the air around us. I both acknowledged them and dismissed them, handing them to Peter to be his responsibility. As I finally felt the compulsion to rest, I shut my eyes and directed my words inward.
‘You may have control again,’ I said, ‘Just don’t fuck this up. You won’t like living with me if you do.’
Chapter Two
It felt like I had entered a strange and terrifying new existence when I woke, as if the blackout caused by Flynn had teleported me from reality into some alternate fantasy. I woke beside my sleeping wife, not knowing how I arrived there and presented with the fact that I had not been dreaming. Patrick had truly killed her, and I had used my blood to rescue her.
Mercifully, however, I felt no worse for the wear. After spending long moments admiring the beautiful vampire I woke beside, I placed a soft kiss on her cheek and slipped out of bed. Monica failed to stir in any sort of fashion, adding punctuation to the comments made by Robin back in Italy. She would wake when I summoned her and not a moment sooner. “Not yet,” I murmured, the certainty as instinctual as it was a reasoned guess. My lips quirked as I stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. I wanted so much to be lost in the whimsical in that moment.
First, however, I needed to make sense of the world in which I had woken.
It took a shower for me to recount everything, though the effort felt as if I had performed that exercise already. I became vaguely aware that I had parted company with Robin under terse terms, though Flynn withheld the specifics. Indulging the topic on my own, I pieced together the grievances which had lingered for me as well. We had been led into lair of our enemy, blinded to his true nature and embracing him as a friend. And most of the reason why could be encapsulated in one damning truth.
Because we had trusted Robin, we had been apt to trust Patrick as well.
I emerged from the shower and lingered in the bathroom a few additional moments to contemplate this. While a part of me sympathized with Robin, even felt my heart ache for his loss, I still felt a violent flash of anger at how much he had compromised in the process. My faith in him had been shaken, perhaps even misplaced from the start, though I could not determine where else I might have run. Our path might have always led to this inevitable end, but that did not make me feel better at how we had arrived there.
“Greater concerns at the moment,” I said aloud, while not fully believing it. In fact, I knew as I toweled off and slipped into my old clothing that any number of things could be construed as taking precedence. While we had left Italy, Patrick and Sabrina had also managed to escape. They had upset Robin, and I now had a sorceress in transition, my blood running through her veins and turning her into a vampire. Our children, while being cared for by a close friend, remained thousands of miles away, and that they were not the first of my concerns said much for the current state of affairs.
“One dilemma at a time,” I muttered, finishing the task of dressing and slipping out from the unfamiliar new room.
Emerging from the larger living quarters, I wandered closer to the stairs leading down to the lower levels. The coven house had stirred to life, and as I stood at the railing overlooking the other floors, I took a deep breath and weighed which pressing matter I should tend to first. My gaze shifted from one person to the next until one in particular emerged from the crowd, seeming to answer that question for me. At some point, I would have to face the trials of being a seer. For the time being, I was a would-be maker, far too young to have transferred the immortal gift.
Ophelia’s head turned as I wandered in her direction, her eyes finding me before I had finished alighting the stairs. While she regarded me with wary concern at first, the coven mistress relaxed as I managed an amiable smile for her benefit. The moment which filled the space between recognition and relief told me all I needed to know. I had spoken to her last evening, but I had not entirely been myself. “Peter?” she asked, adding confirmation to that suspicion.
“Yes, it is me,” I said, pacing closer to her and pausing only a few feet away. Her second-in-command, Vincent, stood beside her, his lack of stature far more evident against Ophelia. I nodded to him in greeting before focusing on her. “Could we have a moment alone?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Ophelia looked at Vincent who held up a hand as if to stop her from saying anything further. Vincent closed the scant distance between them and lifted up to place a kiss on her cheek. After nodding at me in return, his dark hair swaying with the motion, he paced away from us. Ophelia and I watched him walk toward the front doors with one of the other coven members, who transferred a bag from his shoulder to Vincent along the way.
When Vincent had consummated his departure, the coven mistress directed my attention back to her. “He’s traveling to San Francisco,” she explained. “I had agreed to escort him to the airport.”
“My apologies. Should this wait for another time?” I asked.
A soft, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t trouble yourself with my affairs, Peter. I promise you Vincent would have objected if he minded.” Gently, she touched my arm and directed me back toward her private quarters. “My immortal brother lives in California. His is one of the rare covens where the Master isn’t the maker of most vampires, so they have a few unique problems. Vincent enjoys helping when he can.”
“I hope the complications I have visited upon us do not compromise that at all.”
“Everything seems quiet for now. I’ll take advantage of that.” Ophelia withheld any further discussion until we had disappeared inside her private quarters. I did not wait for permission before crossing the room, bound for the liquor cabinet to pour myself a drink. After tasting it, I glanced toward Ophelia, feeling the weight of her stare settle on me.
Her lips quirked again. “If you’re apt to have another, would you pour one for me?” she asked.
“Be careful, Mistress,” I cautioned. “I need little encouragement to drink tonight.” Procuring another glass, I filled it with a modest amount of Scotch before adding more to mine. Once I had finished, I brought the drink to where Ophelia had made herself comfortable, handing it over before sitting across from her. Another healthy swallow of alcohol preceded me asking, “How difficult was Flynn last night?”
Ophelia sipped from her glass as well. “He didn’t seem happy with Robin. While I understand if either of you are frustrated with him, I think your alter ego could have pulled a few of his punches.”
“Flynn never does.” I resisted the urge to drink down what remained in my glass, draining half of it instead and forcing myself to place the rest on an adjacent table. What I had imbibed filled me with warmth, settling my nerves if only by a slim margin. “I apologize. If I had any control over him, I would exercise it.”
“Don’t lie, Peter. This is me you’re talking to.” When I regarded her with confusion, her smile faded. A conspiratorial glint lingered in her eyes, but her expression sobered. “He only said what you both felt.”
“What did he say?”
“That Robin had allowed his judgment to be clouded. That his love affair with Patrick prevented him from seeing the subterfuge in front of him.” Ophelia set her glass aside as well, both hands folding on her lap. “You both look to him as your mentor, but regardless of what role he’s taken in your lives, even masters make mistakes. We’re just as apt to allow our feelings to cloud our judgment as you are.”
Flynn bristled and I flinched. “Yes, I suppose most of the p
roblem stems from my attachment to Monica.”
“Our greatest strengths are also our most profound weaknesses. That doesn’t make them worth avoiding, it simply means we need to be more careful when we know our emotions are getting the better of us. You’re angry at Robin because he’s made placing your needs above his seem easy until now. The only thing he did was reveal that he’s as fallible as you.”
“At what cost, though?”
Ophelia relented to a frown, a sigh preceding her response. “I think he’s asking himself the same question. You’re both going to need to learn how to forgive each other, though. Or, more accurately, learn how to forgive him. Unless the only reason why you feel apt to drink is because you fear being a maker.”
“No.” I breathed the answer in a chuckle, a small grin surfacing with the admission. “Each time I neglect to remember I am a seer, the Fates remind me otherwise.”
“I wish I could help you with that much, but I don’t know anything about your world.” She mirrored my smile, seeming grateful for a moment of levity. “I do know a thing or two about being a maker, though, if you’d like my advice in that regard.”
“It might be difficult to figure out the correct way to handle this,” I admitted. “Monica once told me there was no rule book regarding me. I am a vampire-seer and there has been no other one to set a precedent.”
“And now, all you have are your experiences in order to begin writing one for your beloved.” Ophelia chuckled. Reaching for her glass again, she nodded toward mine, the unstated directive for me to take it in hand. Once I had done so, she lifted her drink. “To the fear of the unknown. May the answers be simpler to come upon than you fear.”
“From your lips to the ears of the Fates.” I held my glass aloft as well before joining her in taking a sip. For the remainder of our conversation, we discussed the core of being a maker, all things I had already known, but did not mind hearing repeated. Ophelia poured another drink for us both and after we had finished it, she walked with me back to the room Monica occupied.
The coven mistress lit up with happiness at showing it to me, regardless of the fact that I had given it a cursory examination upon waking. “You and your princess deserved more room,” she said, her fingertips skimming across the couch as she walked past it. “I was going to discuss it with you last night, but your other half seemed too agitated to even relay the message. Either way, I did intend to find you when I returned from the airport, so we could make arrangements to move your belongings here.”
“I can see to that myself. No need to bother anybody else.” Glancing from the fixtures back to Ophelia, I smirked. “I simply wondered if presuming would have been rude of me.”
“Sweet of you, but it’s not a presumption.” She quirked a brow. “You’re certain you don’t want any help?”
“Having a moment alone with my thoughts might do me some good. None of this seems real to me yet.”
“Give it time and it will, my anomaly.”
Ophelia walked over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and reaching to place a kiss on my cheek. Stepping back, she still retained a soft, comforting aura despite her sobriety. “Take some time and admire your princess, if you haven’t yet. You have to learn to look at her not only as her husband, but as her master. You have a few days to prepare yourself, and even then, it’s going to take a while for it to ‘feel real’.”
“I do not doubt that.”
She and I exchanged a smile. I reached for her and as my arms encircled her, she did the same. Both of us held on to each other for a few lingering moments. “Give your brother a chance to apologize,” she said, hitching further onto her toes in order to whisper into my ear. “When you’re ready.”
I nodded as she stepped out of the embrace. Her eyes met mine and I sighed, not able to answer the plea with anything other than, “I will try.” However lackluster of a response that might have been, it looked to be enough for the time being. Ophelia nodded and made her departure, leaving me alone at last. Once the door had shut, I strode into the bedroom and sat beside my sleeping beauty.
The first strains of hope reached to me through the darkness. As I studied her, I thought about eternity and when that became too lofty of a notion, I settled on the reminder that I would not have to see my human wife grow old and die. I grinned at her while tears brimmed in my eyes. “You would have convinced me to turn you,” I said. “Eventually, I know you would have. I only wish we could have done it properly.” My fingers grazed her cheek while I realized the compulsion to angst had reared its ugly head again. Rather than indulge it, I began the process of moving my belongings from one room to the other.
For the remainder of the night, the others left me alone. I saw no sign of Robin and counted that as a mercy, relieved that I could focus on the simplicity of collecting objects and transporting them to their new home. I spent long moments considering how to arrange things, pondering the modest places Monica and I had occupied for the last ten years and not certain how to make this feel like home to her. At the same time, figuring that out felt like a better riddle to solve. I drank another glass of blood and went to bed that morning with the startling thought that soon, Monica would have the same need.
The next evening, after showering and changing my clothes, I ventured into town with Ophelia. The coven mistress helped me with such matters as buying a wardrobe for Monica, and gathering a few additional decorations for our room. I spent the remainder of the night arranging these things in particular, more focused on that than gathering the rest of my belongings.
When I entered my old room the following evening, however, I saw a figure seated on the bed and paused the moment I spotted him. Switching on the lamp, I frowned and closed the door shut behind me. “Have you been waiting in here long?” I asked. “Seems a gamble that you thought I would return here tonight.”
“Maybe, but I didn’t want to disturb you elsewhere.” Robin did not budge from his position on my bed, seated on the edge of the mattress with his head bent. His gaze lingered on something he held and it took circling him for me to recognize the picture in his hands. It was the small photograph I had brought with me from Venezuela, of a more human me and my family. “Isn’t life filled with twisted ironies?” he asked.
“Some more twisted than others.” I perked an eyebrow. “Did you want something?”
“I needed to speak to you.” Robin finally placed the picture aside, setting it on the bed beside him. Folding his hands loosely, he looked up at me as I assumed a place beside my nearly-empty dresser. “Is this a bad time?”
“Depends on the subject matter. What did you want to discuss?”
“I am leaving.” He spoke the words with a melancholy form of resolution. “Not indefinitely. Perhaps only for a week or so, but I thought I owed it to you to notify you.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Because we left the front lines of a war in shambles. The enemy is evident, but his intentions are completely shrouded from us.” Robin peered down at his hands again. “Whatever machinations Patrick has been conducting under my nose, I should at least warn our people in Europe that he is behind them.”
Something about his words stung, though I could not tell if it was because I was simply apt to take offense. “That is hardly your duty.” Leaning against the dresser, I folded my arms across my chest. “I should be the one ensuring their safety.”
“Yes, but you chose a different path,” he countered. “Somebody needs to pick up the pieces.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine again. We sat in silence, each staring at the other with the slightest look of scorn evident in his eyes. I frowned against it, hackles rising. “Are we going to have an argument about who is shirking whose responsibilities?” I asked. “You leaving directly before I have to wake a newborn vampire?”
“You are the one assuming I am leaving beforehand. I never said anything of the like.”
Robin lifted to a stand. As we faced each other, I wondered which of us would
lose our temper first. The urge to succumb to my frustration had been compromised already by the alternate personality I housed, but somehow, I managed to keep him silent. Whatever punches he had already administered had hit their mark. And the derision I saw from my brother indicated he awaited more.
As such, I took a deep breath to collect myself. “I refused to ask Ophelia what exactly Flynn had said to you,” I finally managed. “It was enough when she indicated he had been pointed.”
“Yes, well nothing he says ever surprises me. Not anymore,” Robin confessed. He slipped his hands inside his pockets, his posture straightening. “I see you biting it back, though, and would almost rather you come out with it.”
I glanced away. “So we can argue about which of us was more blinded by a lover?”
“You will forgive me if I fail to weigh your misfortune above mine.”
“That would be asking a lot of you, Robin, and I am not nearly angry enough to demand that. Truth be told, I am petrified. Any anger I have toward you is an extension of that.”
Whatever he had expected me to say, I reasoned I must have stated the opposite. He relaxed in my periphery, and although I could not see his face to know its expression, his voice had lost its edge when he spoke. “Petrified how?” he asked.
“I have no idea what I am doing.” My eyes found him again. “You were not wrong in attempting to keep me away from my family. I am not settled enough as a vampire to teach a neophyte and now, I have the special task of attempting to guide another creature who is supernaturally-gifted. Any similarities we might have in our experiences break down when I admit she is a sorceress and I am a seer. The two are not automatically synonymous.”
Robin maintained his silence while I continued. “Also, I cannot determine what I should be doing about Patrick,” I said, “And knowing he could disrupt things at any time is maddening, to say the least. I know I need to finish what we started, but I need time to settle Monica first.”