by Peter Dawes
Instead, we continued stepping lightly across the hardwood floors that had once teemed with vampires. I chanced a look over the railing to the downstairs, seeing nothing shifting in the shadows, and focused again on our immediate surroundings. We paced closer to the shut door leading into the den of our enemy and stood outside of it for several seconds, exchanging a look in which one of us seemed to be asking the other if we were ready.
I nodded and this time, I was the one to enter the room first.
Transitioning from moonlight to near darkness, I walked as far into the room as I dared until my eyes had a chance to adjust. Robin shut the door behind us and when I glanced back at him, I saw his hand hovering near the switch to one of the lamps closest to the entryway. He retracted it once he had decided against exposing us. “I will look for one of his candles,” Robin said. “Give me a moment.”
I nodded my consent. Robin disappeared deeper into the office than even my vampire vision could make out and as the soft light of a candle illuminated the room, I paced closer to it, relieved for something to disrupt the dark. “What are we looking for, then?” I asked, permitting myself to speak at a louder volume.
“Anything,” Robin quipped, raising his voice as well. He passed the candle to me and lit another one for himself. “I’ll rummage through his desk. Would you search the rest of the room for me?”
“As you wish,” I said, my focus immediately shifting to the undisturbed collection of furniture. I started at the far end, pacing closer to the liquor cabinet where Patrick had once extended hospitality toward me under the guise of being my friend. My fingertips skimmed across fixtures and walls, not stopping until I had paced the perimeter of the office and searched more intently through the chairs and couches in his sitting area. My gaze lifted to Robin, seeing him open drawers and empty the contents atop the desk so he could rifle through them. So far, however, he appeared to have unearthed the standard collection of staplers, pens, and empty notebooks.
I frowned, walking closer to the door and setting the candle onto the table where the lamp Robin debated switching on resided. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I shut my eyes and tried to clear my mind of any thought, resting my palm against the door and whispering to it for any secrets it might have to share.
The backlash which followed came as no surprise.
I recoiled, another sharp burst of pain afflicting me when I pushed against this barrier. Gritting my teeth, I pressed my hand harder against the wood, my eyes opening in time to see Robin peer in my direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he asked.
“Not allowing him to best me a second time,” I said. Focusing on the mental image of my wife, I latched onto the scolding Robin had given me over growing numb to my own grief. ‘Ending this brings her back to me,’ I told myself and though it took nearly every ounce of energy, I tore through the veil to gather whatever anger and fear remained. My jaw clenched as I felt for the magical barrier which had been erected between me and seeing into the past. As expected, it sent another knife piercing through my skull in retaliation.
I fought past the pain, however. A sensation like a vice attaching itself followed, with the pressure growing more and more excruciating the longer I fought. Surprisingly, however, an image started to form. I focused on that more than I did my own suffering and for a moment, it felt like I might have finally transcended it.
Lights switched on inside the room, painting Patrick’s office with color which rushed up to his desk in a tidal wave. When it reached there, Patrick himself appeared, and where there had been stationary and supplies a few seconds ago, open books and journals replaced them. Bent over a stack of paper, Patrick wrote furiously, the red-haired vampire showing little of his facial features as he continued to scrawl down notes. I recognized one of the journals open in front of him as belonging to my brother, Robin.
“You’re never going to finish in time,” a female voice chided. Sabrina appeared from the hallway leading to his bedroom, securing an earring to her ear while slowing to a stop beside his desk. Glancing down at his progress, she perched on the corner of his desk and crossed her legs.
“Not with you doing that,” he responded. His head lifted finally, revealing the determination in his eyes as he flipped pages and skimmed the writing of the one on which he settled. “You’re the one who’s forced this all into motion with your shortsightedness.”
“You’re pointing fingers at me only because you’re mad at yourself.” Sabrina glowered at him, despite his failure to make eye contact. “They got away from you and you had to show your hand.”
“Because you couldn’t keep your little minions in check.” Patrick paused, finally looking up at her and mirroring her expression. Only, his possessed a warning to it, something I had not seen the entire time when he played the part of being our ally. This man looked more than capable of provoking the slaughter of hundreds of vampires to enact his will. “They captured the witch in Costa Rica with him still there. You forced me to stage a kidnapping with one of my immortal children to attempt keeping their trust and in the end, you had no faith that I wouldn’t let you get killed when he and Michael had you cornered. If you didn’t still owe me something, I would have granted you a slow and immensely painful death.”
“You jeopardized getting your little trinkets when you let them threaten my life. I only did what you told me to do.”
Patrick held her gaze evenly, with such unnerving calm that it forced Sabrina to retreat. She slid off from her perch and huffed while walking away. I watched her wander off and focused again on Patrick when he resumed his work. He flipped through a few additional pages and jotted down another note before slamming the book shut.
I walked closer to him within the confines of the vision, attempting a better look at whatever it was he had written. As he busily closed tomes and shoved them into a leather messenger bag, I squinted at the paper. While I got close enough to see what looked like a familiar language, its alphabet reminding me of something I had once seen elsewhere, the way Patrick glanced up made me pause, my gaze seeming to intersect with his as if he could see me through the corridors of time. I swallowed down a flight of nerves, not abandoning that idea until I saw his disposition sink.
“We need to get out of here, mother dearest,” he called toward where Sabrina had wandered. “The enemy is at the gates.”
A banging sound startled me out of the vision. Darkness – save but for the light of the candles – shrouded me again and as I released my hold on the wall, a post-pain form of euphoria swept over me, threatening to force me to collapse. I felt something trickling from my nose and ears and some distant thought told me I had made myself bleed in the effort to break through Patrick’s magical barrier. Through the fog which had settled over me, however, I saw the look on Robin’s face and frowned at where I saw his eyes.
“What is it?” I murmured. “Did you hear something?”
Robin glanced from the door back to me and walked around to the other side of Patrick’s desk. As I forced myself upright, attempting thought beyond the dissonance in my head, he paced closer to me and pressed his ear against the wooden barrier. Another crash from downstairs startled both of us away from it, as I suddenly realized that had not only been a part of Patrick’s past.
It was also happening in our present.
“Who is that?” I asked, using the sleeve of my jacket to wipe the blood from my nose.
“Heaven only knows,” Robin said, “But I hear pulses.” He glanced at me to study me and frowned. “You aren’t going to be in fighting condition. We need to find a way out of here without them seeing us.”
“I might have to fight through it. Especially if we tripped one of Patrick’s alarms.” Taking a deep breath, I reached for the hilt of my sword, unsheathing it at last. Focusing on the door, I latched onto what little emotion remained in the event I would need a well from which to delve.
“Follow me,” I said, “And we will say hello to our visitors.”
R
obin nodded when I glanced at him and assumed his place behind me again. A small, begrudging comment about wishing he was properly armed passed through his lips before I opened the door – the last thing either of us said before padding quietly toward the railing overlooking the main floor. I chanced leaning over the sturdy wood to peer downward, retreating when I saw the main entrance ajar.
‘Whoever they are,’ I telepathed toward my brother, ‘They entered in a hurry.’
He frowned and nodded, acknowledging receipt of the message. Carefully, we crept toward the stairs, using the shadows to stay as out of sight as possible. Pulses beat below us, four in number, closing in on the same staircase, leading me to wonder which of us would have to deliver the opening volley. While I tightened the grip I had on my sword, I summoned my photokinetic powers, watching the sparks jump from the tips of my fingers up to my wrist. As the hilt took on the same ethereal glow my hands did, I prepared to emerge from hiding.
Before I could, however, he spoke.
“Whoever the two of you are, you aren’t dark magicians” a familiar voice chimed, “Which begs the question of what you’re doing here. Whichever one of you is bleeding energy, I implore you to come out and have a reasoned discussion with us. Otherwise, we might be forced toward lethal action.”
Robin and I exchanged a look, his brow arching while mine furrowed. I lowered my sword, the light from my hands dissipating while I trod closer to the top of the stairs. The man’s voice echoed in my head, a riddle I wanted to solve before revealing myself.
“I won’t wait for long before sending somebody up,” he prodded.
“Gillies?” I muttered, finally placing him. With a frown crossing my lips, I strode into the open, lowering my sword to my side the moment he and I made eye contact. Robin emerged as well and as Brandon Gillies stared up at us from the bottom floor, he mirrored my frown. I could not interpret his expression and something told me that an attempt at reading his thoughts would tax my already-aching mind. As it stood, however, he did not seem pleased to see us.
His eyes flicked to Robin, returning to me only when he realized neither of us posed a threat. Resting a hand on the bannister, his voice took on a severe tone.
“Sheath the sword and come with us,” he said. “We have something to discuss.”
Chapter Fifteen
The numbness had returned, leaving me drained and nursing the ill effects of Ireland as I watched Brandon Gillies pace around his office. Removing a pair of gloves, he lowered himself into his chair, facing where Robin and I sat while tossing the gloves onto his desk. We stared at him and he, at us, the first tenuous moments spent in silence.
His expression had relaxed throughout the duration of our short return to London, I noted as I studied him. Even then, however, I detected a lingering sentiment which refused to let me relax. “It’s a strange thing,” he finally said, the sound of his voice jarring with the amount of tension floating in the air. “I attempted messages and not only did you fail to respond, you walked into an area still under examination without even informing me you intended to do so.”
“Had we known you still had the area under surveillance, we might have been more cautious,” I chimed, feeling Flynn raise his hackles while being unable to hold back his reflexive posturing. Shutting my eyes, I shoved him aside, suppressing a peculiar shiver he brought in his wake. When I looked at Gillies again, I had restored full control of my senses. “Anyway, I did not feel it necessary to clear my actions with you. In case I did not make it clear, I am here to assist, not to be reenlisted.”
“No, you’ve made that abundantly clear, Peter.” He sighed and shook his head. Lifting a hand to scrub at his face, he seemed to second guess sitting and rose immediately to his feet again. “I’m not even going to attempt a civil talk with you yet. It’s been a long night and I need a cup of tea. Wait here while I fetch a few things.”
Gillies removed his coat and hung it up before making his departure. While Robin looked concerned, I could only summon annoyance – the sentiment still detached, as if it belonged to someone other than me. We had been ambushed in Kilkenny, it told me, and while Gillies had put off conversing in favor of returning to London first, I had been stripped of my sword and now left to wait. Slowly, the urge to become agitated started to wash over me.
“Perhaps we should have stopped in London first before venturing to Ireland,” Robin offered, as if he sensed danger in the quiet.
“Maybe,” I said. “Though I still dislike the idea of them trying to attach puppet strings to me.” Another of Flynn’s chills raced through me, and while I had weathered the first without any outward sign, this one rippled out to my extremities. Robin turned his head to regard me while I sighed.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, telling an obvious lie. “I think Flynn likes the idea as much as I do.”
‘They’re going to attempt to hold us here,’ Flynn chimed, the verbal recognition of his presence enough to give him licensure to speak.
‘They will certainly do so if they think me insane,’ I rebutted, in time for me to direct my attention back to Robin. He tilted his head, and while I could not be sure Robin realized Flynn had entered the discussion, something about the way his posture changed suggested he strongly suspected it. “What does he want?” he asked.
“Only for us to avoid capture. At least for the moment.”
Robin breathed an annoyed chuckle and pointed his face forward again, shifting his position in his chair while doing so. “If he has any grand suggestions for diffusing the situation, he’s welcome to offer them. Especially if they don’t involve homicide.”
I expected an answer from Flynn – to relay a message to Robin containing some sardonic witticism about how homicide would be preferable to this. Darkness swept over my subconscious, however, and the way I studied Robin bore wicked undertones. There seemed to be a threat carried in the undertow, a reminder in the ominous answer from my alter ego that he and my brother had yet to make amends.
We will have our reckoning, he seemed to warn. And you might not like the outcome.
The moment arrived and passed again, Flynn falling quiet and leaving me to weather the aftermath. I opened my mouth to make a comment about what had just happened, my stomach tying in a knot as the door to Brandon Gillies’ office swung open and preempted me from saying anything. While the elder remained absent, a pair of assistants strode inside, one carrying a tray with three mugs and the other, a burgeoning manila folder.
After the mugs had been placed on Gillies’ desk, in each of our corresponding locations, the young man with the folder offered it to Robin and left with only one instruction. “Mr. Gillies wanted you to examine this,” he said. “He’ll be in shortly.”
“Thank you,” Robin said reflexively, watching the assistant depart before directing his focus to the folder itself. For as unnerved as I still felt, even I found myself intrigued, leaning closer while Robin cradled the seam in one hand and rifled through paperwork with the other. At first, I failed to recognize the images it contained, until I turned my head and nearly peered over my brother’s shoulder. When he flipped to a page filled with handwritten notes, however, my stomach fell for an entirely different reason.
“I saw this,” I said, pointing at the document. In my periphery, I saw Robin glance up and lifted my eyes from the page back to my brother. “We were interrupted before I had a chance to tell you and considering our babysitter never let us away from his sight, I failed to mention it. But this is the vision I saw in Patrick’s office.”
Robin sobered. “What did you see him doing?”
“Writing these notes.” I nodded at the paper. “Which is odd, considering he seemed to be in a hurry to finish them. I saw him shove the books he had been reading into a bag, but not...”
When I trailed off, Robin arched a brow at me, prompting me to frown. I glanced from the page back to Robin and swallowed back a flig
ht of nerves. “He had one of your journals and had been copying notes down from within. These notes. The last thing it seemed he left in Ireland before fleeing from his coven.”
“My journals?” He glanced back at the sheet and read through it, his eyes skimming from one line to the next until the look on his face transformed to one of horror. “No,” he said, flipping the page and glancing at the foreign words scrawled on the next piece of paper, penned in the same language as the one which had preceded it. “He’s gone absolutely mad.”
“What is it?” I asked, though as I did so, the door swung open again and Brandon Gillies strode back to his desk. Robin attempted to sober, but I could not help the befuddled way I sized one man first and then, the other. Whatever thoughts had entered Robin’s mind remained a mystery to me and as much as I wanted to delve into Robin’s head, I knew doing so stood the chance of exposing his thoughts to the other potential telepath in the room.
Fortunately for me, when Gillies sat, he took his tea in hand and focused exclusively on Robin. “Coptic,” he said, pausing to take a small sip of his drink. “Though I’m certain such a skilled linguist knows this. Do you have some familiarity with the language?”
“Some,” Robin said, though I heard a lie in the response. Or perhaps a half-truth. The way he regarded the elder bore the evidence of a man who had been dealt a hand of cards and given the solemn task of protecting it. “My travels throughout the years have brought me in contact items written in Coptic.”
“Can you read what that says?”
Robin studied the previous page first before examining the one after that. Something in the way his eyes traced across each line looked deceiving, as if he knew what it said without needing to even read the words themselves. The page which followed bore more images and even I had a difficult time bridling my obvious recognition of the scene contained in the next photograph. Robin frowned at the sight of the dilapidated living room we had briefly visited in Vienna, an envelope placed on the vacant bookcase where the vagrant had been hiding. “Were these left here?” he asked.