by Peter Dawes
‘I do not know,’ I said, wondering if my response sounded as slurred as I thought it did.
‘No, I’m asking myself that. You’re utterly useless right now.’
‘Thank you. I think.’
‘Shut up.’ He sighed, exasperated, and then continued. ‘She left Katerina behind. By design, I assume?’ Once more, the question bore a rhetorical tone to it. ‘Whatever trick she has planned, we need to hold out until then. I only hope they hurry. It’s getting close to dawn.’ Flynn hummed in thought. ‘I assume that these sorts of receptacles go both ways?’
When he fell silent, I realized this question demanded an answer. ‘Which ones?’ I asked.
‘Like the gemstone that is currently drinking up your energy.’
‘I assume so, if Patrick needs it to power a portal.’
‘Then that means it’s reversible. We’ll have to make a wager that I’m right. Which means you need to do two things right now.’ I almost saw him staring at me from inside my head, and while his speech had contained almost a mocking lilt to it, his eyes bore a level of severity to them. ‘You need to give up, for starters. Let Patrick have your energy. We aren’t fighting our way out of this with your gifts. Which leads me to my second request.’
Flynn raised an eyebrow at me. ‘You need to let me have control. I know you don’t trust me. I don’t care. When I wake you, you’ll have to be ready to use your powers, at whatever level they recharge, but until then, you’ve got nothing. You won’t have any psychic gifts and I’m the better fighter.’
Everything within me balked at the notion, calling to mind that he had undermined us, asserted his own agenda, and even when he relinquished control to me, had done so with the threat that he would make my life hell if I failed in my mission. Whatever that meant, it no longer held any relevance. ‘Don’t just do this for Monica,’ I said, regardless of how much the admonition pierced my heart, ‘Do it for Robin. You owe him that much.’
The comment took Flynn aback, and though I felt him studying me, full of confusion, I finally saw him nod. Regardless of how lackluster the response might have been, to me, it was good enough. As the draw of my energy became overbearing, and consciousness started to slip through my fingers like grains of sand, I allowed it, offering one final comment before it pulled me under.
‘You have my permission, Flynn. Add a little chaos to the mix. Maybe that is what the situation calls for.’
Slowly, I lifted my lids, not sure how much time had elapsed, but certain it was far less than I would have liked. As I glanced one way and the next, I saw the rogues’ gallery spread out around me and smiled when I caught the attention of Patrick. No longer crouched in front of me, he still stood nearby, halfway between where I knelt and where Monica still stood. I ignored her, for the time being.
“Should I say good morning, Peter?” Patrick asked, and though he used the seer’s name, the expression on his face suggested he knew something had shifted inside of me.
“You can say good morning,” I said, in retort. “But Peter might not be able to respond.” A sly grin crossed my lips when Patrick tilted his head, epiphany apparent in his gaze. “Ah, look, it’s Flynn the Lesser. Surrounded by his toys and his trinkets. I find it remarkable how much effort you had to go through to ensure this worked.”
Patrick chuckled, a smile deceptively creeping toward his eyes. “Ah, Mommy’s precious little brat,” he said. Pivoting toward where Sabrina had fallen, I saw that in the intervening time, she had sat up, but remained dazed and on the ground. “Look, Mother. It’s your favorite son, woken to say hello to you.”
Sabrina glanced at me, the hate that had been present in her gaze subsiding only a little, revealing fatigue and surrender beneath it. The part of me that had once been the dutiful son frowned at how broken she had become, evident in more than the wounds inflicted by Evie. Venom dripped from the woman who needed two hands to brace herself upright. Her sins had come home to roost at last.
I took at least a small amount of pleasure out of that realization. “I always preferred calling her Dark Mother,” I said, answering Patrick while regarding Sabrina. As little as I wanted to show my hand, I could not help but to smirk. “She was my maker, after all.” My gaze shifted back to Patrick. “Due a little respect, don’t you think?”
This time, when he laughed, the sound he produced lacked any amusement. “Oh, is this why Peter let you out to play?” he asked. “So, you could get under my skin?”
“Please, he’d have a simple enough time doing that without me right now. I’m still amused at the circus I’m joining.” I looked toward Monica, daring myself to. Knowing I would have to if I was going to sell this mask. My smile turned even more sarcastic. “Making a whore out of my lover. Climbing in bed with the maker you hate so damn much. Tell me Patrick –” I looked at him again. “– Did she make you get on your knees each time she told you where one of those shards were? Did you have to stick your head up her skirt and wash the taste of her from your mouth before you kissed Robin with your lying tongue?”
His hand flew up and as he spat a short burst of words at me, I recoiled, feeling like I had been punched more soundly than anyone had ever hit me before. My head snapped to the side, and despite the pain radiating from my cheek, I laughed. “And you doubted my ability to strike a nerve,” I said.
Sabrina giggled. The sound came so abruptly, blurted like she could not hold it back any longer, and when it poured from her mouth, it brought more in its stead. We all looked toward her, and as she became more the object of everyone’s attention, she descended further into hysterics. This only served to anger Patrick further. “Laugh,” he said, pacing closer to her. When she failed to move, or even to stop her cries of mirth, he shouted at her. “Go ahead and laugh, you bitch. You know that you’re dead.”
Patrick pivoted to regard me. “I will cut her into pieces in front of you,” he said.
I could not help but to bark a brusque laugh myself. “Oh, please, like I care,” I said. I nodded toward her. “Like she expects me to care. She knows that I would gladly do you the honors.”
“No, please, cut her to pieces,” Monica chimed, bringing the focus back to her. As I looked at her, I saw a grin far more genuine in its wickedness than anything I could have offered. Her eyes danced with delight, like she knew of anyone there, she was the one who could best me at my own game. Slowly, she paced closer to me. “In fact, I want Robin to do it, because he’ll like it the least. He can kill Mother Dear while Flynn and I watch.”
I tensed, glancing up at Robin in time to see him do likewise. Monica laughed and as we looked back at her, she walked over to Patrick and placed a hand on his shoulder. Making sure to look me in the eyes, she hitched on her toes enough to lick Patrick’s neck, baring fangs enough for the other man to shudder. I gritted my teeth and she laughed, inspiring Patrick to smirk as well. “It should be Michael, shouldn’t it?” he asked. “Her most favorite children. Flynn sent her to her second death once already. Fitting that it should be Michael to see her off for her third.”
“And when he’s done I’ll bring the assassin to task.” Her voice lowered to a purr. “Flynn can act all he wants, but I know right now he’s practically seething. He likes to pretend he can resist us – resist me – but he’ll be begging for me when I cut a wrist and straddle his lap. Maybe we can have Michael bleed him a bit to get him in the mood.”
Patrick chuckled. “Well then, alright,” he said. “Please, though, not so loud it breaks my focus. I have a spell to channel.” He turned his head to kiss her hair, inspiring another shiver of hate to run down my spine, something he seemed to relish for a lingering moment before he turned toward the vampire who had taken possession of my sword. Patrick snapped his fingers at them. “Give Michael the seer’s blade,” he said. “I want to watch my maker die.”
Robin opened his mouth, producing a sound of protest, but stopped from saying anything further. Patrick grinned at him, digging his hands in his pockets and settling
in for the show. As the vampire holding my sword paced closer to Robin, I stole the chance to peer at where Evie laid, hopeful nobody would see me doing so. Reaching for Peter’s telepathic powers felt laborious. I muddled through the discordant reception, trying not to stare at Evie as I saw her digging through the satchel as quietly as possible, still lying on her stomach with her cheek pressed against the dirt.
‘Forgive me for not making introductions,’ I thought toward her. ‘But we can remedy that later. I trust I don’t need to say, ‘Please hurry,’ but I’ll take the chance at being redundant.’
‘You don’t sound nearly as clear,’ she said. ‘I almost have it.’
Withholding the urge to nod, I looked toward Robin again, frowning at the look I saw on his face as he finally took hold of the sword. Patrick held his hand out, palm facing heavenward, and Robin enclosed his fingers around the red-and-black braiding of the hilt. ‘Play the part, Robin,’ I said, frowning reflexively. ‘I have something of a plan.’ Whether he heard me or not, he took a deep, steadying breath and paced in Sabrina’s direction, following the orders given him by his former lover, but doing so as slow as possible.
Something told me Patrick was still relishing it.
I kept Evie as much in my periphery as possible, watching her rummage something out of the satchel and choosing to ignore her from that point forth, in case she had found the trinket. As Robin stood in front of Sabrina, the two exchanged a look that would have pierced my heart had I any emotion to show toward my maker. Without being bound by magic, or compelled by any sort of spell, Sabrina lifted to her knees and surrendered herself to the inevitable.
“Do it, Michael,” she said. “I forgive you. For this and for what you’ve done to me in the past.”
Robin laughed bitterly. “You will deny to your last breath all of the hurt you’ve ever caused another, Mary,” he said, fighting through the spell again enough to speak. He lifted the sword until the tip of the blade pressed against her chest. As he held it there, I saw him waver on his feet and wondered at the motion, knowing it had not been puppeteered by anyone else. He blinked in recognition of it, and Sabrina sobered, as if she knew something had happened. I saw it from my vantage point, the expression on Robin’s face, but with his back to Patrick and Monica, neither of them saw it.
Her eyes widened by a margin, and for a moment, I held any desire to breathe, wondering what she would say next. In my mind, I heard her give Michael away, demanding something selfish of him in the effort to save her own neck. When she opened her mouth to speak, however, I watched her defy us all, stunned when she said it.
“I forgive you, Michael,” she whispered. “Do it.”
My brother furrowed his brow at her strange shift onto our side. The way he drove the blade forward bore a strange disjointedness to it, accidentally selling that he had been compelled to do this and not done it of his own volition. I could not help my fascination, losing all track of Evie while Robin gasped, pushing the sword further into her until Sabrina flaked into ash. As she fell to the ground, he turned away, facing me as if his programming had dictated his first task was finished.
Patrick exhaled a breath, and though he did not recognize her death with words, I saw the look in his eyes which read of relish; of a man who had been granted the purest act of vengeance one could ever be offered. Robin, conversely, bent his head, and after shutting his eyes, he sighed as if centering himself again. Our eyes met and, for the first time since our reunion, I saw no hint of malice in his gaze. For as little as I deserved it, I had his trust, and while he walked toward me, I focused on the peculiarity of our temporary truce.
“What would you have me do to him?” Robin asked, though the way he stared at me indicated he wanted me to delve further, searching his thoughts. As much as I wanted to, the draining of Peter’s powers made it nearly impossible. I got scattered words and notions of him continuing to play along and me needing to be ready for something.
‘Well, you were once my mentor, Robin,’ I thought. ‘Let’s hope we still work well together.’
“Give him a nice slice across the cheek,” Monica said. “I want the taste of blood in his mouth while you stab him.” She parted company from Patrick, walking forward a few paces while Patrick turned to focus on the components of his spell. Slowly, he knelt on the ground, though I lost the ability to study him when Monica intruded upon the space where he had been standing. Pausing there, she folded her arms across her chest.
“Just you and me, Flynny,” she said. “I want you begging by the time he’s finished with that spell.”
I could not help the way my eyes met hers, the pang of betrayal that pierced into my heart and presented me with a reality that even I had not wanted to face. As I looked away from her, I allowed my attention to stay fixed on Robin, a sarcastic smirk tugging at my lips. “Not quite the sort of penetration you normally prefer, I imagine,” I said.
He glowered at me, lifting the sword and slashing the side of my face. Wincing at the slight amount of pain, I tasted blood within seconds, and made a show out of licking it. “I’m not quite feeling in the begging mood yet, though,” I said, ensuring I flashed fangs at my brother once I had finished. While my expression still read of mocking pleasure, I ensured my eyes met his in a deliberate fashion. “Please, let me know when I should start.”
“Good to know I can get you so riled you forget yourself,” he said.
“This has yet to be seen.” Slowly, I sobered. “Well, then, have at it. You’re killing me with anticipation.”
Robin jerked the sword backward. I stole one last chance to glance at Monica, winking at her while Robin thrust forward with the blade. It plunged into my shoulder and while the pain it caused was excruciating, I told myself I could not focus on it. I could not focus on the heartache or the chanting in the background. I could not let myself become distracted by anything other than what I knew needed to be done. This would be our one chance to stop whatever terror was about to descend upon us.
As Robin withdrew the steel, he kicked dirt over the circle, disrupting it. I rose to a stand while he tossed me the sword and as I clutched onto it, I heard footsteps in the distance, sensing an explosion of magical activity rushing upon us like a tidal wave. Monica opened her mouth, temporarily focusing her attention on the doors which protected the gardens. “Protect Patrick,” she yelled toward the others. When she looked at me, she shot me a look of pure venom, the question she asked redundant.
“What have you done?”
Ignoring it all, I raced for her, expecting what followed. She lifted her hands, gesturing with them and using her magic to set me back. I flew to the ground, but as I righted myself, I noticed the darkness creeping through the gardens, the shadow which rolled over our feet finding its origin from Patrick. Coming to a stand, I saw him over her shoulder, his hands lifted to the heavens and words flowing from his lips with a score of vampires rushing to fence him in.
“Don’t make me do this,” I said, looking back at Monica.
She smirked. “Do what, darling?” she asked, lifting her hands again.
I dodged to the side, this time with Robin, who stood the risk of being taken out with the impact. Narrowly evading the ripple of invisible energy racing for me, I yelled to him, “Let the others in. It’s the Order,” before righting myself and coming at her again. Digging my feet into the dirt, I used what little energy Peter had replenished in the effort to gain ground, inches at a time. As each burst of telekinesis shoved me backward, I took another two steps forward.
‘Help me, Peter,’ I thought toward the seer, reaching toward him in my mind and gripping onto his hand while we trudged forward. A host of people flooded into the gardens, and while I failed to look at them, I knew where their focus would be, which left Monica to me. My hold on the sword’s hilt tightened as she tried to strip the weapon from me. “Dearest, this is not you,” I said, slowly relenting to Peter. While my will remained with the assassin, sentiment flooded my expression, my thoughts
giving way to my main personality again. “You need to stop.”
Monica sneered. “Oh, and what?” she asked. “Let you take me in and nurse me back to being your good little wife?” The same wild look danced in her eyes, reminding me of the insanity which I had seen in Patrick. Somewhere in the background, with each hit she administered against me, she continued speaking, telling me this was her now. Reminding me that I would never have what I sought again.
“You’re not asking me for your wife, seer,” Patrick had said, speaking through Sabrina. “You’re asking me for the past.”
My mind flashed to Costa Rica, not to a saccharine image of our years together, which would only have been a jarring contrast against the woman before me. Instead, I recalled a time when we had been discussing the Order and the backward way they functioned. “For everything they get wrong,” Monica had said, “They still manage to serve a purpose.”
I remembered furrowing my brow at her, tempted to offer a rebuttal, when she continued speaking. “When a vampire touches dark magic, they’re lost,” she had explained. “There’s nothing else that can be done. Believe me, if they’d known how deep into it your maker had gotten, they wouldn’t have sat back and waited for you to come around. I deliberately didn’t tell them so that they’d spare you.”
Thoughts I had refused to entertain over the last few weeks followed, the stubborn wall which had held them back cracking, allowing them to filter through. I had not wanted to despair, because, surely, if anyone could come back to their senses, it would be her. And if somehow, she was as lost as the others, the Fates would find a way to restore her. They owed me that much, and as I envisioned the trials awaiting us, I still saw her coming out the other side.
Only now, I knew the truth.
They had not made me human as a reward. My years with her had not been payment for my services or a smile offered toward the path of redemption that I had walked. I was a vampire. And ten years had proven not every gift was without a price, and not every wish would be fulfilled. The inevitable stood before me, for as little as I wanted to recognize it staring back at me.