Monica strolled closer to where I laid and sat beside me. The ghost of a smile resurfaced. “I have no idea how I’m going to hide those holes, but I suppose I’ll worry about that later. For now, you need some uninterrupted rest and I don’t trust you fainting will keep you under the way it should.” Wiggling her fingers, she positioned them on either side of my head and closed her eyes to concentrate. After a few deep breaths, she whispered the words, “Now, sleep,” before folding her hands atop her lap.
An indescribable calm washed over me, something I sensed from even the deepest recesses of my subconscious. After weathering the storm, a dreamless sleep would carry me through the remaining days of my recovery.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I know how you feel about this, but you have to eat something. Now wake up, tough guy. That was only round one.”
My eyelids fluttered open in response. Darkness shrouded the room around me, an extra sheet draped over the shaded windows to block out any excess light that might have otherwise peeked into the room. I blinked, reaching up to rub my eyes with the idle thought that my glasses must be on the nightstand again. As I turned my head to look for them, though, my gaze froze when I spotted something on the wall in front of me.
All of the weapons I had on my person upon arriving at Monica’s house hung from the wall, partially concealing the holes I created with my fists . . . the previous night? Several nights before that? I could not tell. I felt rested, albeit weakened, and remained skeptical that I had only been asleep for one day. Still, the sight of so many weapons so close unnerved me. “Monica, take those out,” I said, seeing her standing in the doorway. “I could hurt”
“You won’t,” she said, walking over to me. Monica sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to know how I’m so sure of that?”
I furrowed my brow, noticing the absence of a scarf around her neck. I could not deny the sight of her bare skin enticed me, but miraculously, I held my fangs at bay. “How?”
She smirked. “You haven’t eaten in a week and haven’t noticed the glass full of blood next to your bed yet.”
My gaze shot to the nightstand. A glass filled near to the brim with an opaque, crimson liquid sat beside my sunglasses and this time, my sharp teeth slid down, the scent of blood an intoxicating essence after so many days without it. Still, I did not dive for it immediately, which struck me as peculiar. Instead, I glanced back at Monica, an eyebrow perked. “Where in the heavens did you get that?”
She chuckled. “Not from me. I have a friend down at the blood bank. It’s a special donation for a doctor in need.”
“I hardly qualify as a doctor any longer.”
Monica shrugged. “Some creative lying.” She pointed at the glass. “Go on and drink it. I said you could go a couple of weeks. Didn’t say I recommended it.”
Smirking, I reached for the glass and brought it to my mouth, imbibing the precious offering and savoring it as though it was a fine wine. With each swallow, I felt my weakness wane, the soreness of days of struggle being soothed with every drop. I closed my eyes and paused with the glass yet half-full. Licking my lips, I allowed a pang of bloodlust to pass through me and lifted my lids once I was certain it had dissipated.
Monica nodded. “Yes, you’re going to have to deal with this for the rest of your life, Peter. Still, the fact that you’ve made it this far says a lot. Your need for blood is like my addiction to oxygen. You can’t ever be totally rid of it. Still, we can help you keep it under control.”
“How?” I asked, raising the glass again to finish my drink.
“We’ll keep you away from biting people for a while, at least. Only have you feed every few days unless you get injured or something like that. You were pretty fucking hooked on it, but you’ve only been killing for what? Five years now? Nobody taught you much about glamouring and sipping, I guess.”
“Robin might have tried, if I would have listened.” The invocation of my older brother’s name inspired an immediate frown. I looked away, clutching the glass with both hands. “I truly killed him.”
I felt the air between us change, becoming heavier. Monica sighed. “That part wasn’t a dream, Peter. I’m sorry.”
“You have no reason to apologize.” Staring at the goblet in my hands, I admired the remaining droplets of blood with an apathetic air. My stomach felt twisted in a knot, my heart somewhat emptier. “I was the one who plunged the sword into his chest.”
Monica inched closer to me on the bed, provoking me to make eye contact again. One of her hands reached for one of mine. “No, I do have something to apologize for. I could’ve stopped it. I knew what you were about to do and let it happen.” She frowned. “Call it the last desperate act of a witch.”
My hand closed around hers, apt to accept the comfort being offered. “Permitting something to happen is a far different sin than being its cause.” My gaze lingered on her for a few moments, and the longer I saw the contrite expression on her face, the guiltier it made me. I managed a small grin. “I think your advice in minding my feedings is rather sage. I certainly do not wish to weather that experience again.”
Monica laughed. Freeing her hand, she patted mine and then settled hers on her lap. “That makes two of us. Listening to you shout and throw things isn’t what I’d call a good time.”
“No.” Indulging in a deep breath, I stood, pausing a moment to survey to room around me with fresh blood coursing through my system. I glanced at my injured hand and watched the fading wounds on my knuckles disappear altogether. A wave of calm settled on my psyche and I focused on relishing it, knowing I would not have many days from this point forth given over to such pleasantries. The notion turned around in my mind during an extended period of silence, until my voice found unction again. “I suppose part of my rehabilitation involves becoming familiar with what it is I am supposed to be doing.” I lifted my eyes to regard Monica again.
She nodded, but did not answer right away. Instead, she smiled. “Take a shower. Change your clothing. I’m sure you want to clean up. We’ll talk more after that, okay?”
“Very well.”
Monica stood and winked at me before strolling toward the hallway. Turning the corner, she disappeared from sight and I allowed my posture to relax without realizing I had been so tense. My eyes skimmed over the bed before lifting to regard a chair I thought I had broken in the midst of my tirade. Placed atop it was a neatly folded stack of clothing I could only assume Monica had procured for my sake, complete with a suit jacket draped across the back. The sight caused me to perk an eyebrow. “Surely you did not . . . ” I stopped the thought mid-sentence, not wishing to know if Monica had been so foolish as to slip into my coven again.
Instead, I plucked the clothing from the chair and entered the bathroom, set upon the task of cleaning a week’s worth of filth from my body. I spent more time than could be deemed necessary standing beneath the stream of hot water and dressed slowly when I was finished, meticulous about the way I threaded my arms through each sleeve and secured the belt around my waist. Draping my suit jacket across the crook of my arm, I walked into Monica’s living room and fell into one of her chairs.
Glancing up at her, I waited for her to meet my gaze while regarding the way she huddled on the couch. Quiet and closed in; she appeared to be a thousand miles away and the silence became uncomfortable rather quickly. “I suppose I could attempt reading your thoughts,” I said, shifting my position to face her. “But I shall extend you the courtesy of telling me what you are thinking.”
“A courtesy?” She grinned, looking at me. “You vampires are so giving.”
I perked an eyebrow. “I did not intend to be condescending.”
“I know. You have the right to know what I’m thinking anyway.” Monica sighed, her grin fading. Sitting up straighter, she nodded. “Well, I don’t know how to say this any other way than blunt, so here we go. I made a decision a few weeks ago when I told the Order I encountered you. I could have lied through my teeth, b
ut I told them I brought out your abilities and a giant clusterfuck followed.”
Her gaze drifted toward her hands as she continued. “Some of them yelled. A lot of people called for me to be removed from the Order and shipped back to Seattle so I could be punished. They, at least, disqualified me from being a watcher and thought you should be killed on the spot.” Once again, we peered at one another. “You’re their fuck up, Peter. Not to be mean, just being truthful. Letting you get turned wasn’t our shining moment.”
I nodded and looked away. “I am certain it was not.”
“But it happened. And while they’ve been keeping their distance from you ever since . . . you’re on their radar screen again.”
“Yes, undoubtedly.” Raising my hand to rub my eyes, I felt a weight deposit itself on my shoulders. “This creates a sticky situation for them. Where they gambled on the unknown with a vampire assassin, now they have a vampire seer with which to contend. One who murdered a watcher and . . . ”
“ . . . an elder, yeah.” Monica nodded. “That was one of the reasons why I changed where I was hiding. First, the Order wasn’t happy with me. Second, Sabrina would come looking for you. And you need some time to sort things out before you can face either of them.” She lifted her arms, palms held pacific. “So, we have this place.”
“Only now there are worse problems.” I knitted my hands together, my eyes lowering to the floor. “I murdered every other vampire master besides Sabrina, and all their second-in-commands. Sabrina might not have me any longer, but she has the balance of power. Precisely what she wished to have.”
“Yes, I know.” Monica sighed. “I wouldn’t devalue your purpose in her economy, though. She might have done away with the masters, but she needs you to ensure she gains control over the whole city.”
I frowned. “You think she means to come after me?”
“Oh, I know she will, Peter. You’re too good a prize to pass up. I don’t have to be in her inner circle to know she’s spent the past week looking for you. If she’s smart, she hasn’t told the other covens you’re missing. Just that you’re lying in wait, ready to murder whoever would challenge her.”
“Yes, but such a threat shall only last for so long. You are right.” I looked up at her again. “They fear my name enough to take her threat seriously, but when the time comes to squash an insurrection . . . ”
Monica nodded. “She’s going to need to put her money where her mouth is.” She frowned. “We could argue all night about who created this mess. Me for bringing out your powers, you for killing those people at the meeting. Hell, we could even blame Lydia for forcing me to promise her I wouldn’t let you go without a fight. The point is, before we can deal with either of them, I have a seer who needs to have a little more faith in himself.”
I sighed. “Murder, I can accomplish, Monica. I have done it enough times to orchestrate an assassination in my sleep.” Raising a hand, I ran it through my hair and shook my head. “But if you are asking me to guard against Sabrina’s wiles, I do not know if I can.”
“And this is where I come in.”
I perked an eyebrow at her.
She smiled. “I’m your watcher, Peter. I’ll be here to help you every step of the way. We have a mess to clean up before you can even look her in the eyes, anyway.” Her smile softened. “You’re not the only person who’s ever had to wrestle with a vampire’s seduction. Or himself, for that matter.”
“Yes, but has a vampire-seer ever existed before? A being at odds with their own nature from the start?”
Monica sighed and shook her head. “No, I don’t remember ever hearing about this happening before. Seers aren’t usually recognized before they gain their powers and even then, they wouldn’t agree to be turned.”
“Agree to be turned?”
“There’s power in words, Peter. Just keep that in mind.” She fell quiet, lost in thought for a moment before she looked at me. “It’s possible you’re the first, but that doesn’t change the fact that human nature has always involved wrestling with darkness. Every one of us has to face our demons.”
“Monica, all this philosophical talk of human nature is no use to me. I know what I am.”
“I’m sorry.” She stood and began to pace. “I’m just saying we’re not completely flying blind. And as for Sabrina, she’ll definitely be trying to whisper sweet nothings to you because she wants you back. But the ‘seer’ part of the vampire-seer title you now so auspiciously hold is going to be your best friend through all that. She’ll be trying to tug at the vampire. What’s carried you through seven days so far will help fight against that.”
I followed her with my eyes while allowing her words to imprint on my mind.
“Peter, this is what it means to be a seer. I know I sound like a broken record, but you have to understand it. You see into things layers into things. Sometimes far more than even I can. You have the ability to dive past thoughts into intentions, into tricks, into exactly what this woman is trying to poison your mind with. When you learn to see that, you’ll be able to cut through the bullshit and fight against it.”
“How was she able to entice me after you brought out my abilities?”
“She found the right buttons to push. How was she able to seduce you when you were a mortal?”
I mused upon the question. “She saw my doubt and darkness.”
“Then that’s what she feeds on.” Monica sat on the arm of her couch, regarding me sternly. “You’ve come a long way, but you’re not out of the woods. You’ll never be without the darkness, but you can recognize the light now. Keep walking toward it. Even if it hurts your eyes.”
I nodded, musing on her metaphor. What I had to be would fly in the face of everything I had been for five years. I had to continue finding greater pleasure in penance than through immersing myself in decadence. I had to be a seer and a protector not a cold-blooded killer. I might not have been able to call myself mortal any longer, but I chose to align myself with them just the same. The humanity within me knew this was merely the start of many changes that had to occur.
“Monica . . . Teach me this, then. Instruct me further on how to see past evil, as I had before my life became shrouded in blood.” Glancing away, I sighed. “It is such a distant echo to me, what I had been like in those days, but it reverberates just the same. I know it can be found again.”
“It’s not as far away as you might think.” Monica stood once more and motioned for me to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk. You saw a little bit of it last week when I brought you here, but you need to see more of the world.” She grinned. “Call it a field trip.”
I perked an eyebrow, but stood and hurried back to my room to fetch my sunglasses. Affixing them onto my face, I also slid my arms into my suit jacket, and met her at the door. “Is this safe?” I asked as I watched her tie a green scarf around her neck. “Shall I bring a weapon for our protection?”
She considered that for a moment, then looked at me and smiled in a cryptic manner. “I think we’ll be fine. Besides, Sabrina’s spies won’t think to look for you where we’re going.”
“And where is that?” I asked.
Monica opened the door, and then looked back at me. “To the hospital, of course.” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Dr. Peter Dawes.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was survivor’s guilt that had placed me on the path of medicine when I determined which career I would pursue. For months on end, I remembered wrestling with nightmares of the last moments of my parents’ lives. Years later, I could still hear my father and mother laughing together while I sat in the back, seat belt unbuckled and not a care in this world. Thirteen years old during the summer of 1967, my cares and concerns extended no further than my chores around the farm. It all shattered around me within seconds.
I recalled the deafening sounds of metal impacting metal as tiny shards of glass showered us with crystalline rain. I was thrown forward into the back of my father’s seat, my
leg bending at an unnatural angle as the world spun, pain shooting from the point of impact intensely enough to make the world go black for a few moments. By the time I opened my eyes again, there was a copious amount of blood staining my pant leg and, more terrifyingly, coating my mother’s window. My father’s head rested against the steering wheel. Neither of them moved.
I thought I heard the sound of labored breathing while drifting in and out of consciousness. I would find out later, as I was pulled from the twisted remains of my father’s vehicle, we had been hit head-on by a drunk driver and it had taken the police an hour to find us. My father’s sister drove to the hospital and later broke the news to me. John and Marjorie Dawes had died while we waited for help to arrive.
Two surgeries and a lifetime’s worth of scars later, I was an orphan. My aunt took me in and I went from living in rural Pennsylvania to piecing together the remnants of my existence in Abington, a bustling suburb of Philadelphia. Amidst the struggle to figure out what to make of life now, my mind continued revisiting the accident and I wondered, what if I had been able to help my parents? The notion found its genesis while I sat in the hospital during my surgery follow-ups and gained fruition when I started school that September. By the time I received my high school diploma, I had been accepted into Temple University’s medical program.
The work ethic of life on a farm translated into my studies with devoted obsession. I made all of my classes and studied as hard as possible, as though I would be able to teleport back to the accident and save my parents. For the past eight years, I had been surrounded by textbooks and teachers, cadavers and skeletal models, diagrams of veins and capillaries. The endless hours of tests, lectures, and dissections led me to the point where I signed my name on the dotted line to specialize in emergency medicine. I wished to save the world, one human at a time, after losing the two people who had brought me into it.
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