Rebirth of the Seer (21 page)

The witch
confounded me. The world still belonged to the miscreants and the hypocrites,
and
as I settled in to rest,
I held no delusions that
the evil within me
would not echo tomorrow
as well
. O
ne thing had made itself manifest,
though,
whether or not either of us intended it to be as such. I could almost begin to believe she was right, that something else lay deep inside
, buried beneath
the monster. It was a chord which resonated every moment we spent together.

Being
with her was when I connected with my humanity the most.

My coat removed and sleeves rolled up, I sat in the living room
chair with my legs propped up
on the coffee table the next evening
.
A brief walk to one of the local eateries had yielded dinner for Monica, and now t
he black notebook
given to me by Wesley rested in one hand, my eyes tracing
across the well-worn pages. A broad smile defied the studious posture I maintained.

“Well, his instincts have him convinced something is awry,” I said, “But his entire body of work centers on fragments of conversation and bits of discussions I would consider standard far
e for an immortal.” Turning a page, I continued
perus
ing the scribbles of a man flirting near the edge of madness. Each chapter bore another retelling of his struggles against the local vampires. Each piece was one melodramatic tale after another. The further I delved into it, the more I wished to laugh. “Mon
ica, tell me something. Is Wesley
unhinged?”

Monica sighed, ignoring my question for the time being.
She stood several feet away, sipping from a cup of freshly-brewed coffee while searching Wesley’s bookcase. I brought my own mug to my lips and tasted a hint of blood added to its contents when I imbibed another hearty swallow.
Tempted though I was to ask if the taste meant my watcher had cut herself on my account, I withheld the question in an effort to avoid an argument.

I also fought the compulsion to envision what it might be like to sink my teeth in her neck again.

Instead, I set the mug down and turned another page. Reading further, I laughed. “Not only does the man think he is being stalked, he believes every immortal he encounters is as vicious as I was. For instance, the last vampire he killed he describes as a ‘sadistic female who attempted to lure the three of us all at once.’” My eyes rose to find Monica. “The man would not know sadistic if it flayed him in his sleep.
I
was sadistic.”

She
failed to make eye contact at first. Her fingers settled on the spine of one book and pulled it from the shelf. Weaving
around the coffee table
, she sat
on the adjacent couch
and placed the book on her lap
. The coffee cup in her hands found itself placed beside where mine rested. “That can’t be all he wrote about,” she said, crossing her legs.
Her gaze fell to the volume as she turned to the first page.

“Fairly close thus far.”

“It looks like you’re only a third of the way through the book. The sorcerers are cute straight out of Seattle. They grow up so fast on the field.”

I smirked despite myself, but chased the smile away as though afraid to indulge it. My
eyes
shifted back to the book
when hers failed to engage mine
. “I do not know. It still leaves me with an ill feeling about their presence in this investigation. Granted, they do catalogue a few suspicious gatherings in a litany of public places, but they do not even know where Ian’s coven is located.”

She hesitated before responding.
“It’s at least a start. And well, you never know. Maybe the vampires here are pretty vicious.”

I scoffed. “Not bloody likely. Baiting three humans at once is mind-numbingly easy for an ambitious neophyte.”

“So says the assassin.”

“So says the one who once claimed a dozen souls over the course of one
evening.” A sense of indignation
cast a cloud over my disposition. I frowned and turned a page without even reading it. “The man would not have dared seek me out when I was a killer. He would have been dead before the first drops of his blood hit the pavement.”

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

Narrowing my eyes, I refused to look at her
, even when I sensed her finally regarding me
. “I shall not even honor that with a response.”

A tense silence settled between us. Monica shifted in her seat, lowering one leg to curl both feet under her bottom. As she sighed, I bristled, but marveled in some distant part of my mind over how sour my mood had turned so quickly. It caused my facial expression to soften. “I am being a cad,” I said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Monica said. A hint of amusement teased at her voice, which at least boded well for her not taking my mood personally. I saw her inch closer to the arm of the couch in my periphery. “Almost wonder if making an observation will get my head bitten off.”

I lifted my head. Perking an eye
brow, I studied her and waited.

A broad smile ran from cheekbone to cheekbone.
“You’re using the past tense.”

My brow lowered only to furrow. “I do not follow.”

“You’re talking about yourself in the past tense. It’s the first time I’ve ever caught you doing it this many times in a row. ‘When I was a killer.’ ‘I was sadistic.’”

“What of it?”

She shrugged
, shutting her book
. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were starting to come around.”

Our eyes locked in a silent stare. The wrinkle in my brow smoothed and I paused in an attempt to recall when I might have referred to myself in such a manner. Her smile broadened when she saw my hesitation, but my stomach somersaulted in response, forcing my gaze away. There it was, a moment of truth and all I had to do was reach out and claim it.

My eyes clenched shut when I saw her mouth open and felt a sermon of reinforcement storming along to port. “Please stop,” I whispered. “I do not wish to hear it.”

I could almost feel the request impact, like I had slapped her without budging from my seat. Several thoughts circled around my mind, some an apology a
nd others a rebuke for how fool-
hearted Monica was behaving. Her quixotic faith in me had almost killed her once, and I feared for the day she would be another casualty counted among the others had created. Surprisingly, I found myself preferring the days she viewed me as a threat.

“You’re afraid,” she finally said.

I huffed, opening my eyes again. “I have no idea what you believe me afraid of.”

“You don’t want to admit to yourself you might be changing. You’re so afraid you’ll let your guard down.” She lifted a brow, defiant.

I barked a bitter laugh. “I do not see it the same way you do, Monica. You are simply going to have to realize that.”

“But why?” Monica frowned, lowering both feet onto the floor and shimmying to the edge of her seat. Flashes of sympathy intermingled with sparks of frustration, both vying for control.
She placed her book on the coffee table beside her coffee mug and folded her hands together.
“Continuing to doubt yourself isn’t going to help you along at all.”

“I do not doubt myself.”

“You do. And keep holding yourself back in the process.”

The way she regarded me forced my composure to snap. The dam restraining my fury burst at the same moment I came to a
sudden
stand. “From what – realizing some greater aptitude? Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps I
am
afraid admitting what a good boy I have been shall cause me to backslide beyond my control. Or, quite possibly, I see something about myself you remain stubbornly bli
nd toward.” I tossed the black volume
onto my chair
and gestured with my hands as I continued. “What I meant is that I no longer slit the throats of mortals in a capricious rampage as I once enjoyed doing. This is fact, not whimsy.”

“And saying you’ve come a long way is whimsy?”

“I am still a killer. A reformed one, but a killer nonetheless. And I still possess the will and knowledge with which to slaughter this ‘humanity’ I am supposed to understand.”

“That you
refuse
to understand.”

“Damn you, woman.” I glowered at her. “What do you desire? For me to pretend to be something I am not?”

Her tone of voice became more pointed. “No, Flynn. I want you to see what you are, deep down inside. Denying yourself isn’t going to make you any good to anybody, because you
are
different now. You possess the same humanity these people you defend do.”

“Why do you continue to berate me with this?”

“Because you can’t love something you deny.”

“And I cannot be human again. Shall I switch of all emotion entirely?”

For a brief moment, I wondered if we were yet speaking of the same thing. Monica furrowed her brow and said, “You know what I mean,” while sounding just as confused as I had become.

“No, I do not.” My hand lifted, finger extending to point toward my chest. “I am doing what has been asked of me. I am paying for my sins. None of this seems to be good enough for you – I must now spend the remainder of my days pretending the urges I quell and the bloodlust I yet sate are part and parcel of being a human being. It is not fucking good enough I have crawled on my knees to get where I am today. I must now be fucking delusional on top of it all!”

“That is
not
what I mean and you
know it
!” Monica’s voice cracked. I saw her eyes turn glassy in direct defiance of the flames of wrath she continued to exude. As she came to a stand, a chill ran through the air, something which brought with it a shiver unlike any I had ever experienced. The hand poised by her side balled in a fist while the other hovered in the space between us. “I meant connecting with the core of what it means to be a seer. You go through the motions without really caring about it.”

I scoffed. “What the fuck do you know about what I care about?”

“In fact –” She paced closer. “– I bet you still don’t give a shit about anything but yourself. No human. No immortal. You’re too set upon your damn pity party.”

“I care about a great number of things, I shall have you know.”

“Like what? Name one thing – just one
fucking
thing – I dare you.”

Our gazes locked. I paused, taking a half step away from the argument I had sought to avoid in the first place and felt a
metaphorical
knife jab into my stomach. The one answer which burst forth into my mind with clarion certainty was the very one I could not speak in such a moment of irritation. So, I scoffed and looked away. “I do not have to list my affections to you to prove a point.”

The edge to my voice all but gone, it had still subsided enough for hers to waver. “You really like that I can’t read your thoughts anymore, don’t you?” she asked, nearly sounding wounded.

I frowned. “My word is suddenly not good enough.”

“I just want one thing, damn it.”

My eyes found hers again. There it sat, on the tip of my tongue, but the annoyance in her gaze drove it further down my throat. I sneered, instead. “I am left, once again, to wonder how your little inquisition is helping me.” She stepped closer, but I flashed a look of warning and felt my fangs strain to descend. “You harbor the most bullshit, idiotic romantic side I have ever seen in a mortal, witch, and I am growing tired of it.”

She thrust her hand forward. I neither saw it coming, nor had an opportunity to react. A burst of psychic energy threw me off my feet and sent me flying onto the floor below. The force knocked my glasses off and sent a bolt of pain racing from head to feet. “Bloody hell, woman!” I called out, covering my face. “What was that all about?”

I had enough time to scramble for my glasses and thrust them back onto my face, but little more. As I opened my eyes, I saw Monica standing at my feet, hands raised with palms facing up and a determined look on her face. My legs tingled, a colony of invisible ants crawling up my back until another telekinetic force drove me to a stand again. My jaw hung slack while Monica huffed. “Some seer,” she said. “Letting a little girl knock you around. He can control his thoughts, but he can’t block the most basic psychic manipulations.”

So the fight had become metaphysical? Two could play this game. Flipping my hand to the side, I brushed away her mental hold on me. “Is this another of your lessons, witch?”

“Maybe. If you’re not too dense to listen to this one.”

I growled. “
I am not
the dense one, my dear.”

“Ha!” Rearing back, Monica thrust her hand forward again and sent another shockwave headed straight for me. This time, I sensed it coming, holding onto my footing enough to stop myself from falling over. The violent jostle knocked my sunglasses askew again, though. I readjusted them, eyes narrowing. “I’m not the one hiding behind something,” she said.

“Is that
right
?” My already-straining fangs finally descended. I sneered. “You are hiding behind nothing? Shall I plumb the depths of your thoughts and see just what lies inside your heart?”

“As if you knew how. As if you’d recognize what you saw there,
Peter
.”

In a flash of anger, I raised my hand in much the same manner Monica had and watched as she stumbled backward. She reached for the arm of the couch to stop herself from falling. I felt a current of electricity run the length of my body, my fingertips tingling much the same way my leg had. “You… bloody stubborn woman and your quixotic ways.”