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The Enemy Within - Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

"I feel slighted, Flynn. I never received one of your black roses."

Of any line Matthew Pritchard could have offered as his opening comment, the one he spoke encompassed both the worst and yet, the most predictable line I could have imagined. It was my first meeting with him, and before the pleasantries of handshakes and introductions could be exchanged, I found myself already seated beneath the sweltering heat of interrogation.

Not that I blamed the man. I had killed him, after all.

Swallowing hard, I fumbled for a response, wondering how one conveyed the remorse they held for their sins to somebody who had paid the ultimate price for them. Each word of remorse I fashioned sounded inadequate when I repeated them back to myself, and had ever since I knew I would have to explain my transgressions to the leader of the Delaware Valley covens. The price for being a second-in-command had been staked from the opening gauntlet.

Robin raised an eyebrow at me. I spared him a quick glance, then focused my attention on Matthew and frowned. "I am well aware of my actions, Matthew," I said, "And cannot fault you for how you might perceive me as a result. If I might, though..." My eyes fell once before rising to meet the coven master's gaze again. "Could you please call me Peter?"

He scoffed, as I knew he would. Just as I had Robin seated beside me, he had a blond-haired man positioned to his left, his eldest living immortal child after I had killed his second Eunice and sent her lover to a bereaved final death. His brown irises seemed to darken and match the hue of his hair and he reached to scratch the beard I did not recall him having when I last encountered him. Matthew reclined back in his chair. "Is that what you call yourself now to distance yourself from your crimes?"

"It was my human name." My frown deepened. "I assure you, there is no distancing myself from what I did. And though I have paid for those crimes in a myriad of ways, I still owe you a substantial debt I shall never be able to pay."

He tilted his head. His blond-haired compatriot furrowed his brow and both of them seemed bent to study me for several seconds as though I was more of a curiosity than a vampire. Holding my expression even, I did not look away; whatever reaction they had been expecting, they did not receive and a part of me hoped it had them at something of a loss. For as much remorse as I felt for killing Matthew, they could not begin to fathom how much penance I had served in the intervening years.

Matthew's next question was cautious, offered with more veiled criticism than his opening jab had been. Within a few volleys, he saw his inability to provoke me and relaxed with each exchange until our conversation turned strained, but amiable. The blond-haired man finally introduced himself as Allen Hughes, Matthew's second, and stepped up to issue his own set of inquiries.

"You'll have to forgive us," he said, "If we remain skeptical over how much you've allegedly changed since you were the Black Rose Assassin, but you had a very prolific career, Peter."

I nodded, no longer fighting the downward curl of my lips, but maintaining a conciliatory air. "Your coven was the hardest hit. I expected nothing less."

"Granted. And while we know you received your marching orders from Sabrina, you still did what you did of your own volition." Something subtle flashed across his gaze; I could not properly place it. Hurt, perhaps, and maybe even anger, but the way he looked at me read of a man who had been haunted. His Adam's apple bobbed twice before he spoke. "So, allow me to ask you this: How much of you is still the old Flynn that seemed to make a sport out of killing his own kind?"

Allen and I maintained eye contact. I did not waver, even if I felt my alter ego sneering in the back of my mind. For as much as I had wanted to confess the truth to my brother when he met with me in Toronto, seated in Trenton, with two men who had the power to demand my second death, my ability to be honest shut tighter than a locked door. It made me only more aware of how much of a performance would be expected from me now.

I took a deep breath and glanced away. "I have not killed in years, not even as a seer. My maker took that instinct I possess as a vampire hunter and exploited it toward her own ends, but yes, I acted of my own free will." As our gaze intersected again, I swore my silent heart might start thudding in my chest. My throat dried and my head ached from a want to burst into blood sweat. I squared my shoulders. "Flynn the assassin is dead, and shall not be terrorizing this city or any other ever again."

Both Allen and Matthew regarded me for interminable moments before glancing at each other. A silent form of communication transpired between the two of them before Matthew nodded and rose to his feet, straightening his suit jacket as he stood. "Be that as it may, the remaining covens will want you to answer for your past actions. We're calling a tribunal, which will convene two weeks from now." He raised an eyebrow. "I want better assurance you won't be going on any killing sprees before I'll agree to recognize you as Robin's second-in-command."

Nodding, I did not respond, opting to silently convey my understanding while not wishing to knit a tighter noose around my neck. Robin remained seated and quiet as well, until our hosts turned away and exited the conference room.

That was when he exhaled a shaky breath.

I turned my head to look at him. My older, more regal, brother looked frazzled for the first time in a very long while, which provoked another frown onto my face. The sickening feeling in my stomach returned with all its sound and fury. "What is it, dear brother?" I asked.

He refused to look at me. Bending his arm to rest his elbow on the table, he leaned forward and brought his hand to his mouth. I watched him hold this position for what felt like minutes, his posture stoic, yet a worried, distant look in his eyes. Robin finally spoke just as I opened my mouth to repeat the question. "I had hoped Ophelia's recommendation would hold more weight," he said.

I nodded. "She never spoke of how close she and Matthew were, but I assumed it would take more than her reassurance I have been a 'good boy' all these years."

"They were close associates. I met Ophelia through Matthew prior to your turning."

"Obviously not close enough that she was informed immediately of his return."

"No." He sighed, reclining back into his chair. "He told Ophelia he's spent the better part of a decade rebuilding Philadelphia. You remember what shambles it was in when you and your witch departed."

"Yes." My eyes shut at the mention of Monica. "For as much good others have claimed I have done for the world, it seems I made a habit of leaving calamity in my wake."

"You can't be expected to repair the entirety of the planet, Peter."

"No, but I could have done more to clean up my own messes."

"Granted." Robin frowned as I opened my eyes to regard him again. "We will persuade Matthew. I don't know what it will take, but I will find a way to give him the assurance he seeks."

All I could do was nod. We stood to make a hasty exit, and retreated to our car for the short trip back to Philadelphia. Along the way, my immortal brother did not speak; neither did he say another word to me for the remainder of the night. And the next evening begun as though the threat of a tribunal did not loom ominous on the horizon.

Over the next two weeks, I oversaw the renovation of our old coven house while pouring over blueprints for a new estate with Robin. Not once did he mention how we would remedy the situation with Matthew. Instead, he allowed me to get swept up in extended meetings with contractors, daytime phone calls and night time excursions to the other covens so they could issue their own inquiries. The night before the inevitable occurred, I pulled him aside and asked, "What is our plan for tomorrow?"

He simply smiled in a reassuring manner. "Don't be concerned about it, dear brother," he said gently. "I promise everything will be alright."

I should have questioned it further, but allowed his comment to suffice without asking how he intended to make everything right. Retiring a few short hours afterward, I slept in fits and woke, feeling drained as I dressed in a suit and worked to keep my nerves steady. Robin appeared cool and collected, but this time, his silence bore a conspicuous air. We arrived in Trenton before I could ask why.

The heads of the five remaining covens – including Matthew himself – positioned themselves on one side of a long table, with Robin and I seated on the other side. Behind us sat their seconds, their wards, and more bodyguards than had been present when I – Flynn – had administered the execution of nearly two dozen elder immortals. I glanced at each one and saw mixed reactions behind the eyes of every vampire looking back. How many of their covens had I – Flynn – single-handedly decimated?

"If we could please come to order," Matthew said, drawing my attention back to the dark-haired coven master. He stole a glance across the entire room, focusing on those yet murmuring until their idle chatter faded into a whisper. As the whispers ceased, he shifted his focus on me, and at once it felt as though a spotlight had been turned on, a beam of light pointed directly on me. "Peter Dawes, immortal child of Sabrina and formally-recognized as the assassin, Flynn, your actions have been called to question as a member of the vampire community. You are responsible for the deaths of nearly fifty vampires over the course of four years, many of which were my immortal children, and charged with the assassination of six coven masters, their seconds, and their security detail. Do you contest these accusations?"

My chest rose as I took in a substantial amount of air. Exhaling slowly, I shook my head. "No," I said. "The charges are accurate as they have been presented."

Matthew nodded. He folded his hands atop the polished wood table and straightened his posture. "Are you aware of the punishment usually exacted against those with even half the charges leveled against you?"

"I am, Master Matthew." The thought brought a frown to my face. "The final death."

"The same punishment you exacted against dozens of innocents, all for what purpose, sir?"

"The will of my maker."

"A power play." He frowned as well, in a solemn and severe fashion. "The ambitions of a woman who strong-armed her way into this area and rejected its communal rules and leadership. The covens of the Delaware Valley acknowledge this fact, as well as the fact that Sabrina is guilty of turning a seer and using his abilities for her own ambitions. We recognize her use of dark magic, and the fact that you were an ignorant neophyte at the time. That being said, you have acknowledged to me and my second, Allen, that you acted of your own free will. Am I right?"

For a brief moment, I wondered if I had already damned myself. "I did, yes."

"You have also stated you have not murdered your own kind in some years, correct?"

"Any vampires I have killed since my days as Flynn were taken as a result of my calling."

"Your seer calling?"

"Yes, which made them in violation of the natural order." I paused, knowing what I wished to add, yet finding myself in the position of having to will the words. My mouth opened, but the statement had to be choked into existence. "The last vampire I killed was one of my own, seven years ago."

Matthew furrowed his brow. "One of your own?"

"My first and only immortal child." My gaze shifted away. "My wife, Monica. She was a sorceress corrupted by a dark magician. I had to… take her life for the greater good."
Desiring no pity, and asking for no mercy, I still prayed under my breath the weight of my own sacrifice had somehow, in some manner, proven something to the city I had injured the most. I continued, "I wish to return to Philadelphia not to relive past glories or incite further conflict," and looked Matthew in the eyes when I added, "Far from it. I wish to be of use to my brother, Robin. I want to help rebuild where I once destroyed and bring order where I once summoned chaos."

"Very poetic words."

A wan smile tugged at my lips. "I have taken to penning poetry in recent years."

"You'll find us asking for more than flowery platitudes, Peter." Matthew glanced at Robin when my brother shifted in his seat, but returned his focus to me within seconds. "The covens you dismantled took a decade to rebuild. The fact that I'm alive is either a miracle or sheer fortune on my part. Your brother asks that we not only forgive you of your crimes, but recognize you as the second of his coven. As you can imagine, you're stretching the bounds of even my mercy."

I nodded. "What do the covens ask of me to prove I am reformed?"

"What can you offer us as a guarantee you won't kill again?"

"If I may, Master Matthew," Robin said, interjecting. I turned in my seat to regard him, suddenly realizing by the deliberate look on his face that his recent silence had not been idle; he jumped into the conversation as if waiting for the right moment to play his hand. Robin ignored me as I stared and pulled his chair away from the table even when I asked, 'What the devil are you doing?' within the confines of his thoughts. Instead of answering my question, he kept his gaze fixed on Matthew. "I would like to provide you with the guarantee you seek."

Matthew blinked, visibly taken aback. "How do you wish to do this, Michael?" he asked.

Robin smiled softly at the use of his old name, and then surveyed the other coven masters. "You all have lost much, as have I at the hands of my brother. I paid the ultimate price, as Matthew had, and was granted life again only at the behest of the Fates."

'Robin, care to explain to your brother what the fuck is going on?'

His eyes fell to Matthew. "I have been my brother's keeper for the past seven years. I am his master, and I am the one petitioning my fellow masters to acknowledge Peter's leadership in my coven. Your fears are warranted, but the man I have known since his departure from Philadelphia has been an upstanding vampire, a true gentleman, and a credit to our kind. If this is not enough to direct your attention away from the sins of his past, then I offer my life as a guarantee."

"I beg your pardon?" Matthew and I asked in unison.

Robin shot a scowl at me before looking back at Matthew. "If Peter claims the life of another vampire in any act other than self-defense, my life is forfeit."

A flurry of conversation erupted in the background. Without caring for how the gesture might appear, I took Robin by the hand and pulled him down into his seat. He let out a surprised yelp. "What in God's name are…?" he began.

I cut him off. "Are you mad?!" I spat in as much of a whisper as I felt apt to indulge.

His scowl returned, this time with vitriol attached. "I might ask the same of you."

My expression turned pained. Frustration vied with worry for which might serve as an undercurrent. "Do not do this, Robin," I said. "Gods, I am begging you."

When his brow smoothed, I expected I might have convinced him to reconsider. He smirked, however, and shook his head. "You seem so concerned over something so foolish, dear brother. Have I interfered with your plans to dispense black roses again?"

"No, but I…"

"Then don't be troubled." Reaching forward, he patted my shoulder and came to his feet again. The noisy background settled into a dull roar which abated when he spoke again. "I ask my fellow coven masters if this will suffice as a guarantee."

Matthew Pritchard still looked just as befuddled as I felt. I found it ironic to hear him issue the same concerns I wished I could voice myself. "I'm sure you feel confident enough to make this offer, but I have my reservations, Michael. Regardless of how well he has handled himself in recent years, no vampire should be asked to wager his life based on the actions of another. It's suicidal."

"Will the covens settle for anything less?"

Matthew hesitated, but could not provide an answer.

Robin frowned. "Then it is my wager to place."

A pregnant hush filled the room. Tension knitted us all together in a common bond of confusion and disbelief, with none as mortified as I felt. My gaze shifted to Matthew, my eyes begging him with even more furor than they had Robin for sounder minds to prevail, but the elder vampire failed to look in my direction, let alone acknowledge my plea. He glanced at a vampiress seated beside him, then looked at Robin and shrugged. "I suppose it is your wager," he said. "But I'll give you one last chance to reconsider."

"Is my offer enough of a guarantee for the area covens, Matthew?" Robin countered.

Matthew glanced at the woman again. She nodded, as did every other vampire master seated along the opposite side of the table, and I began to suspect madness was indeed contagious. Matthew looked back at Robin and sighed. "It seems your guarantee will suffice."

"Very well, then." Robin slid his hands into his pockets. "I have no need to reconsider."

"So be it, Michael." Matthew stood, and in his expression, I saw a man swallowing a pill he would have rather been spared. It was the mirror reflection of me. "Peter is hereby recognized as your second, and will be given all respect due to an elder and leader of our kind. This tribunal will be called to a close and the sins of his past won't be held against him as he performs his duties in your coven.

"We can't forget them, though." He paused as though an evangelist nailing home the moral of his sermon. "Should the assassin Flynn be seen or heard from again," he finally added, "Or another black rose left in exchange for the life of an immortal, both you and Peter will meet the true death. I hope you both take this as seriously as it sounds. It leaves a foul taste in my mouth to even have to speak those words, but you gambled our lives once before, Master O'Shane.

"I will not gamble mine again."
Story Beginning | Chapter Three, Pt. 1

***

there is something to be said for lying to one's brother and the consequences thereof. as the mortals are apt to say... oops.

i attempted to be brief without sparing too many details. please inform me if i was too brief, however. these submissions are all part of a rough draft in need of editing.

alas, i did not "win" nanowrimo. i did, however, complete 40,000 words of this memoir and am yet working on it. more of the story to follow soon. ;)

:iconinyourroomplz:
© 2011 - 2024 peterdawes
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denlm's avatar
What a killer opening. I adore it: "I feel slighted, Flynn. I never received one of your black roses."

Of any line Matthew Pritchard could have offered as his opening comment, the one he spoke encompassed both the worst and yet, the most predictable line I could have imagined. It was my first meeting with him, and before the pleasantries of handshakes and introductions could be exchanged, I found myself already seated beneath the sweltering heat of interrogation.

Not that I blamed the man. I had killed him, after all.


Did you mean "began" here? And the next evening begun as though the threat of a tribunal did not loom ominous on the horizon.

Another fine line: I began to suspect madness was indeed contagious.

Ah, Jules, this was a true treat. Peter, Peter, Peter, you have been a bad boy keeping Flynn such a secret. I have to wonder how he'll reconcile this later. Also, my heart broke when I tripped over a spoiler from the intervening stories of this series that I have not read: Monica dies at Peter's hand? Argh. I did love them so in books 1 & 2. :sigh: