Rebirth of the Seer (32 page)

The events unfolding seemed to have spiraled out of control, down a course I was yet ignorant toward and one I dared not interfere with until I
knew for certain what we faced
. I kn
ew it would not take long, though, for the stern eye of the cosmos
to find me once more.

Outside, the thunder rumbled. A heavy rain beat out a rhythmic cadence against the bedroom windows and inside the room, Monica slept with her head on the pillow beside mine. Her hand protected
my wound, yet
present
and tender
, though nowhere near as prominent as it had been when we laid down. My hand glided across her shoulders with my eyes yet shut. The serenity
, however, was to be short-lived
.

A scene began to play from within
my mind.

I saw a room dark with shadows, crawling with ominous dread while bearing a familiarity to it I could not pinpoint. Something told me I had seen it once, and yet I could not recall the last time I had trod inside such a large, vacant room, dusty with so much age. It appeared as though not a soul had been inside for years. When my eyes drifted toward the tile beneath me, though, I saw the filth disrupted by several sets of footprints scattered haphazardly. A flash of light illuminated the sky, drawing my attention to the windows. The rain beat down in torrents from dreary, gray clouds. I crouched, my gaze shifting downward again, and bent to study the floor below.

Something
else caught my attention
. My fangs descended beyond my control when I examine
d
it closer. It was a pool of blood; the same one I had come upon before, but this time I could examine it without the same dread and fear choking me within its grip. It crept outward in slow motion, deep and crimson, and still
fresh enough not to have much coagulation
. I could almost smell the perso
n from whom it had originated, prompting r
elief
to wash
over me
upon failing
t
o identify Monica as its owner.

I touched the edge of the puddle with the tip of my finger
, but was granted no further insight
. Wiping the blood onto my pants, I stood, my brow furrowed as I scanned one side of the room. I caught sight of a figure in my periphery, spinning around just as another flash of lightning crossed the sky. The strobe effect it generated gave the room a macabre, horror movie feel, only made more pronounced by what I found.

The vacant eyes of Wesley greeted me, his appearance so sudden, I jumped back and only then noticed he hung upside down from the ceiling with his throat slashed. His face had been frozen in an expression of ghastly horror. Rivulets still ran downward, drops trickling into the morass. I reached outward to catch one in my palm and heard the voice which had haunted me before.

‘
Amateurs. Weren’t they, Flynn?
’

***

Jumping upright, I was knocked from the
scene and back into bed beside my watcher.
My hand flew to my face, finding my fangs still exposed when one dug into the side of my thumb. I allowed them to retract, and shakily glanced backward to see I had jostled Monica awake and caused her to grimace. “Are you alright?” I asked as I crawled to her side and touched her shoulder.

She sighed. “Yeah, it still tickles when I move in the wrong way.” Her eyes opened fully, brow furrowing as she regarded me. “What
was
that all about?”

“Another vision.” I frowned, running my fingers through my hair. “Wesley and the others are in danger.”

“You saw Wesley?”

“Yes, I did.” My eyes shut. All at once, my head began to throb, as though I bore a pulse or the ability to manifest a headache. “His throat had been cut and he bled out on the floor. This was the pool of blood I saw in my last vision.”

“Did you see anything else?”

“I am afraid not. The room was dusty and bore a trail of footprints, but I saw nothing as
ide from a few windows
.”

I felt her hand touch my face and opened my eyes in response. A look of concern formed a solemn shroud over her features. “You’re sure this was the same room
from before
?”

A wan smile made a brief
appearance. “At least now I know that was not you.”

“This is only slightly better, though.” She mirrored the grin in all its brevity and moved aside when I motioned to sit. The effort brought a dizzy spell in its wake, but within moments I had my bearings again. She sighed. “How did I know he’d go and get himself in trouble?”

“A measure of character. I have not known him for very long and I can already see the death wish he carries wherever he goes.” I shook my head and regarded her again when
she slid up to my side. “R
egardless of his sentiments, we should make good on ensuring his safety.”

“I agree.” Her lips touched my shoulder in a gentle kiss. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not very well at all.”

“Do you need something to eat before we leave?”

“I do not think we have the time.” I sighed, taking her hand in mine and kissing it before rising to a stand. “Let us make haste. The longer we linger, the more unsettled I become.”

Monica nodded, and together we prepared for our outing. As I dressed again in my red shirt and long, black coat, I
felt
a burden lo
wering onto my shoulders. The specter of dread coiled
around my psyche until it forced me to shiver. My hands slipped twi
ce while fastening buttons. A
fter securing my belt in place, I stared at the katana propped against the wall. A jolt of premonition pushed me forward. I could not leave without my sword.

It hung by my side as I finally closed my coat. Monica tied her red scarf around her neck and glanced at me after tossing the ends over her shoulder. “Are you ready?” she asked, an apprehensive look in her eyes.

No doubt I bore the same expression as I slid my sunglasses over my eyes. “Not as ready as I am certain I should be,” I said, “But it shall have to suffice.” Walking toward her, I offered her my arm, my disposition as sober as hers appeared to be. She took hold of it, reaching with her other hand to clutch onto me tight and indulging a deep breath as I endeavored to do the same. We both nodded at each other. Together, we walked out into the stormy night, headed for Wesley’s residence.

A biting wind greeted us the moment we exited the building. The rain fluctuated between a heavy downpour and a persistent drizzle throughout the duration of our travel, broken up by a short bus ride and a train which let us off only two blocks from our destination. Still, by the time we arrived and took shelter on his front steps, she and I were both soaked from head to foot, with me becoming rapidly apathetic toward the reception we would receive.

What greeted us only served to disquiet me further, though. The windows were dark, without a glimmer of light filtering in past the curtains in the living room. My vampire hearing drowned in silence, and could not register so much as a heartbeat in the immediate vicinity. I turned to Monica and frowned. “I do not believe they are home,” I said.

“Damn it.” Monica walked up to the entryway and promptly opened the screen door. With forceful knocks, she pounded on the wooden barrier before us and sighed when the commotion failed to garner any response. “Still nothing?” she asked, glancing at me.

I shook my head. “Unless they are able to mask their pulses, no.”

“Was afraid you were going to say that.” Her hands settled on her hips, foot tapping as an unstoppable force met with an immovable object. She gave the door a swift kick, but the door did not as much as rattle with the impact. “Fuck. Think there’s something you can do with those vampire tricks of yours.”

“Perhaps so.” She stepped away and exchanged places with me, holding the screen open during the transition. I kept a safe distance between me and the front door, but stopped before raising my foot, my eyes catching sight of the lock and remembering my fatigued crawl into the apartment a few days prior. Telekinetic lockpicking; the concept might have been far-fetched, but this time I was game enough to try it. I crouched in front of the knob and focused on the keyhole, feeling around inside the door for the latches and finally finding the bolt on the other side.

“What are you doing?” Monica asked, but no sooner had she issued the question than a click interrupted her with the immediate answer. Her eyes widened and I stood, twisting the knob and opening the front door with ease. I turned to face her and smiled
at the expression on her face.

“An idle thought I had rece
ntly,” I said.
“If
I can lock men into place and toss them around a room, surely no metallic device should be such
an obstacle
.”

She nodded slowly, visibly shaking off the look of awe on her face in favor of surrendering to the sobriety of the moment. I made mention of relishing the victory some other time, and followed her inside
before
shutting the door behind us. As we paused in the entryway, I noticed the quiet as something out-of-place, almost unnerving in how pervasive it was.

Monica walked further in
to
the house and investigated each room while calling out to its usual occupants. I lingered near the door, though, and glanced around at the surrounding room. A hum radiated in the air, its origin uncertain, but increasing steadily
in volume
the longer I lingered in place. My eyes drifted to the wall and the same premonition which emanated from the door’s lock hovered in an empty space of paint and plaster, unmarred by any pictures.

“You know, I really hate when you’re right,” Monica said, her voice gaining in volume. I remained transfixed, failing to turn my head to regard her. Faintly, I heard her steps approach until she
stopped
several feet away. “What’s wrong?”

“Something about the wall,” I murmured. “I cannot be certain what.”

“Something about the wall?” she asked, but I ignored her in favor of walking closer. Extending a hand, I hesitated, but spread my fingers while shutting my eyes and concentrating. Little sparks seemed to jump from the flat surface to my cool skin, creating tingles where they landed. When my hand touched the wall, a surge raced through me, all the way from palm to shoulder.

“
This isn’t a good idea, Wes
.”

I jumped back, my eyes snapping open. Monica crossed the distance between us. I finally looked down at her. “I heard a voice,” I said. “I believe it was Jesse.”

“You heard Jesse?” She glanced at th
e wall, then back at me. “B
y touching that?”

“Surprisingly enough, yes.”

Monica furrowed her brow. “Okay, I’ve heard of people who could see stuff just by holding objects, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard of getting messages via wall.” Her attention shifted to where my hand had just be
en. “Try touching it again, but don’t move right away. Y
ou
might
have to concentrate to get more out of it.”

“Very well, then.” My chest expanded as I filled my lungs and slowly collapsed when exhaled the air I gat
hered. As I stared at the wall
, I tried to focus on the energy pulsing around me, wondering if one could will it all into a single spot. Things Monica had told me back in Philadelphia circled around my thoughts. I was something different. Something untested; someone powerful. If my imagination forged the ceiling, I had to learn to stop doubting how creative I could get.

By the time I touched the wall again, enough energy had gathered for the room to explode into a
fully-realized
scene, jarring when I saw faint strains of light creep through the windows and from the space beneath the door. Intermittent shadows disrupted the sunlight and
I had to wrestle
the instinctual compulsion to leap away from one patch which had gathered mere inches away from my shoes. Still, I held on, allowing my eyes to wander to another set of feet pacing closer to the door.

Mark sighed, slipping his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on the entryway. If he saw me, he gave no indication, which added another level of absurdity to the entire ordeal. “It’s going to rain,” he said. “The storm clouds are moving in.”

“We should set out soon, then.” Shifting my attention to the side, I watched as Wesley plucked weapons from the coffee table, tossing them idly into a dufflebag on the couch. “Jess, either you’re coming or you’re staying here, but it’s shit or get off the pot.”

Jesse sat in a chair adjacent to the couch. “But Flynn said…”

“Fuck what Flynn said. I’m not listening to a goddamn thing from that lying demon’s mouth.” Wesley zipped up the dufflebag and slung it around his shoulder. “Now, are you in or are you out?”

Jesse came to a stand. “This is bollocks, Wes, the whole lot of it. You’re so bloody enraged you’re breaking your first rule and I’m not comfortable playing chaperone to a suicide mission.”

“Mark’s not giving me shit about it.”

Mark turned, glancing back at Wesley and raising an eyebrow, but not interjecting. His expression unnerved me, though. It made me wish I could read his thoughts from the other side of the veil.