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Description
Inside a crowded room filled with chairs and tables - cigars and cigarettes bellowing plumes of smoke into the air - sat a man who appeared to be little else than a typical fellow. He wore a tailored suit with a nicely-folded handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket, and despite the lack of tie, bore a hint of formality to his demeanor. He smiled when he needed to smile. He laughed when he needed to laugh. It was at those times, though, that one could be said to see the pointed incisors lying in slumber within a sea of porcelain white.

Not that it made him different from the other creatures gathered.

Seated across from him was another vampire, clad similarly with his suit jacket removed and draped over the back of the chair. Poised in one hand were five cards he held away from the scrutiny of the other players. A cigar jutted from between two fingers. Sleeves rolled up, one elbow rested on the table and his piercing brown eyes held the man directly in his line of sight captive. "So, you're from Philly?" he asked.

The man in the tailored suit grinned politely and nodded while shuffling cards around. His gaze flicked from the collection of spades and hearts to the other vampire. "I am indeed," he said. "The second-in-command to Michael O'Shane."

"Interesting." He raised the cigar to his lips, puffing from it before exhaling. Another cloud joined the haze. "I haven't been back to Philly in decades."

"Not much about it has changed, at least not in the last seven years."

"We've had a lot of change around here in that time." The vampire frowned, his eyes shifting downward. Gesturing with his cigar, he indicated his words didn't refer to the coven in which they sat.

The not-so-typical man glanced toward a shaded window. The Borough of Manhattan - the metropolis of New York City - laid in the direction his compatriot pointed, and only a fool would need to do the math to note which year laid heavy in the vampire's thoughts. Sighing, he clarified just the same. "Damn humans. Flying airplanes into skyscrapers all for their petty religious ideologies. It's made everything that much more complicated for us."

"How so?" The first man raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head. "Harder to do business with the mortal world while staying underground. We've had to adjust the way we do everything, from maintaining our investments, to obtaining contracts, to negotiating business deals. Thank God our mortal familiars know what they're doing."

The first man smirked. "My brother handles the majority of those things for us. I am certain, though, he would agree."

"Your brother?"

"Yes, Master O'Shane and I have the same maker."

"I'm sorry." The vampire smirked knowingly.

Before the first man could respond, another seated at the table interrupted. His dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail, he reminded the first man a great deal of his brother, Robin. Only, Master O'Shane possessed brown hair. "What did you say your name was?"

"Peter Dawes." Peter grinned, lowering his cards so he could extend a hand. The pony-tailed man reached across the table to clasp Peter's palm. "I do not believe I have caught any of yours."

"Sebastian." He released his grip on Peter's hand and lowered himself into his chair again.

"And I'm Brian," said the vampire with the cigar. He pointed around the table. "That is Xavier, Matt, Daniel, and Scott."

"A pleasure." Peter nodded at each of them. He glanced at the two other tables, then smirked at Brian. "I notice quite the dearth in female company."

Brian laughed. "We have so few females in our coven and even fewer who enjoy playing cards." His grin turned sly. "If you need female company, though, we'd be more than happy to secure a few humans for you."

"Quite alright." While the smile on Peter's face remained agreeable, the slight flicker of nervousness might have given him away to the trained eye. He cleared his throat and directed his attention back to his cards. "So, why have you not been back to Philadelphia in decades, if I might pry?"

Brian snorted. Peter peered at him from across his cards. "The same reason I said, 'I'm sorry,' when you told me you and Michael share the same maker."

"Sabrina?" Peter chuckled. "She has been dead since 1988."

The statement was a half-truth, but Peter had become used to telling thinly-veiled lies. Brian shuddered just the same. "She isn't the direct reason why, just the cause."

"What is the more direct reason?"

"That damn assassin of hers." Brian shifted in his chair, then glanced at the others. "You all remember Flynn, right? Or, hearing about him anyway?" His eyes flicked across each man as they nodded before settling on his cards again. "I lived in fear for a decade that he'd surface in the City when he disappeared from Philly. Took until the World Trade Center went down before I realized he was probably dead." He glanced across the table, toward Peter.

Peter refused to make eye contact.

Brian didn't seem to notice. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to actually live under the same roof as that bastard."

"Not very pleasant, no doubt," Peter murmured.

Brian raised an eyebrow. The conversation paused. Each vampire studied Peter with quizzical expressions on their faces while Peter did his best to avoid looking at any of them.

Finally, Brian frowned. "I'm sorry if that was a sore subject."

"No, it is..." Peter sighed, exasperated, then looked up at Brian. An apologetic smile surfaced to chase away the fledgling embers of annoyance which had made their presence known. "Have you ever been followed by your past so intensely, you wondered if you would ever reach a day when it stopped pursuing you?"

Brian blinked. "I think all vampires do at some point. We are immortals, after all."

"Yes, well, most immortals cannot boast of the same ghosts haunting them which haunt me."

Brian settled back in his chair. The others held their cards, now forgotten, and focused their attention on Peter. One or two appeared to carry sparks of realization while the rest could only be described as confused. Peter lifted his eyes, surveying the oblivious ones, before glancing in Brian's direction again. "I was Flynn," he said.

It felt as though a shiver had run up the spine of every vampire, causing their posture to straighten. Placing his cards face-down on the table, Peter reached inside his suit jacket for a metal cigarette case and plucked one of the sticks of tobacco from within. The end glowed orange and both case and lighter found themselves secured within his pocket again before he continued. "That was another lifetime ago, however. One I wish I could forget."

"I had no idea." The way Brian spoke reminded Peter of a man so lost in awe, he did not realize how incredulous he sounded. Brian, too, set down his cards. "You... you were..."

"Flynn, yes. The Black Rose Assassin." Peter frowned, drawing from his cigarette. "He and I were one in the same."

"Were. Was. Clever use of words, seer." The voice chimed in the back of Peter's mind, but he gave no visual indication. He simply inhaled deeply and responded within the confines of his thoughts.

"Later, assassin."

The brush-off seemed to work. The voice faded in the background while Peter directed his attention to the vampires seated at the table. He flicked the ash from his cigarette into an adjacent ashtray. His free hand rose to the bridge of his nose, fingers pinching it first, then sliding upward to rub his temples. "I shall understand if you distrust me, but I can assure you I am not that person any longer."

"No."

Peter looked at Brian and raised an eyebrow.

His cigar hovered close to his mouth, his eyes still somewhat widened, but not in fear. "It isn't that," he continued. "I have to admit, though, I'm a little dumbfounded. How did someone like you get accepted as a second-in-command?"

Smiling wanly, Peter shrugged, his gaze drifting downward. "I was a neophyte back then. Much has changed in the interim."

"Such as what?"

Peter laughed. "You would not believe the half of it if I told you."

Brian leaned forward in his chair. Placing his cigar down, he leaned his elbows on the table; folded his hands together and smirked. "Try me. I'm in the mood for a good story and this seems to be one hell of a tale."

He maintained a steady gaze with Peter. Peter glanced around at the others, seeing Sebastian just as curious, the others pleading with their gaze. A weight settled onto Peter's shoulders, but he realized his only alternative would be to excuse himself and walk away. Raising his cigarette to his lips, he drew from it again, then nodded while his thoughts drifted a million miles away.

"You all know the beginning of this story," he said. "There once was an assassin named Flynn, who left black roses on the doorsteps of those covens from which he had taken a life. He terrorized the city of Philadelphia from 1983 until 1988, then vanished completely." Peter looked at Brian. "I apologize that you feared for your safety beyond then, but I was nowhere near Philadelphia again until just before your beloved towers tumbled down."

Brian nodded slowly, his gaze never shifting away. "Would've been nice to know, but fair enough. You didn't know me and I take it you weren't sending out much in the way of bulletins."

Peter chuckled. "Far from it." As Peter looked away, a pensive expression settled on his face. A few seconds went by before he studied the other vampires. "Does the color of my eyes cause any of you alarm?"

"I was wondering about that," the one named Daniel interjected. By appearance, he didn't look older than sixteen, with short, brown hair gelled haphazardly atop his head. He fiddled idly with the cards in his hand. "That color green is usually a bad sign for us."

"Isn't that the color of a vampire hunter?" asked Xavier.

Daniel nodded. "Seers and other members of the Supernatural Order."

"Guilty as charged," Peter said with a sardonic grin.

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Flynn the assassin is a seer?" he asked.

"No, Peter Dawes is." The embers of Peter's cigarette flared as he drew from it again. He exhaled a plume of smoke. "I had been born a seer and turned without knowing this. Sabrina did, though. She recognized that which my mortal girlfriend only saw in me at the time and turned me to make me her killer." He shrugged. "I lived in ignorance and enjoyed what I did. Until a human woman came along who changed all of that."

The remaining vampires remained silent. Peter set his cigarette down in the ashtray, then leaned back in his seat. "Monica was a spitfire of a woman. You can imagine the sort of creature it would take to get close enough to an assassin with some hope of redeeming him. She brought out my abilities and at first, I had no idea what I should do with myself. After a significant amount of wrestling, though, I was the one who put the blade through Sabrina." He paused. "I purchased my freedom from her in order to enslave myself to something else."

"What was that?" Sebastian asked.

"Duty." Peter's eyes turned solemn. "Love. The Fates permitted a vampire-seer to exist for the purpose of placing me where no one else could venture. In the span of a few months, I went from foe to hero and traipsed around the globe as much to save Monica as I did to save the world. I nearly fell from grace several times and surrendered my soul at the exact moment I thought Monica had been taken from me." The corner of his mouth curled in a reluctant grin. "She saved me from myself so many times. That was one of them. God, she made me want to be mortal again so badly that I woke from that battle with a pulse, breathing air as a human for the first time in over five years."

"You lie," Matt said, smirking while issuing the rebuttal. "A vampire can't be human again."

"No, they cannot, but I did not know this at the time. I swear it to you, though... I woke as a human and believed The Fates had given me my reward. Monica and I ran away to Costa Rica, hiding from the Order." The smile faded. "We had no sooner crawled through the fires of hell than they attempted to force us back into action."

"Monica worked for the Order?" Scott asked.

Peter nodded at him. "Yes, she was a watcher. A sorceress. Thus how she could bring out my abilities."

"And you were truly human?" Brian asked, raising an eyebrow. "Was that some sort of spell she cast?"

Chuckling, Peter shook his head. "No witchcraft could have made me human again. Not for over five years, anyway. Or made me so human, I could sire children."

"You have human children?!" Sebastian laughed.

The other vampires chuckled with Sebastian. Peter attempted to smile along, but something about the words chased the grin away just as quickly as it seemed apt to surface. Sebastian noticed this first and stopped laughing. The others noticed the level of discomfort which settled in the space between them and sobered as well, Brian being the one to speak. "I apologize, Peter," he said. "I think it's safe to say none of us have ever grasped the concept of having anything other than immortal children."

Peter flashed a halfhearted smirk. "It is quite alright. Sometimes a bit too much for me to grasp as well."

The others nodded. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Matt cleared his throat and nodded at Peter. "How was that all possible if not for witchcraft, then?" he asked.

Hesitating briefly, Peter glanced away and then looked back, something hovering on the tip of his tongue his mind fought hard to prevent from spilling out. He took a deep breath and gestured with his hand as he spoke. "I have... quite superlative abilities for a seer. Some a bit more formidable than others. Beyond my psychic prowess and the visions I receive, I also have the ability to turn human temporarily, in all senses of the word. I simply did not fall sick and did not age."

He paused and swallowed hard. "This was my first indication all was not as well as I hoped it to being. After five years, when one notices no sign of visible aging, one begins to realize the clock is not ticking as it ought. During that last year especially, my vampire side was attempting to make a resurgence, much to my dismay. Before the year was out, I found my brother Robin. And in his native Ireland, I became vampire once more." His gaze turned distant. "And I can never be human again."

The others nodded solemnly. Brian frowned while extinguishing his cigar. "You had to leave behind a lover and your children."

"A wife," Peter corrected. "And two small children. A girl and a boy; Lydia and John. I went to Toronto to sojourn in Mistress Ophelia's coven and sent Monica a letter indicating I could not see them any longer." He ceased talking and focused his attention on the smoke billowing from the extinguished smoking implements before him, seeing far more than the simple letter he sent and feeling each memory jab him like a knife.

"Then what happened?" Sebastian asked, breaking the silence.

Peter shrugged. "I lived out the next eight years in Toronto." 'Another half-truth.' "And was trained to be a second. I followed Robin to Philadelphia when he became master of our coven. The rest is far too personal for me to discuss."

Brian nodded in understanding. Peter rose to his feet and tossed his cards toward the center of the table. "If you shall excuse me," he said. "I think I might indulge a walk."

Brian stood. "Please forgive us if we offended, Peter."

"Not at all." Peter mustered a pleasant smile. "You must forgive me. These are not the most pleasant memories for me to revisit."

"No, I can imagine." Brian sighed. "I hope we haven't ruined the rest of your evening. For what it's worth, I never imagined my first encounter with Flynn would be pleasant."

Peter laughed. "Fair enough, Brian." His hands slid in his pockets as he bowed. "Good evening."

Peter turned his back on the table. He ignored the other vampires looking up at him from their seats and strolled briskly for the door. It opened up into the main corridor of the coven house and started a path Peter followed all the way to the back exit. He hardly noticed the breath he was holding until the cold wind hit his face, forcing him to exhale.

The light from the estate shone down on the snow falling until the door swung shut behind him. Ambient light spilled out from the shaded windows, but for a moment, the world became dark and quiet again. Peter shut his eyes and swallowed hard, his feet moving as though they'd gained a mind of their own. They often did when he felt this way.

'I remember...' Two simple words which lacerated him. He drew a deep breath inward and opened his eyes. 'I remember journeying back to Costa Rica, begged by Monica to see her one last time. I remember that momentary notion that everything could work out, the very notion which led me to turning her when she was kidnapped and drained of life. I remember those first blessed weeks as I shared immortality with my wife. The future looked so complete.

'I remember the night everything changed. The gradual descent until she ran away from me and I was forced to rejoin the Supernatural Order so I might rescue her. I remember Robin by my side as the harsh reality played out before my eyes. She was too far gone, seduced by darkness. I would have to end her life.'

He approached the edge of their grounds and touched the wrought iron fence separating him from the rest of the world. The light from the sprawling metropolis on their doorstep blotted out the stars from the sky, giving the black expanse above him an iridescent glow he wished he could chase away. He needed the stars. He needed a compass; something to remind him his life had not become utter darkness.

"You have your children, seer."

Peter blinked as the voice reasserted itself. Nodding once, he cleared his throat. "Yes, I do, assassin." And yet, that failed to be the miracle it should have been. He could yet see the night he raced to the security room, flagged by their guard who informed him a young human girl had requested to see him. Tears welled in his eyes at the mere recollection of seeing his daughter on that screen, fifteen years after having to surrender both Lydia and John to the Order. Fifteen years of exile from the last two things which connected him to Monica.

He'd embraced her tightly and asked her questions of the intervening years. She responded with questions of her own. Where had he been? Why hadn't he ever tried to reclaim her and John? He felt his heart sink. "Because I could not," he had said to the brown-haired nineteen year old seated before him. "I spent so many years attempting to get back on my feet again. I would not have been any good for either of you."

"I understand, Dad," she said, but he wondered if she ever would. When John joined the two of them, Peter did his best to explain why he had been absent, but the words sounded so contrived. 'How does one explain this to such young creatures? Attempting suicide once. Flirting with it a second time. Wasting away eight years with drunkenness and womanizing in some attempt to dull the constant pain ripping through you. Becoming a second-in-command and drowning one's self in work until you finally succumb to trying to love again. Opening your heart only to constantly feel as though you are betraying the memory of your late wife?'

"Tell the truth, seer. The witch is not the reason why you have your reservations about Celine."

Peter swallowed hard and shut his eyes once more. A shiver ran up his spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand aloft. Yes, to make matters worse, there was him. There was always him. He became a voice when Peter first realized he might have to kill Monica and had been a presence ever since. While quiet for most of the years which passed, the assassin never let Peter forget he was hovering somewhere in the backdrop. Peter feared hunting and did not do so for fourteen years because of him.

It did not stop Flynn from finally making a resurgence, though.

Peter shook off the chill assailing him and rolled his shoulders twice. "What is it you wish me to confess, then, Flynn?"

"Why you truly resent your new paramour."

"I do not resent her, assassin."

"Maybe not. But our conversations of loving her have waned quite a bit in recent days."

Peter nodded once and lowered his eyes toward the ground. "I sense the end drawing near. The rose-colored glasses have slipped from their perch."

"And why is that? Because she brought me out?"

"Because she loves you more than she loves me."

"And loving me is such a crime." Flynn paused. "I think you overestimate matters, but this is beside the point. She loves a challenge. She loves the darkness. You cower away from it so intensely even though you know a part of you craves it."

"I shall never be as comfortable with debauchery as you both seem apt to being."

"This has nothing to do with debauchery, boy scout. This is the same bloody fight we have indulged in ever since I started talking to you again. Each time you feel your true nature assert itself, you run away from it as though a demon chases you. I speak to you only to get you to accept what we are."

"You do not speak to me, you torture me. You attempt to drag me down into your depths, you bloody bastard. I shall never be you, nor do I have any desire to be you, and your constant needling drives... me... insane! That I could be rid of you would be a miracle."

He felt the assassin sneer, yet knew the expression of disdain would give itself over to a slow grin creeping across his alter ego's face. "I wager someday you truly understand it is not me with whom you fight. It is yourself."

Peter drew a shaky breath inward. "Regardless of whether or not you are correct, you could never be the answer, Flynn. You do not preach acceptance, you preach indulgence and I will not succumb to the very thing which stole my wife from me."

He blinked several times. As the wind blew past, he realized his cheeks bore fresh tears which had spilled out from his eyes in crimson rivulets. Flynn fell silent, but Peter could yet detect the final sentiment which the assassin held before he retreated into the shadows.

Peter nodded. "Yes, I miss Monica," he said aloud, "And realize the person I have loved these past few months is not the happily-ever-after I had hoped she would be." A sardonic laugh bubbled up from his throat, mocking him. "The Poet succumbs to fantasies and fairy tales, and yet it seems he cannot help himself. His heart grows weary and this loneliness consumes me. Yet, I carry around an alter ego and am the most confused vampire I think has ever existed. What being in their right mind would fall in love with me?"

As if on cue, the phone buried in his pants' pocket began to vibrate, a chime breaking the silence which punctuated his words. Peter dug the phone out from hiding and cycled through the menu until a text message flashed on its display.

When are you coming home? We need to talk.

Peter shivered, as though the cold wind could affect him. He typed the response out while feeling another tear trickle down his face. Inevitability circled around him, the culmination of all these months finally reaching a head. His finger hovered over the send button. He reread the message before finally sending it to his lover.

I shall be home tomorrow. We can talk then.

Description
Inside a crowded room filled with chairs and tables - cigars and cigarettes bellowing plumes of smoke into the air - sat a man who appeared to be little else than a typical fellow. He wore a tailored suit with a nicely-folded handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket, and despite the lack of tie, bore a hint of formality to his demeanor. He smiled when he needed to smile. He laughed when he needed to laugh. It was at those times, though, that one could be said to see the pointed incisors lying in slumber within a sea of porcelain white.

Not that it made him different from the other creatures gathered.

Seated across from him was another vampire, clad similarly with his suit jacket removed and draped over the back of the chair. Poised in one hand were five cards he held away from the scrutiny of the other players. A cigar jutted from between two fingers. Sleeves rolled up, one elbow rested on the table and his piercing brown eyes held the man directly in his line of sight captive. "So, you're from Philly?" he asked.

The man in the tailored suit grinned politely and nodded while shuffling cards around. His gaze flicked from the collection of spades and hearts to the other vampire. "I am indeed," he said. "The second-in-command to Michael O'Shane."

"Interesting." He raised the cigar to his lips, puffing from it before exhaling. Another cloud joined the haze. "I haven't been back to Philly in decades."

"Not much about it has changed, at least not in the last seven years."

"We've had a lot of change around here in that time." The vampire frowned, his eyes shifting downward. Gesturing with his cigar, he indicated his words didn't refer to the coven in which they sat.

The not-so-typical man glanced toward a shaded window. The Borough of Manhattan - the metropolis of New York City - laid in the direction his compatriot pointed, and only a fool would need to do the math to note which year laid heavy in the vampire's thoughts. Sighing, he clarified just the same. "Damn humans. Flying airplanes into skyscrapers all for their petty religious ideologies. It's made everything that much more complicated for us."

"How so?" The first man raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head. "Harder to do business with the mortal world while staying underground. We've had to adjust the way we do everything, from maintaining our investments, to obtaining contracts, to negotiating business deals. Thank God our mortal familiars know what they're doing."

The first man smirked. "My brother handles the majority of those things for us. I am certain, though, he would agree."

"Your brother?"

"Yes, Master O'Shane and I have the same maker."

"I'm sorry." The vampire smirked knowingly.

Before the first man could respond, another seated at the table interrupted. His dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail, he reminded the first man a great deal of his brother, Robin. Only, Master O'Shane possessed brown hair. "What did you say your name was?"

"Peter Dawes." Peter grinned, lowering his cards so he could extend a hand. The pony-tailed man reached across the table to clasp Peter's palm. "I do not believe I have caught any of yours."

"Sebastian." He released his grip on Peter's hand and lowered himself into his chair again.

"And I'm Brian," said the vampire with the cigar. He pointed around the table. "That is Xavier, Matt, Daniel, and Scott."

"A pleasure." Peter nodded at each of them. He glanced at the two other tables, then smirked at Brian. "I notice quite the dearth in female company."

Brian laughed. "We have so few females in our coven and even fewer who enjoy playing cards." His grin turned sly. "If you need female company, though, we'd be more than happy to secure a few humans for you."

"Quite alright." While the smile on Peter's face remained agreeable, the slight flicker of nervousness might have given him away to the trained eye. He cleared his throat and directed his attention back to his cards. "So, why have you not been back to Philadelphia in decades, if I might pry?"

Brian snorted. Peter peered at him from across his cards. "The same reason I said, 'I'm sorry,' when you told me you and Michael share the same maker."

"Sabrina?" Peter chuckled. "She has been dead since 1988."

The statement was a half-truth, but Peter had become used to telling thinly-veiled lies. Brian shuddered just the same. "She isn't the direct reason why, just the cause."

"What is the more direct reason?"

"That damn assassin of hers." Brian shifted in his chair, then glanced at the others. "You all remember Flynn, right? Or, hearing about him anyway?" His eyes flicked across each man as they nodded before settling on his cards again. "I lived in fear for a decade that he'd surface in the City when he disappeared from Philly. Took until the World Trade Center went down before I realized he was probably dead." He glanced across the table, toward Peter.

Peter refused to make eye contact.

Brian didn't seem to notice. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to actually live under the same roof as that bastard."

"Not very pleasant, no doubt," Peter murmured.

Brian raised an eyebrow. The conversation paused. Each vampire studied Peter with quizzical expressions on their faces while Peter did his best to avoid looking at any of them.

Finally, Brian frowned. "I'm sorry if that was a sore subject."

"No, it is..." Peter sighed, exasperated, then looked up at Brian. An apologetic smile surfaced to chase away the fledgling embers of annoyance which had made their presence known. "Have you ever been followed by your past so intensely, you wondered if you would ever reach a day when it stopped pursuing you?"

Brian blinked. "I think all vampires do at some point. We are immortals, after all."

"Yes, well, most immortals cannot boast of the same ghosts haunting them which haunt me."

Brian settled back in his chair. The others held their cards, now forgotten, and focused their attention on Peter. One or two appeared to carry sparks of realization while the rest could only be described as confused. Peter lifted his eyes, surveying the oblivious ones, before glancing in Brian's direction again. "I was Flynn," he said.

It felt as though a shiver had run up the spine of every vampire, causing their posture to straighten. Placing his cards face-down on the table, Peter reached inside his suit jacket for a metal cigarette case and plucked one of the sticks of tobacco from within. The end glowed orange and both case and lighter found themselves secured within his pocket again before he continued. "That was another lifetime ago, however. One I wish I could forget."

"I had no idea." The way Brian spoke reminded Peter of a man so lost in awe, he did not realize how incredulous he sounded. Brian, too, set down his cards. "You... you were..."

"Flynn, yes. The Black Rose Assassin." Peter frowned, drawing from his cigarette. "He and I were one in the same."

"Were. Was. Clever use of words, seer." The voice chimed in the back of Peter's mind, but he gave no visual indication. He simply inhaled deeply and responded within the confines of his thoughts.

"Later, assassin."

The brush-off seemed to work. The voice faded in the background while Peter directed his attention to the vampires seated at the table. He flicked the ash from his cigarette into an adjacent ashtray. His free hand rose to the bridge of his nose, fingers pinching it first, then sliding upward to rub his temples. "I shall understand if you distrust me, but I can assure you I am not that person any longer."

"No."

Peter looked at Brian and raised an eyebrow.

His cigar hovered close to his mouth, his eyes still somewhat widened, but not in fear. "It isn't that," he continued. "I have to admit, though, I'm a little dumbfounded. How did someone like you get accepted as a second-in-command?"

Smiling wanly, Peter shrugged, his gaze drifting downward. "I was a neophyte back then. Much has changed in the interim."

"Such as what?"

Peter laughed. "You would not believe the half of it if I told you."

Brian leaned forward in his chair. Placing his cigar down, he leaned his elbows on the table; folded his hands together and smirked. "Try me. I'm in the mood for a good story and this seems to be one hell of a tale."

He maintained a steady gaze with Peter. Peter glanced around at the others, seeing Sebastian just as curious, the others pleading with their gaze. A weight settled onto Peter's shoulders, but he realized his only alternative would be to excuse himself and walk away. Raising his cigarette to his lips, he drew from it again, then nodded while his thoughts drifted a million miles away.

"You all know the beginning of this story," he said. "There once was an assassin named Flynn, who left black roses on the doorsteps of those covens from which he had taken a life. He terrorized the city of Philadelphia from 1983 until 1988, then vanished completely." Peter looked at Brian. "I apologize that you feared for your safety beyond then, but I was nowhere near Philadelphia again until just before your beloved towers tumbled down."

Brian nodded slowly, his gaze never shifting away. "Would've been nice to know, but fair enough. You didn't know me and I take it you weren't sending out much in the way of bulletins."

Peter chuckled. "Far from it." As Peter looked away, a pensive expression settled on his face. A few seconds went by before he studied the other vampires. "Does the color of my eyes cause any of you alarm?"

"I was wondering about that," the one named Daniel interjected. By appearance, he didn't look older than sixteen, with short, brown hair gelled haphazardly atop his head. He fiddled idly with the cards in his hand. "That color green is usually a bad sign for us."

"Isn't that the color of a vampire hunter?" asked Xavier.

Daniel nodded. "Seers and other members of the Supernatural Order."

"Guilty as charged," Peter said with a sardonic grin.

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Flynn the assassin is a seer?" he asked.

"No, Peter Dawes is." The embers of Peter's cigarette flared as he drew from it again. He exhaled a plume of smoke. "I had been born a seer and turned without knowing this. Sabrina did, though. She recognized that which my mortal girlfriend only saw in me at the time and turned me to make me her killer." He shrugged. "I lived in ignorance and enjoyed what I did. Until a human woman came along who changed all of that."

The remaining vampires remained silent. Peter set his cigarette down in the ashtray, then leaned back in his seat. "Monica was a spitfire of a woman. You can imagine the sort of creature it would take to get close enough to an assassin with some hope of redeeming him. She brought out my abilities and at first, I had no idea what I should do with myself. After a significant amount of wrestling, though, I was the one who put the blade through Sabrina." He paused. "I purchased my freedom from her in order to enslave myself to something else."

"What was that?" Sebastian asked.

"Duty." Peter's eyes turned solemn. "Love. The Fates permitted a vampire-seer to exist for the purpose of placing me where no one else could venture. In the span of a few months, I went from foe to hero and traipsed around the globe as much to save Monica as I did to save the world. I nearly fell from grace several times and surrendered my soul at the exact moment I thought Monica had been taken from me." The corner of his mouth curled in a reluctant grin. "She saved me from myself so many times. That was one of them. God, she made me want to be mortal again so badly that I woke from that battle with a pulse, breathing air as a human for the first time in over five years."

"You lie," Matt said, smirking while issuing the rebuttal. "A vampire can't be human again."

"No, they cannot, but I did not know this at the time. I swear it to you, though... I woke as a human and believed The Fates had given me my reward. Monica and I ran away to Costa Rica, hiding from the Order." The smile faded. "We had no sooner crawled through the fires of hell than they attempted to force us back into action."

"Monica worked for the Order?" Scott asked.

Peter nodded at him. "Yes, she was a watcher. A sorceress. Thus how she could bring out my abilities."

"And you were truly human?" Brian asked, raising an eyebrow. "Was that some sort of spell she cast?"

Chuckling, Peter shook his head. "No witchcraft could have made me human again. Not for over five years, anyway. Or made me so human, I could sire children."

"You have human children?!" Sebastian laughed.

The other vampires chuckled with Sebastian. Peter attempted to smile along, but something about the words chased the grin away just as quickly as it seemed apt to surface. Sebastian noticed this first and stopped laughing. The others noticed the level of discomfort which settled in the space between them and sobered as well, Brian being the one to speak. "I apologize, Peter," he said. "I think it's safe to say none of us have ever grasped the concept of having anything other than immortal children."

Peter flashed a halfhearted smirk. "It is quite alright. Sometimes a bit too much for me to grasp as well."

The others nodded. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Matt cleared his throat and nodded at Peter. "How was that all possible if not for witchcraft, then?" he asked.

Hesitating briefly, Peter glanced away and then looked back, something hovering on the tip of his tongue his mind fought hard to prevent from spilling out. He took a deep breath and gestured with his hand as he spoke. "I have... quite superlative abilities for a seer. Some a bit more formidable than others. Beyond my psychic prowess and the visions I receive, I also have the ability to turn human temporarily, in all senses of the word. I simply did not fall sick and did not age."

He paused and swallowed hard. "This was my first indication all was not as well as I hoped it to being. After five years, when one notices no sign of visible aging, one begins to realize the clock is not ticking as it ought. During that last year especially, my vampire side was attempting to make a resurgence, much to my dismay. Before the year was out, I found my brother Robin. And in his native Ireland, I became vampire once more." His gaze turned distant. "And I can never be human again."

The others nodded solemnly. Brian frowned while extinguishing his cigar. "You had to leave behind a lover and your children."

"A wife," Peter corrected. "And two small children. A girl and a boy; Lydia and John. I went to Toronto to sojourn in Mistress Ophelia's coven and sent Monica a letter indicating I could not see them any longer." He ceased talking and focused his attention on the smoke billowing from the extinguished smoking implements before him, seeing far more than the simple letter he sent and feeling each memory jab him like a knife.

"Then what happened?" Sebastian asked, breaking the silence.

Peter shrugged. "I lived out the next eight years in Toronto." 'Another half-truth.' "And was trained to be a second. I followed Robin to Philadelphia when he became master of our coven. The rest is far too personal for me to discuss."

Brian nodded in understanding. Peter rose to his feet and tossed his cards toward the center of the table. "If you shall excuse me," he said. "I think I might indulge a walk."

Brian stood. "Please forgive us if we offended, Peter."

"Not at all." Peter mustered a pleasant smile. "You must forgive me. These are not the most pleasant memories for me to revisit."

"No, I can imagine." Brian sighed. "I hope we haven't ruined the rest of your evening. For what it's worth, I never imagined my first encounter with Flynn would be pleasant."

Peter laughed. "Fair enough, Brian." His hands slid in his pockets as he bowed. "Good evening."

Peter turned his back on the table. He ignored the other vampires looking up at him from their seats and strolled briskly for the door. It opened up into the main corridor of the coven house and started a path Peter followed all the way to the back exit. He hardly noticed the breath he was holding until the cold wind hit his face, forcing him to exhale.

The light from the estate shone down on the snow falling until the door swung shut behind him. Ambient light spilled out from the shaded windows, but for a moment, the world became dark and quiet again. Peter shut his eyes and swallowed hard, his feet moving as though they'd gained a mind of their own. They often did when he felt this way.

'I remember...' Two simple words which lacerated him. He drew a deep breath inward and opened his eyes. 'I remember journeying back to Costa Rica, begged by Monica to see her one last time. I remember that momentary notion that everything could work out, the very notion which led me to turning her when she was kidnapped and drained of life. I remember those first blessed weeks as I shared immortality with my wife. The future looked so complete.

'I remember the night everything changed. The gradual descent until she ran away from me and I was forced to rejoin the Supernatural Order so I might rescue her. I remember Robin by my side as the harsh reality played out before my eyes. She was too far gone, seduced by darkness. I would have to end her life.'

He approached the edge of their grounds and touched the wrought iron fence separating him from the rest of the world. The light from the sprawling metropolis on their doorstep blotted out the stars from the sky, giving the black expanse above him an iridescent glow he wished he could chase away. He needed the stars. He needed a compass; something to remind him his life had not become utter darkness.

"You have your children, seer."

Peter blinked as the voice reasserted itself. Nodding once, he cleared his throat. "Yes, I do, assassin." And yet, that failed to be the miracle it should have been. He could yet see the night he raced to the security room, flagged by their guard who informed him a young human girl had requested to see him. Tears welled in his eyes at the mere recollection of seeing his daughter on that screen, fifteen years after having to surrender both Lydia and John to the Order. Fifteen years of exile from the last two things which connected him to Monica.

He'd embraced her tightly and asked her questions of the intervening years. She responded with questions of her own. Where had he been? Why hadn't he ever tried to reclaim her and John? He felt his heart sink. "Because I could not," he had said to the brown-haired nineteen year old seated before him. "I spent so many years attempting to get back on my feet again. I would not have been any good for either of you."

"I understand, Dad," she said, but he wondered if she ever would. When John joined the two of them, Peter did his best to explain why he had been absent, but the words sounded so contrived. 'How does one explain this to such young creatures? Attempting suicide once. Flirting with it a second time. Wasting away eight years with drunkenness and womanizing in some attempt to dull the constant pain ripping through you. Becoming a second-in-command and drowning one's self in work until you finally succumb to trying to love again. Opening your heart only to constantly feel as though you are betraying the memory of your late wife?'

"Tell the truth, seer. The witch is not the reason why you have your reservations about Celine."

Peter swallowed hard and shut his eyes once more. A shiver ran up his spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand aloft. Yes, to make matters worse, there was him. There was always him. He became a voice when Peter first realized he might have to kill Monica and had been a presence ever since. While quiet for most of the years which passed, the assassin never let Peter forget he was hovering somewhere in the backdrop. Peter feared hunting and did not do so for fourteen years because of him.

It did not stop Flynn from finally making a resurgence, though.

Peter shook off the chill assailing him and rolled his shoulders twice. "What is it you wish me to confess, then, Flynn?"

"Why you truly resent your new paramour."

"I do not resent her, assassin."

"Maybe not. But our conversations of loving her have waned quite a bit in recent days."

Peter nodded once and lowered his eyes toward the ground. "I sense the end drawing near. The rose-colored glasses have slipped from their perch."

"And why is that? Because she brought me out?"

"Because she loves you more than she loves me."

"And loving me is such a crime." Flynn paused. "I think you overestimate matters, but this is beside the point. She loves a challenge. She loves the darkness. You cower away from it so intensely even though you know a part of you craves it."

"I shall never be as comfortable with debauchery as you both seem apt to being."

"This has nothing to do with debauchery, boy scout. This is the same bloody fight we have indulged in ever since I started talking to you again. Each time you feel your true nature assert itself, you run away from it as though a demon chases you. I speak to you only to get you to accept what we are."

"You do not speak to me, you torture me. You attempt to drag me down into your depths, you bloody bastard. I shall never be you, nor do I have any desire to be you, and your constant needling drives... me... insane! That I could be rid of you would be a miracle."

He felt the assassin sneer, yet knew the expression of disdain would give itself over to a slow grin creeping across his alter ego's face. "I wager someday you truly understand it is not me with whom you fight. It is yourself."

Peter drew a shaky breath inward. "Regardless of whether or not you are correct, you could never be the answer, Flynn. You do not preach acceptance, you preach indulgence and I will not succumb to the very thing which stole my wife from me."

He blinked several times. As the wind blew past, he realized his cheeks bore fresh tears which had spilled out from his eyes in crimson rivulets. Flynn fell silent, but Peter could yet detect the final sentiment which the assassin held before he retreated into the shadows.

Peter nodded. "Yes, I miss Monica," he said aloud, "And realize the person I have loved these past few months is not the happily-ever-after I had hoped she would be." A sardonic laugh bubbled up from his throat, mocking him. "The Poet succumbs to fantasies and fairy tales, and yet it seems he cannot help himself. His heart grows weary and this loneliness consumes me. Yet, I carry around an alter ego and am the most confused vampire I think has ever existed. What being in their right mind would fall in love with me?"

As if on cue, the phone buried in his pants' pocket began to vibrate, a chime breaking the silence which punctuated his words. Peter dug the phone out from hiding and cycled through the menu until a text message flashed on its display.

When are you coming home? We need to talk.

Peter shivered, as though the cold wind could affect him. He typed the response out while feeling another tear trickle down his face. Inevitability circled around him, the culmination of all these months finally reaching a head. His finger hovered over the send button. He reread the message before finally sending it to his lover.

I shall be home tomorrow. We can talk then.