Page 31 of Nocturne

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CALLAHAN

D awn isn’t far off, but it might as well be another lifetime away. The room around us has gone quiet—too quiet, the silence punctuated only by Lena’s steady breathing beside me. My confession hangs in the air between us, terrible and irrevocable.

I killed Elizabeth Short.

I expected revulsion, fear, even hatred. Instead, Lena’s fingers trace gentle swirls on my skin, her touch anchoring me to the present when every instinct screams for me to run, to disappear into the night where creatures like me belong.

“We should tell Abe,” she says finally, her voice surprisingly steady. “He needs to know what happened. What Dmitri did to you. What he made you do.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The compulsion that drove me here has receded, but I can still feel it lurking at the edges of my consciousness—a shadow waiting to consume me once more. Lena’s blood, her body, the primal connection we’ve forged, has temporarily broken Dmitri’s hold.

But for how long?

“Can you walk?” she asks, already moving with efficient grace, gathering clothes for us both.

A hollow laugh escapes me. “Physically? Yes. Otherwise…” I let the words trail off. How do you walk away from the knowledge that you’re a murderer? That the case you’ve been investigating leads directly back to you?

Lena pauses, her expression softening. “One step at a time, Victor. That’s all any of us can do.”

She’s right, of course. So I stand on shaky legs, put on my pants. They’re torn at the knees but not as badly as the rest of my clothes. I must have run through all sorts of brush to reach her.

To capture her for Dmitri.

The thought sends a fresh wave of self-loathing through me, but I push it down. Later. I’ll reckon with it all later.

“There’s a tunnel,” Lena explains as she finishes dressing. “It leads directly to Abe’s main house. Safer than going outside, especially now.”

She moves to the far wall, pushing aside a heavy bookcase with inhuman ease to reveal a metal door set flush against the stone. It swings open silently, revealing a passageway lit by small electric bulbs spaced along the ceiling.

“Abe thinks of everything,” she says with a grim smile. “Even escape routes.”

The tunnel is cool and damp, the air heavy with the scent of earth and stone. We walk in silence, my thoughts churning with each step. What will Abe say when he learns what I am? What I’ve done? Will he see me as an abomination to be destroyed, or simply another victim of Dmitri’s madness?

More importantly, what happens when the compulsion returns? When Dmitri’s voice fills my head once more, commanding me to bring Lena to him?

The tunnel gradually slopes upward, ending at another metal door. Lena knocks—three short raps, then two longer ones. A code, I realize, as the door immediately swings inward to reveal Valtu, tousled and alert despite the hour.

His eyes narrow as they land on me, taking in my disheveled appearance, the fact that I’m shirtless, and the tension radiating from both of us. “What happened?” he demands, stepping aside to let us enter what appears to be a wine cellar. “You’re back.”

“We need to speak with Abe,” Lena says. “With all of you. It’s urgent.”

“It’s early.” Valtu’s gaze shifts between us. His expression darkens, he sniffs the air. “You tracked her. How?”

“I don’t know,” I manage, meeting his accusatory stare. “I just did. But they’re going to come looking for her, looking for me.”

That gets his attention. Without another word, he leads us up a narrow staircase to the main floor of the house. The living room I saw during my first visit is transformed in the pre-dawn hours—shadows gathering in the corners, the ocean beyond the windows a vast darkness under the fading moon.

“Wait here,” Valtu says tersely. “I’ll wake the others.”

He disappears down a hallway, leaving Lena and me standing awkwardly in the silent house.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, reaching for my hand. I let her take it, though I don’t deserve the comfort she offers.

“Will it?” I ask, not bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice. “I’m Dmitri’s son, Lena. His weapon. I’ve already killed once under his control. Maybe I killed someone else. I’ve certainly killed people without anyone making me do it. There’s nothing ‘alright’ about any of this.”

Before she can respond, footsteps announce the arrival of the others. Abe appears first, wearing a silk robe hastily thrown over pajamas, his hair mussed from sleep. Ezra and Adonis follow, both looking considerably more put-together despite the early hour. Valtu brings up the rear, his expression guarded.

“Callahan,” Abe says, genuine relief in his voice. “Thank God you’re—” He stops abruptly, noticing something in my face or posture. “What’s happened?”

“Dmitri sent him,” Lena answers when I remain silent. “Compelled him somehow to track me down. Bring me back.”

A tense silence falls over the room. I force myself to meet their gazes, to withstand the judgment I deserve.

“But you didn’t,” Ezra observes, studying me with newfound interest. “You broke the compulsion.”

“Lena broke it,” I correct him. “I would have taken her straight to him otherwise.”

Or worse. But I don’t let my mind go there.

Abe gestures toward the seating area. “Let’s discuss this properly. With drinks.” He moves to the bar cart, withdrawing glasses and a decanter filled with dark red liquid. “Blood wine for those who want it. I imagine you need it, Callahan, after breaking a blood compulsion.”

“I just fed, actually.”

“Oh?” he says, a brow raised as he looks curiously at Lena.

We arrange ourselves in the living room—Lena and I on the couch, the others in chairs positioned to form a loose circle. Abe distributes glasses to Ezra and Valtu. I may be a PI who likes to drink, but even I couldn’t drink red wine for breakfast.

“Tell us everything,” Abe says, settling into his chair with his own glass. “From the beginning.”

So I do. I tell them about waking restrained in Dmitri’s underground chamber. About his revelation that I’m his son, given up as part of some twisted experiment in vampire nature. About Catherine’s death, orchestrated to free me for his plans. About his confession that I was the one who took Elizabeth Short to him, who completed the ritual by draining her blood.

Throughout my recitation, the vampires remain silent, their expressions growing grimmer with each revelation. Only Lena offers any comfort, her hand steady in mine despite the horrors I describe.

“And then he compelled you to bring Lena to him,” Abe prompts when I pause. “How did he do it?”

“His voice,” I say, struggling to describe the sensation. “It was like it got inside my head, overrode everything else. I fought it at first, but then…it was like drowning. My consciousness went under, and something else took control. Compulsion like nothing else.” I look down at my hands, remembering the mindless determination that drove me here. “I tracked her by scent, by instinct. Nothing else mattered. Just fulfilling his command.”

“Blood compulsion,” Adonis says, exchanging a meaningful look with Abe. “It’s an old power, rarely seen these days. The ability of a sire to command progeny.”

“Can he do it again?” I ask, the question I’ve been dreading. “Take control whenever he wants?”

Abe sets down his glass, his expression thoughtful. “Not easily, and not from a distance. You broke free once, which makes subsequent compulsions harder to maintain. And the blood exchange with Lena seems to have created a competing bond.”

“So I’m just supposed to hope it holds?” The frustration in my voice is palpable. “Hope I don’t turn back into his puppet the moment he gets close enough?”

“No,” Abe says firmly. “We’re going to help you strengthen your resistance. There are techniques that can help integrate your dual natures, make you less susceptible to outside influence.”

“Amalgamation, you mean,” I say. “Making peace with the monster inside me.”

“Not a monster,” Adonis corrects. “Just another aspect of yourself. The predator, yes, but not necessarily the killer. Those are choices, not nature.”

Ezra nods. “Your vampire self and your human self are at war. That’s what makes you vulnerable to Dmitri’s control. He can exploit the division, speak directly to the part of you that recognizes him as sire. If you were whole…”

“Then I’d be stronger,” I finish. “But how do I integrate something I’ve been fighting since it first emerged?”

“Acceptance,” Abe says simply. “Meditation. Rituals. And time, which unfortunately is the one thing we don’t have.” He rises, moving to a bookshelf against the far wall. “But we can at least begin the process. Make you less vulnerable when we face the Ivanovs again.”

He returns with a small wooden box. “Sit on the floor,” he instructs, gesturing to the open space before the fireplace. “Cross-legged, back straight.”

I obey, feeling a little silly as I settle into position, Abe kneeling opposite me. Lena moves to sit beside me, but Abe shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he tells her. “Your blood bond with him is strong, but it could become a crutch. He needs to find balance within himself first.”

She nods, reluctantly returning to the couch. Abe opens the box, removing a small crystal vial filled with dark liquid and a silver dagger with a bone handle.

“I shouldn’t have this. This is very old,” he explains, setting both items on the floor between us. “Older than the Ivanovs, some say older than Skarde himself. It’s meant to reconcile the divided self, to heal spiritual wounds.”

“How did you get that?” Lena asks.

He exchanges a look with Valtu. “You learn a few things over the years. Make friends with the right people.”

“You’ll feel vulnerable during the process,” Ezra warns me, moving to light candles around the room. “Open. It’s important that you not resist, no matter how uncomfortable it becomes.”

Great. More vulnerability is exactly what I need right now.

Abe uncorks the vial, tipping a single drop of its contents onto his finger. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, reaching forward to draw a symbol on my forehead.

The liquid burns against my skin, not painfully but with a strange, tingling heat that spreads through my skull. I feel my muscles relaxing without conscious effort, my breathing slowing to match Abe’s steady rhythm.

“Now,” he says, voice dropping to a hypnotic cadence, “find the division within yourself. The line where human ends and vampire begins. See it clearly in your mind.”

I search inward, past the guilt and fear, past the memories of blood and violence. Somewhere deep within my consciousness, I sense it—a fracture, a fault line running through the core of my being. On one side, the PI, the boxer, the man who loved Catherine. On the other, the predator, the hunter, the son of Dmitri.

“Do you see it?” Abe asks softly.

“Yes,” I whisper, the word barely audible.

“Good. Now imagine that line beginning to blur. The two sides flowing into each other, not fighting, not competing, but merging. Becoming one.”

I try to visualize it as he describes—the fracture healing, the separate aspects of myself no longer at war but in harmony. It feels impossible, like trying to blend oil and water, but I persist, focusing on Abe’s voice guiding me deeper into the meditation.

Time loses meaning as we continue, the ritual drawing me further inward. I become aware of a rhythmic chanting—Ezra and Adonis, their voices blending in some old language I don’t recognize but somehow understand. It speaks of wholeness, of acceptance, of strength found in unity.

And slowly, painfully, something begins to shift. The division I’ve sensed becomes less stark, the boundaries more permeable. I can feel my vampire senses sharpening even as I maintain complete awareness, complete control. The hunger is there, but it no longer threatens to consume me. The power flows through my limbs, but it’s mine to direct, mine to command.

“You’re doing well,” Abe murmurs, his voice seemingly coming from very far away. “Just a little more?—”

The sound of shattering glass tears through the meditative silence.

My eyes snap open as a bestial roar fills the room. Through the broken glass door overlooking the ocean, a nightmare creature launches itself into our midst—humanoid but wrong, distorted, its body covered in coarse dark hair, its face elongated into something between man and bat, leathery wings extending from its shoulders.

“What the fuck—” I begin, scrambling to my feet.

“Get back!” Abe shouts, interposing himself between us and the creature. “They created him! He’s feral!”

The monster lands in a crouch, head swiveling as it surveys the room with glowing yellow eyes. It’s wearing the tattered remains of what might once have been an expensive suit, now hanging in ribbons from its misshapen body.

It can’t be.

“Marco?” I breathe, the name slipping out before I can stop it.

The creature—Marco—turns at the sound, its gaze locking onto me with predatory focus. Whatever humanity might once have existed in those eyes is gone, replaced by raw animal hunger. It—he—lets out another roar, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.

“How is this possible?” Lena asks, her voice tight with shock. “I thought he was dead.”

“I thought so too,” I say, just as Marco lunges toward me with frightening speed, claws outstretched. I dive aside, rolling across the floor as he crashes into the spot where I’d been standing. The meditation has left me sharper, more coordinated, vampire reflexes responding instantly to the threat.

Adonis intercepts Marco’s next attack, his massive arms wrapping around the feral vampire in a bear hug. But Marco’s strength is unnatural, even by vampire standards. He breaks free with a savage twist, sending Adonis crashing into the wall with enough force to crack the column.

“Cut out the heart!” Ezra shouts, racing out of the kitchen with a butcher knife. He slashes at Marco, drawing a line of black blood across the creature’s chest.

Marco howls in pain, recoiling from the blade. His wings beat furiously, creating a downdraft that sends furniture sliding across the floor. Then he’s moving again, faster than before, dodging Ezra’s next strike and barreling into Valtu with the force of a freight train.

They crash through the glass coffee table, a tangle of limbs and snarls. Valet is no stranger to combat—I’ve seen him fight, seen him rip out Tatiana’s heart with brutal efficiency. But Marco in this feral state is something else entirely, savage and unpredictable.

A claw rakes across Valtu’s face, drawing blood that seems to drive Marco into greater frenzy. His head darts forward, jaws snapping inches from Valtu’s throat.

I look around frantically for a weapon, any weapon. My gun is long gone, lost somewhere during my compelled journey to find Lena. The ritual dagger Abe used sits on the floor where we’d been meditating, but it’s meant for ceremony, not combat.

Abe suddenly comes running out from around the corner, an axe raised above his head as he yells a battle cry. He’s about to bring it down on the back of Marco’s head when the beast kicks back, getting Abe in the shins and knocking him off balance.

Marco has already shifted targets, his yellow gaze fixing on Lena with terrifying intensity. He throws Valtu aside with one powerful sweep of his arm, then lunges toward us with a speed that defies physics.

I try to intercept him, but he bats me aside like I’m nothing, sending me crashing into one of Abe’s bookshelves. Pain explodes along my back as books rain down around me.

By the time I regain my feet, Marco has Lena. One clawed hand wraps around her throat, lifting her off the ground as she struggles against his grip. The other vampires are all down—not dead, but injured, struggling to recover from the vicious assault.

“No!” I shout, lunging forward, grabbing the butcher knife from the floor.

But I’m too late. With a powerful beat of its wings, Marco—or the thing that was once Marco—launches himself back through the shattered window, Lena clutched against his chest.

I reach the window just in time to see them vanishing into the dim grey light.

“Lena!” My voice echoes across the cliffs, met only by the indifferent crash of waves against rocks below.

“How did he find us?” Ezra groans, pulling himself upright, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, slowly healing.

“He must have been tracking Callahan,” Abe says grimly, helping Adonis to his feet. “Dmitri probably didn’t trust that his control would hold. Sent his new pet to follow, to ensure the job was done.”

“And when it wasn’t,” Valtu finishes, wiping blood from his hair, “he took matters into his own hands. Or claws, as it were.”

“But I don’t understand,” I ask. “What happened to him? I killed Marco. I buried him.”

“And you were being watched when you did so,” Abe says, rubbing at his shins. “It doesn’t take much to create a vampire, but it has to be deliberate. I’d wager Dmitri or one of them saw where you buried him, dug him up, pumped him full of vampire blood, and thus a monster was born. Risky business but the Ivanovs seem to thrive on risk.”

“And he’s just…what, a literal beast now?”

“Yes,” Abe says, getting a dreamy look in his eyes. Then he clears his throat, his expression flattening. “I have known one, or two, that have overcome the monster, that have remained a vampire in control. But it took centuries and a lot of work to get them back to normal. I’m afraid that won’t be in the case with Marco. The Ivanovs want him for one purpose only: to kill.”

I turn from the window, rage and despair tearing me apart. “We have to go after them. Now.”

“We will,” Abe assures me, though his expression is grim. “But we need to be smart about this. Marco is taking her to Dmitri. We don’t know where. We need to figure out that out first.”

“And we don’t have the time,” I say, the words coming out as a growl. “I’m going after her with or without you. Tell me Abe. Are you with me? Or are you against me?”

“No one said anything about being against you, Callahan,” says Abe calmly and quietly.

Adonis steps forward, his towering frame intimidating despite his injuries. “I’ll come with you. I’ve tracked harder prey than a feral vampire.”

“We all will,” Valtu says, surprising me with his vehemence. “The Ivanovs have gone too far. Created an abomination. Broken laws older than any of us.”

“Besides,” Ezra adds with a grim smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. Lena would never forgive us.”

Relief washes through me, tempered by the crushing weight of responsibility. Lena is in Dmitri’s hands because of me. Because I led Marco straight to her, like a homing beacon guiding a missile to its target.

I stare out at the lightening sky, dawn approaching with merciless certainty. Somewhere out there, Lena is being carried toward a fate designed by madmen with delusions of godhood. Carried toward Dmitri, who needs her blood to open his precious gateway to the Red Realm.

I failed Elizabeth. I won’t fail Lena too.

“How do we find them?” I ask, turning back to the others.

They all look at me. “You’re supposed to tell us.”

And that’s when I know.

It has to be me.

It has to be…the other me.