Within a Forest Dark

“Handsome, isn’t he?”

Hearing was always the first sense to return. Apparently this was true even in death. If I was dead. I had no idea of where I was or what was around me, but I could hear just fine.

“Indeed. Even before the filth was removed he rivaled Caravaggio’s best.” I knew that voice. That was the not-human. Santo.

“Quite.” The other voice had a trace of an accent that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Attractiveness aside, Santo, I would like him dead. I am certain I made that clear in my request.”

So I hadn’t died, then.

“Clear as crystal, Benedict. I assure you I sought him out with those intentions. However, he has proven… interesting.”

“How is that?”

“He was quite lively when I found him, and managed to walk a great distance immediately afterward. I had to give him twice the usual dosage to render him unconscious.”

“But you did ‘render him unconscious.’ And then you didn’t kill him.” I was so close to recognizing that voice.

“I was intrigued. I took the liberty of removing the glass shards that had been implanted in his back. They had clearly been there for days, and some of them were beginning to become embedded, but once removed he made a full recovery. It’s quite remarkable. It has been two days and there are barely any scars.”

I did notice a distinct lack of pain on my back, now that I was paying attention. I was lying on my stomach, on something hard.

“And you would like to use him for your own agenda, I take it. Despite our agreement.”

“Of course not. Well – It’s not only that. I don’t think you understand my point. I spoke with Lupos, the ruler of the little gang he had run afoul of, and he told me they had not given him anything to eat or drink for more than a week.”

“So? They’re exaggerating. You know how the young ones are.”

Feeling was coming back to my hands and feet. My fingers twitched.

“That is always a possibility. So far the evidence has spoken for itself. I think he would be perf—ah, you see, he wakes.”

I was pushing myself up unsteadily, lolling gracelessly. I might have drooled. My muscles felt sleepy, and it was a more difficult task to sit up than I would have liked. I blinked at my blurry vision, and looked down at a mass of tan. My skin, I realized. I was naked. I looked around dazedly. I was sitting on a table, which seemed odd. Waking up in a bed might have been more appropriate. But then, I was surprised to wake up at all.

“Where am I?” I tried to ask. I only managed a groan. Pathetic.

“I’ve had to drug him every twelve hours or so. His resistance to the drug is growing.” There were hands on me, hot and indomitable, manipulating my limbs effortlessly. I tried to protest but could only make wordless noises. Santo, for the hot hands had to be his, only moved my arms and legs about, pushing me to lie back down. I was too weak to protest. “As you can see, he is flawless. Not a scar anywhere, and the skin is almost unnaturally smooth.”

Another pair of hands on me. Cold. Cold like death. I focused with effort on the stranger, seeing black clothes and white, white skin, and dimly realized where I had heard that accent before. It was a much diluted version of the way vamps sounded when they spoke around their fangs. This creature was a vamp.

“Fuck off,” I snarled, or tried to, and gave over all my strength to shoving him away. I hit his chest but succeeded only in pitching over to the side. I would have collapsed completely if Santo had not held me. He put one arm around my chest, trapping my arms to my sides, and one on my neck, holding my head uncomfortably tipped back. I swallowed nervously, even though I knew from painful experience that only excited vamps.

“You may taste him, if it pleases you. The drug certainly won’t affect you.”

A snicker of laughter from the vamp fucker. My hands itched for a knife. “Oh, it pleases greatly.” My drugged vision couldn’t follow his vamp-quick movement, but in the next moment there were teeth at my neck. The sting of fangs, and then the vamp was bleeding me while I writhed helplessly in Santo’s arms, too weak to escape or even kick at him. I groaned, clenching my jaw with rage.

Thankfully, the vamp drew away after only a moment. Blood stained his lips, a blurry gash of red on his pale undead face. He was shaking his head. “I don’t know what that is, Santo, but it’s not human. It’s – if he weren’t so weak…”

“Intoxicating, isn’t he?” Santo let me go at that, his hands running over my back before he moved away. I managed to stay sitting upright on my own this time. Whatever he had doped me with was beginning to lessen. I needed to move.

“Kill him.” I jerked at that. I wanted a weapon: a knife, a stake, a fucking rusty nail if I could just shove it through his icy jugular.

“What?” Santo sounded shocked, and I could see he was starting to become agitated. I forced myself to turn away and begin to move towards the edge of the table. I needed to find a weapon, or a way out. Some clothes would be nice too. “How could you say that now, after what I’ve told you? You said yourself he can’t be human. Don’t you see how he could be perfect? Aren’t you curious?”

“You know as well as I do that going down that road will only lead to trouble. Kill him, Santo, if not for your own sake than for mine, as it was me you to whom you made the promise.”

“Benedict, I –”

“He’s trying to escape again.”

“Damn it.” Those hot hands on me again, and I didn’t like it, but at least they weren’t the vamp’s. I struggled, my limbs flailing, but wasn’t able to stop Santo from sticking the syringe in me. My vision blurred, my muscles relaxing as I collapsed back down on the table.

“Lemme go, you fucking bastards,” I slurred. I slept.

88888

When I woke again it was because there was a knife at my neck. There was no sleepiness this time, no weakness from any drugs. I grabbed at the wrist holding the knife as I opened my eyes, twisting my body away. I was still naked, and still on a table, and hunger was twisting painfully in my belly. But I was ready. My neck felt wet, and I checked it for blood. Instead my hand came back covering in soft, white… shaving cream?

I looked at Santo, who was holding the razor. He smiled. To my practiced eye his white teeth seemed unnaturally sharp, although not enough to make him a vamp. “I thought this might wake you. Hold still, now.” He reached for me with his other hand.

I tightened my grip on the wrist of the hand that held the razor, hunting for weak points. He didn’t seem to have any. Was I that weak? Maybe it was the lack of food. “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t be difficult, Bello. I just want to shave you.”

“Like hell you—” I paled. “I never told you my name.” At least I thought I hadn’t. My memories of my time being drugged out were hazy, but surely I would remember if I was conscious enough to tell him my name.

He smiled unapologetically. “There are a lot of things I know about you that you haven’t told me. Now tilt your head back.” I planned to do no such thing, but he reached out faster than I could follow and tangled his fingers in my hair. I twisted and kicked, trying to pull his hands away, but he was strong and had a good grip on me. He used the hand tangled in my hair to knock my head against the table, and not gently. “Hold still for a moment,” he snapped, his patient tone suddenly demanding. “I’m doing you a favor.”

“I can shave myself.” Mysterious monster freak or not, I refused to be cowed.

“Yes, you seem to be a creature of many talents.” For some reason it was jarring to hear dry sarcasm from such a big, alien creature, and I paused. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but decided to give him the upper hand for the moment, since I was still naked and alone, and owed my life to him. He hadn’t hurt me yet, besides the drugging, and he had taken the glass out from my back. I made myself keep still as he drew an unnecessarily large razor over the skin of my neck and chin, meticulously shaving off eight days of growth. More than eight days, I realized, judging by my hunger. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Quite some time. I imagine you must have been very tired after your ordeal.” My eyes narrowed as I noticed both the vagueness and the lie. My memories of what had happened right before I’d passed out were hazy, as well as that conversation between him and the vamp, but I distinctly remembered the syringe. “Very tired,” my ass.

Santo was surprisingly dexterous, considering how big he was. I took the opportunity to take better stock of him, now that I was more conscious and less in pain. He wasn’t quite as big as I’d originally thought. He stood perhaps half a head taller than me, although he was broader. He was also, I noticed, not ugly, but not exactly handsome, either. His features were clear and even, but they were unnatural. His eyes were too big, his brow too heavy, his jaw too strong. Anyone who saw him in daylight would move away from him. He was out of place in the room, which was the picture of dusty upper-crust elegance. Marble floors, useless furniture, fancy paintings, the works. He was far too bestial to fit in, with his dark features and great big eyes and limbs ropey with muscle under his fancy clothing. Which reminded me: “Where are my clothes?”

Santo scowled as my speaking made him nick my jaw. I found that funny, since I never cared. It healed over in the next second anyway. “I destroyed the ones I found you in. They were filthy. I may get you new ones later, although it would be a shame to cover up such a flawless body.”

It was my turn to scowl. “I don’t want your clothes. I want mine.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” Santo said with extremely irritating serenity. He finished shaving me and let go of my hair. I sat up. Santo took a small towel and started to wipe off the excess shaving cream, but I grabbed it from him. “I can do it.”

He smiled patronizingly and walked to an elegant table at the side of the room where poured himself a glass of wine from. The wine smelled good. I wasn’t all that thirsty, but my stomach clenched painfully at the smell of something edible.

“So who are you?” I asked as I wiped myself off, ignoring the hunger pangs. It felt odd conducting a conversation like this while I was naked, but I suppose I’ve been in more awkward situations.

“God, as far as you’re concerned,” said Santo, and his tone made me pause.

“Ah, well, hate to break it to you, but I’m an atheist.” I finished taking off the excess shaving cream, and considered what to do with the towel. It was too small to prove anything more than measly coverage, and had shaving cream on it besides. I put it on the table and got up. The marble floor was cold beneath my bare feet. There were three doors in the room, and I headed for the closest one. I didn’t like turning my back on Santo; I could feel his eyes boring into my spine.

“Where are you trying to go?” he asked, and a peripheral glance told me he was lounging in an overstuffed armchair, drinking wine and generally looking like a reclusive wealthy lunatic. This whole thing was too surreal.

“I thought that would be obvious,” I snapped as I tried the door and found it locked. It was solid, made of heavy wood, and I knew kicking it down would be difficult, if possible at all. I moved on to the second door, on the opposite side of the room. The third was the one nearest Santo, and I didn’t want to get anywhere near that creep without a weapon and some clothes. Life saver or no, he was another goddamn problem for me to deal with, and I didn’t want to. I had enough monsters and mysteries in my life as it was. I didn’t need this shit. I tried the second door.

“Oh, then please continue. I do so enjoy the view.” I heard the smirk in his voice, and punched the door hard. It made pain shoot up through my hand, but I didn’t care. I turned for the third door, doing one last scan of the room for weapons. Nothing except the wine bottle on the side table, and I was wary of handling glass at the moment. I straightened and made for the door, trying to ignore Santo while still keeping him in sight.

He sipped his wine. “Saving the best for last?”

I wouldn’t let him bait me, at least not until I was armed. The door was unlocked. I opened it cautiously and found a darkened hallway, as ritzy as the room had been. I was halfway in shadow before Santo grabbed my arm, pulling me off balance. I moved with it, almost relieved to have a reason to attack. I socked him right under the chin, and his head snapped back as he staggered back a few steps. I nearly launched myself at him, but I was in no shape for a fight. I was no longer barely conscious and covered in wounds, but I was still naked, unarmed, and starving. I bolted for the hallway.

Being a vamp killer means sometimes you often got yourself into situations that were awkward, uncomfortable, strange, unsanitary, or just plain fucked up. Pelting naked in the mansion of an oversized monster was a new one, but I could handle it. I just needed to keep my wits about me. I couldn’t hear Santo behind me, but that didn’t mean he was still in the room I’d left. I just needed to avoid him and find somewhere to reconnoiter.

The hallway was like the yawning mouth of a beast, dark and intimidating. The top of the towering hall was dark enough that I expected bats to come screeching down at me any moment. There were lamps along the walls, but they only lit up as I walked by, and the darkness beyond refused to be scrutinized. Creepy portraits of stuffy old people stared down at me as I walked by. I tried not to look at them, but my peripheral vision kept giving me visions of a hawk-nosed dame in a red dress. Why the hell would anyone want to paint so many damn pictures of her?

Another portrait of the lady. And another, and another.

No, wait.

I stopped, checking that no one was following me, or waiting to attack me, and gave the portrait a good look. No. That was impossible. I walked a bit further, and stared at the next portrait. Same damn lady. Same goddamn fucking portrait.

I walked back in the other direction. It was towards Santo, as far as I knew, but I didn’t give a fuck anymore. If Santo didn’t want to play ball then I would make him. I didn’t care anymore that I was naked and starved. I needed to know what the fuck was going on.

Another portrait. Same damn portrait. I wanted to tear the canvas to shreds. This was insane. I was insane. I needed to get out of here.

There was a door in the shadows near the portrait. I approached it cautiously. It didn’t look like the same door I had left, but I couldn’t be sure. Fuck it. It had to be better than patrolling the same ten feet of an empty hallway over and over. I opened the door.

It wasn’t the room I had been in before. I did a quick sweep before I stepped in. The only light came from a small lamp by the bed, but it was enough for me. Santo wasn’t here, nor anyone else, as far as I could tell. I took stock of the room. It was a bedroom. The giant bed took up about a quarter of a room.

I really hoped this wasn’t Santo’s room.

There was a big armoire near the bed. I opened one of the drawers near the bottom, hoping for something relatively near my size and maybe a clue as to whose room this was.

Inside the drawer were several pairs of jeans, neatly folded. This house hadn’t struck me as a jeans sort of place. Santo had worn snazzy button downs and dress pants both times I saw him. I put the jeans on. They fit perfectly, and that was even weirder than finding them in the first place. Whatever. I was too grateful to be covered to care. I opened another drawer, and found a neat pile of shirts. I took the one on top, a black one, and slipped it on. It fit better than most of my clothes back home.

Having clothes again took away a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying. I was still alone and unarmed in the house of a freak, abandoned by everybody I thought I could trust, but at least I wasn’t at the mercy of the slightest breeze. I took a deep breath and considered what to do.

Huge, heavy curtains covered the wall opposite the door. I walked over and shoved one to the side. The glass panes of the window were thick but clear, and beyond them I could see only night. I pushed the other curtain over and looked for a latch. Nothing. Maybe there was something in the room I could break the glass with. I would be happy with anything that wasn’t my elbow.

I turned around, and jumped when I saw Santo standing by the door. How the hell had he entered the room without me noticing? No matter how silently he moved, I should have heard the door opening, at least. Had he been in the room the whole time? “How did you do that?” I blurted out. “And what the hell is wrong with your house?”

“A pity you had to cover up all that perfect skin,” said Santo, his yellow eyes practically glowing in the dim light of the room. “But there’s something to be said for anticipation, too.”

“Look, you fucking – just – just tell me what’s going on,” I said, not knowing if I wanted to hear the answer. “What is this place? Why am I here? What the fucking fuck *are* you?”

Santo stalked closer, his dark features heavy with shadow. I didn’t even realize I was backing away until my back hit the glass. He stopped right in front of me. His breath was hot on my face but I felt frozen, my every muscle tensed, waiting. But he did nothing, and said nothing, and I punched him again, right in the face. It felt fantastic. I launched myself at him, not caring that I had only my fists and anger against him, pushing him down onto the bed and laying into him. I was practically blind with the need to hurt him.

It was a mean fight, but a quick one. He was bigger and heavier and faster than me, and there was still the fact that I was unarmed and getting fainter with hunger by the minute. All too soon I was bent over the bed, my arm hiked up my back high enough to make me wince and pause a bit. Broken limbs were the pits.

“That’s enough,” Santo said low, pulling my arm a bit for emphasis. I nodded quickly. “Okay. Just let me go.”

He released my arm, but then he said, “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

I sat up and rubbed at my wrist where he had gripped me. “Who said you had a choice?”

He smiled, although in the darkness it just looked like he was baring his teeth. “None of us have choices, Bello.” He stood, looming over me as I sat on the bed. I didn’t look at him, even though I could feel his eyes on me. I was trapped.

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a moment, in a tone so kind I almost punched him again. “I’m between meals at the moment but I’m sure the kitchen could fix you something.”

“Like hell I’m going to—” I paused. I really was hungry, and if there were servants in the kitchen maybe one of them would explain what was going on.

“I’d be happy to answer a few of your questions,” said Santo, as though reading my mind.

I narrowed my eyes at him, searching his face. It was obvious he wasn’t trustworthy, and even if he was I wasn’t going to trust him anyway, because Louis and Collins had taught me very well about that, thank you very fucking much. But he did seem genuine at the moment, and a moment was all I would need. And he still hadn’t hurt me. “Okay.”

He smiled. “Right this way.”

He led me out into the hallway again, and I followed with trepidation, but there was nothing freaky about it this time. Now it was only dark and creepy, the shadows eating at Santo’s limbs as though trying to pull him into the darkness. There was no sound but the click of his boots on the marble and the softer sounds of my bare feet.

“Why is this place so dark?” I asked, wanting to break the silence.

Santo looked back at me and frowned, as though noticing for the first time how far back I was hanging. “Does it not suit you?”

I shrugged. “You seem pretty well off. Can’t you afford lights?”

He gave a breath of laughter, and in the next moment was walking beside me. I jumped, and then kicked myself for acting like a damn girl. “How do you do that?”

“What, walk? Years of practice.”

“No, how do you move so quickly? Even the vamps can’t go that fast.”

“Ah, well, I think you’ll find I can do a lot of things your undead friends cannot.”

I opened my mouth to say a bunch of things, like that I was *not* friends with the vamps, or that he was doing a bang up job of answering my questions, but thought better of it. Instead I said, “Like what?”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “You’ll see.”

I stopped. “You said you’d answer my questions.”

“I said I’d be happy to answer a few of them. You musn’t stop now, however, as we are right next to the dining room.” He opened a door on the right and held it for me, and I entered reluctantly, unhappy to have him at my back.

The room was dominated by a long, elegant dining table. Shining chandeliers lit up its length, highlighting its every panel and giving a soft glow to the rest of the room. The darkness that had been in the hall and the bedroom was here too, but in lesser measures. It stayed in the corners, lurking.

“Do you get company a lot?” I asked, eyeing the extravagant table.

“No. I have dined alone for quite some time.” I followed Santo to the far corner. He took the head of the table, and I settled for the right side. I thought about taking the other end, just to spite him, but he had promised me answers, and a momentary jab at him wasn’t worth losing them.

“There aren’t other… people like you?” I tried to think of a way to get information out of this creature that didn’t involve torture. I was used to conducting interrogations when I wanted answers. Santo seemed to require finesse.

I hated finesse.

“There are, but not in the sense you’re thinking of,” Santo replied, which was still vague as answers went, but I seemed to be getting somewhere. I was considering what to ask next, and when a servant would show up about dinner, when I heard the tinny sound of wheels rolling. I turned my head, and saw a covered tray on a stand roll out of the darkness. I wondered at first if someone standing in the impenetrable dark had simply pushed it towards us, but then it turned to correct its path towards us, and turned again when it reached us, as though presenting itself with a flourish.

“Remote control?” I asked, eyeing the tray for wire or some sort of contraption.

Santo smiled. “A good guess, but no.” I was about to question him further, but then he removed the cover from the tray, and steam wafted up from two huge bowls of pasta. I had no idea what sort of sauce or ingredients were in it, but it smelled better than anything. I practically drooled. Santo handed me my plate and I barely waited for him to take his own before I dug in.

“Shrimp scampi,” Santo said as he took two glasses of water from the tray and set them down. The tray wandered back into the darkness on its creaky wheels. “Very simple fare, but I wasn’t sure how your stomach would be after your ordeal.”

“It’s very good,” I said. I was reluctant to give compliments, but the food was fantastic. Santo called it simple, but it was better than anything I’d had in a long, long time.

“Yes, I can see that your appetite is quite healthy,” said Santo, and he actually sounded genuinely pleased. He didn’t touch his own food, I noticed, and I paused in my frantic food-shoveling, even though it took effort to do so. “Not to your taste?” I asked warily.

“On the contrary. It used to be one of my favorite dishes, but my eating habits have changed over time. I do not eat in front of others. I assure you the dish is not poisoned, however.”

Like that was reassuring at all. But poison had never been a big concern of mine, and if Santo had wanted to poison me, he had had plenty of other opportunities to do so. I continued eating, and Santo continued watching me, his eyes flicking back from the bowl to my face.

“So are you friends with the vamps?” I asked eventually, after the pasta was mostly finished.

“Not quite. We have little in common, but the older ones prove useful from time to time, and at any rate difficult to ignore. I remain on friendly terms with a few.”

“Does that include Benedict?”

“Ah, I wondered how much of that you heard. Benedict is not one whom I would call a friend, but he’s certainly one of the oldest. You did poorly to cross him, I might add. He was quite fond of Hans.”

I shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“I beg to differ. That’s the reason you’re in this mess.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Before you killed Hans you were just another irritating human. The older set has never cared for the young ones, and wouldn’t have bothered you. Hans was young, but he was Benedict’s favorite, and now Benedict considers it an insult that you’re still alive.”

“But you beg to differ?” I was dying to ask about the “older set” Santo had mentioned, but there was an opportunity here I couldn’t afford to waste.

“I think it would be a terrible shame to kill you.”

“Then we agree,” I said. “Clearly we have a lot in common.” Santo had already saved my life, and had defended me against Benedict, even though Benedict clearly wanted me dead. If I played my cards right, Santo could be an incredible ally, even if I hated his house and his eyes and his irritating tendency to speak around a question. I didn’t like Santo, but desperate times and all that crap.

“Not as much as we will soon, I think,” said Santo, his eyes fixed somewhere around my mouth.

“How do you figure that?” I asked, trying to get eye contact with him again.

He looked at me and his eyes were half-lidded. “You are so beautiful, to have such marvelous gifts.”

I floundered to think of something flippant to say to that, but nothing came. I arched an eyebrow instead.

“Do people realize that you heal as you do?”

“People see what they want to see,” I said as coolly as I could manage. I had never tried hard to hide that particular trick of mine, and Santo had seen too much for me to bother trying. I was half ghost to most of my contacts anyway, and my reputation included enough exaggerations that I knew anyone who tried to talk about my healing abilities would be dismissed. The only ones who had really noticed had been Collins, who had been too devoted to neutrality to say anything, and Louis, who had too many secrets of his own to go prying into mine. I had never talked about it with anyone, and no one had ever asked. “Do people notice that you’re not human?”

“Oh, yes. You see, I have a few talents of my own, but I have paid heavily for them. As have Benedict and his kind. There are prices that must be paid for power.”

“And what price is that?” I asked, sensing that Santo, for all he liked to speak in riddles, was working up to a point.

“Suffering,” Santo said flatly.

I blinked. “Benedict made you suffer?” Maybe this conversation was going back to where I wanted.

Santo snorted. “Benedict? Benedict is only an irritation, and at the moment has done more to help me than he realizes.”

“I don’t follow you.” But I was remembering the conversation I had heard earlier, and I was starting to get the picture. I gripped my fork, the only pathetic weapon I had at my disposal, tightly.

Santo saw my white knuckled grip on the utensil. “I think you do. But let me clarify. You have marvelous power. More, I’d wager, than I’ve discovered so far, and far more than any of your acquaintances ever guessed. But you’ve never suffered because of it.”

Anger made my face flush hot and my jaw clench. “That’s a matter of opinion, asshole,” I said tightly.

Santo smiled gently. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve had your scuffles here and there. You hunter types do like to have your tales of woe. But I promise you this, Bello: what pain you’ve known in the past will be nothing compared to the kind you will know here.”

I flung the fork, still covered in bits of pasta sauce, directly into Santo’s right eye, and took off running.