In the Dark

by Melody Taylor

  A tear slid to the end of my nose in a second, and I let the lid of the box close. If Sebastian found blood on his floor he’d know I’d barged in. I didn’t think he’d appreciate the intrusion, as much as I had wanted to intrude.

  After closing the box and pushing his shirts back into order, I shut the closet door and I let myself out. Rather than answers, I’d found more puzzles. I went back out into the living room, wondering when he’d be home.

  HOUSE

  Sebastian found the Resnan home easily. He arrived to find the house lit, a single car parked in the drive. He pulled the Vector to the curb and parked, glanced at the clock on the dashboard, and got out. It was early. He would have enough time to question Mr. Resnan and get back to the penthouse before Josephine arrived.

  He looked the house over as he approached the front door. Nothing unusual; two story, small yard. Overly tidy, as though the family wanted to convince the world that no one had ever lived there, but the entire neighborhood seemed concerned with the same falsehood. At the front door Sebastian knocked politely. If no one answered, he would kick it in. He waited, listening for sounds from inside. Heavy, long footsteps crossed a carpeted room. Tall. Most likely male. Probably Mr. Resnan, though Sebastian remained ready to encounter anyone, hostile or harmless.

  A man taller than Sebastian answered the door, opening it just enough to see outside. Suspicious. The man had dark hair, dressed half-in and half-out of a suit. Dark purple-blue smudges marked his lower lids, as if he had slept poorly recently. The corners of his mouth turned down as he looked Sebastian over.

  “Yes?”

  “Good evening.” Sebastian painted a polite smile on his face. “Mr. Resnan?”

  The man took in the smile and hardened a little, but he nodded in acknowledgment.

  “I wonder if I might speak with you about your wife?” Sebastian framed it as a question, underlining the request with the force of a command.

  The man’s will bent far more easily than the woman at the police precinct. He nodded wearily and stood aside to let Sebastian in, following the rules of cordiality without being asked. He would answer anything Sebastian put to him – in detail.

  The door entered into a living room. It had the look of a place under new and strange occupancy – as when the pack had taken a new home for themselves and evicted the previous owners. Sebastian did not believe that this man had never lived here before, only that until now he had not had the sole responsibility of the place.

  Family portraits hung on the wall. Sebastian lingered on them before letting his eyes wander the rest of the house. There was a shot of the children, a boy and a girl. A shot of the husband and wife in wedding outfits. One of the entire family. The woman in the pictures had dark hair. Something tickled the back of Sebastian’s mind. He looked closer at the photographs. The woman in the bridal gown bore a striking resemblance to the woman he’d seen at Ian’s home.

  Two sets of matching women?

  He accepted the possibility that Mrs. Resnan had been turned into a vampire the night she’d been taken, and that he may have seen her outside Ian’s home. However, Sally Resnan would not have walked backward into her steps. It would not occur to a city-dweller to do so. And as such a young vampire, why would she want to break into Ian’s home?

  Still, unless he was mistaken, two sets of matching women seemed too odd for coincidence. Something was afoot here, whether the two women had been under orders or the vampires had disguised themselves to look like people they had seen to throw off pursuit. Sebastian tucked away the information that Sally Resnan looked like the woman at Ian’s house and went on with his examination.

  Beyond the living room he saw a dining room where two children, a boy and a girl, watched him with wide eyes. The children in the pictures.

  “You kids go on upstairs,” Mr. Resnan told them, a bit sharply. Sebastian guessed he had not been their main caretaker until now. The children left the table in silence. Mr. Resnan turned back to Sebastian, meeting his eyes with the stare of an unhappy man. “What can I tell you?”

  “I need to know about your wife’s personal life,” Sebastian said at once, keeping up a pretense of politeness. He might once have simply broken into this house and interrogated the man – once. As with the policewoman, it was safer now to ask gently and leave them alive. And perhaps . . . perhaps such drama and violence were unnecessary.

  The man spread his hands. “Like what?”

  “Was she involved in any cults or strange organizations? Perhaps even something which sounded normal to you, but which she wouldn’t discuss at great length?” That was typical behavior for vampire hunters who tried to lead normal lives as well. Unlikely though it seemed, Sebastian could not discount the possibility that Sally Resnan was one of the women he sought.

  But her husband shook his head. “No, nothing really. She came home after work, and we went out with the whole family on weekends. Sometimes she visited her parents or went out with friends. No clubs or anything strange. She didn’t act like what they tell you to watch out for.”

  Sebastian nodded and went on with the questions. Had she ever indicated a belief in the supernatural? Had she ever mentioned anyone by the name of either Kent or Ian? Was she interested in mythological creatures, such as werewolves or vampires? Had she ever been out later than expected or left the house under sudden or unusual circumstances? Had Mr. Resnan actually ever seen her during the day? Did she have any strange friends?

  He ran the gamut of everything he could think of that might indicate Mrs. Resnan had known a vampire, been one herself, been part of a vampire hunting group, been a loner herself, or been attacked by a vampire at any time prior to her car being stolen. His questions led nowhere, confirming that she had merely been the victim of a random attack. Frustrated, grasping at straws, Sebastian found himself drawn to the family photos once more and narrowed his eyes.

  “Did Mrs. Resnan have a sister?”

  “Sal was an only child,” Mr. Resnan replied.

  Sebastian swore. His one lead had taken him here, where he’d found a dead end. Or perhaps a clue that he did not understand.

  He persisted in the questioning until he was certain, certain in the extreme, that neither Mrs. Resnan nor her husband had known anything about the fate that awaited her.

  Sebastian thanked him for his time, told him to forget their conversation, and left the Resnan home. He had done everything he could for the time being. A bait and ambush seemed the best approach from here. Ian would not be happy.

  He did not like the idea of telling her this. A strange sensation. He could not recall the last time he had felt anything quite like it.

  He got into the Vector, started it, and pulled away.

  IAN

  Prying hadn’t done me a damn bit of good. Not only did I feel like a dirty sneak, I had more questions now than before.

  That scrap of fabric meant something, I was positive, like it had a sign posted on it: “THIS IS SIGNIFICANT.” But I didn’t know anything else about it.

  And it’s sad.

  I snorted at myself. That was stupid. Fabric couldn’t feel sad. And why would an old scrap make me feel sad?

  It’s sad.

  All right, I agreed with my gut feeling. Whether or not it made sense, the scrap was sad.

  Like Sebastian.

  Maybe the fabric was tied to him being sad. Could the scrap have belonged to someone who’d died? That made sense. Kent had warned me that my parents would die eventually, and I would still be twenty. Had that scrap belonged to him? Or maybe a family member or a friend?

  Or a lover. I tried to picture Sebastian in that kind of relationship with someone.

  Sebastian in love. Yeah. And maybe I’ll stop biting people on the neck.

  Sebastian would have to have been a very different person. And if he’d really been in love, why hadn’t he changed his lover?

  What if he hadn’t had any choice? She – or he – might have died before he could, or run away fro
m him. Unrequited love! How tragic!

  I painted the scene in my mind: Sebastian as a young vampire, watching, waiting to catch a glimpse of a beautiful young mortal woman, an amazing creature. Did he love her for her charm? Her intelligence? Her spitfire personality? Whatever it was, he wanted to be near her, but he only inspired fear in her, a terrible dread that he could not overcome. Eventually, heart-broken, Sebastian left her to her mortal fate, taking with him as a token of her memory the scrap of fabric that was part of her . . . dress? Hm.

  Old, plaid, wool. It had to be authentic Scot. Hand woven, better than any of my attempts at weaving in fibers class. Unmarried Scottish women didn’t wear plaid, did they? I might have been wrong, but I seemed to recall something like that. And only men wore kilts. So had it been Sebastian’s a long time ago? Or maybe his fantasy woman had a husband that kept them apart.

  Despite wanting to keep up the story, my heart-clenching fantasy broke to bits. Sebastian had a practicality about him that went to his bones. He wouldn’t spend time mooning over someone who didn’t want him around. Not now, and probably not years ago.

  I wanted the story behind that scrap. I couldn’t exactly ask. Keeping my ears open was the best I could do.

  With a frustrated sigh, I got off the couch and went to my room to get my drawing pad. In my room I dropped on my bed, popped my eraser into my mouth, and studied the work I’d done the night before.

  A long time later I heard the hum of the elevator gliding up the shaft inside the building. When I heard Sebastian call my name, I set my drawing things down.

  “Here,” I called.

  Sebastian didn’t answer. I rolled off the bed and left the room. I found him in a chair in the living room, gazing at a wall. His eyes flicked in my direction when I came in. He didn’t say anything.

  He turned back to the wall as I took a chair. His eyes seemed stormy. I leaned my face on my hand and wondered what was bothering him. Something he’d found out tonight? Me? Josephine? Something older? Maybe a lot older?

  “Sebastian, how old are you?” I asked. He hadn’t answered before.

  “Just under five hundred.” He said it as if he’d said “Twenty-five.”

  “Holy shit,” I said, and then heard how rude I sounded.

  Sebastian didn’t react. When he didn’t say anything for a minute, I figured I probably hadn’t offended him. Another question shouldn’t hurt.

  “Does that ever bother you?”

  “Why does it concern you?” he asked. His eyes darkened.

  I pulled in a bit. “Just trying to talk. Make conversation.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s what people do.” Genius-quality response.

  “Why?” he insisted. I wondered if he was messing with me or if he really didn’t know.

  “To get to know each other?” I said.

  That startled a laugh out of him. Just one, abbreviated “ha!” but still, a laugh. I hadn’t expected that.

  “I am a killer, Ian,” he said. “Not very different from the ones we follow now.”

  “I don’t think that. I really don’t.”

  “It is not a question of what anyone thinks. It is.”

  I shook my head. “No one is just one thing. Even . . . even killers. Everyone has a past, everyone feels things, even if they want to pretend they don’t.” I hesitated, then decided to dive in. I looked him square in the eye. “Who are you really, Sebastian?”

  His eyes flashed. I could have sworn he almost jumped, like I’d goosed him.

  He stared at me and didn’t answer. Just looked at me in shock – or what passed for shock on that immobile face. He stared at me, then finally looked down. Like he couldn’t stand to see me anymore. Or like he thought I might read something in his face.

  “Something’s really hurting you, isn’t it?” I asked very quietly, almost afraid to ask, too curious to keep my mouth shut.

  He kept his face down. I ducked my head to glance at his eyes. Empty. Not angry or unhappy, just empty. My chest tightened at that lack of expression. He leaned forward on his knees, watching his own hands. “Ian,” he began in a thick voice, then stopped.

  I held joint-creakingly still. That sounded like the start to a huge admission. There had to be more attached to it. But he just stayed still and silent. I did the same, waiting.

  Silence.

  He looked up, slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he should. His eyes had turned bright, vivid sky-blue. I hadn’t seen them turn this color yet.

  The intensity of that gaze brought misty red to my eyes. We stared at each other, not speaking, just . . . seeing one another.

  The phone rang. His face froze, then darkened and closed up again. He turned away from me as the tension between us evaporated.

  Dammit.

  Without a word, he got up and answered the phone.

  “Yes? Of course. I’ll be right down.” He hung up. “Josephine and Emily are here,” he said to me. “I will go meet them. Wait here.”

  I nodded and stayed put. Not much else I could do.

  DOWN

  The elevator felt crowded. Since he alone occupied it, he could not have said why.

  He had returned to find Ian in a somber mood. Curious. Too curious. He had left his own room unlocked when he had left – clearly she had taken advantage of that lapse. He had not expected her to make so bold as to enter his private room.

  No. That was untrue. He had wondered how she might react if he left the room unlocked, then did so and thought of it no further. This entire incident was his own fault.

  She said she wanted to know him. He did not understand what that meant.

  She wants more than the surface answer.

  And would she still want the truth once he had told her? He thought . . . he thought maybe she would. That gave him an unusual feeling, one he couldn’t quite identify. Feelings of caution and fear he understood perfectly. He had pushed the others too far back for too long, learned far too well how to pay them no mind. Now, when he wanted to know their meaning, he had to probe at them and stretch them out to examine them.

  He had almost answered her. It had rested on the tip of his tongue, waiting – yearning – to be spoken aloud. That he had almost given in unsettled him. That he wanted to speak of it so much unsettled him more.

  If he wished to say it out loud, why to Ian? Why not Josephine, or Kent, or Specter, or any of the members of the pack?

  He felt his lips twist at that. Josephine feared him; she would think him monstrous had he told her. He did not know how Kent felt toward him; their one meeting prior to Kent’s death had been brief and formal. Specter and the members of his pack would have laughed at him, then shredded him for his weakness.

  The elevator opened on the main floor, interrupting his thoughts. Josephine and Emily stood waiting, their postures nervous. He took them in quickly, searching for weapons, for signs in their stances that something might be amiss. Nothing. He waved them on and took them back up to the penthouse. Now he would have to tell Ian – and Josephine, as well – that the tracks had vanished at a wall. Their only option now was to set a trap, preferably a baited trap.

  A feeling he knew came back. Reluctance.

  He throttled it down. He had accepted this responsibility. He would see it through.

  “How are you?” Josephine asked quietly. “You seem tense.”

  The question surprised him. He could not recall the last time anyone had asked after his state of being. He seemed to recall that humans asked one another frequently . . . had it been that long ago?

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “Bad news?” she asked.

  Sebastian folded his arms. “I would prefer to tell you and Ian together.”

  Her face fell. “It is bad news. Damn.”

  She didn’t ask him to speak, however, and he stayed quiet until they reached the penthouse.

  IAN

  I watched Sebastian go, wondering what in the world could hurt him this much. Or who. There was som
e sort of trauma there, something he wanted to talk about but couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. Hm.

  The elevator stopped humming as it reached the first floor. I straightened my mid-riff sweater, making sure to show off my belly-button ring. I didn’t know if Emily would notice, but I felt more attractive with my piercings showing. Attractive and a little guilty, jumping to straighten my shirt for a cute girl when so much else was going on.

  The elevator motor started up again. I got up and went to the doors to meet it – to meet her. I felt a dopey smile spreading over my face and did my best to tone it down so that I just looked polite or happy instead of dumb. The elevator hummed quietly for a minute, then the doors opened and there they stood.

  Josephine wore all black tonight. The color set off her gold-green eyes. Her face was downcast when the doors opened, but she smiled at me. Beside her, Emily beamed at me, dressed in a tight, low-cut blue shirt with dark, form-fitting slacks. Dressy and eye-catching, but not so dressy and eye-catching that I’d think she was trying. Like my own outfit. I could tell her hair and been fussed with. Every blond curl fell exactly right, framing her face with a halo of them. The other two got off and walked past me while I stared, Josephine with a soft “hello” that I thought I answered. Emily stepped off, coming towards me with that radiant smile.

  “Hi,” she breathed, and took one of my hands in hers. The human warmth of it made me tingle.

  “Hi.”

  “If we may?” Sebastian interrupted, his voice like a brick to the head. I gave him a quick apologetic look.

  Emily let go of my hand with a guilty start. She looked over her shoulder at me as we parted, so I followed and sat down beside her. She let her leg touch mine, just there.

  I was hungry again, I realized suddenly, and my mouth started watering. More than usual with Emily sitting right there. I swallowed and riveted my eyes on Sebastian.

  “I have bad news,” Sebastian began.

  “I knew it,” Josephine murmured.