She had always been solid and still. Calm and stoic. Unbreakable. Untouchable. So when her finger swiped underneath her eye and came back glistening with moisture, Dante was shocked. Truly and honestly at a loss for words.

Vanellope was an oddity – she was relatively short, standing at 5’4”, but was slim and lean, with a narrow face accentuated with delicate lips, a button nose and large, round green eyes. Her hair was long, naturally raven-black and somewhat wavy, falling to her lower back. She never spoke much, preferring to stay on the sidelines and merely observe. She was also ‘the new kid’.

She came from Liverpool, but that much was already made obvious by her thick accent. Whenever she spoke of her home, whether because of class engagement or conversations with the select few she would talk to, her jade eyes grew misty, and her entire demeanor was very faraway.

It was during that first, hectic week of school that the rumors started circling about her. The most popular one was that she was a Vampire. Everyone had seen the sharp canines she sported, and a few people had gotten a glance at the necklace she was always wearing – a small, clear vial held to a chain by means of a silver spiral of metal. They claimed it contained some sort of thick, red liquid.

Other rumors were that she was someone’s Guardian Angel, here to protect them, or that she was a Fallen Angel or a Nephil, outcast from her society.

And, surely, she must have heard these rumors. The students at Salem High School weren’t all that great at keeping secrets. But, if Vanellope has caught wind of this gossip, she gave absolutely no sign of it. She remained forever unruffled.

Really, Vanellope never even seemed to notice the way people looked at her. This was divided into two groups – the boys and the girls. The girls looked at her with this odd mix of jealousy, contempt and confusion. And all of these emotions were directly derivative of how the boys of Salem High looked at her; in blatant admiration and awe.

And Dante was definitely one of those boys.

The moment he had laid eyes on Vanellope, he had been captivated. By what? Well, honestly, everything about her. From her stunning looks right down to her detached and cold personality. As odd as that may sound, it was simply because Dante found himself intrigued by the air of mystery that surrounded her. Even just in the way she carried herself…everyone else paled in comparison to her commending presence.

The only problem was; he wasn’t alone in thinking that. There was another boy, one who Dante had frankly considered a flat-out nuisance. Cameron Kyle. The black-haired boy had made his attraction to Vanellope very obvious, though as always she firmly ignored anything anyone said or did.

But that’s enough about that, let’s get back to the present.

They were sitting in IB Math, a course offered only to those who maintained an 85% average or higher for three years of Math courses, whether at Salem High or a different school. It was blatantly, glaringly obvious why Vanellope was there – she almost seemed to have an eidetic memory – but as for Dante…well, he may not look it, but he could ace pretty much anything if he really applied himself.

But, at the same time, that was the problem. Dante was a big fan of procrastination, and he rarely seriously applied himself for longer than a few minutes.

How he had gotten into the class in the first place was still a mystery.

Dante had been watching Vanellope from his peripheral vision for a while now, wondering why she had suddenly gone so…still. Vanellope was always moving – tapping the heel of her foot on the ground, spinning her pencil on her fingers…she was always moving without even being aware of it.

But now she wasn’t. She was completely still.

And that’s when Dante saw the tear.

She had caught it on her index finger before it could fall properly, but she was unable to stop the crystalline drop that slipped from her other eye. Nor did she acknowledge it in any way. It caught on the corner of her lips – which were turned down slightly – and glistened there, without her heading.

“Dante,” a voice hissed from behind him. A voice he recognized all too well.

Instead of turning to look at her, Dante simply let his head fall back, now presented with an upside-down image of the girl who had said his name. Cain.

“Yeah?” Cain was a pretty girl, with stark white hair accentuated with a raven-black streak. Her bangs covered one of her eyes at all times, though the other one – of a bright red – showed clearly.

“Why are you watching her?” There was an undertone of something in Cain’s voice that almost seemed…accusatory?

No, more importantly, how had she known that he had been looking at Vanellope? He was almost certain that he had been careful about keeping his head facing forward…

Then again, Cain was a very smart girl.

“I wasn’t,” he said simply, his voice a little gruff. He lifted his head, but kept it turned slightly so Cain could hear him. “And why would you care anyways?” This last comment came out sharper then he had intended, but he couldn’t take it back once it was out.

Cain didn’t reply, but Dante could feel the waves of anger coming off of her.

Cain was extremely popular at Salem High, and it was understandable why. She was smart, pretty, funny and outgoing. And she liked Dante – that was no mystery.

But she wasn’t really Dante’s type.

Vanellope, on the other hand…

His thoughts were interrupted and scattered wildly by the jarring noise of the bell. At first, he felt strongly disappointed that he would be unable to continue to watch Vanellope(as creepy as that sounded, she was very interesting), but that was quickly chased away when he remembered…his next period was a spare.

And so was Vanellope’s.

Now, before that’s taken in a weird way, the only reason he knew this was because he had seen her in the library at that same period for all of the previous week. She had been curled up on the large, plush red chair that was tucked away into a quiet corner, reading a purely black book; no label on it whatsoever.

When Dante walked out of the classroom, there was a smile on his face.

~~

“Hey…?” The instant Vanellope’s eyes turned on him, Dante’s confidence evaporated – sucked away by those cold jade depths. “Um…”

“Yes?” Her accented voice did nothing but shake him up even more. When he didn’t answer, she lifted one eyebrow and swiveled, taking a step away from him.

“Wait!” He grabbed her bare elbow – she was clad in a short, sleeveless and open-backed leather dress, her feet adorned with black velvet boots. Around her neck hung her usual pendant, and she had a black cross ring on one index finger, and a diamond-studded, leaf-themed one on the other. “Vanellope, right?” The second it was out, he winced. It had simply been something to fill the blank his mind was drawing. Vanellope stared at him.

Dante couldn’t help but sigh and look away. When he did, he caught a glance of his own face in the eyelevel mirror that was tucked between two bookshelves.

Dante had always stood out from everyone around him. He had tanned skin and pitch-black hair that he always wore spiked-up and almond-shaped brown eyes. He had piercings littering his face – on his eyebrows, his nose, his lips…he didn’t know why, he just liked how it looked. Leather was his signature.

All in all, he wasn’t the average highschooler.

“Yes.” Vanellope’s arm slid from his grasp and she distanced herself with the subtlest of steps back. “And you are Dante Johnson.” It shouldn’t have surprised him that Vanellope – who seemed to know everyone – could say his name so easily, but for some reason it did. “Now, can I help you with something?”

“I…just wanted to come talk to you.” To Dante, it was a miracle he had managed to regain his composure and string together coherent words. If someone were to ask him how had done it, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

“I see.” Vanellope’s eyes darted sideways, toward the empty plush red chair, so quickly Dante found himself wondering if he had imagined it. “What do you wish to talk about?”

Dante blinked. Again, he was drawing a blank.

Finally, after what seemed like years, he managed to stammer out, “Y-your necklace. Where did you get it?” As soon as the last syllable in necklace left his lips, her hand shot up and she curled her fingers around the pendant. For a long while, Vanellope stared so intensely at him that he wondered if she was going to punch him.

Then, for a reason Dante could not even begin to fathom, her hard jade eyes softened considerably, and a slight smile curled up both corners of her lips.

“Let’s just say it was because of someone special,” she murmured, and he was frankly amazed that her voice could be that soft.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked off, toward the quiet corner that she had claimed as her own, nameless book tucked under her arm.

2: Cameron

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

Those words ran circles around Cameron’s brain, taunting him.

“You don’t know what demons I face every time I close my eyes.”

The entire room was warm, and it smelled of sweat and nervousness.

“You don’t know…and, trust me, you never will.”

Behind his eyelids, Cameron saw the flash of her molten jade eyes, and it was that which brought him back to the present; slouched in his chair, his spine pressed uncomfortably against the curved plastic. His now-open eyes roamed over the room – over the bent heads and hunched shoulders of his classmates – mentally scoffing at the other teenagers. Cameron was widely considered a “teacher’s pet”, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Cameron despised teachers. He was simply smart, and good at charming people.

Then, his eyes stopped as they landed on someone. Or, rather, two someones.

Dante Johnson and Vanellope Hansen.

Dante was sitting with his head tipped back slightly – which was only a guise for the fact that his eyes were fixated in a reveling way on Vanellope. The raven-haired girl had her elbows propped up on her desk, and her chin resting on her knuckles. Her eyes were closed.

You don’t know what demons I face every time I close my eyes. Was she facing those demons now? Was she battling inside herself, fighting against the horrors that lurked in her own mind?

Her relaxed posture would say no, but the flinch she so evidently gave said yes. Cameron’s eyebrows drew together over his silver eyes. True, he didn’t know, but he wanted so much to know. He wanted to know what went on inside her head. He wanted to understand who she was, what she was.

Just then, the girl behind Dante – a rather popular girl, by the name of Cain – hissed out his name, and he dropped his head back to stare at her. Cameron’s left eyebrow twitched.

Cameron had always found Dante to be arrogant and aloof; thinking of himself as better than everyone else. He chose to be separate from everyone, but unlike most secluded people his separation seemed to stem from arrogance and a state of mind of being better than his peers. It annoyed the hell out of Cameron.

As always, time seemed to pass much more quickly when Cameron was lost in his thoughts, because a moment later the loud, high-pitched bell rang and brought him back to the present, wincing. Geez. They really need to fix that goddamn bell.

Standing, Cameron gathered up his papers and pencils, carelessly dumping them in his backpack with a sweep of his arm. Looking up, he spotted Dante walking out of the class, smiling, following Vanellope like some lovesick puppy. Disgusting.

Sighing, Cameron hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, and pushed his chair firmly against the desk. He was just setting a foot outside the class when he felt a nail tap him on the shoulder, and sensed someone behind him. He continued walking until he was out of the way of the other students – as much as he hated them, he had to keep up appearances, didn’t he? – and turned on his heel to face Cain. Here we go.

Cameron knew that Cain must’ve been a nice girl for all these people to like her, but it was hard for him to see the good in anyone. It was hard for him to see anything in anyone.

That was one of the peculiar things about Cameron. He was a sociopath. He felt no remorse, no regret, no sadness, and no love. He didn’t care for all these stupid high school student or their petty problems. They were only in his way.

“Yes, Cain?” He kept his voice neutral – having to force a degree of contempt out of his voice. Really, the only girl he would ever care to spend time talking to was Vanellope. And really, he needed to hurry this up. I have to get to class – if I don’t get there on time, what kind of teacher’s pet would I be? His lips quirked up in a smirk at the irony of it all.

Cain’s one red eye glared at him from underneath a sparse curtain of black bangs. She had her hands set firmly on her hips, which were cocked off to one side. For a few moments, all she did was squint at him, and Cameron was quick to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You’ve talked to Vanellope before, right?” Now, this, Cameron thought, was an extremely odd turn of events.

If Cameron’s suspicions were correct(and they normally were) then Cain was the one who had started all of those rumors about Vanellope being some kind of otherworldly being. She seemed to harbor nothing but hatred for the other girl. Cameron could sympathize with that.

“Yes, a couple of times.” Again, Cameron practically fought an internal battle to keep his tone even. “Why does it matter?” Cain scoffed, and tossed some of her long hair over her shoulder. Of course, Cain was also very smart, but her intense feelings sometimes got in the way of that. As was the case of a lot of teenagers now.

“I want to know what’s so damn interesting about her. Why is Dante following her around like that?” Ah. So that was it.

“I wouldn’t know. She’s interesting, but not that interesting.” A lie.

“Huh. Doesn’t seem that way. Everyone’s been staring at her.” Jealousy is an ugly thing.

“Maybe they’re just curious. She is new, after all.” Goddammit, just leave me alone.

Thankfully, this seemed to appease Cain, for her posture relaxed and she leaned back on her heels, crossing her arms, pondering. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” She flashed a dazzling smile. “Thanks, Cameron. You’re a peach.” She ruffled his hair with one lean hand, and Cameron had to force down the overpowering urge to slap her hand and snap at her. Holy shit, go away.

With a curt nod, Cameron turned and hurried down the hall, ignoring the elbows that bumped him and the backpacks that slapped his stomach. He made it to his next class – English Language Arts – just in time with the bell and his teacher, Ms. Pace, nodded approvingly at him.

As he slid into his seat(right at the front, naturally) Cameron was well aware that he would have to speak to Vanellope sometime soon. He had to beat Dante to the punch – or better yet, nip it in the bud and get rid of his obsession with her once and for all. That would definitely put his mind at ease.

~~

“Vanellope.” She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look up. Cameron frowned, and shifted his weight, a little off-put by this. Then, slowly, she raised one pale finger, her eyes never leaving the slightly yellowed pages of her black book. Forcing himself to relax a little, Cameron rocked back on his heels, hands folded behind him.

He had set his bag at his feet, letting it rest against his calf, and he was uncomfortably aware of what was in it – several papers ripped from Dante’s messy binder when the boy hadn’t been looking. Cameron had done this mainly to better familiarize himself with his opponent(as he saw it) but also to see if Dante really was just a lovesick loser and had been scrawling little notes about Vanellope here and there. He hadn’t.

Vanellope looked up, and gently set a black velvet bookmark in the book, covering some of the written words. She was skillfully curled in a way that nothing was showing from underneath the leather dress she wore, and her slim legs were tucked against her chest.

“Yes, Cameron?” she asked, shifting so she was a little more upright, and Cameron couldn’t help but notice that they way she moved was…so graceful. A little mystical, almost. As silly as that sounds.

“I wanted to ask you about…” Cameron trailed off, and for the second time that day his eyebrows knitted together in a deep frown. Vanellope’s eyes were far-off, distant and…dreamy.

Oh, God no.

Cameron spotted Dante across the library, smiling to himself as he slid into one of the computer chairs.

No.

His gaze returned to Vanellope, who hadn’t even noticed his silence; too caught up in her own thoughts.

NO.

“I have to go.” Swiftly scooping up his stuff, Cameron threw his backpack over his shoulder and whirled, accidentally knocking his foot against Vanellope’s leg. She might have said something, but the blood was rushing in Cameron’s ears, and his heart was pounding.

He already got to her.

Dante must have talked to Vanellope, and something…something had changed. In both of them. For one, Dante never smiled.

Damn it.

For two, Vanellope was never far away. She was always alert and active, watching the way others proceeded very carefully.

Damn it!

Cameron was too late.

Well, Dante. I guess this means war. You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve anyone! I will beat you. No matter what. No matter what!

3: Cameron/Dante

When Cameron woke the next morning, he was feeling violent.

It wasn’t often that he got like this – he was normally just so stoic and emotionless – but when he did get these urges, it was hard to control. Those were normally the days he stayed home from school and simply lazed about at home, not letting his mind think about anything except for what was on TV, and what he was going to eat.

But today…today was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about today just seemed off in comparison to all those other days. He was really starting to suspect that Vanellope was having a bigger impact on him than he initially realized.

And, in all honesty, he didn’t like that.

So, when he got to school – dreaded, dreaded high school – he kept his silver eyes on the dusty floor in front of his feet, refusing to look at anyone; fearing that they would be one of the two people he really couldn’t handle right then.

“Cameron!” Make that three people.

Slowly, he swiveled, brushing his black hair out of his eyes, trying not to narrow them to slits.

“Cain,” he muttered coolly. More violent urges welled up in his throat, but he firmly pushed them down. An outburst would do nothing to help this goody-two-shoes image I’ve made.

“You have to come see this!” For once, Cain didn’t seem spiteful. Didn’t seem like she wanted to ruin someone’s life. Huh. Maybe it is worth checking out.

 

~~

 

Cold, hard tile at his fingertips.

Focus.

Muffled voices all around him, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton.

Focus harder!

An ache, a relentless, throbbing ache in his neck, right on the cleft.

Did I get hit?

All of a sudden, a sharp pain. A line of warm wetness, tracing the line of his collarbone beneath his jacket.

Blood?

“Dante!

Vanellope? No, that’s not Vanellope…That’s…who is that?

“Oh my God, what happened?!”

“Someone get the nurse, he’s bleeding!”

Oh, God, my head hurts…

 

~~

 

“You sure do get things done quickly, don’t you?” Voices pierced through the veil of unconsciousness that had so gracefully descended upon Dante, jarring him into wakefulness. Immediately, pain attacked. In his head, a pounding agony right in his temples, and in his neck, a sharp sting accompanied by the sensation of a bruise that’s been pressed on.

“Well, of course!” This was a light scoff, partnered by a swish of hair or clothing. “I did tell you and Emlyn and the others that I would get him, didn’t I?”

Dante struggled to open his eyes, and when he did he was harshly greeted by burning white lights, and the world pitched around him.

“You didn’t exactly do it subtly, though. He won’t be pleased about that.”

“Oh, hush. He can deal with a little bit of drama.” The world steadied enough for Dante to recognize that voice. It was Vanellope. But she sounded…different. Lighter, he thought.

“V-Vanellope…?” He was surprised that he only stuttered a bit, though his voice was scratched and hurt his throat when it came out.

Simultaneous scuffles and small thumps; they jumped.

“He’s awake!” Their voices became hushed, as if he hadn’t been able to hear them before. Dante blinked, and when he opened his eyes again he found two pairs of identical violet orbs staring curiously down at him. With a strangled choking noise of surprise, Dante tried to scramble away, only to be stopped by throbbing pain.

“He’s got a pretty face,” the left eyes mused, and the right reached out and prodded Dante’s snakebites.

“But way too many piercings,” the right eyes added. They blinked simultaneously, and something about the action creeped him out.

“Arondight.” The right eyes looked up. “Laevateinn.” And the left. “Leave him alone.” Finally Dante’s world cleared enough that he could see the figures belonging to the eyes. They were two girls, identical in every way except for their expressions. They had flowing russet brown hair that went down past their waists, and slim faces accentuated with pale, simpering lips and overall slender forms. The one on the right – Arondight – was smiling a little wider than the left – Laevateinn – though their eyes held the same wicked expression of mischievousness.

Dante slowly turned his head to face the person who had spoken – who sounded so much like Vanellope but at the same time so much unlike her.

The person who stared right back at him immediately vexed him.

She was the same height as Vanellope, with the same lean build, but…many things were different. Her raven locks were of the same hue, but they were shorter and curled in close to her chin, a set of layered sidebangs covering the left side of her face. Her eyes glinted at him from the slender set of her face, and they were a soul-piercing red, the kind of red only found in the best-imported wines or the splatter of fresh blood. Her nose was much more slanted, turned up to a point, and she had a slightly more prominent overbite. And touching her bottom lip were…fangs. Full-fledged, pure white canines.

Dante flinched back, away from this Not-Vanellope. Her eyes sparked a little, and the smirk on her curled lips dropped.

“Dante…I can explain. I can explain everything.” Her voice was soft, soothing, as if she were speaking to a wounded animal. His eyes snapped from her to the twins still peering with unfazed curiosity at him and back again. All of a sudden, his neck started hurting again, and he let out a strangled noise of pain, his head falling back against the soft pillow of the school infirmary bed.

“Go on then,” he managed to gasp out, his gaze returning to Not-Vanellope. “Explain.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot – as if suddenly unsure of what she was going to say.

“Well…let’s start with this: do you believe in Vampires?” There was nothing expectant in her tone – nothing that signified that she wanted him to believe in something as far-fetched as Vampires. Without waiting for an answer, she barreled on, “Well, everything you think you know about them is wrong.” Her wine-red eyes turned hard. “Vampires aren’t fucked-up bloodsuckers who wither up and die in the sunlight and can’t set foot on holy ground without burning their foot off. We’re different.”

“We’re!?” It was that word that made Dante sit bolt upright, eyes going wide. “What do you mean we’re?” One of Not-Vanellope’s slim black eyebrows arched.

“Really?” She opened her mouth slightly, baring the glinting white fangs. “You couldn’t tell?” It was almost a scoff.

“Okay, wait…” Dante forced himself into a sitting position, rubbing his head – and the twins scrambled back, still watching him with wide violet eyes. “If you don’t suck blood, then why do you have…?” He couldn’t even bring himself to finish his sentence; his head was hurting so much.

“Well, not all Vampires suck blood. There are four species that are known of.” Her crimson gaze clouded over with worry. “Are you sure you want me to tell you this now? Wouldn’t you rather rest first?” Adamant, Dante shook his head.

“Tell me.”

“Okay…well, the most common are the Empathic Vampires. They feed off of emotions – human or Vampire emotions. Then there’s the Dreamscape Vampires – like these two,” at those words, she gestured to the majestic twins, who smiled and waved simultaneously, “and they feed off of human dreams. You know, like when you wake up and you know you had a dream, but you can’t remember it?” Dante nodded. “That’s when a Dreamscape has taken it.”

Not-Vanellope(or maybe Vanellope) walked over and sat next to him on the narrow cot. “Then there’s the Psi Vampires. Little bitches, they are. They feed off of human energy. I only know one Psi Vampire, and he’s infuriating.” She smirked slightly, most likely at a memory. “And then there’s my species. Sanguine Vampires. We’re the bloodsuckers. But, you see…we’re really rare. Right now, I’m the only one alive.” She stared down at him with eyes that all of a sudden seemed ancient and long-suffering.

Dante simply blinked. He was honestly at a loss for words – for the second time in two days. Then, slowly, he reached up, and touched his neck. Pain flashed through him, the room pitched and the world went white for a moment. He thought he faintly heard Vanellope say his name, voice frantic.

Puncture wounds. Two, smooth, clean puncture wounds marked the hurting area on his neck. Instantly, he knew what had happened – why he was hurting, why he had been bleeding.

Vanellope(or maybe Not-Vanellope) had bitten him.

“You bit me?!” Dante punctuated this by sitting up abruptly, shaking the frail-framed cot roughly. “Why the hell…?!” He was cut off by a frazzled sort of beeping sound, and when he looked up, the russet-haired twins were gone.

“I did it because I was told to.” Vanellope’s firm voice brought Dante’s attention back to her, and found that her eyes were hard. “I had to.”

“But why?!” Dante could tell he most likely sounded desperate, but he had this weird feeling of…falling. Like everything, everyone, that made him normal, that made him human, were slowly slipping away.

“Dante…” She seemed hesitant – unwilling, almost. “What do you know about your father?”

4: Dante

To say the question shocked Dante would be an understatement. It rendered him frozen, speechless, unable to do anything but stare at the crimson-eyed girl next to him. Vanellope stared right back, and to Dante it almost seemed as if her eyes were challenging him.

“M-my father…?” The word was hesitant to leave his lips, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Shyam Johnson, Dante’s elusive father, had been put in jail for murder when Dante had been __ years old. But there had been something unusual about this murder. No one, not even Dante or his mother, had been allowed to see the crime scene – not even pictures of it. And once Shyam Johnson had been locked away in the darkest, most dangerous prison the authorities could find, he was never seen again. No visitors, no phone calls, nothing. He disappeared.

Dante’s mother fell into an odd kind of depression – she would rarely eat, and whenever Dante was in his room or away, she would compulsively clean. To say the least, Dante had learned to hate his mystery man of a father.

“Because everything you know about him is wrong.” Vanellope really seemed to be fond of that phrase, or different variations of it.

“It seems that everything I know about everything is wrong,” Dante muttered, his gaze on the ripped material of his black jeans. He had intended for the statement to go unnoticed by the girl next to him, but he could tell by the way she curled her lips into an amused smile that she had, in fact, heard him.

“Not everything. Just a lot.” Without giving him a chance to speak, she shuffled a little closer to him and ghosted her slender fingers over his arm in an awkwardly comforting way. “But it’ll all make sense soon, I promise.” To Dante, who was currently having his entire world ripped out from under him, there was something hollow about the vow.

“So what really happened? With my father, I mean.” It was a struggle just to keep his voice even. Vanellope clearly picked up on this, and her tone softened – and immediately irked Dante.

“Your father…was a Sanguine like me.” The girl barely got to the end of her sentence before Dante choked out a strangled, nonsensical noise of surprise.

For a brief couple of seconds, time seemed to stop. Dante’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, each breath hurting as it scraped past his throat. His brain scrambled, desperately trying to call up a reasonable excuse – any reasonable excuse – to prove Vanellope wrong.

But his mind came up blank.

“He was the most powerful Sanguine,” mused Vanellope, oblivious to Dante’s distress. “But, then again, there was only a couple. Anyway, everyone feared him. But, you see, those two men he supposedly killed-”

“No!” Finally, Dante’s brain cooperated enough to spit out the first word that surfaced. His head hung low, unable to face the girl’s shocked expression. “No…you’re wrong. My father was a murderer. He killed those men.”

“Dante…” She tried to cut him off.

“No.” His smoldering brown eyes, fiery and adamant, rose. “I don’t want to hear it. My father was a murderer, not some weird-ass Vampire. He killed those two men, and he was locked away for it. Hell, he was probably killed too.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him. Emotions were starting to get the better of him, and he knew he needed to leave before things got out of hand.

Taking a deep breath and grasping onto his last shred of self-control, Dante slid off the rickety cot as gracefully as he could manage. “Whatever you have to say, save it. I don’t want to hear it.”

With those final words, Dante marched out of the room, hoping Vanellope wouldn’t ruin his dramatic exit with words or actions.

Thankfully, there was no noise of any kind from behind him, and the instant he turned the corner he broke into a frantic sprint. The hallways of the normally crowded school were empty as he rushed through them, keeping his head down, the chains on his hips bouncing off his thighs with every step. His footsteps echoed loudly in the school – seemingly devoid of any human life – and his breathing seemed unnaturally loud and harsh.

Dante was all of a sudden feeling very claustrophobic, as if the walls were pressing in on him, crushing the air out of his lungs.

He needed to get out.

Now.

A flash of relief rushed through Dante when he saw the heavenly glow of the exit, and he felt light-headed, buoyed up with liberation. Wasting no time, he turned his lean torso and slammed one shoulder against the hollow metal of the sturdy door, forcing it violently open.

His black-boot-clad feet stuttered across the dusty gravel; he had put more force than he could handle into the shove. He regained his balance just as quickly, and brushed off the dust that had settled in contented heaps over his black outfit with a cool glance to either side.

Assuring himself that no one had seen that embarrassing display, Dante smoothed the leather collar of his heavy jacket and started walking, listening for any noises behind him. He forced himself to relax when he heard nothing.

On instinct, Dante started walking toward his house, hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes still darting suspiciously from side to side, as if expecting an attack. He knew his paranoia was most likely unneeded – if Vanellope and her Vampire friends wanted to catch him, they would have done it already.

It was when his boots were padding over the crumbling gravel of the alleyway that led to the back of his house that the pain returned. It started as a faint sting in his neck, a tingling up and down his spine. Then there was a dull throbbing, and he stumbled slightly, uncomfortably aware that the skin must be angry red and pulsating.

His head felt heavy, and his entire body was weighted down by invisible masses. He stumbled again, and this time couldn’t regain his balance. He pitched to the side; the cold brick wall of the alley supporting his now-limp form.

Ineffectual black nails scrabbled over the rough surface of the wall, his tan hands struggling to hold himself upright, but for some reason his limbs were giving out from under him, his strength failing. Panic set in, and he could feel his heartbeat in his throat, his fingertips.

His mouth fell open in a silent scream as another white-hot jab of pain attacked his neck, and he could feel his body slowly shutting down. Black pressed in on the edges of his vision, and he finally hit the dirty ground, slumping against the brick and asphalt as the world fell away in a maelstrom of black.

 

~~

 

Sleep wasn’t something that Dante had ever really been fond of. There was only one reason for this: he was helpless. One of Dante’s only friends – though he had no idea where the bastard was now – has once mused, “Sleep is like death, just without the commitment.”

That was a truth that had scared Dante.

It scared him because he had realized that while he was asleep, he was surrendering all control of his body; and not having control was something that Dante despised.

To say the least, Dante didn’t like sleep.

Given that, he quickly decided that being unconsciousness was not something he particularly enjoyed either.

And that was why he was immensely grateful for the cold hand – a rather small hand, he vaguely noticed – that pressed to the leather-clad cusp of his shoulder and shook gently. His pierced lips parted, and a pained groan slipped out from the back of his throat.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. A mix of beer, urine and lost dreams. The second thing he noticed was that there was a suspicious wet spot underneath his left shoulder, and he could feel it even through the thick leather of his jacket. And last, the gravel. It dug uncomfortably into every limb, sure to leave bruises and little cuts, as he shifted, and his bleary brown eyes blinked open.

There was something leaning over him, a stark contrast of the black sky made up of a jumble of color and shapes and long, feathery hair. Fascinated by the pale, wavy strands that tumbled from what he assumed to be shoulders – slim, elegant shoulders – Dante stretched out a hand and gingerly touched them. Whoever the soft locks belonged to was slowly coming into focus, and they – she – looked utterly shocked.

And that was when he saw the stitches.

Now, Dante had seen many strange things and even stranger people, in the span of his teenage life. Many times he had seen odd tattoos, surgeries, the like. But he was almost entirely certain that what he was staring so openly at was not a tattoo or an intentional surgery.

A small, svelte girl was on her knees beside Dante, one thin, pale hand pressed to his shoulder. Everything about her was either small or soft. Even kneeling, Dante could tell she must’ve only been just over five feet tall – even shorter than Vanellope – with long, faintly wavy hair – fading from a snowy white to a deep, rich blue – that touched her ribcage. Her eyes were wide, offset against her pallid skin by dark lashes, and they were of the iciest blue, literally glowing at Dante. She was clad in all black, a halter top and fabric shorts that clung to her slender frame. And her mouth…

Her mouth was a thin black line underneath her tiny nose, sliced through with curved stitches. At once, it inspired both Dante’s compassion and his gag reflex, and his upper body jerked upright, tearing his gaze off her. The fragile hand slipped from his shoulder, and it folded together with her other fingers in her lap.

As the image of her sewn-shut mouth played in loops through Dante’s brain, all of the horror movies he had ever watched came rushing back in a flurry of blood and gore and lobotomies and puppets and zombies.

Ugh. Puppets.

His eyes slid nervously over his shoulder and fixed on her mouth – first to confirm that he hadn’t simply imagined it, and then to pause and marvel. The tiny girl sat calmly and quietly, her head tepidly cocked off to one side.

“What…happened?” As soon as the question left his lips, Dante felt like hitting himself. How stupid he must have sounded – not only was he the one laying on his back in an alley, but her mouth was sewn shut for Chrissake. How had he expected her to answer?

“That’s a long story.” For a few seconds, Dante firmly believed that he had heard the lilting, feminine voice with his own ears, but as more seconds ticked away – marked by the very loud, very clear beating of his heart – the more he realized how foolish that sounded. He had been watching her sutured mouth the entire time, and it hadn’t shifted in the slightest. On top of that, whereas every syllable Dante pronounced echoed painfully loudly off the dirty brick walls of the alleyway, there wasn’t even the slightest remnant of the girl’s bemused voice.

Her glowing blue orbs twinkled.

“Confused?” The one word knocked around in Dante’s head for a while before he realized that that’s where it came from. In his brain.

His eyes, wide and shocked, merely continued to stare, flickering from her mouth to her eyes and back again.

And again.

And agai-

“Are you a Vampire?” Maybe being unconscious wasn’t so bad after all. It meant he couldn’t talk.

The girl blinked once, and her eyes opened wide, pupils dilating like a cat’s, and Dante noted with dry humor that she looked like something straight out of a Halloween special that a year on the lower-ranked TV channels.

“Who told you about Vampires?” Halloween Girl’s voice once again manifested itself in his mind – it was a little shrill, and Dante winced. After a stretch of pregnant silence, her voice bit out, “Who told you?!”

“Her name’s Vanellope,” he responded, averting his eyes. Even as he did, he caught a glimpse of her eyes widening even further, almost comically.

“The Sanguine…” It was a breath of revelry, and Dante could almost picture the sigh escaping the confines of Halloween Girl’s mouth. Almost. “Yes, I am a Vampire.” He was a little startled at her abrupt words, and his gaze fixed on her again, wandering aimlessly between her glowing eyes and her sewn mouth. “But…I am not…known of.”

“What do you mean?” Dante shifted to fully face her. “You’re, like, a rogue? Wait, are there even proper groups?” He carried on his musings in his head, but his train of thought was cut off by Halloween Girl’s voice,

“Yes. There are three groups. The Nyx, the Viena, and the Unnamed.” Her voice stopped for a brief second – too brief for Dante to question the odd third name. “And yes, I am a…rogue.” She seemed to be almost amused by the term. “But it’s more than that.” Her eyes locked firmly on Dante’s, a fire burning icily in her irises. “I am an Obeah Vampire.”