ELEVEN #3
We’re halfway to the door when shouting rises over the music and laughter.
The passersby ripple as something tears through the walkway.
A young girl, no more than ten or so, darts right past us, so close that her tattered dress brushes against mine.
She glances back at us, her breathing quick and sharp.
It’s her eyes that strike me speechless: the irises are a pale blue, nearly blanched like ice itself.
In the flickering torchlight, they almost seem to glow.
She ducks behind a wine barrel and curls up small in its shadow, breathing heavily.
Not human, a voice hisses in the back of my mind. I tense.
And she’s being hunted—those armed villagers from before are zagging through the crowd. I count at least five wielding axes and spears, clearly scouring for someone or something.
Dante takes a small step closer, not quite looking at the girl. In fact, his position nearly conceals her from the gathered customers nearby.
“You again! Travellers,” one of the hunters staggers to a halt before us, with a companion close behind.
His brow is gleaming with sweat, curly dark hair plastered across his forehead under a wool beret.
The other hunters spread through the square, splitting off to cover a wider radius.
“We’re looking for a creature. She’s only just passed this way, moments ago. ”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Dante drawls.
“A girl,” the other hunter adds, urgent. “She’s crossed the town walls, and we believe she walks among us, a master of disguise. Have you seen her? She’s more dangerous than she looks. That devil-woman has taken two of our men this month alone.”
“I’m sorry,” Dante replies. “I’ve only seen a pair of unfortunate cretins with faces that… Well, I’m sure your personalities are lovely.”
The men scowl murderously, knuckles whitening on their axes. I’m bracing myself for a fight, and this time I won’t save him if these men decide to beat him publicly and expose his nature.
But before I can speak, Dante takes a quick step closer to them, the air suddenly prickling with invisible tendrils of energy. I find myself unable to look away as he leans in close to them.
“Search the pig troughs at the mill,” Dante whispers. There’s almost a vibration to the soft words, rising hairs on my arms. “Don’t be afraid to dig deep—use your hands.”
Dante’s eyes have paled—not quite milky white, but a signal that he is pulling on his power all the same. My stomach churns knowing that it’s my blood that has given him the stamina for this feat—doubly so, as I recall the drugging pull of his command firsthand.
This hypnotism isn’t weak, like that night in the bedroom.
Though it’d taken a pointed effort, I’d been able to fight my way back to clarity—but these hunters are swallowed up entirely by Dante’s silken words.
The two men become passive, as though his command had been the tender words of a lifelong friend.
“Yes, very good,” the curly-haired one intones.
“Yes, what?” The corner of Dante’s mouth lifts, a sadistic twitch.
“Yes, sir.”
Dante pats his cheek. “Attaboy. Now, go on.”
The hunter nods at his companion, an obedient disciple. “Come, we have work to do.”
They depart, and that electric rise in the air fades into nothing. Around us, the Calendimaggio revelers continued to pass by, the performances in the streets uninterrupted—all of them unaware their own kin had just been hypnotized.
“The alley has better cover,” Dante says under his breath—this is to the girl, still cowering behind the barrel. He gives her a mere flick of his eyes in the direction of the slit between the inn and its neighboring building, just wide enough for a child to squeeze through.
The child looks at him with suspicion, eyes wide.
The distrust of an urchin unused to the kindness of a stranger.
She glances sharply at me, as though gauging whether I would help or hurt.
Then, without a word, she bolts, squeezing down the alley as Dante had suggested.
Her small footsteps vanish down the damp cobblestone.
Dante faces me, and I growl in my throat, bumping his shoulder with mine as I brush past him toward the inn.
“You’re making it extremely difficult for me not to kill you,” I mutter under my breath. “What if she really did take those men?”
“Not our problem,” Dante says, keeping stride with me. “People die by the dozens every day. And tales of a non-human caught in Terralta would be like a blaze in the dark to Alessandro.”
I grit my teeth. He’s so dismissive of the entire ordeal, as though it was as routine as putting on a pair of boots. Corvus’ mission hinged on the extermination of vampires, but we’re not unaware of the bloodshed some of the less fearsome beasts cause.
“How many monsters are roaming the country because of you?” I ask sharply.
“Monster is such an ugly, limiting word.”
“I’m not playing semantics. I have half a mind to chain you naked to a tree and let you burn to a crisp in the sunrise.”
Dante pulls open the door for me. “Ah, so you have thought about me naked.”