A Dance at Midnight

Trigger Warnings: Blood, violence, death, brief scene of self-harm, and brief, non-graphic depictions of internal organs.

The edge of her bodice dug into her armpits. Her hair, slicked back in a high bun, tugged at her scalp. A line of sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades. “What was that, Master Dane?” Senar asked.

The other vampires parted to reveal the old vampire. He was dressed in a crisp doublet and jerkin with ivory hose. His glass eye fixed Senar under its stare. “You prepared something extraordinary for us, Mistress Kil, and surely, you’ll partake in this momentous occasion, will you not?”

Before she could respond, he barked, “Everyone! Our hostess, the esteemed Mistress Kill has painstakingly given us one of the best weeks of our lives. Is it too much for us to give her the first drink as a token of our gratitude?”

Nods and exclamations of assent traveled through the crowd.

“Unless,” Master Dane said, turning back to her, “you have something to hide.”

The clock hanging on the wall ticked loudly.

Senar gave the old vampire an easy grin. “Why would I have something to hide?” She pinned him with her stare. “Do you have something to hide, Master Dane?”

The noise level grew again.

Despite the murmurs around them, Master Dane returned her smile. “I saw something particularly interesting,” he said.

Senar attempted to look even more bored. “With all due respect, we’re not here for a show and tell,” she said.

Adrian laughed out loud. Giana clapped. Some other Masters and Mistresses smirked and guffawed.

A vein in Master Dane’s forehead throbbed. He pointed a bony finger at Senar. “She has bloodwake!”

The words echoed in the vaulted room. The laughter cut off as if someone had unplugged a cord. Even Senar felt her blood drain cold.

Her secret was out. Just like that.

From the corner of her eye, Senar noticed Master Solomon walking over to the doors, and Mistress Heather and Master Óscar positioning themselves by the windows.

The dizziness grew and along with it came another surge of nausea. Senar planted her heels into the floor, not caring that she may be scratching it.

“I’m assuming you have proof?” Adrian’s voice interrupted the heavy silence. He had inched closer to where she stood but was still a good distance apart so as not to alert anyone.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Master Dane angled his head toward Mistress Heather, who posed shyly. “She saw both of you leaving the hunt early.” Master Dane nodded at Master Solomon. “Solomon heard you, Mistress Senar, crying during the hunt.

“And me? I remember how you” - Master Dane pointed a finger at Adrian - “stopped the fight right when it was Mistress Senar’s turn. Right after that, a donator fell, and the fight was canceled. Funny coincidence, no?”

“Boring, actually,” Adrian said. “Anyway, that’s all hearsay. I’m talking about physical, tangible proof. Do you have any?”

“The only physical proof needed is for her to drink.”

“Senar prepares all of this for us, and this is how you repay her? By accusing her of something so senseless?” Giana snapped at Master Dane. “You really are turning senile.”

“It’s simple,” Master Dane hissed. “If she’s not bloodwoken, we’ll be able to tell right away, and we can get on with the ball. If she is bloodwoken, then we’ll know that she’s been lying to us this entire time.”

Her stomach roiled. Senar loudly cleared her throat. “Everyone, please,” she said. “Master Dane is saying this out of concern for you all, and I only have respect for that. That being said, these humans are for you; each human has been carefully selected to match the palates gathered here today.”

“See!” Master Dane shrieked. “That means she’s not going to drink! She hasn’t even drunk tonight!”

Vampires shifted from foot to foot. Eyes flitted from one face to another. A silence, this time thick with awkwardness, fell upon them.

“Master Dane,” Mistress Clara spoke up, “you’ve had a lot to drink, and-.”

“You think I’m making this shit up?!” Master Dane screamed. “I’ll show all you fuckers that I’m right!”

Master Dane lunged forward just as Adrian leaped over. Master Dane’s long nails reached for Senar. She swerved, but not quickly enough: a stinging pain slashed her cheek, and hot wetness dribbled down.

She was bleeding. Senar was bleeding in a room full of vampires.

But that wasn’t the only thing that everyone was gaping at. On the ground was Master Dane, his mouth in an O and a hole in his chest where his heart used to be - the heart that Adrian was currently clutching in one white-knuckled fist.

Senar and Adrian locked eyes.

All hell broke loose.

The humans! Senar started off toward them, to get them the hell out of here, when suddenly, she landed with a hard crunch against the wall. She tumbled to the floor; pain radiated outward from her lower back.

“I knew you were a freak,” Mistress Heather said. She leaned down to peer at Senar. “Weak. Pathetic. Useless. You deserve to die. You need to die.”

Mistress Heather grabbed Senar’s throat and raised her into the air. Her grip was like that of a manacle, but Senar’s legs were free. With a surge of power, Senar kicked the young vampire square in the face. She heard a satisfying crack. Mistress Heather yelped in surprise.

Mistress Heather may be stronger, but she was much younger, and she had yet to experience true horror: she had yet to experience what it felt like to lose your husband and child because of your own stupidity, to lose your friends to the cruelties of war, to live in hiding for decades, with pain your sole company and consolation.

Senar may be weak. She may be pathetic. She may be useless. But she was still a vampire. She was still Mistress Kill.

She grabbed a nearby candle. She ripped off the candle and split the iron candle holder into two. Power surged through her, but she didn’t have time to think about where that power was coming from. With the jagged end of the metal, she plunged the candle holder into Mistress Heather’s heart.

The young vampire huffed, but she was leering. Immediately, Senar’s stomach seared with pain. She glanced down. The handle of a dagger protruded from her stomach. Blood poured out, staining her purple dress red.

“We’re even now,” Mistress Heather laughed. Then, her head lolled, never to rise again.

Senar stood up, her hand fisted into her wound. The humans, I have to get to the humans...

All around her, vampires fought. Adrian fought three masters at a time; his motions were graceful but deadly; he’d taken off his suit jacket, and the muscles underneath his shirt rippled with every move. Under the moonlight, he resembled a creature born of shadows and nightmares.

Strewn along the ground were bodies. Vampire bodies. Donatori bodies. Human bodies.

Suddenly, Senar was taken back to when she’d found Henry after the battle. She’d barely recognized him what with his soldier’s gear and his wounds. She could smell the smoking of charred flesh even now, so vivid the memory was.

Her head throbbed. The dagger dug in deeper. She cried out. Her knees buckled. She tripped over a pile of bodies; organs freed from their bone dungeons squished underneath her knees.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

A vampire swung at her. Master Clark, she thought, but it was too dark in here, and her vision was starting to blur. She didn’t duck in time: her head snapped back. Blood flooded down her nose.

Master Clark wasn’t a tall vampire, but he resembled a strongman, and he didn’t shy away from showing his strength. Hit after hit, he attacked. Senar tasted both sweat and blood in her mouth. As she felt a bone in her arm break, with her other hand, she wrenched out her dagger. With a burst of adrenaline, she sunk it deep into the underside of Master Clark’s chin. The vampire howled. She pulled out the dagger and stabbed the master until he twitched.

Someone yanked Senar off the fresh corpse and threw her onto the floor. Master Solomon towered over her. His fair skin and twisted features warped in the moonlight. “You fucking bitch,” he spat; spittle landed on her face. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Senar came up on all fours. He kicked her straight in the gut, digging the dagger in deeper. She doubled over. She coughed. Black blood speckled the hardwood.

She wiped her mouth and rolled away before he could deliver another kick. Stumbling, she stood up. She blinked: everything was in twos. Her stomach gurgled, she wanted to throw up.

Master Solomon flew toward her; her dagger clattered to the ground, and his fist made contact with the side of her face. She staggered but didn’t fall. He rounded on her again, his kick flying high in the air when, all of a sudden, he crumpled.

Adrian?

Henry’s face appeared in her view. He smiled in relief, his green eyes bright. “Senar!”

Her heart plummeted. How is he here? He shouldn’t be here! Henry tried to help her up, but she pushed him away. “What are you doing here?” she croaked. “You need to leave, it’s not safe for you.”

“You forget I’m a vampire, just like you,” he said. He reached for her. “Quickly, let’s get you out of here.”

Behind Henry, Master Solomon was getting back up. She screamed at Henry - “Take the humans, and leave!” - and pushed him away from Master Solomon’s fatal blow.

Senar’s legs shook; she couldn’t possibly defend this hit and still stand after. This is it. After so many years, you’re finally getting what you’ve always wanted.

Except, at the last possible minute, Giana slipped herself in front of Senar, and the broken picture frame pierced Giana’s chest. Master Solomon cackled.

Senar heard herself scream. Her old friend...no, not like this...Giana couldn’t be dead...I haven’t even apologized! The anger, which had been stoked by the fighting, finally bloomed and engulfed Senar in its unforgiving embrace. As if seeing the fire reflected in her irises, Master Solomon’s brows knitted, and that was how he died: scared.

Fueled by anger, grief, and regret, Senar descended upon the other vampires, felling each of them as if they were nothing but saplings in the dead of winter.

Bodies piled up high around her, and only when her own blood stung her eyes and forced her to pause, did she see it: a mistress ramming the rough metal of a chandelier arm into Adrian’s shoulder. A master breaking his jaw. Two masters slicing his body with sharpened blades. A second mistress smashing his knee.

Across the room, Adrian and Senar’s eyes met. He gave her a grin before collapsing onto the floor.

“No!”

The mistresses and masters noticed Senar a beat too late. The energy pumped through her limbs once more; she’d never felt more alive. It’s the blood, the blood that Dr. Morrow gave me. It’s working! Within minutes, all five vampires grew still.

Senar scrambled over their bodies toward Adrian. He wasn’t moving either. She pulled him onto her bloody lap, and cradled his head. Her blood-stained fingers tracked marks across his features, but she didn’t care: he couldn’t die.

“You said you weren’t ready to die!” She shouted at him. She knew he wasn’t going to respond, but the silence from him broke something inside of her. Frantic, she looked up as if the answers were written in front of her.

She only saw carnage. The floor was drowned in blood, both red and gold. Bodies littered every available space. Splintered bones flashed in the moonlight; slippery intestines slithered across flesh.

Giana. Adrian. Her donatori. The humans.

Dead.

Because of her.

Senar had been panting earlier, but now, she couldn’t breathe. Sobs wracked her body. She cried, loudly, her tears mixing in with the red of her own blood and washing it away on Adrian’s face. She couldn’t lose him; she didn’t want to lose him.

Her face wet with tears, she brought her wrist up to her mouth. Her fangs were still out from earlier; she used them now to slash her wrist. Bright red flowed out. She coaxed open his mouth. She raised her bleeding wrist above it. The blood dropped onto his tongue and slithered down his throat. She lowered her hand.

The room tilted on its axis, and her body...it was so, so heavy...her eyelids fluttered closed.

Senar slumped against Adrian.

The full moon shone brightly as it always did on quiet summer nights. The sky was clear, and the air was mild.

On a broad, open field, a lone mansion reeked of death as its inhabitants rested in eternal sleep. In the ballroom, the moon’s beams casted everyone and everything in a silver hue, transforming the scene into a gilded painting of destruction.

And perhaps even love, for two vampires lay close together, their faces inches apart as if to share one final kiss.

The moon continued to shine.

Blood dried.

Somewhere nearby, a bird started to sing.

Slowly, the two vampires’ bodies began to heal.