Dancing in the Dark

By Willow Taylor

Shaper yawned again, hugely, and looked sideways at Victor, who ignored him. He stopped and sat on the edge of the road, taking off his boot. Victor kept walking up the hill at the same steady pace. "Hey wait up," he called.

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired, that's why!" He pulled his boot back on, and scrambled up the intermitting few yards Victor had put between them. "You're such a bastard."

Victor snorted and started walking again. "I never asked you to follow me."

"Are we gonna start this again?" demanded Shaper. "I'm getting really tired of this - I told you, I'm following you because interesting things happen around you - and I'm fairly sure I was an interesting thing, so if I follow you, I might remember who I was." They came to the ridge of the hill and Victor sighed and rolled his eyes, pausing and shading his eyes with his hands. One hand was bandaged, and the other was wearing a plain black glove.

"If it makes you feel better, we should be in Milminsford by late afternoon, and you can go to bed early." He turned and smirked. "You've gotten a lot better. A few more months, and you might be able to keep up with me when I'm not holding back."

"Holding back?" Shaper said, aghast, as Victor headed down the hill.

As Victor had predicted they made it into Milminsford before the sun set. Shaper did in fact go to bed early after what Angel considered to be a unusually large meal. He was sitting on the porch watching the sunset and enjoying a cigarette. A man in his late twenties, dark hair and eyes like most of the people in this village, though a bit less sun darkened, staggered towards the tavern. His face was red and blotchy, his eyes watering - he was either drunk or miserable. Victor lit another clove off the butt in his mouth and placed his bets on both.

"Oh no," said a barmaid who'd been shaking her dishrag over the edge of the porch.

"What is it?" asked Victor.

"It's Alberto."

"And...?"

"He's the local hunter... he's been out of sorts lately."

"Who are you calling out of sorts?" demanded the dusky young man. "Oh Maria, you put everything out of proportion." He stumbled up the steps, and Victor moved aside to avoid being stepped on. He walked, somewhat unsteadily into the tavern. Victor removed the cigarette from his mouth and started to ask the maid, Maria, a question.

"I can't tell you," she said mournfully before he could ask. "It's not my business, and we aren't to gossip during our shifts."

Victor waved a hand dismissively. "It's alright then, I guess." He returned to watching the sunset, eyes half lidded in thought.

Just after dark he entered the tavern again, to see Alberto, the apparent hunter trying vainly to discuss something with the bartender. Victor wandered over.

"Look, I think it's perfectly reasonable..."

"Sorry, Alberto," the bartender said. "I can't extend you any more credit. And I think you've had enough."

"That's where you're wrong, Manning! I haven't had nearly enough." The bartender shook his head, but did give the hunter a cup with an amberish liquid sloshing in it. Victor wondered off hand if he should stick his nose in this. Then he saw what bottle the barkeep was putting back on the shelf and decided a few friendly words trying to asses the situation wouldn't be out of place.

He sat down beside the dark haired hunter.

"Hello."

Alberto blinked at him, then reached out and touched Victor's throat. The slim drifter let him, and the slightly drunk hunter took Angel's pulse. He shook his head as if to clear it, then went back to his drink.

"Just checking," he mumbled.

"Excuse me, it may not be any of my business," Angel began, "but you're not looking very... uhm... capable as a hunter."

"Damn straight it's none of your business," scowled the hunter. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I hate seeing people hurt." Alberto snorted.

"I find that hard to believe." He took another gulp of his drink.

"And any hunter who drinks Naldaine whisky by the pint mug probably isn't going to be protecting his community very well."

"Bugger off."

Victor sighed. This was difficult. "Is there any reason that you're drinking like that? Maybe I can help." Alberto glared at him again with malice that wasn't even close to suppressed.

"I thought I told you shrimp - bugger off." He looked down into his glass.

"Look, hard as it is for me to say this, I think you're disgracing your guild."

Alberto looked up at Victor scowling. "What do you know?"

"The atomic weight of silver, and how to tell a pooka from a night steed, along with half a dozen other useful tidbits of information," Angel said without missing a beat. "Why, what do you know?"

"Why you little..." snapped the hunter and took a swing at Victor's head. He blocked it, and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. Even drunk, Alberto had a hell of a swing. He was quick too, finding one arm blocked, he swung with the other, which Victor also blocked with somewhat more difficulty.

"I'm not going to put up with some sawed off little goth wannabe telling me how to live my life," snarled the drunk hunter.

I think I may have made a tactical error, thought Victor, swinging his arms around to lock his hands around the hunter's wrists as best he could.

"If it takes a beating to calm you down, I'll be glad to help," he said coolly. Alberto twisted his wrist in the direction of Victor's joints, breaking the hold, and in the same motion practically, drove his elbow into the drifter's solar plexus. Angel was good, but not good enough not to be driven back a couple steps by a man almost half again taller than him and certainly that much wider socking him in the gut. All the air was driven out of his lungs. Victor grinned as he regained his balance, and returned the favor with a punch in the chin.

The bartender grimaced at the thought of the havoc these two could wreak, and was personally quite impressed with how the short dark drifter was holding against his town's hunter. Alberto was very good at what he did. He'd only taken a downward spiral lately because the vampires had gotten pissy and broken into his house while he was out hunting, destroying most of his possessions and killing his lover and his daughter. But he still didn't want his tavern wrecked, so he called the stable boys in and subtly herded the combatants towards the door. They went out, still exchanging blows fiercely without breaking a single furnishing. Manning drew in a deep breath of relief.

It had started raining again, and Victor didn't give a damn. He dropped to the ground to avoid a blow and rolled slightly, coming up behind he quickly sobering hunter. He leapt up and grabbed Alberto around the neck, locking his elbow around the hunter¹s windpipe, and getting his nose nearly broken as slick black hair hit it with the force of a sling-thrown rock.

"Do you want to talk about it yet?" he yelled cheerfully into Alberto's ear.

"Don't you ever quit?"

"Nope!" Alberto flung himself backward, hitting the now muddy road with a crunch - and with Victor still between him and it. The arm loosened. Alberto rolled to his feet, to face Victor doing the same, arching his back as if to get a crick out.

"You know," Victor drawled in a conversational tone, "it's really refreshing not to be fighting a monster."

The hunter started to laugh hysterically. "What are you?" he demanded. "You can't be human."

Victor laughed. "I like to think I am - but I must say you take a lot of damage too."

"Oh I'm just drunk and feeling no pain." He paused and took a shuddering breath. Angel walked over and reached up to put a hand on the hunter¹s shoulder.

"Looks like you may be feeling some pain yet. Like I said, ready to talk yet?"

They ended up sitting together just out of the rain on the porch, as Alberto explained. And cried. It looked like he hadn't done it yet. Victor wasn't surprised. Hunters, especially Guilded ones weren't supposed to be human. Oh they were supposed to be more human than what they fought, be it rogue werewolves (as much as Victor liked the creatures, hunting down humans for sport was still wrong), vampires, or deamons; but they weren¹t supposed to be human. They weren¹t supposed to have emotions the same way normal folk did. And in many ways, they didn't. But some non-hunters are like that. People who when they see danger, move towards it, because hell, if it gets to you first, it'll have built up steam. Most people like that did go in for hunters. But there was always the odd one who stayed home breeding horses, and taking a crossbow to nightbanes that tried to eat them. The kind of person who'd go out into the hurricane to let the horses out of the stable, because then they'd have a chance. But people like that could be human, because they hadn't gone off to protect the whole world - just their families.

"Rosia was from my marriage," Alberto explained, as Victor pulled out a silver flask and let him have a single drink - after a while of being drunk, you needed a stiff double to be sober. "I loved her so much. After the marriage broke up, Carmen didn't want her so I kept her. Steven didn't mind. He was very much a domestic. Wouldn't harm a soul." Angel nodded. "I'd just gone out to check the outer farms - Rosencrath's daughter had been attacked, and I was going to stake it out in case he came back to finish the job." He took a deep shuddering breath, "And when I got back well... it wasn't fit for humans to live in anymore, you know?? Blood everywhere soaked into everything. Pieces of flesh flung against the walls as if they were making a mural out of it." He began to sob again, and Victor put an arm around the man's shoulders.

"Have you found out who did it?"

"It was vampires, that much I could tell - fang marks on the flesh that remained, and that particular way b-bone breaks when one uses superhuman strength on it." He shuddered. "I just couldn't deal... I got drunk."

"When was this?"

"Over a month ago."

"Good Lord Above and his son that loves us."

"Yeah," chuckled Alberto, wiping at his eyes.

"Alberto - I'm a hunter - a freelancer, not guilded, thank god, but good at what I do. I'll help you find and kill the ones who did this if you'll pull together okay?"

"I... I don't know."

Victor took a deep breath.

"Hard as it is to believe, something very like that happened to me once," he said softly, barely heard over the rush of the rain. "And I nearly collapsed too. Almost damn near shot my head off."

Alberto looked at the smaller dark haired hunter curiously. "What happened?"

"Turned out a psychic monster was fucking with my mind," Victor said shrugging. "Then I got mad, and stayed mad until every damn thing responsible was so dead that the earth had to use a bucket to hold their remains." He took another deep breath. "Then I started walking and I haven¹t really stopped yet."

"Alright," Alberto said after a long silence. "I'll do my best." He stopped and managed a weak smile. "But Angel? You better go get cleaned up, because you are a real mess."

"Yeah, like you're going to win any prizes." Victor put out his hand and the hunter clasped it. "Tomorrow night we go vampire hunting, okay?"

"Deal."

Victor stood and walked into the tavern to get himself something as close to a hot bath as he could manage.

Toweling off his spiky black hair and grinning to himself, Victor headed into his rented room. Then he stopped. Across the floor were small barefoot prints, glistening in water against the wooded floor. They went in from the door where he was standing across the room, pausing at the bed and then to the window which was - slightly open. He moved across the room and shut it, then looked around again, even checking under the bed and finding no one hiding. As he sat down however, he was surprised by a bundle of hardwood stakes, such as a good hunter would use. And a note.

I think you may need these - love, Amlthea

"Now who the fuck," Victor asked himself, "is Amlthea?"

A good fight for some reason, always made Victor rest easier. Which is why when a slim white figure entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, he didn't awaken, really, he just sort of fluttered his eyelids in a half awake state. Any more thought of being fully awake was forgone as a soft pair of lips met his in an undeniably friendly way. He simply reached out to wrap his arms around the appealingly slender body. It was probably only a dream anyway - so he might as well enjoy it. Though most of his dreams didn't include the feeling of soft, cool skin beneath his fingers, and an odd slippery sound as a few yards of veil, which might somehow be called a dress slithered over the blankets leaving the dream figure nude as she wiggled closer to him again, in a very obviously affectionate way. He did enjoy the dream a lot. Then again, so did she.

"Let me get this straight," said Shaper, pausing and pointing his fork at Victor. "We're going to stay here for a few days so you can help an alcoholic hunter track down some vampires psychotic enough to sneak into a town and make art out of people¹s insides?"

"More or less."

"That's what I thought you said." Shaper swallowed, and shook his head. "I'm staying here."

"Fine," Victor said dismissively, standing up. "I didn't want you to come anyway."

"Aw wait up!" cried Shaper as Victor headed towards the door.

Dusk was falling when Victor and Alberto started into the forest to where the vampires had been known to lair. Shaper had been convinced to stay in town, in case any vampires decided to visit. Not that he was thrilled about that task, but he'd do it. As Victor and the resident hunter made their way though the woods, a pale figure sat in a tree watching their progress, one slender leg dangling from her branch seat. She frowned, and stood, then leapt.

They walked quietly, side by side through the woods, each man carefully placing his steps to fall softly, but not trying to sneak. Their timing was perfect; they reached the abandoned house just as the last of the light disappeared from the horizon. Victor separated and walked a slow circle around it, with a small glass bottle, touching each of the window frames with the liquid in it. Mere moments later, he was back with Alberto. The local hunter gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything. Victor then pushed his jacket back and opened the flap on his holster. Alberto nodded, drawing the long knife and stake that was traditional hunter's weapons here. Victor prodded the door open, trying to make it open as quietly as possible. The door, in accordance to very old wood in abandoned houses, stuck and made a horrible noise as he tried to force it open. Alberto winced, which gave Angel the impression he wasn't quite as completely sober as he appeared to be.

After a few moments, the door was open, and they were inside. Victor drew a line across the lintel with the small bottle.

"What's in that?"

"Holy water and deamon's blood," replied Victor shrugging. "For some reason it makes a polarity that keeps most undead in. Or out," he added after a moment of reflection.

Alberto nodded, it made sense in a way. "They should be in the basement still." Victor nodded and they endeavored to move through the house with the same silence that they'd moved through the woods. This was made difficult by squeaky boards. In the very disgusting abandoned kitchen, they found some foot prints going across the dust to a door.

"Looks promising," Victor found it necessary to say. Alberto gave a half smile.

"And it all goes downhill from here."

This door opened quietly, as it was obviously used more, which kind of begged the question how the vampires got into the house to use this door. Victor put it out of his mind - sometimes, vampires were just like that. The stairs beyond were narrow, and didn't look trustworthy and descended into darkness. Victor took out his flashlight, which he avoided using as much as possible, and shone it down the stairs. All this revealed was more stairs.

"Deep cellar," he muttered, and shrugged putting his foot on the first step.

Outside, a slender white figure kicked at the open doorway frowning. Since she'd decided to follow him, she'd never had a problem getting to where he was, or where he was going to be. But now she couldn¹t get through an open door. Slender pink tinted nails on pale white hands rested on a dress that was made of a few yards of violet flower-printed veil. She noticed a thin line of moisture across the door sill. She tore a bit of cloth off her dress, and peeled a splinter off of the porch railing. Using that, she mopped up a bit. Then the white figure turned to an equally white mist and slid through the crack in the ward. On the other side, she prodded the damp piece of cloth into the crack, hoping it would have the same effect.

Victor and Alberto were still heading down the stairs.

"Cellars shouldn't be this deep," muttered the local hunter, pausing to re-tie his bandanna that kept his bangs out of his eyes.

"I have a bad feeling," Victor muttered and lit a clove. If things were going to be as bad as his stomach said they were, the loss of the element of surprise wasn't going to hurt them that much. "What is it they say on this planet? 'Welcome to hell, here's your Guild Medallion'?"

"I've never heard that."

"I'm not surprised."

At last they reached for the next step and didn't find it. The banister also ran out. There was a glimmer of light off in the darkness.

"Think this is the bottom?"

"That or a really big landing." Victor took out his flashlight again, and partially shaded it with his hand before turning it on.

"Oh great," muttered Alberto. "More down."

"I'm definitely getting a bad feeling about this," Victor muttered looking at the earthen ramp that spread out before them in the pink tinged light. "This is far too elaborate for simple vampires. This is full out cultist bullshit."

"Cultist?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

"So we still go in?"

"You want to climb those stairs again without hurting something?"

"No," Alberto said giving a half laugh.

"That's a good hunter, half philanthropist, half sadist."

"Half what?"

"Never mind." Victor lit another clove. "Let's hustle, shall we?"