A Dance at Midnight
Dawn's coming

Senar stood out on her balcony, breathing in the dawn’s air. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but its rays snaked through the clouds. The leaves on the trees swayed in the wind, their rustling like ocean waves.

The sound reminded her of the time she and Jihwa made daisy jewelry. They had lived nearby a meadow where wildflowers grew rampant and, if they were lucky, a family of deer came to graze. On a balmy summer afternoon, Senar and Jihwa had sat in the meadow, their skirts billowing out around them; the leaves of the trees towering above them swished gently.

Hajoon had joined them soon after, laden with snacks to munch on. Together, the three of them spent the whole afternoon splitting daisy stems and connecting them to create necklaces, bracelets, and crowns. The crowns had easily fallen apart, cascading down their hair, but not before they fell apart with laughter.

Senar’s smile faltered. How innocent that time had been; how happy she had been. If she’d known that she were to become a vampire and be the reason her family died...

...She had been heady with blood, unable to see or hear properly. The men had been watching her family, and knowing that she was not a threat due to her blooddrunkenness, they made their move.

They took Jihwa in the dead of night. Hajoon had heard them and tried to fight them off, but the men were prepared. When Senar stumbled out of her room the following morning, Hajoon lay slumped against the corner of the common room, blood, both dried and fresh, smeared across his face and gut. He was breathing but barely.

And their daughter...

Senar had found her quickly after following the scents of the men. But even though she’d found Jihwa, Jihwa wasn’t Jihwa anymore. They had broken her, mentally and physically. They believed that she had the devil inside her like her mother did. Since they couldn’t touch Senar without fear of getting ripped apart, they had taken the smallest and weakest member of the family and destroyed her...

Senar rubbed the backs of her hands across her wet cheeks. The wind blew, and the smell of leather-bound books drifted up.

She paused. She knew that smell.

No, he can’t be. Another gust of wind tangled her hair, bringing with it the scent of old books again. There was no denying it: he was here.

Cursing, Senar practically flew out of the bedroom, and after triple-checking that both her bedroom and guest room doors were locked, she made her way toward the foyer.

As silently as she could, she pulled open the door and stepped outside. Dew topped the tips of the blades of grass on the lawn, and a bird chittered to its neighbor.

The old doctor stood in front of her, his expression sheepish. It didn’t make sense; she should be the one who should be sheepish - she was the one who threatened him with his life and left him on the ground.

“It’s not safe for you here,” she said.

“I understand this isn’t the most ideal of meetings, but it’ll only take a moment, my dear.”

She hesitated. “Please,” she said as she sout of the house completely, “not so close to the house.”

They walked down the steps together and into the shade of the biggest tree on the side of the lawn. This position hid them from the windows of the house, should any vampire be too curious.

Once she made sure they were safe, she turned to the doctor. He reached out and clasped her hands in his. He placed a small pouch in her palms. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving. I’ll be retiring, and my wife and I will be going on vacation. I meant to tell you earlier, of course, but I didn’t want to tell you before I left you in good hands.”

The world stopped as she registered his words. He was retiring. He was leaving. Panic rose in her chest. If Dr. Morrow left, who did she have? Who was going to help her?

As if reading her thoughts, he let her go and pulled a folded slip of paper out of his wallet. He handed it to her.

“I taught him everything I know, including this newest sample, and I know he’ll take good care of you,” he said.

Senar took the slip of paper. On it were three lines: a name, an address, and a phone number. She barely registered the name of the hospital scratched into the paper in the doctor’s loping handwriting.

She became aware that Dr. Morrow was waiting for her to respond. She did, by pulling the old doctor into a hug. He hugged her back, just as fiercely.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

After the incident where she’d almost killed Dr. Morrow, she had gone straight home and drafted several letters, apologizing, explaining, and then apologizing again when she realized there was no explanation as to what she had done.

By the time she wrote her name on the last letter, her wrist ached, and her fingers were stiff. Afterward, she read every single letter only to crumple them all up and throw them across the room. At the moment, she felt that no letter could undo the damage that she had wrought and in fact, she believed it was better to push him away and act as if he didn’t exist; she was ashamed, and he probably didn’t want to speak with her anyway.

Except, he’d come back. He’d come here where he knew he was in danger. Even more, he didn’t treat her any differently.

Senar didn’t deserve Dr. Morrow. As if the universe agreed with her sentiment, he was now leaving.

Good, she tried to convince herself. It’ll be safer for him.

He squeezed her. “I know, my dear,” he said. “It’s alright. Everything will be okay.”

She wanted to invite him in, to drink tea and eat cookies and talk about life. She knew she couldn’t. Slowly, she let him ago, extricating himself from his warm embrace. “You should go,” she said; her voice shook slightly. “It’s dangerous for you here.”

Dr. Morrow gripped her forearms; his hazel eyes were as clear as ever, and they carefully regarded Senar. “You’re a remarkable woman, Senar,” he said. “Don’t you forget that.”

“And you’re a remarkable doctor, Dr. Morrow,” she said. “Thank you for helping me all these years.”

Dr. Morrow squeezed her hands one final time. “I expect letters!” he called to her as he walked away.

Senar raised her arm in farewell. She watched him walk along the path toward the car that awaited past the acre lawn. He turned back one more time and waved at her before the car swallowed him and sped away.

She stood out there for a while; the car was long gone, but she could still see it in her mind’s eye. She could still see Dr. Morrow’s kind eyes and even kinder smile reflecting back at her. Her vision blurred. Quickly, she peered down at the pouch he’d given her.

It was made of navy satin and was as big as her whole hand. It was cinched tight with matching satin strings. She loosened it now. Inside was a small glass vial, not unlike the one from a couple days ago, and in the vial was blood.

She pulled the strings tightly again. For a moment, she had forgotten where she was, who she was with. She stretched her senses: no vampires were near, but that didn’t mean no one was listening or watching.

She tucked the pouch and paper into her pants’ pocket. The sky had lightened considerably during their conversation. She needed to get back inside before anyone saw her out in the sun.

Her footsteps were light as she entered the foyer. The house was silent; the vampires should be preparing for daysleep now; there had been no special festivity tonight due to Elias’ fall.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

Master Dane.

He stood on the second floor, his scarred hands wrapped around the railing. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, but his gaze was far from friendly. “Out for a walk, Mistress Senar?” he asked.

Her heartbeat had slowed at this point, but she stopped breathing entirely because perfectly healthy vampires didn’t need to breathe. She smiled up at him. “Nothing like some fresh air, Master Dane,” she said. She started up the stairs on one end of the bifurcated staircase.

His glass eye tracked her every step until, finally, she arrived on the landing. She crossed over to him, stopping just shy out of his reach. “What brings you out so close to morning?” she asked him. Carefully, minutely, she smoothed her face so that it showed nothing.

“Heard something interesting,” he said.

She widened her eyes in fake shock. “Did you find out what it was?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said.

“And?”

“Heather told me that you left the hunt early,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

No, everything is not okay. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

Master Dane nodded, but she had a feeling it was more for show than actual comprehension. “The thing is, Mistress Senar, nobody saw you hunt.”

“Respectfully, Master Dane, everyone was too busy hunting to pay any attention to me,” she said.

“True,” he said. “How’s Evangeline?”

His “gift.” The donatora. The vampling. “Delicious,” she said easily but not too quickly.

“Tastes like peaches dipped in honey, no?”

He knew something, and he was trying to trap her. Tough luck, he should try harder. “If I knew that you had a taste of her already, I wouldn’t have taken her, Master Dane,” she said coyly. “After all, I thought she was my gift.”

His thin lips cracked into a closed-lipped smile. “I had to make sure she was up to your standards,” he said.

“And she is,” she said. “You always had an exceptional palate, Master Dane.” She laid a hand atop his forearm; it was a light touch, but it did the work: his forehead lifted.

“Well,” she said, pulling back her hand. “I’d better get some sleep. The Bleeding Ball is just around the corner, and I don’t know about you, but I need all the rest I can get.”

She took two steps toward the stairs when Master Dane grabbed her arm. His nails dug deep into her skin; pain pricked, and it took all of her self control to not let out a yelp.

“You’re right,” he said. His voice was low; his pupils became slits of black like those of a wild animal. “The Bleeding Ball is near, and we would want to be on our best behaviors, won’t we?”

At his words, Master Solomon, Master Óscar, and Mistress Heather came out of their respective rooms. They didn’t come any closer, but she wasn’t a fool. Master Solomon was looking at her as if she were nothing more than a smeared bug on the sole of his shoe; Mistress Heather fluttered her fingers in a haughty wave; and Master Óscar looked as if he’d rather melt into the ground.

Senar pointedly looked toward the arched windows next to the stairs. Hazy sunlight made the glass glow.

“Dawn’s coming,” she said. She yanked her arm from Master Dane’s grip. Her skin stung, and she prayed to whatever god who was up there that she wasn’t bleeding. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, as I said before, I’m going to get some sleep. I suggest you” - she gave the four vampires a dulcet smile - “do so as well.”

Master Dane Harvey watched the young vampire go. She was nothing but calm and composed, and if this were any other situation, he’d admire her grace, except this wasn’t any other situation, and he knew she was hiding something.

Not only her but Adrian as well.

He had watched them closely these past few days. They hid it well, but he’d been a vampire for 600 years and an esteemed war general before that - nothing went unnoticed by him.

His instincts, coupled with the reports from both Solomon and Heather, only solidified his suspicions.

“She’s scared, I can tell,” Solomon said after she left.

“When can we kill her?” Heather practically bounced in her shoes. Her long braids swung from the movement.

“Are you guys sure she’s hiding something?” Óscar said.

Hell Almighty, they were annoying. "Shut up,” Dane bellowed. “Do you smell that?”

“Blood,” Heather said first. Her pupils had grown, filling her irises with black.

“I mean, of course we smell blood, there are dona-” Óscar began but Solomon cut him off.

“Osmanthus and...bergamot,” he said, his pupils, too, rounding.

Dane lifted his hand. On the tip of his ring finger nail was a blackish speck. As soon as he’d grabbed her, the scent in the air had changed. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He brought the nail to his lips. His pupils rounded, and his nostrils flared as the hot, fragrant blood hit his tongue.

“Not just any blood,” he said. He peered at the stairs where Mistress Senar had gone down just moments earlier. ”Her blood.”

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