On Midnight Wings

The memory fragment vanished, winking out like a match beneath a pair of pursed lips. Dante blinked. What the hell had he been thinking? Remembering?

“My name is Violet.”

A deep unease uncoiled within Dante. He searched her eyes for any sign of a prank in their blue depths, but saw only truth. He also noticed what he didn’t see, hadn’t heard—Chloe’s bright smile, her giggles when he swore. And that scared the holy loving shit out of him. Tore a hole through the middle of him. A hole that threatened to swallow him whole.

You won’t save her, you know. You’ll fail.

“Bullshit,” Dante whispered, and wasn’t entirely sure if he was answering the voice in his head or the little girl in his arms. He swallowed back the blood rising in his throat, stealing his oxygen, then coughed. If she wasn’t Chloe, then where was—

She lies on the concrete floor, staring up at the hook, her blue eyes as wide and empty as a doll’s. The blood from her slashed throat stains her hair a deep red.

As her life, already cooling, soaks in through the knees of his jeans, Dante stares at his blood-sticky hands, his fingers, his sharp, sharp nails. He struggles to breathe.

A woman laughs, the sound low and throaty and pleased: That’s my boy.

“No.” One simple blood-soaked word, repeated over and over in a strained voice, a voice thick with guilt and grief and denial, and only the raw ache in Dante’s throat told him that the voice belonged to him.

The copper and tart-berry smell of her blood still hung heavy in the air, saturated his every breath. Glistened on his nails. Hunger glided like a gator to the surface. Ravenous. His heart slammed against his ribs. “No. No. No.”

“Are you okay, Dante-angel?”

He didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know if he even could. But he knew what he had to do. He let go of Chl—Violet, gently pulling her arms free from around his neck, then shoving her away.

Her blood spills hot and fragrant and crimson over his fingers . . .

“Are you mad at me?” Violet asked in a small voice. “I know I can’t be your princess, but I made wings so I could be your angel.”

Dante started to reach for her, to hug her tight, but stopped himself at the last second. His hands knotted into fists at his sides, sharp nails biting into his palms. “No, p’tite, no. That ain’t it, not at all. This ain’t your fault. But you gotta keep the fuck away from me,” he said, his voice low and husky and more than a little desperate—even to his own ears. “You gotta keep yourself out of reach.”

“But why?” Violet stood under the hook and Dante wanted to yank her from beneath its curved shadow. But he couldn’t trust himself to let go again.

“Cuz you ain’t safe with me, p’tite. Now get away.” Dante scowled as he flapped his hands in a dismissive, move-your-ass-already motion. “Vite-vite.”

But despite the hurt darkening her blue gaze, hurt that Dante regretted, no matter how necessary, Violet refused to move, the stubborn tilt of her jaw declaring loud and clear: You’re being a butthead, so I’ll be a butthead right back. So there.

Fine. So he’d move instead.

Coughing, the sound harsh and liquid, Dante staggered up to his feet. He managed—just—to keep his balance as the room did one dizzying Tilt-A-Whirl spin and dip, before steadying beneath his boots. But before he could take step numèro un, his vision suddenly fractured like ice beneath too much weight and split into jagged halves. His breath caught rough in his throat.

He saw both Chloes at the same time: Chloe dead on the floor, snow-angeled in a thickening pool of her own blood. Chloe standing several feet away from him, still regarding him with complete trust, despite the confusion darkening her eyes.

The room took another Tilt-A-Whirl spin and Dante stumbled. He closed his eyes, jaw tight. His head felt full of broken glass, his heart full of ash. Images of Chloe dipped and fluttered through his mind like fast-winging night birds.

—Chloe happily brushes his long black hair, then pulls it into a ponytail while she teaches him—the boy who can’t go out into the daylight—how to read and write.