Chapter 7: Dante’s Point of View

I paced the familiar pattern of the library, attempting to find solace in the certainty of the room. The dark wooden bookshelves kept their rigid backs to the wall. When the candelabras were not lit, their fire sparked throughout the library in the red, orange, and yellow furniture. And of course, the books. I spent more time in the library than my own room. After years of breaking it in, the strange, damp coolness had lowered, but never settled at my normal temperature. I always dissuaded Clyde and Gus from picking my room to hang out in. If a vampire was unnerved by the unnatural cold, they would be consumed by it. The library, however, felt like slipping into my skin. Curled upon the couch, lost in a pleasantly surprising book, the skin almost felt human.

I must have looked as mad as Charles Dickens in the ferocious way I marched about the library. At least I was not in public like he was, bursting through London at speeds of 4.3 miles per hour. No one would see me. No one would come in when she had arrived. The one. I clasped my wrist behind my back as I watched the shine of my black shoes shift with every change in direction. Each step I ground out was not for the one, but who she represented. I had read the prophecy more than any other piece of prose. Her existence—no, that’s cruel—her awakening stirred the spawn of my catalyst. 

Mara.

Mara. A young Dante had carved her name into paper like he was wielding a knife rather than a pen. He refused to let his fury act anywhere else but on the ink and parchment. Never again. That same Dante devoured any books on Mara until the information spilled onto his pillowcase in tears. 

What about now? I asked myself. Can I be that monster again? If the Son attacked, could I protect Clyde and Gus from that…that monster?

I could, I decided. We were products of the same abomination. I was cursed with an unnatural inclination towards violence. Every whisper from a classmate or low score on a test was a temptation to fight. 

I never did. I never let myself. I never would. Never. 

But for the Son of Mara, I would make an exception. For him, I would give in to every salivatingly grotesque impulse. Kate Chopin argued that to give one’s life was no comparison to giving up oneself. I would discard the sliver of my humanity for Clyde and Gus. For my two loved ones, I would dispose of my morality in an instant. 

That doesn’t really matter though, Dante. I halted at the front corner of the library, pawing for the nearest shelf to keep me upright. The fluidness of the wood could not ground me at that point. It did not matter what I would do. It matters what she would do. The one undoubtedly possessed a power far beyond even Professor Norwood’s understanding. But is power anything without motive? Is it just a glaze that crumbles because of a misstep? Sure, she could want to save the world, but that was impersonal. Too broad. When you get hit, an image needs to blind you with the will to fight back harder. You can not battle with strength alone. 

What was Blythe Seraphin’s reason? 

The creak of the door opening resounded through the empty library. I flattened my back up against the shelf instinctively, hoping whatever test-anxious student walked in would mistake me for the shadows. A heap slid down onto the floor. A girl heap. 

Pale hands clutched hair of fire, but not the kind that would burn you. The flame was impossible, melted from the sun, still retaining bursts of light throughout. Her elbows dug into her knees, covered by her light brown dress, as she balled up against the door. The harder she gripped her hair, the more the bones of her hands sliced out. 

An ache panged in my knuckles. My hands recoiled to my chest, cradling themselves in one another. I had not felt pain since the day I crawled into Esalroth, pleading for them to have mercy. The pain in my joints remembered every morning, afternoon, and early evening when I huddled in the darkest corner of an abandoned shack, cave, or dumpster, mourning my victims from the night prior. I thumped my head on my knees to try and make the hunger stop. 

My feet glided towards the girl before I fully yanked myself out of my memories. She looked so small in that position, I felt the urge to avert my eyes from her vulnerable moment. Did I look like that all those years ago? I wondered. Was I trying to be respectful of this stranger’s privacy or was I overwhelmed by the idea of conjuring the reassuring words no one offered to me? Her emotions were so similar to mine I could almost feel them intertwine.  

Then, she laughed. She wasn’t looking at me, so why was she laughing? 

An awkward smile winced through my words as I said, “We have couches, you know.” The girl jerked her head up, her gray eyes widening like clouds before a storm. In the motion, she whipped her head back against the door. Alarm bells blared in my head. You’re scaring her, Dante! Quick, quick! Fix it!  

I gulped hard, hoping a joke would somehow heal the blow I caused her. “No need to beat yourself up over it,” my voice wavered. I think I was sweating for the first time in my vampire life. “They’re ancient with time but softer than the floor.” 

She prepared to lift herself up, but her eyes melted at the sight of the library. They drifted around the room like a feather seeing the skies. Selfishly, I took pride in her adoration. The library was not my room, but it was my home. I was glad she felt welcome. 

“It’s a shame a school has so few books,” she said. Her voice moved like a brook, bubbling evenly so you no longer saw the worry in getting your feet wet. 

Staring at my own reflection in the water, I tried to absorb her confidence. “Yeah, I’m sure they would shut us down if the majority of the students could not brutally maim the council.” 

Why did you say that so fast? I panicked. Why did you say that at all? You’re going to scare this new girl. 

New girl? This girl I had never seen. Esalroth was too small not to recognize a classmate, even a first year.

My knees felt wobbly and I dashed over to the large yellow armchair as casually as I could. Thick with casualness, I hooked my leg over the edge. 

You look as dense as Bayle right now, I realized. I tossed my feet down onto the floor with all the grace I could muster amidst my revelation. It’s Blythe! Blythe. The one. 

The low chair made gazing up at her a religious act. The Catholics perfected their sculptures, but whatever religion Blythe was made of transcended any lump of marble or splash of paint. They all looked like mistakes compared to her. 

She lowered herself down onto the maroon sofa across from me. “I suppose I’ll have to settle.” 

The subject of our conversation had vanished in Blythe’s light. For a moment, I thought she conceded that she would settle for me and my heart skipped a beat. I reprimanded myself for observing her so reverently. No matter if I had respectful intentions, Blythe had a mind and heart I should be admiring first. 

I sunk into the back of the armchair and a fresh wave of realization crashed over me. She rushed into the library the way that she did because she was scared. My image of the one multiplied every time I reread the prophecy. Blythe may have possessed extraordinary abilities, but she was still a child with the feelings of one. 

I leaned towards her. My eyebrows sank and my eyes narrowed with the most serious and sympathetic investment. My first day at Esalroth, Professor Norwood gave me that same look as  she asked me about my life and how that life ended. The combination of her sullen eyebrows and focused eyes made all of me feel seen. 

Headmaster Tenold was sure to have greeted Blythe at the gates. His presence frightened me due to the silence of it. In dialogue, everything read out professionally detached, as an administrator and student conversation could, but something was ticking behind his glass eyes. It seemed most active on orientation day, always closing with the reminder that, “We are encroaching on two decades of apprehensive waiting. Esalroth is your home. If a demon is hiding amongst your family, it is your duty to snuff him out. Any suspicious activity should be reported directly to me.” 

After a year or two of waiting, most students became desensitized to the warning. Blythe, however, only just got to Esalroth. Anxious Mr. Tenold must have flooded her senses with terror and sole responisbility for that terror. I fiddled with my fingers as I prepared to hear what he had said to her. “Have you had the talk yet?” 

Blythe’s eyes jumped open as her brows pinched together. “Excuse me?” 

GODS BELOW, DANTE, my mind exclaimed. I think I was the first vampire to strike a fever. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” I tried to sweep my blunder away with a laugh that came out more like a concerningly intense exhale. “What I meant was,” I searched the rug in hope someone wove a guide to social interaction in it. “I’m Dante.” My name didn’t even sound like a word anymore. 

Looking justifyingly unbalanced, she returned, “Blythe…” 

“Yes, I know,” I replied. Even if she wasn’t the chosen one, how could anyone not know her name? She must have been the favorite amongst the friends she left behind for Esalroth, the one everyone gravitates to. The one you cancel plans for because they can not attend. I pressed my lips together, determined to remain on task. “I meant the talk with Tenold. You’re—” 

“No,” Blythe said with a harsh finality. 

I cocked my brow and my back stiffened. “What?”

“I’m only a witch,” she sniffed, looking away from me once she was sure I got the message. 

“Actually, you’re ‘only’ all everyone has been hoping for.” I busied my hands by smoothing out my black tunic’s sleeves. If she was coping by pretending this was not a big deal, I could play along. 

“I’m only here to perfect my power and go home, thank you.” Blythe’s reassurance was intentionally cold. Being a vampire, I was used to short replies and frigid temperatures. She was going to have to pull a lot more to phase me. 

Wait.

An old horror snatched away the illusion I had dreamt up. She doesn’t know I am a vampire. 

“Not before you defeat the son of a demon, unfortunately.” I hid my fangs behind the knuckle of my hand as I spoke, trying to stablize the normality I unintentionally, stupidly fabricated. 

Do you really think a mythical being would associate with you? A monster? A voice hissed in the recesses of my skull. 

“This isn’t like… a metaphorical demon?” Blythe asked. 

I took the opportunity to show her something else besides myself. Rising from my chair, I choked out the most earnest laugh I could as I walked over to the third bookcase on the left. There was no longer any reason to the way the books were organized. Headmaster Tenold fired the last librarian, Mrs. Benton, for lack of discipline over the students. He claimed books were missing and inappropriate books were appearing. As the library’s (Mrs. Benton called me) “favorite customer”, I felt qualified to say no such thing occurred. Not wanting to be added to the list of suspects, students rarely stayed in the library longer than it took to retrieve and check out a book. Sometimes, I noticed sweat beading on their forehead if it was taking too long for them to find a book. Without Mrs. Benton, my first true friend at Esalroth, books were categorized by wherever a student put them last. 

No one has taken this book in forever though…ah! I carefully pulled Curses, Demons, and Other Shockingly Revolting and Horrifying Beings from its forsaken place. No one cared to read about what they were living through. A heaviness pressed behind my eyes while I browsed through the delicate pages. I felt like a ten year old fighting for the wisdom of a ten thousand year old again. 

Skeletal, arachnidian, or jagged women flashed and I stopped turning the pages. There she was. All of her. “Not likely with a mother like that.” I angled the book towards Blythe and confusion splashed across her face. 

“Which one is Mara?” She asked. As she took the book from me, her hands brushed my own. Her fingers flinched. The minute reaction could easily be mistaken for surprise, but I knew she felt my below below average temperature. I drew my fingers back, caressing them anxiously. 

I swallowed, pushing the conversation forward. “We’re not really sure. She’s been around for centuries with different variations in each culture and religion. One says she is the devil’s older sister. One claims she’s the physical personification of evil. Another,” I took the text into my hands, staring down my executioner. “Believes she is the reason children have nightmares.” 

I had wrung out my nightmare mercilessly in my mind, like doing laundry every night, morphing every variation of Mara into the one I saw. 

Breaking my trance, Blythe asked, “Why is Mara—er, rather,—her son, returning to finish her wrath? What was she so vengeful about?” If we were not discussing the topic that had haunted Esalroth for over a decade, I would have been overjoyed at finding a friend as inquisitive as myself. Clyde and Gus respected my love of learning, but preferred using the library’s space for fashion shows and playing pirates. While my futile attempts to understand Mara ended in despair, they appeared to have a new purpose. 

“Similarly, it’s also debated. The only certainty is that Mara was exorcised sixteen odd years ago, leaving a son in her wake. And when the one returns, so does the son,” I replied. Blythe’s eyes had fastened onto the drawings of Mara, swelled in horror. I snapped the book shut and she blinked up at me, unaware of the spell that possessed anyone who dared study the demon Mara. I tried to ease my next words as best I could. I would not pretend I knew what was best for Blythe, but I could empathize with what she had shown me. “One theory is that her son is returning to punish the world for vanquishing his mother. Another theory is he is here for the same reason Mara was, but with the one thing she lacked that may have kept her killing for centuries longer. A reason.”

The confidence she held herself with slipped with each syllable she uttered. “Who… who is the son?” 

The smallness of her words echoed in my mind louder. Though I had traversed half of the Earth, Esalroth was the only world I had seen in years. Blythe was not constantly aware of the looming threat the students grew up with. Exposing the information that crumbled her spirit unearthed a pain worse than the physical kind. “Another mystery.”

Blythe bolted herself upright. “No, this is… it’s impossible,” she said, shaking her head while pacing the carpet. I feared my behavior was infecting her. She had to remember who she was. The one! 

“But all stutter at a witch who has the focus to disassemble the makeup of a rock and the will power to launch it so far—even if they understand witchcraft,” I said.

Suddenly, Blythe’s breath snagged and she stood petrified, except for her head, which darted around to the top of each bookcase until she faced me again. Her faded complexion contrasted the red pooling in her cheeks, forehead, and chin. She took a step back and slipped on a lip in the carpet or the newfound weight of her life. Thrusting herself up, she hastily stumbled towards the door. 

My feet stuck to the floor and we were in the woods behind my house, but now, I was my family and she was me. She was hallucinating over the place she had played in as a child. The trees sprouted with sweat and the dirt was slick with it. A bitter heat clawed at her lungs as she sped away. And I watched her vanish. I let her disappear. 

“Don’t!” I cried, running towards Blythe with all my might, more power than my family needed to catch their young son. But maybe they disposed of their obligation to me once those fangs sank into my neck. 

Blythe leaned back with shock at the inhuman distance I crossed so quickly. She couldn’t deter me. I would not give up on her. I carefully stretched my hand out towards her, wavering over her arm until she gave her consent. She nodded and I laid my hand on her bare bicep. When anxiety overwhelmed me, my mom dabbed a cool washcloth across my head and I fell back into my body and thoughts just became thoughts again. Not certainties. 

A warmth emanated from Blythe that made years of misery seem worth this singular moment of touch. Her posture loosened and an even color returned to her face. I put my other hand on her neck and her breath steadied. Blythe gazed up at me with a certain kindness that made my existence purposeful and not a disgrace. I only ever wanted to be the Dante she saw from then on. 

Once she was ready, I withdrew my hands into my black pants’ pockets. I realized I had something better to offer. “I have read to the woman who burns books,” I beamed, pointing to the portrait of a woman encircled by books starting to catch fire. I would have looked up the meaning behind the painting in an art history book, but I fancied my own explanation too much. Concocted from sleepless nights and childlike imagination, I decided that the woman was Lenore from Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”. She perished with her books and the narrator of the poem mourned Lenore in her own library, the site of her demise. 

Blythe raised an eyebrow with a smile. “Oh, that’s… nice of you.”

Gus would have doubled over with laughter. Clyde was right. I needed to verbalize the prelude to my words, but my internal dialogue was so vivid I could have sworn I did the preluding. “No, I’ve read all the books on the shelves up to that painting,” I clarified, tracing the bed of my thumb. “I’m sure if we both read the rest we could learn more about Mara and her history, and then determine who and where her son is and could be.” I looked at her with shy hopefulness. I did not want to be let down, but how could I not try and see her again? I didn’t even know her favorite book yet! 

“Then I’ll know what I’m up against.” Her eyes gleamed and I could not help but feel pride. Besides Clyde and Gus, the students who dared to look at me slathered me with disgusted or mocking looks. But I had made someone happy. “It’s astounding how you make do with so little enrichment.” 

I spat out a laugh. Her sarcasm caught me off guard as the only joking I had been offered recently was Gus’ poop jokes. I smiled wider until my fangs poked at my lips. 

My fangs. 

I shut my mouth instantly and turned away from Blythe. Admitting you were a vampire took time and faith. I didn’t tell Gus I was a vampire for a couple of weeks. To immediately drop such a lethal factor into a friendship shattered any possibility of trust. Luckily, Gus was ecstatic about the idea of having a literal partner in (violent) crime. But, Blythe was the one, meant to stop the same monster that created me. 

Her presence loomed behind me. “My aunt read me stories about you.” My shoulders tightened as I tried to keep my head held high. “I thought you would have worn a cape.” 

I spun around, exhaling with relief. She didn’t think I was a monster. She still saw me as just Dante. “It’s nice to meet you, Blythe Seraphin.” I smiled freely.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dante…” 

“Shyung,” I answered.
She offered her hand to me and I had to check if I was daydreaming. I grabbed her hand and her warmth melted over me. Into me. “The pleasure is all mine, Dante Shyung.” 

She’s real.