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Chapter 3 

     "Giving a cigarette to a girl. Better be careful, someone might think you're in love with her."

     Byron snorted, "In love with a girl? I thought I was supposed to be in love with you."

     Marcus shook his head, laughing as he reached for another slice of pizza. It was a Saturday night, the two were hanging out at Byron's small apartment eating pizza and watching a movie. Or rather, they had intended to watch a movie, but ended up just talking about the past week, and life in general.

     "Seriously, maybe you should try to hook up with her." Marcus mumbled around a mouthful of pizza. "She seems pretty smart, managed to start and hold a conversation with you without freaking out, and she's pretty."

     "You're gay, what would you know about girls being pretty."

     Marcus rolled his eyes. "Please. Because I'm gay, means that I know more about looks then you, my woefully straight friend. Why do you think so many gay men go into fashion, make-up, and all that?"

     Byron shrugged. "I thought it was just to be annoying, like those idiots from 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.'"

     "Christ, don't get me started about those dicks." Marcus said in a disgusted tone. He wasn't fond of that TV show either.

     Byron grabbed another slice of pizza, extra cheese with black olives and jalapeños, and reached for the hot sauce. Despite the bizarre and freakish occurrences he had suffered this last week, this night was turning out pretty good. He couldn't share his experience with the ghost with Marcus, but his friend was more then willing to listen about Cassie.

     "What do you think about the whole...thing?" Byron asked as he doused his pizza with hot sauce.

     "I think you shouldn't drown your pizza with hot sauce." Marcus lifted an eyebrow, his blue green eyes sparkling with mirth. "Seriously, you're going to get indigestion."

     "I mean about Cassie."

     Marcus smiled. "Well, in my opinion, she must find something about you interesting. God only knows what..."

     Byron glared at Marcus, "God only knows what girls find attractive in you, especially with the gay part."

     Marcus fluttered his eyelashes. "I'm just so irresistible." Laughing, he settled back against the couch, flipping back strands of blond hair with a more sincere look on his face. "In all seriousness, she has to find something interesting in you. Tons of people were smoking outside, but she came up to you for a cigarette."

     Byron smiled, in spite of himself. He shouldn't care that Cassie found something about him interesting. Biting into his pizza with relish, nice and spicy, he leaned back into the couch next to Marcus, mulling over this new bit of information. A loud rumbling purr signaled Wilson's approach. The sable cat leapt up onto the back of couch, rubbing his furry head against Byron's in greeting, before leaping down into Marcus's lap. For some odd reason, Wilson found Marcus to be absolutely fascinating.

     "Hey there cat." Marcus smiled, there was no fascination lost on his part.

     He ruffled the black fur on the cat's neck, stroking the one splash of pristine white on Wilson's chest. Marcus often referred to that mark as Wilson's "Angel Tat". The white fur seemed to be shaped like some sort of angel, or bird, with outstretched wings of white against ebony.

     "What do you think she finds interesting about me?" Byron questioned hesitantly.

     Marcus stroked Wilson's fur as he thought. "Well, you are an attractive man, despite the...weirdness that seems to freak people out."

     Byron nodded. The 'weirdness' was his talent, his ability to see ghosts. Other people didn't know about it, couldn't know about it. But they could feel it, sense that something was off with Byron. It was always attributed as just a general 'weirdness', but in reality, it was Byron's aura of the supernatural that rubbed people the wrong way. Dante said that most humans with odd talents were always outcasts, they just couldn't fit in. Other, more normal folk, wouldn't let them fit in.

     "It might be the eyes." Marcus continued after a lengthy pause. "Ladies tend to fixate on the eyes, and you have quite a striking pair."

      Byron lowered the eyes in question, smoky amethyst set with a thin ring of burning gold. It wasn't normal. He often wondered if the odd colored eyes were related to his gift of seeing ghosts. Dante hadn't said anything on the matter...Byron frowned. Come to think about it, he had never asked Dante about it. Maybe it was time for a little visit.

     "Lofty thoughts, Lord Byron?" Marcus nudged Byron with a grin.

     Byron shook his head, realizing that he had been lost in thought for some time. "Just...thinking."

     "Thinking? Better be careful, you might hurt yourself."

     "You're such a faggot." Byron growled, finishing his pizza, and washing it down with a swig of beer. Guinness...the only beer worth drinking.

     Marcus punched Byron's shoulder playfully. "Careful now, everyone thinks we're both faggots...and that means you're the one taking it every night." He lifted his own beer in a mocking salute. "So fuck off, only a real faggot can say 'faggot.'"

     Laughing, they finally settled down to watch the movie. 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show', Marcus's favorite. Big surprise there. Byron didn't mind the film himself, though he really wasn't into movies. Hanging out with his best friend, drinking beer and eating pizza, doing something normal, that was something he was into. He needed to do more normal things, more often.

     The Crooked Corner pub was a small establishment at the corner of Quill Avenue and Apple Lane. Down in one of the oldest sections of Haven, a piece of Haven that was still mostly old stone buildings and brick roads, and had been dubbed the Diadem. The somewhat whimsical names came from the fact that this particular area of Haven had once been a major hangout of hippies during the 70s. With the flower power movement long gone, the Diadem had fallen into something of a disarray. More respectable citizens did not venture there. However, a bit of bohemia still survived, and while the Diadem held some of the more 'shadier' dealings of Haven, it also was a center for some of the more artistic folk.

     Marcus had introduced Byron to the Diadem, by way of a night at an old theater, the Harlequin. Every Saturday night, at midnight, the Harlequin held a midnight performance of 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'. Marcus sometimes played the part of 'Rocky', much to the delight of all the women in the audience. Byron hadn't quite gotten into Marcus's crowd. A group of artsy new age hippies, that were very much into drama, and old cult movies. Still, Marcus's crowd were regulars within the Diadem, so Byron sometimes ran into them.

     Art and drama were far from Byron's mind as he walked into the Crooked Corner. Sunday night, poetry night, and the Crooked Corner was packed. The pub reflected the artistic flavor of the Diadem, hosting nights of poetry, music, and drama. It also held an aspect of the darker life within the Diadem. Dante was proof of that.

     The lights had been dimmed for the poets, leaving the stage bright as they read. It left the rest of the pub shadowed, people sitting in groups within the gloom, while one person sat far in the back. Alone. The darkness seemed thicker, as if the loner could gather shadows to his hands, and weave them about in a wall of bracken silence. Byron had never seen Dante in the daylight, but he was certain that the enigmatic, and often morbid Sentinel could carry the night with him even on the brightest day.

     "Well Byron, what brings you to the Diadem tonight? It certainly wasn't for the chance to exchange pleasantries with me." Dante's voice was smooth, cultured, with a British accent. Yet within that lovely voice, always lay an undercurrent of bitterness, as if Dante wore a perpetual sneer in his voice.

     "Just out and about." Byron replied, pulling a chair up to Dante's table.

     Dante raised an eyebrow at that, his face as neutral and pleasant as his voice. He was tall, taller then Byron at 6 foot 7. His long black hair fell to the middle of his back, tied back in a loose pony tail. The ebony locks framed a thin face made up of high cheekbones and angles. The somewhat severe face was broken by the soft, full lips, and dimpled chin. That, and the large black sunglasses that Dante always wore, even in the dead of night. Dante also had a penchant for black clothing, always wearing the same black suit with a long black coat draped over his lean shoulders, the ebony clothes making his pale skin look even paler.

     Dante was a Sentinel, belonging to the Covenant. Byron wasn't sure what exactly the Covenant did, much less what it was. Only that it had something to do with anything of the supernatural, magical, and not human. As for the Sentinels themselves, Dante was the only Sentinel Byron had met to date. And Byron was pretty sure that Dante wasn't human. The tall, lithe Sentinel moved to quickly, gracefully for a human. A coiled energy humming about him, his movements and manner closer to that of a wolf, or a panther then a human.

     Byron was never sure if he should be afraid of Dante.

     "You have a question." Dante remarked.

     "Yeah." Byron clasped his hands tight, hoping he'd get a real answer for once. "I saw this ghost at the graveyard the other day."

     "Highly unusual." Dante said dryly.

     Byron grimaced, this was the part he hated. Dante never gave answers easily, if he gave any at all. Mostly it was cynical, bitter comments. Dante had something of an acidic wit, sort of an extreme version of that dry British humor that Byron knew of. But Dante was never funny, at least intentionally. Perhaps it was a common trait to Sentinels, or maybe Dante was just an ass.

     "She was unusual." Byron quickly related the conversation between him and the ghost, especially her remarks about Halloween. He didn't tell Dante about Cassie, not yet anyway.

     Dante leaned back in his chair at the end of Byron's tale, idly turning his glass of wine about. Byron watched carefully, he had learned to pick up on small, very small clues as to what Dante was thinking, or about to do. The Sentinel had a habit of absentmindedly playing with his drink, while he decided what to tell Byron. And what he wouldn't tell.

     "That is odd behavior for a Memoir." Dante murmured softly. He shook his head slowly, and added. "What do you think she meant?"

     "About Halloween?"

     Dante's lips tightened, "Brilliant, Sherlock. Of course the bit about Halloween."

     Byron took a deep breath, he hated those little barbs that Dante was so quick to throw. But he needed answers. "Something is going to happen on Halloween, something big. And from what she was hinted, it's not going to be pleasant."

     "Pleasant' is far from it." Dante explained. "To be honest, the Covenant has been keeping an eye on this year's Halloween for some time."

     "Why? What's going to happen?"

     Dante almost smiled. "You should know, you're the one who sees ghosts. Do you know why you can see ghosts?"

     "People say that 'seeing ghosts' is a talent of necromancers." Byron pushed back errant strands of hair from his face, the dim lighting in the pub picking up faint highlights of violet within the dark chocolate curls. "But I can't do necromancy. I can't raise up zombies...or whatever it is necromancers do. I just see ghosts, and can talk to them."

     "Please, necromancers are nothing more then old folk tales." Dante scoffed. "Every case of necromancy was disproved, it's just a myth. The ability to speak with what is left of the dead, that's real."

     "Yeah....I already know all of this." Byron rolled his eyes. "What does this have to do with Halloween?"

     "It has everything to do with Halloween." Dante swallowed the last of his wine, and prepared to go. "But it's something you don't need to know about. The Covenant is already taking care of it."

     Bryon shook his head. "Don't keep me in the dark about this. That lady specifically came to me in that graveyard to tell me that shit. And then, Cassie shows up at school with the same face. I think..."

     Dante interrupted, "Cassie? Cassandra Diodorus?"

     “Yeah.”

     Dante stood up, his body tense and still, as if carved from stone. “I knew the Diodorus girl was back, but not that she was at the university....with you.”

     “Is that bad?” Byron asked carefully, noticing the tension in Dante.

     “Stay away from the Diodorus girl. To do otherwise would be bad.”

     “And Halloween?”

     “The Covenant is taking care of it, there’s no need for you to get involved.” Dante picked up his fiddle case, an actual fiddle, though Byron had never heard Dante play it, and was unsure why he carried it around. “You know enough already.”

     Byron frowned. “I get the feeling that the Covenant is not going to be able to ‘handle it.’”

     Dante walked around the table to wear Byron was seated, leaning his face close to Byron’s ear. Close enough that Byron could feel heat emanating from Dante’s body, feel the tension and inhuman energy vibrating along the Sentinel's tall frame. He shivered, it was like coming across a tiger in the wild, standing absolutely still, waiting for the tiger to attack, or walk away. He wasn’t sure if Dante was going to walk away.

     “Stay out of this. You'll gain nothing but your own death.” Dante whispered into Byron’s ear.

     Byron nodded, feeling an icy clutch of fear grip his heart. Dante moved even closer, dangerously close. Byron could now feel the warm touch of Dante’s breath along his neck, the tall Sentinel's ebony hair brushing against Byron's cheeks. Dimly, Byron realized just how close Dante was to his throat, to the his frantically thudding pulse that beat right below the frail skin of his neck.

      Dante’s hand reached up to grip Byron’s arm, pulling him closer. Trapping Byron in an intimate pose, the Sentinel's face against Byron's neck. Dante’s lips were now brushing against Byron’s skin, his mouth poised above Byron's throat. His grip was like iron, bruising the skin and leaving no chance of escape.

      Dante’s voice dropped lower. “Now, you will be good and stay out of this."

     “Okay.” Byron whispered hoarsely.

     The Sentinel moved closer, the barest fraction of space between his mouth, and Byron's neck. "You will stay away from the Diodorus girl."

     Byron tried to keep his body still, tried to keep from shivering with fear. "Yes."

     “Good.”

     The grip on Byron’s arm lessened, and disappeared. Byron looked around to see that Dante had disappeared. Gone, as if he had melted back into the shadows, no trace of his passage evident. Only the bruising pain in Byron’s arm left as evidence, along with the lingering heat at his throat where Dante’s mouth had come close to his skin. Close enough to kiss, or bite. Byron shook his head, trying to clear away the fear and confusion. This...this had not gone as planned. In the three years that Byron had known, met and talked with Dante, Dante had never acted like this. He had never gotten that close to Byron, never touched him.

     Bryon stood, his legs somewhat shaky, and prepared to go. On the table, Dante’s glass of wine still stood, half-full. Byron turned away quickly, disturbed by the sight. He had often wondered how Dante managed to get wine in a pub. But never asked. He didn’t plan on asking. In the dimness of the pub, the glass seem to glitter with an unnatural light. To Byron’s traumatized senses, the wine within the glass held the same unnatural cast.

      It was red.

     Like blood.