Chapter Text
Rain beat down on Stellarosa, hammering the old, crumbling buildings across the south side of the city. In the tenements, harried women put buckets beneath the leaks in their roof, while at the factories overworked men spent their breaks hastily mopping the floors. A handful of people walked the streets, pulling their hats low and their coats close around them, cursing when they stepped in puddles and soaked their socks.
One slender figure barreled through the rain, her head down and her cloche pulled so low she was navigating the streets purely by muscle memory. She ducked into an alleyway and felt along the wall for a door, which she wrenched open and slipped into, slamming it shut behind her. She muttered curses under her breath as she stomped down on a wadded towel on the ground, moving it around with her feet in an attempt to sop up some of the water that had come through from outside, but the towel was too drenched to soak up much of anything. Still, having at least made the effort, she stepped out of her shoes, pulling her hat off to expose a mess of pale pink hair plastered across her face, and a pair of long, pointed ears that managed to escape the tangles.
She hung her hat by the door, and with some effort peeled off her rain-drenched coat, struggling to even lift it to the peg. As the clacking of heels on the ground reached her ears, she turned away from the coat rack and reached up to sweep the hair away from her eyes, her cat-like pupils widening as they adjusted to the dim amber light of the backstage corridors.
Of course, even without seeing, she would have known the approach of the stage manager by ear--a tall, severe woman in black slacks and a vest. Her eyes swept up and down the young woman, her expression slightly more disapproving than usual. "For god's sake, Lily," she muttered. "Alright, let's get you presentable."
As the stage manager turned on her heel and stalked towards the dressing area, the young woman glanced down at herself. Her white linen dress was meant to be loose and formless, but when she was soaked to her underwear, it clung to her curves. Where the cloth was tightest against her skin, at her shoulders, chest, and hips, swaths of her smooth brown skin were clearly visible through it. Her cheeks burned to see herself like this; she was used to changing clothes back here, but even stripped down to her stockings, she had never felt so exposed.
Trying to shrug off her embarrassment, Lily hurried after the stage manager. "I'm not on til six, I have plenty of time to--"
"You're on at ten."
"What--since when, Miss Rinaldi? I checked the schedule last night and--"
"Schedule's changed." Rinaldi reached back to grab Lily's wrist, ushering her into the cramped alcove that passed as her dressing room. "You're on stage at ten. For now, you’re needed elsewhere."
Lily's brow furrowed as she began to strip off her dress. "Elsewhere? I don't..." She winced as the manager ran sharp talons through her hair, beginning to unclump her wavy locks.
"We have a customer cooped up in the back room. He's stuck there till sundown, and the owner's afraid he's going to tear the place apart." Rinaldi snatched up a comb and began to fluff up the young woman's hair. "But luckily, you're his favorite. So you are going to keep him occupied. Understand, farmgirl?"
Her stomach twisted. She understood. She understood exactly what kind of customer would be allowed to hang around past closing time. She understood what sort of customer was allowed in the back room--soundproofed, no windows. What sort of customer couldn't go out while the sun was up.
"What do I have to do?" Her voice was shaky, and very small. She flinched at Rinaldi's weary sigh; she felt so stupid for even asking.
"Whatever he wants."
She didn't say anything after that; her mouth was too dry, and her breathing was too shallow. She toweled herself off as best she could, then slipped into the chemise and the sequined dress that were shoved into her arms. She turned to leave, only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder, the older woman's talons digging slightly into her skin.
"Ring."
Lily lifted her hands in front of her, twisting the thin gold band on her finger. "I mean, I'm not even going on stage--"
"Ring," she repeated.
Biting her lip as she turned around, Lily slipped the ring from her finger and put it in the little box where she kept it while she was performing. Miss Renaldi draped a feather boa over her shoulders, and she finally made her way out onto the floor.
Thankfully, there weren't many customers yet; the Riverfront Lounge opened around lunchtime, but it didn't really see much foot traffic until after the factories shut down for the evening. Still, there were always a few patrons hanging around--older men, mostly, drinking at the bar or waiting for their lunches to settle. As she passed, the bartender caught her eye and waved her over. For a moment, she thought about continuing on, but if the man she was going to see had been stuck here since sunrise, another minute or two wasn't going to make the difference. And it wasn't exactly like she was eager to go through with this.
As she approached, the bartender set a tray in front of her. "Got something for you." He put a rocks glass with a salted rim on the tray and poured the thick, brown contents of a shaker into it. "For our guest, and..." He set a highball glass next to it and wedged a slice of lemon between the spear of ice and the glass, before filling it generously with clear liquid. "For your nerves." He forced his most reassuring smile. "Good luck." Lily gave the bartender a bright smile that was just as fake and headed to the back wall.
The sliding door blended so well into the rest of the decor that she imagined most customers probably didn't realize there was even a room here. She put her tray down on a little table, and after a moment's hesitation, took a quick sip of the drink the bartender had made for her. Even the sharp taste of lemon and juniper barely registered, but the way the cold gin burned in her throat and stomach was bracing. It didn't do much for her nerves, but it was enough for her to take the brass railing that served as the handle to the back door and pull.
The door was heavy--it was built with people far stronger than Lily in mind--but the rails and wheels were well designed and well maintained, so it didn't offer that much resistance. Once the door was open, she turned to retrieve her tray; the door began to slide shut the moment she let it go, and she had to hurry in, trying not to wince as it slammed closed behind her. Setting the tray on another nearby table, she turned back to the door and made sure it was properly closed.
As soon as the door was back in its place, the brass lattice across the top aligning neatly with the matching plates on the walls, a blue glow began to emanate from the glass tubes behind the metal, and everything went silent. The clank of dishes, the murmur of voices, even the pounding of the rain on the roof, all vanished in an instant. And without them, she could only hear her own shaky, shallow breath, and her heart pounding in her ears.
It was so quiet, she could almost believe she was alone in the room. But she had known before she opened the door that the man she was coming to meet didn't need to breathe.
She turned around, forcing herself to smile, but there was no need--the man sitting at the far end of the long table had his eyes closed. Lily could have taken him for sleeping. Or dead. Except, even though he wasn't moving, she couldn't say he was still , either. His body was too tense to tremble, like a violin string stretched past the point where it could vibrate, looking almost calm in that moment before it snapped.
Has he really been like this all day? No wonder the boss is worried.
Her mounting anxiety made each step towards him a struggle, as if she were pushing through some pressure emanating from his rigid form. She'd had an easier time pushing through the torrential downpour on her way here. As she approached, she could see that the table was laden with everything they had done to pacify him, all of it untouched. There was a a glass just like the one she was bringing him, the salted rim undisturbed and molasses beginning to condense at the bottom. There was a plate of steak and greens, the bloody juices having long-since dried and stained the plate. The pack of cards was probably one they'd found lying around the break room, but somebody had to have gone out in the rain to get the fresh pack of cigarettes, which remained sealed and sitting tidily on the glass ashtray.
Lily put down her tray of drinks, settling his cocktail in front of him and her gin a few seats away, before collecting his old plate and glass and setting the tray aside. Hovering this close to him, she could see how disheveled he was. His black tie was undone, as were a few buttons of his shirt, exposing a swath of skin nearly as pale as the cotton, as well as the edge of a gray, faded tattoo, creeping up along his chest and the side of his neck. She could see signs that his snow white hair had been slicked back, but the vast majority of it had long since escaped whatever pomade he was using and hung loose around his head. And there was a black jacket crumpled on the ground behind him, which had no doubt fallen from the back of his chair. A gold pin glinted from its crumpled lapel. Almost out of habit, Lily walked past him, bending down to pick up the coat.
She did not see him move; she was simply suddenly aware of a hand wrapped around her upper arm. His grip was not tight or crushing, and it probably would not have been painful had Lily not instinctively jerked away. When she tried to pull against him, she found his grip as cold and unyielding as iron. The faint scent of blood reached her nose, and her eyes fell to his arm. He had rolled up sleeve, but the folds in the cloth didn't quite hide the splatters of red around his cuffs.
"You don't have to do that." He barely spoke above a murmur, but his deep voice rumbled through Lily's body and shook her bones. She felt the words more than heard them.
"Sorry," she said, trying not to let the fear into her voice. But if his ears were anywhere near as keen as hers, he would certainly hear her pulse pounding faster and faster with each second his icy fingers held her tight. "Could you let me go, please?"
She wasn't sure which amazed her more--that she had found the courage to ask, or that his grasp loosened immediately, his hand falling to his side. Lily took a step back, trying to get out of arm's reach, trying to calm herself down. But what little control she had mustered unraveled with a gasp as his eyes cracked open.
Rinaldi had called Lily 'his favorite,' but that hadn't meant anything to her. She was sure there were patrons who were fond of her, but outside of a little bit of banter directed at the tables nearest the stage, she didn't interact with the customers that much. And she was pretty sure she had never seen this face in the front row. But she had absolutely seen these eyes in the back corner, burning like coals from the shadows.
Lily was used to being stared at, and while she wasn't about to say that she liked it, she couldn't say that she minded either. Most of the men who leered at her were harmless, imagining a fantasy of her and playing with it like a doll in their heads. She wasn't real to them. But the unblinking gaze of those glowing red eyes felt very real, and very hungry. Like a cat watching a bird through a window. Only, now there was no glass to protect her.
"So what are you here for?"
She barely noticed herself taking another step back, but she did notice his eyes narrowing, ever so slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I--" Whatever you want. Those words had filled her with dread when they were just words. Now that she was here with him, with that gaze burning into her, with all the possibilities of what he might do to her, she couldn't say it. She could barely think it.
After a few moments of staring expectantly, waiting for an answer she couldn't form, he sank back into his chair, closing his eyes again. Her knees buckled and she almost fell over as the tension that had been keeping her ramrod straight lessened, if only a little.
"Why don't you sing me something?"
Lily swallowed and forced herself to take a step forward, and then another. If a song is all he wants, I'm getting off light. She put her hands on one of the chairs to pull it out, but hesitated. She didn't think she could sing very well sitting in a chair, and she didn't think she could stay on her feet the three or four hours until sundown. Carefully, she cleared a space on the table, then turned around to sit on the edge, slim legs swaying gently. "Any requests?"
A creaky sigh escaped his throat. "What were you going to sing on stage tonight?"
It almost felt too easy, singing her usual set. It should have put her at ease, that he was asking so little of her, but it just made her all the more nervous. The other shoe was going to drop any minute, she knew it. But until it did, what else could she do but what he asked? She tried to steady her hand enough to take a sip of her drink, hoping it would steady the rest of her. She set it down and cleared her throat; when she spoke again, it was in the deeper, breathier voice she used on stage. "Well, it starts with..." Trying to imagine the band beginning to pick up, building up to her cue, she licked her lips and began to sing.
"I've earned a pretty penny, I've turned a head or two... I've learned you let your guard down, when somebody's good for you..."
Line by line, she lost herself in the music. Even when she was this nervous, she couldn't help enjoying it. As exhausting as it could be, working till two or three in the morning almost every night, how could she say she'd rather be home in bed? She would come apart at the seams if she couldn't perform for an audience. And it seemed even an audience of one would do. Lily felt herself flush with pride to see the tension ebbing from his body song by song.
By her fourth number, her throat was starting to dry out, but she was in her element. She took a sip of her drink, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. "So, I don't think I caught your name."
He shifted slightly in his chair. "It's Valenti," he said.
"Valenti." It wasn't what she expected, although she wasn't sure what she was expecting. One of those names that got splashed across the papers, maybe, where you could tell the reporters were terrified to say a bad word about them. Mezzanotte, Alba, Stragheria. "Just Valenti?"
He sighed. "Lucas Valenti." Before she could say anything in response, he opened his eyes again, and the words died in her throat. His posture may have relaxed, but the hunger that burned in his eyes had not diminished. "And it's... Lily St Eos?"
"That's right, " she said, beginning to feel on edge as he continued to stare. "...Morello, actually." Immediately she regretted telling him her real name, but in this moment it felt like lying to leave him with only her stage name. And with those eyes drinking her in, it felt dangerous to lie to him. "St Eos was my grandmother's name. You can just call me Lily."
"Lily..." He said her name like he could taste it, and she suddenly felt like she had given away something she could never get back.
She was proud that she managed to keep the smile on her face, though she couldn't quite keep the tremble out of her voice. "Well then Mister Valenti... I guess this one's for you..."
As she launched into her next song, she wished he would stop looking at her. But she didn't think that was likely. Whenever she caught those eyes watching her from the shadows, she knew they would be on her the rest of the night. He didn't look away until he left for good; she got the feeling he didn't even blink.
Even so, as she continued to sing, her nerves began to settle. She couldn't tell if singing was making her feel better, or if she was getting used to his eyes. Maybe the drink was starting to get to her. Maybe it was getting too exhausting, staying that tense, that nervous.
Half an hour later, and Valenti was slouched back in the chair, with his hands interlaced in front of his face. He was still watching her--if anything, his gaze had gotten more intense.
Lily smiled at him. "And that's my whole set for tonight. If you have anything else you'd like me to sing, I'm sure I can oblige..."
"Why do you work at a place like this?"
She blinked. It was the first thing he'd said since she'd given him her name; she'd almost forgotten how his rumbling voice shook her body with every word.
"I like to sing." It was true, but it wasn't the truth. Singing was a bonus, and as much as she loved it, she would give it up in a heartbeat for better pay and benefits. She just... didn't have a lot of skills to pay the rent with. Even back on the farm, she'd been pretty useless--she'd inherited her grandmother's petite frame and delicate constitution, but none of her magic.
"Why not Fiori Hall, or The Crown or something?"
She chuckled a little. "I don't think I'm ready for The Crown." More practically, she knew an upstart singer would struggle to get booked consistently at the grand music halls of the Twilight District. The Lounge was a steady paycheck, at least. On top of that, the presence of the back room, and she suspected a bit of creative bookkeeping on the owner's part, meant that anyone who worked at the Riverfront was square with the families. If she left, she doubted she could afford to pay her dues in cash. And she couldn't go back to paying in blood.
Still, a girl can dream, can't she?
"Not that I spend a lot of time at the music hall, but I've never heard a singer as good as you down there. I mean it's nice enough, but isn't music supposed to make you feel something?" He shook his head slightly, eyes never wavering from Lily. "I don't know. Maybe I just don't get it."
She was barely aware that of herself leaning towards him. "And what do I make you feel, Mister Valenti?" Some part of her was screaming not to tease him. Not to give him any ideas.
"...everything you sing sounds lonely."
A wave of confusion washed over her, leaving nothing of the bickering voices in her head. She hadn't been expecting that, and she didn't know how to respond. But if she were a little more sober, she definitely wouldn't have responded the way she did.
"It's easy to sound lonely when you're always alone."
She shouldn't have said it at all, really, but she'd meant it to be sardonic. To laugh at herself and lighten the mood. She hadn't meant for it to come out so quiet, so hollow, so defeated. And as the realization of her words and her tone caught up to her, she began to panic. "That--I didn't--sorry, I should go--"
She looked at the door as she began to slip off the table, but found her path blocked by a towering wall of flesh. Valenti's hands pounded down on either side of her, caging her in with his arms, before she even heard his chair clatter against the ground.
"Don't run," he said. "If my prey runs, I can't help but chase it. That's what a predator does."
Trembling, she turned back to face him. She glanced at his bared fangs, before looking up to meet his burning gaze with a whimper.
"Is this your way of telling me to stop wasting your time?" Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, but he kept going. "They did send you back here to fuck me, didn't they?"
She didn't say anything. She couldn't even shake her head. No one had had actually said it, but Lily had known damn well what was expected of her. And she had come back here anyway, doing her best to resign herself to it.
He seemed to take her silence as the confirmation it was. "Well I didn't ask for that. I didn't ask for anything!" A sweeping gesture of his arm sent several items flying off the table; Lily flinched as she heard the ashtray shatter against the wall. "I wasn't going to touch you or anything else. But if you'd rather get it over with..." He leaned towards her, until the front of her dress pressed against his shirt with every trembling breath she drew. "I can make it quick. And you can go back out there and tell them you did your job, and get on with your life."
She could barely hear him over the pounding of her own heartbeat. She could barely speak when her mouth was as dry as chalk. "Wait, I-- I can't, I--" She swallowed. "I'm engaged, I can't--"
She was cut off by a hand wrapped around the back of her head and Valenti's mouth pressed to hers. A growl rose up from his throat, carried on a wave of hot air--hotter than she would have guessed from his cold hands, hotter than Jack's breath had ever been against her lips. Valenti kissed her fiercely, drinking down the very air from her lungs in his hunger. She slammed her hands against his chest, more so that she could say afterward that she tried, than out of any hope of pushing him away. Although, as her vision swam and her head grew light, she began to wonder if there would even be an afterward.
Only when her arms fell limp at her sides did Valenti finally pull back. For a moment, she didn't realize anything had changed. But the feeling of his fingers settling on her knee provoked a rattling gasp, which led her to a sputtering cough. Her chest heaved as she gulped desperately for air, but the rush of oxygen only disoriented her more.
"Engaged," he murmured. "But you're always alone?" She shook her head with a miserable groan. "Does he not make your heart race like this?"
She could feel tears beginning to form in her eyes. She knew she should say something, but her head was too clouded to form the words. And before she could find them, Valenti kissed her again. This time, he pumped air down her throat with a moan, filling her with his own burning breath. If he were truly breathing, if his lungs had been anything more than vestigial sacks of air, she would have suffocated just as surely as before. But despite a faint taste of blood and rot, a taste Lily could only describe as death, she was alive. She could breathe. Or rather, Valenti was breathing for her; Lily was still too overwhelmed to do anything but accept his mercy.
The only thing keeping her grounded was the hand on her knee--or rather, her thigh, as Valenti's fingers crept up and up, hitching up her skirt. When he reached the top of her stockings, and his delicate touch settled against her smooth skin, she flinched beneath him. It was not the ice in his skin that startled her, but the fire in her own.
A strained, creaky breath issued from her throat, somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
And then it was over. In an instant, his lips, his hands, the heat of his breath and the chill of his touch, were gone. It took Lily a few moments to make her eyes focus, to see Valenti had retreated to the nearest wall. He was still staring at her, his eyes wider and wilder than ever. The hunger was still there, but there was something else. It wasn't quite fear, but she didn't know what else to call it.
"I..." Her voice came out in a rasp, and she swallowed before continuing. "I don't understand."
"You should go," he said.
Dizzy, bewildered, Lily slowly slipped off the table, waiting for the trick to be revealed, for the other shoe to drop. Her heart pounded as she turned her back on him to collect the tray she had brought in.
"Go," he snarled.
Lily dropped the tray with a clatter and walked to the door. She was afraid to run; wouldn't he chase her? Wasn't that what he had said? Maybe he was going to do it anyway. Maybe this was just his way of playing with his food. But she reached the door and opened it--with great effort, but without incident. The deafening sounds of the Lounge washed over her, and she stumbled out onto the floor.
By the time she had closed the door behind her, someone was drawing close to her. She whirled to face them, panicked; only when they stepped back did she recognize the bartender. After a moment of staring at each other, the young man took a tentative step toward her and reached out his hand. Hesitantly, certain that this would all come crashing down somehow but too resigned to fight it, she took his hand, and let herself be led backstage. Somehow she found her way to her dressing room; only when she tried to kick off her shoes did she realize one was missing. She wondered when exactly it had fallen off. Whether it had been before or after the feather boa that she had also apparently left behind.
With trembling hands, Lily took her engagement ring from its box and slipped it back on her finger. She kissed it gently, almost reverently, as tears began to roll silently down her cheeks.
She didn't know how long she sat there. By the time the familiar gait of Miss Rinaldi approached her alcove, those tears had dried up. The woman rapped her talons against the wall--a warning that she was coming in, rather than a request for permission. She stepped in behind Lily, dropping a glossy red shoe next to its mate and hanging a feather boa on a hook.
"What time is it?" said Lily. Her voice was raspy, and barely above a whisper.
"Quarter to nine. He's left, if you're wondering." She placed a hand on Lily's shoulder. "How you holding up, farmgirl?" It was the gentlest Lily had ever heard the her speak.
Lily reached up to wipe the tear streaks from her cheeks, then lowered her hand to her chest. She had long since exhaled every wisp of air Valenti had breathed into her lungs, but not before that breath had permeated her entire body. Maybe it was her imagination that she could still feel it, but imagination or not, she could feel him. She was marked, inside and out, tainted by the taste of death.
"I'll be fine," she said.
"Good. You're on at ten." The stage manager turned and walked out, calling back as she left, "Vocal warmups! You sound like shit."
Lily stared into her reflection for a few more moments. Then she slipped her ring off her finger, put it back in its box, and got back to work.