Venetian Blood

VENETIAN BLOOD

" I can't believe we paid two hundred euros for that tour," Dex grumbles as he sits back in his chair, shoving his video camera across the table. "We could have saved our money and just wandered around Venice by ourselves."

I sigh, trying to make eye contact with one of the waiters that's jetting from table-to-table as we sit at the outer edge of an expansive palazzo that spills out into a small square, fairy lights twinkling in the darkness around us. I catch the waiter's eye and he gives me a nod before hurrying somewhere else with a couple of negronis in hand.

"It wasn't a total waste," I tell him. "We got to see parts of the city we wouldn't have before, and the tour guide was a sweetie."

He gives me a steady look, a glint in his brown eyes. "She was lying through her teeth the whole time and you know it. None of the stories she told were in the books I read."

"Well, maybe she knows some ghost stories that only the locals know," I point out, though I think my husband is right. Every story our guide told did kind of sound like she was making it up on the spot. In fact, when someone in our group asked if the hospital we just passed was haunted she said yes and brought us back to the front of it, launching into a story about an old doctor who haunted the halls at night, and whose name changed several times during the tale.

"Phfff," Dex says, drumming his fingers on the table. "She was a scam. I couldn't even get any good footage with that German couple yapping the whole time."

I reach across the table for the camera just as the waiter comes by. Dex orders himself an espresso, and me an Aperol spritz, since that's all I've been drinking since we got to Italy a week ago. We're only here for a couple more days until we fly back home, and I'm pretty sure my blood will be orange with Aperol by then.

The whole reason we came to Italy was to visit Venice and the haunted island of Poveglia, but we've faced bureaucratic red-tape after red-tape when it comes to actually setting foot on the island. Apparently it's been off-limits for a long time and even though they let ghost-hunting shows film there in the past, they either think Experiment in Terror is too low-budget for them or they found that filmmakers are more trouble than they're worth. I'm going to assume it was the latter but Dex is convinced the show could use some spicing up.

That's what he always says, though. We've definitely taken a step back from producing as much content as we used to, even though proper paranormal investigator shows like ours aren't as popular anymore with the rise of amateurs on Tik Tok, but there's still nothing wrong with us or our format. I like to think we've matured for the better.

I turn on the camera and start flipping through the footage. Unfortunately, there isn't much that's usable, just a lot of the other tourists getting in the way and the tour guide droning on and on.

"Look," I say to him, putting the camera into my backpack. "If the government still says no to Poveglia tomorrow, at least we have one more night to film." I look around us, listening to the lively Italian being spoken by the locals in the square. It's been hard to find an authentic place to eat and drink in Venice that hasn't been swarmed by tourists, so this feels like a rarity.

The waiter comes with our drinks. The Aperol is frosty cold and filled with ice, which cools me down immediately. Even though it's just after ten at night and there's a fine mist in the September air, it's still hot and humid as hell. I'm probably dehydrated too.

We sit in silence, enjoying the sounds of the small plaza. After Dex shoots back his espresso (I'll never understand how he can have coffee so late at night), he glances at me. I expect him to say we should make our way back to our hotel but instead he says, "The night is still young. Let's shoot some more footage."

"Now?"

After we just spent two hours walking around the city and my feet feel like they're falling off?

He nods. "I have the haunted guidebook on my phone. We'll just do it how we used to do it."

"You mean wing it," I point out.

He grins. "Just like old times."

"That's the espresso talking," I tell him. We don't normally shoot anything without a plan these days, though so far none of our plans have worked out.

"Come on. It's worth a shot. You said so yourself, we could do it tomorrow night if Poveglia is another bust."

"But that's tomorrow night. I'm exhausted and it's too late to start hunting down all the haunted spots. Can't we just sit here and enjoy the night and then go back to bed and go to sleep?"

"Sleep? After this espresso?" he says with a wicked grin. "I plan on tiring you out even more when we get back to the hotel."

I roll my eyes just as someone clears their throat from beside us.

I look over in surprise to see a man sitting at a small table by himself. I stare at him for a moment, my mouth slightly agape. Not just because I could have sworn no one had been sitting there this whole time, but because he's so damn handsome. Beautiful, even. He's tall, maybe late thirties, with a large frame, dressed head-to-toe in tailored black clothes that scream money. His face belongs to a movie star, with thick, wavy black hair. The most enticing thing about him are his eyes, which almost seem to glow as he stares at the both of us.

"Sorry," the man says in an unplaceable accent, picking up his negroni and having a sip, "I didn't mean to overhear what you were talking about."

"Which part?" Dex asks, frowning. "The part about the ghost-hunting or me wanting to bang my wife back at the hotel?"

I groan and kick Dex under the table, but the man only laughs.

"Both," he says. "But I was more interested in the ghost-hunting part." He fixes his magnetic eyes on me. "No offence."

"None taken?" I say and for some reason my cheeks go warm, like I really want this stranger to like me. The more I stare into his eyes, the darker they seem to grow, like they're turning into swirling black pools I want to fall headfirst in.

"My name is Valtu Aminoff," the man says. It's only when he breaks eye contact with me and looks over at Dex that I feel normal again, like I can finally breathe. "I'm a professor at the conservatory here. Music. I happen to know of a haunted place that I would be happy to show you."

I watch Dex, expecting him to scoff and brush the man off. We've been through enough to know about stranger danger in our line of work. But I'm surprised to see Dex smiling at the man like a fool, his own cheeks pink, as if he's blushing too.

"That would be great," Dex says, a little too enthusiastically. "You'll really show us?"

I kick him under the table again but he ignores me. Since when would he agree to going off with a stranger in Venice?

"Of course," Valtu says. "It's right by the music school itself. Not too far from here."

"Dex," I say in a warning tone.

But then Valtu looks at me and smiles, his teeth so white, the canines so…sharp. And his eyes grow darker than ever. All my resolve seems to slip away the more I stare at him. After all, this is awfully nice of him, to offer to help us out like this. We would be dumb to turn this down.

"Let me buy your drinks," Valtu says. He stands up and before we can protest, he waves the waiter over. "I'm taking care of their drinks," he says to the waiter and I notice he subtly does some hand gesture in front of him. The waiter doesn't seem to notice the gesture though, and with a blank look on his face, he nods.

"Of course you are," the waiter says, in English, before backing away.

Well, that was weird.

"Come along," Valtu says, gesturing for us to get up and follow him. "The night awaits us. Make sure to get your camera ready."

My body responds like I'm a puppet on a string. I get up and bring the camera out of the backpack, handing it to Dex. Then we follow Valtu out into the square, like his presence is drawing us to him.

"I will show you the real Venice," Valtu goes on. "And in return all I ask is a simple favor."

"What's that?" I ask, my heart beating faster at the strange quality of his voice.

"You'll find out."

I exchange a look with Dex. He looks a little nervous for once, and yet every time I try and tell him I feel the same way, that maybe this isn't a good idea, a feeling comes over me, like I'm being cloaked in shadows, but warm shadows, and then suddenly the doubt lifts.

I feel light and purposeful.

This is an adventure. This is what we do. This is the show.

"You should start filming everything," Valtu says to Dex. "And I will narrate as your guide."

Dex obeys him, turning on the camera and filming Valtu as he leads us down narrow alleys—some of them so tight I fear my hips won't fit—then over tiny bridges, and through wisping fog that obscures Valtu from time-to-time, making us feel like we're wandering through a misty void alone.

Meanwhile, the stranger talks, his deep, melodic voice filling the air with such clarity it's like we're in a theatre. He tells us stories about women who drowned themselves, flinging themselves off bridges when they couldn't marry the lover they wanted. He tells us stories about men who killed their wives to steal their money, and children that were drowned because they were unwanted. He talks about scandals and famous figures like Marco Polo, and a famous cook who ran a busy restaurant at Saint Mark's Square until the police discovered he was cooking people into his pies, and the devil and a witch who made a bargain on a bridge.

And I believe all of it. Every single story feels real. More than that, it's like I can see it with my own eyes, as if Valtu himself was alive and present for each and every time period the stories took place in, and his own recollections are reaching deep into my mind.

By the time we reach the square of his conservatory of music, I feel like I've been walking through a misty dream, strolling through the horror of the ages.

"We're here," Valtu says, coming to a stop and pressing his hands together in a hopeful manner.

I look around. Though we passed through a main square around the corner, filled with cafes and people, where we are standing is quiet and still and dark and we're the only ones here. A prickle of unease forms at the back of my head.

We shouldn't be here, I think to myself. Suddenly the fear is so great that I have the urge to yell at Dex to run, but my mouth feels too dry to speak and my legs seem glued in place.

Valtu smiles at me and says, "You are wrong, Perry. You should be here. This is exactly where you need to be."

"How did you know her name?" Dex says while a shiver runs down my spine. "We never told you our names."

"I know a lot of things," Valtu says smoothly, his presence seeming larger, darker, and more menacing by the second, as if he's turning into a shadow of the night. "And I know that people like yourselves, ones that can commune with the dead, ones that have a special relationship with the darkness, that you're the ones that I need more than anyone else. Your blood is special."

"Blood?" I manage to say, my voice squeaking.

Dex aims the camera at Valtu's face but Valtu only grins into it. With a wave of his hand, Dex slowly lowers the camera back down and absently turns it off.

Valtu looks at me next, and I find myself drowning in his eyes again, enveloped by his power. Because this man is power. He is shadow and darkness and power personified.

He's also no man.

"Yes," he says to me. "I am a vampire. But I promise no harm will come to you. You won't even remember any of this in the morning. I just like to try new blood every now and then, especially the blood of such seers as yourselves."

He comes closer and closer and I close my eyes. Dex grabs my hand, holding on tight.

Then the darkness takes us both.

The next morning Dex and I wake up feeling like we've been hit by a truck. For some reason neither of us can remember what happened after we went on that walking tour. I have the faint taste of bitters in my mouth, and a vague image of us at a patio, but then it fades and I'm wondering if it ever happened. Perhaps it was a dream.

"I honestly don't remember anything," Dex says, rubbing his hands over his face before climbing out of bed. "Is it possible that we got wasted somewhere and both blacked out? Maybe the footage has something."

He pads toward the bathroom and I reach over to the bedside table and grab the camera. I go through the footage but there's nothing new, except at the very end.

A shaking, blurry shot of a shadow and a flash of white.

A shadow smiling.

A smile with fangs.

"Perry?" Dex calls out worriedly from the bathroom. "Why do I have a bite mark on my neck?"