“Because the levels go down, Lenore, not up. You understand what I’m saying? Even those as damned and soulless as we are don’t want to flirt with Hell.”
“Soulless? Speak for yourself.”
“I am,” he replies curtly, staring at me until I look down at my drink.
“So, do all vampires go in there? I didn’t see anyone there at all. Just…shadows. Creeped me out.”
“Those are shadow souls. You have a right to be creeped out.”
“Shadow souls?”
“Souls trapped in purgatory until they burnout, just the darkness remaining. They’re hungry for anything with a heartbeat. Spirit-hijackers. Best to stay away from them if you can.”
My eyes go wide. “Spirit-hijackers? I’m never going back in there again.”
“It’s not a pleasant place,” he says with a sigh, twirling his glass around, watching the caramel liquid swirl. “But sometimes it’s necessary. Not only because time moves differently in there, but because it allows us to hide for long periods of time.”
“Wait, time moves differently?”
“The time it took for you to escape from Dark Eyes and run to your apartment took less than a minute.”
I shake my head. “No. I was running full-stop, but it was at least ten.”
“Not to this world. It’s the closest thing we have to teleporting. You still have to do the work, time feels normal down there. But up here, it gives the illusion of being gone for just a moment.” He pauses, sucking in his lower lip in thought. “Long ago, when we weren’t used to the real sunshine yet, we’d have to escape into the Black Sunshine for six months at a time.”
“Why?”
“We come from the land of the midnight sun,” he says. “Half the year we live in darkness, the other half the sun never sets. That world was our salvation.”
This is a segue, and I’m taking it.
“Tell me about Skarde,” I say.
His mouth tightens. “Who told you about him? Your parents?”
“Wolf, actually. My parents too, but I still don’t know much.”
“Hmmm.” He swallows down more of his drink, his jaw tense. “Well, what do you want to know?” he finally says.
“He’s still alive, right?”
His eyes bore into me. “Yes.”
“Do you know him?”
A subtle nod, his mouth firm.
“And…where is he? In San Francisco?”
“God, no,” he says in a hush. “He’s far away. Norway. A tiny village no one can find. No human, that is.”
I’m so intrigued, despite the fact that the couch feels like it’s swallowing me whole. “Have you been there?”
“Of course,” he says, like I’m an idiot for asking.
“How old are you?”
“Old.”