"I'm not one for making personal judgements," Jackie says when Maka answers the door. "But garlic is generally meant to be cooked."
Maka lets the door swing open. "You run a weekly editorial on the fashion tragedies of Death City and you once said you were only living out of spite."
She cedes with a half-shrug. "If living is my way of flashing the middle finger to the world, then I'm going to do it well." Jackie bats away the hand attempting to drape a necklace of garlic identical to Maka's around her neck, stepping into the apartment. "Garlic cloves are not lesbian culture."
"And barging into my home at eight in the morning is?"
"I figured you were hungover when you texted me that you were sick so I wanted to make sure you weren't suffering too badly."
As Jackie walks in further, Maka pokes her head out into the hallway, sweeping her gaze carefully up and down before closing the door. Pulling off the garlic necklace, she tosses it on the counter separating the living room from the kitchen and turns to see Jackie surveying the living room with a critical eye. "It looks like a tornado had a baby with a conspiracy theorist's basement."
"I was slammed with inspiration last night," Maka answers, which isn't entirely untrue.
Jackie's gaze moves from the various books strewn across the floor and the couch to the whiteboard Maka dragged out from underneath her bed last night. "Vampire protection rituals?"
"It's research," Maka replies evenly, moving to erase the board with her sleeve. A sharp tongue and a fearless attitude towards voicing their opinion, no matter how strong, along with a penchant for the pumpkin muffins from the bakery down the street had been the foundation for her and Jackie's friendship but that doesn't keep Jackie from biting down on her thoughts.
"Research," she repeats, unconvinced. She perches on the couch and plucks a book from the coffee table. "You do realize that you write for the entertainment section of a relatively modest newspaper enterprise? As much as they pretend, our readers are barely culturally literate on the supernatural."
"What's wrong with having higher expectations for our readers?" Maka takes the book from Jackie and begins collecting the other books before she can get a better look at them.
"Only the reason why you got roped into going to that club yesterday." There's the rustle of paper from behind Maka as she hoists a pile of books onto the bookshelf tucked in the corner of the room. "Is this Sonic the Hedgehog?"
What is supposed to be the vampire's face leers at Maka from across the room-she'd set to drawing her attacker as soon as she came home but what looked like a deeply realistic drawing at two am looks worse than a child's scribbles in the morning light. A flush crawls up her face and the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach returns as she strides across the room and snatches the drawing away from Jackie.
Jackie is unruffled, swinging her hair over her shoulder with a lazy flourish. She smooths an invisible wrinkle in her cardigan. "There's some tutorials on Deviantart if you want some tips."
"I'm not thirteen." Maka settles herself the old recliner positioned opposite of the couch and folds the drawing in half without looking at it again.
"No shame in starting late." Flicking her eyes upward, Jackie's hands still and she narrows her eyes. It's the same look she wears when scrutinizing a particularly blatant fashion disaster. "Have you slept at all?"
Maka holds her gaze. "I went to a club, Jackie, not the library."
"I'd actually believe you if you told me you stayed up all night in a library." Jackie's eyes takes on a laserlike gleam and Maka tries not to squirm. "Did everything go okay?"
In the span of an instant, Maka squashes the temptation to tell Jackie the truth; stark practicality is the hallmark of Jackie's worldview and she was even more vocal than Maka in her disdain for the lengths in which Death City went over the top for the morbid and supernatural.
"There were a couple catcallers I ran into on the way out of the club." She decides on partial truths than outright lies. "I got a little shook up."
Jackie's mouth twists in a delicate scowl that belies her ability to roundhouse kick someone in the jaw. "That qualifies justifiable cause for self-defense, you know."
"Murder isn't quite suitable for a resume."
Jackie shrugs. "Call it experience with conflict resolution and there you go."
She musters something close to a laugh and leans back into the recliner. For a few moments, it's quiet and then Jackie rises abruptly, shrugging off her purse. "I'm going to make you some coffee from that processed garbage you like so much."
"It's called instant coffee."
Jackie disappears into the kitchen. "It's called a crime against modern humanity."
Maka's laugh is real this time. She blows out a sigh when she hears the familiar whir of the coffeemaker. In Jackie's company, the events of last night feel like a bad nightmare, horrific and unreal, but every time she speaks, her throat burns with a dull ache and she remembers.
Maka's fingers pick at one of the threads coming loose in the recliner's armrest. Her mind hasn't stopped moving in circles since she stumbled to her car but she'd managed to block it out until Jackie's arrival had confirmed that she wasn't stuck in an unending nightmare.
She glances behind herself to the twin windows to make sure the line of salt she spread across the window sill hasn't been broken by Blair. Salt should be enough to ward away anything evil according to the books she owned on superstition but that hadn't kept her from going out as soon as the sun had risen to buy all the garlic in the grocery store. Silver was going to be harder to find since apparently everything she had thought as silver in her apartment was some sort of alloy except for the earrings her mother had gifted her for her last birthday.
All in all, she supposes she's doing fairly well for having reality upended on its head; while she had lined the apartment with salt and forced a garlic clove around a very surly Blair's neck, she remembered to call Patti when she got home and hasn't converted herself into an overnight shut-in, which counts as a victory in her book.
"I still don't know how you can stomach the smell of this." Jackie's voice makes her start as she returns from the kitchen, mug in hand.
"Maybe you'd see why if you tried it for yourself." Maka accepts the mug, shoving her thoughts away.
"I'll stick with my freshly ground coffee beans at the office." Jackie retrieves her purse from the couch and tugs on the belt around her jacket. "If Kim hasn't let the pot run cold again, that is."
Maka swallows; the coffee's steaming bitterness chases away some of the fog in her head and she feels slightly more grounded now. "Sorry for making you late."
"Only a terrible friend wouldn't make sure you hadn't died after a night out." Jackie waves away her thanks. "Besides, it's not like Kim cares."
"That's only because it's you."
She rolls her eyes but a rare blush tints her face. "That may be true."
At the door, Jackie turns back. Her face is twisted in a frown, which is not uncommon, though the concern in it is. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, yes." Maka folds her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorway. "I'm fine."
Blair chooses to come out at that moment, garlic prominent around her neck.
Casually, Maka picks up the cat and unties the clove. "Really, never better."
At half an hour till sunset, Maka's phone buzzes with a silent alarm.
Kim pokes her head over her cubicle as Maka switches off her computer, watching as she starts to pack up for a moment before speaking. "Sometimes I regret promising to grow this out." She pinches a lock of bright pink hair between two fingers and frowns at it as if it personally wronged her. "I feel like a sheepdog."
"At least you pull it off well." Maka rummages in her purse for her keys. Kim claimed she was part fae, which Maka almost believed when she used her charm to sway a potential advertising client or someone she set her sights on.
"Such flattery." Kim winks and rounds the cubicle to lean against the entryway. "We're going out to Sid's for dinner, are you coming?"
Maka finishes shrugging on her jacket and scoops up her phone to shove in her pocket, fingers brush against the pouch of garlic she's carried with her since she discovered three weeks ago that, for some, their bite is worse than their bark. "If it's just going to be you trying to see how many times you can make Jackie blush while I sit in the corner, I'll pass."
Kim is undaunted, the grin on her face widening. "If you're asking to be set up on a date, I kn-"
She cuts her off with a roll of her eyes. "The only dates I go looking for are the edible kind."
"And?" Kim lifts a hand, scrutinizing her nails. "That means nothing in a place unironically named Death City."
Maka grimaces. "And with that mental image, I'm going home to scrub my brain out now." The sunlight streaming through the skylight above her cubicle is still bright but it's taken on a reddish tint that signals a quickly approaching sunset and sets the knot of anxiety in her stomach spinning.
"What if I buy the first round of drinks instead?" Kim suggests as Maka picks up her bag. "Kilik is playing with a new band tonight and Patti's taking pictures for our employee spotlight."
She hesitates for a moment but a glance outside has her shaking her head. "Maybe next time."
"I know adulthood is supposed to make us zombies and all," Kim says as she moves to the side to let Maka out of the cubicle. "But you don't have to be so literal about it."
Maka's temper rises and she twists to throw a glare at Kim. "Or maybe I just want to stay in for the night."
"Except that's been all you've been doing." Kim is unfazed by the bite in her voice. "You've become a hermit."
Her words hit home like a stake in the chest but Maka still bristles. "That's not true."
Kim pounces with a smug smirk. "Then prove it."
Maka chews on her tongue, stymied. She trapped herself by goading Kim but it's what pushes her building frustration of going nearly a month of only leaving her apartment for work to snap the fear keeping her paralyzed. She's tired of living while constantly looking over her shoulder; if the vampire comes after her again, it won't be to the easy meal he thought she was.
Still, she makes a show out of sighing and sagging her shoulders reluctantly. Kim was known for taking miles out of inches given. "Fine, I'll go" she concedes. "But only for a couple hours."
Kim grins. "Good to see you've still got some life in you."
Sid's is surprisingly full when Maka arrives. The pub, known for its live music, cheap food and relative normalcy compared to other Death City pubs, generally has a steady crowd but all of the tables and booths are filled tonight. Her gaze slides to the bar where Sid, the owner, serves customers behind the bar; he's not in his usual zombie attire, wearing a cape with dried fake blood painted at the corners of his mouth.
Taking a deep breath, she balls her hands against the fear threading through her veins. She hovers at the entrance, looking for Patti and Jackie, and jumps when Kim comes in behind her, tugging on her arm. "They said they'd be close to the stage."
They find the two at the table in front of the far right corner of the stage, Patti sticking her tongue out in concentration as she snaps picture after picture of Kilik strumming on his bass guitar while Jackie ignores the attempts at conversation of a man standing in the middle of the aisle in favor for a giant tower of onion rings.
Kim releases her hold on Maka to bound forward and snag the onion ring out of Jackie's hand, planting a kiss on her lips. Her voice is sugar sweet as she lifts her head. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"It's okay." Jackie's cheeks are pink and her words are a little breathless as Kim sits next to her. "We already ordered dinner though."
Maka sidesteps the man trudging away and takes the seat opposite to Patti, who hadn't noticed their arrival at all and is barely looking up. "Oh, you made it," she says brightly to Maka. She flicks through the pictures on the camera. "I was going to go to your apartment to get you if you'd said no."
She rolls her eyes and grabs an onion ring from the tower. "Lucky for you that Kim strong armed me into coming then."
"Lucky for you." Patti takes aim at the stage again as the band starts a new song. "Both you and Liz have been acting weird lately."
"It's a full moon."
Patti's giggle is breathy but unamused. "If you disappear again, I won't be as patient." She falls silent as she becomes engrossed in her camera again and Maka leans back in her chair, hitching a breath as she tries and fails to relax. It's a death wish to interrupt Patti in the middle of picture-taking session so she turns her attention to the stage.
Kilik, the newspaper's other photographer, plays at the end of the stage closest to them. He regularly plays at Sid's and other bars and pubs in the area, along with Harvar, a freelance journalist the newspaper contracts often, as their drummer, though their saxophonist, Ox, is absent.
In his stead is someone playing on a digital piano positioned at the very back of the stage. He sits perched on his seat with his head moving in time with the music, but with his face hidden in the shadows, the most she can make out are his hands, covered by black gloves, moving across the piano and glints of silver in his hair that catch in the spotlight.
The melody he plays is a little too frantic for the song but the staccato rhythm is what makes the song striking. She watches him for another second before turning back to the table conversation.
Patti and Kim are fighting for the last onion ring while Jackie has her arm draped around Kim's shoulder. She meets Maka's eyes as Kim uses a fork to split the onion ring in half. "Glad you came?"
"The jury's still out." She resists the urge to glance out of the pub's window to the growing darkness outside. "I'll let you know when the night's over."
"Fair enough."
Dinner is delivered to their table then and the anxiety in her chest is shoved to the side as Maka realizes how hungry she is. Living like she has for the past month meant the same variety of premade and home cooked meals and the taste of Sid's specially seasoned chicken wings almost makes her weep.
She mostly listens to conversation at the table as the band onstage plays through their set. With each song, the fear that's been clamped around her heart slowly releases its grip; it's only when the band is finishing its first set and the last note from the pianist curls and fades into the air that Maka realizes she's enjoying herself.
Applause drowns out everything else in the pub as the song ends, Kilik waving to the crowd while Harvar raises his drumsticks in acknowledgement. The pianist, however, gives a slight lift of his hand as he rises, pulling out a flask as he disappears backstage.
After announcing a ten minute break, Kilik hops down from the stage, Harvar behind him. He stops in front of their table, breathing heavily. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and grins. "Enjoying everything so far?"
"It's clear why Sid keeps hiring you back," Jackie says.
"Coming from you, that's high praise."
"I've got some great shots of you and Harvar," Patti chimes in. She frowns abruptly. "But I can't seem to get a picture of your pianist."
"Soul isn't a fan of pictures," Kilik answers. He glances back at the stage to where the pianist has returned, keeping close to the back of the stage to hide behind his piano again. "Or attention in general."
"Soul is a strange name," Kim comments, peeking briefly at the pianist.
"So is dyeing your bubblegum pink."
"This is natural, thank you very much."
"I've never seen him before," Maka interjects, sipping the last of her drink. "Is this is first time he's played with you?"
Harvar answers, adjusting the sunglasses he never takes off. "He performs out in the park usually but he's a friend of a friend so he agreed to help out when Ox got sick."
Maka looks back at the stage. The spotlight's shifted closer to Soul, not quite falling on him, but she can see more of him now. His hair is an unnatural shade of silver-white and the black lapel jacket he wears reaches all the way to his neck with silver buttons running down one side, giving him an old-fashioned look. She's about to turn back to the table when he takes out the flask from before, revealing a set of too sharp teeth for an instant before he drinks.
The taste in her mouth turns to ash.
It means nothing, she tells herself in the next second, ignoring the sudden pounding in her chest. Plenty of people have their teeth sharpened.
Although she'd never seen a human with teeth that sharp before.
She turns back around in her seat, the conversation transforms into a dull roar in her ears. It's only when Harvar and Kilik say their goodbyes that she pulls herself out of her thoughts.
When they leave the table, Maka follows them. Kilik stops when she calls his name while Harvar continues on. They're close to the stage but she figures the buzz of people's conversation in the pub.
There is no subtle way to ask the question so she tries to ask it as casually as she can. "What color are Soul's eyes?"
If he's puzzled by the question, Kilik doesn't show it. "You know, I'm still trying to figure out that," he says, scratching his chin. "Usually you can make a guess by how the contact mixes with the color underneath but his eyes are just red."
Harvar calls Kilik then and he gives her an apologetic smile. "That's my cue but I hope you enjoy the rest of the show."
"Thanks," Maka murmurs as she turns around and walks back to the table, dazed.
Jackie, whose eye never misses anything, lobs a question at her before she even sits down. "What was that about?"
It takes a moment to process the question and another to answer. "I had a question about a photo I wanted to use for an article."
Ignoring the skepticism on Jackie's face, she twists in her seat to stare at the pianist on the stage. It's impossible to look away, as much as she wants to; there's something buzzing beneath her shock but she can't tell what it so she drains the final drops of her drink. The smart thing to do, logic screams at her from a distance, would be to leave now while he's preoccupied and she knows exactly where he is.
Instead, she continues to sit and watch as whatever she's feeling grows in her chest. He plays beautifully for a monster, she has to admit. It's the kind of music she would listen to all night if it wasn't for the other idea that'd sprung to life as soon as she saw his teeth.
As the vampire continues to play, Maka finally recognizes what she's feeling.
Anger.
The back door to Sid's opens to an alley almost identical to the one next to Death Dive, an irony Maka would laugh at, if her heart wasn't in her throat.
Peeking around the corner, Maka eyes the door again. The alley dead ends into a wall so there was no other way he could leave but past her-the idea of shapeshifting floats through her mind but she ignores it-and she had left as soon as the band announced their last song, which means it was a matter of minutes before he'd come out.
She fingers the point of her earring nervously as she waits; murder, much less murder by earring, isn't an experience she'd envisioned as a milestone in life but she's always been adaptable.
A twinge of guilt pricks at the back of her neck but she shoves it away, hoisting up the broken fence board she'd pulled from a dumpster in her other hand. Being armed with only a board and a pair of earrings is akin to drilling through a steel wall with a toothpick. The fact wars with her tendency to plan and prepare for every detail but impulsivity and opportunity drowns out her voice of reason and she tightens her grip on the board. She was no Van Helsing or Mina Harker but under the circumstances it would have to be enough.
When the door opens, her heart gives a jolt and Maka readies to swing, plucking up her courage. She's about to bring down the board when she registers the drunken singing.
She stops herself just in time and flattens against the wall as a middle-aged man waltz around the corner, singing brokenly in an off-key voice. He trips to a stop in front of Maka and lets out a huge sneeze.
Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he sniffs loudly as he lifts his head and locks eyes with Maka.
For a long moment, the man stares at Maka and she stares back, frozen. His gaze moves from Maka's face to the board and earring clutched in her hands and back up to her face again. A nervous guiltiness twists in her gut. Maybe he can read minds.
She is on the verge of saying something when the man lets out a titter and pokes her on the nose. "That's some realistic lookin' graffiti." He hiccups once before continuing on his way.
Maka trails out into the middle of the alley as she watches the man tispy-walk down the rest of alley and out of sight. Closing her eyes briefly, she shakes her head and turns around to get back in position.
A pair of droopy eyes, inches from her face and glowing faintly crimson, meet hers. "Hello."
Maka screams.
So does the vampire.
Instinct takes over in a swing that would have made Maka's high school baseball coach proud, nailing the vampire in the stomach. He goes down immediately, which was the opposite of what she expected, flopping on his back with a rather pathetic groan.
Luck is not something Maka questions, however. Swooping down, she presses a knee to his chest, pushing the board to his throat. "Wanna go out for a bite?"
"No?" He sputters, thrashing to get free.
She pulls off her earring, grinning when he stops struggling at the sight of the silver. "Being helpless isn't so nice, is it?" she asks. "Much better when it's the other way around, right?"
The satisfaction Maka felt from bringing her vampire down fades when he doesn't answer, looking up at her in a way that is too familiar.
"Well," she demands, jostling the board a little. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
There is only confusion in the vampire's eyes as he stares at Maka, finally choking out, "Who the hell are you?"
