Because Julian only brought a dress, Erza had to go through her armoury for a pair of shoes. She didn't have too many appropriate pairs tucked into the space that was supposed to be for armour and weapons. But there were some. She ended up settling on a pair of black strappy heels high enough that they hurt her toes. Normally, she never would have bought them—they were uncomfortable, audacious, but there was occasion. She'd change later, she decided, when they were out of Noir and out of Gomorrah, but for now, for all the headaches it'd save, she'd play the part.
When she'd finished tugging the ankle straps into place, she decided that she could no longer avoid the terrible look Jellal was giving her. She straightened from the position she knew he enjoyed (he could scowl all he liked, she saw the way he reacted to her) and asked bluntly, "What is it?"
He puffed his chest out, dying to be asked, and now thankful for the invitation to speak. "You shouldn't have made any deals with Julian."
Of course. "And what was I supposed to do, Jellal, watch you bleed?" Erza asked.
"Yes. You should have just left me to die." He said it with such force, she knew he truly believed that.
"You know I could never have let that happen."
He shoved his fingers through his messy hair. "And now you owe him a debt."
"It seems we're both doing things we shouldn't be, you letting Genève get close to you, and me, giving what I can to keep you alive." She felt badly as soon as she said it. There were no apologies, though. Jellal had been careless; he knew it; she wouldn't make excuses for him. "I can handle a debt, as long as you can remain unharmed."
Once more he shoved his hands through his hair, thoroughly mussing it this time. Erza had an urge to fix it but refrained just yet.
"Erza—"
His tone held the potential for lecture, so Erza did everything in her power to distract from that. "Where are we going tonight?"
He exhaled loudly, knowing a diversion when he saw one. He let her take it; the past couldn't be changed anyhow. "I suppose… to take care of Madam's other guard."
"The woman in the Abaya."
"Haya," he supplied, though not giving her a name would have been the easiest way to disassociate. Disassociation is what brings the monster. And yet, as much as he didn't want to don that mask tonight, especially in front of Erza, he knew it was what was going to make things go smoothly.
"Then we should go," Erza said. And get the hell out of Noir.
Jellal came to her, stepping well into her personal space. He cradled her cheek and tipped her face so she was forced to look at him. "Next time, let me die."
"Don't let there be a next time." She met his eyes and dared him to challenge her. He only stole a kiss, a long, lingering one. She started to bow into him just as he broke it off and finished dressing, taking the forest green dress shirt and black tie Julian left behind. He moved with surety, buttoning his shirt all the way to the top, then looping the tie around his throat.
"I'm sick of these clothes." Madam Genève would make them dress well, too. Dress well only to have it pawed at and ruined. But appearance was everything, especially in a place like Innisfil.
"So change."
Everything was so simple for Erza. There were two problems with that: Madam Genève would never let him get close to the Vault again dressed in his customary garb, and he had no bloody idea what the hell Sienna did with his clothes after he first arrived at Gomorrah. Knowing her, she probably threw them out. "This is fine."
Erza grabbed his hand and held it. Perhaps she sensed his inner turmoil. "It's only for a little longer."
Yes. Of course. He came out of her grasp and yanked on his shoes. The leather was still tight and mostly uncomfortable, but his toes had started to leave grooves in the soles, making them forever his. "Let's go."
Erza slid her fingers through her hair as she walked, doing whatever she could to make it obey. It was a lost cause, fluffy and curling slightly as it always did when she fell asleep with it wet. Jellal noticed her obsessing and grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers so she couldn't fuss. Now she had no outlet for her nervous energy. She just kept wondering what tonight would bring, and flinching as her heels cracked against the black marble floor.
Noir was a ghost town once again. "Where do you think everyone is?"
Jellal looked around the expansive corridor, as if the shadows would reveal the people they hid. The most surprising bit was that they did. In a nook, a tall and wide man with blonde hair had a dark skinned woman trapped against the wall. Her arm was out, waiting for him to slip the head of a needle into her skin. Jellal walked faster, as if that would stop him from wondering what was in that needle. More Silver? More Illusion? Some other drug he was unaware of? Something else to get beneath his skin and make him itch and crave like nothing else?
"You passed the Gold Room." Natalie's voice was a splash of cold water. Jellal made his eyes focus and found her leaning against a pair of midnight coloured elevators. She wore a peach coloured dress tonight, more modest than anything he'd ever seen her in before. The skirt was belled and pleated, falling a few inches above her knee, while the black-lined collar reached all the way up to her delicate throat. For all of that, she still managed to pout just right, curve her body perfectly, smile in just the right way. Everything was practiced, designed to make men and women alike think of undressing her in shadowy corners. He knew because he'd spent hours and hours in front of the mirror, doing the exact same thing to make Madam Genève proud. For all of his experience, Natalie was probably the best actress he'd ever seen.
"All of the hallways look the same," Erza said. Her cheeks were high with colour; she looked flustered. Jellal imagined all of the things going through her mind, her uncertainty, her questions. Last night might as well have been a million years ago, the lust gone, tucked away by a much more modest Erza.
Natalie came away from the wall, not nearly as uncertain. "Noir is confusing at first. You'll get the hang of it soon. It's this way." She started walking back the way they came.
"We won't because we're not staying," Jellal said, falling into step behind her. "We're taking care of this… problem Julian and I both have, and then we're packing up." Where they'd go, he had no idea. Would they travel together afterwards? He didn't know that either. If Erza would even want to, because the fact still remained, he was a criminal still very much on the run. Maybe the Magic Council's reach didn't extend much to Innisfil, here, this guild-less town on the Western boarder, but he was sure they'd take more of an interest in this place if they learned he was hiding here.
Not hiding. You're not making this your home. Of course.
Natalie said, "I don't believe you'll leave; you love it as much as I do. It has a charm. A certain je ne sais quoi."
Her accent was flawless, reminding Jellal so much of Madam Genève that he tensed, squeezing Erza's hand too hard in the process. She didn't balk or pull away. She tightened her hold back, letting him know that she was standing there beside him. Always.
He made sure his voice would come out evenly before saying, "I have responsibilities." Not 'I hate this town. I hate the indulgence. I hate the suppression. I hate the drugs, and the gambling and the blood.' But 'I have responsibilities.' He thought of Crime Sorciere. Who knew what kinds of havoc they were wreaking? They were probably scattered halfway across Fiore by now, falling right back into their troublesome ways. Or not, because most of them wanted to be better. Stop trying to find ways to make staying seem easier. He thought of all the ways Crime Sorciere needed him. For guidance mostly. After all, just because a person wanted something didn't mean that they had the capacity to obtain it. A tiger's stripes were its stripes, or some such nonsense. And you are a tiger striped by this city. Shouldn't you be where you're most comfortable? Where you'll blend in to the underbrush? He wanted to squeeze his temples until his mind just stopped.
"Of course you have responsibilities, Jellal," Natalie said. "We all do. Innisfil, though…" She looked wistful. "It's a beautiful city."
It wasn't really.
"All charm."
Falling apart, in the grip of crime lords and greedy millionaires that longed to be both.
"And desire."
There was plenty of hedonism.
"It's a place where every dream, every fantasy, can come true. How can you deny it?"
"Because every pleasure ride, every drug, has a comedown, Natalie," Jellal said, thinking of her standing on the edge of the dock those nights ago, staring out into Scarlet Lake while she contemplated diving into its poison waters just to get a fix. "And it's a comedown no one can be a champion of. This city will ravage you like it ravages everyone. It will take everything from you and leave you with nothing. That's how Innisfil is." Like it was a living, breathing thing that bred sinners.
"Exactly as I like it to be. I know he's brash and hard to get along with sometimes, but Julian wants you both to stay," Natalie said. "Even after your… job is completed." She made killing a woman sound so benign. "He told me to offer you anything you want. Money, drugs… women?" She tagged the last on with a wide smile and a wink at Erza. "All you have to do is work for him."
Though she was rattled, Erza managed to say, "You make that sound like an easy thing." Never mind that Julian was trying to buy them off with illegal things in illegal ways.
"I love Julian, therefore everything I do for him is easy," Natalie replied. "He really isn't so bad. Rough around the edges, but what man worth loving isn't?" She looked to Jellal with the last. "Right, Erza?"
Jellal found his voice before Erza did. "I'm doing this one job, and then I'm leaving Innisfil for good. Nothing can change that."
She smiled. "We'll see." She curled down a hallway and stopped in front of an elevator that was unlike the others, shining golden. It wasn't where they came out of the Gold Room last night. Jellal said as much.
"It can be anywhere Julian tells it to be," Natalie said. "Behind any door." She pressed the button with black-tipped fingers. The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open. She waved them inside but remained where she was. "Be safe tonight, Jellal, Erza. Gomorrah, Miss Edgar."
The doors slid closed, blocking Natalie from view.
"She's—" Erza didn't get a chance to finish before the room inverted.
Though Erza told herself to be prepared, she still suffered disorientation. She didn't fall, partially because she held herself up on the wall, and partially because she used her hold on Jellal to keep steady, but by the time the room finished spinning and twisting, her legs were jelly and her vision was doubled.
The elevator door opened, depositing them inside Gomorrah's kitchen once more. Erza straightened, tugging her dress back into place and pushing her hair back from her shoulders. The minor adjustments helped her feel moderately in control again. She stepped out, towing Jellal along behind her. Those first few steps were difficult to perform with grace. Standing was a feat to be celebrated.
For all the wobbling, no one even looked their way; apparently people appearing from a freezer and staggering through the kitchen wasn't so uncommon. The smell of cooking food, the clatter of plates and pans, and the faint ding of slot machines drifting through the closed doors chased out the unsettling and peculiar quiet that had been Noir.
They came out into the bar. Jellal was aware of the eyes on him, staring at his tattoo, at Erza holding his hand. He knew what it looked like: he was purchased for her pleasure. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Soon Genève will be dead and her influence here will be moot. No one will look at your tattoo and think whore. No one will come with a pile of cash held in their outstretched hand and ask if you would do something you're just not okay with doing. You won't have to do it anyway or suffer the wrath of an unforgiving mistress. You'll be free. Truly free.
He blocked out the voice that said there was no such thing. What did it know anyway? You just have to take a few more lives. And he wanted to. As much as he didn't. It was that war, the struggle between the two, what he should want and what he craved more than anything, that made him jittery.
He pulled Erza to a stop beside the bar and ordered a shot of tequila, just to calm his nerves.
And another.
"Jellal." There was concern in Erza's voice. "You shouldn't be—"
"One more, please," he told the blue haired bartender.
"Of course, Mr. Fernandez." The woman topped up his shot glass.
He sucked it back without the lime or salt, then tried to pay her. She waved him off.
"Mr. York said everything was on the house for you."
What a dangerous proposition. Money, drugs, rooms with views of the most beautiful and poisonous lake he knew. He had everything he needed, and with Erza at his side, it was truly perfect. All he had to do was ask her to stay; he thought she might, if he wanted. Julian knew how to tempt. Jellal wondered faintly if it was he or Erza the man wanted, or if he saw value in them both.
Erza ditched her dress for her favorite armour, though it was heinously noisy and heinously unsubtle. They attracted a lot of attention navigating the streets like that. It can't be helped, she thought. She felt eyes upon her every step of the way.
It didn't take long to get off Aurum Avenue and to the west side of Innisfil. The most precarious part of the journey was passing by the Basement, where a slew of petty and professional criminals alike waited to line their pockets with lazy passerby's riches. None bothered them, perhaps seeing Madam's mark on Jellal and deciding that it wasn't worth her wrath for a few stray coins.
Down the alleyway that hid the Basement's entrance, Jellal looked for the guard inlaid in the wall; he wasn't visible tonight, though Jellal knew he was there, watching, waiting for anyone that wasn't meant to travel onto that foot-worn path that led into the black market district.
Into the Slats, the sparse middle-class section of Innisfil, Jellal let Stone Boulevard take him to the vender stalls. It was getting late to purchase fruit, the sun long ago set, but if you had cash and a smile and a honeyed voice, a person could get nearly anything they wanted.
Jellal came to a stop before a young lady preparing for the next day's sales. She knelt behind her stall, packing away crates overflowing with fruits inside the stall's frontage.
"We're closed for the evening," the girl said absently, barely gracing him with a glance.
Jellal stepped in front of her, making sure she knew he wasn't going anywhere without at least a moment of her attention. With his wallet in hand, Madam's favorite smile on his mouth, a few choice words had the girl stammering, an offer of an extra tip had her reaching for her plumpest pomegranate. It was redder than sin. Jellal accepted it graciously, thinking all the while how he'd cut it open for Haya himself and make sure she enjoyed it. Maybe seeing all that red would gift him the courage to slice her open.
Who was he fooling, though? It wasn't finding the courage to do so that was the problem. It was finding the strength to stop.
Well-maintained walkways turned cracked and old. Gardens overflowing with flowers turned choked and weed-ridden. Rich houses bowed out of the way for homes that needed a little extra love, shanties that bent with Scarlet Lake's prevailing wind. And yet, they still remained outside the poverty quarter. The docks on the west end of town were worse kept than those surrounding Gomorrah. Julian actually paid to have his tended, where as these out here were used by the city to bring in wares, goods and people.
"When we find her," Jellal told Erza, sensing they were approaching their destination, "You should stay back, let me handle it."
"What if you need me?"
He looked sideways to meet her eyes. They were as black as bottomless pits in the near lightless night. The moon moved fully behind a cloud, making her a girl of shadow. Nevertheless, nothing could tame the gleam of that cursed red hair. He touched it, unable to help himself, threading his fingers through the soft tresses. He'd never get tired of it. She shivered.
"Jellal?"
"Hm?"
"I said, what if you need me?" She couldn't hide the uncertainty in her voice, that gentle warble that told Jellal she wasn't as confident in him as she could be. As she should be. I suppose I deserve that, he thought, thinking of his dismal performance.
"I'll be alright."
"And if you're not?" She was relentless, not generous with her trust after holding his blood inside his body while she prayed that a half-dead healer would be able to patch him back together.
Jellal bit back pride and annoyance; one day, both would be his downfall. That day wasn't today, though, and it wouldn't be at the hands of Titania. Hopefully. He could write tales and tales about that tragedy if it ever came time. "You won't be far."
"If she's as powerful as everyone says she is—"
"All wind users have one weakness in common, Erza," Jellal said with mock poise. "They're physical strength is always lacking."
"It's not the physical attacks that I'm worried about," she murmured. The mental, to be sure. Aloud, she said, "The magic worries me."
His pride stung again. "I've never had someone tell me they didn't trust my capabilities as a mage."
The clouds helped hide Erza's blush. She told herself to stop worrying. It was hard. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up short beside a stone bench beneath a huge red oak tree. The tree's leaves were just starting to turn as late summer eased into fall, not that she could see it in the night, but she imagined what the leaves would look like, their tips blemished with autumn's red kiss.
Rising on tiptoe and wrapping her arms around Jellal's throat made her armour squeal slightly. She winced, wishing it were quieter. There was nothing for it. "I can't help but worry." She kissed him lightly to cushion the words. "But I trust you."
This close, Jellal could see each of Erza's freckles, the sweetheart curve to her lips. They were still moist with his kiss. "If you trust me, then stop worrying and sit, Erza."
"…Will you kill her?"
Jellal knew she only wanted one answer. He couldn't lie. "I can't not, can I?" Please say no. please say no. pleasesayno.
He could see each word of protest in Erza's eyes. 'She's done nothing wrong.' 'It's amoral.' 'I know you're addicted to the thrill of it. It's poison and you need to stop.'
Maybe the last was his own thoughts. Or… maybe he didn't pretend as well as he thought. Erza always knew him too well.
"If it's necessary."
Jellal's knife felt a little lighter after that, and wasn't that a shame? He kissed her swiftly and relished every moment her mouth gave beneath his, every breath that was taken in too shallowly. Every slight tremble of her body, her armour rattling to give her away. He made himself lean away, scared of how much he enjoyed her hesitation. That mean streak belonged to a different Jellal. Only, lately, he was wondering if they were so different after all. Really, he'd had this capacity within him the whole time, hadn't he?
Stop thinking and start acting, he thought. "Stay here." He only turned away after Erza eased herself back against the oak. He refused to look into her eyes one last time. He didn't want her to beg him—even silently—to be more man than monster tonight. If he were, he wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done. An innocent girl would remain a prisoner, a man would remain a slave, Madam Genève would continue to be protected and free. He'd never learn the secret to the anti-magic lacrimas. The mages that Madam Genève killed for her Illusion would continue to die.
Yes, there was a lot riding on Haya's death. He wondered if she knew she was such a lynchpin.
Jellal followed the cobblestone path west, leaving Erza behind. Every few feet, massive oaks offered the path shelter. The wind grabbed their leaves and made them chatter. Just meters away, Scarlet Lake glowed, bathing everything in that beautiful and eerie shine. Crickets groused louder than the lapping waves, but silenced when he stepped too near to them.
The first few docks came into view, long wooden boards weather worn, bashed by waves, pounded by rain, whipped by wind and baked by the sun. Empty. Empty. Empty. Jellal had an unfortunate thought this late in the game: what if Eli simply… lied? What if he led Jellal into an ambush? What if Jellal had guessed wrongly, and Celia wasn't Eli's sister?
Then the fourth dock came into view and he saw her by the light of a massive fire. On her knees, forehead touching the dock, hands splayed out in front of her body, she sang prayer after prayer. Lamenting the passage of souls from this life into the next. Burning the evidence so the streets and Scarlet Lake's bottom didn't fill up too much with corpses. Money could make the police overlook only so much, after all. Then even the most crooked would remember why they became an officer to begin with. That scrap of morality would cost them their lives, but at least they would die with some dignity. It was the same feeling he was trying to capture with Crime Sorciere. He wondered if in order to obtain that, they'd all have to taste death. It wasn't a thought that was new to him; he only wished to do something moral before that happened.
He approached fearlessly. Or so he made it seem. Each step was confident, sure, even if Haya's prayers rang through his bones, giving him the heebie jeebies.
Her song stopped when he was mere feet away. "Iblis. To what do I owe this honour?" Beneath her knees was a scarlet and gold rug she'd lain down.
"I've come to repay your kindness."
She rested her forehead against the deck and breathed deeply. "Is that what it's called now when a man comes looking for blood? Most gift me flowers, or gold. Rarely ruby necklaces with a tendency to wash away." She lifted herself up from her bent position, as graceful as ever. Her face was bare when she looked at him. He was again struck by her beauty; Madam kept only the finest, most exotic. In seconds, she had her veil's lavender material adjusted over her face again. The onyx inlayed in its trim winked out, blacker than the eyes on the moon.
Haya asked, "Do you know why we bare our faces when we pray, Iblis?"
He found himself shaking his head.
"It is so the gods may recognize us by our true face, and not just our voice. Words can be twisted and manipulated. People lie." She touched his chin. He didn't recall letting her get so close, but there she was. "Faces, though, that's where our true selves cannot remain hidden. The gods require honesty." She brushed his hair back. "Tell me. Do you ever get sick of the devil you carry? Lying to everyone you love, saying you're alright when really, you're just short of snapping?"
"I'll tell as many lies as I need to because this devil has helped me through a great many things." Jellal's voice came out hoarse.
She looked at him pityingly. "And he's sowed the seeds you must now reap. How aggravating it must be to live in constant war with oneself. Qad tajid alssalam." May you find peace.
"One day I hope to," Jellal replied. The wind shifted, bringing to him the smell of burning bodies: hair, cotton clothes. It was repugnant. The wind changed course again, taking it away. Jellal reached into his pocket. Haya tensed. She relaxed a moment later when he pulled the pomegranate out.
"You truly brought one."
His knife came out next. "I swindled a vender's daughter for this, blatantly begged. She thinks she's in love."
She laughed; it was almost carefree. "You are a shameless man. Surely, Madam has done well by you."
Jellal cut into the pomegranate and split the flesh open. One by one, the seeds glistened by the firelight. He plucked one out and held it for Haya. She lifted her veil and took it from his fingers, using her tongue. Her eyes closed, the seed crushed between her teeth. She hummed lowly. Her enjoyment was something to behold. No one ever appreciated anything so much as those Madam had deigned to deny.
Casually, Jellal said, "I don't want to have to kill you."
"But Madam's Iblis has told you that you must." She held out her tongue for the next seed. Jellal obliged. The fire crackled at her back, burning mages to ash.
"It's hard to argue when I see the bonfire you've created."
"And yet, I've put much on the line for you, Jellal."
"Haya." He added another seed to her red, red mouth. "You're not just Madam's whore. You're one of her guard. I can't ignore that, even if you've risked your life to help me."
She touched his chest, fingers slipping inside his green dress shirt. "I am a woman kept for the way she pleasures, and for her magical talents. Perhaps it's not a duty I've enjoyed. What is one to do?"
"Leave if you don't like it so much," Jellal told her. She wasn't like the lost children that found their way to Madam's stoop. She was powerful and cunning and beautiful. The world could be hers, if she wanted.
Her words mimicked Natalie's as she said, "Innisfil never lets you go. Madam's grip is even tighter."
Didn't he know it.
"The Iblis truly is with Julian York now?"
"So it would seem."
Her veil puffed out with her annoyed breath. "You know… whatever tenuous agreement you've made with him… Eli will betray you. Iblis does not fall on his shoulders lightly. He has earned his title."
Jellal was afraid of that. He'd gambled, though, and it was too late to alter his bet. "He loves Celia. He'll do what he can for her freedom."
"Yes," Haya agreed. "He loves her. He loves her so much, he'd rather her be dead then in the hands of another master with their eyes set on a prize they think only he can help them obtain. There is nothing greater than knowing the minds and hearts of your enemy. People won't stop trying to hold that man against his will. I've seen it in his eyes: he will do whatever is necessary to take that power away."
"He won't have to. I am going to free Celia," Jellal said. "No one is going to be dying."
"You know Julian will be no different, right? Eli must, surely. Forget all of this, you and Eli both. Madam is willing to forgive him as well, just to prove how merciful she is."
Merciful. Right. She was missing her trump card and was sore that it was holed up in Julian's hotel. "If it comes time and Julian starts to get strange ideas of how he can manipulate Eli, I will take care of Celia, remove her from Julian's grasp, and offer her the protection Eli craves."
"You cannot protect everyone, Jellal, not even yourself." Haya's words were like a knife, carving out his faults. "You could have been dead four times over. It's Madam's kindness that's kept you for so long."
"Kindness? Every time she's let me live has been a slap in the face," Jellal exploded. "Nothing comes for free where she's involved."
"No," she conceded, "But in this case, the only price she wants you to pay is for you to come home. She's told all of her people to welcome you back with open arms if that's your wish."
Jellal's heart felt like it was just going to beat right out of his chest. "And if it's not?"
"Then I am to kill you, something I don't relish."
"You call me a devil at every turn. When I touch you, you flinch." Even when he was high on Illusion, useless and numb. "You're afraid of me. Why would you ever lament killing me?" There weren't many lives that he'd taken that he'd regretted. Simon. That was all. And only because it had signified the moment Erza truly decided that he was lost. It had made her cry; it had scarred her. She still saw him, and still saw his killer when she looked at Jellal. It didn't matter how many faces he put on. She'd never forget. And she shouldn't.
Above her veil, Haya's eyes were turning depthless, as if she were slowly blocking off the part of her that was compassionate and kind. Unlike the summoning of his own darkness, she struggled with hers. It was slow in coming; she still wanted to resolve this peacefully. "Because, I recognize that even monsters need to roam. Without them, we forget what it is to be kind." She cupped his face between her two palms so he was forced to look at her. "It's not too late. Stop this crusade and just let it go. Be with her again. Anything can be yours."
Anything. Jellal pulled back and shoved his hand through his hair, careless with the knife. By some grace, he didn't drop it or cut himself. "I—"
"As she told you, she wants you there, not as a whore, Jellal, but as hers. You'll brush her hair and help her dress, you'll bathe her and comfort her and be there whenever she needs release. You want this. I see it in your eyes."
The scary part was, some part of him liked hearing that. Eli trilled in his head, 'broken toy.' And did he ever feel fragmented. He knew what he should want, and what he did, but he also knew what he subconsciously thought he wanted. What Madam wanted him to want.
"Please. This whole scheme is an impossibility. She's not careless with her life, and she'll never let a man in to see Celia, the Iblis must have told you. Only women may purchase her—"
Listen. Let it go. You'll never kill her. Jellal closed his eyes, blocking out the voice. Stop. Stop. Stop. He drew up the memory of Madam's cheeks turning cherry red, her eyes going wide with too much of the whites showing. The feeling of his hand around her throat. The sound of her choking. You're not hers. You don't have to belong. You can kill her. You've already almost done it once.
"Haya." Opening his eyes again, he made his intentions known in no uncertain terms by grabbing her throat. She gasped. He choked it off with a squeeze of his fingers and stepped in so they were body-to-body. He felt the rise and fall of her chest, her heart, fluttering like a hummingbird. So delicate. Dropped, the pomegranate rocked on the rotting dock, the majority of the seeds bouncing out and scattering, like rubies spilling from a purse. "Days ago, you spoke to me of a cruel mistress. A woman that denies you. And yet, here you are, doing your best to lure me in."
"Release me." Haya's voice wasn't very strong. Her body shook. She was frightened. And rightfully so, Jellal thought. Everyone should fear the monster. Using his knife, he slit open her Abaya at her naval, wide enough that a large slice of her belly was revealed. Then he ran his thumb over her skin. It wasn't as smooth today as it had been before, raised in welts. Every time he touched one, she winced and struggled, trying to get away. Jellal only tightened his hold. She gasped, the sound pained.
"She knows of our conversation. She knows you told me where to find Eli, isn't that right? And this is your punishment. Lashings." He loosened his hold just enough for her to respond.
Haya gripped his wrist. "She was going to beat me to death in front of the others." She took in a sharp breath. "But instead she gave me a thrashing I would never forget, the ends of her whip dipped lightly in Silver oil." She was more forthcoming than Jellal expected. "Your actions have a rippling effect. Stop this before you can't. Come back to the Vault."
He traced the raised ridges on her belly, feeling her tense and shiver. Guilt was a very real thing. I did this. "I—I will end your suffering, Haya."
Her lips parted; already they were going blue. Why doesn't she call her magic? He could feel it. She was as powerful as he would expect of a mage standing by Madam's side. And yet, she didn't raise her hand. He looked over her shoulder to the bodies she set ablaze, to the scarlet and gold rug she knelt upon to say her prayer, to the crimson beads of pomegranate scattered. And faltered.
I was a monster before I was a man. I was a monster before I was a man. I was a monsterbeforeIwasaman.
He told himself to squeeze harder, to end her suffering.
Instead he opened his mouth and said something stupid. "Leave this place."
Haya only stared at him.
"Did you hear me?" he rasped. "Leave this town. Leave the Vault. Leave your prayers, Haya, and your bodies. Get out. Or I will kill you. You won't leave me any choice."
"Jellal—I can't. I don't want to fight with you, but if she knows we met and I did nothing… Please—come home—"
He pushed her back hard enough that she fell to the rotting dock. Her Abaya tore wider, exposing the raised skin at her belly, the blackened flesh, necrotized by unrefined Silver oil. Madam ruined everything beautiful. "I told you to leave!"
She cringed at his volume. But didn't move. He felt suddenly violent. Reaching, he reefed her to her feet again. He wasn't sure if he was going to push her into the lake or onto land. Haya thought she knew, though. Trapped and panicked, the magic came to her, a gust of wind that was meant to take him from his feet. His own magic responded. Grand Chariot was overkill, to be sure, but there was no stopping it once it had started, it was like another Jellal took the reins. The sky darkened before it got bright. Scarlet Lake roiled.
"Stop it," Haya commanded. "Stop—release me—" Her words dried up as the spell materialized.
Someone somewhere yelled, scared. And then Haya was screaming. And screaming. The dock splintered and broke apart. In the burning light, he saw Haya clearly: a scared girl about to breathe her last. She clung to her Abaya with white-knuckled hands, mouth parted in a paralyzed O. Here she is, slipping from one terror's punishment to the other's.
Comparing himself to Madam Genève was sobering. Jellal called the spell back. It took a lot of effort; by the time he was done, he was panting. The dock was mostly ruined, both he and Haya on the verge of experiencing Scarlet Lake's depths.
The blinding light cleared, making way for the lake's glow. In the unnerving red wash, Haya shivered and hiccupped in violent breaths. Terrified. Still, there was iron beneath the fear. However afraid she was of him, Madam scared her more. A pity.
This time when she rose and summoned gale-force winds, Jellal's knife was in his hand. He dug it into her ribs without much thought. Hot blood eased over his fingers, making them slippery. "I told you. I told you to leave, Haya. Why didn't you listen?" How was he supposed to be merciful when he was pushed into cruelty? How was he supposed to separate the monster and the man when he was only ever allowed to be a monster? He did his best to shove the knife in further.
"I was a monster before I was a man, Haya. I was a monster before I learned to be a man." And now I am a monstrous man.
Faintly, he was aware of Haya's mouth moving. Again and again, forming over the same thing. He thought it might have been another prayer. Haya of the prayer. Her gods weren't protecting her now, though.
"Jellal."
Because there are none.
"Jellal."
There is only suffering and pain and blood.
"Jellal, let her go."
Something cold bit into his neck. A blade. The hand that held it quivered.
The world came back into focus and he realized that the funnel Haya's magic had been birthing had completely died, and the thing that Haya was chanting was, "I'll leave. I'll leave Innisfil. Please, Iblis, I don't want to die by a devil's hand. I'll leave. I'll leave. Iblis, please."
"Jellal." And that was Erza. Erza's sword was at his throat. She'd drawn her sword on him. At first he was furious. He imagined swinging around and finding her lungs with his blade, too. Then he remembered Eli's implanted vision, his dream. His hallucinations. 'We used to kill for a reason.'
Stop. Stop this. She is begging to live.
He pulled the knife from Haya's ribs. His hands shook so badly, it dropped from his fingers, looking benign where it landed on the ruined dock, not something that took lives, just another scrap of metal.
Haya breathed erratically. She clutched her hands to her bleeding side, trying to stop the flow of blood. Jellal didn't know if the tip of the knife pierced her lungs or not. Nor did he get to ask. She pushed past him, movements both awkward and hurried, and fled into the night.
"Gods." The sword at his throat disappeared. Erza wrenched him around. "What the hell was that?"
She was fury personified.
"I—" His mouth was dry like cotton. "I—"
"Answer me!" She shook from head to foot.
"I told her to go—"
"She was begging for her life, Jellal," Erza informed. "And you looked on blindly. You had no intention of letting her go."
'Iblis, please.' "I—" didn't hear. Didn't know. Couldn't care.
She pushed her hair back from her face. There was real fear in her eyes, and tears. "What's happening to you? Every time I look at you…" She trailed off, not wanting to voice how troubled he was becoming.
Jellal did it for her. "I couldn't stop." Erza wasn't the only one that was scared. He'd spent a lot of time toeing the edge, defining the difference between want and necessity when it came to bloodshed. The line used to be hazy, but still recognizable. Now it was impossible to see.
Because I was always a monster.
And never a man.
"Gods." She pushed her hair back again, then pinched her eyes closed. "Tell me you're alright."
And she didn't just mean physically. "Erza…" He didn't know. "I—I feel like I'm losing my mind." Slowly, bit by bit, falling deeper and deeper into the spiral. It's this city. These people. Madam Genève. "Stay away, Erza." He didn't trust himself. "I can't think straight. I'm—" 'Right fucked, aren't you? Just a broken toy.' Eli's narrative was particularly brutal; perhaps because there was absolutely no hiding from that man.
Erza hesitated, then stepped into him. The fear wasn't gone, she still trembled as she gathered him in a hug that was grounding and nurturing and forgiving, but it'd been pushed aside. "No. You need help, Jellal, from the people that love you. I won't stay away, not ever."
Hotness pricked at his eyes. Tell her again. He couldn't. Not Erza. She wasn't the kind of girl to be denied. He drew her in without ever meaning to, and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He'd never felt greedier.
The moon sunk. The waves died with the wind. They stayed like that for so long, Jellal felt as a statue, stiff and cold.
Erza was the first to break the silence. "Jellal?"
He had to clear his throat to make his voice work. "Yes?"
"I heard what Haya said. I'm going to the Vault for Celia. When she's free and some place safe, I'll return for Genève, and I'll end this. And then we can focus on—on making you better."
She's my demon, my skeleton. My burden. "Genève is mine."
He must have said it with ironclad conviction because Erza caught her breath and searched his eyes. What she saw there made her jaw tighten. "I'll be standing behind you."
So tardy! I'm sorry. So sorry. Thank you so much for reading. You've been most magnificent.