Soul's promise breaks like glass – nothing gets better.
A week later, Maka finds herself wedged between a tense Jackie and a teary Kim, traveling in a limo rented by Jackie's family to deliver them to the formal. Soul is supposed to meet them at the venue, but Maka's faith dwindles the longer her texts to him remain unanswered. She hasn't dared question Jackie about the whereabouts of her best friend because she was still heated from her most recent blow-up. It was one-sided, mostly – this time, what set Jackie off was that her mother wanted to take too many pictures of them in their dresses.
"You shouldn't have yelled at your mom," Kim says, breaking the silence. "She just wanted to remember this day."
"I don't want to remember this day," is Jackie's curt reply.
"Why?"
Maka crosses her arms as if to protect herself from the oncoming argument. This is what it must feel like to see a train on track to hit another vehicle and being unable to stop it. Last week runs through her head: Jackie refusing to join in their nightly patrols even after Blair trotted over and tried to reason with her, Kim retreating into herself like a turtle to avoid a confrontation, and Maka helpless to help either of them.
Their moods have taken a turn for the worst, with no end in sight. When Maka's mama left, part of her had been relieved that at least the constant arguing would stop. Never did she imagine that she'd encounter the same dissonance at school; every relationship feels strained, from couples, friends, to strangers. Maka blames the weather – she hasn't seen the sun in months.
If only they would all get a break.
However, the only thing that breaks is Jackie and Kim's relationship.
Figures, a taunting voice chides Maka. Of course she's present when another relationship ends. But unlike her parents' relationship, she hadn't wanted this one to end. Jackie and Kim – ah, they were so good together, like the moon and the stars, like paint on canvas. It's not fair. The argument begins in the limo ("You're always so angry") and with every bump the car hits, it escalates ("This is just who I am, and if you don't like it then you don't have to stick around!") and gets worse until the three of them are climbing out of the limo. When Kim reaches for Jackie's hand, Jackie jerks hers away, not bothering to pretend to fix her hair or preoccupy herself with something else.
And that's that.
Kim, teary-eyed but resolute, turns on her heel and refuses to look behind her as she leaves. "I won't let you yell at me anymore. I'll call a ride. Have a fun life."
At least there is no name calling involved, no custody disputes, no wounds of disloyalty, no broken promises. Vaguely, Maka isn't surprised, because deep down, she'd always doubted the permanence of love anyway. It was nice to read about it in books, or watch in movies, but people are too finicky to take care and nurture something so fragile, so rare.
Maybe that's why, standing there as Jackie stalks off in the opposite direction of Kim, Maka feels abandoned and betrayed all over again. Her parents had walked off in different directions after the divorce too, leaving her in the middle, by herself – and yeah, Kim and Jackie aren't responsible for her wellbeing, but the familiar ache in her throat is too poignant to ignore. She could choke on it, if she's not careful.
After all, it's far too easy to focus on others' heartbreak than her own. That's probably why she's thinking of her mama and papa after witnessing Kim and Jackie's breakup. She's busy reliving childhood memories while standing in front of the venue, eyes trained on the influx of cars and well-dressed teens but not really seeing them. She's waiting too, isn't she? Hopefully one of these vehicles will bring her date – her friend. Any time now a hideously colored motorcycle will pull up, roar of the engine drawing attention, and maybe they could ride off together since this isn't his scene. A formal is out of the norm for someone like Soul, who scoffed anytime Kim and Jackie would gush over it.
At that moment, something within Maka snaps. Of course he's not coming. It must have all been an elaborate hoax. What she felt – that inexplicable connection, that resonance, that link, that familiarity, that gut feeling – must have been wrong. She must have misconstrued it. Otherwise, why would she be standing here, humiliated, an outcast among Death City's elite? Why would she trust a boy of all people? Boys grow up to be like Spirit Albarn.
God, and Maka even brought along that black and white musical note necklace she bought from Liz all those weeks ago for the sole purpose of giving it to him. As a sign of friendship, or whatever. Biting down on her tongue to distract herself from the hot tears threatening to spill, Maka teeters away, painfully aware of the judgmental eyes watching her, of the loud whispers and pointing. She will walk away with her chin held high, though. She does not care about what the others think. They're strangers, people she will never ever see again despite living in the same town.
She turns into the first block she comes across, even if it's the longer way home. Scant moonlight peeks through the clouds to faintly illuminate the street. The trees stand eerily still. Maka combats the inexplicable panic bubbling in her stomach, the chill zooming up and down her spine. Focusing on anger is easier, always easier and less messy –
How could Soul stand her up like this? It's not fair. She's been nothing but a good friend, meeting up with him at the arcade every weekend since the first time they met up after his recital. He never directly asks for help, but she's there, listening, distracting him when he needs it, sitting with him – not that she does any of this for something in return, but she genuinely thought they were friends. That he cared, because he would ask about her too, about school, about her papa. Sure, he would tease her too, but Maka came to understand that's how he shows his affection.
Maka's heel abruptly catches in a crack between the sidewalk, her ankle buckling. Catching herself on an outstretched hand breaks her fall, but her wrist complains with a crack. As she lays there, regretting saying yes to Soul and wishing she had trailed after Kim, frantic footsteps approach her in the dying daylight.
The sound of Soul's voice only inspires Maka's chest to hurt. "Maka? What are you doing? What happened?"
Oh God, she can't even look at him. Gaze trained on a line of ants marching across the cement, she picks herself off the floor, wiping at her dress skirt casually. Whatever happens, she will not give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. She's not upset. Nope.
"I'm so sorry!" Ah, here it comes – Soul's excuse. "I honestly have no idea where I've been the last few hours. The last thing I remember is getting out of the shower, and the next I knew I was outside –"
Does he really think she'll believe that? The part of Maka that wishes to believe in him finds his story plausible because, after all, he has been exhausted lately, complaining of losing hours of his day. It almost reminds Maka of her time as Meister Moon – the memories of hunting the witch by night and consoling people in their time of need are hazy at best. But no, the rational, hurt part of Maka can't accept such a wildly silly excuse. It's pathetic. It's a lie.
"Don't talk to me," she says, loath to call him names. She doesn't want to repeat the same cycle as her parents, doesn't want to taint the relationship more than it already is, what with being stood up and all. "I don't want to hear it. Jackie and Kim just broke up anyway, so it's not like we'll be forced to see each other –"
"I never felt forced to see you," Soul insists softly. "I'll hang out with you even if they're not together."
He sounds so genuine that Maka almost believes him.
Maka does the opposite of what her heart says. "Leave me alone, please. I don't want to see you or talk to you."
She runs away. It's fitting – that's what she does when she can't take it anymore, when she can't sort her feelings out.
X
Maka doesn't get far before the call of duty forces her to stop feeling sorry for herself. After so many weeks of transforming into the pseudo-fighter therapist Meister Moon, Maka is used to the transformation sequence, finding empowerment in her knee-high boots and ability to help those in pain who need love.
The soul tug comes from the same direction as her house. Curious… could one of her neighbors be suffering? Why? Some of the people she's come across have had serious issues –
A man comes into her field of vision, her soul jumping at the sight of him. He's tall, with chin-length red hair and a loose tie hanging around his neck.
Spirit Albarn. AKA, Papa.
She freezes. His soul has never called hers. Ironic, because he literally begs for her attention, texting her funny memes (they aren't funny), kissy emojis, and inspirational quotes that sound dumb because he literally says anything and adds a happy face emoji at the end. Yes, her papa is one happy-go-lucky cheater, and his care and attention is exactly what she wanted, but…
"Pa – I mean, hello there."
He turns to glance at her with bleary, blood-shot eyes. That must be the effect of the alcohol. She's not close enough to smell it but she's seen this look on him too many times, especially after mama moved away. Papa stumbles back as if he caught sight of a ghost, shaking his head. "I'm hallucinating. I don't see you. Leave me alone!"
Wow, the Albarn genes are strong. Maka refuses to follow that train of thought – is she going to grow up to be like her father? She's his daughter, and she runs away more than he does… Meister Moon takes over, steering her thoughts back to the task at hand. "What's on your mind?"
Silence. Perhaps he won't unload all of his worries onto her like most people do, instead choosing to sit with her in silence.
But Papa – Spirit – has always worn his heart on his sleeve no matter how messy it got.
"I'm a horrible father," he laments, face so crestfallen it almost looks cartoonish. "I'm so clumsy with love. I just break it. You get me? I break it. Every time. Because there's something wrong with me."
Maka sucks in a deep breath and closes the gap between them. She hooks an arm around his to aid his balance.
"I have a daughter, you know, and I think she stopped loving me."
Hmm, it's difficult to separate Maka from Meister Moon. The flood gates of grief open deep within her, the water surging. "Why do you think so?"
Nothing that comes out of her papa's mouth should surprise Maka, but it does, especially considering how child-like he is. And that's not to talk down to him – he has that child-like wonder and openness that she wishes she still possessed. "I try to spend time with her, and she doesn't want to. But then when I give her space, she makes this face like she just ate something sour."
Maka literally almost chokes on a cackle. Of course her papa described her down to a tee. A surge of relief shoots through her at the revelation that her papa does notice her moods and is attentive to her feelings. He can read her like a book. So, he's not ignoring her, but this only reinforces her theory that she needs to actually talk to him. But, the thought strikes fear in her heart – what if it hurts too much?
Maybe – and this is a longshot, because Maka runs on denial – maybe the pain will be cathartic.
"Hmmm," she hums, patting his shoulder with her free hand. "I'm sure she still loves you. Maybe she just thinks you're emotionally dumb and the least tactful person to ever have existed."
"It would be a fact," Spirit bemoans, pouting and swaying on his feet. He pulls them to the side, Maka offsetting it by tugging in the opposite direction. Falling once a night is her limit. The sharp pain in her wrist reminds her of it. "I just wish I could never hurt my angel Maka."
That would be unrealistic – oh, yes, the truth finally blossoms in Maka's mind. All this time she's been wanting her father to be this perfect father figure, someone who always does the right thing and never hurts his child. However, like she told Soul when they first hung out at the arcade, expecting anyone to never mess up will only set herself and the relationship up for failure because people aren't perfect. And yes, her papa is deeply flawed, but she can allow herself to love him and also hold him responsible for how he hurt her mama. Those two feelings can coexist.
The corners of her eyes sting at the realization. Ah, how much time had she lost at war with herself over this? What's past is past, she guesses. She can think about that later. Right now, she has a man to counsel and escort to his home. The walk home isn't too bad – she's used to her papa's sentimental sobbing – but when their house comes into view, Maka stops in her tracks.
A woman is standing on their porch facing the door as though she just rang the door and is waiting for a response. There's no way for her to know that no one is home, so it shouldn't cause goosebumps to rise up and down her arms. Something about the woman's cloak doesn't sit right with Maka. The fact that she has a cloak doesn't inspire confidence, even if the hood doesn't cover her head.
Hanging off Maka's shoulder, Papa becomes aware of the visitor and sobers up for a second. "Wh… Who is it?"
The figure turns slowly, at the same rate someone turning a jack-in-the-box handle might in an attempt to not jump once the toy pops out. Gold eyes that sparkle with darkness stare at Maka. The woman brings up a hand to fiddle with the two braids that tie together in front of her chin.
"Nice to meet you," she says, her voice clear and confident. "Or should I say, nice to see each other again?"
"It's you!" The lightbulb goes off over Maka's head and it feels like fire alarms going off. It's the eyes. They're the windows to the soul, and hers radiates bad vibes. "You're the witch?"
"Medusa, honey?" her papa mumbles. "Did I miss our date?
"Honey?" Maka echoes, fighting to remember seeing that ridiculous hairstyle at school, but can't come up with anything. "Is that your girlfriend?"
A wicked expression crosses Medusa's face. "I was right under your nose this whole time and you never thought to meet your father's girlfriend, did you? So many nights of lost sleep and all for nothing. I was right here all along, stupid girl."
Red flashes across Maka's vision. "First of all, I'm not stupid! Second – my papa won't be dating you after I'm through with you! You WILL stop terrorizing this town, because in the name of the moon, I'll punish you!"
"I think not," Medusa responds, sticking her snake tongue out. "Not after all the planning I've done. I thought to myself, wouldn't it be neat to see the world ravaged by Kishin?" The smirk that slithers on Medusa's face inspires Maka's stomach to churn, so much that she has to fight back the bile rising in her throat. "So, I bewitched those ugly jewelry costume necklaces that brat was selling with an energy-draining spell!"
That takes Maka's breath away as if she took a hit to the kidney. What was the tiniest bit sacred – the necklace her father gave her, the one she wears most days – is now tainted. Is that way she's felt so irrationally angry lately? But that realization quickly gives way to the larger horror of the revelation: it seems like everyone at her high school wears those necklaces, multiples one. Even parents, teachers, adults, younger siblings...including her papa.
"It causes the wearer's mood to spiral and dark thoughts to fester in their minds! Their souls become less stable!" Medusa's mouth twists even more, her sneer now a grotesque, inhumane U-shape, highlighted by the yellow, neon tint in her eyes. "The spell especially affects people who already have broken hearts."
Maka yanks the chain off her papa's neck, the tiny, plastic links breaking and scattering in the grass. She chucks the green heart at the witch, who tilts her head easily to avoid the direct hit. "How dare you take advantage of people like this! Why do you even want to do something so evil?"
"Because I was bored." Now she bears her teeth, all of them perfectly straight. "Because the world was boring, and I needed chaos to spice things up. It was almost too easy to infest Death City. Of course, I have yet to make the perfect Kishin, thanks to you brats, but your precious papa is first in line, since he's so sentimental about his daughter not loving him."
"I DO LOVE HIM!" The words cut her throat like glass. Oh, admitting it hurts, because after everything he has put her and her mama through, Maka still loves the doofus. So many flaws and imperfections riddle the man, he's practically covered in holes. And yet… memories of her papa reading to her before bedtime, of him gifting her the necklace run through her mind. Even with all his mistakes and Maka's temperamental treatment of him, he never gave up on her – withdrew yes, to lick his own wounds and reflect because he wasn't sure what to do next, but he never wanted to give up on her. Hmm… love really is conditional. Neither person has to be perfect to earn love, and neither has to be flawless to give it. "I do love my papa," Maka cries, tears cascading down her cheeks. "He's just stupid, and we fight sometimes, but we love each other."
"Childish girl. You think love is enough?"
The perfectionist in Maka wants to scream no, of course not. But the realist in Maka knows otherwise, and Maka chooses to believe that voice over the one that tends to overly criticize and demand the unrealistic.
Before Maka can respond, though, a dignified but revolted huff rings. Risking a glimpse behind her shoulder revives her hope that the universe is on her side – it's Piano Reaper, dressed in his black tuxedo and piano cape. He takes in Papa's body on the grass, Maka's outfit, and Medusa, his hand immediately clutching the left side of his face, which contorts in pain. His right arm morphs into a scythe.
It's a silent declaration of war. Two thick, hissing snakes erupt out of the ground like a pop-goes-the-weasel toy, their eyes the same neon yellow as Medusa. A forked tongue slithers out between her lips as she controls them by waving her arms overhead, to the side, down –
Piano Reaper keeps the grotesque snakes at bay by swinging his scythe-arm generously, occasionally throwing in a kick. Medusa's snakes manage to sneak in a few bites, and the more they do that, the more Piano Reaper reminds Maka of a destroyed ragdoll. She summons a staph from her compact, the rose-gold metal materializing out of nowhere. The heart-shaped point emits lasers wherever she aims it, but no matter how hard she tries, none of her hits land on Medusa. Instead, the lasers cause property damage and one clips Piano Reaper.
Maka's stomach churns. Is this all she can do? Point and aim and duck? All this time and she hasn't learned hand-to-hand combat – not that there had been opportunity for it. Lost in her thoughts, Maka barely notices one of Medusa's snakes diving for her with its teeth bared. She jumps back but the snake that was fighting Piano Reaper abandons him and aims for her instead.
Great, so this is how it ends. At least she managed to hide her papa behind the fence on their neighbor's yard earlier while Piano Reaper engaged Medusa in battle. Papa will be safe, she's sure, and even if she hadn't gotten the chance to have a heart to heart with her papa –
A sharp meow reaches Maka's ears. She hadn't even realized she had closed her eyes. When she opens them, she's greeted by the sight of Blair tussling with the snake, two puncture wounds digging into her back, one on either side of her spine. Blood mats her fur, dripping to the ground in trickles.
Flashes of yellow and pink zip into her vision, each coming from the side and heading for the snake Piano Reaper currently has arrested in a headlock. Maka brings her staph overhead and brings it down on the snakehead while, in her periphery, she watches Meister Venus – Kim, in all her pink glory – jab the snake in the eye, effectively causing it to recoil. Jackie, as Meister Mars, follows up with a kick to its other eye – but the snake snaps its head in her direction last minute, biting down on her leg.
A scream dies in Maka's mouth just as the snake slams Jackie's limp body into the rose bushes Maka planted last season with her mama. The image of Jackie's leg disappearing into the snake's mouth will forever be ingrained into her mind. Her own snake takes advantage of Maka's confusion and grief to knock her down too, but she throws herself to the side just in time.
Someone's voice calls out fearfully: "Is Jackie okay?"
The bushes tremble as Maka unleashes her anger on her own snake, repeatedly bashing it with her staph. Piano Reaper, both of his arms now turned into scythes, vaults over Maka's snake and dives, aiming for Medusa's face. Kim, who had run over to help Jackie out of the thorns, throws her crescent moon shaped boomerang at the snake. At first glance, the weapon doesn't seem like it would inflict damage, but it slices through the sneak's thick skin easily. It doesn't pop out of the other side of the snake's body though, but it does distract the beast enough that it can't block Piano Reaper's attack.
Maka's own snake flicks its tail suddenly, slapping Piano Reaper like a fly and sending him through the living room window. The dissonance of breaking glass and debris soaring through the air rings in Maka's ears as she loses her footing under the wet grass. Pain explodes from her chin, her teeth smashing together, jaw popping under the strain of meeting the ground. She spits out blood – oh, so she must have cut her tongue or inside of her cheeks – and whines as recognition settles and her brain reminds her that she is the proud, exasperated caretaker of a kitten. Blair's body is sprawled out an arm's length away, breathing laboriously. Just as she reaches for the small kitten, a dark shadow falls upon her, cylinder in shape, the air whirring as the snake plummets to crush her with its weight –
A figure pushes Maka out of the way, pink hair dancing in the wind and getting in Maka's face. Maka doesn't process the situation until she and Blair stop rolling because they hit her papa's parked car. She fights off the stars behind her eyes, getting to her wobbly knees in anticipation that the snake would realize it missed its mark and would try again. But Maka realizes why the snake doesn't – the tip of a sword juts out of the snake's skull, taking its life. A tuft of pink hair pokes out beneath its mouth.
Maka's throat swells, her vision blurs, her stomach hurts. She didn't even get a chance to console Kim about the breakout, talk about what Maka just learned about the spell, say goodbye, or to thank her for being her best friend. The ground trembles, but – no, that's her body reacting and responding to the terror surrounding her, the chaos, the damage. It's a nightmare. A glance at the bushes where Jackie had landed informs Maka that Jackie indeed never managed to leave.
Suddenly, she's making eye contact with Medusa. Staring into those golden, almost neon-yellow eyes that delve right into Maka's soul. The witch has the audacity to cackle under her breath and to wink at Maka. "Look at that! In under ten minutes, your team has been stomped on! The life CRUSHED out of them!"
"I hate you!" Maka cries, chest heaving. Her legs tremble. She's suddenly so, so, so cold, so alone, the snakes dead but at what cost? It's all too much. Maka's grip on her staph tightens, her breathing uneven with choked sobs and indignant cries. "How dare you!"
Unknown to Medusa, Piano Reaper emerges from the rubble that was once the Albarn family living room. She suppresses a grin, hoping that the spark of hope isn't evident in her gaze. Piano Reaper gingerly maneuvers himself until he's right behind the witch, who is still caught up laughing and taunting Maka about Kim and Jackie, mocking their sacrifices, cursing their names –
Piano Reaper impales Medusa through the back, the tip of his scythe emerging through her front. A strident cackle comes from Medusa's mouth, which twists into a grin. Red suddenly begins to drip from between her teeth, gushing down the front of her black robe. Maka's body moves before she can think, hand outstretched for Piano Reaper, who instinctively morphs his whole body into one tall, intimidating scythe that Maka drags up Medusa. The witch splits in half, and she stops moving before she even hits the ground and goes still.
The scythe softens in Maka's hands; Piano Reaper is there in its place, and they hold on to each other silently and sink to the ground. Maka can't be sure if she starts crying, but Piano Reaper holds her as she digs her nails into his shoulders in an attempt to claw back into reality. None of this can be real. Please, god, none of this can be –
Two thin, small snakes blast into the ground, piercing both of them in the chest. Ironically enough, it doesn't hurt, not in comparison at the thought of never seeing Kim and Jackie again, her mama, her papa… Maka cups Piano Reaper's face, readily accepting whatever death brings next but only on the condition that she knows what he looks like beneath the mask. His skin is soft, his eyes are kind, his smile gentle, the dimple decorating his cheek adorable…
Oh. The realization that she's holding onto Soul Evans doesn't click until she has to fight to keep her eyes open. Of course he had always been exhausted and would miss several hours of his memories. No wonder he didn't show up to the formal…
Maka allows her elbows to buckle under her weight, head smacking against the cold earth but feeling none of the pain. All she can appreciate now is rest. No more patrols, no more emotions running haywire, no more passive aggressiveness with her papa, her friends, her cat… Right now, she's so tired, and her bones beg for rest first.
She and Soul lie on the ground together, Maka lacing her fingers between his, lamenting that they're wearing gloves because she can't feel his calluses. There's a light coming for them, devouring everything it touches into scorching white. Funny, because every time she blinks, pitch blackness stares back at her, one that she innately knows will never end…