Reminder: This is a two-chapter update! So if you have not read Chapter Seven yet, please read that. This chapter will make more sense that way.

Please enjoy!

Chapter Eight: Exchange

"Trees do not grow at the bottom of the sea," said Francis.

"I—" Arthur was incredulous, "That's what you're concerned about?"

"Well, yes!" the vampire exclaimed. "The story does not make sense."

"There are plenty of parts where the story does not make sense, and this is the one you decide to point out first."

"If it pleases you, I can point out every single point and ask about them, too."

Arthur scowled at him. "No, that would not please me. I feel like this is not important."

"Then what is?" Francis shot back. "Why did you tell me this story? It can't possibly be real."

Arthur shrugged. "You were the one who asked me what I did in Heaven. I'm answering your question. The story is not well-known, but it is familiar enough in most populations, so when people come to Heaven, they get curious, since allegedly, the Firebird is still trapped somewhere there."

"…Yes…?" Francis looked thoughtful for a long time, then, "…Ah."

Arthur nodded grimly. "Tourism. Money. You know that angels have their own sort of magic, right? It usually has something to do with fire, like Fire Manipulation or something like that, so it isn't very hard to, well, pretend your wings are on fire and all that stuff."

Francis was staring at him. "Are you saying that you—" he paused, thinking. "You… act?"

"Ever been to Disneyland?" Arthur asked tiredly. When Francis nodded, he said, "You know those men and women dressed up as princes and princesses? Well, that was me, but with the Firebird."

Francis was still staring, to the point that it was uncomfortable. Arthur could not meet his eyes. This was humiliating; he just knew that Francis was going to laugh at him—they always did—

"I can see it," the vampire murmured. Arthur felt an icy finger brush across his cheek. "You are beautiful."

His face flushed. "For God's sake, please shut up."

"No." Francis grinned at him, a fang flashing in the dim light. "Now I'm curious. You literally just dress up as a princess for your job. How did you get kicked out of Heaven? Sold drugs? Got drunk?"

"Yeah." Well, this was amusing. "I got drunk."

Francis's expression became incredulous. "It really is illegal to get drunk?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. It's more about what I did after I got drunk."

"Which is…?"

Arthur hesitated. "My job—"

"—pretending to be a princess?"

"Sure, yes, exactly." He rolled his eyes as Francis chuckled. "Dressing up wasn't all of it. There was something else to it, but it's classified. In fact, to reveal it would defy one of the oldest laws of Heaven, except most people don't even know about it."

"Ah, I see." Francis nodded in understanding. "You were drunk, you talked, you got kicked out."

"Long story short, yes."

The vampire nudged him with a shoulder. "What is it? Tell me?" His grin was curious and challenging. "You are not in Heaven anymore. Tell me the secrets."

Arthur gave him a stinky look. "I thought you said a trade? What happened to 'a secret for a secret'? Why is it that I'm feeling like I'm the only one spilling all my secrets?"

"My turn will come!" Francis said. "But I do not want to disrupt the current flow of the conversation. We are building such a good atmosphere here! Just tell me, come on."

"I—" Arthur was growing weak. He felt like he should at least have the urge to punch the vampire, but that murderous rage just wouldn't come. "Alright, fine. It's actually not that scandalous."

"Aye, dommage."

"Well, I guess since it's such a pity that it's not interesting enough, it's okay if I don't tell you either."

"No!" Francis cried. "Tell me!"

Arthur sighed in defeat. "The Firebird… she exists. She is still alive. Part of my job is taking care of her. That is the secret I spilled that got me kicked out."

Francis paused, contemplating it all. Slowly, he nodded. "I see… but why is it such a big deal?"

"Because if the Firebird is alive, that means that the story is real, which means that the Dragon is, too. If the Dragon is dead, it wouldn't matter, except we don't actually know if he's actually dead. If he's alive, and if somebody finds him… He would have the power to destroy the world as we know it."

"That…" does not sound so terrible. "…would be problematic."

Arthur made a small noise of agreement. It was past midnight now, and the temperature had dropped. Arthur shivered a bit involuntarily, shifting in his seat. The conversation had puttered out, but he found himself unwilling and too weary to start another one.

Francis stood.

"Let's take a stroll," he said.

Arthur gave him a wary look. "I'm not sure if I want to follow you anywhere."

The vampire laughed. "I cannot do anything to you, remember? Your blood burns me. I just find it easier to talk when walking."

Reluctantly, Arthur stood as well, and they began making their way park. At first, the summer night was silent save for the scuffing of their footsteps and the rustle of the trees and bushes around them. Then, Francis took a deep breath.

"The Firebird and the Dragon," he murmured. "It is a strange story. Beautiful and strange. Jeanne would have liked it."

"Jeanne?" Arthur echoed.

Francis's smile was wistful. "She is the reason why I wanted to know about Heaven. I suppose—I hope—that she is there right now." He turned to Arthur suddenly. "Can vampires go to Heaven after they die?"

"I—I don't know." He really didn't.

"Ah. Well, probably not. Supposedly, vampires lose their souls in the Transformation. Creatures without souls do not go anywhere after death."

"I mean, we don't really know that." Arthur tried to comfort him weakly.

"Perhaps not." Francis shrugged. "But we know that murderers do not go to Heaven. That is a good thing." His voice grew quieter. When he spoke again, Arthur could barely hear him. "I killed her, after all."

Matthew winced when he hoisted his backpack up and its contents clattered together. It felt too loud, even though he was out in the streets and surrounded by louder, busier sounds.

It was dangerous; he was well-aware of that. With his visa expired and his I.D. gone, Hunters were probably looking for him this very moment. The knowledge made the back of his neck prickle. He felt like no matter where he turned, there was somebody looking his direction, and it always made him jump.

It took too long to get to his destination, and when he arrived, he did not hesitate to slip through the door into 'Life and Liberty: Services of Warlock Alfred F. Jones.'

"Welcome!" the warlock greeted from behind the counter. He had a crystal ball in front of him, and seemed to have been examining it before Matthew's arrival.

Matthew did not bother with a greeting, simply swinging his backpack off his shoulder and pulling out a slightly smaller sack inside. He carefully placed it onto Alfred's waiting hand.

He watched as the warlock opened it, examining its contents.

"Is-Is this enough?" Matthew asked quietly.

"Hm…" Alfred reached into the sack, ruffling through it and inspecting it more thoroughly. The nonchalance he handled what were parts of corpses made Matthew ever-so-slightly nauseous. "The more the better, of course, but yup!" He turned a wide grin to him. "This should be good!"

Matthew released a sigh of relief. "So, about my I.D.—"

"Yeah, don't worry! I'm handling it right now! There are just a few more materials that I need for the spell and they are being prepared at this very moment. Once everything is ready, I'll contact you!" Alfred disappeared momentarily to the back room with the sack, and returned with a small bottle and a pair of scissors. "Just give me a bit of your hair. Thanks!"

Matthew obliged, cutting a few strands and carefully putting them in the bottle.

"Awesome! See you in a few days!"

"I—"

Matthew blinked. The sun outside was blinding. He glanced behind him. The doors of Alfred's shop were tightly shut. When did he get out here?

Shrugging, unconsciously rubbing his still-healing hand, Matthew headed back to his hotel.

"That's where we used to live," Ludwig said, pointing down the road to another neighborhood. "It's close to the sea, so it's pretty nice. Not very popular nowadays though."

"I see." Feliciano's voice was subdued.

"The best ice cream shop in the city is here though!" Ludwig didn't know why he was trying so hard to cheer the mermaid up, but seeing him so quiet just felt… wrong. "We can come try it out later."

Feliciano's eyes lit up a bit at the mention of ice cream. "Can we?"

"Sure." Ludwig pointed again. "There's a park over there that's also really nice. Lots of trees, so it doesn't get too hot during the day. There's a small water park too."

"Water park?"

Well, it made sense that Feliciano wasn't sure what a water park was. He lived under the water, after all.

"Yeah, you'll see."

When a small smile bloomed on the mermaid's lips, Ludwig felt something inside him heave a sigh of relief.

"Let's get this to the police station first, though," he said, tapping the I.D. card in his pocket, "and maybe we can file a missing report for your brother as well."

A small tug on his sleeve startled him. Feliciano beamed up at him with a smile that seemed to light up the entire world. Yet when he spoke, his voice was still quiet, with a hint of something pained.

"Thank you, Ludwig."

The door swung silently and ominously open at his touch. Warlocks could sometimes see the future and warlocks were excessively dramatic, so Arthur knew that Alfred was expecting him.

"Welcome—" the warlock began as Arthur entered, but he interrupted him with a roll of his eyes.

"Cut that out. Just take this." He set a vial carefully onto the counter before Alfred. "This should be enough, right?"

"I—yes." Alfred pushed his glasses up his nose before reaching for the vial, uncorking it and sniffing at the contents. For some reason, it felt rather vulgar to Arthur. Those were someone's tears.

Francis's tears.

"You better uphold your side of the deal," the fallen angel reminded him.

"Of course, of course." Alfred replaced the vial and flashed him a wide grin. "The spell is almost ready; just a few final components to prepare. I'll contact you when it's ready."

"Alright." Arthur turned to leave. He could not stand to look at that vial of tears anymore.

"It is what you need, is it not?" Francis had asked. He held out a cold hand, into which Arthur carefully placed an empty vial. "From the first moment we met, I knew that that is what you are after. I may not be as old as an immortal angel, but I have lived long enough to know that vampire tears are used in several warlock spells."

"Why?" Arthur had been dumbfounded. "You know that I'm using you."

"Hardly. You are not very good at manipulation." Somehow, Francis's lips quirked into a joking smile, followed by a small shrug. "Vampires are generally disliked. We learn not to be picky about our company." When he looked up again, gaze locking with Arthur's, more tears spilled from those clear blue eyes. "And it's so strange. You look so much like her."

Arthur's heart had hollowed. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" The vial was carefully filled, the cork replaced.

"It's like I'm reminding you of—"

"My mistakes? No." When the vial was replaced in his hand, Arthur found that it was warm. Even with vampires, their tears are warm. "You remind me of the good memories. Because I loved Jeanne. I love her."

And you killed her.

It turned out, even in a world with demons walking in broad daylight, the worst monster was still the self. Because vampires, especially young vampires, have no control, and so love—with its beating heart and quickened blood and hypnotizing, paralyzing heat—must be a feast.

"One thing I am still confused about, however," said Francis, "for your story."

"Yes?"

"The Firebird and the Dragon. I mean, they are too different species, are they not? One is a bird, another is a giant reptile. If they have se—"

"No! No, God, no." Arthur groaned. "The Firebird is just a title. She's not actually a bird. She flew on wings of fire, and so Firebird."

"And the Dragon?"

Arthur had to stop to think for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure about that. I think it's because he was described as cold and hard yet ever-changing, wrought with ice and flowing through the current, and so people called him the Dragon."

Francis frowned. "That does not sound very dragon-like. Reptilian, though, perhaps."

The fallen angel shrugged. "I don't know why they translated it into 'Dragon'. I suppose it's just a cooler name. In the Ancient tongue, they called him 'Chevah'."

"Chevah," Francis repeated carefully, trilling the initial glottal sound the way one would in French. "What does that mean?"

God, it had been centuries since his last course in Ancient Folklore and Heavenly History; he did not expect to be quizzed like this now. "If I remember correctly…" he started slowly, "I believe it means 'the Beast'."

Feliciano was laughing.

His T-shirt and shorts had become soaked, sticking to his body, but the water droplets rolled off his auburn hair and olive skin instead of clinging, leaving him glossy and aglow. He was mer, after all, and water was his realm.

The fountains cast water mist into the air, and when the sunlight slanted, a rainbow arched, just at Feliciano's fingertips.

"Ludwig!" he called, a song in his voice, "Look!"

Ludwig was looking, watching in a way he never had before. Feliciano cupped water in his hands and flung it at Ludwig, who didn't bother to dodge—he was already wet anyway, and it was hot enough that it will probably dry quickly.

They got ice cream afterwards, Ludwig with a cup, Feliciano with a cone. They sat on a nearby bench, clothes still damp. Feliciano tried to steal a bite from Ludwig's. He let him.

They walked to the beach. It was the weekend, and it was crowded. They arrived just in time for the sunset.

"I'm hungry," Feliciano whined. "I see this all the time, let's go get food."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, and complied. They got pizza.

"What about Gilbert?" Feliciano asked when they stood at the doorway of the apartment.

"Don't worry about him," Ludwig answered gruffly. "He technically doesn't live here anymore. There isn't anything he can do."

Feliciano still appeared hesitant, but followed him into Ludwig's home. He was poking around in the kitchen when Ludwig told him that he was going to shower. When he came out of the bathroom, the merman was curled up on the couch, asleep.

It had been a long day, but it was not terrible. No, far from it.

It jarred Ludwig, the realization that he had spent the entire day with Feliciano and had done it willingly.

The merman stirred when Ludwig touched his face. It was unfathomable. His heart was beating so hard it suffocated him.

Feliciano's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled up at him. "Ludwig," he murmured. "Thank you."

Ludwig could not speak. God, his mind whispered, you are beautiful.

"A mer." The Gatekeeper observed, not appearing surprised by Romano's sudden appearance. "Strange that you will get along with a Hunter."

Romano shrugged. "He has his uses."

The Gatekeeper's pale lips twitched into something resembling a smile. It was the warmest Antonio had ever seen the faerie. "Welcome to Faerieland, child of the Sea."

"I thank you for your hospitality." The fact that the merman could speak civilly when he had been cussing at Antonio for the past two days came as a shock and also made him bitter.

"You said you got something?" the Hunter spoke up.

"Yes." The Gatekeeper's voice became instantly colder and stiffer. "I encountered the demon and fought it, and have managed to capture a bit of its essence."

Antonio's eyes widened. "Oh, wow, really? That's great!"

"Yes, I suppose it will help with your investigation." Almost out of thin air, the Gatekeeper pulled out a stone chest the size of a small knapsack. He dropped it into Antonio's hands.

It was much heavier than he expected, as if it was filled with lead.

"Do not open it. The essence might escape."

Antonio nodded his understanding, then paused. "Are you sure you don't want to use this yourself to track down the killer?"

"I have been injured in the fight; I wish to rest. And besides—" And now the Gatekeeper smiled, a baring of sharp, thin, teeth, "—we paid you to help with the investigation. Now it is your turn to pay a price."

"What are we going to do with this fucking thing?" Romano was holding the stone box and clearly found it too heavy, which made him even grumpier than usual.

"We need a tracking spell," answered Antonio, nonplussed. "I suppose we'll have to look for a warlock."

Romano made a face. "Warlocks are creepy."

Antonio shot him a grin. He couldn't really deny it. "They have their uses."

Scoffing, the merman dropped the box onto a nearby bench, shaking out his arms. "Well, fucking get to it then! Where's the closest warlock place?"

"Alright, alright, I'm searching." A quick browse on his phone showed that there was one warlock shop in the vicinity.

"Call a taxi," Romano demanded.

"Taxis are expensive! And it's close enough to walk." Antonio tried his best to sound reassuring. "We'll be there before you know it."

The merman merely scowled in response. "You're carrying the stupid thing then."

"Can you keep an eye on the directions then?"

"Tch. Hand it over." Romano swiped his phone out of his hand, maneuvering and fiddling with it awkwardly. He examined it for a few moments, interpreting the words before looking up in outrage.

"It's a twenty-minute walk, you asshole!"

Antonio did not understand what the problem was. "That's pretty close."

"Hel-lo? Not human? New legs? Fuck you, I'm not walking all that way. I'm calling a taxi."

"Sure." A grin crept up Antonio's face. "If you figure out how."

Romano snarled.

"I do not like this," Romano said, distaste clear in his voice.

'Life and Liberty: Services of Warlock Alfred F. Jones' was a plain looking house in a nice, human neighborhood, and the only thing that set the place apart was the massive sign hovering over the roof, the block letters glittering in red, white, and blue. It must be pretty impressive at night.

But it was also a little overwhelming. There was no fence—you just walked right up—and the front door was clearly unlocked, not even completely closed, but the fact that you could see how the blinds were all drawn made it a little less welcoming.

"The next closest one is another twenty-minute walk," Antonio said. "If you'd prefer—"

"Hell, no." Romano made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. "Fine. Open the door, asshole."

"I'm holding the box."

"I am not touching the door."

"Kick it open," Antonio suggested, but Romano shot him an incredulous look.

"Are you fucking stupid? Kick the door and insult a warlock? Unlike you, I am not retarded."

Antonio shrugged. "Alright. I'll kick it open then." And he put a foot on the door and gave it a shove. It swung open easily.

They were met by a single room with the barest décor of a nice bar. It was dimly lit, with polished planks beneath their feet and a countertop of dark wood in front of illuminated shelves filled with miscellaneous… things. Jars, vials, bottles. There might actually be alcohol mixed in there somewhere, but Antonio was not about to try to find out.

It was actually a little bit cozy, and it was empty.

"Um." Suddenly, Antonio found himself slightly nervous. As a Hunter, he did not have good experiences with things that were supposed to be there but he could not see. "Hello? Anyone there?"

He stepped deeper into the room, Romano huddled close behind him, and the door swung shut.

"Hello?" He called again, and from behind a curtained doorway in the corner of the room came a startled sound, like a heavy, hardback book being dropped onto a vulnerable foot, and quiet cussing that followed.

"Ah, yes!" A voice called from the backroom. "Sorry! I'm coming!"

With a few more muffled crashing sounds, somebody emerged from the doorway, stumbling a bit, with frazzled golden hair and crooked rectangular glasses.

"Are you Alfred F. Jones?" Antonio asked.

"Yes!" The warlock readjusted his glasses before shooting them a blinding smile. His teeth seemed to glow in the dark. "Alfred F. Jones, at your service. Who might you be and how may I help you today?"

He took a seat behind the counter, and gestured for Antonio and Romano to sit as well.

"I'm Antonio," Antonio started, "and this is Romano. Actually, I'm a Hunter, and I'm doing an investigation, and I hope that you can help me a bit."

"I see." Alfred peered at Romano, who shrunk back, discreetly baring his teeth but not enough to appear intimidating or even bold. "You're not human, are you?"

At this, Romano raised his chin, as if readying himself for a standdown. "I am mer. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Of course not!" Excitement gleamed in Alfred's eyes. "Not many mer come along, so this is an honor. Truly an honor."

Romano's brows furrowed, but the warlock had already turned back to Antonio. "What is it that you are looking for? A spell? A potion?"

"A spell. A tracking spell, to be more specific." Antonio pointed at the heavy stone box that he had set on the counter—hopefully he had not damaged the wood. "If possible, it would be very helpful if you can put a tracking spell on the contents of this box so that it leads us to its original owner."

Alfred nodded slowly, then reached for the box. He pulled it close, then began examining it. Antonio had done something similar, so he knew that he would not find a lock, or even an opening. Instead of a box, it was more like a simple cube, crude and rough and impenetrably rocky. After the physical inspection, however, the warlock closed his eyes, his hands hovering over the top of the cube. He stayed like that for a long moment, fingers twitching, searching, circling the box. When he finally opened his eyes again, his grin had vanished into a grimace.

"This is certainly interesting," he said. "It's possible to do, but it will not be easy."

Antonio released a breath he had not realized that he was holding. "As long as it's possible, it's okay."

"It will be expensive."

"That's okay." Antonio had the Hunter organization behind him. Whatever the price, he could afford it.

"Alright." Alfred took a deep breath. "I will have to open this and release whatever is inside in order to place the tracking spell. Please stand back—Oh, and hold these," he handed each of them a bundle of assorted herbs: rosemary, thyme, lavender, rue, the sort, "just in case it turns out to be malicious."

Feeling like an idiot, holding the herb bundle in front of him and huddling in a corner, Antonio watched as Alfred tapped the top of the box, then made a complicated, twisty, twitchy motion with his finger. The warlock whispered a spell under his breath, made a smooth, slicing motion with one hand, and then the stone box cracked, shuddering and falling open like a big, heavy, geometric flower.

And inside was—

Nothing.

Well. Nothing that Antonio could see.

But Romano stiffened beside him, making a small sound that seemed to be a forceful swallow of an alarmed shriek, Alfred visibly flinched, and a smell permeated the room, a scent that was like smoke and lilies and mold and sulfur.

With a swipe, Alfred gathered what appeared to be air. A map appeared on the counter beneath his single cupped hand, each corner held down by a candle that burst into dark red flames. With the other hand, Alfred scattered a handle of crystals onto the map.

For a moment, time stood still. Then, there was a faint sizzling sound, and smoke curled from the crystals as if they were evaporating, winding around Alfred's wrists and surrounding the thing that he held. The smoke made it more visible, and Antonio could see now that it was shaped vaguely like a hand, though with abnormally long and pointed fingers.

The lazy crawling of the smoke was mesmerizing, almost soothing, but then there was a sudden crack accompanied by a flash, and by the time Antonio managed to blink spots out of his vision, Alfred was closing up the box. On the counter still sat the map, minus the candles and the crystals.

"Well," Alfred drawled, "I don't know why you're asking me to track someone using dead essence, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, considering that you are a Hunter." The stone box closed, the seams it had fallen apart at disappearing. Alfred pushed it towards them, along with the map.

"You see the mark here?" It was a map of the city with a burnt 'X' around its southeastern region. It was not too far from where they were now, though probably not walkable distance. "This is where your target is."

"Thank you." Antonio took the map, marveling at it. Magic was so cool, what the hell—

"Now." Alfred sat down once more. "Payment."

The Hunter quickly nodded, as if he had not forgotten about that part. "Right. Just tell me the price, I will have the money delivered to you."

"I don't want money."

Antonio blinked, momentarily unsure. Then, his stomach dropped. "Oh. Erm. Well, then, what would you prefer?"

"There is only one thing that I need right now." Alfred raised a single finger to emphasize his point, then turned that finger towards Romano, who frowned. "And you are the only one who can give it to me."

"No," Antonio interrupted. "He's just accompanying me. He's not—"

"What do you want?" Romano cut him off. There was a tremor in his voice that betrayed his nervousness, and it pained Antonio.

"Romano—"

"For once in your life, shut the fuck up!"

The aggression came from fear. The knowing hit Antonio the same moment Alfred said—

"Your voice."

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