Maka doesn't protest this time when Blair picks her up. She wraps her arms tightly around Blair, the hole in her chest stinging once again. Words float out of Blair's mouth, almost like a song.
A strange but not unpleasant feeling comes over Maka. Her eyes droop, hazy dreams already forming in her mind. She tries to fight it but with a shuddering yawn, she submits and allows her eyes to flutter shut.
The sun beats against Maka's eyes relentlessly, rousing her from her dreamless sleep. Stretching lazily, she feels the soft velvet of a blanket covering her body. She squints her eyes against the light and takes a furtive look at her surroundings.
She can only be in what she assumes is Blair's home. Sunlight streams in through a large window from across the room, reflecting off the top of the table in front of the window. Built into the wall next to the window is a hearth, a fire crackling inside it. A large cauldron bubbles merrily, giving off a fragrant aroma that makes Maka's stomach rumble loudly.
Maka pushes the heavy blanket off of her and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. She slides off the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Oh, you're awake!" Blair chirps, emerging from a small hallway. "I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away."
Maka shrugs, memories of yesterday choking her words. Her stomach gives another impatient gurgle.
"Hungry?" Blair asked cheerfully. "Come along, little kitten."
Silently, Maka follows Blair. Her stomach clenches when she spies her bag and book resting on the table she noticed earlier. She wants nothing to do with her magic ever again.
As if on cue, Kami's words echo in her ears as Maka slides into a chair.
"Your duty is always to your magic," Kami said sternly as she finished jotting down the last rune on a tattered sheet of paper. The ingredients for Maka's cake for her seventh birthday appear on their kitchen counter.
Maka swung her legs once from where she sat on the counter. "Why?" she asked curiously, watching Kami measure and sift the flour.
Kami answered Maka's question with a question. "How is our magic possible, Maka?"
"From the universe itself," Maka said proudly, remembering the lesson her mother gave her the other day. "We capture the unusable energy around us and use it to power our spells."
"Correct," Kami said with a faint smile, pouring the flour into the bowl. She grabbed an egg and rapped it against the bowl. "And do you know anyone else other than you and I that can do that?"
Maka pursed her lips for a moment, thinking hard. "No," she said slowly. "Why?"
"You know how some people are born with freckles and some aren't?" Kami said. Maka nodded. "Well," Kami said, reaching for the sugar, "That's how it is for us. Except there's only a few of us born at a time."
"Uh, huh," Maka furrowed her brow, things not quite adding up. "But how does that my magic my first duty?"
"Not only is it your legacy," Kami said, stirring the ingredients together. "But it's the only thing that will keep you safe."
"Like from those people we ran away from a long time ago?" Maka asked.
Kami looked up, eyes widening in surprise. "When did you figure that out?"
"I'm seven." Maka hopped off the counter and started rummaging for the candles she made earlier. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Mama."
Kami scooped her up in a hug. "No, I suppose you aren't." She squeezed Maka once and then released her. "Promise me you won't give up your magic, no matter what happens."
Maka nodded. "I promise."
Maka bites her bottom lip, her teeth worrying a groove onto her skin. It was her magic that got her mother killed, she is sure of that. That's enough to make her never want to practice her magic again. On the other hand, the last thing she wants is to go against her mother's wishes. She bites down harder on her lip, tasting blood as her teeth break through the fragile barrier of her skin.
"Food's ready!" Blair announces, plopping a plate chock full of food in front of Maka. "Eat up!"
Distracted from her thoughts, Maka looks down at the table and gasps. For good reason, the sun's rays were reflecting so brightly off the table.
The table is covered in etching of a forest in hues so bright that they physically hurt Maka's eyes. Yet she can't look away. Not only is the etching so well-wrought that they seem lifelike, they're moving.
Near Maka's plate, a silvery-white unicorn chases a nymph, eyes rooted on the apple the nymph dangles teasingly from her hand. Mouth open in wonder, Maka gently strokes the table top. It feels like as soft as silk but also remarkably durable. She feels rather than hears Blair taking a seat next to her, entranced by the all the detail.
"You don't want the food to get cold, do you, little kitten?"
Maka can't seem to tear her eyes away from a phoenix sunbathing in the uppermost branches of a tree. The pull of the etching is stronger than the gravity that pulls at her feet. "Huh?"
Blair hums a little tune. The beauty of the table doesn't change but the irresistible need to look at it fades. Maka blinks a few times. "What kind of magic was that?" she demands eagerly.
"Song magic," Blair purrs. "Without my little spell right now, you would've been forced to stare at it forever."
Maka looks back down at the table, picking up her fork. "My mother told me how song magic could make beautiful things but she never told me song magic could make something so dangerous."
"A lot of people look down on us Song Mages for that," Blair says matter-of-factly. With a soft poof, she transforms back into a cat and laps at a bowl of milk in front of her. She looks up, licking excess milk from her whiskers. "But beauty is a good disguise for deadly things." Blair gives her a sly smile. "Isn't that right, Word Mage?"
Maka intakes sharply and promptly chokes on the mouthful of pancake in her mouth. Blair watches her serenely as Maka gulps down half of her orange juice, massaging her throat. "How did you know?" Maka asks, coughing weakly.
Blair props her chin on the back of her paw, tail moving lazily back and forth. "Song Mages are incredibly perceptive to any kind of magic around them. Kind of like picking on a wavelength. And yours is incredibly strong for someone your age."
"My mother taught me," Maka says proudly. "She i-was the best Word Mage I knew."
Thankfully, Blair chooses not to notice Maka's awkward verb change. "You must be very dedicated to your magic then," she says.
Maka just shrugs, conflicted feelings from before returning.
Blair changes back into a human and pulls the black book from where it rested on the table. "You must be wanting this then."
"No." Maka ducks her head and proceeds to stuff her face full of food, avoiding eye contact with Blair.
"No, what?" Blair asks keenly.
Maka swallows her food. "It got my mother killed!"
"A book killed your mother?" Blair says, raising an eyebrow.
"No, it's-I," Maka gives up for a moment, searching for the right words to say. "It's my fault."
Blair doesn't say anything but tilts her head to one side.
The words come out slow and grudgingly from Maka, like ice thawing out. As she speaks, she realizes how much she doesn't know. Who were the people who came after her yesterday? Were they the same people that came after her seven years ago? Why did they want her when her mother was a much more competent Word Mage than her?
These questions ignite a fire in Maka, white-hot anger melting the iron vice that grief locked her in. She clenches and unclenches her fists. "I want them to pay," she finishes.
"And you're the one that's going to make them?" Blair says lightly.
Maka pushes her plate away from her, appetite gone. "And why shouldn't I?"
"One, you have no idea who you're going after," Blair says, twirling a finger around a lock of her hair. "But more importantly, do you really want to make a mockery of your mother's sacrifice?"
Crossing her arms, Maka sets her face stubbornly. "I want justice."
"You want revenge," Blair corrects her. "And you'll most likely die in the process." She raises a hand against Maka's half-formed protest. "You're more than welcome to live with me, little kitten, but not if you're determined to get yourself killed."
She gives a little sigh at Maka's unconvinced face, changing back into a cat. "Then again, I'm only a cat, what do I know?" With a disgruntled meow, Blair hops off the table. The door to the house opens of its own accord and Blair pads out without a second look at Maka.
Maka lets out a frustrated groan. She rests her head against the cool surface of the table, trying to quiet the conflicting voices in her head. Maka idly traces the outline of an oak tree with her fingers, wondering what her mother would say if she could see the table. She'd probably be amazed-Kami had always been impressed with all kinds of magic.
She straightens up suddenly, pulling the black book and her bag toward her. She rummages through the bag, pulling out her ink pot and quill.
She untwists the cap in one fluid motion and balances the quill in one hand, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Opening the black book to a blank page, she dips the quill into the ink once and begins to write whatever runes pop into her head.
It's dangerously silly to write a spell with no clear idea in mind, she knows. The equivalent of a child's scribbles with the ability to blow the house up. But there's something Maka desperately wants to see.
If this jumbled mess of a spell works, then it's a sign that she's really her mother's daughter and she'll stay. If it doesn't, then it's the last spell she'll ever write and she'll leave.
She ignores the logical part of her mind that's screaming at her and finishes the spell with a flourish. Dropping the quill on the table, she massages the burgeoning cramp in her hand and waits.
The wet ink shines dully against the creamy white of the paper. Maka's heart sinks as the seconds tick by and nothing happens.
She's about to get up when the runes glow gold. Her breath catches in her throat. The runes glow brighter and brighter until she has to put a hand in front of her eyes.
Maka waits a minute and then carefully lowers her hand. She gasps, heart thudding loudly in her chest.
Delicate ice crystals float above the page, gleaming like diamonds. But it's the image they form that brings tears to Maka's eyes.
It's a mural of her three year old self and her mother standing in front of the house she used to call home, the day they finally stopped running. She remembers the day vividly, how she watched in wonder as her mother brought the house into being through magic alone.
Eyes wide, she lifts her hand to touch her mother's face.
The mural holds for a moment. Then, her mother disintegrates under her fingers, the ice collapsing into itself. The resulting mist wafting onto her hand feels as gentle as a kiss.
Maka smiles, tears sliding down her face. "All right, Mama."
When Blair comes back in, Maka's cleared the table and is quietly waiting.
Blair crosses her arms. "Well, little kitten?"
Maka pulls at her dress. "Is there somewhere I can wash up?" She gives Blair a tentative smile. "And a change of clothes too? I'm going to be staying here for while."