Chapter Nine: In Which They Are Mistaken for a Witch

Maka was unconsciously rubbing her mother's ring on her index finger against the staff of the Death Scythe through the thick of her gloves. The sky on the way to Europe was a bit bleak and the scenery limited to the Atlantic Ocean and an occasional pod of whales. She could feel the soul wavelengths of marine creatures when she extended her abilities into the water, but only in moments of absolute boredom.

Soul wasn't much of a conversationalist either, brooding for the first hour into their intercontinental flight. He eventually spoke up that the movement with the ring was annoying. She replied some crass comment.

When Kim overheard that they would be flying over the ocean, she leant Maka her goggles. "They really help," she'd replied to her puzzled expression. Now, with the cold air biting her nose and cracking her lips and whistling by her cheeks like they were intent on slicing them open, she was grateful that her eyes were spared.

"Can we slow down for a minute, Soul?"

"Hah? Again? At this rate we'd get to America faster!"

Despite his complaining he did allow them to slow and drop their altitude for a bit. It was cold and exhausting to travel this way, but faster. In the horizon was a greyness that was their destination. Maka pulled off the goggles. "We're almost there." She could feel the vague pull of a thousand human souls.

She stood up and stretched. The spot of warmth where Maka had been sitting immediately disappeared. Despite himself he shivered. He geared up to drop another set of snarky words, but he felt something through Maka, an impossible reaction, and had he been in his human form his jaw would have shut with a snap.

"Hi there, sister!" a witch called out excitedly and flew down to match Maka's level and pace. "Pleasure meetin' you here! I didn't expect to find any other witches on this route!"

She was a small and young thing dressed warmly and in cloth that moved with the wind. Her hat curled over her face like a crow's beak and in the place of straw her broom made use of feathers. Her skin was sallow, her eyes a bright yellow, her hair presumably dark was tied up in a hidden bun. Her smile was bright and emanated youth.

Maka realized she'd been mistaken for a witch.

"Why didn't you just warp to wherever you're going? Or maybe you're not coming from the witches' realm?"

"That's right, I'm flying from America."

"America!" She grew starry eyed. "I always wanted to go there! This is my first time leaving home! I'm going to meet my sister. My warping spells suck, so I have to travel the old fashioned way."

"I-is that so?"

The witch flew in even closer. "But sister, you're a flying master! I've never seen anyone balance so well on their broom before!"

Soul could read Maka's pride. He rolled his eyes.

"I've been flying for a long time," Maka replied, her cheeks warming.

"And making use of the Trade Winds, huh?"

"N-naturally," Maka answered.

Stop stuttering, you idiot, Soul thought, unimpressed with her farce thus far.

"You gotta hand it to Shibusen. Their work for the past few years has really helped out witches. A lot of us are still irate and don't trust the Shinigami. But at the same time he's made it possible for silly witches like you and me to fly in the open without being hassled. Of course we still to need to show our license to whoever asks."

"License?"

"The permit that allows witches to fly over human cities," the witch explained and gave Maka a blank stare. "You didn't know that?"

"Err…"

"That's bad, sis'. You're okay for over the ocean, but you'd better keep to the country in your travels or fly really, really high, and this time of year that's the absolute worst."

Will you stop being so tense! Soul motioned through their Resonance.

You wanna switch roles?!

"But sister…"

"Hii! Yes?" Maka was nervous because she couldn't act. It seemed if she revealed herself to be a member of Shibusen she wouldn't be attacked—upon guessing that this acquaintance was a Shibusen sympathizer—but the only witches Maka had ever spoken to were the children under Kim's and Angela's care. There were two of them.

Her flying companion noticed her nervousness and said nothing on the topic. She instead asked, "Are you a humanist?"

"A…"

"…patron to the humans. You don't believe that they should be wiped out and that the power of magic should be distilled in other ways."

She looked to the right. "Yeah."

"I am too," she said with a grin. "But my sister doesn't think so. She's weird: she lives among humans and works with humans and acts like a humanist, but her theory is that they're supposed to die and witches are supposed to replace them."

What a dangerous role to play, Maka thought. "Who does she work with?"

"The Death-to-Death Group," she answered brightly.

That's one of the largest organized anti-Shibusen factions still active! Maka and Soul recollected.

"I know what you're thinking," the witch continued, "my sister is working against Shibusen that's fighting real hard to repair relations between humans and witches. But it's not really like that. She's just a researcher there. Working for them makes her look like she's not a humanist to other witches, though her role is a controversial—and contradictory—one. But that idiot of mine is family. What can I do?"

"And she's in…Europe?"

"In Portugal actually," she answered. "She said something about testing on a large scale."

That sounds dangerous.

We need to tell Shinigami.

Wait, we need more information—"What do you mean testing? I thought she didn't mean to hurt humans?"

"Hmm…that's not entirely true. If it's for the sake of figuring out how stuff works, she'll hurt people. Not witches though. But from what I understand what she's working on isn't supposed to hurt anybody—if it works that is. It didn't work before and she almost ended up getting hunted down by a Shibusen agent in New York City. It was a Spartoi member too! Good thing that the weapon was a novice otherwise my sis would really have been in trouble. You know the Spartoi right? Hm? Sister, are you okay?"

Her smile was cracked and false. At last she sat on the staff. "I'm fine," she said as stiffly.

"What about your family, sister?"

"Huh?"

"Do you have any?"

"No! That is…not really, no." Do witches have fathers? Or mothers? They can have siblings.

"Ah! You can see the shore of England from here!"

So they could. Maka lifted her head and the wind was colder and buffeted her face. She pulled up her scarf over her nose and mouth, but it alleviated her very little. "We'll soon part ways."

"Oh, are you slowing down, sis?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay! It was nice meetin' ya! Bye!" And she took off with such paramount strength that in the wake of her broom's discharge Maka and Soul were pitched to one side. Hadn't it been for the fishing village and the abandoned hut…well, no, it still hurt like hell.

"That damned witch!" Soul snarled in the rubble. "I'll cut her down myself when I next see her!"

Maka, at his side, was spiral eyed and her head lolling.

Soul complained about going back in weapon form. He said everything hurt. It was more than aching. When Maka poked him he froze. So they took a pick-up truck, a tram, a bus, a train, and a random vehicle to reach the city. It was tiring and the sky lethargic the entire trip.

The business of London reminded her of Tokyo. People, people, people, people and signs and scaffolding and red bricks and monuments and cabs and accents. Roads were black and slick with rain and everything to the touch and look was cold and wet. People were all in black or brown. Parasols were equally chromatically demure. It was late afternoon, but all it felt like was a brightly lit night. Street lamps were on and smog coated the bridges. In a word the city was oppressive.

Soul and Maka were the only ones dressed in white.

"When do you intend on telling Kidd about what that witch said?" Soul asked of his partner when they settled down in a café.

Maka was pulling of her gloves. "As soon as possible. But we should let your family know that we've arrived first. That's what we came here for."

To himself he muttered, "There's no rush to meet 'em."

Maka made to move to indicate she heard him. She held the paper cup of coffee gratefully in her hands and smelled in the bitter and sweet and heat of the coffee. Soul had already downed his.

"She was interesting though, huh? It would be nice to have more witches like that at Shibusen."

"I'm pretty sure the only reason she seemed so nice was because she thought you were a witch. She'd probably have reacted differently if she knew that you were the one who almost hunted her sister in New York."

Maka laughed sardonically. She rested her chin in her palm and her eyes rolled towards the door of the café. "Mm. She'd probably have…" Maka suddenly pressed her body weight into the seat. Her posture was that of a creature under threat, an animal that was caught in the headlights.

Soul followed her gaze. A giant Punu mask glowered at and over them. Soul and Maka reclined in their seats as the mask—and the figure wearing it—loomed closer.

"Maka, is that thing human?" Soul whispered.

"Um…"

"Soul?" the mask asked.

Against all odds, recognition flashed over Soul's countenance. Maka bore witness to the frown that set in his brow and how his back straightened then, in an incredulous tone, Soul bellowed: "Uncle Monty?"

"Soul my boy!"

And the African mask was replaced with the more naturalistic figure of an aged fellow with a porky disposition and silver hair, a suit that was off white and a pair of shoes that seemed to have just walked out of the cobblers the way they looked so spanking new.

Of Uncle Monty's face little could be said beyond the square jaw, slant eyes and lazy grin that reminded of her partner. Everything else was foreign to her—save for maybe his wavelength that was, in some intermittent beats, not unlike Soul's.

Said weapon got to his feet to greet his mother's brother. Their embrace was hearty and full of back-clapping.

"What are you doing here? I was told you were out of the country until the end of this week!"

"But you're mad, my son! How could I have remained in Gabon when my beloved nephew whom I haven't seen hide or hair of in the past six years is coming home!" He braced Soul by his shoulders. "What a way you're maturing! If you crop that iconic hairstyle of yours it'll be a true trial to tell you apart from your brother!"

"Where is Wes?" Soul looked over Montgomery's shoulder with more eagerness than he'd expressed within the past twelve hours.

"He's at the manor, I assume," Uncle Monty replied. "Last I heard he was helping your mother prepare for your and your partner's arrival. Speaking of which, is this her?"

Maka had gotten to her feet slowly and politely. When Montgomery Benson noticed her, she outstretched her hand first. "Pleasure."

"Pleasure's all mine, Ms. Albarn!" he took her hand in his. "Quite the grip you've got there!"

"Uncle Monty's a composer by profession," Soul introduced.

Montgomery added: "But an anthropologist at heart! The bowels of my manor are bursting at the seams with my very private very international collection. Allow Ivan and myself to get you there!"

Upon leaving the café Maka leaned over to Soul and asked, "Your uncle owns a manor?"

"Each of the Benson children does."

Something slowly dropped into place in Maka's head. "Soul, are you rich by any chance?"

"Course not," Soul answered casually and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "But my family…they don't need to worry about where their next meal comes from."

Clearly, Maka thought when she realized that Ivan was the chauffer.

Author's Note: I rewrote this chapter because I felt that I had lost sight of what I was aiming for. Appreciation to reviewers who are still with me is expressed. Reviews are still welcome.