Four
Thomas crouched, holding his breath. His heart was nearly beating out of his chest as he moved, slowly, silently, to peer through the dripping foliage in front of him. The thick mist heavily obscured his vision, but he could hear their footsteps. They were horrifyingly close.
​
“Thoomaaas,” one of them called out in a sing-song voice. “Where did you gooo?”
​
A younger voice piped in. “You’re so mean, you scared him off,” she pouted. “He’s not going to come home now.”
​
The older one laughed. The sound sent shivers down Thomas’s spine.
​
“Whatever,” came the first voice, quieter now. “It was on its way out, anyway. Probably ran away to die.”
​
“That’s not true!” the younger one protested. “He still had one good eye.”
​
His heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, Thomas raised a slow, shaking hand to his own face and touched his left cheek. The eye above his fingertips was still blue, and the fact that it had remained that way made the one that had turned black feel all the heavier.
​
“But, he was cuter when his hair was blonde.”
​
Frozen, holding his position, he heard the small voice fade. Their footsteps retreated. After a moment longer, Thomas allowed himself to breathe again, pulling in slow, cautious breaths as he waited. The earthy scent of moss filled his nose. He was hyper aware of the damp leaves soaking his clothes the longer he stayed in his low position.
​
Thomas remained, statuesque, until he was absolutely sure they had truly left him to die. It was only then that he was able to relax, dropping his shoulders. His hair, black, long, and unkempt, fell into his face. His still shaking hand pushed it back. He sat down fully on the moist, leaf-littered ground and exhaled a long, slow breath. Mushrooms were sprouting up around him. The sight of them made his stomach turn. Still, he squinted through the fog and regarded each one until he noticed a pile of white shapes. To his own luck, he realized they were bones. Perhaps they were just his size.
​
With a sudden flicker of hope in his mind, Thomas craned his neck to look at the foliage surrounding him. Vines spiraled upward towards the shrouded sky. He grabbed the fibrous plants, twisting them together before pulling them between his hands to test the strength. Satisfied, he looked eagerly to the dry remains. He scanned them with his asymmetrical eyes, then reached for a scapula and a femur.
​
With the twitch of a smile, he began to craft a hatchet.
​
---
​
“Good evening.”
​
The looming figure in front of Isaac and Iris greeted them monotonously when they approached the counter at the café. Iris glanced at his nametag. Cain, it proclaimed.
​
The café was nearly empty, as expected. A vaguely familiar French song played in the background, combining softly with the dim lights. Isaac had invited Iris to come with him to meet a close friend of his. That was how Iris took it, anyway, since the way Isaac described the event was more along the lines of, “I can get us some free drinks.” And though Iris had never known Isaac to be particularly scared of anything, she could not imagine the haunted figure in front of them was the friend he had been referring to. She stayed quiet and waited for Isaac to speak, feeling uneasy.
​
“Is Sam here?” Isaac inquired, peering behind the counter in a feeble attempt to spot her.
​
“Yes,” said Cain, with all the stillness of a marble statue. “I presume you are the friend she mentioned. She will return shortly. I may take your request in her absence.”
​
Since he was apparently not alarmed by Cain’s existence in the same way that Iris was, Isaac continued the transaction like normal. The thrumming of his order was lost on the small witch as she fixed her gaze on the lanky giant before them. In spite of her familiarity with the moody, brooding figures that often frequented obscure cafés -- both as employees and as guests -- the stranger’s ghostly visage was strikingly unsettling. The dim light overhead shrouded his face in shadow, making it appear as though his pupils had swallowed the entirety of his irises. She felt herself blush when she realized it was her turn to order.
​
“Oh!” she exclaimed, fiddling with her necklace. “I’m so sorry, I’m not sure yet...” She thought for a moment and, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to be friendly towards a new face, continued. “What’s your favorite drink here?”
​
She had partially expected him to be caught off guard, or to emote in any way whatsoever, but Cain kept the same emotionless visage and haunting stillness. He blinked at her, silent for a moment, before giving an answer.
​
“My own novelty limits my opinion on the matter. Presently, I can recommend the 'London fog' option.” Cain gave a sluggish sideways glance towards the window, but the rest of him remained just as still as ever. “Coincidentally, the name reflects our forecast today.”
​
Something about the way he spoke struck Iris as familiar. Additionally, it was beginning to make his own physical appearance feel incredibly familiar, too. It was as if they had not only met before, but that they had met very recently. She was, however, positive she would have remembered meeting someone like Cain. She tried to not think about it for too long and nodded, resolute, at his response.
​
“Perfect! I like your taste so far.” She startled herself with how loud and chipper her own voice sounded. Perhaps she was overdoing it. “I’d like a London fog, please.”
​
Dark circles under his eyes -- so intense that Iris wasn’t sure if it was makeup or not -- drew her attention back to the black holes whenever she tried to find another facial feature to focus on. She fought the gravity of them to look down. Cain’s white hand vanished behind the counter and returned with a cup and a pen, poised in front of his chest as he tilted his head down. It was the most she had seen him move. His eyes lingered on the cup for a moment before shifting back to her.
​
“May I ask your name?”
​
“Iris.”
​
“I see,” he said, scrawling shapes onto the cup. “I find it quite fitting that you should be named after a flower.”
​
As much as the unexpected compliment made her blush, it also revealed why Cain seemed so familiar. Iris felt herself relax, curiosity filling her eyes.
​
“You speak like the fair folk,” she said matter-of-factly, although she was not sure if she should have said the thought out loud.
​
He tilted his head slightly, turning it in a way that allowed the aloft lighting to fall onto his face. Iris swallowed nervously at the realization that his irises truly were black; there was not the slightest reflection of light nor hint of color. They remained on her, watching her coldly.
​
“What a peculiar thought.” His voice, although already quiet, became a mere whisper. “And yet, an astute observation.”
​
Iris regretted the comment she had made. Luckily, it was at this time that Sam had returned within sight. She waved at them, beaming, before slinking up next to Cain. He acknowledged her, tilting his head down a bit due to his height, and Iris saw the intensity in his eyes soften.
​
“Hey, Sam!” greeted Isaac. He sounded uncharacteristically cheerful.
​
“Hey!” she responded, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him. “Your face looks a lot better than the last time I saw you. Are you covering it up with makeup or something?”
​
Isaac had, in fact, healed from his black eye within a day or two after receiving it. Iris studied Sam, wondering if she had been present during whatever took place.
​
“You know I won’t give away my beauty secrets that easily,” remarked Isaac, striking a subtle pose.
​
Iris stared at him, wide-eyed. Proud of her own intuition, she was rarely caught off guard, but Isaac was acting incredibly different from what she had seen. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. With Isaac suddenly developing a sense of humor and the way Cain had calmed down, Iris was nearly positive that Sam had some kind of supernatural ability that controlled the moods of those around her. Perhaps, she pondered, that was why Isaac wanted them to meet.
​
“This is Iris, by the way,” Isaac explained, snapping her back into reality.
​
Sam turned her head towards Iris. “Is she the extrovert from your class that adopted you?”
​
Iris stifled a laugh and, to her continued surprise, saw Isaac nodding. Sam’s face lit up.
​
“Thanks for taking care of him,” she said to Iris with a coy grin. “He won’t socialize out of his own free will, but god knows he needs to.”
​
“Why does everyone talk about you like you’re a pet?” giggled Iris.
​
Sam laughed, loudly. Isaac raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘everyone’?” he asked, though Iris wasn’t sure if she should actually respond with an answer.
​
Suddenly aware of Cain still standing there silently, watching their conversation, Iris began feeling strangely awkward once again. As though she could read her mind, Sam nudged Cain with her elbow. The thought of touching him made Iris shudder, imagining his skin to be as cold as ice.
​
“I see you already met Cain, by the way,” Sam noted. “He’s kinda weird but he’s a badass. You should’ve seen him last night.”
​
In what seemed backwards to Iris, the acknowledgement of Cain actually made him turn around and start making the drinks that they had ordered. He gained some distance and turned his back to them. Iris felt herself relax slightly.
​
“What do you mean?” Isaac asked, sounding more like himself.
​
Sam’s tone changed, too, as she sighed and looked up. “Some assholes tried to pick a fight with me,” she griped. “Cain kinda beat the shit out of them. It was seriously impressive, but also a little embarrassing on my end.”
​
Isaac had visibly tensed up. His typical strict demeanor had returned. Sam noticed and tried to defuse the situation.
​
“It’s fine, dude, they’re definitely not going to try anything again,” she laughed. “It was intense, though. They--” she paused, mouth pursed, and for a moment her eyes flicked to Iris. She waved a dismissive hand at Isaac. “Cain’s tough, for real. I feel bad he had such a shitty first day, though.”
​
“You should still give me their names and addresses,” declared Isaac, shrugging. “Just in case.”
​
Sam rolled her eyes as Cain returned with the drinks. He held them out. Warily, Iris reached out and took the drink from his hand, which lightly brushed against her own. She tried to suppress the jolt of shock running through her body. The cold skin she had been expecting had turned out to be fabric.
​
Isaac and Sam said their brief goodbyes and planned to talk more soon. Cain had disappeared into the back room, and now unseen, Iris wondered if he had ever actually been there at all. They left the quiet, dim atmosphere to venture back outside. She squinted against the sunlight, glad that the morning fog had lifted, and wondered how long they had been inside.
​
“Is Thomas meeting us today?” Isaac asked before taking a sip from what Iris presumed to be black coffee. She nodded in response.
​
“Why didn’t you want to bring him here with us?” she asked.
​
Isaac laughed. “It’s not like he’s awake right now anyway,” he pointed out. “Besides, I think Sam would absolutely despise him.”
​
“Oh, does that mean you thought she would like me?” wondered Iris, lighting up.
​
“Of course,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Who wouldn’t?”
​
Iris nearly gasped at the compliment as her chest fluttered.
​
“Sam seems really cool, by the way,” she interjected, trying not to blush. Isaac nodded. “Is she, like, magic or something?”
​
The question amused Isaac and he laughed quietly to himself. “Seems that way,” he murmured. Iris blinked. “But, no. I have human friends too, you know.” He saw the wonder in Iris’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
​
Iris thought about it for a moment before responding.
​
“I feel like she might be good at befriending rabid dogs,” she speculated.
​
“That’s funny,” said Isaac, though his tone did not sound like he meant it. “I have the same feeling.”
​
​
---
​
“It’s getting late,” Thomas pointed out as he began to stand up.
​
Isaac and Iris were sitting on the ground in front of him, their books and notebooks spread about. Iris was the only one who looked at him when he spoke. He was already shoving paperwork haphazardly into his bag.
​
“Oh, are you leaving?” she asked.
​
He nodded. They said their goodbyes, Iris’s being much more enthusiastic than Isaac’s, and Thomas headed outside.
​
The sun had snuck away from them while they were studying. There was a brief stretch of road that was unlit and secluded from the rest of town, and Thomas was eager to get through it as quickly as possible. He only lived a short walk away from Iris’s flat, yet the irrational and child-like fear of some unknown beast lurking in the dark crept up on him unexpectedly. Recognizing it, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself. Forcing his shoulders to relax, he headed down the road towards his home. Soon enough, Thomas caught the glimmer of streetlights on the main road and knew he had made it downtown.
​
It wasn’t long before Thomas stopped in his tracks, his sensitive ears picking up strange noises. On one side of the road came the faint laughter of some unseen girl, though he dismissed it as someone far off having a more interesting time than him. On the other side, however, came a low growl. It almost sounded like a wolf, though Thomas knew that couldn’t be a plausible explanation given where he was. Still, curiosity got the best of him and he headed towards where the sound came from, peering down the various alleyways, waiting to catch the slightest amount of movement.
​
He jumped when a whispered voice came from directly behind him.
​
“Are you who I’m looking for?”
​
Thomas spun around to see who was behind him, but to his own surprise, nobody was there. The distant growls and barks were still audible, perhaps more so. He smirked.
​
“I probably am,” he said to the disembodied voice. “A lot of people are looking for me these days.” He looked around for the figure that spoke, but to no avail. “Who are you?”
​
Another laugh rang through the air, and suddenly Thomas knew exactly where to look; to the left of him, sitting on the roof of a bakery, was a feminine figure with long fair hair. She seemed to only wear a nightgown, despite the dropping temperatures outside. He shivered. The growls were getting closer behind him, and Thomas wasn’t sure if there was an echo or if there were more than one of the unseen canines.
​
“You’re friends with the Nephilim kid, aren’t you?” she called. Her voice sounded soft, but Thomas could hear her perfectly clear, as though she weren’t so far away from him.
​
Thomas stared blankly at her for a moment. “Well, 'friends' is a strong word,” he murmured, but before he could do much else, he found the source of the growl.
​
An impressively large wolf greeted him when he turned around, its head low as it skulked towards him. Thomas’s eyes widened in surprise, but some part of him was thrilled about something more exciting finally happening. He lifted his foot and pulled out a glimmering silver blade from his boot as he briefly thanked his paranoia. As though the glint of the blade threatened the wolf, it barked and leaped towards him in a blur of grey fur. Thomas swiftly moved aside and brought the hilt of the blade down hard on the top of the wolf’s skull. The wolf let out a sharp cry and collapsed onto the ground, whimpering softly. The faerie looked down and realized that the silver of the handle had left a burn where it had made contact. Something inside his mind clicked.
​
Before he could brag about defusing the threat so easily, several more large wolves crept out of the alleyway, creating a semi-circle of snarling teeth in front of him. Instinctively, he began slowly walking backwards away from them, staring in disbelief at the ravenous pack. He looked at them for a moment and finally understood: They were all werewolves. Yet, beyond that, something about the shimmer in their eyes was off— their pupils were clouded.
​
“You didn’t think I only brought one, did you?” Behind him, the girl on the store roof giggled. Her voice was a whisper, yet somehow he heard it directly in his ear. He could almost feel her breath on his neck. “Honestly, if I were you, I’d just run.”
​
Thomas promptly followed her advice. He took off so abruptly that the werewolves barely even had time to react, but after a moment, they were already hot on his trail as he sped through the streets of the city. There was no way he could outrun them, no matter how hard he pushed himself forward. He was frantically looking around for some way out. He briefly thought about looping around and heading back to Iris’s place for help, but his stubborn pride prevented that option from becoming a reality.
​
The werewolves were catching up, but Thomas finally saw salvation. He took a sharp left between two apartment complexes and leapt at the side of one of the buildings, catching onto the fire escape ladder, forcing himself up as quickly as possible while the werewolves nipped at his feet. When he reached the top he crumpled, heaving and trying to catch his breath. He stopped for a moment, beginning to acknowledge the fact that he successfully avoided getting eaten by werewolves, and then laughed triumphantly at himself. An idea entered his mind. He stood up and looked down at the pack, jumping and barking at him from below.
​
The faerie turned around to walk further from the edge and came face to face with the blonde girl from the roof. She was standing in front of him, smiling. She didn’t look as small anymore now that she was so close to him. Immediately, her arm shot out towards him and her hand tightly gripped his neck. He instinctively grabbed her arm with both of his hands, trying and failing to pry her off of him. She took another step forward, pushing him to where his head was over the wolves below, his feet struggling to stay on the roof so that he wouldn’t be entirely suspended above the pack. He tried to not look down at them.
​
“You’re pretty fast, faerie,” she said, bemused. Her sharp teeth were visible now.
​
“What do you want?” he choked out, cursing at how cliché and helpless he sounded in the moment.
​
She grinned. “Not you, don’t worry— I’ve never been a fan of faerie blood myself. I would much prefer angel blood.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “So, really, all you need to do is tell me when you’re meeting Isaac next. You're in a study group together, aren’t you?”
​
She wasn’t choking him anymore, but he still couldn’t get out of her grip.
​
“Sounds like you’ve been watching us, so shouldn’t you already know?”
​
She didn’t seem amused by the answer. “Eden doesn’t let us follow Isaac for too long. She's rather possessive of him, perhaps it's some kind of crush, I don't know...” She trailed off before regaining focus. “But I can follow you, and you’re always near him—”
​
“I wouldn’t say always,” he rebutted, cutting her off. Again, she was unfazed.
​
“So let’s make a deal. I won’t drop you into this pit of werewolves if you let me know where I can find Isaac when he’s vulnerable.” She pushed him further off the edge. “Can you do that? Sell out your friend for your life?”
​
Thomas rolled his eyes. “I have to pass,” he said, which immediately caused the grip on his neck to tighten. “Not because we’re friends, because we’re not,” he reminded her, though it took great effort to speak, “but because I just really don’t like you.”
​
Her smile had disappeared and her face had contorted into an unpleasant scowl. She murmured something about her hatred for faeries under her breath and then thrust Thomas backwards, throwing him entirely off of the building. She watched as he fell towards the werewolves and—
​
He completely vanished. His body disintegrated into glittering specs in the sky. She stared down in disbelief when she felt a foot on her back, pushing her forward. She lost her balance and fell off the roof, her quick reflexes allowing her to grab the ledge before it was too late. She looked side to side, noticing they had moved too far away from the ladder, leaving it out of reach. She put her other hand on the ledge and went to pull herself up, but pain exploded from one of her hands. She looked up to see Thomas standing above her, stomping on her right hand. She let out a sharp cry of both surprise and agony, then pulled her hand away from the ledge towards her body, leaving her hanging by only one hand again. She saw him lift his foot again and instinctively shot up her injured hand onto the ledge. Her left hand now burned with a crushing pain and she couldn’t help but pull it away from the ledge. Thomas knelt down so he could see her better. She wasn’t smiling anymore.
​
“You knew I was a faerie, yet you fell for an illusion like that?” he mocked.
​
She didn’t answer, just stared up at him with pleading eyes. Her newfound silence frustrated him. Not having anything else to say, he stood up and lifted his foot again. Once more, he brought it down, hard, onto the hand that held the ledge. It was too much for her, feeling her fingers getting crushed yet again, and with one more yelp of pain, she let go. Thomas watched her, detached, as she fell into the pack of werewolves. Once he heard her cries mixing with the snapping jaws of the wolves below, he gave himself permission to look away.
When the noise stopped and Thomas could hear the wolves dispersing, he laid down on the roof and looked up. The clouds passed overhead, obscuring the stars. He felt himself exhale and wondered how long he had been holding his breath for. Yearning for a brief distraction, Thomas pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Iris. He waited for a moment, and deciding it wasn’t enough, he sent another text to Ifrit before shoving his phone back into his pocket. Exhausted, and somewhat too afraid to move, Thomas softly closed his eyes to rest.
​
​
Ifrit stared down at Thomas as he curled up and mumbled in his sleep. Birds were chirping around them, welcoming the sun as it slowly began to rise. He nudged him lightly with his foot, to which Thomas responded by rolling over and attempting to cuddle up to Ifrit’s offending shoe. The witch rolled his eyes before shaking him off. This proved to be enough of a disturbance that Thomas was roused from his slumber, squinting up at Ifrit. He looked both offended and confused.
​
“Do you often take naps on rooftops, faerie?”
​
Thomas grinned, trying to hide that he did not, in fact, know where he was at the moment. He shot a few brief glances at his surroundings, trying to act coy. “That depends, Frit, would you like to join me?”
​
Ifrit kicked him and turned to leave.
​
“Wait, wait!” Thomas stammered, frantically stumbling to his feet. He hunched over for a moment and held his head. “Oh my god,” he murmured, “headrush.”
​
Strangely enough, Ifrit stood still, looking over his shoulder at the boy. He suppressed a smile. Thomas straightened up and clasped his hands together.
​
“I can’t believe you came and found me, that was so sweet of you!” he elated. “I bet you used your divination skills to do it, huh? I’m honored!”
​
Ifrit sighed, ignoring him. “Iris wants to know why you sent her a text that read, ‘Isaac sucks. He is bad. I do not like him.’” He raised his eyebrows. “I hope I’m quoting that correctly.”
​
“I see, I will be sure to explain that to her.” Thomas was watching Ifrit carefully, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in concealed amusement.
​
Ifrit was silent for a moment before closing his eyes in frustration.
​
“I would also like to know,” he admitted, speaking slowly.
​
“I feel I explained all I needed to in that text I sent you.”
​
Ifrit glared at him, sensing the bait. “What, are you reliving your greatest hits?” he asked, pulling out his phone to quote the message he had read the previous night. “‘Hey Ifrit, I think Isaac is rabid. We need to put him down. Don’t tell Iris, she’ll be sad.’ Frowny face. ‘We can tell her he went to a farm or something.’”
​
Thomas closed his eyes and nodded deliberately.
​
“You know he was in the room with us when you sent those messages, right?” Ifrit suggested.
​
“You know he can’t read,” responded Thomas.
​
Ifrit began leaving again. Thomas jumped and protested loudly, but ended up following him to the stairway rather than stopping him.
​
“Isaac is vampire bait,” Thomas pressed, aware that he had caught Ifrit’s attention. “I’ve had vampires attack me twice this week because I’m associated with him. That’s, like, a billion percent increase from last week!” Ifrit glimpsed at him, urging him to elaborate in his own way. “One of them even stole his wallet! I think.”
​
“You don’t have to tell me twice to not associate with him,” Ifrit remarked. “But I’m afraid Iris gets attached pretty quickly. I don’t suspect she’ll believe the farm excuse, either.” He looked at Thomas, sideways, and saw him smirk. “So I suppose I’ll have to ride this out with her until he--”
​
Suddenly alert, Ifrit sharply shut his mouth. Thomas cocked his head. They were in the stairway now, heading downstairs to the exit, but Ifrit had stopped in his tracks. The changeling leaned towards him, slouching so that his face was closer to Ifrit’s.
​
“What did you see?” he inquired, remembering Ifrit’s concerned face after he had looked at Isaac’s palm. He doubted he would get an answer, but still felt the need to pry, if for no other reason than to annoy the witch.
​
“I’m not--” Ifrit was stiff, acting strange now. His cool demeanor was fading and he squeezed his eyes shut. Thomas raised an eyebrow.
​
“Are you okay?” he asked, surprised at how concerned his own voice sounded.
​
Thomas nearly jumped when a loud, cackling laugh resonated from Ifrit. He stared, frozen, suddenly feeling as though he was in the presence of a stranger. Ifrit stilled.
​
“Seriously?” Murmured Ifrit, his face shrouded in shadows. Though it was quieter now, his voice was strict and annoyed, just like usual. “Now’s not the time.”
​
Tense silence hung in the air between them. Finding his voice again, Thomas attempted a meek response, but his confused bumbling was cut off by Ifrit.
​
“I’m not talking to you, Thomas.”
​
Thomas was taken aback. Ifrit sounded exhausted and looked remarkably weary now. The faerie looked around, but found the staircase was just as empty as it had always been. “Who were you--”
​
Before he even finished his question, Thomas noticed Ifrit storming off down the staircase, already a good distance away. The hesitation Thomas felt meant he was left behind, bewildered, as Ifrit disappeared through the door and into the light of the outside world.
---
​
​
I think Thomas is mad at you :(
​
Isaac sleepily regarded the phone in his hand, reading the text message he received from Iris. He glanced up from where he sat at the kitchen table when Jonathan came into his line of vision. His brother had gotten home late the night before, and Isaac had feigned sleep to avoid talking to him.
​
“You’re up before me?” he wondered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
​
“You must be jet lagged,” uttered Isaac, glancing back at his phone to type.
​
I think he’s just moody.
​
“Is that Sam?”
​
Isaac looked up and saw Jonathan, much closer now, instinctively peering over at his phone. He shook his head, causing the gears to turn in Jonathan’s head. His own coldness made him remorseful.
​
“Did you have a good retreat?” inquired Isaac, setting his phone back down onto the table. It buzzed almost immediately, but he ignored it.
​
Jonathan nodded and yawned. “It was incredibly boring, but sometimes that’s good.” He had an impish smile on his face, but upon seeing Isaac’s glassy expression, it faded to the familiar expression of brotherly concern. “What’s up?”
​
Isaac chewed his lip, but didn’t explain. His eyes were darting around the room, as though whatever answers he needed were somewhere on the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how to admit when he made a mistake, or where to even begin. He wasn’t even sure if he had made a mistake.
​
“Is it bad?” Jonathan needled.
​
Silence, again, was Jonathan’s response. Isaac had stopped fidgeting, however, and his eyes were resting on the ground next to where he sat. Fortunately for him, this ended up being enough of an answer.
​
“Okay,” Jonathan sighed. “What did you do?”
​
It wasn’t an accusatory statement, but rather one that came from experience. Isaac opened his mouth to speak, but the words weren’t quite ready to come out. He gave a pleading look to Jonathan, urging him to coax it out of him. Jonathan complied.
​
“You’re too hard on yourself. It's probably not going to be as bad as you think,” he pointed out, crossing his arms. Jonathan’s eyes looked to the side, focusing on the sink. “Though I don’t necessarily know what would make you feel so guilty you couldn’t sleep.”
​
A heavy sigh left Isaac’s mouth as he buried his head in his hands. The gesture confirmed what Jonathan was suspecting. He furrowed his brow, his gaze fixed on Isaac. His arms remained crossed.
​
“Eden?”
​
Isaac’s jaw clenched. He nodded his head, his hands still covering his face.
​
“What did she want?” Jonathan asked. He was growing visibly tired. “Come on, I think I guessed a good amount. You can finish it off.”
It took a while longer, but Isaac broke the silence by mumbling a single word.
​
“You know I can’t hear you, Isaac.”
​
With a stilted sigh, he dropped his hands from his face and rolled his eyes. When he finally looked at Jonathan, his eyes were apologetic, and his smile was nervous.
​
“Compliance?” he said softly, with the inflection of a question.
​
“Compliance?” repeated Jonathan, clearly hoping he misheard what Isaac had said. When Isaac did not correct him, however, the nerves began to kick in. “What does compliance mean?”
​
“Complying with a wish or demand,” he answered with a sheepish smile.
​
Jonathan was unamused.
​
---
​
The library in town was not a particularly popular place. It was severely underfunded, understaffed, and underappreciated. As such, the selection within it had dwindled to outdated, obscure topics that did not serve a purpose to most people. To Ifrit, however, it was a goldmine.
​
Ifrit was drawn to any building at all that was nearly empty. He felt at ease in liminal spaces, and empty buildings that had not quite been abandoned yet were one of the cleaner options. Especially here, with the stale air of old books, Ifrit felt at home. He had become so comfortable with the irrelevant, enigmatic material found within the forgotten shelves that he was able to calm his nerves. More importantly, he had bored the part of himself that was trying to cause problems. There was, however, a downside. Ifrit realized his mistake once he finally looked up from the yellowed pages in front of him and noticed the gradient sky turning pink. A deep sense of dread entered him as he watched the sun begin to sink. He pulled out his phone and called Iris, holding his breath until she answered.
​
“Hey, Ifrit!”
​
There was a shuffling on her end of the phone. He suspected she might be outside, based on what sounded like wind interfering with the call.
​
“Rissy, are you home right now?” he asked. His voice sounded far away.
​
“Just about! Are you guys there already?”
​
“‘Just about’? Can you see it?” he asked, trying not to shake.
​
To Ifrit’s dismay, Iris picked up on his distress. He heard the concern enter her own voice as she responded to him, no doubt quickening her pace.
​
“I’m right out front, Ifrit. Why? You’re kind of scaring me.”
​
He heard the door open and close on her end of the line. Relieved, he exhaled heavily, and sunk back into his seat. His voice came out steadier now.
​
“I feel like you should already know,” he admitted. “You’re intuitive. It’s almost night time.”
​
She was quiet. “Where are you?”
​
Ifrit hunched over at the question, putting his head in his free hand.
“The library,” he groaned. “It closes soon.”
​
At the spoken realization, Ifrit began gathering his belongings.
​
“I’ll be there soon, I’m sure. Just don’t open the door for anyone, keep it locked, check the wards…”
​
His voice trailed off. She already knew what to do. Iris chattered back at him, concerned. Ifrit reassured her briefly. After insisting he had to get going, she asked him one more quick question.
​
“Is Sol awake?”
​
Ifrit shrugged, unsure if she was able to discern the action through the phone. “I bored them to death, but I’m sure they’ll be a good familiar and wake up if need be.”
​
With that, they said their brief goodbyes and ended the call. Ifrit readied himself and headed towards the door, all but ignoring the library staff that tried to wish him a good night. When he left the threshold of the library, he stood still. The door behind him closed, sealing off the light from within. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. Annoyed at the fright of what he knew was coming for him, Ifrit headed towards his house.
​
When he had made it to the end of the main road, Ifrit stopped. The remaining stretch was dark; absent of any streetlights. He turned around to survey the downtown area, not bothering to conceal his movements. A chill, crisp breeze made him shiver.
​
“You can come out,” he proclaimed, still looking around at the surrounding buildings.
​
There was silence. Ifrit heard the disembodied scuttering of an unseen rodent. The light wind whistled at his ears. This section of town was all but forgotten by its inhabitants around nighttime, but Ifrit knew there was an unwelcome presence nearby. He crossed his arms in agitation and tapped his foot.
​
“Come on,” he proceeded. “Any day now.”
​
From the shadows, the stalker finally relented and came into view. Based on Thomas’s accounts, Ifrit had been expecting a misleadingly petite girl. The rugged, large figure that had appeared in front of him was nearly the opposite of what he had been anticipating. For a moment, he wondered if the man wasn’t a vampire after all, but rather an ordinary mugger. The smile the stranger gave him, however, solidified his initial theory. His fangs glistened in the dead light of the streetlamps.
​
Unbothered by the single assailant, Ifrit searched for any other movement. When he was unsuccessful, he pointed a lax finger at the only vampire in sight.
​
“Is it just you, then?”
​
Ifrit caught the disappointment in his own voice. Apparently, the vampire did, too. A laugh entered his mind.
​
That’s not so bad. I think you can handle this on your own, kid.
​
The vampire, offended, began to close the distance between the two of them.
​
“You think I need backup for something like this?” he scoffed.
​
Ifrit silently remarked that he did not sound very eloquent. An image flashed in his head, though, and he saw more figures looming close to the front door of his house. The witch cringed at the revelation. He threw the vampire off by running the opposite direction, away from the approaching figure, and away from the backup that was no doubt expecting to ambush him the second he got to his own door.
​
The vampire stammered something inaudible, but was no doubt chasing after him. Ifrit swung around a corner and dropped to a kneeling position, fishing in his bag for something.
​
Ooh, mused the voice inside his head. You got a plan?
​
Ifrit ignored it. His fingers felt the marker and pulled it free.
​
Hurry up, Fritters, it mocked.
​
The witch pulled the folded switchblade from his coat pocket. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it with a hint of wonder, before flicking out the blade.
​
That doesn’t look like yours.
​
Popping off the cap of the marker, Ifrit began scrawling sigils onto the blade.
​
“For celestial power,” he whispered after finishing the first one.
​
“To kill vampires,” he said after the second.
​
He held the hilt tightly, closing his eyes to focus. The sigils glowed, but a seething pain burned his palm and he dropped the blade to the ground, swearing quietly. His mind laughed at him.
​
You forgot the one on your hand, the voice corrected.
​
Ifrit muttered a reluctant thanks and scribbled the missing sigil onto his burning palm. He replicated the mark on his opposite hand as well.
​
“For celestial protection,” he noted.
​
Knife now ready in hand, Ifrit slowly got to his feet and peered around the corner, surveying the empty street. He hadn’t heard anything for a short while now, no grumbles or footsteps. After he was certain nobody was out there, he turned back to regard the alleyway in which he stood. With a jump, Ifrit came face to face with the rugged vampire he had seen previously, now directly in front of him.
​
He was totally waiting for you to finish. How kind!
​
Ifrit raised the knife, but the vampire reached out and tightly gripped his wrist, holding it in place. He barked some nonsensical threats at him, but Ifrit didn’t pay attention to what the vampire was saying. Instead, he dropped the knife and caught it in his left hand, thrusting up to where it pierced the creature’s stomach with a pop. Immediately, the skin around the wound started to fester and blacken.
​
With a pained cry, the vampire reeled backwards. Caught off guard, Ifrit lost his grip on the knife as it stuck stubbornly to its target. He lunged forward to retrieve it, but instead, unseen hands clamped onto Ifrit from behind, pulling him roughly backwards before pushing him to the ground. His arms were pinned to his back.
​
Eh, you tried your best, kid.
​
Unable to see the figure restraining him, Ifrit watched as his initial assailant crumbled over, groaning and gurgling. His skin was turning to ash, starting from where the tiny knife stuck out, and flaked off in the gentle breeze.
​
“Damn it!” yelled whoever was on top of him. Their grip tightened. “What an idiot.”
​
A few more figures emerged from their unknown hiding places, coming into view. Ifrit craned his neck, but couldn’t see above their knees. That was until a slender, younger-looking vampire crouched down, arms resting carelessly on his knees. His eyes were wide as he cracked a smile towards Ifrit.
​
“You know we just wanted to ask you a question, don’t you?” said the newcomer.
​
Ifrit glared at him, his jaw set. Whoever was on top of him had their hand tangled in his hair, holding his chin to the rough asphalt below. The figure in front of him glanced backwards at the decaying body.
​
“Frankly, it doesn’t seem worth it anymore.” Poison dripped from his words. “You clearly think your knowledge is worth more than it is.”
​
The other figures were slowly approaching now. Their movements were so fluid it looked as though they were hovering rather than walking. Ifrit strained and awkwardly tried to wiggle out of his captor’s grip. He was met with more resistance.
​
Ifrit felt something watching from behind his own eyes. He closed them tightly, wincing at the sensation, and heard a chilling cackle. It was familiar, and coming from his own mouth. The sound was strangely relieving, causing Ifrit to relax. He submitted to the force, and his vision went white.
---
​
​
Blacklights lit the apartment, giving the atmosphere an eerie, purple glow. Sigils drawn all across the door shone brightly against the darkness of the wood. He should have been home by now.
​
On the floor, in front of the main door, Iris sat. She nervously stroked the black cat on her lap, which was blissfully purring away. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but the stiff wooden floor was growing incredibly uncomfortable. Her eyes felt dry. She reminded herself to blink.
​
The cat in her lap perked up, lazily, and crawled off of her. Her legs felt cold in its absence. Everything was slow, quiet, and secure where she was. The scent of pine and sage wafted around her, a thin trail of smoke dancing just out of sight. Yet, despite the stillness, her mind was racing.
​
A knock at the door made her jump and squeak, but when she recognized the pattern as their safe code, she leapt to her feet. She unlocked the door and pulled it open, slowly revealing her brother’s form standing at the threshold. As relieved as she was to see him standing there, she gawked at his condition, putting a shocked hand to her open mouth. Her brother had a diagonal splash of blood that covered roughly half of his body. When she returned to his face to ask him if he was all right, she noticed the child-like smile and the white orbs fixed on her.
​
“Sol?” she asked.
​
Her brother, or rather his body, nodded, and walked inside. She closed the door and locked it, sighing with relief, before observing the familiar spirit. Sol, with a bounce in their step, was all but dancing as they moved around the flat. Their right arm, however, was not moving much. It hung limply at their side.
​
Noticing Iris was staring, and that she did not appear to be happy, the spirit spun around and cocked their head theatrically. They straightened up and looked down, having an epiphany as they looked at the dark mess staining their clothes.
​
“This isn’t my blood!” Sol informed her. Their voice had a subtle echo to it as they spoke.
​
She visibly relaxed, at least a little. Sol went back to whirling around, eager to have control over the body again.
​
“Ifrit is okay, he’s sleeping it off!” sang the spirit. With a hand on their hip, Sol spun around and faced her, looking down again at the blood-soaked clothes. They rubbed their chin. “Say, do you need vampire blood for anything?”
​
She blinked at them. “How many were there?”
​
Sol perked up at the opportunity to recount their tale and excitedly swayed where they stood. “At first it was one,” they explained, narrowing their white eyes. “But then there were many more! They were very mad at Ifrit for killing the first one!”
​
With one arm pulled towards their mouth and the other dangling, Sol hunched over and laughed. Iris’s eyes lit up, proud at hearing of her brother’s solo feat. Catching this, Sol uncoiled and developed a smug look on their face.
​
“I killed the five that were left, you know.” Their white eyes glistened. Though barely discernible, Iris saw them slide to the left, staring sideways at the corner of the room. “They were lower ranks, I suspect. Inexperienced drones.”
​
Sol sounded severely disappointed and had stopped moving. They made a claw with their hand and grinned again. Their wide eyes resembled porcelain spheres in their face.
​
“Those newbies were no match! They got ripped limb from limb!” Sol’s body contorted to the side. They pantomimed slashing and stabbing motions. “And Ifrit’s tiny butter knife came in handy, finishing them off! Apparently, vampires still live when they’re missing their heads. Like very scary chickens!”
​
Despite the horrifying imagery Sol was presenting, Iris was more fixated on the weak arm at their side. She realized it hadn’t moved since they came home and gestured towards it.
​
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Sol exclaimed with a snap of their fingers. They placed a hand to the side of their face, remembering an exciting detail. “They broke his arm!”
​
The spirit laughed again, wiggling the injured limb. Iris was more frustrated than concerned.
​
“It sure stings! I hope Ifrit doesn’t mind when he wakes up.” They were prodding at it now with a pointed finger. “I don’t know when that will be, though! This body is very weak. I keep telling him to fix that.”
​
As though their vessel was agreeing, Sol’s knees began to wobble.
​
“I better get going,” they said impishly.
​
“Wait, Solomon, can you at least--”
​
Before Iris could finish, her brother’s body collapsed like a ragdoll. She gaped, covering her mouth with her hands. When the shock wore off, she groaned. Ifrit was so heavy when he was unconscious.
​
“--get into bed, first.” She finished her thought quietly, to herself.