5 | Ocss

Five

The night was no longer frightening to Isaac after he had learned how to smite demons. Even when he was alone, as he often was, he had no paranoia whatsoever traveling through the quiet backstreets with their old, flickering lights. In fact, he preferred it to the noisier downtown area, despite how much safer the latter was perceived to be. He had definitely been ambushed by the stray demon here or there, but they usually had no idea what they were getting into.

Tonight, however, was different. The air around him felt tense, as though there were silent watchers just out of sight. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Given how often he was surrounded by darker entities, he knew the subtle signs of their presence well. He looked around quietly and strained his hearing, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was causing the disturbance. He didn’t have to wait long before it had revealed itself to him.

Standing silently in front of him, with the unearthly stillness of a mannequin, was a tall and faintly familiar woman. He knew just by one look at her that she was clearly a vampire. He grinned. Taking one of them out would be easy.

Something about Isaac's blood was especially enticing when it came to vampires, but he didn’t entirely know what it was aside from assuming it had something to do with being partially angelic. While Eden often scared the others into leaving him alone, a few stranglers would break and try to attack him anyway. It always failed, and quickly. Tonight would be no different.

The tall vampire began to slowly walk towards him, airily eyeing him up and down. She was all but drooling and swallowed hungrily.

“It’s been a while, Isaac. You’ve grown so much.” She grinned, the gleam of her sharp canines visible from where he stood. “Don’t you remember me?”

Isaac kept his expression steady as he tried to remember her, but in the end, he just couldn’t place a finger on where he had seen her. He had, after all, met a lot of vampires in his lifetime. His silence visibly upset her. Her features contorted into a scowl. Strangely, the new expression looked more at home on her face than the previous one did.

“That’s no problem,” she explained, her voice swaying between irritation and hatred. “I’ll make you remember.”

As soundless as they were, Isaac hadn't even sensed the new attackers until it was too late. Two more vampires had flanked him and tackled him to the ground. He fell forward onto the pavement harshly, his hands failing to protect his face as they were held firmly behind his back. The vampires sat on top of him, pleased with themselves, but something about them was distinguishingly inexperienced and sloppy.

Isaac fought against their grasp, but his efforts were insubstantial. Peering up to catch a glimpse of who was restraining him, he noticed the only male out of the three was leaning closely over his body. Isaac closed his eyes so they wouldn’t notice them glowing, and suddenly, the familiar sharp-ended staff of light sprung into existence out of one of his restrained hands. It lined up perfectly and the tip pierced the skin of the targeted vampire. Shocked, the vampire shrieked and leapt backwards, away from Isaac, as he coddled the wound. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him, but it caused the flesh around it to burn and fester.

Without the extra weight on him, and with the other vampire distractedly staring at her injured companion, Isaac was able to roll onto his side, throwing the female vampire off balance. In a flash, he had switched spots with her, pinning her down with his free hand. He plunged the staff into her chest with a soft sizzle, and a wail rang out as she disintegrated into dust. It took a moment for Isaac to realize it wasn’t the dead vampire who had screamed, but rather the familiar one. Furious, she closed the distance between them.

Isaac was back on his feet in no time, brandishing the staff between his body and the two remaining vampires. He grinned at them, but they did not look pleased. He caught the pained anxiety in the one that had been pricked by the same killing weapon as he clutched the wound with a shaky hand. Isaac’s smile didn’t last long, though, when he noticed more shapes moving in the darkness.

What had to have been a dozen more vampires crept out of the shadows and revealed themselves to Isaac, looking on hungrily. Apprehensive, he backed up, but was halted by a hard wall behind him. Several advanced towards him, and he swore silently. Fortunately, the new vampires echoed the clumsiness of the previous ones, and Isaac was easily able to fend a few of them off. He batted them away, smiting a few, but the number was overwhelming to deal with by himself. He began to fret when he felt one of the vampires latch onto the hand that held the staff. It fell from his hand when the vampire bit down even harder and vanished before it could even hit the ground. With a dull panic, he tried to form the staff again, but failed when another vampire appeared out of nowhere. She swung at him, her forearm slamming into Isaac’s throat as he crashed backwards into the brick wall behind him.

The back of his head began to feel warm and sticky. His vision blurred for a moment before returning to normal, revealing the familiar vampire standing directly in front of him. She looked smug. He could feel hands gripping him all over, holding him in place no matter how much he struggled.

“As it would turn out,” the woman in front of him began, “a lot of us really don’t like you. It’s gotten to a point where Eden doesn’t scare us anymore.”

“I’m flattered it takes this many of you just to restrain me,” he retorted sternly, though it was hard to conceal how much he was panting due to the struggle.

She grimaced and twisted her body, shoving her hand into one of her pockets. A moment later, she was holding a small pocket knife. She swung it open and held it loosely in her hand. His eyes widened at the familiar object as he was momentarily transported to the past; a time when he was a helpless, scared child.

“Do you remember me now?”

It clicked in sync with the pocket knife. Her name was Claire. He did remember after all.

“You killed my brother with this,” she hissed, her eyes flashing with rage as she leaned towards him. She had clearly caught the recognition in his eyes and was reveling in it.

He spat at her and she recoiled, furious.

“He deserved it,” he shot back, his amber eyes piercing.

This sent her over the edge. She swiped the knife at him, slashing a long line across his torso. He doubled over in pain, but due to the restraining hands on him, didn’t get far. With shaking hands, he battled hopelessly to pry them free. When he looked up at Claire, she was licking the blood off of the knife. Her eyes rolled back for a moment. The sight made him shudder.

“I debated for a while if I should kill you or your brother first,” she pondered. “Don’t get me wrong— he’s still going to die— but I’m glad I’ll get to enjoy you first.”

A hand tangled in Isaac's hair pulled him back roughly, and another clawed at the collar of his shirt until it ripped, exposing the scarred skin of his neck. Claire moved fast, planting her face in his neck, and clamped down. He writhed. Around him, the vampires chatted with anticipation for their turns. A couple of the impatient ones bit down on his arms, and he couldn’t help but tense up in pain as they tore into his flesh.

Claire proved to be incredibly selfless when she removed herself from his neck after getting only one good gulp of his blood. She looked flushed, which wasn’t something he knew vampires could do, as she backed away. His vision was getting shaky. One of the faceless vampires that held onto his left arm moved her head towards the wound on his neck, but before she could do anything, she collapsed.

Isaac strained to look down at the crumpled body. A long arrow stuck out of her back, undoubtedly having pierced her heart. Within a moment, Claire fell too, another arrow sticking out of her chest as she fell backwards. Isaac felt a few of the vampires release him in shock, but was feeling much too weak to resist anymore. A few ran off into the night, leaving only about four still standing around, trying to spot their assailant. One more vampire crumpled to an arrow.

“Step away from him or you die next,” shouted a feminine voice from the shadows.

The vampires did as they were told and released Isaac, who fell to his hands and knees. Quaking, he unfurled and steadied himself against the abaft wall, barely finding the strength to keep a wary eye on the distracted vampires that surrounded him. One of the vampires had spotted the slayer as she popped out around a nearby corner. She was making her way towards them, crossbow in hand, pointed in their general direction. Isaac looked too, but his eyes were heavy and refused to focus. He had both of his hands pressed tightly against the open wound on his neck, trying to stop the bleeding.

The slayer saw him and darted towards him, her short blonde hair bouncing lightly as she did. When she reached him, she bent down and leaned over him, assessing his wounds. Most of the detail of her appearance was lost on Isaac, but he was at least able to discern that her face was grave.

“Keep applying pressure, okay?” she explained. “This is probably confusing, but you’re going to be—”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but rather produced what looked like a silver sword from her bag. She rose from where she stood, swinging the blade at the vampire that had tried to ambush her, slicing its head clean off. It began to crumble slowly, along with the other bodies on the ground. There were two vampires left, and they had previously looked as though they were about to move towards her too, but now froze in their tracks as the slayer held the sword in both hands, her body protectively covering Isaac where he was slumped on the ground.

“Leave now and I won’t kill you,” she threatened, yet again.

Heeding the warning, the remaining vampires vanished from the scene. The slayer returned her attention to Isaac, trying to help lift him back up onto his feet. He managed, albeit weakly, and allowed her to lead him away— not that he had much of an option in the moment.

“Don’t worry,” he heard her say, though his ears were ringing. “I’m going to help you, I know someone who can patch you up. It’s going to be okay. My car is right down there, I saw you when I was driving by and—”

Her voice cut out as Isaac collapsed, the world fading away to a familiar emptiness.

--

“Okay, Elon, he should be good to go.”

Elon’s roommate, a curvy red-headed woman who was a few years her senior, gently closed the door behind her as she left the bedroom.

“You’re a life-saver, Maria!” exclaimed the elated slayer. “Literally. Thank you.”

The woman, Maria, nodded and offered a small smile. “He had his wallet and phone on him. His name is Isaac. You should probably try and call someone who knows him. I have a feeling he won’t be waking up for a while.”

Elon nodded. “I will, thank you. Thomas is stopping by to make sure he’s not going to turn. He should be here soon.”

Maria sighed and shook her head dejectedly. “Him? Really? I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me what to look for. I’m sure there’s going to be a time when I have to learn how to identify those signs anyway.”

The slayer shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. He’s got a good eye for that kind of thing. Even I can’t always tell.”

The red-head gave a small nod, too exhausted to continue to pry.

“That’s fine,” she said, yawning. “But I do have to wake up early tomorrow. Make sure he’s not too noisy, okay?”

Elon flashed a winning smile and gave a thumbs up. Maria started down the hallway, but then paused, turning to look at Elon over her shoulder.

“Oh,” she began carefully. “And you should go take a look at him when you get a chance. There’s something weird about this one.”

Elon nodded and Maria disappeared from her sight. She heard the door close from the second floor and turned towards her own door, curiosity rising. She opened the door and found Isaac, sleeping peacefully. Maria had removed some of his clothing in order to properly bandage him. It was crumpled next to him on the floor, shredded and bloody. Her eyes moved hesitantly to his body, wondering what Maria had wanted her to see so badly.

When she drew closer to him, she gulped. He was covered in various scars, some looking incredibly old while others looked recent. More specifically, she noticed several bite marks, both old and new, scattered on his neck and forearms. He hadn’t just been randomly attacked by a hoard of vampires; this was something he was used to.

The sound of knocking startled her. Elon quickly made her way to the front door and found Thomas smiling to greet her. She eagerly pulled him in, and the two headed towards her room.

“I nearly got attacked by those fuckers twice this week,” he said, sounding as though it were a brag. “They’re up to something, I’m telling you.”

Within moments, Thomas was at the doorframe.

“There’s something different about this one,” she informed him, echoing her roommate’s verbiage.

He waved a dismissive hand and walked into the room, but froze in his tracks when he saw the unconscious body in the bed. In an unexpected turn of events, he laughed, thoroughly entertained. Elon furrowed her brow at him.

“Small world!” he exclaimed through snorts. “No way! I know this guy.”

Elon looked to the body in her bed and back towards her friend. “What?”

The faerie nodded. “We met the other day. He’s tough; he’s half angel or something.” He drew closer to Isaac, inspecting him closely. “Yeah, he’s fine. I don’t even know if he can turn. The venom would probably, like, not work on him. I don’t know.”

Elon looked from side to side. Exasperated, her mouth opened as she gawked at the two of them.

“You met an angel and you didn’t immediately introduce him to me?!” she asked in disbelief.

“Half-angel,” Thomas corrected, holding up a finger. “I think they’re called Nephilim.”

The slayer ran her hands through her hair. “Unbelievable,” she sighed. “I thought we were besties. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Thomas didn’t respond. He was still staring at Isaac, examining him thoughtfully. Elon was concerned, wondering if he had noticed something was wrong, but groaned when she caught the fanciful look in his eyes. She snapped her fingers at him to regain his attention.

“What!” he protested once the trance was broken. “He’s hot." Despite the disgust in his voice and expression, Thomas immediately went back to fixating on Isaac. "That's so typical of him..."

“Thomas, focus!”

The faerie did not focus, but rather waved a dismissive hand at her. “Leave me alone, he usually dresses like a modest priest from the sixties.”

Elon smacked his arm. “Behave!”

With a frustrated sigh, Thomas complied. “Sorry,” he grumbled, though it sounded disingenuous, “but are you just going to continue to gloss over the fact that I said I got attacked by vampires twice this week? I could have died! Look at how badly they wrecked this angel guy.” He gestured towards Isaac.

“There were like ten of them on him when I got there,” she informed him. “And I am interested in your vampire stories, dummy. I just assumed you would tell me when you wanted to.”

Thomas nodded astutely. “I see. And you are correct. I will tell you when I’m ready and I’m currently not ready.” He shuddered. She knew it was forced. “It’s still all so traumatic.”

She threw a balled up sock at him. He flinched when it hit him. Elon smiled, and Thomas smiled back.

“Oh, but do you know someone we can call to pick this guy up?” she asked, suddenly remembering that he couldn’t stay there. “I’d like to not have a stranger bleeding in my bed all night, and Maria doesn’t think he’ll be waking up any time s—”

She was cut off abruptly when Isaac jolted up in the bed, pulling his knees in close to his body. He looked around frantically, relaxing slightly when he saw Thomas, but still looking dazed and confused.

“Where am I?” he asked suddenly. The two were in shocked silence. He looked down and blushed furiously, pulling at the covers to conceal his scarred body. “Where’s my shirt?”

Isaac glanced around the room and his eyes lingered on his soiled shirt in a pile on the floor.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “I liked that one.”

--

The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn, and pleasantly cool. Portraits of unknown figures decorated the walls, alongside setups of crystals and dried flowers. A small bookcase stood on the opposite wall, its top adorned with various magical trinkets. Incense, which was forever burning in Ifrit’s presence, was glowing feebly as it produced thin wafts of smoke. This office space, which presented itself as more of a residential property alongside similar storefronts, was Ifrit’s home away from home. Regrettably, it was also a space he shared with his various clients.

With the admittedly contrived title of “spiritual advisor,” Ifrit attracted burdened folks from all walks of life. His diligent studying into the human psyche melded with his natural gifts of communing with spirits, making him a highly sought-after advisor. It did not hurt that he was a fetching young man, often using his charm to his advantage whenever he met lonely housewives who were looking for a better life. One such client was expected to arrive any minute. As was typically the case, she was pleasant enough, but a bit out of touch.

When the expected knock finally came from the door, Ifrit greeted the newcomer with a winning smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Linda.”

The woman beamed and pulled him in for a brief hug with all of the boldness of a suburban mother. “Ifrit Arcturus, you are very difficult to book, young man! The pleasure is all mine.”

As though she had just noticed his injury, Linda gasped in her typical melodramatic way. Due to Sol’s antics, Ifrit was now wearing a long arm cast, held in place with a sling. Impressively, Sol had managed to break it in multiple places. Ifrit wiggled his fingers, which was the most he could manage, in a feeble attempt to wave at Linda as she ogled.

“I see you got into some trouble since the last time we spoke,” she gawked.

Trying out his most well-mannered laugh, Ifrit agreed. “Just a minor accident,” he told her. “It’s rather embarrassing; I should have seen it coming.”

Finding his comment amusing, Linda let out a hearty laugh. With their initial chitchat out of the way, Ifrit invited her to the small chair near the center of the space. He disappeared into the adjacent room, only to reappear a few minutes later with two dainty coffee mugs that were carefully balanced on an elegant tray. His client took a cautious sip as he positioned himself across the table from her.

Linda was continuing to prattle about her own dreams and anxieties. Ifrit feigned attentiveness, nodding constantly with a practiced sympathy in his eyes. While most of her idle chat was uninspiring, he still found it worthwhile to listen for the scraps of deeper truths in her words. He had found that the more he incited his clients to speak openly, the easier it was to coax out their subconscious thoughts. To acquire this, unfortunately, Ifrit was forced to develop a sensitive, sociable persona whenever he was working. As Linda gabbed on, one statement in particular stuck out.

“I have these visions, you know, in my mind’s eye,” she said, pointing to her own head with a serious expression on her face. “I can see myself, standing on a mountain doing Tai Chi, totally enlightened. I feel that part of myself within me, this sage that is trying to get out.”

Ifrit closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. The pensive look on his face was carefully placed to conceal the derisive thoughts he was having. Sol, who usually zoned out during this phase of the process, was tittering in the center of Ifrit’s mind.

Unfortunately, after her remark, Linda was silently awaiting feedback from the witch. Ifrit nodded to buy a few more moments of silence before responding to her.

“That vision is from your higher self,” he said, feeding into her triteness.

She bobbed her head and wowed, hearing the correct response. Grateful for the affirmation, Ifrit produced his flashiest deck of tarot cards and began to shuffle. It proved incredibly difficult with the limited mobility of his left hand.

“Might I speculate for a moment?” he asked. When she nodded, he pressed on. “From what you’re telling me, you are incredibly successful. You had a beautiful family, the job of your dreams, and you’ve retired to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

Linda agreed, elated. She was definitely proud of herself, but he had a sinking suspicion she wasn’t used to receiving enough praise from others. His words flattered her, despite the fact he was simply repeating what she had told him.

“Then why do you need me?” Ifrit inquired with a meek smile.

In actuality, he knew the answer already, as well as the solution. The question on his own mind was how to get her to actually heed his advice. Ifrit had played the same song and dance with countless clients before her. While she mulled his question over, he split the deck into three piles.

“I don’t know why I’m still so unhappy,” she lamented, her eyes beginning to tear up. “I have everything I ever wanted, and yet, I feel so lonely and dreadful these days.”

“Last time we met, you were about to retire, correct?” Ifrit asked her, though it was more of a rhetorical question. “What advice did you take away from that session?”

Linda scrunched up her face and looked to the side, clearly having forgotten what Ifrit was asking her for. He waited patiently, a friendly smile held delicately in place. Her eyes lit up.

“You told me to join a community of sorts!” she proclaimed.

“Did you?”

“No.” Her admission was one that held guilt.

Professionally repressing the need to roll his eyes, Ifrit opted for a more understanding appearance. After all, the conversation was playing out exactly how he knew it would.

“See, you have made your life wonderful for your physical body, but your spiritual body is living in poverty.” His own words nearly made him gag, but he knew he had to change his language to reach her. She ate it up. “So, what is the question you need an answer to today?”

“Why am I still unhappy?”

Unfazed by the question, Ifrit asked her to pick one of the stacks on the table. When she cautiously selected the center one, he lifted up three cards from the top: Eight of Swords, Five of Wands, and The Wheel of Fortune revealed themselves. Ifrit regarded them thoughtfully, noting that the deck had agreed with his prognosis.

After giving a lengthy explanation of the cards in front of her, Linda’s features became more determined. She nodded, knowingly, as Ifrit elaborated to her about her next course of action. Though he was giving her the answers he knew she needed to hear, he had a sinking suspicion she would be back with similar grievances. When he had finished his lecture, he noticed the coffee mug was empty.

“Can I see?” he asked, gesturing to the empty vessel.

Linda nodded and obliged, but she still felt the need to ask, “What more could you possibly discover? Everything you said was spot on.”

The witch shrugged and smiled. “Just to make sure I’m not missing anything important, you know.”

Oh! Is it my turn? Sol asked.

Ifrit peered into the empty cup, noticing the shapes formed by the remaining coffee grounds. He closed his eyes when he felt Sol eagerly awaiting their turn, as though a face were pressed behind his own. The hazel eyes were replaced by white ones when they opened. Sol, who had switched places momentarily, scanned the cup swiftly with their eyes. Discerning all that they needed to, they whistled in amusement, and then retreated. The sound made Linda stir. Returning to his body, Ifrit squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady the dizzy sensation in his head. He awaited Sol’s input.

She’s fine, said the voice in his mind. Her dog’s gonna die in three days though.

Deciding to keep the tragedy to himself, Ifrit was silent. He knew Sol had more intel.

She’s also going to have her mind taken off of things soon, anyway, because she’s going to get into a car crash. Oh-- Not a fatal one! Sol laughed. Can you imagine? But it won’t be pleasant, physically. A great time to work on her mind!

“Anything noteworthy?” Linda asked, causing Ifrit to perk back up with an apologetic smile.

“Just remember that pain is temporary,” he said, trying to sound chipper. “And make sure you rely on those you love for support. Make sure you appreciate them while they’re here, whether that’s a person or a pet.”

Missing the darker warning to his words, Linda was satisfied. They closed out the session and exchanged pleasant farewells. When Linda was about to leave, she put a shocked hand to her face.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, suddenly fishing in her purse. “Ifrit, dear, I nearly forgot.”

Her hand reemerged from the bag holding a small card. She handed it to Ifrit, who turned it over in his hand. It was a showcard for a nearby museum; there was a reception for its new additions.

“I apologize for the short notice!” Linda said. “I thought it would be up your alley, though, and it would be marvelous to see you there.”

Aw man, groaned Sol. That sounds sooo boring.

“That sounds perfect,” said Ifrit, if only to torment his familiar. “I’ll make sure to swing by, thank you.”

Despite Sol’s protests, Ifrit decided to visit the museum under his client’s request. Though he was hoping to avoid anyone he knew there, he traded his isolation for the refreshments that were undoubtedly in the reception hall. He did end up running into Linda, who briefly flaunted him in front of her acquaintances, but they thankfully left before they became too irritating. Ifrit claimed his prize, which was complimentary wine and cheese. He had expected no less.

This isn’t fair! Sol griped. I behaved today! I was being so good, Fritters.

“Stop calling me that,” Ifrit whispered when he was certain nobody could hear him. “This is payback for breaking my arm.”

Oh, okay, so you expect me to save your life with all your limbs intact? the spirit asked. That’s a tall order. Where’s my thank you, anyway?

Though he frequented the museum, it was seldom as alive as it was presently. The local aristocrats, all dressed to the ninths, were intermingling. Ifrit was briefly grateful that his own success came from word-of-mouth rather than networking. Being pleasant to one stranger in his own office was exhausting enough.

“I know you did it on purpose.”

Sol was vexed. What?! How did you know that?

“It was just a suspicion,” Ifrit said with a smirk, “but thanks for admitting to it.”

...Okay, fine. I might have gone a little over-the-top. I see your point, kid. Sol sighed. But why is it okay that humans love to crack their bones, but when I try to do it, I’m in trouble all of a sudden?

Ignoring Sol’s remarks proved to be an effortless feat when Ifrit found himself focusing on the fascinating music in the air. The soft, sad sounds of a nearby piano melted into the small-talk within the space. Ifrit closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the familiar song, but found himself being distracted by nearby voices. He took a sip from the wineglass he held and set it down at a nearby table. With brief hesitation, he wandered closer to the source of the haunted melody. Turning a corner, he wandered into a large open room, lit yellow and orange by an oversized chandelier. He gawked at the sight, finding it too extravagant even for his taste.

His gaze fell from the chandelier to the lone grand piano that he had been searching for. Its notes became more pronounced, teasing a lighter melody before returning to its gloom. To his pleasant surprise, there were not as many people nearby, perhaps due to the lack of alcohol in the area. Considering the piano’s placement, Ifrit nearly forgot that the instrument had a person on the other side who was responsible for the beautiful sounds. Watching from afar, Ifrit caught a glimpse of white hair bobbing rhythmically over the raised top of the piano. He squinted incredulously.

As Ifrit approached the piano, the sorrowful notes became more elaborate. They were still slow, but it felt as though there was more weight to them now. He took his time, appreciating the haunted atmosphere that was beginning to give him goosebumps. Even when he had gotten close enough to discern more of the pianist’s features, Ifrit found his own gaze transfixed on the clavier in front of him. When he finally did look up, he startled and stared in disbelief.

Unaware of Ifrit’s proximity to him, and perhaps unaware of his entire environment, Thomas sat hunched over the piano. His eyes were shut and his face was unusually peaceful. His head and shoulders swayed rhythmically. His outstretched hands were currently separated about a foot apart; his fingers prodding dreamily at the keys. Thomas was truly engrossed in the sound, and Ifrit could do nothing else but gawk at him. Even stranger, the faerie was wearing a white collared shirt, dress pants, and a blazer that hung around his shoulders. In fact, he was even wearing a tie.

The chords repeated a few more times, then shifted. One hand now barely moving, Thomas noticed he had a more intimate audience member and turned his head towards Ifrit. His face lit up.

“Whoa, no way!” he said, breaking the trance that Ifrit had fallen under. “What are you-- oh, hey, your arm is broken.”

Though Thomas was not looking at the piano anymore, the song sounded just as wonderful. Ifrit wondered if he was truly playing the instrument at all. The witch tried to conceal the awe in his face and hardened his features.

“Is this a con?” he asked, gesturing to the piano. “How much are they paying you for this?”

Thomas smirked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He brought his attention back to the keys in front of him.

“Must be a lot if they have you in a suit and tie,” Ifrit mumbled, trying to conceal how alluring he found the attire.

“Yeah, the getup is pretty awful,” The faerie bemoaned, though he did not look up from his hands. “And the patrons around here are totally drenched in perfume. It’s a sensory nightmare.”

Ifrit inhaled. There was, in fact, the lingering impression of a sharp, artificial scent. Absent-minded, Ifrit caught himself continuing to ignore the piano in order to stare at Thomas. The formal clothes he wore were incredibly flattering, accentuating his tall, slender build. His gaze moved upwards, landing on the silver-white hair curling away from the nape of his neck where it delicately met the back of his collar. His head was bent in concentration. Ifrit’s heart fluttered.

He finally managed to peel his eyes off of Thomas’s figure to watch his hands. They convincingly dipped into the right keys at the right time. His right hand crawled away from the left before returning to its original post. The echoing notes matched accordingly.

“Is that some kind of illusion?” Ifrit needled, jerking his chin towards the piano.

“What, you don’t think I can play a boring song on the piano well enough to appease a bunch of rich socialites?” Thomas challenged him. His face was concealed, but the smugness in his voice was heavy. Ifrit could all but see him grinning to himself.

“That is what I was implying, yes.”

Thomas snickered. “They’re easily impressed. Play a couple of Beethoven songs and they lose their minds.” He shot a quick sideways glance at Ifrit. “I mean, just look at you.”

Not wishing to validate the comment with a response, Ifrit watched silently. Thomas’s fluid movement looked deceivingly simple. He was still smiling, but it was sheepish now. The upper half of his body was swaying more as the instrumental progressed. The tune grew jauntier, the notes becoming shorter and more frequent. Feeling strangely flustered, Ifrit shuffled where he stood and clenched his jaw.

“Are you off soon?” he asked, keeping his voice stern and steady.

“Nope,” said Thomas, sounding all too pleased with himself.

“Do you have a break soon?”

The faerie tilted his head and leered at Ifrit. His eyes had their usual mischievous glimmer to them, his smile matching the mocking tone in his voice. “Nope. You’ll have to find something else to do.”

Ifrit blinked slowly and steeled his expression. “Well, you should come over when you are finished here,” he proposed, though there was an alien urgency in the way he spoke.

Thomas hummed and clicked his tongue. “I’m not sure. I might be tired after all this hard work. I might go straight to bed.”

Swallowing his pride, Ifrit sighed and closed his eyes. “Please.”

A wide grin grew on Thomas’s face. “Get in all the groveling you can while you have the chance,” he taunted. “The third movement is coming up, and that one might require a little more concentration.”

“That’s all the groveling you’re going to get, faerie.” Ifrit’s usual vitriol entered his speech.

Strangely, Thomas responded more positively to the harshness in his voice and winked at him. The resonant music slowed, growing quieter and sadder. When Thomas had finished, he yawned and stretched. His arms shot high into the air, flexing his impressive height. His hands fell back to the keyboard and picked back up, this time playing much more intricate chords.

Ifrit watched silently as Thomas’s demeanor became more lively, bobbing alongside the intensity of the rich, smooth melody he was producing. His fingers were truly dancing across the keys now, his right hand zagging back and forth before rejoining the left. Given how lax Thomas had always seemed, Ifrit was impressed by how quickly his fingers were fluttering. It was such a hypnotizing sight that he found it difficult to look away. Thomas’s hands came together in the center of the keyboard, slowing their movements for a moment. They separated again and repeated the melody with more elaborate details. Ifrit furrowed his brow, finding his voice again in the brief lull.

“Are you showing off?” he asked. The faerie ignored him, but Ifrit knew he was smiling.

Though Thomas’s right hand was remaining more mellow, his left was picking up speed again. The opposing hand caught up quickly, and once again, Ifrit fell under the trance as the music swelled. The cycle continued, Thomas’s smile eventually fading as he fell back into the flow. The notes became slow and resonated for a moment, long enough for Thomas to look at Ifrit and stick his tongue out at him. When he returned to his former position, the music picked back up. There was a distant look in his eyes before he closed them to finish the piece. Ifrit took the opportunity to look him up and down once more, taking a mental note of the sight. He reflexively bit his lip.

There was a brief pause after Thomas had finished where he remained still and silent. He was brought back to life a few moments later as the soft beginning of a new composition fluttered into the air. It was a simplistic tune, especially when compared to what had preceded it. The faerie peered up at Ifrit, a blasé expression on his face.

“Oh, you’re still here?” he asked languidly.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I can take a hint,” grumbled Ifrit. “I’ll see you later, Thomas.”

Ifrit cringed when he saw Thomas light up at being addressed by his name rather than “faerie” for once. He pivoted and headed for the exit, checking his watch and cursing at how quickly the time had vanished. In a humiliating gesture, Thomas waved to him and called after him as he left.

“Thanks for stopping by, Frito!”

Ifrit’s cheeks burned as he lowered his head and shoved his functioning hand in his pocket. He felt a few eyes fall on him as he went. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he heard Sol snickering.

Frito, the voice repeated. I like that one.

“I swear to god I will exorcise you, Sol,” Ifrit grumbled quietly to himself.

--

Ever since Isaac had gotten home late the previous night, he had been sleeping off his blood loss. The day had crept well into the evening without sight of him, and Jonathan was becoming increasingly distressed. Despite the fact that he had just checked on him a few minutes ago, and the fact that Isaac was coherent and seemed perfectly healthy when he had initially returned home, his older brother couldn’t help but worry.

The sound of a door opening, followed by soft footsteps, jolted Jonathan upright as he eagerly looked towards the stairs. Slowly, a sleepy Isaac appeared as he crept down the steps. Though his posture was lethargic and his eyes were tired, there was an unmistakable coy smile on his face.

“Morning, Jonathan,” he greeted.

“It’s five in the evening.”

“Good evening, Jonathan,” Isaac corrected.

No longer obscured by the staircase railing, Jonathan anxiously eyed Isaac’s injuries. Living with him meant he was granted the rare opportunity to see Isaac in a short-sleeved shirt, not embarrassed by the various scars spiraling up his skin. The bandages visible on his arms and neck joined the old wounds from his over-ambitious fighting style when they were up against demons. It was at times like these that Jonathan reminisced about the blithe, lanky kid Isaac once was. There were times he still had the same mischievous look in his eyes, but his damaged appearance made it hard to retreat fully into the past.

As though he could read Jonathan’s mind, or feasibly because he could see the blatant worry on his face, Isaac picked at the bandage on his neck.

“I told you, I’m fine! See?”

His slender fingers peeled back the gauze to reveal a scarred over bite mark. He ripped the rest of it off and began folding it where he stood.

“You know I heal fast,” he murmured. “You worry so much, I swear.”

Jonathan was relieved to see the wound had closed, but concealed the feeling with a stern grimace. “Just because you heal quickly doesn’t mean you should be needlessly putting yourself in danger.”

“I didn’t do anything, though!” Isaac exclaimed. “I was being safe; and I’m okay. Can we talk about Elon, by the way? She saved my skin, and I think she’s a valuable person to know. It was such a stroke of luck that she was nearby, wasn't it?”

Shaking his head, Jonathan exhaled deeply. “Luck won’t always be on your side. I can’t believe you didn’t just run the second you noticed something was off.”

“Seriously?” Isaac scrunched up his face. “I couldn’t have known there would be so many of them. I thought I could handle a couple. It doesn’t matter anyway, though, because I’m fine.”

Though he had much more to say, a knock at the door broke Jonathan’s train of thought. He looked towards it, then back to Isaac, wondering if he was expecting anyone. His brother shrugged, answering Jonathan’s nonverbal question. Hesitant, Jonathan walked over to the door and opened it.

When he finally saw who had knocked, every muscle in his body tensed up. Eden was standing there, smiling and waving. He immediately shut the door in her face and turned around to face his brother, who was watching him askance.

“It’s Eden,” he said. Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“She’s using the door?” he asked.

Jonathan nodded. “Should I… Let her in?”

Isaac shrugged. “I guess, yeah.”

Reluctant, Jonathan opened the door again. Eden looked somewhat offended, but not angry. He frowned, waiting for her to speak.

“Hey!” she greeted, acting as if they were old friends.

Jonathan was silent, crossing his arms and blocking the entrance.

“I was just checking up on Isaac, in a nice and respectable way.” She nodded to herself as she spoke.

“You mean you didn’t have a role in this?” he asked, dubious.

Eden’s face contorted with disgust. “Of course not. Do you think I’m that tactless?” There was a brief pause before she added, “Don’t answer that.”

“Isaac is fine, thank you for stopping by. We’ll see you later, I’m sure.”

“Wait,” she pleaded before Jonathan was able to close the door. He waited for her, a stubborn glare on his face. When she saw him looking at her, she avoided eye contact.

“How bad was it?” she asked meekly.

Eden sounded so small in that moment that Jonathan was genuinely caught off guard. He had to remind himself who it was that was standing in front of him. Yet, remembering what Isaac had told him about her trying to help them made his anger waver. He begrudgingly gave in.

“Pretty bad,” Jonathan told her, his voice quiet enough that he hoped Isaac wouldn’t hear him. “I was really worried about him. There were nearly a dozen vampires that attacked him.”

There appeared to be genuine guilt on Eden’s face. Jonathan wasn’t sure if he believed it. He kept his expression stern.

“I have a question for you,” he told her. She perked up. “Where were you?”

Her usual scowl had returned. “That’s what I came here to discuss,” she grumbled. “Can I come inside?”

Jonathan didn’t move or speak.

“Come on, you know I need verbal admission to enter your house,” she teased, beginning to sneak around him. “Oh, wait, no I don’t.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t bother stopping her as she slid inside. Instead, Jonathan just sighed and closed the door behind them. Isaac blinked at them blankly, looking like a deer in headlights.

“H-hey?” He greeted her with an uncertain raised hand.

Eden approached him and Jonathan stiffened. Surprisingly, her movements were delicate and cautious as she inspected the various new wounds Isaac was sporting. She handled him lovingly, Jonathan noted, while Isaac remained entirely docile. His eyes didn’t even bother to watch her anymore, as though he weren’t bothered by her presence.

“You look a lot better than you did last night,” she remarked. Her voice was gentle. “I was really worried about you, Isaac.”

“So what happened?” Jonathan pried, still agitated by her appearance. “I thought you said this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.”

Eden was taken aback at his harshness. Jonathan figured it was theatrics.

“Well,” she pondered, “Claire was trying to gather enough vampires to overthrow me, but that part is all vampire politics.” She grinned, her fangs visible. “What you need to know is that I’ve taken care of them.”

“What does that mean?” Isaac asked.

“What do you think it means?” she answered, turning to face him again. “It means, their heads are displayed on pikes as a warning to the others.”

Isaac blinked. “Is that… a metaphor?"

After Eden took a slow breath in, she smiled. “Of course.”

Though Isaac appeared to be believing everything Eden was saying, Jonathan knew better. He narrowed his eyes at her, and as though his gaze pricked her, Eden jolted slightly and looked in his direction. Affected by his scrutiny, her expression became quizzical, and there was a twinge of hurt in her eyes.

“Are you still suspicious of me, Jonathan?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted bluntly. “Why shouldn’t I be? You literally kidnapped and tortured my kid brother, you’ve been attacking him for years.” At this point, Isaac began to blush furiously and looked away. “You think I’m going to accept an olive branch? That I’ll believe anything you say at this point?”

There was a subtle shift in Eden’s expression as her eyes fell to the floor. A cold façade was covering the vulnerable face she previously had shown him.

“If it’s not worth the chance,” she began, “then why did you let me in? Why are you talking to me like a person if you think I’m just lying to you to get what I want?” Her eyes returned, determined. “This house is filled with weapons that were designed to kill me, isn’t it? Yet you’re empty-handed. Why is that?”

The harshness in Jonathan’s expression was beginning to waver as he glared at her. Isaac was still, awkward and tense as he fidgeted nervously, trying to find some excuse to leave. Eden blinked at the older brother, and suddenly, he shut his eyes in frustration and groaned.

“I want to believe you,” he told her.

Hearing what she wanted, Eden smiled, but her eyes did not.

“Why?” she pried.

“You know why.” Jonathan was incredibly frustrated. Isaac was beginning to perk up, trying and failing to hide his bewilderment.

“And you know I’ve never been your enemy, have I?” Eden had wandered further into their house now, taking a seat in their living room. She was demure as she idly twirled her hair with her fingers, barely looking at either of them. “I’ll admit, I had a hard time getting that whole bloodlust thing under control, but haven’t I proved myself at this point? Asking permission and whatnot.”

“Just because you change your mind after doing a bad deed doesn’t mean you’re automatically forgiven,” said Jonathan. He had followed suit and, though he was too stiff to take a seat, was standing in the living room close by to Eden. Isaac was still frozen near the front door, trying to piece together the conversation.

“If I hadn’t changed my mind the first time, you never would have found him.”

Isaac blanched, finally finding his voice. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” he asked, staring at his brother.

“Oh,” purred Eden, putting a thoughtful finger to her lip. “Is there?”

Jonathan finally sat down across from Eden, pressing his palms to his face. After a moment, he relaxed his muscles and peered over at Isaac. “Do you remember that day you were taken?”

Staring in amazement, Isaac could only blink at him. “Vaguely,” he quipped.

“Eden tipped us off where you were. We never would have been able to find you so quickly otherwise.”

“Three days was quick?” Isaac raised his eyebrows.

Eden was grinning to herself. “Very.”

Isaac finally joined the other two in the room, sitting on the couch alongside Jonathan. He was gawking at Eden, the gears in his mind working overtime to fit the new information into the narrative he grew up believing.

“Why would you do that?” he asked. “You were the main perpetrator, weren’t you?”

The vampire shrugged. “I was more like second-in-command, though that changed over the years. I went along, but I didn’t realize how young you were and I felt somewhat guilty about the whole thing.” She laughed to herself, and it was a youthful sound. “Can you believe I was the bait?”

Jonathan was still as Isaac looked between him and Eden.

“I wanted your blood as bad as the rest of them, Isaac.” Eden’s voice was humorless as she spoke now. She averted her eyes. “But I think when I saw you like that, and I knew what they were planning…” she trailed off before regaining focus. “I don’t know why I feel the need to protect you, but I do. I know you both doubt that. It’s taken me a long time to even be able to control myself around you. I don’t want you to forgive me, I just want you to let me protect you.”

Isaac swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Eden’s pleading face. Neither of them had seen her like this before, and regrettably, Jonathan was beginning to doubt whether or not it was an act. He felt his paranoia subsiding and lowered his guard.

--

The day was finally over and Thomas nearly shouted with glee as he exited the museum. The stuffy smell of rich, old people enjoying fine art was a horrible assault to his nostrils and he was overjoyed to be breathing fresh air again. He excitedly loosened his tie and undid the top button of his collar, sighing in relief.

The entire way home, all Thomas could think about was getting into more comfortable clothes. The second he got to his door, however, he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. A deep sense of dread made him shiver as it sank into the corners of his mind. He opened the door before giving in to his paranoia and shooting a backwards glance. This did not quell, but rather confirmed his fears.

A few yards away, unmistakably staring directly at him, stood a humanoid figure. It was almost entirely covered in a long fur cloak. Two long shapes protruded upwards from either side of its head as unnaturally large, owl-like eyes stared at him.

With a quick yelp, Thomas slipped inside his apartment and quickly locked the door. His heart was pounding, despite how safe he was inside, and he remained frozen for a moment longer. When he was able to pry himself away, he peered out of the window to catch a glimpse of what he had just seen. There was nothing there. Conflicted as to whether or not that was a good thing, Thomas triple checked all of the locks on the windows.

After the air was still for a considerable time, Thomas began to question what he had seen at all. He suggested that his mind had been playing tricks on him, which made him relax. Either way, his house was impenetrable to any supernatural entities, and whatever he had seen did not look human.

The phone in his pocket buzzed. Thomas pulled it out and saw a message from Ifrit. He focused on it for a while, expressionless, before putting it away. He was, after all, exhausted from all the hard work he had done that day.

<-four six->