#c: sofie

Usually, Sofie hated silence. But sometimes she simply needed to get as far away from everything as she possibly could. She couldn’t explain why, but the answer for her had always been cemeteries. 

She supposed it was the peace that they promised. The eternal resting place for those who had slipped off their mortal coil. There was usually nothing to disturb her other than the occasional song of a nightingale. Sofie sat beneath a tree near someone’s headstone who was only a few years younger than she was. She supposed that was also part of it- the irony of it. She belonged in a place like this. It was easier to remember that now that the grand party that had been the Fleur de Sang was over. She belonged beneath a tree thousands of miles away from this town. But she had thumbed her nose at death, and had been running from it for centuries now.

Sofie sighed, letting the night air fill her lungs. Then a scent caught the breeze. Someone was there. She plucked a rock from the ground and placed it atop the headstone as she stood up. Goodbye for now, friend. She forced herself to jump when she heard a twig snap nearby. “You startled me, I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

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Kaden didn’t typically frequent cemeteries, at least not if he didn't have to. The perks of not being a slayer. Most of them were dark and old and musty, not a place he really enjoyed. Still, he helped out with a few necrophages now and then. More hellhounds and gwyllgi had died by his hand than he could count at this point. On his way home from a “walk” (hunt) in the woods, he had every intention of passing right by the cemetery and ignoring it.

Instead, he turned and walked inside the gates. He sensed something in the area, though he couldn’t say what. Then again, in this town it felt like the hairs on the back of his arms were permanently standing on edge. There were so many monsters and shapeshifters, his hunter sense all got muddled and blurred. Not to mention living with a werewolf sure threw him off balance. So in all likelihood, there was no supernatural beast waiting for him in the cemetery, but it didn’t hurt to check. 

The place was huge, definitely not some old rundown graveyard that he was used to seeing. This almost felt like a park built around the memorials and tombstones lining the paths. A sensation shot down his spine and Kaden pivoted towards it. Knowing his luck, it was only going to be an agropelter. Even so, he tried to be as quiet as possible. Turning the corner, he took a sharp breath when he saw he wasn’t alone. Merde. Kaden started to back away – go finish his hunt elsewhere – when a twig snapped beneath his shoe. Shit. 

So much for walking away. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I didn’t think anyone else was here, either. Kind of late and all.” He still had half a mind to walk away then, but what if the monster he sensed was something much more dangerous than a little chickcharney? Putain. He couldn’t just leave her here to fend for herself. Guess the hunt was over before it started. “What brings you out here this time of night?”

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“I suppose I just lost track of the time.” A shrug of the shoulders and she all but dismissed how late it was. Sofie had to imagine there were people doing stranger things than hanging out in cemeteries after hours. After all, this one was practically a park that had a dual purpose as people’s final resting place. 

“It’s quiet.” She explained simply with a smile. It was a rare thing, for Sofie to crave a moment of solitude. She almost always preferred the company of others. It was easy to get lost in the stories and lives of others and let any of her own worries slip away. But sometimes the noise didn’t help. On those rare occasions, she’d slip off someplace quiet, and she had found cemeteries offered the peace she needed. “It’s easier to think out here. They’re not going to judge me.” She said, waving to the headstone she’d been sat next to. “What are you doing out here so late?” She asked, turning the question back on the stranger. 

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Her voice sounded like she had money, or at least grew up around people who did. Or maybe she just had manners, Kaden couldn’t say one way or the other beyond the fact that it sounded proper. “Guess that can happen,” he said, trying to feel if whatever set off his hunter senses was still around. It was about the same as it was when he’d stepped into this part of the cemetery. Good. Granted, he’d lost the trail a little, hard to say what direction it was going in. By all accounts, he should go follow it, leave this whole weird interaction behind. Right, how was he going to explain that? And keep her from following and out of the cemetery? Putain.

“I can’t argue with that,” Kaden said with a nod. He was turning his head, trying to look for any sign of any supernatural creatures or necrophages lurking around in addition to trying to spot the fastest way out of there. “Huh?” her question caught him off guard. Merde. How was he going to explain running around a cemetery at night with knives, a pistol, and a machete hanging from his belt. “Oh, uh, I’m… out for a walk. Here. Because…” Putain, he should have stopped talking while he was ahead. “Fastest way home. Cutting through here just saves some time.” He had no idea if that was even remotely true but it sounded like it could be, right?

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He was a bit rough around the edges, wasn’t he? Sofie supposed that it might also just be that she’d startled him by being in a cemetery in the evening. She supposed there were a great number of scary stories that began in such a fashion. He smelled normal enough- probably just some human out late in the evening. Nothing really to worry about. Except for the veritable artillery he had strapped about his waist. Now that could present a problem. But given the fact that he hadn’t simply attacked her and politely attempted to remove her head so she would become a very old pile of dust, she had to assume she was safe from that sharp looking machete. For now. 

She glanced over her shoulder further into the cemetery. It might not be a lie, she supposed. It wasn’t as though she’d scoped every inch of the cemetery, so she wasn’t sure if there were homes surrounding the property. It was a strange enough town that Sofie supposed it was possible- probably, even. She let the thought go as she nodded. “Fair enough. The shortest distance between two points being a straight line, and all that.” Except it probably wouldn’t be a straight line if he had to move around headstones and mausoleums. “That for cutting your way through the bushes?” She teased, nodding to the machete. She knew she shouldn’t bring attention to it, but she figured any sane person would. Or anyone who would be voted most likely to die first in one of those horror films today's youth seemed so keen on watching in the cinemas.

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“What?” Kaden had to look down to follow the path of her eye line, straight to the machete. “Putain de merde,” he mumbled under his breath. “Right, that. I…” He reached up to rub the nape of his neck, trying to pull some sort of excuse out of thin air. “I mentioned I was animal control, right? Sometimes I need to get to some pretty strange places. Gotta cut through. Branches and bushes. And things.” Kaden wasn’t too sure how plausible that was considering that, in his experience, the weapon was a lot handier with monsters than animals. 

“Not to mention, you never know when you’re going to run into trouble in this town,” he added, “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” He watched her, wondering if she was aware of all the strange going-ons in town and to what extent. Most people seemed to handwave it all easily enough. If he hadn’t grown up seeing the same reactions time and time again, it’d be nearly unbelievable the sheer amount of denial one place could harbor. A familiar chill ran down his spine again and his hand went to the handle of his weapon as he glanced around them, looking for the source. Merde. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone, instincts had taken over. He managed to redirect his hand to his front pocket, trying to make it look natural enough. “So, uh, anyway, which way are you headed?”

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Sofie’s eyebrows shot up at the expression, and she failed to conceal an amused snort. “Manners, Monsieur.” The vampire chided, amusement still hanging in her voice. “The dead will roll over in their graves with talk like that.” She shook her head at his explanation. “No, you neglected to mention that part.” She supposed that made sense. Some people let their property get turned into tangles of vines and thorns, and something that sharp would probably be the easiest way to get past. 

And then of course there was the fact that this was Wicked’s Rest. Sofie shuddered to think of what sort of creature might require a knife that large. At least she was armed with Cassius’s knife now. It was a comfort to know she wouldn’t be relying solely on running any longer. So long as she followed through on taking lessons from Metzli. Her eyebrow raised a quarter of an inch as she watched his hand float onto the handle of the blade. She didn’t smell anything off. Perhaps he was just skittish? She hoped as much. While she did have a knife tucked safely away in the pocket of her skirt, she did not want to use it. She looked around at his question, and the corners of her mouth were towed downward as if by tiny anchors. “That is a marvelous question. The exit? I don’t quite remember the way I came in, and I’m a bit turned around in the dark.” It was a half truth- she could see just fine in the darkness, but she truly couldn’t remember which direction she’d come from. “Do you know which direction the nearest way out is?”

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Kaden’s face scrunched in confusion as she scolded him. “Right, uh, je suis désolé, mademoiselle.” Did that just really happen? Did he just get scolded like a child? “I think they’ll recover. Probably not the worst they heard.” He had to wonder where she learned French swear words. He’d only been in town for so long, they couldn’t have caught on that fast. “I’m actually a little shocked you knew what I was saying. Most around here don’t.” Which was fine by him. As strange as it was to not speak his native language as often as he used to, he didn’t mind when people had no idea he was cursing (and sometimes insulting them) under his breath. At least most people had no idea he was swearing. 

His focus fell from his lingering hunter senses as she spoke. “I guess that’s what happens when you wander into cemeteries at night.” Whatever it was that was out there, he wasn’t about to leave her here to find out by herself. Kaden had to wonder if this was how a lot of residents of Wicked’s Rest died – lost in the cemeteries at night. It was hard to see at times, even for him and seeing in darkness wasn’t a huge issue for him. “It should be this way,” he said pointing towards the left. “I can pretend I have some manners and walk you out. If you want.” 

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A delighted laugh left her at another sound of the place she called home for so long. “Ne t'inquiète pas mon ami, ne t'inquiète pas.” She chirped, happy to speak the language once again. “I lived in France for many years. You pick up a thing or two after a while.” Sofie explained. And after a few centuries, you picked up even more. 

Her smile grew sheepish and she shrugged as if to say what can you do?  “You may have a point there.” She wasn’t scared to be alone in the night, but she supposed someone with a beating heart would be, so she made sure to play the part. Her mind wandered back to previous evenings, and that was enough to make her shiver. “Yes please,” Sofie said gratefully. If that slayer came back, he likely wouldn’t finish the job if it looked as though he were attacking an innocent young woman. “And I was only teasing.” She grinned. “My brother had a far worse mouth on him than you- nearly every other word out of him was a swear.”

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“That explains it,” Kaden replied in French. “I’m from Lyon, just moved here pretty recently. It’s definitely been an adjustment.” He hadn’t let himself think much about home or change or let himself miss anything, at least as much as he could. It wasn’t worth dwelling on, it would only dredge up too many other things with it. He didn’t have time for that. 

“Ladies first,” he said, holding his hand out in a gesture allowing her to take the lead, exaggerating his movements. If she was going to tease, he could follow suit. “That so?” he asked as they walked along the path towards the– well, one of the exits. He didn’t actually know if where they were headed was actually closer to the cabin or farther away. Guess he’d have to figure that out later. “See I try to make a good impression when I can. Have to keep the cursing to every other sentence at first, you know?” Thankfully his hunter senses weren’t getting any stronger. They weren’t letting up exactly, either. Putain. The wind whistled through the trees, the only break in the lingering silence. “So, where’s your brother now? He in town?” That was how small talk worked, right? 

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The location clicked in her mind. Hadn’t she recently chatted with someone online from Lyon? “I lived in the Val de Loire. Near Amboise.” It had been like something out of a fairytale, and it lived on as such in her memory. The name of the town brought a wistful smile to Sofie’s face. “It is lovely here, but it’s definitely a change of pace.” 

She laughed, tilting in a half-curtsy before continuing on the path. “Merci,” Sofie walked along, hopefully in the direction of an exit. She didn’t particularly care which. The wistfulness left her smile at the question, but she managed to keep it from dissolving entirely. “Ah,” she cleared her throat and shook her head. “No. No, it is just me here. I almost miss all his swearing. ” I miss it constantly. She didn’t offer an explanation, but didn’t close off the line of questioning  either. “And what about you? Any family in town?”

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Val de Loire? Wait a minute, someone else mentioned there. And Amboise. Kaden narrowed his eyes, working to piece the puzzle together. “Wait, are you the one with the crabs?” Huh, maybe that wasn’t the best way to phrase it. “I mean, in your vase. I think we talked earlier. About those. And coffee.” Putain, he didn’t need to make himself look like more of an idiot than he was. “Anyway, yeah, pretty different here than France. Some parts are nicer.” Like the distance from his sister. “Some parts, less so.” Like the cheese.

Kaden nodded. “I know the feeling.” Sort of. As much as he hated Keira, he missed her. Or at least the version of her that would make silly masks for them both every Purim. He wasn’t sure she existed anymore. “My sister, she’s still in France. But, uh, my cousins are here. That’s why I came.” Not that he knew them as well as he felt like he should to be the guy crashing on their couch. Even so, something was still there, something shared that he couldn’t name that bound them together. It was enough. “You been here long?”

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Sofie blinked a minute, before it clicked into place in her mind. “Yes! That is me!” She exclaimed. Every day that passed over the years had taught her the world was an incredibly small place. She had figured it would be only a matter of time until she came across the person she’d spoken to online. “That can be said of anywhere I believe. I do miss it from time to time. Especially the coffee.”

It must have been nice, she thought, to have people nearby. Even cousins. To have familiar people. She supposed she was slowly collecting something akin to it. The more undead she came across and befriended, the more she felt less alone. And that was they key, she’d found, to making immortality worthwhile. Companionship. Sofie shook her head. “In town? No, not terribly long. I only arrived a little under a month ago. I’ve been in the country for a few years though.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. A little under a century wasn’t a terribly long time in the grand scheme of things. 

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“The coffee and pastries are on top of the list of things I miss,” Kaden agreed with a small smile. Maybe he would get used to the absurd amount of sugar used on this side of the pond. Yeah, probably not. Still, there was something a little comforting about having someone else in town who was also new and had lived in the same part of the world, even if there was a gap in time there. 

They turned a corner and Kaden could see the pathway that led to the exit just ahead but as soon as they faced it, a chill swept down his spine. It was here, whatever monster he had been tracking. Had to be. He paused and held his hand out to let her know to slow down. “I think we might not be al–” 

The hunter barely got the sentence out when a black flash of fur launched itself at his head, screeching on the way down. “Putain! Fucking hell, merde!” he shouted while flailing to get the creature, whatever it was off of him. He felt tiny teeth on his ear and smacked at the source, missing as it slinked away and slapped his head instead. Kaden was about to grab hold of the thing when it leapt off him and towards his current companion. Shit. 

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She slowed, confused as he held a hand out. The sentence hadn’t finished before a squirrel from hell flew onto his head. Sofie yelped in surprise. Wide eyed surprise allowed her to take in the situation. Her initial instinct upon seeing the flying ball of black fuzz had been that it was a squirrel. Watching as it scrambled around the man’s head, it was evident that it was no such thing. “Merde-“ 

Sofie bent to snatch a stray stick off the ground, hoping she could use it to poke the little beast off. This had been the wrong decision apparently, as her fingers had just closed around the stick when the screeching and chittering got closer, and she felt fur and little paws on her head, moving down onto her back.

The vampire shrieked, a string of swears leaving her mouth as the not-squirrel crawled around to her front. Sofie tried to whack it off with the stick, but it’s little hands grabbed it with a strength that didn’t match its small stature, yanking the improvised weapon from her hands. “What the hell?!”

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Fucking agropelter. This little piece of shit wasn’t even what set off his senses. He could still feel them ringing out but he sure as shit couldn’t focus on them while the fucking fae squirrel was fucking there. “Putain de merde!” Kaden turned to his current companion to see if she was okay and saw the stick she’d been using flying to the side. She was lucky that wasn’t her entire hand. 

What a fucking time to be without any iron weapons. Sure, he should be prepared for anything, but he still wasn’t a fucking warden and an iron knife took space away from carrying something else that was usually more useful. Kaden grabbed a plain-old knife from his belt and reached out with his free hand to try and yank the creature away from her. Piece of shit was fast and leapt away from the hunter’s grip onto his arm. He tried to shake it away and it only crawled onto his other shoulder. “Goddamnit!” He couldn’t stab it like this, all he’d do was stab himself. Kaden looked to his left and tried to shrug the argopelter to his other shoulder before slamming it into the tree next to him. 

That was going to fucking hurt in the morning. Hell, it hurt now. “Did I get it?” 

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Sofie didn’t like that a creature a fraction of her size could wrench something from her hands like it was nothing. The fact that it was scrabbling all over her companion was worse. If it could do that to a stick, what would it do to a limb?

She looked around for something to throw at the little bastard when the man pulled out a knife. But how was he going to stab something that was on his back? Her question was answered quickly enough as the man launched himself into a tree. There was a little squeak from the creature, but silence followed. “I think so,” Sofie said softly, creeping her way around to catch a glimpse. “It looks like you knocked it out… Are you alright?”

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Kaden rubbed his shoulder as he looked down at the limp body of the agropelter sprawled on the ground. The hunter crouched down, leaning over to try and listen, check if he could hear a heartbeat. He had learned to filter sound and was usually able to ignore most things his enhanced hearing picked up, but now he was concentrating. He could hear the wind through the branches, crickets chirping, and a small, faint heartbeat coming from the small creature. Alive. But knocked out, like she said.

That wasn’t what made his brows knit together. It was what he didn’t hear that surprised him. Kaden wanted to shoot a glance up at the woman standing next to him, but he refrained, keeping his eyes on the monster on the ground. He wasn’t listening for its pulse anymore. He was hoping that he was mistaken. He was hoping that if he listened a little harder, he would hear a thumping sound coming from her chest.

Only, there was nothing. 

Putain de merde.

Kaden stood up and nodded. “Yeah, I’m alright. I’ve had worse. At least nothing dislocated.” He didn’t know what to do now. He didn’t even know what sort of undead he was dealing with, if he was even correct in his assumption. There was no point in making any move. Not now. He just had to keep acting normal. Like nothing had changed. He could do that. He could definitely do that. “Uh, what about you? Did it, uh, bite you or anything?”

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Sofie watched and waited as the man stooped over the creature that was decidedly not a squirrel. She didn’t quite know what he was waiting for. Perhaps he was looking for the tiny rise and fall of the little thing’s chest to verify it still lived. 

“Oh good,” she was relieved to hear it. If only so the scent of blood wouldn’t catch her nose. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she didn’t want to have to explain a sudden inhuman hue in her eyes. She paused at his question, frowning a little. She inspected her arms quickly, but nothing seemed wrong. And she’d felt no teeth carve into her flesh. She’d managed to emerge unscathed from the little beast’s ambush. “I’m alright… I think it just crawled around and… grabbed that stick- what is that little thing?” Sofie peered at it curiously. It was far too small to be as strong as it was. 

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“Good. That’s good,” Kaden said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He could feel his pulse picking up. Putain, he had to get it together. Nothing had changed, nothing had happened. Only everything had changed about the situation. She was dead. Well, undead. But they were in a cemetery and he was escorting a dead woman home. It was hard to push aside the instincts that had been drilled into him for years, the ones that told him not to trust a monster, to not let them live. Kaden wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of Sofie or the thoughts that had invaded his mind.

Wait. Merde, she’d asked him a question. “Oh, uh, that?” Putain, what was he going to say? It sure as hell wasn’t going to be the truth. “Uh, looks like a kind of squirrel. Aggressive variant. They show up in town sometimes. I’ve had to deal with them often enough.” Kaden took a deep breath and looked around to get his bearings. “Exit should be right over there. Almost out of here,” he said offering a small smile as he gestured towards the path out. 

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She could smell it, when his pulse picked up. Thankfully, she wasn’t particularly hungry. Brown eyes remained brown, no hint of the inhuman red to be seen. It made sense, of course. The poor man had just been fighting off a-… well Sofie didn’t really buy the line that it was a squirrel. Squirrels didn’t look like that. She had seen hundreds of thousands of squirrels in her lifetime. That was not a squirrel. 

“That is the ugliest squirrel I have ever seen.” She muttered. Better to let him think she believed his lie than to raise more questions. She looked over to where he gestured and smiled. She could just barely see the exit from where she stood. “Ah! Lovely! Thank you so much again.” She said as she resumed walking. 

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Kaden huffed out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well, genetics can do weird shit.” That was the best he had as far as an explanation. He followed behind her as they both walked towards the exit. Every branch or twig that they walked past on the short walk to the open gate was like walking past a knife on the ground, moonlight glinting off the metal, calling out to him to pick one up. If for no other reason than for safety. 

Not that he knew for sure that she was a vampire, fair enough. She could just as easily be a zombie. But she looked too pretty, too put together to be a zombie, even if he knew that they could look just like normal people. Something about zombies, he just always assumed they were a little more dead somehow then the rest. Couldn’t explain it. 

His hand hovered near the hilt of his machete all the same. Regardless of what she was, beheading killed most things. He was still on edge with every step towards the exit. Sure, she had been nice and cordial and if she was going to drain his blood or eat his organs or anything else terrible, she’d had plenty of chances to do it before. And she hadn’t. But he was a hunter, he knew that things weren’t always as they seemed. 

Before he could finish debating himself in his own mind, they were at the gates. “Well, here we are,” he said, gesturing towards the entrance, acting like he hadn’t been ready to pull a knife out on her at any moment just then. “I take it you can make it the rest of the way home all by yourself.” The smile he flashed her was shallower than any of his earlier had been. “Kaden, by the way,” he added. “In case you were wondering.” Stupid, he shouldn’t have given her his name. There was no fucking reason beyond being polite. Putain. “Nice to meet you. Get home safe.”

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Sofie happily walked along toward the exit, blissfully unaware of any further danger that could befall her that evening. And from the looks of it, they were almost to the exit. She’d be on her way home and curled up with a pot of tea in no time at all. 

She smiled and looked back to the kind young man who’d shown her the way to the exit. A kindness that not many people would extend in this town, for fear of what might happen in the shadows. “So we are.” Sofie sighed, looking back down the path. She’d have to remember the way if she came back to this particular cemetery. 

Humans should know better; never dangle shiny things in front of a fae. Or, in Siobhan’s case, never fill an apartment with tempting antiquities and expect her not to rob it. She’d first spotted it through the window of another apartment that she was robbing; the paintings hung up and leaning against the wells, the antique cabinets and wardrobes, the storage trunks and trinkets scattered about. The apartment was calling out to her, asking to be relieved of all its knickknacks. What kind of a monster would Siobhan be if she denied the plea? And so, during the cover of the night, she drove across town, picked a few locks and ended up in thieves’ heaven. The apartment looked even better from the inside. She pulled her balaclava down, adjusted her black turtleneck and snapped back the elastic in her fabric gloves. The other important piece of a heist was making sure the look was right; she couldn’t be an unfashionable thief. Which was why, despite its impractical nature, she was wearing thigh-high boots with 9 inch heels. It was a strange look when paired with her cargo pants, but she thought of herself as robber runway chic. Her black duffle bag was a little more ratty but it served its purpose well. 

“Idiot,” she mumbled to herself. “What kind of a idiot lets a vintage tea set sit around?” Siobhan held the teapot into the moonlight. The sterling silver and floral decoration marked it as a Victorian piece; Siobhan had grown up with one just like it. Her mother never confessed to sentimentality, but the silver tea set spoke otherwise. It was a relic of her life spent in England, a time she never spoke of. Regardless of how the teapot had aged, her mother insisted on using it, just as she insisted on afternoon tea everyday. It didn’t matter how much Siobhan’s hands had bled that day or how she ached or how viciously her mother had been scolding her the moment before. Their teapot at home was stained around the handle with red but what Siobhan remembered most was how hot the metal could get. She was always afraid she’d burn. Her grip around the teapot tightened. She imagined her mother down the way, waiting for her to come and pour them the tea that they would enjoy in silence.

The bag slipped from Siobhan’s shoulder and crashed on the ground, her spoils rattling as they tumbled out. When the lights flicked on down the hall, Siobhan decided it was time to panic. Perhaps she could stuff herself behind a wardrobe? Maybe in the trunk there? Was it time to go out the window?

—

Sofie had had a long day. She’d gotten into a haggling match with an old lady who was desperate to get her hands on a tapestry Sofie wasn’t particularly keen to part with- a present from her hundredth birthday. But money was tight, and she could use a big sale. So off went another piece of her history with a tiny old woman. It was still fairly early for her to be calling it a night, but she’d gone home anyway and sat in bed, in that strange meditative not-quite-sleep she’d been doing for years. Maybe it was sleep, but the price for a longer life was dreamlessness. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been when she heard a crash in her kitchen. Sofie’s eyes shot open, and she was out of bed in an instant. If the girl with the doll was back already, Sofie might have actually run off screaming. Not from abject terror. More so from sheer exhaustion. She tugged a robe on and hurried down the hall to see what it was. She let her eyes go red- if it was that girl again, at least she’d know from the start that Sofie meant business when it came to her belongings. 

“Whatever your sticky little hands are on,” Sofie began as she flicked the lights on and walked down the hall. “I suggest you put it down. And no, I do not have ham for you, it isn’t Saturday y-“ she turned the corner to see someone who certainly was not the girl, with one of her favorite teapots. “I’m sorry?” Sofie sounded confused. “But what on earth do you think you’re doing?” This was the second time in too short a span that someone had gotten in. Maybe she should put bars on the windows?

—

“Ham? Why would I want ham? And why Saturday?” Siobhan knew she had just been caught stealing expensive wares, and yet, the ham mystery was the most pressing issue on her mind. “Is Saturday a holy ham day? Should I give you ham? Are you getting ham from reputable farmers or…?” Siobhan petered out as her onslaught of ham related questions stalled. She’d asked what she needed to ask and now she could get back to the task at hand: pretending like she wasn’t committing theft when she very obviously was committing theft. It would be a hard sell, but Siobhan always loved a challenge. “This is all an illusion…” Siobhan put on her best imitation of a cartoon ghost, complete with drawn out groans. “I’m just the…uh…” Siobhan shifted—her fae nature meant lying gave her unjust pain but years of it had led her down a steady path of half truths and the ability to grin through a few small lies here or there. It was a power she would need now. 

“Have you heard of the cleaning fairy?” Siobhan smiled from under her balaclava. “Yes! Your silverware needs  a good polishing!” She held up the teapot. “Dreadful stuff here! Just so full of dust and smudges! Oh! Just thinking about it makes me shiver!” Siobhan curtsied. “Now if you just excuse me I’ll be putting these away in my fairy bag here and go off to give these a proper cleaning!” Abandoning the ghost voice, Siobhan took on a more saccharine tone; reminiscent of the offensive depictions of kind fairies (a word she felt complicated about but didn’t have the time to complain over) humans enjoyed purporting in their modern media. “I can’t see your expression from here but I am going to assume you are glowing with relief and crying tears of gratitude. So, I’m just going to…put this teapot away in my fairy bag…” 

—

Well it was certainly not the ham void beast. The masked individual in her kitchen was definitely not an unnerving young woman with a haunted doll companion. A masked individual who was now asking a multitude of questions regarding ham. Sofie sighed. She definitely needed to find a better way to secure her apartment. “No- no ham, there’s a girl who. Wait, no, why am I explaining myself to you, you are the one currently holding onto my teapot.” Her Royal Copenhagen teapot no less. There was no way that Sofie would be parting with that particular piece. Not unless they handed over a significant amount of cash.

The cleaning fairy? What kind of a fool did they take her for. “You’re awfully tall to be one of the domovoi.” Sofie critiqued. “And I thought faeries wouldn’t need a bag or one of those masks to do it. What about magic?” Drawing her robe around her tighter, she stepped further into the room. “What else have you put in your fairy bag, cleaning fairy?” Sofie asked, sarcasm slowly creeping into her voice. “I’d love to know what other trinkets of mine you’re taking, if I let you take them. So I can find a way to repay the kind thing you have done for me.”

—

“Fae magic—fairy magic doesn’t work like that,” Siobhan couldn’t help but to correct. “And the mask is part of the uniform. You know, dress for success and all that.” Siobhan would sooner dive into a shark tank than ever look unfashionable—she’d be the best looking thing those sharks ever ate. “And the cleaning fairy reveals nothing!” Siobhan bent over to scoop the fallen pieces back into the bag. “The cleaning fairy will take what needs to be cleaned and be gone…” But when she pulled the bag up over her shoulder again, the strap gave in under the weight of her stolen trinkets and it crashed against the floor again, revealing all that she had taken. The assortment was mostly the gold and silver pieces—Siobhan couldn’t resist a shiny reflection and the paintings were too big for the bag. “The cleaning fairy might need a new bag, actually,” she sighed, staring between her stolen goods and the woman they belonged to. Did the woman believe her story about the cleaning fairy? Siobhan lifted up the teapot, still tightly held in her hand, and with it she pointed to one of the storage trunks that had been turned into a coffee table. “Can I just borrow that? I’ll put all my stolen—I mean needs-to-be-cleaned goods in there. What do you say, Miss dusty teapots?” Under her mask again, she shot another winning smile, there to be appreciated only by the straining muscles of her sweaty face. 

—

Sofie stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize a mask like that was part of a cleaning outfit. I’m fairly certain those are the sort of thing criminals wear on television programs when they’re conducting a heist.” She crossed her arms as approached slowly. “And it shouldn’t need cleaning, seeing as I haven’t used it. Ever.” That particular tea pot Sofie kept purely for decoration. It was far to pretty to risk moving it about. Which was precisely why she did not appreciate a stranger manhandling it. 

The bag spilled its contents with a clatter, and Sofie blanched. Just how much had this woman managed to shove in a bag without her hearing? She hissed when she noticed a picture frame made of silver, and she hurried to snatch it up. “Absolutely not.” She gave it a quick once over to make certain the image hadn’t been marred. The four old faces in the frame still smiled up at her. Relieved, Sofie refocused her glower at the thief. “I’ll happily give you a free bag, so long as you put back everything you’ve touched since you got here. I might even give you a few knickknacks to make it worth your time.” 

—

“Oh? What do you know about cleaning? You look like you haven’t cleaned since 1924. Do you know how much dust is behind all your cabinets here? I sneezed!” Siobhan raised her hands into the air, rattling the teapot around to prove her point. “Teapots are designed to be used!” Siobhan gestured around the apartment. “Half of these things are designed to be used! Except for that painting there; it’s ugly and no one should use it.” She lowered her hands, shaking her head with a disappointment she didn’t understand why she had. “You can’t just put pretty things on shelves and leave! What’s the point? Your candelabras are weeping. Which is why I, as the cleaning fairy, must assist you in taking these things away.” 

Siobhan watched curiously as the woman snatched up the picture frame she’d dumped in—even though she had admonished the woman for keeping decorations, Siobhan’s favorite sort were picture frames of families that were not hers. She imagined the eventual surprise of someone coming over and seeing a plethora of mismatched faces, trying to figure out where Siobhan factored in. Of course, that involved having people to invite over, which she never did. 

Siobhan stepped forward and as she did, a chill cleaved through her body and her heart tugged towards the woman. Slowly, warmth crept across her flesh. “Oh, you’re fucking joking…” Siobhan ripped her balaclava off, pulling up the strands of hair that had been glued to her forehead with sweat. “You’re an undead hoarder?” Siobhan shook her head. “I knew this was too good to be true! You just keep all these things around to remind yourself that you used to be respectable in 1837 but now you have a microwave and it has a button that says ‘chicken’ and that frightens you.” Siobhan waved the teapot around again. “Do you know how many undead something-or-anothers I come across that have kept all their undergarments? You don’t need your undergarments. Get rid of the undergarments. Stop wearing centuries old undergarments.” 

Siobhan paused suddenly. “Oh, you’re going to give me things?” She blinked. “Please disregard my earlier outburst. Where did you want this teapot to go?” And this time when she levied her bright smile, there wasn’t a layer of fabric to obscure it. 

—

Sofie was hardly ever in the kitchen, so she never really thought to clean it. She hadn’t had to clean anything in years, and she had enjoyed every second away from it. Dusting a kitchen that was mostly just for show simply made no sense to her she didn’t really clean unless she knew someone would be nosy enough to snoop around her apartment. “If you’re a cleaning fairy, couldn’t you dust my kitchen then? I haven’t been here since nineteen twenty-four, I’ve only been here a few weeks. So that’s clearly someone else’s dust.” 

She glanced over her shoulder to look at the offending painting and gasped in offense. “That is a Matisse, that is not ugly.” Sofie didn’t care if art was subjective and beauty was in the eye of the beholder, she would not have her excellent taste be slandered, nor the painting of the cat that hung on her kitchen wall. Her fingertip tapped impatiently against the silver frame that held the family portrait. She didn’t know what use the thief had for a portrait of a family that wasn’t theirs. Perhaps they had just wanted the frame and thought they could pawn it off. 

She blinked once, twice, three times as the woman pulled her mask off and began to rant. And oh, what a rant it was. Microwaves and chickens and undergarments. She had the decency to look offended. The only undergarment she still had was a corset, and that was simply because they didn’t make them like they used to, and that one had fit her perfectly. There was no sense in getting rid of it if it was comfortable. “I don’t even have a microwave,” Sofie stated, utterly lost. She supposed she should have been more concerned that the stranger who had been rifling through her things had managed to pick up on Sofie’s big secret, but she was more confused than anything. “Would you please stop waving around the teapot- I haven’t worn a crinoline cage or split drawers since they went out of fashion- what is going on here- how did you know-.” She forced herself to stop, and took a deep breath. “Who are you, and do not say the kitchen fairy.”

—

“Oh yes, you were visited by the dust fairy and they put dust everywhere,” Siobhan rolled her eyes. Dust didn’t work like that; if you had a surface for it to settle on, it was going to settle on it. It made no distinction between owners, with time, allergies or how much someone really hated having to get between the little cracks. But explaining why cleaning was important to a woman that had more paintings than she did wallspace seemed like a foolish endeavor. Dust probably didn’t bother vampires considering they became dust in the end, perhaps it was an unspoken dust kinship between them. 

“Matisse is ugly,” Siobhan said with unwavering confidence as though her words were the objective truth. “When he did that blocky woman he didn’t make the tits big enough and that’s why all his work is terrible.” Though she did enjoy the cat one, but she wasn’t going to admit that now. She could tell this vampire took her sense of style and art seriously and that meant that Siobhan could never compliment her on it. There were just some lines that needed to be drawn in order to fully annoy someone and Siobhan wasn’t done with the vampire just yet. 

“I’m the kitch–“ Siobhan paused at the explicit instruction not to say she was the kitchen fairy. It was as though the woman read her mind; she was going to say exactly that. And it wouldn’t have been a lie either, she was a fairy and they were by the kitchen. “How do you not have a microwave?” she asked instead. “How do you heat up your…oh right, you’re undead. You don’t really eat, do you? If you were putting brains into a microwave, that would be more sad than not having one.” Siobhan shook her head and pointed out the teapot again. “Aha!” She grinned. “So you only stopped wearing the undergarments because they went out of fashion! You’d still wear them if they were!” She wasn’t sure what battle she’d won here, but she considered herself as having won it. “I’m the fairy of sense. I make sense and I distribute sense and I was offered consolation knickknacks and I want them.” She pulled the teapot close to her chest. “Also the teapot and the accompanying teaset. I like it. It reminds me of my mother. She had one just like it.”

—

A scowl creased the vampire’s features as the fake explanation was almost given to her again. And then the conversation resumed it baffling course with the discussion of microwaves of all things. Microwaves and Matisse and this maddening woman in her kitchen. “Well as you can see” Sofie grumbled through gritted teeth when the woman finally stopped chattering. “That one isn’t a blocky woman. It’s a cat.”

Her red eyes simmered with irritation. “That, and bombarding something with waves of energy in a tiny tin box does not count as cooking.” Sofie paced further into her kitchen. If anything she might be able to put the stranger off, since they were keenly aware of her undead status. 

Of course, the topic turned to underpinnings of all things once more, and Sofie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well wearing a bustle underneath a bias cut dress wouldn’t exactly work, would it?” She crossed her arms. “Nor would wearing a push up bra underneath a regency era evening gown. It would mess up the silhouette. So if the style still required them, yes I would wear them. Now who are you really? And what are you, if you know what I am? That seems only fair.”

—

“I can see,” Siobhan asserted. “But I just mean that the blocky woman was a bad piece and all other pieces have been tainted by the badness of the blocky woman.” It was common sense, really. “And that’s why the ‘chicken’ button is frightening; you don’t use a microwave to cook, why is there a chicken button?” This was also common sense; Siobhan was starting to suspect that the woman lacked it.

There was a moment in time where Siobhan imagined herself adrift in the cosmos, hearing this woman’s ramble about outdated fashions. Yes, she had brought it up and yes she knew exactly what the woman was talking about and still, she felt whatever idea of a soul she had left her body. “Is it fair?” She looked at the woman. “You have an apartment like an antique showcase storeroom and you want to talk about what seems fair?” Siobhan’s eyes grew wide. “Your silhouette looks like a landfill--modern. The sort where humans fill up a piece of land with plastic and banana peels.” She stared at the undead woman. “I’m a thief. You had such a tantalizing view that I deigned myself to appear here--are you happy? Will you let me take this teaset now?”   

—

There hadn’t been a single moment of this conversation that hadn’t been exhausting. She held her face in her hands, pinching the bridge of her nose. What had Sofie done to deserve the worlds strangest thieves scurrying into her apartment on a far too frequent basis? “You are an impossibly fixated creature aren’t you? You won’t let the damned microwave topic die.” 

Sofie raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the dressing gown she had wrapped snuggly around her that she’d had since the nineteen-fifties. This woman needed to update her definition of modern. And based on the thief’s admission, the only modern thing Sofie would be adding to her apartment would be better curtains. “You May have the tea set and only the tea set on a set of conditions. First you tell me how you knew I am what I am, second you tell me your name, and third you tell me what you are instead of a human, because you do not smell like one. If you do those three things, the tea set is yours, and if I choose to give you something else that is up to me.”

—

“I won’t let the damned microwave topic die?” Siobhan repeated with an insulted flair. She huffed and placed a hand over her slow beating heart. “You brought it up!” No, Siobhan had. “Again!” That was better. Although bringing topics up again was the basis of how conversation worked, Siobhan didn’t dwell on that. Most of her was convinced that topics should have worked like a stage show, she would speak and her conversation partner ought to simply clap and cheer as they sat amongst the audience. “I’m sorry I enjoy pressing the little buttons on the microwave and it obeys me and glows and spins and then makes a fun beeping sound at the end. I’m sorry!” She rolled her eyes. 

As the woman went on, Siobhan groaned loudly. She nearly tumbled over with the weight of her annoyance. Offering a fae a deal was meant to be fun, but not when it came with boring stipulations. However, she did really want the tea set. “Fine! You have a deal on those conditions,” she snapped it up and shivered at the jolt of fae magic that shot through her. Or perhaps that was simply the regret of having robbed this woman coming into her so potently that her body revolted. Siobhan held up a finger. “You gave me tingles.” And another finger. “Siobhan.” And finally another. “A fairy; that wasn’t a lie. Though we prefer fae.” And now, the tea set was hers. With a grin, she held the teapot close to her chest like a child with a teddy bear. “But I smell good, right?” She paused. “When you smell me the smell is attractive and sexy and, potentially, also gives you tingles but of the arousal variety?” She blinked. “I have to know. You brought it up.” 

—

“Why on earth would I bring up a microwave when I clearly don’t even think they are worth owning?!” Sofie exclaimed, completely and utterly exasperated. If the woman was a fairy, she wasn’t the cleaning, kitchen, or thieving fairy. She said as the Fairy of Exasperation. And tricking Sofie into not letting the damned topic die. 

Sofie crossed her arms as the woman raised one finger after the other, her eyebrows shooting up as the last condition was met. One of the fae?! Her mind frantically ran over every detail of the conversation, trying to see if she’d stepped into a trap without realizing it. She’d never actually met any of the fae-folk before, but she knew they weren’t to be trifled with. But it also explained the smell. 

She blinked rapidly, astounded at this particular line of questioning. “You smell…” Sofie thought for a moment, trying to place the scent. It was warm cocoa and cherry preserves. But there was something else there too… Like-  “A baked good. A brownie? No, some sort of chocolate cherry cake. And like… dirt? And no, I’m sorry I’m not incredibly turned on by fae who break into my apartment to abscond with my very expensive antique tea sets.”

—

“That’s a question for you,” Siobhan pointed at her, emphasizing her very true and very factual statement. When in doubt, it was a reliable technique to just blame the other party. “What do I know? Maybe you have a microwave kink.” It was also a valid technique to imply that they had some strange, laughable sexual desires. It was all in the fae handbook that no fae ever had the work ethic to write. And now that she had her teaset, she had nothing more to do here--other than stay for the wonderful conversation. 

Siobhan walked back towards the woman’s larger stack of belongings, searching for the rest of the teaset that now rightfully belonged to her. And all for the low, low price of a little honesty. Siobhan had gotten the teacups, jamming those into her pockets when she turned her head to look at the woman again. “Thank you,” she smiled sincerely. “Yes, I smell delicious, I know.” She paused. “Don’t try to eat me.” And another pause. “Would you be more turned on if I took my clothes off? I can do that for you. Or would you rather I make microwave noises? That’d really get you going, wouldn’t it?” Siobhan shoved the rest of what could fit into her pockets and tucked the remaining pieces of the teaset under her arms. “I hope this was all as fun for you as it was for me. Shall we do this again soon? Or--why don’t you come over for tea? We can talk about any sexy microwaves you saw at the department store.” 

—

The longer the woman talked, the more Sofie began to question the desire to stay alive for three centuries if it had led to that particular moment: to being questioned as to whether or not she had a microwave kink by a teapot thieving fae who claimed to be the cleaning fairy. 

A deep set frown creased Sofie’s features, the corners of her mouth tugging lower as each piece of the set vanished into pockets. “I have this fabulous little thing called restraint.” She bit out. “I think I’ll manage not to make a midnight snack out of you.” Sarcasm danced around the words partnered with irritation as the last saucer slipped out of view. Maybe she should rethink the whole no biting aspect of how she chose to live. “No, I’d rather you stay clothed. And that we don’t do this again at all, and if you’d like one of my pieces you do it the normal way. Which is to say you pay me money for it. And we never talk of microwaves again.” Sofie opened her window wide, extending an arm toward it to indicate their exit. 

—

Siobhan frowned at the window. “Really? You’re not even going to let me go through the door?” Perhaps it was better that way, walking across the side of a building infused a fresh sense of danger to the night. If she dropped one of the pieces of the teaset, which she was liable to do as they dangled precariously in her grip, that would spell the end of them. Siobhan grumbled across the apartment and climbed out the window. “If you ever want to see me naked, just shout,” she winked, going off into the night with her clinking belongings. 

The undead woman might have felt like she lost, but Siobhan didn’t care; having a loser made someone else a winner.