Neon pink light pulsed from the ceiling fixtures in slow, rhythmic waves, casting everything in a shade that made the faded floral wallpaper look almost intentional.
The carpet was a shade of purple that had probably been expensive once, back when the building was new, back before the neighborhood had become what it was, a graveyard of convenience stores and pachinko parlors and dreams that had died somewhere between the bubble economy and the witch hunts.
The air smelled of artificial vanilla, stale cigarette smoke, and something sweeter that she'd learned not to identify.
Three AM.
Elara adjusted her uniform for the fifth time that hour.
The collar was too tight. The skirt was too short.
"I feel like a hooker."
She pushed her cleaning cart down the corridor, the wheels squeaking in protest with every revolution. Her uniform, a pink polyester nightmare that fit poorly and breathed worse, clung to her skin despite the building's aggressive air conditioning. The name tag pinned to her chest read "Elara".
"This is so stupid, so unbelievably stupid."
A witch from the Miller family, working the graveyard shift at a love hotel.
"I wish I was as strong as her, then I wouldn't have to work this stupid ass job, for fuck's sake I get paid less than a part timer."
The whole thing was the color of cheap champagne and smelled faintly of bleach and someone else's desperation. She'd been working here for three months.
"Even the goddamn Academy won't let me in, even that factory would be better than this."
Elara pressed her lips together and kept pushing the cart.
The hallway on the second floor was dimmer than the lobby, the emergency lights casting everything in a sickly orange glow. Room 204 was at the end, its door slightly ajar, a sliver of golden light spilling through the gap.
She should have knocked.
She knew she should have knocked.
So she pushed the door open.
[What in the world is this smell?]
Incense, thick and cloying, layered over something sweeter, honey, maybe, or jasmine, or something else entirely, something that made her head swim.The room was dark except for the candles, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, arranged in patterns that seemed to shift when she looked away.
On the bed, on the floor, draped across chairs and sprawled across the windowsill. Men and women, their clothes discarded, their skin gleaming with sweat and candlelight. They were beautiful, every single one of them, the kind of beautiful that made her chest ache with something she couldn't name.
And in the center of it all, propped up on pillows that seemed too plush to be real.
A woman sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, her long dark hair falling in waves around bare shoulders. Her skin seemed to glow in the dim light, not the sallow flush of exhaustion or the fevered sweat of passion.
She had hair the color of Sakura in winter, pale and pink and falling in waves across shoulders that seemed to catch the light. Her lips were curved in a smile that was neither kind nor cruel, just... there. Present. Inevitable.
Elara almost threw up.
The woman was naked. She didn't seem to mind.
"Hello," she said. Her voice was low, musical, the kind of voice that made Elara think of cellos and slow dances and things she'd never had. "You're late."
Elara's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I, the key, the front desk, "
"You're wondering why I didn't answer the phone." The woman tilted her head, and the movement sent ripples through the bodies around her, people shifting to accommodate her. "Let's just say that…I was busy."
Elara's eyes finally managed to look away from the woman's face. The bodies. The candles.
"You're a witch," she said.
The woman laughed.
It was the most beautiful sound Elara had ever heard.
"I'm something," the woman said. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the nearest body, a man with dark hair and darker eyes, his chest still heaving, and he shuddered, pressed closer, made a sound that was almost a whimper. "But 'witch' is such a limited term, don't you think? So... human."
Elara's hand tightened on the doorframe.
"I can come back later if you want to."
"No." The woman's smile widened. "I think you should stay."
Elara's nerves twitched, her face still faking a smile.
"I really should get going now."
The sheet that had been pooled in her lap fell away, and she made no move to cover herself. Her body was perfect in the way that bodies in magazines were perfect, airbrushed, impossible, designed to be looked at rather than touched. "Come on."
She walked toward Elara.
Not fast. Not slow.
The woman studied her for a long moment, her amber eyes tracing the line of Elara's jaw, the curve of her neck, the way her fingers trembled against the wood. Then she crooked one finger, a lazy gesture.
Something nasty that sent a shiver down Elara's spine.
"Come here."
Elara didn't move.
The woman's eyebrows rose.
"Come here," she repeated, and there was something different in her voice now, something that hummed beneath the words like a current beneath still water. Something that pulled.
Elara's foot lifted.
She set it back down.
"No."
The word came out flat. Final. It surprised her as much as it seemed to surprise the woman, whose smile flickered for just a moment.
"You're feisty aren't you?" the woman asked. "No one usually rejects me."
"I just did."
The silence stretched between them.
She stopped inches from Elara.
Close enough that Elara could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Close enough that the scent of her, something floral, something sweet, something Elara couldn't name, filled her lungs.
"I'm Rose," the woman said. Her lips curved. "What's your name, little witch?"
Elara didn't flinch.
"Elara."
"Elara." Rose tasted the name like wine, rolling it across her tongue. Her hand came up, fingers brushing against Elara's cheek. Her touch was warm, almost hot, and Elara felt something stir in her chest that she immediately suppressed. "I want to sleep with you."
Elara stepped back.
"Your room is ready to be cleaned," she said. "If you're going to leave."
Her eyes caught the candlelight and held it, flickered with something that might have been hunger or might have been loneliness.
"Stay with me tonight. Let me show you what you're missing."
Elara looked at the bodies behind her. At the candles.
[Slut. I could never, I could never have the time for all of this.]
"I have the morning shift tomorrow," she said.
The woman blinked.
It was the first human thing she'd done.
"The morning shift," she repeated, like the words were foreign.
"I need to be up by six."
"You're telling me no because of your morning shift."
"Excuse me miss, but I'm not going to sleep with a random woman I just met, and I am an employee, I could get fired for something like that." Elara stepped back, out of reach, her spine straightening.
[And because I don't want to get any STDs]
The woman stared at her.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the woman laughed again, softer this time, almost wondering.
"You're not affected," she said. Not a question.
Elara didn't answer. She grabbed her cleaning cart and pushed past Rose into the room, already reaching for the fresh linens stacked on the cart's lower shelf.
Behind her, Rose laughed.
"How interesting," Rose murmured. "How very, very interesting."
Rose didn't leave.
Elara noticed her thirty minutes later, leaning against the wall near the employee entrance, now dressed in a simple black dress that somehow made her look more naked than she had been in the room. Her dark hair was still loose, still perfect, and her amber eyes tracked Elara's movements with lazy interest.
"What are you doing?" Elara asked.
"Watching."
"Why?"
Rose's smile widened. "Because you're interesting."
"You're stalking me," Elara said.
"I'm simply observing you." Rose fell into step beside her, close enough that Elara could smell jasmine and honey and something electric. "There's a huge difference."
"Is there?"
"I'm not hiding."
Elara stopped walking. Turned to face her.
"What do you want? Is it because I didn't sleep with you?"
Her head tilted, that bird-like movement that made her seem less human, more something else. "You're an enigma, usually people would be extremely willing to throw themselves at me."
"Well I'm not going to throw myself at you."
"Would you tell me why not?"
"Because I'm not interested."
Rose smiled. It was a real smile, not the practiced curve she'd worn in the love hotel. It made her look younger. Almost vulnerable. "Usually lust would get the better of most people, men or women alike, but you sure do have a lot of self control."
"Is that so strange?"
"To me?" Rose's smile faded. "Yes. Very."
They walked in silence for a block. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets empty except for the occasional car and the distant sound of sirens somewhere in the distance.
"I don't understand you," Rose said finally.
"Good."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Anyways goodbye, I don't want to see you again."
Elara turned and walked toward the break room. Her shift was over. She needed to clock out, change into her own clothes, and walk the forty-five minutes back to the tiny apartment she could barely afford.
Rose followed.
Not close enough to be obvious. Just close enough that Elara could feel her presence like a warmth at her back, like breath on her neck.
In the break room, Elara pulled off the pink polyester uniform and stuffed it into her locker. She'd wash it at home. She always washed it at home, because the industrial detergent the hotel used made her skin break out.
She pulled on her own clothes, black jeans that had seen better days, a gray hoodie with a hole in the left sleeve, sneakers that squeaked when she walked, and turned to find Rose sitting on the break room couch.
The couch was stained. Threadbare. The kind of furniture that belonged in a dumpster.
"You're still here," Elara said.
"I'm still curious."
"About why I'm not sleeping with you?"
Rose rose. Crossed the room. Stopped inches from Elara, just like before.
"Kind of," she said. "Your mana tastes strange." Her head tilted.
Elara stared blankly at her, her face hiding an annoyance that made her grind her teeth together.
[Why is this crazy woman following me, I just want to be left alone damn it]
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." Rose's voice was soft, almost affectionate. "But that's okay. I like liars. They're more interesting than people who tell the truth."
She stepped back.
"Walk with me."
"No."
Elara stared at her. Rose stared back. The fluorescent lights of the break room hummed their eternal song, and somewhere in the building, a door opened and closed.
"Fine," Elara said. "I doubt my words will deter you anyways."
[It's not like the police will give a shit about me anyways, I'm a witch, my life doesn't matter]
Rose's smile was radiant.
The city felt quiet.
The crowds had thinned to stragglers, couples arguing outside bars, homeless men curled in doorways, delivery drivers smoking cigarettes on curbs. The streetlights cast everything in shades of orange and shadow, and the air smelled of rain that hadn't quite arrived.
Elara walked with her hands in her hoodie pockets, her shoulders hunched, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead. Rose walked beside her, close enough that their arms almost touched, her bare feet silent on the concrete.
"You're not wearing shoes," Elara observed.
"I don't like them."
"You're weird."
Rose looked forward.
"The night, isn't it pretty?"
"Are you trying to seduce me again?"
Elara held herself in her own arms, turning away from Rose.
"Is that all you think of me?"
"Yea, you're a perverted stalker and a whore."
"How hurtful."
They walked in silence for a while. The city opened up around them, storefronts shuttered, traffic lights cycling through empty intersections. A group of men spilled out of a bar ahead, laughing too loud, stumbling too close.
"Look," one of them said, his eyes landing on Rose. "Hey, look at this one."
His friends turned.
Rose didn't acknowledge them. Didn't slow. Didn't speed up. Just kept walking, her bare feet silent on the pavement, her dark hair swaying with each step.
"Hey, sweetheart," another man called. "Where you going so fast?"
Elara's shoulders tensed.
She'd been here before. Not exactly here, but close enough. The feeling of eyes on her skin, the calculation in their voices, the way they moved to block the sidewalk without seeming to.
Rose kept walking.
"You're a pretty thing, aren't you?" The first man stepped into their path. His breath smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, and his eyes were bloodshot in the orange light. "What's a girl like you doing out here so late?"
Rose stopped.
She looked at him.
"You're not my type, move," she said, her eyes glowed a hot pink that peered into his very soul.
The man blinked.
Something flickered across his face, confusion, maybe, or the beginning of fear. His friends had gone quiet behind him.
"I, " He stepped aside. "Sorry. Sorry, I didn't, "
Rose walked past him without another glance.
"I thought you'd fuck everything with a pulse."
She ran her fingers through her hair. "I like my prey a little more appetizing."
[Aughh]
Elara shivered.
[She's describing the people she sleeps with as prey, she really must be a narcissist, but when you look like that]
She glanced over to Rose.
[You can't judge her for thinking that way, if only I had something going for me]
They walked another block. The rain that had been threatening finally began to fall, light at first, then heavier, soaking through Elara's hoodie, plastering her hair to her forehead.
Rose didn't seem to notice. The rain slid off her skin like water off oil, leaving her dry, leaving her untouched.
Elara rolled her eyes.
[The primordials must really favor her, fuckin princess]
They stopped in front of Elara's apartment building. It was a squat, ugly thing, its brick facade stained with decades of city grime, its windows barred against the world. The lobby light flickered in its death throes, casting the entrance in uneven pulses of yellow.
"This is my house," Elara said.
Rose looked up at the building. Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted. Something that might have been curiosity or might have been pity.
"You live here?"
"I work at a love hotel. What did you expect? And you were the one that wanted to follow me."
Rose was quiet for a moment.
"Can I come up?"
"No."
"Elara."
Elara met her eyes. Those amber eyes, ancient and young and hungry all at once.
"I don't know what you want," Elara said. "But I'm too tired to figure it out tonight. Go home. I don't want to look at your picture perfect smile anymore."
She turned and walked.
The next night, Elara stopped at a burger joint on her way to work.
She pushed through the glass door, the bell above it chiming with a cheerful dissonance. The place was nearly empty at this hour, just a few stragglers hunched over greasy trays, their faces illuminated by the pale glow of their phones.
The air smelled of old fryer oil, disinfectant, and the particular sadness of food that had been sitting under heat lamps too long.
"I need a drink," Elara muttered, sliding into a booth near the back.
[Fuck, I'm failing my classes. No matter how goddamn hard I study, it's like I was built to not succeed in the first place]
Rose followed her inside, her bare feet silent on the checkered floor. The few customers who noticed her did double-takes, their eyes tracing the impossible lines of her body, the fall of her dark hair, the way the cheap fluorescent light seemed to bend around her like she wasn't quite there.
She slid into the booth across from Elara, her amber eyes sweeping the room with the lazy disinterest of a cat surveying its domain.
"You eat here often?" Rose asked.
"I don't have the time to cook and I can't afford anywhere else."
"Fair point."
"Are you going to keep following me forever?" she muttered.
"I haven't decided yet."
Behind the counter, a man with dark circles under his eyes and a nametag that read "Elmer" was methodically wiping down the grill.
Beside him, a woman with a smile that didn't quite fit her face was stacking cups.
Grace.
Rose's eyes were glued to her face. Her amber irises flickered, something passing through them that might have been recognition or might have been something else entirely.
Then she looked away.
"You're looking rather intently, someone you know?" Elara asked.
"No." Rose's voice was flat.
"Or are you just looking at her because she's pretty."
"Maybe."
The bell above the door chimed again.
An old man shuffled in, his back bent, his hands gnarled, his eyes milky with age. He wore a coat that had been expensive once, maybe decades ago, and his shoes were polished to a shine that seemed almost aggressive in its defiance of his general decrepitude.
He ordered a coffee. Black. Paid with exact change. And then he turned.
His eyes found Elara.
He was maybe seventy, maybe older, his face a roadmap of wrinkles and age spots, his back curved with decades of labor or the simple weight of living. His clothes were neat but cheap, a button-down shirt tucked into polyester pants, and his hands trembled slightly.
Elara stepped around him.
"Witch."
The voice came from behind her.
Elara turned.
"I, "
"You people," the old man said. "You think you can just walk around like normal people. Like you're not dangerous."
Elara didn't bat an eye.
"Hmm."
"I can smell it on you, that wretched stench" the old man continued. He didn't move from the counter, but his voice carried across the empty restaurant like a stone skipping across still water. "That taint. That rot. You think you can hide it, but you can't. It's in your blood. In your bones. In the way you breathe."
Elara didn't respond.
"I had a daughter once," the old man said. "One of you fucking witches killed her right in front of me. It's all your goddamn fault!"
His voice cracked on the last words.
Rose watched him with an expression of mild curiosity, her chin propped on her hand, her amber eyes fixed on his face like she was trying to decipher a particularly interesting puzzle.
"What do you want me to do about it?" Elara asked. "I didn't do anything."
"I want you to leave." The old man's voice was quiet now. "I want you to go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and leave decent people alone."
"I'm just trying to eat a burger."
"You're trying to poison us. With your presence. With your kind." His hands were shaking now, wrapped around his coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "I can feel it. In my chest. In my head. You're doing something to me."
Elara looked at Rose.
Rose raised an eyebrow.
"Well?" Elara said.
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to say something? Do something?"
Rose tilted her head. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to intervene?"
"He's insulting me."
"Is he?" Rose's gaze drifted to the old man, then back to Elara. "He seems upset. Perhaps he has good reason."
"Really?"
"I don't understand people very well," Rose admitted. Her voice was light, almost careless. "Anyways you've been quite clear about not wanting anything from me. About not wanting me at all."
"I'm simply observing." Rose leaned back in her seat, her hands folded in her lap. "Isn't that what you wanted? For me to leave you alone?"
The old man was still talking. Something about purification, about cleansing, about the natural order of things. His voice rose and fell, a tide of grievance that had been building for years, decades, maybe his whole life.
Elara stared at the old man.
"I don't really care about what he's telling me, he's just really annoying. Can't you do something about it?"
"If you sleep with me."
"Yea, no thanks."
The old man's voice had risen to a trembling crescendo. His coffee cup rattled against the counter, sloshing dark liquid over the rim and onto his trembling fingers. He didn't seem to notice.
"-and you think you can just sit there like nothing's wrong, like you're not-"
"Sir."
Elmer's voice cut through the din like a dull knife, not sharp enough to slice cleanly but sufficient to interrupt. He'd stopped wiping the grill, his dark-circled eyes fixed on the old man with an expression of profound exhaustion.
"You need to leave."
The old man's head snapped toward him. "I'm a paying customer."
"You've been harassing that girl and causing trouble to everyone else here." Elmer gestured vaguely with his spatula. "I don't get paid enough to deal with this. Either sit down and drink your coffee or get out."
The old man's mouth opened. Closed. His milky eyes darted from Elmer to Elara to Rose, who hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, hadn't done anything except watch with that same expression of detached curiosity.
"I'm not-"
"Out, or I'm going to have to call the authorities."
"Now."
The old man left.
His coffee sat untouched on the counter, still steaming, still sloshing against the sides of the cup. The bell above the door chimed as he shuffled through it, his back bent, his shoulders hunched, all the bluster drained out of him like air from a punctured tire.
The silence stretched.
Elmer stared at Grace. Her eyes staring back at him, those unnatural pupils unfit for a human.
"You okay?" he asked.
Grace turned to him. Her eyes were warm again, her smile soft, and she looked exactly like the woman who'd been stacking cups moments ago.
"What?" she said. "You humans can be so observant when there's no need to."
"He was screaming."
"I didn't notice."
Behind the counter, Elmer watched them with an expression of tired resignation. He'd seen stranger things in this restaurant. Probably. Grace had gone back to stacking cups, her movements fluid, almost mechanical, her smile still fixed in place.
"So lady, are you going to order something?" Elmer called out. "Or are you just going to sit there holding hands all night?"
Elara's face flushed, looking away from Rose.
She pulled her hand free.
"I'll have a burger," she said. "And fries. And a milkshake."
"What kind of milkshake?"
"Chocolate."
Rose leaned back in her seat, her hands folded in her lap, her amber eyes fixed on Grace.
"I'll have the same," she said.
Elmer stared at her.
"Kayy."
The restaurant was quiet.
The few other customers had hunched lower over their phones, pretending not to have noticed the confrontation, pretending not to notice the two women in the corner booth, pretending not to notice anything at all.
Elara stared at the table.
The laminate was peeling at the edges, revealing particle board beneath.
"Why are you really here?" she asked.
Rose was quiet for a moment.
"What are you asking me?"
"Are you really just following me around so that you can sleep with me?"
"Yes."
"What do you even find interesting about me?"
"Nothing." Rose's smile widened. "You're not interesting. That's what makes you interesting."
"That's counter intuitive."
Behind the counter, the fryer hissed. The milkshake machine whirred to life.
"I don't understand you," Elara said.
"You don't have to."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
Rose considered the question. Her head tilted, that bird-like movement that made her seem less human, more something else.
"No," she said finally. "I don't think it is."
The milkshakes arrived first.
Two tall glasses, the contents pale brown and topped with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry. Elmer set them down without ceremony, his dark eyes flickering from Elara to Rose and back again.
"Burgers'll be a few minutes," he said.
"Thanks."
He nodded and retreated behind the counter.
Elara picked up her milkshake. The glass was cold against her palm, beaded with condensation. She took a sip. It was too sweet, the way chocolate milkshakes always were at this place, cloying and artificial and exactly what she needed.
Rose didn't touch hers.
"You're not going to drink it," Elara said.
"Well give it to me then," Elara took the drink from her hands. "I barely have the money to even eat sometimes."
The burgers arrived. Two plates piled high with greasy meat, limp lettuce, and fries that had definitely been under the heat lamp too long. Elmer set them down with the same lack of ceremony, retreated behind the counter, and busied himself with cleaning tasks that didn't need doing.
Elara picked up her burger.
It was too big for her mouth. Grease soaked through the paper wrapper, dripped onto her fingers, onto the plate. She bit into it anyway, and it was perfect, salty and savory and exactly what she needed.
Rose watched her eat.
Her expression hadn't changed. She leaned forward slightly, her chin propped on her hand, her amber eyes fixed on Elara's face with an intensity that made Elara's skin prickle.
"What?" Elara asked, her mouth full.
"Nothing."
Elara swallowed.
"You're weird."
"So you've said."
They sat in silence for a while. The restaurant's ambient noise filled the space, the hum of the ventilation system, the distant sizzle of the grill, the occasional clink of cups being stacked.
A group of teenagers spilled in, loud and laughing, their voices filling the empty spaces. They took the booth by the window, their phones already out, their conversations already overlapping.
Elara looked away, back down at her half-eaten burger, her cooling fries, her melting milkshake.
"I have to go to work soon," she said.
"I know."
"Are you going to follow me?"
Rose's head tilted.
"Do you want me to?"
Elara didn't answer.
She finished her burger in silence, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and stood. Her reflection stared back at her from the dark window, pale and tired and young.
"I'm leaving," Elara said. "I have work."
Rose stood.
The night air was cool against Elara's skin.
The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and shining, the streetlights reflected in puddles like scattered coins.
Rose walked beside her, bare feet silent on the wet pavement.
"I'll follow you then."