Hello and welcome to the second part of my piece for Resbang 2017!

This was my first resbang, and I had an absolute blast. I had the great fortune to be paired up with two wonderful people and amazing artists, thefishywitch and marshofsleep, both of whom helped me out immensely with suggestions, and overall enthusiasm! Please check out their art on their tumblr (links in profile), and I highly recommend listening to marshofsleep's playlist on either 8tracks or on Youtube- she captured the essence of this fic perfectly.

I also was blessed with beautiful betas who truly helped me whip this monstrosity into shape, even though they were all busy with their own fics - thank you redphlox, sillytwinstars, khaleesimaka and marshofsleep!

This will be posted in three parts, two of which (Pacts, Allies) will be posted today and the last of which I will continue working on.

I hope you enjoy!

It's gotten colder in the month and a half since Soul's world had been turned upside down while his chest got sliced open. He shivers, hunching further into his winter jacket as he gets out of the car. Maka eyes him as she unscrews the gas cap to the jeep, and he rolls his eyes. "Just chilly," he grumbles. "Stein gave me the clean bill of health, I'm fine."

She sighs. "Fine, whatever. Go get us some snacks, would you?"

It's at least warm in the tiny gas station, and Soul shucks his hat, running a hand through his hair. He gives the attendant a nod and a mumbled " 'Lo" before bending down to peruse the items below the counter.

He picks up a bag of chips and a packet of Twizzlers, grabs couple of Slim Jims for Maka and actual beef jerky for him, and finishes it off with some sunflower seeds. "Just these," he tells the woman, digging into his jeans for his wallet.

There's no responding price named, and Soul looks up to find the woman staring at him. "Um," he says politely. "How much will that be?"

She frowns at him, eyes narrowing, and for a minute he's afraid that she's recognized him somehow, aged him up from his missing posters, or mistaken him from Wes. He gives her a smile, trying to play it cool. "Sorry, is there something -"

The woman visibly shudders, taking a step back. Over her shoulder, Soul can see himself reflected in the glass between the counter and the back room - white hair, demonic red eyes, sharp, shark-like teeth -

"Leave," the attendant says firmly, though she doesn't move any closer. "We don't - we don't serve people like you here."

"W…what do you -"

"Freaks," she emphasizes, crossing her arms. "This is a Christian town. There's no place for you…you devil worshippers or whatever kind of thing you think you are."

"I - I'm not," he begins, but the taste of smoke and brimstone burns in his throat, his own maniacal laughter echoing in his ears -

The smallest snicker slips from under the black door in his mind, and he aims a vicious mental kick at it.

"I'm just - this is a condition," he lies, holding his hands up "I'm, um, albino -"

"Albinos don't have those kind of teeth," she sneers, and snatches his snacks from the counter. "I'm gonna give you one last chance - leave before I call the cops."

Bitter wind assaults him as he steps back out into the cold. He keeps his head down and walks quickly to the jeep, refusing to look at anything but the cracked asphalt. The car door slams behind him, and he hunches over the heating vents, trying to focus on the buffeting of the air on his face instead of the squeezing pain in his chest.

Cold blows in again and the jeep's frame sighs as Maka gets in. "What happened?" she asks immediately, craning her neck to try and look him in the face.

"N…nothing," he says. He turns away, only to be met with another reflection in the window, and jerks his head sharply back around to stare at the dashboard.

"Soul…"

"I just - not right now, okay?" he bites out, clenching his fists, desperately trying to block out the sound of shushing blood, the feeling of Medusa's tongue against his teeth -

"I'm not -" he finds himself mumbling, fingers pressing into his thighs, "I can't…everyone can tell, now, can't they, like Liz 'n Patty - my hair, my eyes, my teeth, they're -"

"Still working, so who cares?" she says harshly.

"They're fucking terrifying, Maka!" he snaps. "Don't even try to say otherwise, I know what I look like - I've seen myself in the mirror! I look like a - like a monster, and, and worse I-"

He forces himself to break off, but his mind finishes the rest of his sentence for him – I think I'm becoming one too.

"Did someone say something to you in there?" Maka demands, already half rising out of the driver's seat, and Soul rushes to pull her back down.

"Don't," he says firmly. "It's not worth it. We can just - we'll just get snacks from a convenience store, they've got a better selection anyway."

She glares at him as if he's in the wrong for stopping her from beating up some minimum wage worker, chin raised and stubborn frown on her face. "No, Maka," he repeats, and she holds her gaze for a minute longer before sighing and settling back into the seat.

"Fine," she grumbles. "This place is shit anyway." She cuts a glance over at him, saying, "They probably were just jealous of your good looks, you know, not your - extra stuff."

"That's not -" He pauses, words catching up to him. "Wait, you think -"

"There's a Kwik Mart in Neosho," she interrupts. "We'll make a quick stop, then keep going," and the engine rumbles as she starts the car.

This time, Soul insists on Maka going in to get snacks alone, and she does so with minimal complaining. He leans his face against the window, glass cold under his cheek, and stares at himself. Blood red irises flicker down his face, and he peels back a lip to scrutinize the jagged edges to his teeth.

He breathes over his reflection, letting the condensation cloud over and blur his features. He uses the tip of his finger to draw in two dots and a zigzag underneath them, then immediately rubs it away, feeling like a child.

He startles when he hears the trunk open, turning, but it closes again and Maka slides into the driver's seat. "Here," she says, tossing something at him.

"What's this?" he asks, squinting suspiciously at the package wrapped shoddily in newspaper. "Thought I asked for chips."

She rolls her eyes. "Just open it."

He does so cautiously, careful of his fingers in case it's a blade or something equally dangerous. Nestled inside the newsprint is a simple wooden pendant, symbols burned into it. "What…is it?" he asks, letting it dangle in his hands. He recognizes some of them - a pentagram, an ankh, the eye of Horus, and, on the backside, his own personal gremlin doodle.

"A protective amulet," she replies. "It's supposed to stop demons from tracking you. Tsubaki told me about it, Papa helped me with making it."

"It…kind of looks like a kindergartener made it."

She swats his arm. "Asshole. Just wear it, okay?"

Soul slips the amulet over his neck. It settles over his chest. "Thanks," he says, fiddling with it. "But uh…why wrap it? Why not just give it to me?"

"It's a present. Duh." At his blank look, she says, slowly, "Because…it's your birthday? November 25th?"

God, was it really November already? It felt like just a few weeks ago he was waking up at Spirit's and Stein's, only a month since the caves and the arachne…only a few more since the crossroads…

He automatically accepts the steaming coffee Maka offers him, and she pushes a slightly smushed cupcake wrapped in clingwrap into his other hand. "Birthday cake," she says, giving him a smile. "No candles though, sorry."

" 'S okay." He takes a bite, and does his best not to show his grimace at its stale, too sweet taste. The coffee burns his tongue as he takes a swig of it, but he relishes the pain and the subsequent numbness, trying not to focus on the fact that this may be the last birthday he ever has -

"Happy twenty-second," Maka says, and if she understands the significance of this one in particular, she doesn't show it.

"Thanks," he mutters.

She crumples up her plastic wrap, careful to catch all the crumbs, and tosses it back into the shopping bag. "Okay, so now so what do we have?"

Grateful for the distraction, he sets his food and drink down, and pulls out a scrap of paper. "Spirit got a tip off from some hunter that was passing through Eaton, Ohio, a week or so ago. Heard some rumors of one of the librarians in town had been acting strange, things like assaulting people and muttering to himself. Doesn't seem to remember any of it afterwards, either."

Maka looks at him. "That's it? Just some man who might be developing dementia?"

Soul shakes his head. "He's only in his thirties. And look -" He taps on his looping script. "Weird weather going on there. Unusual amount of electrical storms in the area, especially considering it's November. Could be demonic activity."

"So a possible schizophrenic and climate change."

"Yeeeeeah, I know, not a lot to go on. But hey, we wanted a demon job as soon as we could get one, so…" He shrugs.

Maka sighs. "Let's just get this over with." She reaches for the keys in the ignition, but pauses, and cuts a glance at him. "If…if you're okay with that?"

He rolls his eyes. "You don't have to keep asking me." He bumps her with his elbow. "We made a promise, remember? I'll tell you if I have a problem with what we're doing."

"I know," she says, fiddling with her cup. "I just…I just want to make sure. That you didn't want to do something different."

"Maka." He places a hand on her arm, waiting until she turns to look at him. "I'll go wherever you go," he says, serious. "Promise."

She rewards him with a smile. "Likewise," she says quietly, and starts the car.

Maka scrutinizes the stacks by the light of her flashlight. Her fingers brush reverently against the book spines, and she breathes in the scent of old pages. "Stuff Matters: Exploring the Marvelous Materials That Shape Our Man-Made World," she mutters, picking it up.

"Hey," She flinches as Soul cuts his flashlight to her. "Are you - what are you doing."

She jumps. "N-nothing."

"What. Are you doing." The beam of light gets closer as Soul approaches her.

"H-how are the preparations going, did you get the traps drawn?" she asks, desperately trying to hide her bag behind her, but Soul's too clever and knows her too well to be fooled. He comes to a stop in front of her, frowning.

"You can't steal books from a library!" he says sternly, reaching for it.

"Why not?!" she protests, hugging a book to her chest. "It's not like I can get a library card. How else would I be able to read this without having to pay?"

He gives her an unimpressed look. "Put the book away. You have too many already, anyway, it's like we're hauling around the library of Alexandria in the back of the jeep."

She pouts, but complies. Maybe after they wrap up here, she can beg a day of recovery and sneak out to read it. Maybe she can fish up some change to make copies, or sneak in her phone to take pictures…

Something pokes at her. "Maka. Pay attention. Did you finish salting the perimeter?"

She nods, marshalling her thoughts back into order. "Yeah. Devil's trap in place?"

"Front entrance and back."

"Good." She hesitates, then tugs on his sleeve. "Soul, if I…if I…"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't use your powers," she says in a rush.

Soul's face turns mulish. "The only good thing - the only purpose behind them is to be able to protect you. If you're in danger -"

"I know," she says quickly. "But we still don't know what Medusa did, and I just don't…I don't want things to escalate."

He looks away, expressionless. "Hey, no, don't," she says, turning his head back to face her. She lets her hand linger on the rough stubble of his jaw as she says, "Talk to me. You promised."

He makes as if to say something, then pauses, blowing out a breath of air. "I don't trust her either," he admits quietly. "But I won't just stand by while you get hurt or - or worse." His eyes search hers, pleading, and she can see the unspoken words in their deep red depths.

"Just…" She sighs. "Only if it's an emergency. Please."

Soul frowns, but reluctantly nods. "Okay. Only if it's an emergen-"

He quiets suddenly, swinging the light towards the back of the building. There's a scuffling from the back door, and Maka's hand creeps towards the shotgun strapped to her back. The rattle of the doorknob has them both ducking behind the shelves, and the door eases open. Something steps through…and doesn't stop.

"I thought you put devil traps down at both doors!" she hisses over the loud footsteps.

"I did!" Soul insists over loud footsteps and the thump of books being swept from the stacks.

It begins to occur to her that perhaps they should have done a little more research and come up with a better plan than hoping that the first person to come in the door would be the possessed librarian, and from Soul's pained expression he's starting to realize the same thing.

He tries to peek around the corner. "I don't know why - wait, where did they go?"

She leans out but whoever came in is no longer in sight.

Something tickles the back of her neck and she spins, drawing her knife. Impossibly strong hands grip her forearm, and it's instinct more than anything that has her blade flicking out to defend herself. It slices through the stranger's shirt, and the figure grunts, doubling over.

"Oh fuck," she swears, dropping the knife.

"Maka?!"

"Maka?" the man wheezes.

"I'm fine, Soul," she tosses back sharply. "Just may have, um, stabbed him." She kneels down beside the man, ignoring Soul's outraged squawk, and her hands hover near where he clutches his abdomen. "Are you okay? Don't make any sudden movements -"

"Maka," he repeats, and something about the way he says her name makes her pause. "Jesus christ, what the fuck did you stab me for!"

Her jaw drops open. "Black*Star?" she gasps.

The flashlight illuminates familiar wild blue hair, scruffy beard, and pouting expression. She hears Soul suck in a breath as Black*Star's hand comes away from his stomach, bloody.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, grip loosening on her weapon as she stares.

"What am I doing? What are you doing here, and why are you just stabbing random people in the middle of the night? You know that's not the right way to get rid of a spirit!"

"A spirit?" she echoes. Soul's muttering something in the background, but she ignores him over the dawning realization of their stupidity. "There's a spirit here?"

Black*Star cocks his head to the side. "Uh, yeah? The one that's been possessing the librarians here? Needed to grab the book he's haunting to get rid of him. That's why you were here too right?" He grimaces as he rubs his stomach. "That hurt," he complains.

"Oh shut up, you big baby, there's probably not even a wound there anymore."

"True," Black*Star concedes. "But this was my favorite shirt."

Soul's stopped talking, and is watching their exchange with wide eyes. "So…" he says slowly. "We…don't need an ambulance then?"

"Pfft." He jabs a thumb at Maka. "Like this one could do any harm to me with that little butterknife."

"You were just whining about how much it hurt!"

"Barely stung." His eyes narrow, and he tilts his head. "Who - or what, I guess - are you? What are you doing with Ma -"

The wail of a distant siren cuts through his question, and Soul says, "I, um, may have panicked and already called 911."

They take a look at the state of the library; salt lining the windows, chalked key of Solomon acting as welcoming mats, guns poking out from the duffel bag on the floor. Faintly, Maka can make out the distant wail of sirens.

"Yeah, that -"

"Good idea, definitely -"

"I'll just, uh, grab the book then -"

Flashing lights filter through the windows as the three of them make a mad dash for the exit.

"You're really not hurt?" Soul's asking, crouching beside Black*Star in the bushes as they wait for the EMTs to clear out.

"Of course not," Black*Star scoffs, picking leaves out of his clothing. "Iron's nothin' to a werewolf."

Soul blinks, but takes it in stride. "And…you're really Black*Star?" he asks. "Black*Star, the guy who once accidentally dyed Maka's hair purple? Who once got her kicked out of an arcade because he tried to start a game of dodgeball with Skee-balls when she beat him at DDR?"

"In the flesh," Black*Star says, preening. He squints at him. "I'm gonna ask again - who and what are you?"

"Human," Maka says forcefully before he can respond. "And he's my partner."

Black*Star's eyebrows shoot up. "Partner? Like…hunting partner or lover part-"

"Hunting," Maka says quickly, "he's my hunting partner."

If anything, his expression becomes more incredulous at her correction.

Soul coughs. "Soul Evans," he says politely, holding out his hand.

Black*Star looks at it, and then at him, taking in his strange looks. Soul's hand begins to waver with uncertainty, but before he can take it away, Black*Star breaks into a grin. "I'd tell you my name, but you already know it, of course," he says pompously as he shakes it. Maka rolls her eyes.

"If you two are done, I think we're safe to head back to our vehicles now," she says, watching the ambulance drive off.

"All right!" Black*Star exclaims, jumping out of the shrubbery. "I'm gonna go burn this -" he waves his stolen book around, "but if you two don't have another case lined up, I've got a tip-off in Indiana that you could stick around for…"

"You told me once that the only good monster is a dead one." Soul leans against the doorframe, dark eyes burning into hers. "Neglected to mention that your oldest friend happens to be a werewolf."

Maka stuffs her clothes into her suitcase. "He's a…special case."

"How so?"

She sighs. "He's a pureblood. Born a werewolf, from what was one of the oldest werewolf packs in the country. Supposedly that makes him less likely to rip the hearts out of humans or go feral or something."

Soul tilts his head. " 'Was' the oldest pack?"

She nods. " Unlike Black*Star, they weren't really into the vegetarian diet. Metaphorically speaking. " She clicks the suitcase shut. "He was barely a month old when Mama, Papa, Sid and Nygus took the rest of them out. Sid and Nygus decided to raise him as their own, give him a chance."

"And?"

"And what? He hasn't eaten anyone yet." Maka hoists her backpack onto her shoulders. "Sticks with animal hearts, kills monsters, you know. Hunter stuff."

Soul looks dubious, but seems to accept her at her word, helping her drag their things to the car. The wind whips her pigtails every which way, and she ignores Soul's complaints of getting poked in the eye by hair as they toss their suitcases in the back.

"Star's already at the motel," she says as she slides into the passenger seat. "He's probably sleeping right now, and I think we should too once we get there - maybe we'll actually get a full eight hours for once -"

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she scrambles for it. New Email, her lock screen proclaims, and she can feel Soul's eyes on her as she quickly inputs her password and opens it.

Greetings Maka, I hope you are doing good. I want to let know that I can not find what you look for. Demon deals binding unless contractor demon release them. Do not know any way of killing demons either. I will ask others but you should ask some one else. Good luck. -Pushka

"What is it?" Soul asks.

"Nothing," she sighs, stowing her phone in her pocket. She cracks open her journal, flips to the very back, and scans Papa's list. Fifteen down, thirty more to go, she thinks as she crosses out Pushka's name. It's all right. There's still plenty of people to call, and it hasn't even been six months yet - we've got time…

Soul must have gotten over his doubts, because Maka wakes the next afternoon to the sound of howling laughter. She fumbles with the doorknob and stumbles out, yawning.

"Hey Maks!" Black*Star greets her, entirely too brightly. "About time you woke up." He's kicked back in a lawn chair parked in front of his obnoxious yellow truck, shuttered shades and board shorts on and beer in hand, looking for all the world like he's on vacation in the Bahamas instead of in Thorntown, Indiana, near the end of fall. Soul, for his part, is trying to lean all casual and cool-like against the trunk bumper, hair slicked back and lanky legs crossed at the ankle. The effect is only mostly ruined by the pair of ridiculous Mickey Mouse sunglasses.

"Nice sunglasses," she says to him.

He scowls at her. "They're cool! Black*Star said so."

"Uh huh." She hops up on the trunk bed. "I think the last person I saw wearing those was an eight-year-old. So again - nice glasses."

"Your face is nice," he mutters under his breath, and colors when she raises an eyebrow at him.

"Now children, play nice," Black*Star interjects. "Pretty sure I got a pair of YOLO ones in the back if you wanted some, Maka."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"She's always been a bit of a stick in the mud," Black*Star says to Soul. "Hey, did she ever tell you about when I tried to teach her how to play basketball?"

"No," Maka says, at the same time Soul asks, eagerly, "What happened?"

"Well," Black*Star begins, cracking his knuckles and leaning forward, "we were thirteen, and Maks was visiting, so I thought I'd challenge her to a game of basketball. And at first it was a lot of fun beating her ass into the ground, but after like, fifty points I realized she hadn't made a single basket. And that was just sad. So I tried to help her not be so pathetic, Soul, I really did. I showed her how to dribble, I coached her through shots - I even let her stand on my shoulders to reach the basket better!"

"And?"

"And nothin'," Black*Star says, shaking his head. "She couldn't make a single shot. We were out there for three hours and nadda. She didn't even come close."

"No way," Soul breathes, glancing at her.

Black*Star tilts backwards to look at Maka, smirking. "…It's true," she mutters, folding her arms. Soul bursts out laughing, beaming at her. His expression is such a contrast to the last five months, so different from the dour and brooding face he's been wearing, that she can't help but stare. He notices, though, and his smile doesn't so much drop as much as it fades, and a hand comes up to cover his mouth as he looks away. She drops her gaze to her hands, heart sinking.

"Uh oh," Black*Star says, peering at the cooler next to him. "Looks like we've only got two beers left -"

"Dibs!" Maka shouts, lunging for the bottle dangling from his hand.

"Ow, Maka, what the fuck," Soul whines, clutching his face where Maka shoved at it.

"You snooze, you lose," Maka says, tossing her hair as she uncaps her PBR.

"Says the person who slept until one in the afternoon -"

"Looks like we know who's going out to get more drinks," Black*Star says, waving his own beer in his hand.

"Man, fuck you guys," Soul says, but there's a smile curling around the corners of his lips. Maka definitely does not think it's handsome at all.

"Chop chop dude, don't want the ice to melt." Black*Star makes a shooing motion with his hand. "And get something better than this cheap-ass alcohol!" he yells at Soul's defeated retreating back.

Soul very deliberately shows both of them the backs of his middle fingers before getting in the jeep.

"Cool partner you picked up," Black*Star says casually, taking a swig of his beer. "Surprised though. Maka Albarn, teaming up with someone? And a guy? World must have really gone to shit. Whatever happened to 'boys are stupid and useless and will only get in my way'?"

"I was five," Maka says, scowling. "You ran around declaring yourself a god among men and demanding our parents give you candy when you were the same age."

"Psh, and you're telling me I wasn't right?" Black*Star makes a show of flexing his muscles, to which Maka just rolls her eyes. "You know, it wasn't that long ago that you rejected me when I asked if you wanted to hunt together." He wipes away a fake tear. "Cried myself to sleep for the last six years, thinking about it."

"Shut up." Maka swats his arm. "That was…that was different. Soul needed my help. Needs my help. And you snore as loudly as you talk, jackass, I'd never get any sleep if we teamed up permanently."

He grunts in acknowledgement, then stands up, careful not to look at her. "…Thought maybe your mom finally convinced you about me."

Maka looks away, lips pressed together in a thin line. "You know you've always been my best friend, Black*Star," she says eventually.

Black*Star laughs, a little bitter. "I'm your only friend, Maka. It's not exactly tough competition."

"Still." She twists her beer bottle in her hand, before narrowing her eyes at him. "And I do too have other friends. I've got Soul -"

"Partners don't count."

"Do too! And I've got - got -" She casts around wildly. "Tsubaki! I've got her, so that's three."

"Tsubaki? Who's that? She another hunter?"

"No, she's - she's a witch. She's pretty good too, and didn't make a deal with a demon to get that way either."

Black*Star gives a low whistle. "Maka Albarn, of the Kamashi family, associating with a witch and calling her a friend? You have changed."

Maka scowls at him, face flushing with something that feels suspiciously like shame. "N-no I haven't! It's just…I didn't…"

" 'S cool," he says, waving off her inability to explain herself. "I like the new Maka. Less stabby, more talky. Maybe a partner was what you needed after all."

"…Yeah," she says, looking out at the highway. The last time he had seen her, she had been sobbing and swearing to the god she knew didn't exist that she'd never take a partner, never ever. She supposes, compared to that, she has changed for the better.

She wonders if that's necessarily a good thing, and it brings to mind another conversation. "Do you like doing this Black*Star?" she asks.

"Doing what?"

"You know." She gestures vaguely. "Hunting."

Black*Star studies her, eyes serious and searching. "…You okay Maka? Hunting has been your dream since forever. Remember what your mom used to say? You came out of the womb -"

"- trying to strangle my own umbilical cord like it was a vampire, I know, I know." Maka sighs. "It's just…I don't know. Things have gotten…complicated lately."

"Tell me about it." He belches, and Maka wrinkles her nose before shoving at him with a foot. "I've been up to my eyeballs in shapeshifters and vampires and ghouls. Seems like as soon as I put one down another pops up again. Must be nice to have someone to at least help drive you back to your room after sawing through a couple of heads."

"I don't know how much longer Soul's going to stick around for," she confesses. "And…I don't know. The thought of going back to hunting solo…"

"Well, my offer's still on the table," Black*Star says, kicking back in the chair. "You'd be pretty much the only person who I'd want to hunt with anyway." He huffs out a breath, looking up at the gray sky. "Probably the only person who'd want to hunt with me too."

She gives him a smile, letting her affection for him shine through her veneer of constant exasperation. "Thanks Black*Star. I'll keep that in mind." She plays with the bottle top. "I was just thinking -"

"I'm so proud of you sweetheart. You know that, right?"

"Maka?"

Maka shakes her head. "Nothing." She slaps a smile on her face. "I'm probably just worrying over nothing."

Black*Star nods sagely. "Worrywart Maka, that's you." He doesn't even flinch at her punch, and she settles for scowling at him instead. "Don't know Soul that well, but I doubt he's gonna up and leave you. Not with the way he looks at you. And he seems like a good guy, he's stuck around with you and your insanely violent ways for longer than most people would've. He'd have taken off earlier if he had a problem with you."

"He might not have a choice," she mutters, choosing to ignore his comment.

"Speaking of." Black*Star nods to the road, where the jeep has just come into view. "Looks like our delivery boy has arrived."

Maka perks up and waves. Black*Star is looking at her with a funny little grin. "What?" she asks, trying to school her face back into a neutral expression.

"Nothin', nothin', just…you sure he's just a hunting partner?"

"Black*Star," she begins, face hot.

"I'm just saying, you could do worse for yourself. Smart, loyal, easy on the eyes, even with the whole albino thing…"

"Quit it," she says, shoving him. "I am not discussing how attractive my partner is with you."

His expression turns sly. "So you do think he's attractive."

"I'm not blind, dummy," she says forcefully, wishing it felt less like a confession. "I share a car and a room with him on a daily basis, I - I can admit that he's objectively handsome."

"You sure you don't share showers with him too?"

"No," she hisses, swatting at him. "He's - we're - just, no." For so many reasons.

"Why not?" Black*Star asks more seriously, reading her face.

Where to even begin? His own feelings that probably don't match hers? His old life back in Connecticut that he's eager to pick up again, a life that she can't fit into? His deal, with a collection date that looms ever closer? But she settles on the one that she knows Black*Star would understand. "Because," she says, "you know how many ways partners-to-lovers goes wrong."

His teasing expression falls away, and he shifts uncomfortably. "…I guess," he mutters.

The slam of a door has them both turning. Soul waves a six pack in the air, grinning, and Maka can't help her own smile in response.

"Blue Moon? Hell yes," Black*Star cheers, giving Soul a fist bump. "This's perfect. Stick them in the cooler, and they'll be nice and cold once we get back from the police station." He jerks a thumb to his eyesore of a truck. "Hop in. Let's get this show on the road!"

"I fucking hate your car," Maka grits out as Black*Star's truck bounces down the road.

"What was that?!" Black*Star yells over the dulcet tones of "Move, Bitch". Maka meets Soul's eyes through the rearview mirror. They silently beg her relieve him of his suffering.

Ludacris's rapping is mercifully cut off as Maka turns off the music. "Hey!" Black*Star yelps. "I was listening to that!"

"So what are we hunting anyway?" Soul asks quickly, throwing her a grateful look.

Black*Star blows out a breath. "Five people have been killed in this town in the past month. Bodies have been found in pretty bad condition - torn to shreds, for the most part. They're calling it a wild animal, a mauling or something, but I was able to get some pics - see for yourself."

He passes a folder to her. Maka leafs through the printouts, skimming the newspaper articles and studying the black and white photos accompanying them.

"What are you thinking?" she hears Soul ask.

"Skinwalkers, maybe. Vengeful spirits. Could be rugaru, maybe even ghouls."

"It says here their hearts couldn't be accounted for," Maka says slowly. "You know…usually that means -"

Black*Star cuts her off. "Werewolves. Yeah, I know." He pulls off onto the highway exit. "It's possible, but the timing is off. The victims have all disappeared a week or two after the full moon and their bodies turn up a few days after that."

"Purebloods?"

Maka looks up to see Black*Star shrug with exaggerated casualness. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, but his face and voice are carefully neutral when he replies, "Could be. Not a lot of those around anymore though."

Twenty minutes later, Black*Star slows, turning onto a narrow side street. "We're here!" he sings as he puts the car in park.

"Finally," Maka mutters, getting out of the car. She stretches, smooths down her skirt, and gives herself a nod in the mirror before making her way over to the other side of the truck.

"Um." Maka looks at Black*Star, who is slipping into a suit jacket. "What are you doing?"

Black*Star throws a tie on, clumsily trying to knot it. "Coming with you guys, duh."

"Oh no. No no no." Maka tries to tug the tie off him, and Black*Star slaps at her fingers. "There's no way you're posing as FBI."

"C'mon Maks, lemme come in too. I've gotten better, I swear."

"What's going on?" Soul comes around, fiddling with his own tie. Maka rolls her eyes and comes over and straightens it for him, then smooths down his hair. Soul stands still with only a minimum of grumbling, looking very put upon.

Black*Star pretends to gag. "Get a room you two."

The tips of Soul's ears turn red, and Maka whirls around, glaring. Black*Star gives her a toothy grin through the side mirror, then busies himself with touching up his own appearance.

"Black*Star thinks he's coming with us to talk to the police," Maka tells Soul.

"Okay. And?"

"And he can't lie to save his life." She scowls at Black*Star. "Not to mention he pisses almost everyone else off so much that it's impossible to keep a low profile or get any information out of anyone." She pauses, fuming, before bursting out, "And what kind of FBI agent has blue hair?"

Black*Star gives himself one last wink in the mirror before turning back to them. "I've been doing this by myself for a while, you know," he says, placing a hand over his heart. "Ever since you rejected me-"

"Oh my god, just go already." She shoves past him as he cackles.

"Rejected you?" Soul asks, looking between the two of them.

Black*Star gives a wicked grin and slings an arm around Soul's shoulders. "Oh yeah, I asked Maka here to be my partner when she decided to drop out of school. But she told me she'd never partner up with anyone after what happened to her mom, and took off."

"But…" She can feel Soul's stare, curious and confused, burning into her neck.

She turns to them. "Are you guys going to stop gossiping or are we going to let the entire precinct know that we're impersonating federal officers?" she asks, hands on her hips.

Black*Star raises his arms in the air, placating, but his grin doesn't slip from his face. Worse, Soul is sporting a matching expression, one with much sharper teeth, and Maka finds herself enchanted with the softness of his smile.

"You -" she jabs a finger at Black*Star, "stay quiet and let me and Soul do the talking. And you." She turns the finger to Soul, falters, then says, "Quit smiling, we're supposed to be FBI. Come on, we don't have all day."

Thornton's police department is the appropriate size for a town that houses roughly fifteen thousand people - that is to say, it's a tiny, brick and mortar affair on a quiet street. Maka strides boldly through the front doors, subtly adjusting her blazer, before folding her hands in front of her and placing them firmly on the counter.

The man at the front desk jumps, furiously swiping away the Youtube app on his phone and jerking the headphones out of his ears. He gives her a nervous smile. "Hello, how may I help you?"

"FBI," Maka says, flipping over her badge briefly before replacing it in her coat. "Agent Kepler. These are my partners, Agent Brahe -" Soul inclines his head, "and…" she sighs, "Agent Miz."

" 'Sup," Black*Star says, giving the man a casual nod.

"…Never seen an agent with blue hair before," the man says, eyeing him.

"How many agents does a backwat-"

"The government strives to be non-discriminatory about appearance," Maka says, treading heavily on Black*Star's foot.

"Obviously," the man says, eyes having shifted to Soul's white locks and red eyes.

A short man barrels through a door and blinks at the three "agents" in the room. "Heming, who are these people?"

"FBI, or so they say, Ahab," Heming replies, frowning.

Ahab's face broadens into a smile. "Perfect! You folks here about Louis Hartford's disappearance?"

"Yyyy-es," Soul says, glancing at Maka. "That's exactly right."

"Well come in, come in!" He holds the door open for them, and they file through, Black*Star throwing a smirk at Heming. Maka resists the urge to slap him upside the head.

"You know, I got a hundred percent on my FBI entrance exam," Black*Star brags as they wind through the cubicles.

"That so, son?" Ahab responds, amused. "You know I didn't think they took kids as young as you to be officials. Don't you have to graduate from college first?"

"Oh, I already did that," Black*Star says. "I skipped a couple of grades in school 'cause I was so advanced. I'm actually a grade above her -" he points to Maka, "even though I'm a year younger."

Soul elbows her before she can respond that actually, she's only three months older, and there's no way Black*Star would have been able to skip anything except class. "If you wouldn't mind, sir," Soul says politely, "we'd like to know more about these ah, maulings. Five in the past month, correct?"

"Oh sure, sure. Think Louie's disappearance is connected to the rest of them?"

"It's a working theory."

"The bodies have been found mostly out in the woods and in just terrible shape, really. Torn to bits, chewed on, and missing some organs too, mostly hearts." He waves them through into his office, takes a seat at his desk. "We've been playing it up as a rabid animal," he continues, "but within the department, we're not so sure."

"Why's that?"

"Well, every victim we've found has had an…unusual mark on them. We've been keeping it out of the papers, don't want it to start a panic, y'see. But we've reason to believe that it might be some form of satanic cult doing ritual murders or something like that."

All three hunters look at each other. "Would we be able to see this mark?" Maka asks.

He slides a few glossy photos across to them. Maka looks down, and with a jolt, she realizes she recognizes the strange symbol carved into the forehead of the corpse. Next to her, Soul is scrutinizing the photos with a puzzled frown.

She catches Black*Star's eye, and gives him a little nod. He winks back and hops up on the desk. "So, Ahab," he begins, "you get many murders out here?"

Maka leans closer to Soul. "I've seen this before," she whispers.

He keeps his head down, hiding his teeth as he says, surprised, "So have I. I don't know where, but something about it looks familiar." His deep red eyes cut to hers, and she fights off the responding flutter of her heart.

"Of course, I've solved a hundred cases like this one. I'm an expert in these kinds of things. You're lucky that they sent me out here -"

"It was seven weeks ago, at the factory," she says. "I remember - there was graffiti, in red, and it looked fresh. I didn't get a chance to look closer, but…"

"I'm not surprised you haven't figured it out, it's hard for people who aren't as smart or as amazing as me -"

"You think it might be Arachne's doing?"

"Seems likely." She slips one of the photos into her pocket. "We should examine the bodies, find out about where this man was last seen -"

"Excuse me?"

The outraged exclamation catches both Maka and Soul's attention. Ahab's half raised out of his seat, face reddening with anger. He glowers at Black*Star.

Black*Star prattles on. "You'd never catch me dead in a place like this, it's too small for someone as big as me -" He's cut off by Ahab raising a trembling finger to point straight at him.

"You. And you. And you." He jabs towards the door. "Out. I don't want any of you on this case."

Maka glares at Black*Star and plasters on a pacifying smile. "Sir, you'd be interfering with a federal investigation -"

"So let them send more agents down to this backwater town," he declares. "Maybe then they'll take our concerns seriously, instead of sending a couple of children who clearly don't respect the station they've achieved!" He points again to the door. "Out!"

" 'I've gotten better, I swear'," Maka mimics under her breath. " 'Let me come Maka. I won't mess this up. I won't piss off the police and have us resort to breaking and entering'."

"Oh whatever, he was asking for it," Black*Star says, waving her off. "Besides, we got what we wanted, we know about the missing man and this weird symbol."

"Yeah, and instead of being shown to the morgue and talking with the medical examiner, we're out here, freezing our asses off -"

"Would you two shut up," Soul hisses, fiddling with the lock. "It's really hard to concentrate with all your bickering, and the last thing we want is someone investigating and getting us arrested."

Maka and Black*Star wage a silent war through frowns and glares until there's a click of the lock and the door swings open.

They steal down corridors, following signs to the morgue. Soul makes quick work of another lock, and then they're in.

"Which one do you think is the last victim?" Soul asks, scanning the drawers.

Black*Star sniffs, then points to one. "Probably that one. Seems freshest."

They ease the drawer open and pull back the sheet. "It's one of them, at least," Maka says, grimacing. "Look -" she points to its forehead. "Same brand as on the other one. Looks like it was carved into the flesh." She snaps a quick picture.

Soul shudders and hands her a pair of gloves. "These do look like claw marks," she says, peering closer. "Probably bigger or deeper than a normal dog or wolf could make."

"Bear, maybe?" Black*Star suggests.

"Maybe," Maka says, doubtful.

"Hey, look at this," Soul says. He turns over the corpse's hand, and all three of them crowd around it.

" 'Admit One'," Maka reads. She looks up at them. "To what?"

"The carnival." Maka folds down the newspaper. "Really?"

Soul shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "It was the only thing here that uses those types of stamps," he says. "From what I could find, it travels pretty often, but - get this - it set up on the outskirts of town about five weeks ago."

"Right around the time that all of these murders began to happen."

Soul dips his head, popping a bite of pancake into his mouth and chewing. She takes advantage of his distraction to steal a piece of his bacon; he scowls, and draws his plate closer to himself. "Anything on this missing man?" she asks.

"Not much, other than that he also happened to visit the carnival a day or two before he disappeared."

"Perfect. The ad says it opens at around seven, so we'll wait until it gets dark and head in to check it out." She swirls her scrambled eggs in ketchup, taking a mouthful before adding, "That is, if Black*Star ever wakes up."

"I saw him go for a run this morning. I texted him where we are, he'll show up eventually."

A companionable quiet settles over them between the clinking of silverware and low murmuring from the other patrons. Soul stretches, his leg leaning against hers as he readjusts to a new position. Maka tries to focus on the bland taste of her food, the cool weight of her fork, the stickiness of the booth seat, but she's too attuned to his presence, to the way his foot bumps into hers, to the warmth of him through his jeans.

She sneaks a peek at him, lingering on the relaxed line of his brow, on his long, pale eyelashes and tanned skin. The waitress comes around, trying to fill his coffee while staying as far away from possible. Maka gives her a glare over her mug, but her eyes get caught on the curl of his mouth when he gives the woman a small smile of thanks, even as she hurries away from them.

It's not like that, she had told Black*Star, had told Liz, and it was true. Despite having lived together in close proximity for five years, despite having seen and patched up practically every inch of each other's bodies, despite knowing more about the deep, dark parts of themselves than anyone else in the world, Soul had never given any hint of wanting more, and, in turn, neither had she.

And yet it's times like these, when they're doing everyday things like eating at a diner instead of burning monsters to a crisp, that she wonders. What if she were just an ordinary girl, and Soul just an ordinary boy? Would this be the beginnings of a date - breakfast followed by a trip to the carnival, and topped off with a late-night movie on an old, flickering TV? Would she still feel the way she does towards him even without knowing the triumphant grin he wears whenever he cracks a particularly difficult lock, without knowing how he trembles when they pass by train stations, without knowing the warm feeling of his back to hers as they face down the monsters that hunger for their flesh?

Would he see her differently, if she had been born into the same world he was?

"Maka?" She blinks, focuses on his eyes, dark with concern. "You okay?" he asks, frowning, furrow back between his eyebrows.

"Y-yeah," she says quickly, pulling her gaze away and resting it firmly on her toast. "Just…the food here isn't very good."

"You're telling me," he says, snorting. "I don't think the cooks here know eggs over-easy from hard-boiled."

"Mmm." She pokes at one listlessly. The sterile lines of Pushka's email run through her head as she moves her food around on her plate, and she feels selfish, suddenly, for daydreaming about fanciful relationships when he's only got -

No, she tells herself fiercely, stabbing at her scrambled eggs. That's not going to happen - he's not going to hell, I'll find a way -

"…Hey." Soul's hands come up to cover her own, and she hears him lean forward. "Maka," he says, trying to catch her eye; reluctantly, she looks up at him. "Are you sure you're all right?" His gaze is probing, worry written all over his features, and she hates being the cause of it, hates being the reason his mood turns somber and his mouth turns downwards, hates being the reason his lifespan is ticking down – the cause of everything terrible that's ever happened in his life.

She's saved from answering by the violent clanging of the bell as the diner's door bursts open. Soul withdraws his hands, leaving her feeling cold and a little lonelier than before. " 'Sup y'all!" Black*Star cries as he swaggers across the tiles and slides in beside her.

"Ugh, Star, move, you're squishing me," she complains, shoving at him. It's about as effective as trying to blow down a brick house, and Black*Star grins wolfishly at her before kicking his feet up on Soul's side of the booth.

"Soooo, any luck figuring out our mystery meat's mystery stamp?"

They fill him in as he inhales enough sausages, bacon and ham to feed a small army. His eyes grow comically wide at the mention of staking out the carnival tonight.

"This. Is. Awesome," he exclaims, nearly knocking over Maka's orange juice with his wild gestures. "A carnival?! This is the best case ever."

"Hooray," Soul deadpans, though Maka doesn't miss the way his lips twitch upwards.

"What better place to show off my amazing skills?" Both Soul and Maka struggle to keep Black*Star from jumping on the table as he declares, "I'm going to win all of the games and get all the prizes!"

"They're rigged, you idiot," Maka says, rolling her eyes. "You can't win them, they're fixed so you waste your money trying."

"Maybe you can't win them," Black*Star says, turning his nose up at her, "but nothing's impossible for someone as great as me."

"You want to bet?" she snaps, half-rising out of her seat.

Soul sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Guys…"

"You're on! Whoever loses has to give the other a piggyback ride for the rest of the carnival. Don't worry Soul, you can have our prizes. Most of them from me, of course."

"Please, we both know I'm the better shot here -"

Soul stares at the ceiling, miserable. "Why do I have a feeling this is going to go poorly?" he wonders aloud.

DING! goes the bell, and Black*Star tosses the mallet aside and bows as the bored looking attendant hands him another stuffed animal.

"Funshine Bear! Another one to add to your collection, Soul." He reverently places the bear in the crook of Soul's elbow. Soul looks incredibly unimpressed.

Maka rolls up her sleeves and twirls the mallet in her hand before squaring up and raising it above her head.

DING! it goes again, and Maka smirks as she evens Soul out with another stuffed bear. "I think Grumpy Bear suits him a lot more," she says, standing on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair; Soul ducks his head, scowling at his new acquisition.

Black*Star nods at her approvingly. "So we're still at three to four then." He scans the area, points to another booth. "This one next!"

Maka grins. "Oh come on, Black*Star, make this challenging for me."

"Just wanted to let you catch upppp," he sings as he dashes away.

"We're blowing all our money on this," Soul grumbles as he attempts to shift his arms to accommodate his prizes. He stops a family walking by, bending down to give the little girl one of his stuffed animals. She eyes him warily, but snatches the prize from his hands before darting behind her parent, shielding herself from the strange man with unnatural hair. Maka scowls after them, but can't help but notice with no small amount of pleasure that it was not her gift that he gave away.

"Come on, Soul, quit griping," she says, tugging him away. The tinny music from the carousel, the smell of fried dough from the stalls, and the shrieks of joy and terror from the teenagers riding the zipper have her feeling light and giddy. Kicking Black*Star's ass in more than one game fuels her with more confidence than she's felt in a while, and she impulsively loops her arm in his.

He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, shoulder brushing against hers. The brightly colored lights paint hues on his face and hair, staining the sharp grin he sends her. For a minute, she lets herself pretend that they really are just an ordinary, normal couple out on a date to the carnival, that they're here for no other purpose than enjoying each other's company. That the only plans they have after she trounces Black*Star is to ride the Ferris Wheel, to sit in the swinging car at the very top and look down at the patchwork of lights below, hands held tight, responsible for no one's safety and happiness except their own.

Black*Star's talking the ear off the poor teenager behind the counter when she and Soul reach him. His eyes rest on their linked arms, and he gives her a knowing look and a waggle of his eyebrows before turning back to the attendant. "Looks like the next sucker is here," he says, and slaps a five on the counter. "Load me up!"

Maka narrows her eyes at him, and lets go of Soul, holding out an expectant hand. "I'm going to crush your ego so hard you'll need a microscope to find it afterwards," she growls. Soul sighs as he fishes out another five from his wallet and deposits it in her hand.

"Here you go," the teen says, handing her one of the rifles. She accepts it, feeling the cool metal against her palm, and sights down the barrel.

The attendant turns to Black*Star with the other gun. He goes to take it, then suddenly hisses, snatching his hand back.

"Sir?"

"It's fine, it's fine," he says, giving him a weak smile. Under the table, he opens his fist, and from the corner of her eye Maka can see the angry burn across his palm, marring the old silvery one beneath it.

"Are you going to play, sir?" the teen asks, and Maka intervenes before Black*Star tries to take another layer of skin off with the silver coated handle.

"No, he must have used too much force at the high striker and sprained his wrist. But we've got another person here who will take his place." She gestures to Soul. "C'mon Soul, show us what you got."

Soul blinks, still clutching Grumpy Bear. "What?"

Black*Star places a hand on his shoulder. "Godspeed, my bro," he says solemnly. "Preserve our honor."

"Our honor?" he scoffs, but hands him the stuffed animal and takes the seat next to her. The teen jitters backwards as Soul leans forward. His face pales as Soul yawns and exposes his unusual dentition, and looks about to say something, but catches Maka's murderous glare, and decides against it. He shoves the gun at him instead, quickly stepping back as Soul takes it.

"Whoever can shoot out the star with the least amount of bullets wins." Maka grins at him. "And don't forget to take the safety off this time, Soul."

"I haven't - it was our first case together! I was nervous!" He narrows his eyes at her, competitive grin flaring. They both ignore the kid's shudder. "Oh, you're going down now, Albarn."

"Good luck with that," she says, taunting, and raises the gun.

Five minutes later, she leans on her elbows and watches Soul as he curses and aims; the last bit of red flutters to the ground as the bullet pierces the paper.

"Eight bullets. Eight!" he grouses as she's handed her prize. "How is that even possible with guns as shitty as these?"

Maka shrugs, rubbing her cheek against the stuffed shark. "There are a lot of terrible guns out there," she says, watching as Soul struggles to accept his comically oversized SpongeBob SquarePants doll. "Just have to learn how to compensate."

Black*Star sighs and shakes his head. "You let me down, Soul. Now it's four to four. How can you ever make it up to me?"

Soul wordlessly offers him the cartoon doll. "You're forgiven," Black*Star says immediately, accepting it with glee and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Last one?" Soul asks, rather desperately. "We aren't just here for fun and games, you know."

"You're right." Maka nods. "Okay, let's do the -"

"Rope ladder! Rope ladder!" Black*Star hops up and down, gesturing wildly. "ROPE! LADDER!"

"…Rope ladder," she agrees, sighing as he runs off. "Here," she says to Soul, placing the shark in his arms and giving him a sincere smile. "For being so cool about taking Black*Star's place back there."

He looks at her, something like affection tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks," he says, giving it a squeeze.

"Not going to give that one away either?" she teases him.

"…I like sharks," he mutters, voice muffled against its plush stomach. There's a flush working its way up his neck, and she can't help giggling.

"Come on," she says, poking at his side. "The sooner I beat Black*Star, the sooner we can start spreading out and searching for clues."

"Mmkay," he responds, falling into step beside her. This time he's the one that reaches for her, fingers brushing tentatively against the inside of her wrist. She gets a mouthful of shark as he carefully threads her arm through his own.

"…Don't want you to get lost," he grumbles, and Maka glows.

"MAKA ALBARN," Black*Star booms, pointing to her from atop a bench. Passersby slow to a stop, watching curiously. "I CHALLENGE YOU."

"Get down!" she yells, letting go of Soul to try and yank Black*Star off of his perch. "You're making a scene!"

"This is going to be a battle for the ages, Maks!" he protests. "How could anyone not want to see me completely outclass you on these ropes?"

"Just - shut up, let's go already!"

They take their places at the foot of the ladders, making faces at each other as the woman explains the rules. She doesn't even have to see Soul to know he's rolling his eyes at the two of them, and resolves to win another monstrous stuffed animal for him - maybe the gila monster?

Less than two minutes later she's flat on her back, staring up at the dark sky and bright lights. Black*Star's stupid blue hair comes into view as he looms over his defeated opponent. "Told you I'd win!" he crows before offering her a hand.

"It's not right is what it is," she grumbles as she lets him pull her to her feet.

"Now, now, I won fair and square," Black*Star says, patting her back as they make their way off the padded ground. "And you know what that means…"

Maka grits her teeth, but squats down obligingly. Black*Star clambers on, and she straightens up, only to be nearly knocked over as Black*Star waves wildly at Soul. "Did you see that?!" he yells in her ear.

"Black*Star, stop it, you're making me lose my balance, and deafening me!"

Soul's shaking his head as they approach him. "I swear, I can't take you two anywhere," he says. Black*Star plucks his SpongeBob from him, knotting its arms around his neck.

"All right, it's about nine-thirty now," Maka says, checking her watch. "Carnival closes at eleven, so we've got two hours to take a look around, then maybe find a place to hide out so we can explore more after hours. It's a pretty big fairground so we should probably split up…at least we've already looked at the game and food area."

"Soul, how about you take the area with all the rides?" Black*Star suggests. "Maka and me will check out the event tents."

"Black*Star, what's the point of splitting up if we're going to be together?"

"Um, we made a bet, Maka, and you lost fair and square. You gotta carry out your punishment until the end of the carnival!"

Soul frowns. "But…" His eyes flicker to her face, concern writ in his features. "I don't know…"

"It'll be fine, Soul," Maka says, sighing. "He's right, I lost and he won." She shrugs. "It won't take long. Let's meet at the Ferris Wheel at 10:45. I'll text you if we're done sooner or if we find something."

"You can take her through the Tunnel of Love later, bro," Black*Star assures him, and Soul sputters, face turning an interesting shade of red. "C'mon Maka, tally ho! Onward!" he yells, feet drumming against the sides of her legs.

Maka throws Soul one last suffering glance before trudging in the direction of the tents.

They pass through the game alley and wind their way through the food stalls, heading to the back of the carnival. Massive tents tower above them, the distant ones looking like the dark shapes of mountains against a washed-out night sky. It's darker here, quieter, though Maka can hear faint gasps and cheers coming from some of the venues, and some other people wander here and there between the tents. Black*Star cheerfully waves at everyone who passes them. "Black*Star, stop waving," Maka says crossly. "We're already drawing too much attention to ourselves."

"No such thing as too much attention, Maks," he says, giving a thumbs up to a wide-eyed child. "Hey, after we're done here, can we go grab some grub? I smelled sausages on the way here."

"Again? You just ate less than a half hour ago, and you nearly bought out the stall!"

"I'm a growing boy," he says, shrugging, before saying, "Ooo, look at that one!"

She follows his finger to a sign outside of one of the big tops. " 'The Traveling Circus of Loew Presents An Act of Courage, Daring and Strength," she reads. "Sword Swallowing, Fire Breathing, Knife Throwing and More! Not for the faint of heart."

They look at each other. "Can't hurt to check it out," Maka says, affecting a disinterested tone.

"We are supposed to be looking everywhere for clues, just in case," Black*Star agrees, and Maka pushes back the tent flap.

They're immediately blocked from going further. Maka looks up - and up, and up, at the large, imposing figure. "Tickets?" the woman asks in a rough voice.

Maka's hands go to her pocket before realizing that Soul's currently in possession of most of their money; Black*Star pulls out his wallet, only to come up empty. They smile winningly at the ticket-collector before turning back around.

Outside, Maka crouches behind some boxes, keeping an eye out as Black*Star struggles with one of the smaller stakes. "Hurry up!" she hisses.

Black*Star grunts, straining - then he's grabbing her, shoving her underneath the canvas before diving in after. They pause for a minute, listening, but no footsteps come bearing down on them, and they breathe a sigh of relief.

They're under some of the bleachers. Light slants between the benches, and metal creaks above them. Maka jumps out of the way as a popcorn rains from above, nearly slipping in a puddle of soda. They creep across the grass and peer out through the slats into the ring.

Between the shifting sea of jeans and tennis shoes, Maka can make out two people in the center. They're huge, buff, stripped down to trunks and sports bras. One of them twirls a long, slender sword in his hands, and the other takes a stance in front of a log twice as long as she.

The log-performer makes a show of cracking her knuckles and rolling her shoulders before squatting and sliding her fingers under the wood. She strains, neck muscles bulging, teeth gritted, for a few seconds. The log wobbles, but doesn't move. Above Maka, the crowd cheers, encouraging her, and the woman takes a deep breath. She bends down to try again…and this time is able to lift the log with a single hand, bowing and smiling at the applause.

The other steps up with his sword, raising it above his head. He makes a couple of slices at the log, neatly separating it in half, and then in quarters. His mouth opens as he dangles the blade above his head, before plunging it down through his grinning maw.

There's an appreciative gasp as the man works more and more of the sword down his throat, until just the hilt is protruding. Slowly, he reverses the movement of the blade, gleaming metal stained with blood rising from his mouth inch by inch. The tip clears his lips, and he spins the weapon a few times before sheathing it and bowing.

"The log is probably hollow inside," Maka muses. "And I bet that blade is collapsible. You'd think they'd make their tricks a little less obvious, huh, Black…Star?"

Black*Star stares at the ring, eyes wide, face pale. Sweat beads along his forehead, and his hands tremble at his sides. He turns to look at her, pupils pinpoint in the seafoam green of his irises.

"That's not fake," he says, voice shaking. "It's all real. Those - those are werewolves."

The hushed chill of his tone blows through her, makes her shiver with fear. "Are you sure?" she asks, already fumbling for her pistol and for her phone. Thank god she had the forethought to insist they bring silver bullets with them.

Black*Star nods firmly. "At least the two in the center." He's already tugging at her, leading her away from the bleachers as she types out a message.

She presses send, and stows her phone in her pocket. "Hopefully Soul's checking his phone," she says, though she knows him well enough to be sure that he's reading it now. "We need to get out of here, find out how many of them there are -"

A footfall, and they're both whirling, Maka brandishing her gun and Black*Star his fists. A shadow unfolds from one of the dark corner, walks steadily towards them.

"Well well," the man says quietly, crossing its arms as it towers over them. "What do we have here? Two little criminals, deciding to get a free show?"

Black*Star bares his teeth, setting into a fighting stance, and the action makes the man's head turns towards him. "…Oh ho," he says, suddenly interested. "Not just a criminal after all. Where's your pack, runt?"

"You're looking at her," Maka says, forcing flintiness into her voice. "You're the ones that have been taking these people, aren't you? You've been eating their hearts and dumping their bodies."

The man's eyes flicker towards her, and that's all the warning she gets before she's being lifted in the air by her throat, gun clattering to the ground. "Meat don't talk," the man sneers, and Maka struggles in his grasp, desperately lashing out with her legs.

Black*Star launches himself at the man, and he stumbles backwards, grip loosening. Maka gasps for air, pries his hands off her windpipe. She drops to the ground and fumbles for her dropped weapon.

Her hands skitter over the handle, and she snatches the pistol up. Black*Star's pummeling the werewolf, who grunts with each blow. She raises her weapon, yelling, "Black*Star, get out of the way!" as she tries to get a clear shot between the scuffling bodies.

Arms snake around her chest, seizing her from behind. Something pins her to them, and she looks up at slitted eyes and long yellow fangs. "What's this you've found, Jakub?" her captor rumbles, and Maka's eyes are drawn to the long string of saliva that stretches from his mouth, down to her shoulder. "Something for the queen? Or something for us?"

Jakub grunts, before suddenly ducking the next blow. Black*Star nearly topples over, and the werewolf uses the opportunity to snag the back of his collar, yanking him up to eye-level. "Might be something of both," he replies, shaking him like a rag doll. "Look at this one, Ivan. Smells like a 'wolf, but don't seem like much of one, huh?"

Black*Star twists from side to side, kicking and flailing. He takes a swipe at Jakub with long sharpened claws, snarling. The werewolf laughs in response, catching his wrist and bending it backwards until Black*Star's breath comes short and strained with pain.

"Might not look like much," Ivan says, "but he's not bound by the moon, that's for sure. Giriko's gonna want to see them both."

"Dinner and a show." Jakub licks his lips and grins. "Tonight is going to be fun."