"Ahhh, Soul," Oni says from its perch in Soul's armchair. Its legs are stretched out on the footstool, crossed at the ankles and twitching, and a wineglass dangles from one hand. "What a pleasant surprise. It's been a while, you know."

"Not long enough," Soul mutters, and his eyes are drawn to the dark black liquid swirling in the demon's glass. It gives him a wide grin before taking a delicate sip, and Soul suppresses a shudder. "Don't you have any other tunes?" he asks, scowling at the tinny wailing coming from the phonograph. "This one is shit."

"Oh I have many other tunes, never you fear," it says brightly, hopping up off the chair. "Would you like to hear them?" It snaps a finger, and the trombones begin to croon along to Mack the Knife - another snap and the fragments of Sinatra's voice pours from the horn – that strips my conscience bare…

"Ahhh, listen to it," Oni says, setting down the wineglass and biting his nails as he sways to the song. "Do you remember this one? How glorious it was to watch the werewolf lose himself?" It sighs dreamily. "What fun friends you have, Soul. I can't wait until we see how the other vampire huntress reacts -"

"That's not going to happen," Soul growls, striding over to the phonograph and pulling up the needle.

What good would common sense for it do, Sinatra sings, and he snatches the record, snapping it over his leg.

If anything, the music gets louder, swelling to thunderous heights. Clammy hands grab Soul's arms and spin him around.

Although I know it's strictly taboo…

"Don't be foolish," Oni chides, its grip on his wrist painful. "I know everything about you, my dear Soul. I know how much you loved watching those djinn suffer."

"I didn't -!" Soul starts to say, but the demon yanks him closer, cutting off his protest. It threads Soul's arm around its waist before settling its hand on his shoulder, and begins to lead him into a mangled version of a waltz.

When you arouse the need in me...

"No," Soul snarls, desperately trying to tug his hands away. Oni's grasp tightens, and he's forced to move with him, tripping and stumbling against the demon's immovable form. "No, I - I hated it, I hated every minute of it, I never wanted -"

"Oh?" it inquires as it twirls them around the checkerboard floor. "You're telling me you hated the power that flowed through you when you allowed yourself to be free? You're saying that you didn't enjoy hearing the call of their blood and shaping it into the song you wished to hear?" It leers closer. "You're telling me you're not craving it right now, that you don't want to just let loose and make a little noise?!"

My heart says 'yes indeed' in me...

"Yes, that's what I'm telling you!" Soul snaps, but his words are weak, too weak as the feeling of wild joy, of savage glee creep into him, and he struggles against the intense need that seizes him by the shoulders and screams to be fed -

Proceed with what you're leading me to...

He wrenches himself away from Oni and covers the grin that has begun to spread its way across his face, one that the demon mirrors perfectly, teeth gleaming. "I - I don't," he manages behind his hands. "I don't like it, at all. I never wanted this, it's more - more trouble than it's worth, and I wish I'd never dealt with you -"

The music screeches to a stop.

"Really," the demon says, and now there's an undercurrent of anger in its tone. Soul takes an unconscious step back as its features suddenly twist into fury, grin flipping upside down and burning eyes narrowing as it advances on him. "Who saved you from the djinn?" it demands. "Who made sure that your weak, miserable self didn't get sucked in by its dreams, and who gave you the power you needed to kill them all and save your precious Maka?" Its fingers jab into his chest, and Soul stumbles backwards, tripping on a table and falling to the floor.

The demon stands over him, spittle spraying into Soul's face as it yells, "Who prevented Mosquito from wiping everyone out and laying claim to you?! It was not your doing, you pathetic, sniveling excuse for a lifeform! It was mine, me, and you could stand to show me a little more respe -"

It stops suddenly, finger lowering as it cranes its head towards the door.

"…What?" Soul asks, trying to keep his voice from trembling as he cautiously props himself up to look in the same direction. "What's -"

The demon yanks him roughly to his feet, and begins to drag him towards the black door. "Hey!" Soul protests, digging his heels in, but the demon merely pulls harder. "Why -"

It shoves him at the door. "Looks like I have to save you, yet again," it sneers. "Time to wake up, Soul. And don't piss him off."

Soul's eyes fly open. He keeps his breath steady, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he tries to figure out what caused Oni to panic and force him to awaken. Fingers of sunlight reach through the drapes, touching the carpet, the table, the edge of the bed and - there. A tall, dark figure, looming at the foot.

Soul fakes a snuggle into his pillow, fingers closing over the dagger between the bed and headboard. The smooth hilt does little to slow his pounding heart.

One minute the shadow is at the foot of the bed - then Soul blinks, and it's gone. Immediately there's a pressure on his throat - an iron grip clutching at his neck as the figure bends over him.

"Solomon Evans," something seethes in his ear. Soul struggles in the thing's grasp, one hand clawing at the fingers wrapped around his windpipe, the other bringing up the dagger to stab wildly at its arms.

The blade sinks in, and a few seconds later the hands withdraw. Soul sucks in a deep breath as he flails himself upright.

He's met with a glowing amber glare, and he recognizes those eyes, that deathly pale skin, the hair so dark that it seems to swallow the light in the room. There's still that strange quality to the side of his face, and Soul finds his gaze being inexorably drawn to it. Something shimmers there - no, not shimmers so much as slices, three razor-thin slices of…

It's like looking between planes, Soul thinks, mesmerized. Like the reality around the man had somehow been stripped away in that area, and through the gashes leaked something that wasn't… wasn't light, so much as it was nothingness. He can almost see tendrils seeping out from the tear - no, not seeping, but clawing, ravenous for everything, everything in existence, and its hunger calls to something in him, to the churning chaos that laps at his knees and threatens to overwhelm -

Soul tears his eyes away from the man's face, fingers aching with the force of his grip on the knife. "You…" he croaks, pointing his knife at his chest. The tip wavers slightly and he hopes that it's not noticeable in the dark. "I know you. You were the thing that stole Masamune's soul."

Tall and regal, the man regards him as one might an angry ant, looking both disdainful and almost curious as to what this tiny, insignificant creature thinks it could do against him. "I did not steal him," he sniffs in a surprisingly melodious tenor. "His soul was mine to take. Too long had he lingered here - his presence upon this plane invited only disaster, unbalancing that which holds this world together." He tilts his head. "Just as you do."

"M-me?"

"You," he hisses, and Soul raises his weapon defensively at the fierceness of his tone. "A warped weight that condemns any that you touch, your soul threaded with madness that defies the natural order. You are worse than those that sit heavy upon the plates of life and death - yours is the finger that tips it all over and sends it careening into meaningless chaos."

"Sorry, what?" Soul shakes his head. "What even are you?"

"I am a reaper," he replies, drawing himself up, and the room seems to shrink as he looms over him, "and it is my job to calibrate the scales."

"A reaper?" Soul repeats, mouth dry. "Those are real?" Fuck, as if they didn't have enough dangerous monsters on their ass... "What do you want with me?" he asks, still clutching onto the knife though he's quickly realizing how little it can protect him. "You weren't able to kill me before -"

"Do not mistake your release as an indication of a lack of power to eradicate your very existence," the reaper sniffs. "You were lucky. I was about to relieve this world of your diseased soul, but Death himself intervened." His eyes narrow. "And you are going to tell me why."

"How am I supposed to know?" Soul demands. "Believe it or not, I try to stay as far away from him as possible."

"You do a very poor job of it."

"Wow, thanks, I hadn't noticed." He crosses his arms. "If you're so curious and so eager to kill me, why not take it up with him then?"

The reaper looks away, austere features pinched into a frown. "He would not tell me," he says stiffly.

Soul waits, but he seems disinclined to say more. "Well I don't have the slightest clue." He studies his face, then says, slowly, "But you already knew that, didn't you? So...why are you here, really?"

"A warning." The reaper straightens, and the slashes of nothingness near his face seem to sharpen, the sight cutting painfully into Soul's vision. "I have seen your face," he intones, "tasted your corruption, ingrained the shape of your soul into my memory. Should you attempt to break the rules of order again - should you seek to pervert other innocent souls as you descend into madness, retaliation will be swift, and brutal." The molten gold of his eyes fills Soul's vision as he's yanked closer, the reaper's hands icy cold against his windpipe. "Do not try me, Solomon," he says lowly. "Death or no Death, deal or no deal, I will not hesitate to kill you if you continue to threaten the natural order."

He lets go, and Soul sinks backwards, coughing and rubbing at his throat. "It's Soul," he manages. "N-not Solomon. Soul."

"As you wish," the reaper says, gaze unwavering and utterly, deadly earnest. "I will be watching you, Soul," and he is gone.

Soul waits perhaps a minute or two longer, taking ragged gasps of breath, but the reaper does not show himself again. His hands shake as he looks at his bloodless reflection in the blade of the knife.

He's stared down demons, tangled with djinn, wrestled with his own dangerous, unstable powers that have proven to be more of a threat than any monster they've ever hunted. And yet, just the memory of those deadly eyes, flaring with a determination that even Maka couldn't match - the absolute, unwavering certainty in his voice, his words ringing with promise instead of threats - the sheer amount of strength in just his hands as they clamped down around him -

He tosses his useless weapon down in disgust, and with three bounding steps he reaches the window, shoving back the curtains. Sunlight assaults his face, burning away some of his fear, and he looks down for their jeep. It's not there, even though it's been – he glances at the clock – nearly four hours since he came back. Panic begins to form a knot in his chest, but just as he's about to scramble for his phone, he spies the car, just turning into the lot. It's hard to tell from the distance, but he doesn't see any injuries on either Black*Star or Maka as they get out of the car - and he also doesn't see the shapeshifter.

They disappear from view as they enter the hotel, and Soul pulls on clothes, checking on Tsubaki, still out cold. He grabs the ice from their bathroom, and settles into the armchair, trying not to jump at the fluttering of the shadows from the heater disturbing the curtains.

The door bangs open and Black*Star strolls in. "Got some great news!" he announces to the room. "Figured out how to kill the shtriga and when to -"

"Shut up, Black*Star, Soul might still be - oh, he's awake." The bruising around Maka's eye has deepened from dark red to plum, and he holds out a washcloth filled with ice for her.

She comes over to accept it and presses it to her face. "We got Angela to tell us where Mifune was hiding out," she says. "Took her back and talked with him -"

"Wait, you what?" he exclaims, rising up out of the chair. "You went to go confront the bodyguard that nearly killed you and Black*Star without me or Tsubaki?"

She waves his indignation off. "It was fine, Soul, I figured out that there was no love lost between him and Mosquito. He wasn't going to hurt us, especially since we were returning his daughter without a scratch on her."

"He told us the shtriga can only be killed when it's feeding off a soul," Black*Star says. "And that he was going to be going after someone the day after tomorrow, gave us the place and told us he wouldn't interfere." A triumphant grin splits his face, spreading to Maka's as well. "Basically, we kicked ass."

"Pretty much," Maka agrees, bumping his fist with her own. At least they seem to have put their issues behind them, Soul notes with relief.

"...Alright," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we've got a time, a place, and a way to kill this thing. So, what now?"

"Now we sit back, chill -"

"Now we prepare," Maka corrects, rolling her eyes. "And make sure we'll rested up." She squints at Soul, scrutinizing his tired face. "You look like you haven't gotten a wink of sleep," she says, frowning. "What were you doing while we were out?"

Talking to the little demon inside my head and trying not to get murdered by some sort of avenging reaper. "Waiting for you," he answers truthfully.

Her face softens, though she tries to hide it with a scowl. "Well, you'll just have to go to bed early tonight," she says, attempting to sound gruff, but there's that look again, the same one she gave him only a few hours ago. Just having it directed at him has his heart pounding in his chest, words failing him as he attempts to hold her gaze.

She looks at him with wonder, with an unbearable, yearning tenderness that makes his fingers ache to caress her cheek. She looks at him as if she's been travelling a long, long time, and to simply see him, waiting for her, was worth every painful step along the way – as if he is everything she could have ever wanted, and more.

"Tsu!" Black*Star exclaims as the door swings open, and Maka startles, breaking eye contact. The loss of her gaze is like turning away from the sun, the cold more keenly felt because of the lingering warmth it left.

Black*Star babbles onto Tsubaki about their findings, but Soul can't pay attention, still stunned, still staring at the curve of Maka's neck and the gentle curl of her hair. She busies herself with icing down her shiner, avoiding his eyes, the moment gone.

And yet he knows that look that she gave him, knows it with bone-deep recognition. Try as he might to pass it off as simple affection for a partner, the way it resonates within him convinces him, with a certainty that shakes him to his core, that it's more.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Tsubaki insists she feels much better, and so they take a trip out to Black*Star's original camping site. The clouds have rolled in, coating the forest in a thick, damp fog, but the heat from their makeshift forge keeps them warm as they melt down spare iron for bullets.

It's work, yes, but Black*Star wasn't completely wrong in calling it 'chilling out' as well. He and Soul get into an argument over whose music to listen to, resulting in a truly awful mix of jazz and rap as they each crank up the volume in their cars to try and drown the other out. Maka discovers she and Tsubaki continue to have similar taste in literature, this time lurid romance novels instead of ancient texts, and it keeps them giggling while the boys have it out over Fats Domino versus DMX.

For the first time in a long while, Maka feels content, maybe even happy, as she watches Soul muss up Star's hair with a sharp, mischievous grin, then suddenly back off and run away as Black*Star charges after him. She yells for Soul to go faster as they chase each other around the truck, and he nearly makes it into the safety of the jeep before Black*Star leaps on top of the cab and pounces. Next to her, Tsubaki chuckles, amusement easing the lines of her face and highlighting the beauty of her features, and Maka can't help but echo her smile.

Black*Star emerges victorious, easily hefting a sour-looking Soul over his shoulder, and touts him back to them, smug grin on his face. A rush of fierce affection sweeps through her for all of them, and she thinks back to her conversation with Star, not so very long ago - I have other friends, she had claimed, desperate and uncertain.

"I have friends," she whispers to herself, and this time it comes out smoothly, confidently.

"Did you say something, Maka?" Tsubaki asks, and she looks up at the three of them - Tsubaki's face gentle and patient, Black*Star frowning in concern, and Soul...Soul looking at her like he knows exactly what she's feeling, the warmth in his expression making her feel as if she had swallowed the sun.

She blinks away the stinging in her eyes, unable to fight the grin that steals across her face. "I'm fine," she assures them, voice only a little wobbly - then adopts a sterner tone. "I'd be better if some of us stopped slacking and picked up some of the work though!"

"Fine, Mom," Black*Star says, rolling his eyes, and Soul squawks as he's dropped, face first, onto the grass. "Huh," he says, crouching over the bunsen burner. "You may be almost as good as I am at this, Tsu, these bullets're looking sweet."

Later, they head back to the hotel, picking up a couple of pizzas for dinner on the way, and thumb through the hotel bibles with greasy fingers. Maka stumbles through consecrating about three of the bullets before Black*Star begins to take creative license with the verses, dedicating his slugs of metal to himself. From there it devolves into a competition of who can invoke the stupidest object as a god - even Tsubaki joins in, shyly reciting, 'bless the Pizza Hut, O my soul', and glows with pleasure as Black*Star howls in laughter.

It's near nine when Soul declares that it's bedtime for all of them. He turns off the TV to a chorus of boo's, practically dragging Maka away from her conversation with Black*Star about the finer points of SpongeBob SquarePants. He marches her into their room, both of them pointedly ignoring Tsubaki's sly 'good night' and Black*Star's catcalls, and shuts the door softly behind them.

It's in companionable quiet that they get ready for bed, brushing their teeth together and taking turns changing into pajamas. The bed welcomes Maka with a soft embrace, and Soul turns off the nightstand light, leaving only the sterile green of the digital clock to provide illumination in the room.

They've shared a bed before, and Maka reminds herself of this over and over as she listens Soul's breathing, feels the ridge of his spine against her own. The bed dips and sighs as they both shift, trying to get comfortable, and the brushing of Soul's bare heel against her calf makes her want to both pull away on instinct and run her foot along the curve of his ankle.

They've shared a bed before, but Maka knows something's changed, something new in the scant inches between them, something more apparent when they aren't simply collapsing next to each other out of sheer exhaustion, or seeking comfort from the fear and anxiety that plagues them. It's on her side, she's sure - she can tell that Soul's keeping himself as still as possible, hugging the edge of the bed as closely as he can without actually falling over. But she can't help but think about how warm his back is, how it might feel to have his arms draped around her waist and pillowing her head - or imagine his breath caressing against her cheeks, cold nose pressing against her own. What his features would feel like under her fingers, the curve of his cheekbones, the feathering of his eyelashes, the bow of his lips - to cup his face in her hands and map out the expressions she knows so well with the sensitivity of the blind, to try and discern his thoughts, his feelings...

"Everything okay?" he asks, and she does her best not to jump at his sudden intrusion into her very not-partner-like thoughts.

"Y-yeah," she says, grateful for the darkness that hides the flush creeping up her neck. "W...why do you ask?"

"You keep sighing. Something wrong?"

"No, no. I-I'm good."

She can practically feel the disbelief radiating off of him, so she adds, "I'm just...a little scared, I guess."

"Of the shtriga?"

"Of..." Losing you, she wants to say. To Arachne, to Medusa, to hell - to my own foolish, damaging -

"You're not -" He clears his throat, and she realizes, to her utmost horror, that she said part of that aloud. "You're not going to lose me," he says, softer. The sheets rustle as he turns, and she can feel his eyes on the back of her neck.

"How can you know that?" The numbers of the clock blur, waver, and she whispers, hoarse, "It's been months now, Soul, and we're no closer to keeping you hell-free than we were before. I've looked and looked and I just - I don't -"

"Maka." Soft fingers touch her shoulder, and she shudders, half out of misery and half out of desire, before reluctantly letting him guide her into shifting around to face him. The faint light casts deep shadows on his features, but she doesn't have to see him to hear the sincerity in his voice when he says, "I'm still here. Even though Medusa's been hounding us for the better part of a year - even though Arachne's tried to capture me multiple times -"

"But for how long?" and they both know the answer to that, but neither can bring themselves to say it out loud.

"I wish - I wish we'd never taken on that job," she confesses. "I wish that I had been better, smarter - that I hadn't thrown myself in front of the rawhead. That I hadn't made you sell your soul to bring me back, that I hadn't failed at killing that djinn -" and the hiss of Medusa's voice scrapes against her brain – you enticed him - and she swallows, saying, "That I hadn't forced you to come with me -"

"You never forced me to do anything, Maka," Soul says, sounding taken aback. "I came along with you because I wanted to."

She gives a huff of a laugh. "Wanted to find Wes, you mean. Because who would ever want to leave their comfortable life to go tour the finest shitholes that America has to offer with a reckless idiot like me?"

"I would," he says quietly.

She blinks, words dying on her lips.

"I've never regretted it," he says slowly, each word heavy with truth. "Becoming your partner. Spending the last five years with you. Making the deal with Medusa to bring you back." He caresses her cheek, and she closes her eyes, savoring the long, languid sweep of his thumb against her skin. "If bearing this curse and going to hell is what it takes to have another year with you, to keep you safe and alive and with me, then I'd - I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"You," she breathes, heart thrumming in her chest, "you care about me that much?"

He's silent for a while, and when he finally does speak his voice strains with the effort of keeping his tone light. "Sold my soul for you, Maka. What more does a guy have to do to show he cares?"

She tries to say something more, but he draws his hand away quickly, muttering, "A-anyway, you should sleep."

"Soul -"

He flips to face the wall, shoulders hunched up around his ears. " 'S late," he says, voice muffled by the pillow. " 'M tired, good night." He pretends to fall into an even breathing pattern, but Maka's not fooled - not with how tense his body is beside her, not with how the bed quivers with the nervous twitching of his toes.

He startles when she threads her fingers through his hair. She traces eddies on his scalp, curls her hand around the contours of his neck, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly beneath her fingertips. "It's the same for me," she whispers. "The same."

He doesn't respond with words, but she can feel him ease beneath her touch. Carefully, cautiously, his hand slides up to cover hers, and she interlaces her fingers with his. She squeezes tightly, as if she could keep him with her there, forever, if only she held on hard enough.

A pounding on the door rouses Maka from deep sleep. She blinks in the darkness, wondering if she'd dreamt the sound - then hears the handle jiggle, and someone slapping at the wood over and over again.

She uncurls her fingers from Soul's shoulder and slips out of bed. The edges of the world seem strange, still and tense, and, unsure if she's dreaming or not, she opens the door.

"Angela?"

The girl pushes past her, Maka too disoriented to protest. "Do y'have the iron bullets? Blessed and everythin'?"

"Y-yeah," she replies, closing the door. There's a muttered fragment of her name from the bed and the shifting of the sheets, but Maka ignores it, following Angela as she starts to paw through their bags. "We're all ready, but - I thought Mosquito wasn't taking his next victim until tomorrow."

"Not anymore." Knives, fake passports and first aid kits go flying, and Angela makes a disgusted noise as she tosses the backpack to the floor.

"What?" Maka asks, reaching for Angela's wrist. "What's happened?"

Angela shakes her hand away, mouth trembling. "It's Mifune," she says in a small, brittle voice. "Mosquito has him. He's the next victim."

Five minutes later, they're all gathered in Soul and Maka's room, listening to Angela relate the situation.

"He knew, somehow," she says, hugging herself. "That Maka 'nd Black*Star talked to Mifune. Came by a few hours ago, said that there'd been a change in plans. Then he - he put a hand to Mifune's face and Mifune just - just sunk down like he'd cut his hamstrings, and Mosquito said..." She takes a deep breath. "He said that he was gonna eat him, unless I brought him Soul."

"M-me?" Soul asks, pointing to himself.

"Uh huh. So I told him fine, pretended to go along with it. Said I knew how I'd do it already, and he let me go -"

"How?" Tsubaki asks, raking her hands through her hair. "How would you get Soul there?"

She shrugs. "Probl'y shift into Maka, tell him somethin' like Mifune texted us 'nd said Mosquito's going to eat the woman now. That only you 'nd me could go 'cause any more than that'd be suspicious, or somethin'." Her face sets into an unyielding glare. "I came to you 'cause Mifune said if anythin' went bad tomorrow, you'd help us -"

"We will," Maka soothes absently, staring off into the distance with a look of concentration. "We just - we need to think, need a plan -"

"Just go in there and grab him!" Angela stabs a finger at Soul. "I saw him last time, he stopped Mosquito from moving - just do that again and let me and Black*Star fuck him up!"

"Kid, we all nearly died last time we went up against the shtriga," Black*Star says, serious. "And none of us were really uh, holding it together either -"

"What you saw, with Mosquito, is part of why he wants me so badly," Soul supplies. "It's not…it's not as uh, great as you might think it is." Just the remembrance of the power coursing through him, of the way the madness sharpened his senses and clouded his reason, makes him feel sick to his stomach with both disgust and craving.

"I don't care!" Angela says hotly. "Mifune's going to die. So why can't you -"

"He's only vulnerable when he feeds," Maka murmurs, biting on a knuckle. "If we all just go charging in, we'll never be able to kill him." She straightens up, gaze sweeping over all of them. "We have to give him what he wants," she says. Her eyes meet Soul's. "We have to give him Soul."

"This's a stupid idea."

"Less slurring," Maka coaches, turning down something that's more the suggestion of previous passages than a road. "That's the right words and tone, but Soul's got that highbrow education that makes him sound all proper unless he's trying to fit in or he's tired."

"This is," Angela enunciates, "a really, really stupid idea."

"That's more like it." Mist clings close to the sides of the jeep, and Maka squints out the windshield in the half-light of dawn. "You sure we're going the right way?"

" 'Cour - of course I'm sure," Angela answers. She slouches in the seat next to her and scowls, her face a perfect replica of Soul's. A tanned hand drums against the side of the door, and Maka tries very desperately not to let the girl's appearance throw her off.

"Soul's gotten better, but there are lots of little things he does that you can tell is from his aristocratic upbringing," she says, more to distract herself than out of any real need for Angela to know. "Like, he always folds a napkin in his lap even if we're just eating Chef Boyardee in the motel. And he still turns his nose up at some fast food places - he outright refuses to eat at White Castle, and he gets this hangdog look whenever there's just a Jack in the Box or a Taco Bell in town -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Angela interrupts, rolling her eyes. "I don't just take on people's appearance, y'know, I get some of them too."

"What do you mean?"

Angela waves a hand vaguely. "It's not anything specific, like memories, but more like impressions. Of how they carry themselves or walk - how they speak, or what their nervous tics are. Sometimes you can even get a sense of how what they think of others, like if they hate someone or who feel comfortable around." She shrugs. "But it takes a while for it all to sink in, and I'm, um, not very good at letting it take over. Not yet, anyway. So it's easier if I know them."

"Did you change into Soul before, then?" Maka asks her. "You said you had a plan to lure him to Mosquito, and honestly it might've even worked - was it because you had been him before and knew what would get him to come with you?"

Angela gives her a withering look. "Please. You'd have to be a total moron to not to know you're his weak point. Got that within the first five minutes of just watching, with him stopping his freaky powers 'caus - because of you getting close to Mosquito."

"Oh," Maka mutters.

"But even if I didn't know it already," she continues, "I'd definitely know it by now. Every instinct he has is to protect you and trust you. Just like when I was in your skin, being interrogated by him."

"It's what partners do," Maka says simply.

Angela snorts, blowing strands of white out of her eyes. "Sure, whatever."

The jeep rumbles down the path, bushes and saplings brushing against its sides. Through the redwoods, Maka catches glimpses of water. "The lake," she says. "Must almost be there."

"Yeah," Angela confirms, running a hand through Soul's hair. A worried frown creases her face. "I hope Mifune is okay."

"There'd be no point to Mosquito draining him before you bring back Soul - uh - yourself," Maka says.

"But what about after? Or during this plan of yours, which, again, is stupid." Her hands dig into her jeans. "Didn't even get to say I was sorry for breaking his rules..."

"You'll still have the chance -"

"But what if I don't?!" she bursts out. "Mifune's all I have, and I've already – I –"

"Already what, Angela?" Maka asks gently.

"Ruined his life," she says, softly, then before Maka can protest, continues, "I - I know I was giving the werewolf a hard time about his parents killing his pack and then raising him, but..." She looks down. "I get it. I don't even remember my parents very much - just impressions, like I shifted into my body instead of being born in it. Hands helping peel off my old skin. Someone giving me a bath. Being sung a lullaby in an unfamiliar crib." She shrinks into herself, saying, "But I do remember what they did. I remember hearing screams - remember getting confused and thinking the bodies were just shed skins, except skins don't bleed, so why was there so much blood? And then helping my parents scrub it all away later, after they cut up the corpses and buried them somewhere."

She shakes her head. "I don't blame Mifune for killing them. And he - he lost so much because he took me in, because he stopped the other hunters from killing me by killing them." Her fingers smooth out Soul's jeans, over and over again. "He had a fiancée, you know? She wasn't a hunter but she knew about what he did. He brought me home with him and told me not to shift, and I was so scared that he'd kill me like he killed those hunters or my parents that I didn't even take a bath for a week. But it got better, and we all lived together for a while until I forgot to be afraid and I shifted. And I got caught, by her."

She wraps her arms around herself. "She locked me in a closet, called Mifune to come home. Screamed at him that I was a monster, a shifter, that he needed to kill me - wouldn't listen to anything he tried to say. It got loud," she says softly. "Then quiet. I remember huddling in the corner, and the floor was all slippery because I couldn't stop myself from shifting over and over again...the skins kept piling up and it smelled so bad...

"And then the closet door opened. And Mifune told me everything was going to be okay, and he picked me up, and we got into his car and drove away. And we've been running ever since."

There's a familiar hitch to Soul's voice as she says, "I ruined his life because of shifting when I shouldn't have, and now - now he's going to die because I did it again, because I couldn't help myself - because I'm just like my parents -"

"Stop it," Maka commands, stopping the car. Red eyes widen as she turns to Angela, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Mifune made a choice to take you in, yes, but you are his daughter, in every sense of the word. It's not your fault that some people can't see that." She squeezes. "Just because you can shift doesn't make you a monster, and it doesn't mean you're going to be the same as your parents," and Black*Star's words slip from her mouth - "Everyone makes their own choices."

She lets go, turning her attention back to the road as she urges the jeep down it. "You're not a child, so I'm not going to lie to you - we're doing something very, very dangerous, and we might all die because of it, Mifune included. But even if we do, if he does, it's not your fault. You're not the person threatening to kill him - Mosquito is, and that's not on you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Maka can see Angela looking at her, strange expression on her face - part grateful, part relieved, part puzzled. "Th…thanks," she ends up grumbling, looking away, out the window.

A few minutes later, Angela says, "It's not yours either. About your mom. Or about Soul."

Maka's hand slips on the wheel, nearly running them off the road. She hastens to right them, sputtering, "H-how do you know -"

"I told you. I was in your skin for a while. Your guilt is the strongest thing that comes through." A shrug. "Thought you could use your own advice. That it's not your fault."

Black*Star's voice echoes through her mind - people will die, no matter what you do - and Soul chimes in - I'd do it again in a heartbeat - and Maka finds herself gripping the steering wheel, fighting back tears.

"There," Angela says abruptly, and Maka blinks, clearing her vision before following her finger to the sleek, expensive looking car parked in front of them, looking incredibly out of place. "That's his. And he said he'd be by the lake - we can get to it using the trail in front of it."

Maka parks the car, and they get out. The first strains of birdsong are beginning to sound in the half-light of predawn, and they're close enough to the lake for her to hear the distant lapping of the water on the shore. She runs her hands over the smooth barrel of her pistol, pretending to look around and check her surroundings, though her eyes keep drifting to the elegant car in front of them.

Maybe five minutes later, she hears the thrum of an engine, and nods at Angela. "Come on, Soul," she says, trying to keep her voice normal. "I think Mifune said it's not that far from here."

"Lead the way," comes his voice, and she obliges, flicking away branches as she sets off on the trail.

It's slippery going, and more than once Maka reaches out to stabilize herself on a sapling, or grabs Angela's shirt before the girl falls. Her socks feel sodden and heavy despite the protection of her boots, and she shivers, partially because of the early morning chill, partially because of what she knows is awaiting them at the end of the path.

The bushes and vegetation fade away and presently Maka and Angela find themselves on the shore of a lake, large enough that Maka can just barely make out the trees on the other side. A dilapidated shack crouches in front of a rickety looking dock that spindles off into the water.

"You go in first," she tells Angela. "I'll cover you."

She dips her head in agreement and they begin to cautiously approach the shack. The familiar weight of the pistol does little to ease Maka's apprehension as Angela prods open the door and eases her way inside.

Faint fingers of light trace lines on the dirt floor, and the entire place smells of mold and rot. The pale fruiting bodies of mushrooms paint the walls dun gray and cream, and the air feels heavy, oppressive and musty.

Mifune is slumped in the corner, long hair forming a curtain around his slack face. Angela takes a step, and Maka catches the corner of her sleeve and gives a warning tug. She watches the Adam's apple of her throat bob as she swallows back the instinct to run.

"Is - is that Mifune?" she asks instead. "Is he..."

"Not dead," comes a voice from behind them, and both of them whirl to face Mosquito, who stands in the doorway, arms crossed. "But it is still a possibility."

Maka raises her gun and points it at Mosquito, who merely raises an eyebrow - then swings it at Angela, ignoring her faked gasp. "Let 'im go," she demands, trying to imitate her drawl. "I brought'cha Soul, now let 'im go."

"Maka?!" Angela takes a step backwards. "What are you -"

Mosquito nods to himself. "I suppose you have, at that." He strolls into the room, looking 'Soul' up and down. "What a fantastic specimen," he murmurs. "Perhaps Medusa was on to something after all. It's no small feat to hold me in thrall." His hand snakes out, grabbing Soul's chin and bringing him down to eye-level. "What a delicious aura you gave off," he continues, turning his face from side to side, easily squashing any struggles against his grip with a warning squeeze to the jawbone. "Why not try again, Soul? Let me feed upon the madness you exude, succulent and oh so sweet..."

"Let me go -"

"No?" He tilts his head. "A shame. It may have saved you from torture at the hands of my lady. No matter though." He releases Angela's jaw, but pauses. "Though...I've always wondered..." and there's something hypnotic about the way he slowly runs his hand down Soul's tanned skin, something that has Maka unable to do more than stare, "how a human might taste with the blood of a demon running through them..."

Quicker than Maka can shoot, he unhinges his jaw and sinks his teeth into the meat of Soul's bicep. Angela shrieks in pain, and Mosquito quickly releases her. Blood wells from between her fingers as she clutches at her arm, baring her teeth at him.

Mosquito's mouth works as he rolls the blood around in his mouth with the expertise of a sommelier, then he sighs. "The dull, dirt taste of shapeshifter," he says, shaking his head as he dabs at his lips with a handkerchief, bright red staining the pristine white cloth. "I suppose I should have expected as much."

"Angela, get behind -" Maka begins to say, but Mosquito snaps his fingers, and she finds herself toppling to the floor, hand still clutching the gun, and hears Angela thump down next to her.

"That's all right though," he says, almost cheerfully. "It's been a long time since I've had fresh, young souls such as yours." His form seems to expand, nose elongating to a point, and his eyes burn a milky red as his skin sags. "A strong soul like Mifune's will sustain me for weeks - and the small fierce ones you possess will be delectable appetizers." The yawning pit of his mouth begins to glow as he says, "They'll have to drain the lake to find your bodies - but who would? A stray hunter, a shapeshifter, a mercenary - who would ever come looking for you?"

Something lodges in Maka's throat, and she tries desperately to swallow it down, but bright yellow light threads its way through her lips, coalescing above her -

Bang! and she hears the shtriga hiss as it recoils. The light disappears, and Maka coughs, feeling her soul settle back into her body.

"Did we get him?" Black*Star asks, tentatively poking his head in, gun raised.

She tries to respond, but her mouth is slow to form words, and she's unable to warn him before Mosquito pounces.

Blue springs up to protect him, and the shtriga hits Tsubaki's shield, falling to the ground. Before he can get up, he's attacked by another lash of power, and Tsubaki strides in, hands raised and muttering spells as she tries to keep him down.

Black*Star wastes no time in darting over to them, hoisting Mifune up and tossing his arm around his shoulder. Angela's already struggling to her feet, and Maka can feel her limbs beginning to respond as she attempts to sit up.

A flare of fire goes wild, singing her hair, and she ducks as an icicle flies past, impaling into the wall and making the shack shudder. Tsubaki barely dodges the bolt of electricity that Mosquito throws at her, and cries aloud as he follows it up with a whistling slice of air that scores a razor thin slash across her cheek.

"Did I not tell you, little witch?" Mosquito croons, and Tsubaki backs up, face glistening with sweat and chest heaving with exertion. "You're nothing compared to me -"

Plants explode from beneath his feet, twisting around his legs, thorns digging into his skin. He curses, pulls at the vines, and Tsubaki shouts, "Get them out of here!"

Black*Star yanks Maka up, pushing her towards the door, and Tsubaki rushes to help him with Mifune, taking the other side of the still-unconscious man. They start to limp outside, Maka doing her best to coordinate her movements into a semblance of running while keeping her grip on her weapon, Angela trailing behind.

They almost make it out of the shack, when Mosquito's voice sounds from behind them - "Not so fast" - and there's a horrible rumbling sound to their right - Maka cranes her head around to see a tsunami arising from the lake -

"NO!" Angela shouts, and launches herself at Mosquito. The wave crashes down onto the shed, and the wood shrieks and moans as it collapses. Huge walls of water slam into them, and Maka's feet are swept away by the current, falling face-first into muck.

"Maka!" she hears Tsubaki cry, and she gargles, sitting up in the knee-high water and wiping mud away from her face with her free hand. "Maka, where -"

"Keep going!" she splutters. "Get Mifune to safety!" The ground sucks at her feet as she struggles upwards, the receding water threatening to unbalance her, and she's forced to nearly crawl towards the remains of the shack, still gripping the gun. Jagged splinters of wood litter the ground, flung in every direction, but there's no sign of the shapeshifter or the shtriga.

"Angela!" she cries. "Angela, where -!"

"Maka!" comes a call from the shore, and she nearly trips trying to run towards it. A wracking cough, and another cry of her name, and she can make out a splayed-out figure on the shore.

Bleary red eyes watch her as Maka reaches her, sticking the gun in her waistband and bending to help her up. Angela slumps against her, shoulders shuddering as she hacks up more water, and she rasps, "We have to - have to get back - to Soul -"

"We need to get the shtriga first," Maka says, hauling her back towards the path. "I bet Mosquito needs to feed, soon, now would be the best time -"

Wet hair brushes against her neck as Angela shakes her head. "He's going after him - need to get there first - "

"Fuck." She readjusts Angela's arm around her neck, and starts urging them faster. "All right, we'll get back to the jeep - should get to the hotel in twenty minutes, hopefully that'll be enough time..."

They reach the trail, and Maka spots Black*Star's fading blue hair through the bushes. "Black*Star!" she yells as he rounds the bend and stops. "He got away! We need to get back to..."

Black*Star stares at her, not moving. "What?" she asks, but his expression doesn't waver, eyes intently focused on them. "Come help me -"

His face contorts into a snarl, and Maka drops Angela's arm, taking an unconscious step back as he leaps towards them, claws outstretched and fangs bared. She cowers away from hot breath, sharp teeth, inhuman eyes - old pain flares between her shoulder blades and up her arm -

Angela whimpers as Black*Star sinks his claws into her stomach and rips. Blood splatters onto Maka's face, and the gun is in her hands, aimed straight at Black*Star, and he looks at her with wide, dilated eyes as she pulls the trigger.

He takes a wobbly step back, hand clutching his chest, before crumpling to the ground.

Maka drops the gun, hands coming up to cover her mouth as she stares at his too-still body. "Star," she whispers. "Star -"

Beside her, Angela begins to laugh. "My, you hunters are far more fun than you used to be," she says in a deep, oily voice. Her appearance shimmers, and Mosquito's long nose and malicious eyes grin at her as the illusion falls away. "Surprise."

"You -" Maka stutters, stumbling backwards. "You -"

"Are not who you thought I was? Changing your appearance is child's play, my dear." He taps a finger to his chin. "Though it is merely an illusion, unlike shapeshifters. I suppose my lack of Soul's scent is what tipped off your werewolf friend here." He kicks at Black*Star's body, with no reaction. "Ah, well, no matter now. A hotel twenty minutes away, you say? Perhaps the Best Western?" He reads the confirmation in her terrified features. "Splendid."

Her heel catches on a stray root and she lands on her butt, desperately trying to scrabble away from him. "You were correct on one account, however," and she can do nothing but watch as Mosquito looms over her, as she feels an indescribable pulling in her very core, "I am very hungry..."

The world begins to go dim around the edges, and ice seeps into her body, numbing her senses. Mosquito's eyes flare with desire and cruel glee, and she's drawn to the dark cavernous void of his mouth, where the filaments of her soul are slowly but surely being sucked in -

BANG!

Mosquito whirls around, and -

BANG!

He topples to the ground, and Maka gasps as her soul retreats back into her body. Above them, Black*Star continues to unload more and more bullets into the shtriga's corpse.

The magazine runs out, and Black*Star tosses the gun aside, giving Mosquito's body a ferocious kick. "Fucking bastard," he mutters.

"Took you…long enough," Maka wheezes as she struggles to stand. "Were you gonna wait until he actually sucked out my soul to kill him?"

"Didn't want to miss this time," Black*Star replies, and she takes his hand gratefully, before pulling him into a hug. He smells like blood and sweat, and he's covered in mud, but she clings to him, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling him stiffen before hesitantly returning her embrace.

"...sorry, sorry, I trusted you, I swear," she finds herself babbling into his shirt, "knew the bullet wouldn't kill you, it was iron not silver, never would have pretended if it was silver, I just didn't want him to get away -"

"Maka, stop," he says, giving her pigtail a firm tug. "I got it, okay? Maka Albarn doesn't miss a shot, especially not at point blank range - knew what you wanted me to do as soon as I realized you hit my shoulder, not my heart."

"G-good," she sniffs.

He pats her back awkwardly, and takes a quick step back when she lets go. She wipes her nose on her sleeve before giving him a punch. "C-come on," she says. "Let's go find Angela and get back to the others."

They hear Angela before they find her, hollering out their names from the part of the forest she was swept away to. Shed bits of skin help them locate her, and small arms throw themselves around Maka as soon as she comes into view.

"Did you get him?" she asks as Black*Star drapes his mostly-dry shirt over her. "Is Mifune okay?"

"Yes, and yes," Maka tells her, and Angela sighs in relief.

"How?" she asks, huddling into his shirt, and Black*Star regales her with a much less terrifying tale of their triumph as they trudge back to the vehicles.

Mifune's slumped in the front seat of the truck, eyes closed, but they flutter open as Angela gives a shout and sprints towards him. Pure joy and relief spreads across his face as he opens his arms to catch her as she jumps into his lap. He holds her tightly as she begins to fill him in on what happened while he was unconscious, supplying no more than the occasional 'hmm'. The expression on his face is one of utter love and gratitude, and next to her, Black*Star looks away.

"Thank you," he murmurs later, when she's driving them back to the hotel. Angela's asleep in his lap, refusing to be parted no matter how strictly they lectured her on safety laws. "For keeping her safe."

"She kept herself pretty safe," Maka says. "Knew where to go and what to do - and if she hadn't gotten to the shtriga when she did, we might all be dead and Mosquito still alive." She shakes her head. "Better keep an eye on her, she's a smart one."

"Too smart," Mifune replies, but there's a proud smile on his face as he strokes her hair. "Too stubborn and rebellious by half." He sighs. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

Angela snoozes, looking more than ever like the child she insists she isn't while she sleeps. "Still," he says, turning to look at her. "Thank you. You returned her to me when any other would have killed her. You showed patience and understanding when you could have easily showed her the back of your hand instead. And, as much as I dislike it, you respected her choice to participate in rescuing me." He turns his gaze back to his sleeping daughter, and says, quiet, "If only all hunters - if only everyone was as accepting as you and your group, perhaps we may never have felt like we needed to join with Arachne in the first place."

"I'm..." Maka clears her throat. "I'm not as good at that as I'd like to be. I still - it's hard for me, still, to look at others and see only the person and not the danger." She rubs at her forearm, traces her fingers along thin scars. "Maybe...maybe it'll always be that way, no matter how much I try."

She shakes her head. "But I'm doing my best. To be better. To not my fears and anger take a hold of me - to not let them change my relationships to the people most important to me, to others who face the same judgement."

"That's all we need," Mifune says, settling back into the seat and closing his eyes. "That's all they need."

They pull into the hotel's parking lot, Black*Star's bright yellow truck following behind, and she can see Soul's face in the window to their room, searching. She waves as they get out of the car, and she can imagine him closing his eyes in relief, shoulders sagging as the nervous tension dissipates from them.

He opens the door for them as they arrive, and she sees the way his eyes flit from one face to another before they settle on her. His gaze doesn't waver as the others file into the room, and she's reminded, suddenly, of the look on Papa's face when he'd watch for Mama after she'd left them, lost and afraid.

"I'm fine," she tells him, squeezing his hands. "We're all fine. The shtriga's dead, we rescued Mifune, and we're all - it's all okay."

He nods wordlessly, but he doesn't look away, and his thumbs rub circles into her skin.

"Woo!" Black*Star cheers, kicking off his mud-encrusted shoes. "We kicked some ass today everyone, I think it's time to celebrate! Beers're on me!"

"Not for you, Angela," Mifune says sternly, and she pouts as she tosses Black*Star's shirt back at him.

"I think we may all be need of a bath first," Tsubaki suggests. "Black*Star, you should go first in ours - oh, what happened to your chest?"

"Just a scratch," he replies. "Already healed over, no big deal." He looks closer at her, reaches up to touch her cheek. "Tch," he says, looking at the blood on his fingertips. "Looks like you got sliced, Tsu."

"No big deal," she echoes, and he grins at her.

"I'll patch you up," he says, patting her shoulder, "I'm awesome at first aid, you know."

"Angela can use our bathroom," Soul says, still holding onto Maka's hands. "Mifune, you can borrow a pair of my clothes - Maka's should fit Angela."

They disperse, leaving wet clothing strewn across the floor. Tsubaki and Black*Star head to their room, Angela locks herself in the bathroom, and Mifune decides to wander downstairs in search of food for everyone.

Soul tugs Maka over to the armchair, waiting patiently as she strips the sodden leather jacket from her shoulders and wrings out her hair into a towel. "It really wasn't that bad, Soul," she says, twisting to check a sore spot on her back - it's already reddening, and she knows it'll be a ripe purple come tomorrow.

Cold fingers graze the area, and she winces, swatting his hand away. "Just a bruise, but nothing worse than that, promise," she says, sitting down in the chair, and Soul crouches in front of her, still staring.

She bends to unlace her boots, but Soul stops her by placing his hand on her knee. She looks up into his eyes, dark and intense, and feels her mouth go dry as he raises a hand to her face.

"I'm glad," he murmurs. "That you're okay."

"M-me too," she stammers.

His fingers caress her cheek, softly, tenderly, and just the weight of his gaze has her heart beating fast. He seems about to say something, thumb brushing ever so gently across her lips, his touch so faint and light she thinks for a moment she must be imagining it...

But something flits across his face, and she closes her eyes briefly in disappointment as he drops his hand from her cheek, letting it rest beside him. "I think Angela will be done with her shower soon," he says, looking away. "You should - you should get in next."

"Y-yeah," she whispers over the plunging of her heart. "I - yeah."

She hunches over her shoes, hiding her face as she fights back tears. Shaking fingers untie her laces, and she takes her time easing the boots off her feet, waits until the stinging in her eyes has abated before peeking at him.

Soul's still staring down at his hands with an expression that speaks of quiet suffering. He catches her eye and gives her a weak smile. "…So," he says, clearing his throat. "Where to next?"

She takes the topic change gratefully. "Back to Oklahoma, I think, after we drop Tsubaki off in Arizona."

"Stein have something new for us, or Spirit hear something?"

"No," she replies, and then, at his confused look, haltingly explains, "I - I wanted to see them again. What with everything that's been going on I thought…" Mifune's fierce grip on his daughter comes back to her, and the sadness in Papa's voice echoes in her ears as she says, "I thought it might be nice. To see Papa, and Stein."

He nods slowly, giving her an expression bordering on pride. "I think that's a good idea. Family…" and she doesn't miss the way the corners of his mouth turn regretful. "Family is important," he finishes quietly.

She can see the loss in his eyes before he looks away, wrapping his arms around himself. "Spirit will be happy to see you," he says, and buried in his voice is the sound of loss and quiet longing, of missed birthdays and holidays and the forgotten feeling of a parent's warm embrace -

He'll be able to live out the rest of his short life with his parents, Medusa whispers in her ear, being happy in ways you'll never be able to make him…

The spray of the water in the bathroom twists off, and Soul uncurls, standing up. She accepts the hand he offers her, and he lifts her to her feet. He doesn't let go of her hand, and she's close enough to him that she can feel his breath flutter against her face, see his throat bob as he swallows. If she just tilted her head back, just raised herself a little higher...

But this time it's the memory of Soul, smiling at the prospect of finally being able to go back to his parents with Wes all those months ago, that stops her - and this time, she's the one who steps away.

It's near noon when Mifune decides that it's time for them to leave. He helps a drowsy Angela with her shoes and returns the clothes they borrowed from Soul when Angela was pretending to be him, though they keep the ones they're currently wearing.

"I'll give you a lift back," Soul says, pulling on a jacket.

"Thank you. Angela, why don't you go wait down by the car?" He waits until the door's closed to turn back to them. "Thank you all again for your help -"

"Yeah yeah," Black*Star says, waving a hand. "You said it a million times already. It's fine, 's what we do."

Mifune nods. "Hopefully we'll never be in such a position again, but if we are - or if you are - you have my number."

"Thank you," Maka says. "What are you going to do now?"

"Lay low," he replies. "I don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves - I'm sure Arachne already knows about Mosquito's death, and I don't want to become the target for her revenge." He rubs at his chin. "But if they do come for us, it won't just be me they'll have to contend with. I've decided to begin showing Angela how to defend herself...and if that includes shifting, then so be it."

"Good," Black*Star says, crossing his arms. "Like I said, she's a tough kid. She'll pick it up quick."

"I'm sure." Mifune regards him with a careful eye. "You seem much the same way," he says frankly. "Stubborn, determined, fierce. I know many who thought Sid and Nygus were condemning themselves and the rest of the hunting community for training you." He tilts his head. "But I understand, now, why your parents cut themselves off from any who questioned their choice to take you in - you are a better hunter in skill and spirit than many could wish to be." A craggy smile spreads across his face. "I hope the same for Angela."

"...Me too," Black*Star says, and with a final goodbye, Mifune and Soul leave.

Black*Star scuffs at the carpet, and Maka nudges him. "Stop being a coward and call them," she commands. He scowls at the floor but reluctantly nods and accepts the phone she shoves at him, fingers picking out a number they both know by heart.

He's halfway out of the room when she hears him say, "Hi Sid. Nygus." A pause, and then, just as the door is closing, she hears him say, softly, "...Mom. Dad."

She looks at her own phone on the bed beside her, and then she, too, is punching numbers into it and listening to the ringing.

"Maka? Darling, are you okay? Did the shtriga -"

"I'm fine, Papa," she says. "Don't worry. I just wanted to let you know that I - I'm fine."

Relief floods his voice as he sighs, "Thank you, sweetheart. It means a lot, that you called to tell me."

"I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me –"

"I do." She swallows. "I do. But I – I want to tell it to you, in person. If…if that's okay."

"I've already forgiven you, Maka," and his absolute sincerity makes her vision blur with tears. "And I will always forgive you, for whatever you feel the need to be sorry for. But if you want to come back, you know that I'll be waiting for you."

"Y-you've always been good at that –" she sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. "W-waiting for me, for – for Mama –"

"Too good," he says sadly. "Too good at waiting when I should have been acting. But," he sighs, "we can talk about that you get here. Now, what would you like me to make you and Soul as a welcome home meal?"

She finds Black*Star later, lying on the bench seat in the back of his truck, arm flung across his face. The door is unlocked, and she crawls into the passenger seat, propping her chin on the headrest. "Hey."

"Hey," comes his muffled reply.

"What did they say?" she asks, settling back on her knees.

He gives a half shrug.

"Don't give me that. What did they say?"

"...They said..." He pulls his arm away and she realizes he's been crying, something she's only seen once or twice before, and her hands curl into fists automatically before she realizes he's smiling too. It's shy and a little wobbly, but a grin all the same, one far closer to his usual bright beam than she's seen in a while. "They said that they, uh, loved me," he says, hoarse. "That they would've never - never...that they'd always be there for me, no matter what. And that they were sorry that...t-that they ever made me f-feel otherwise."

She waits for his sniffles to quiet before saying, smug, "So exactly what I told you they'd say," and he gives a halfhearted kick in her direction.

"Yeah, I guess," he replies, wiping at his nose. Bright seafoam green eyes look solemnly into hers, and he says, sincere, "Thank you, Maka."

"Anytime, Black*Star," she says. "You know that."

He sighs, and another grin curls around his face as he looks up at the ceiling. "Yeah," he says with his old confidence. "I know."

"So where are you off to now?" Soul asks as he watches Black*Star tear through the hotel room, pawing through drawers and moving furniture to check for straggling possessions.

He pulls up the bedskirt, fishing around beneath the frame before coming away with a dumbbell. "Mosquito's dead, but he still left a lot of new skinwalkers behind," he says, tossing it into his bag. "I was gonna go up thataway, help 'em out, but..." He shrugs. "Guess they couldn't handle someone like me showing them up."

"They said they had it covered?"

"Had it covered...didn't want me there...whichever one. If you're itching for work, though, you could call 'em. Might have better luck."

Black*Star busies himself with rearranging things with his bag, and Soul's eyes are drawn to his hair, at the way the blue has faded into a more normal looking light brown. By the time he reached the other hunters, there'd be nothing to suggest to any outsider that he wasn't just a normal guy - a little more buff and a lot louder than the average man, but still normal on the outside.

Pain pricks his finger, and he draws it away from the teeth he'd been unconsciously rubbing at. "I think we're okay," he says, looking down at the drops of black blood oozing from his cut. "Maka was thinking about heading back out to the southwest anyway. Need to drop off Tsubaki, and then going back to Oklahoma for a few days, see Spirit."

"I'm going back home too," Black*Star says. "It's uh, been a while, since I've seen my parents. And there're worse places to spend the winter than Tennessee."

"Sounds like a plan," Soul replies, and Tsubaki chooses that moment to return to the room.

"Oh," she says, smiling at Black*Star. "I'm glad I caught you before you left."

"Wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Black*Star reassures her. "Just packing up now."

"Are your bags all ready to go, Tsubaki?" Soul asks. "Check-out is at noon, Maka wanted to be on the road in an hour if possible." He rolls his eyes. "Thank god breakfast ends in fifteen minutes, otherwise we'd be here for longer, I'm sure."

"Oh, she must have forgotten to tell you - I'm not going back with you."

He blinks. "You're not?"

She shakes her head. "I...I decided that it would be better if I didn't return to Arizona for a bit." Her eyes flicker to Black*Star as she says, "Kim and Jackie and Eruka - they need to learn how to cope on their own for a while, and integrate themselves more into Mabaa's coven. And," she says to Black*Star's frown, "I thought that I needed some time away too. A vacation, of sorts. It's been a busy couple of months."

"Hell yes," Black*Star exclaims. "See, Tsu's got the right idea. Where're you gonna go?"

"I thought I'd start off in Portland," she replies. "I know of a coven there, powerful nature witches - perhaps I could learn something from them, while I relax."

"Portland's great! Only been there a couple of times myself, but it's not that far - I can drop you off if you want."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," she says, and he puffs up at her words.

She turns to Soul, smile playing over her mouth, and says, gravely, "I'm sorry, but you and Maka are not invited. It will be a hunter-free vacation because, as I've learned very quickly, involving you two only invites near-death experiences."

Soul returns her grin. "Not a problem, though I won't lie, I could use one myself."

"Maybe you should take a cruise," she suggests, then, slyly, "Or one of those romantic getaway packages..."

"Haha, yes!" Black*Star cheers. "Maybe you can finally make a move on Maks, watching you two dance around each other is awkward as fuck -"

"It is very much," Tsubaki agrees gravely, "as awkward as fuck," and looks fairly pleased with herself as Black*Star cracks up.

"Shut up, both of you," Soul grumbles, looking away. His fingers tingle with remembrance of the way her lips felt beneath them, and he can't help but think of her eyes, trepidation and determination staring back at him...

But for how long? comes her voice, small and vulnerable, and he shakes his head.

"Well, I'm going to get my things loaded up in the truck," Black*Star says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You coming, Tsu?"

She hesitates, smile slipping from her face. "Of course, I just have a few more things to pack. I won't be more than a few minutes."

"Meet you downstairs then!"

It's only when the sound of Black*Star's heavy steps have faded away that Tsubaki turns back to him, looking serious. "Soul," she says. "There's something I need to give you."

"Uh?"

She walks over to her neatly piled luggage, opens her purse and takes out a sheaf of paper. "While Maka and Black*Star were looking for Angela, I took the opportunity to go through Mosquito's car. And I found this."

She hands it to him, and he looks down at a symbol drawn in charcoal - one that looks somewhat similar to, but not entirely like that which they'd discovered on the body of the man from Indiana, all those months ago.

"What is it?" he asks, holding it up and taking a closer look. There's something almost sinister about the way the curves angle towards each other and away, something that causes the back of his neck to prickle. Oni cackles from behind the firmly shut door in his mind.

"It's Arachne's sigil," Tsubaki responds. "A personal calling card, of sort. With the right ritual, you can summon her, and she'll be forced to come."

"You're saying," Soul begins, slowly, "that I can use this...and Arachne will appear? No matter where she is, or where I am?"

"That's correct." She fiddles with her hair. "Though, I do have to tell you, it's not exact - she does get to choose the exact spot she manifests, so it may be difficult to trap her, if you choose to do so."

"...Thank you," he says, still staring at the paper. "I...I need..." Many sentences run through his head, rising and dying on his lips as he struggles to sort through the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him: excitement, hope, dread, fear...

A cool hand touches his own, and he looks up into Tsubaki's eyes, deep with sorrow and understanding. "Good luck," she says softly. "My hopes are with you. Truly."

He's still staring at it an hour later, after Tsubaki and Black*Star have driven away. Even when he closes his eyes, he can see it, stamped into his mind -

"Soul? Soul, it's time to go," Maka calls. He doesn't respond, and he hears her sigh before walking towards him. "Come on, we need to check out - what is that?"

"It's." He swallows. "It's Arachne's sigil."

"Sigil?" she asks, trying to tug the paper from his hands; he lets go, reluctantly.

"Tsubaki said...she said we could use it. To summon Arachne."

She blinks. "Wait. Really?" She waves the paper around. "We could use this to trap her?"

"Maybe," he stresses. "Tsubaki said she'd be able to choose where to appear - that she might not -"

"So we'd just do it in a place where we could cover every inch in devil traps, or just make one giant one - Soul, this is perfect, we can exorcise her -"

"No," he says, cutting her off. "No."

She stares at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "...Why? Isn't this what we've been looking for? A way to get Wes back?"

"It's -" he starts, then stops, mouth working, before trying again. "It's not just about Wes, anymore," and Tsubaki's broken expression comes back to him. "It's like you said. Before. We have no way of killing her - of making it permanent - if we exorcise her, she'll just drag herself back out of hell and come back after us and Wes and - and -" He closes his eyes, remembering the look of hunger in Black*Star's eyes as he crouched over Mifune, the terror in Angela's voice as she relayed Mosquito's plan, all in the name of Arachne. "It'll never stop," he whispers. "None of it will ever stop, until we can find a way to kill her permanently."

Maka looks down at the symbol. "...Yeah. All right." She gives a nod. "Okay. We don't use it now, and we keep looking for a way to get rid of her for good. But if we don't find anything by June..." She falters, before clearing her throat and giving him a weak smile. "If by that time we still don't know how to kill her, I say to hell with it. We get your brother back, no matter what happens."

He rolls her eyes at her pun, but feels his posture relax, and she lays a brief hand on his shoulder before going to tuck the paper into her journal. "So are you ready to leave?" she asks him as she bends over her bag. "Now that we're not dropping Tsubaki off, it should only take us -"

He doesn't hear the rest of her sentence as he's slammed against the wall. A vice-like grip clutches his throat, squeezing and pinning him. Choking and gasping, he claws at the hand, Maka's panicked cry fading from hearing as he struggles for breath.

His eyes roll down to his attacker, and eyes like twin, burning suns bore into him, utterly without mercy. The tendrils of nothingness writhe savagely, a ravenous frenzy of not-light, straining towards his face.

"Soul Evans," the reaper hisses. Soul desperately lashes out with his feet, but he doesn't even blink, just lifts him higher. "Abomination. You have condemned another soul to madness."

Oni hisses from behind the door, and Soul's lips form denials that he can find no breath to give life to. The edges of his vision begin to dim, and a crazed thought runs through his head - what if the reaper is right somehow, what if he finally snapped - if Oni had somehow taken him over -

"You should not have disregarded my warning," the reaper says, sounding almost regretful. Light glints off of the blade he slowly draws from his cloak, the triple edges shining like starlight. Soul's skin burns as it caresses his cheek, his blood staining the blade pitch black.

"For your transgressions against the natural order," the reaper intones, "I sentence you to death."

To everyone who has read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart - it means more than I can say that you've stuck with this absurdly long story. I hope that you'll continue to read when I eventually post Act Three, which will involve far more Kid, as well as resolve more conflicts, both physical and emotional.

Comments and criticism are, as always, sought after. I am always looking to improve and would welcome anything you may have to suggest to help make the last act the best it can be. You can also find me jaded-envy on tumblr; I'm always up for talking and answering questions if you have any!

Once again I would highly encourage you to rain the love my artists deserve onto them, and check out the other resbangs this year, as there were so many amazing ones!

Thank you so much!