Chapter 2 – The Goth Girl Has a Dental Problem
Rowan took his usual shortcut through the alley behind the cathedral. It smelled like old beer and pigeon dreams, but it shaved four minutes off the walk and four minutes was basically a whole extra nap.
He was halfway through when a woman stepped out of the shadows like she'd been waiting for him personally.
Tall. Pale. Red hair that looked wet even though it wasn't raining. Black lace dress that belonged in a music video. Eyes way too red—contacts, probably. Rowan had seen weirder on campus.
She smiled. Lots of teeth. Very pointy.
"Human," she said, voice like someone dragging silk over a grave. "Hold still."
Rowan stopped. "Morning to you too?"
She moved—fast, like someone hit fast-forward. One second ten feet away, next second her face was buried in his neck.
He felt the pinch.
"Hey—personal space!" He tried to step back, bumped into the brick wall instead.
The girl made a weird choking noise, like she'd bitten into the spiciest pepper on Earth. Her whole body lit up red from the inside, veins glowing under the skin like neon tubing. She ripped herself away so hard she hit the opposite wall and left a person-shaped crack in the brick.
Rowan touched his neck. No blood. Not even a hickey. Just two tiny dots that were already gone.
"Uh. You okay? Did you… bite me? That's super unsanitary."
The girl slid down the wall, knees buckling. Her eyes were doing that thing anime characters do when they level up—basically turning into flashlights. Little black wings kept flickering in and out behind her back like bad CGI.
She stared at him like he'd just invented color.
Rowan crouched, genuinely worried. "Seriously, are you on something? I've got a bottle of water if you need—"
She grabbed his sleeve with both hands. Her grip was ice-cold and shaking.
"You…" she whispered, voice cracking. "What are you?"
"Rowan. Ro works. I sell weird books three days a week. You sure you're okay? You're glowing. Like, a lot."
The girl—Seraphina, apparently, though he wouldn't learn that for another ten minutes—tried to stand up and failed. Her legs had decided they were done for the day.
Rowan sighed the sigh of a man whose morning was rapidly escaping the "normal" zone.
"Look, there's a café two blocks down. Coffee fixes most things. Come on."
He offered his arm like he was helping his grandma cross the street.
Seraphina took it. The moment her fingers wrapped around his forearm, the cracked brick wall behind her fixed itself. The flickering wings settled into solid, impossible shadow that folded away under her dress like they'd always belonged there.
She floated half an inch off the ground as he led her out of the alley.
Rowan chalked it up to platform boots.
"Name's Rowan," he said again. "You got one, Glowstick?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then managed a tiny, reverent, "Seraphina."
"Cool. I'm buying. You look like you need sugar."
Seraphina—who had just accidentally ascended to godhood by drinking one (1) drop of his blood—followed him like a very expensive, very confused duckling.
Behind them, the alley shadows rearranged themselves into a perfect heart shape on the wall.
Rowan didn't look back.
He was too busy wondering why his neck smelled faintly like starlight and why the girl holding his arm kept whispering "mine" under her breath every time he yawned.
Weird city. Weird people.
At least the coffee was close.