Chapter Text
The Wiskayok Bar wasn’t the busiest place in town, but it buzzed with enough patrons to keep Melissa moving. The buzz of light banter filled the air, boots scraped against worn wooden floors, and candlelight flickered in a calming rhythm. The air smelled bitter, like warm tobacco, and the windows fogged slightly from the heat of warm bodies inside.
Melissa leaned against the bar, catching her breath between orders. Her blonde hair was frizzed from the heat and her pink Irish cap was pushed slightly askew. Mari was elbow-deep in the sink, with Gen, and Van was tossing nuts at a sleeping old man.
“Gen,” Melissa groaned, “if I ever agree to the night shift again, just dunk my head in the dishwater and leave me there.”
Van snorted. “Same. Honestly, I’d rather let a wolf chew off my face than work another night shift rush.”
“You wouldn’t last a minute with a wolf,” Gen muttered, pulling a face. “You scream when a moth gets in your apron.”
Melissa is pulled out of the conversation when a sudden chill dances through the bar, slipping through the cracked window beside Melissa. The candles nearby flickered. She turned to shut it, and for a moment her breath caught. The moon hung low and silver in the night sky, casting long shadows through the dense tree line beyond the town. The wilderness loomed like something alive. Something watching.
Melissa shivered, and adjusted her hat. The breeze felt wrong. It was as if the trees themselves were laughing at her discomfort, and misfortune.
She turned back to the bar—and paused. A group of women had just entered, stepping through the haze of tobacco smoke like ghosts. They were… well, beautiful.
Ethereal. Elegant. Dangerous.
Like out of a storyboock, Melissa's eyes caught each of their faces as she wiped down the counter, and it was like trying to look directly into the sun. Jaw-dropping beauty—shining skin, sharpened cheekbones, and eyes like polished glass. Melissa suddenly felt small, plain even, despite her usual quiet confidence. She wished she was that pretty.
Then Van practically squealed.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of one of the women—a tall beauty with curly dark hair and striking eyes. Without a word, Van vaulted over a stool and rushed to embrace her.
The rest of the women slid into a booth like a bunch of royals sitting at their thrones. Their presence was heavy. Watchful. Too still.
Van spent the better half of her shift sitting with those women, her body curled into the side of her dark-haired friend.
Mari, standing beside Melissa, scowled. “Van!” she barked. “Come on! Quit messing around! Am I the only one working here?” She threw her hands up, her elbow catching Melissa’s side. The rag slipped from Melissa’s hands and landed in a sticky puddle of beer.
Mari didn’t even glance at her, much less apologize.
The woman with the curly hair—Tai, Melissa would later learn—turned her head slowly and locked eyes with Mari. Her expression shifted. Darkened. The air went still again.
Van jogged back toward the bar, trying to hide her fluster with a smirk. “That’s just Tai, don’t mind her,” she muttered, and dumped a tray of empty cups near Mari. “Drinks were delivered.”
Mari snatched up the cups and sighed heavily. “I’m clocking out after I clean these. Hat,” she called out, voice sharp.
Melissa clenched her jaw. She adjusted her pink cap with a huff.
“Get our coats ready,” Mari continued without looking back.
Melissa obeyed, though irritation bubbled just beneath her ribs. She headed to the back, past the kitchen, searching among the coat rack. Her own was nowhere in sight. Mari entered as Melissa straightened.
“Still not ready?” Mari muttered, already slipping into her heavy black coat. “I’ll wait outside. Just find your coat quickly.”
Melissa crouched and peeked behind a battered old couch. It laid crumpled in the dust, and Melissa smiled at the sight of it, exhaustion heavy in her bones.
Melissa brushed her sleeves and took a breath, her eyes tired. She pushed through the back door—
But the alley was empty.
“Mari?” she called out.
No answer.
Then, rustling.
To the side, past the trash barrels and crates, down the thin stretch between the bar and the dress shop beside it. Melissa followed the sound, her stomach coiling tighter with every step. The same voice in which she heard the wilderness laugh earlier, spoke out again. In a strong breeze she heard the warning, leave, she felt it in her bones to just ditch Mari and go .
Melissa rounded the corner—and froze.
Mari was on the ground, pinned beneath a woman in a red flannel. Her arm was raised in a trembling defence, but the woman was biting into her wrist. Blood ran freely, shining in the early dawn light.
“Get off of me, bloodsucker!” Mari screamed.
Melissa gasped. Bloodsucker? What did that mean?
The sound caught their attention.
The flannel-donned woman lifted her head, blood dripping from her mouth. Her eyes—doe-brown, soft, oddly sad despite the snarl curling her lips—met Melissa’s. Beautiful, yes. But terrifying.
“No witnesses,” the woman growled. “Tai, get her.”
Melissa’s heart skipped. Tai—the coily-haired woman—stepped forward. Her eyes gleamed. She moved fast. Too fast.
Melissa pivoted, pushing past a startled older man stepping out of the bakery next door. Her hat flew from her head and tumbled onto the cobblestones behind her. She didn’t stop.
She ran.
The first rays of sun cracked over the hills. A sudden hiss echoed behind her. She glanced back and saw Tai recoil, her arm shielding her face from the light.
Melissa didn’t wait to see more.
She ran until the buildings changed. Until familiar cobblestones turned into dirt. Until the morning light shined onto her shaking form on a street Melissa did not recognize. Until the knowledge that Mari might be dead, that she left Mari for dead, disappears with every step she takes.
When Melissa finally stops to catch her breath, she is alone.