Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enid figured that at this point, the universe must have been playing games with her.

This morning, her alarm didn’t go off. She woke up in a panic, phone dead, midmorning light streaming lazily through the blinds as she rushed through her morning routine, no idea if she was going to be late for her first lecture. (As it turned out, she missed it entirely, and stumbled into a senior Stats class. She ran out immediately, face red.)

Normally, her near-perfect internal clock would have woken her up at the right time regardless, but her roommate’s new girlfriend stayed over last night. As well as Enid and Yoko had gotten on since they met in freshman year, there were certain things that Enid didn’t need to hear at three in the morning when she had to wake up early the day after, especially when she hadn’t been on so much as a first date in months.

She got a paper back from her anthropology professor with a big fat D written in blocky red Sharpie across the title, and she couldn’t even be justifiably mad, because she’d written it at midnight on the tail-end of a weekend bender. She was pretty sure she’d opened with the word ‘irregardless.’ That didn’t stop her from pulling her hoodie over her eyes and sulking for the rest of the lecture.

The cherry on top of this hellish day came when she tried, for once, to prepare for a test a whole two weeks early, and her ballpoint pen gave out, vomiting purple ink all over her textbook and staining some of the table. At that point, she slammed her books shut, shoved them haphazardly in her messenger bag, and stomped out of the library.

Better luck tomorrow — Enid was going to take off her makeup, get into bed, and watch several episodes of Real Housewives before passing out with the Netflix ‘are you still watching’ screen blaring blue light all over her face and probably causing permanent damage to her circadian rhythm.

She turned the collar of her coat up against the wind and wrapped it more tightly around her waist. The wind on campus was brutal in the winter months. The trees, near-naked and spindly, practically had their remaining leaves ripped from them by the breeze as they shook and groaned. Enid’s breath turned to fog against her nose.

She hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. The moon hung high in the dark sky, and, it being an icy and generally unpleasant Thursday night, hardly anyone was walking between buildings, most students holed up in either one of the libraries or their dorm rooms, hunched over a book. 

Not long now. The library Enid had been at wasn’t far from little her off-campus apartment, especially when she took a detour through some of the narrower alleys. This choice wasn’t exactly in the interest of her self-preservation, but Enid could sacrifice a little safety for a whole lot of convenience, especially after this shitty of a day. After all, no one was out here but her — on week-nights, her college town was quiet at best and boring at worst.

Enid didn’t notice the figure in the shadows until it had lunged at her.

The hands gripping her shoulders were colder and more cutting than the wind, and Enid was stunned that she was able to feel their temperature so sharply through all her layers of wool. She was pushed, felt the stone alley wall dig harshly into her spine, and then one of those cold hands was coming up to her jaw, gathering away her hair and pushing her head back.

In that moment, Enid came back to herself enough to strain against the pressure, but found it nearly immovable. The hands holding her down, bony and pale as they were, housed impossible strength.

Enid could faintly hear herself gasping. Her chest was heaving and burning in abject panic, and her hands had come up to grapple with the person in front of her, but all they found was gauzy fabric.

This is it, she thought weakly, when she saw two pearl-white fangs emerge from some gaping mouth. Eaten to death in an alley. My last gift to humanity will be a D-grade anthropology paper.

The sensation of fangs sinking into her exposed neck was one of those pains that was so clear and sharp that it hardly hurt. What Enid did feel was the thrumming of blood through her arteries. She was suddenly aware of each thick beating of her heart and how close it might be to her last.

Then the teeth withdrew. It was almost immediate. Enid numbly raised one hand to her collarbone and found it warm and wet.

The next thing she was aware of was the sound of retching. She wrinkled her nose.

The shadowy figure was bent at the waist a few feet away, both hands clutching its stomach, and hurling extremely liquidy bile into the gutter. Enid frowned.

“Um,” she said. “I literally can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you okay?”

The figure held up one hand, and, with one last hacking cough, stood up. In its apparent nausea, it had stumbled from the shade into the light of the moon, and for the first time, Enid could clearly make out the details of its face.

She looked young. As young as Enid, with frighteningly pale skin and hair as dark as her clothes, pulled into two braids over her shoulders. She was dressed in bundles of black fabric that obscured what was, judging by her bony hands and gaunt cheekbones, a thin, sickly figure. She wasn’t a shadow, or a monster, or a beast of the night — she was just a girl. (Or possibly all four, but definitely also a girl.)

She also had a little dribble of blood — Enid’s blood — running down her lip to her chin. And fangs sticking out over her bottom lip. Okay.

“Why aren’t you running away?” was the first thing she said, slightly lispy, and Enid couldn’t help but agree.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You don’t seem that scary right now.”

The girl opened her mouth and showed off four glistening white fangs, a sort of pink film covering them that must have been a mixture of blood and saliva. Enid swallowed.

“I think if you were going to eat me, you would have done it already,” she said, not entirely sure why she was so confident she was safe. Possibly she was dreaming. She was, after all, standing in an alley with a mythical creature. Not exactly far off from some lucid dreams she’d had in the past.

The girl gathered up the last of Enid’s blood in her mouth and spat it against the wall.

“Eugh,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist.

For some reason, Enid found herself offended. She crossed her arms. “Rude.”

The girl stared at her for a long while. Then, she said, “When was the last time you went to a doctor?”

“Huh?”

The girl rolled her eyes to the sky and kept them there, like she couldn’t quite believe she was actually having this conversation with someone she had just tried to kill. Enid wanted to tell her that she felt the same way.

“You taste abhorrent,” the girl said. “There is something in your bloodstream that is telling my brain that you are rotten food. Some sort of nutrient deficiency or disease. Like how you wouldn’t be able to eat smelly, maggot-ridden meat without causing emesis.”

“Emesis?”

The girl pointed at the remains of her stomach on the ground.

“Ah,” Enid said. She clutched harder at her neck. “You know, I’m actually feeling kind of lightheaded—”

The girl waved her off. “Don’t worry. I didn’t pierce a major artery. Too much cleanup.”

Enid still felt blood coming out of her wounds in small, throbbing droves, so she wasn’t exactly comforted by this reassurance.

“Right,” she said.

The girl glared.

“Have you ever heard of a mysterious death on campus? Of a poor blond waif found in an alley as a shriveled husk, all the life drained from her corpse, two mysterious puncture marks on her neck?” she said.

Enid felt a little sick. “Well, I’ve never heard anyone use the word waif, so no.”

“Then, if you were rational, you might assume that I have, in fact, not made a habit of leaving a trail hapless, non-threateningly pretty dead girls in my wake, would you not?” the girl said. “That perhaps, I take what I need, and my so-called victims make a complete recovery?”

Enid didn’t like that the girl was making sense. She also didn’t like that if she had any excess blood in her, she might have flushed.

“‘Pretty?’” she said.

The girl pressed her fingers to her temples as if praying for strength, or fighting off a particularly nasty migraine.

“Have you gone to the doctor recently, yes or no?” she asked. “Have you been recently diagnosed with an unfortunate early case of leukemia?”

At that, Enid blanched. “Um, no?”

“Well, I would look into it,” the girl said. Enid stared at her in horror. “Oh, don’t panic now. The leukemia is extremely unlikely, and also quite distinctive in taste. More likely you should get a prescription for some iron supplements.”

“Oh,” Enid said. “Okay.”

The girl stared. Enid stared back. Moonlight danced lightly off the blood-wet cobblestone.

“Okay,” Enid said. “So, are you going to, like, turn into a bat and disappear into the night? Because I feel like I can’t just walk away knowing you’re literally going to suck the blood out of the next person who comes through here—”

The girl made a sound of utter exasperation, threw her hands in the air, and, in a flash, was gone.

The alley was dead silent and still painted glistening red. If it weren’t for the blood still trickling down Enid’s chest (though the girl was right, it was slowing down) she might have assumed she just had an extremely vivid hallucination. She walked the rest of the way to her apartment in a haze.

Enid was distantly glad that Yoko was already in her room, blasting Bauhaus to disguise whatever was actually going on behind that door, because she had no idea how she could possibly explain the red stains down her neck. She looked into the bathroom mirror and wrinkled her nose.

She would have to get her coat dry-cleaned. And she was probably going to scrap this hoodie — baby blue was not a forgiving color for bloodstains.

Enid washed the rest of her blood off in the shower. It swirled pink and red down the drain. Once dry and towel-wrapped, she thumbed over the two puncture wounds on her neck in the foggy mirror.

Her skin was already closing over.

—

It might have been the smart thing to do to avoid that alleyway from now on, and Enid did, for a while. It was two weeks of taking the long way and arriving at the base of her apartment stairs (broken elevator) with already-aching legs, not at all prepared to hike to the fifth floor. She usually spilled through the front door in a sweaty heap, Yoko giving her a bemused look from the couch.

Enid was leaving the library late again, after a cram-session for that test that she never did end up studying for (opening the ink-stained textbook after two weeks had been like uncovering a crime scene), and was hit in the face by a torrential downpour. How, exactly, she had missed the circling gray clouds coalescing into a violent storm, she had no idea. Possibly, Marketing 201 was just too damn engaging.

Enid bit her lip, clutching her messenger bag to her chest, and listened to the rain spit angrily at the overhang that was currently shielding her from above. She didn’t have an umbrella or raincoat, and she couldn’t exactly ask one of the other straggling students inside for one in this sort of weather without coming off like a selfish jerk. She would just have to brave it.

It was about five seconds after she started walking that she decided she was not going to endure even one second more of this than she had to. She peered carefully both ways down the street, then into the first diversion of her shortcut, and started down the alley. Her shoes made pathetic little splatting noises in the gathering puddles.

It was possible that Enid was tempting fate, walking down the same alley, at the same time, on the same day of the week as she was last attacked. Not to mention the fact that the cold rain had probably whipped her face into a rosy flush. She was practically screaming blood-bag.

In any case, she let out an indignant squeak as she was shoved against a wall.

“Hang on!” she said, grabbing out for the girl’s shoulders. “You definitely weren’t here when I looked. Can you turn invisible, or are you sitting on top of buildings like Batman?”

There were already teeth on Enid’s neck. Fortunately, she had it on fairly good authority that she was not a prime candidate for a snack. Sure enough, the girl had just barely pierced a vein before she was spitting and spluttering, staggering backwards.

“Are you telling me it’s been two weeks and you haven’t so much as made an appointment with the on-campus nurse?” the girl was saying, wiping roughly at her tongue to get the taste out.

“Why, so you can eat me next time?” Enid said, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know how much clearer I can be that I am not interested in killing you,” the girl said, an edge of exasperation coloring her voice. “You would survive being bitten by me. You may not survive whatever is poisoning your bloodstream.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to take my chances with the bloodthirsty vampire.”

“Moron.”

Enid scoffed. “Well, it’s not like it’s that easy for me to just up and go to the doctor.”

“Oh, no?” The girl’s eyebrows were raised in a heavily sardonic fashion.

“No! I have classes, and homework, and finals coming up, and I have to get my mom a Christmas present even though she hates whatever I get, and I have, you know, social responsibilities,” Enid said hotly. “I don’t even have time for a date. What makes you think I have five hours to sit in some free clinic waiting room just to be told I need to get more sun?”

The girl blinked, slowly. Her back straightened a little. She was sort of beautiful, Enid thought distantly, when she wasn’t hunched and snarling and baring her fangs. Then, she balked, realizing she was checking out the vampire who had now twice tried to drink her blood.

“Going to the doctor should at least rank higher than your ‘social responsibilities,’” the girl said, quotation marks evident in her tone, as if she had gleaned that by ‘social responsibilities,’ Enid really meant ‘Friday-and-sometimes-Saturday night drinks at the local bar.’ “And possibly higher than your mother’s Christmas present, if she does not appreciate it, especially given the fact that you must live until Christmas if you are to give it to her. And it should certainly outrank going on a date.”

She spat the word out as if it was this insipid, vile thing. Enid almost laughed.

“I mean, seeing as the fact that my only symptom is a bloodsucker I don’t even know the name of telling me I taste ‘off,’ I don’t even know what I’d tell the doctor,” she said. Then she frowned. “Sorry, is ‘bloodsucker,’ like, offensive? Now that I think about it, it kind of sounds like a slur.”

“Wednesday,” the girl said.

“Huh?”

“My name.”

“Oh.”

“And you don’t taste off. You taste like werewolf urine.”

“Wait — werewolves—?”

Wednesday dismissed her with a roll of her eyes and a raised hand. Enid’s mouth hung slightly open. Not only was she being made aware of the apparently extensive mythical underbelly of her college town, but she was now being actively antagonized by it. Awesome.

“Um, I’m Enid, by the way,” she said, because she had to fill the silence somehow.

“I don’t care,” Wednesday said. “The next time I smell your blood on the air, it had better be roast beef and buttered potatoes, understand?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Enid said, because the rain hadn’t let up, and she really was eager to get home. She had been basically soaked through at this point, which sort of rendered her shortcut pointless.

Wednesday looked fine — no colder than usual, anyway, despite the weight of her many layers of clothing sticking wetly to her skin. In fact, as the clouds parted slightly to let starlight stream in, Enid noticed that her cheeks were a little fuller than last time she’d seen her. Her bones pushed less harshly through her skin, and her skin itself was less gray and more olive, like she’d gotten a slight tan. And hold on — was that a blush dusting her nose?

Enid pointed accusingly. “You’ve already fed!”

Wednesday’s eyes widened slightly. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

“I will not! You’ve already eaten, you stalker,” Enid said. “You don’t need my blood. You were waiting for me.”

“I was not!” Wednesday said. Her hands clenched into fists at her side, clawlike black nails digging into her palms. “You’re a self-involved half-wit.”

Enid was grinning, now. “Nuh-uh. You totally were. You were worried about me.”

“Stop it.”

“Dude, it’s literally been two weeks. How many nights did you hang out in this alley to see if I’d walk through it?”

Wednesday let out an incomprehensible (and definitely inhuman) sound of frustration before hauling herself up the wall by her fingertips and onto the nearest roof. Enid called up to her from the ground as her angry footsteps faded away.

“We have to stop meeting like this!” she said.

She shook her head to herself, letting her face fall into her hands. She was still smiling. This was getting to be beyond bizarre.

—

Finals were closing in, hanging like a dark cloud over the student body. Everyone trudged around in mild depression and less-mild sleep deprivation.

The three week winter break was the silver lining that was motivating Enid to get through her final stack of papers and readings instead of just giving up and succumbing to an immediate death. Just a few more days spent cramming at the library and a few more sleepless nights at her desk, and then she’d be back home. (This was her mantra.)

She yawned as her eyes skimmed over yet another paragraph on social currency and artificial group identities. There was no way she was going to get any of this stuff to stick in her head by the time exam week rolled around. She turned the glossy page of her textbook and tried to care about developing public schools in Guatemala.

“That’s not going to work if you don’t also take notes.”

Enid looked up and yelped. Looming over her, dressed in a combination of what Enid could only describe as classical Victorian and nineties mall-goth, was a vampire. Her fangs seemed to have retracted, though, and she had fed recently enough for her skin to have taken on a healthy flush.

“Shouldn’t you literally be ash right now?” Enid said, gesturing at the wintry but still positively there morning sun streaming through the windows. “Or — sparkling?”

Wednesday grimaced. “This isn’t Twilight. If it were, I’d kill myself again. May I sit?”

She had one knobbly hand on the seat across from Enid.

“Um, go for it,” Enid said.

Wednesday sat, then placed two clasped hands in front of her.

“Do you know what I smell?” she asked.

Enid could sense where this was going. “Uh, the delightful study-break doughnuts you brought me? The ones you are hopefully hiding under that dramatic Dracula-style coat?”

“Werewolf urine.”

“Man, come on.”

“I do not know why you insist on rebelling against my advice. Do you think I like tracking down your scent? It is not a pleasant scent.”

“Then stop smelling it! Let me study in peace.”

“It is useless to earn a degree if you do not live to see the job market.”

“I highly doubt that mild anemia will kill me in two years.”

“So, you did see a doctor?” Wednesday said. She sounded mildly relieved.

Enid winced. “Well, WebMD.”

Wednesday shut her eyes.

“It’s a perfectly legitimate service!” Enid protested. “And, you know. Maybe you’re right. I guess I kind of fit the symptoms. Congratulations.”

“It does not gratify me to diagnose you. It would gratify me if your blood were to stop smelling like rotten food.”

“If I smell so bad, why did you bite me in the first place?”

Wednesday stared at Enid as if she were a particularly special kind of idiot.

“Do you know what a dingy alley smells like, Enid?” she said. “Do you know what sort of other smells were competing for my attention in that moment? And what it says about the state of your blood that it is comparable to the sort of substances commonly found in dingy alleys?”

“Alright! I get it,” Enid grumbled.

She turned her highlighter over in her hand, sort of hoping that would be the end of it. She couldn’t tell herself she was entirely annoyed that Wednesday kept seeking her out — the attention was sort of flattering, and as long as she avoided the doctor, it wasn’t like she was going to be eaten — but she had chosen a completely inopportune time to harass Enid about her bad hygiene. She really did need to finish this chapter.

“So? Will you make an appointment?”

Enid put her face in her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Enid.”

“Actually, I really have to study right now, so. Unless you’re going to help me with that, I have to ask you very nicely to leave me alone.”

Enid wondered what kind of life she was leading that she was politely asking vampires to go and let her study, instead of screaming and running for her life in the opposite direction.

Wednesday looked at her for a moment, expression shrewd, as if considering. Then she crossed the table and sat in the seat next to Enid, shuffling it towards her.

“Alright,” she said, tapping the title of the textbook chapter with two fingers.

Enid gaped. “What?”

“Well, it’s not as if you’re getting anywhere with it on your own. Your studying habits are abysmal. I’m getting secondhand embarrassment simply watching you,” Wednesday said. “Skimming over information without paraphrasing it does nothing for your retention.”

“And where did you learn that, your psych degree?” Enid frowned.

“Yes.”

Enid’s eyebrows raised. “You’re a student here? Aren’t you, like, a thousand years old?”

Wednesday looked pained. “Not even close.”

“Okay, two hundred.”

“Warmer,” Wednesday said. Enid thought she might have noticed the flicker of a smile. “But my psychology degree is from 2002. I have another from the thirties, but at that point, psychoanalysis was still the basis for most therapeutic treatment. I wanted an education free from Freud’s misogynistic, phallus-obsessed clutches.”

“Two psych degrees,” Enid said. She was kind of awed — she was barely getting through a single, measly journalism degree, that would probably one day license her to write top-ten lists for BuzzFeed. “Wait, how many degrees do you have total?”

Wednesday frowned as if needing to think. “Thirty-seven completed, I believe, and two PhDs in philosophy and literature respectively.”

Enid laughed. “Wow.”

“It isn’t funny.” Wednesday looked vaguely offended.

“No, it’s not. It’s cool. That’s actually a really cool thing to do with eternal life,” Enid said. “You could be, like, seducing billionaires and outliving them for their cash, or having endless exuberant sex everyday, but you’re, like, a scholar. That’s really cool.”

The corner of Wednesday’s mouth twitched, and she looked back down at Enid’s textbook.

“So, now that you are assured of my qualifications,” she said, “read from here to here, summarize in bullet points, and then I’ll test you.”

Enid put her hands up in surrender. She felt sort of hazy and pleased.

“Fine, fine,” she said. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Despite being endlessly distracted by Wednesday’s breath on the back of her neck (did vampires breathe?) (apparently they did) (it was distracting, and slightly hot) (in the idiomatic sense, of course, because in reality Wednesday’s breath was biting and icy) Enid managed to get to the end of the chapter and memorize most of its essential contents by the time one o’clock rolled around.

She grinned at Wednesday. “You’re a genius.”

“I’m practised. Now, what other subjects do you have?”

“Subjects?” Enid said, shutting her textbook with a slam. “No, dude, I have to eat something before I do any more studying. My eyes might pop out. Breaks are an essential part of the college experience.”

Wednesday frowned distastefully. “I am beginning to see why you are barely passing your classes.”

Enid rolled her eyes. “Come on, a lunch break won’t kill. In fact, not taking one might.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Right. I keep forgetting.” Enid chewed on her lip. “I guess you don’t eat, huh?”

“I can. I do not need to, so I usually don’t.”

“Well, come with me then. Just this once,” Enid said. Wednesday looked hesitant. “I feel like I owe you something. I’m literally only passing my anthro final because of you.”

“I doubt that. There are still several chapters you need to work through before I would be that confident.”

Enid mussed Wednesday’s hair. Wednesday looked cartoonishly offended.

“Come on. Let me repay you?” Enid asked. She gave her best puppy-eyed pout, hoping she looked adorable and pitiful instead of just pitiful.

“You could go to the doctor instead,” Wednesday grumbled, before pushing up out of her chair.

Enid grinned.

Chapter Text

“So, like. What would you do if you were almost mugged in an alleyway, but the mugger sort of, like, saw a rash on your neck and thought it looked off, and felt bad, so they dropped their knife and didn’t mug you? And instead just told you to see a doctor?

“And then you avoided that alley for a few weeks, until one time you just had to get home really fast, so you went down the alley and ran into the mugger again, and they got mad at you for not going to a doctor, even though you’re, like, dude, I don’t have the time, and they’re like, you should go to a clinic instead of Christmas shopping for your emotionally unavailable mom?

“And then you realized that, um, they already had like a hundred dollars stuffed in their pocket, so they totally didn’t need to mug you, but were instead just sort of hoping to run into you, specifically, in that alleyway, to see if you were okay, even though they wouldn’t admit it?

And what if after all that, they kind of showed up somewhere that you were, like, say, at a library, and tried to get you to go to a doctor, but you said no, and instead, they sat down and helped you study? For, like, hours?

And since they’re actually a genius, they really helped, and so to thank them, you asked them to go to lunch with you, and even though they hated all the vegan stuff on the menu because they’re, um, kind of a red meat person, they were still grateful and gentlewomanly and stuff, and you laughed way too much and had a really good time?

“And what if, hypothetically, the mugger was actually sort of cute? In a really weird goth way, but also a classically beautiful way? Like a super creepy renaissance painting? What then?”

Yoko stared at Enid with mild concern as she tried to catch her breath.

“Enid, I shouldn’t even have to say this, but don’t hook up with your mugger.”

Enid went red. “That’s so not what I said!”

—

As it turned out, having an immortal tutor who was probably more educated than all of Enid’s professors combined was extremely beneficial.

Wednesday took to simply showing up at Enid’s study sessions, at coffee shops and libraries and once, memorably, on the windowsill of her bedroom, citing the fact that Enid’s putrid scent was too potent to ignore. (Enid scoffed and mimed offense every time, pretending she still believed it. It was their thing.)

One of Wednesday’s degrees was, luckily, also in journalism. It was from the sixties, though, which meant a gaping hole where the internet or even modern broadcast news was concerned. For each lecture Wednesday conducted about feature writing, Enid returned one about the influence of Twitter clickbait articles on contemporary politics. Wednesday looked more horrified with each one.

There was one night in a cafe, Enid’s brain a soup of quotes and citations, when she laughed so hard at Wednesday’s reaction to the Destiel Tumblr meme that she nearly cried, clutching her stomach until it hurt. When her breathing slowed, and she was able to sit up for an extended period without giggling, she looked into Wednesday’s deadpan expression and was pretty sure she saw something like affection swimming in her eyes. Enid’s throat went dry.

Wednesday tapped Enid’s haphazard notes. “Now, international correspondence.”

Enid swallowed. Maybe it was the warmth of the indoor lights playing tricks on her.

—

Exams were a blur. For the whole hellish period, Enid was bouncing between her apartment, several libraries, a coffee shop where she had forgone her usual vanilla ice latte for a twice-day quadruple espresso (to the equally-exhausted barista’s grim-faced understanding) and, of course, the dreaded lecture halls, where Enid puzzled through essay questions and multiple-choices that felt, at this point, like bar trivia.

“By which year was Yahoo! defunct, and elaborate on the reason for its dissolution,” Enid muttered to herself, knuckles pressing into her forehead. “I can’t believe I’m getting graded on this. This is such a bullshit major.”

She stumbled out of her last exam a puddle of journalistic knowledge in the vague shape of a person. She was sweating, shaking from rabid test anxiety, and clutching her bag like it was the last real object on Earth. She stood off to the side to let the rest of the crowd trickle out and was halfway through gulping down the entire contents of her water bottle when she heard the barely-audible clearing of a throat.

She looked up. Wednesday was leaning against a tree.

“That was your last one, yes?” she asked.

Enid swallowed her last mouthful of water, and didn’t even want to touch how Wednesday knew that. She was pretty sure she had never mentioned her exam schedule in any of their study sessions, let alone where they were going to be held.

“Uh, yeah,” she said.

Wednesday nodded, once. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s … go?”

“I’m taking you to a clinic.”

Being escorted at implied tooth-point to a doctor’s office by an eldritch monster would turn out to be one of the more unique experiences of Enid’s life. She went quietly enough, partly because she was too tired at this point to fight it off any longer, and partly because she had come to the frustrating conclusion that Wednesday was probably right, and she might end up feeling significantly better after being prescribed iron supplements.

(Possibly, she should have given in before exam season, and they might not have wiped her out so hard, but she wasn’t about to admit that.)

Enid gave her name and information at the desk with Wednesday standing ominously behind her. She was pretty sure that Wednesday had leveled her patented cold stare on the poor receptionist, because he kept casting nervous glances over Enid’s shoulder as she spoke. Enid half-wanted to say don’t worry, she’s harmless, especially if you have any vitamin deficiencies — she’s quite picky, but decided against it.

Once they were sitting on the stiff plastic seats lining the waiting room, having been given a wait time of about an hour, Enid turned to Wednesday and said, “Since you dragged me here, you’re going to have to entertain me until my name is called.”

Wednesday looked at her. Her expression was almost wry. “If you insist.”

Enid tapped her finger to her lips, pretending to think, then asked something she had been itching to since she saw Wednesday’s fangs. “What year were you born?”

Wednesday thought for a moment, then replied, “Mm, no.”

“No?”

“Wouldn’t it be much more entertaining for you to guess?” Wednesday’s hollow eyes were sparkling, Enid was sure of it. “Delayed gratification, Enid.”

“Ugh, fine. How many presidents have you been alive for?”

“Too easy.”

“Well, now I know that it’s not all of them. So, after 1789.”

Wednesday blinked, as if in mild surprise.

“Hey, I know things,” Enid said, only a little offended. “How many have you met, then?”

She half-expected the answer to be zero, but Wednesday thought for a moment, and answered, “Seven.”

Enid gaped. “Which?”

“Not telling.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“I am not. You are still alive. I have been reliably informed since first meeting you that some of my kind have a taste for anemia. It’s like … blue cheese.”

“So, not only have I been accosted by a vampire, but the picky eater of vampires. You want me to become the equivalent of chicken tenders and fries.”

The corner of Wednesday’s mouth twitched. Enid had learned that this was practically a full-on grin.

“I wouldn’t be so critical,” she said. “There are certain fringe benefits for you to glean if you smell more appealing.”

Enid raised her eyebrows. “In general, or to you specifically?”

Wednesday quickly looked away. “In general.”

“Uh-huh.” Enid grinned.

“Shut up,” Wednesday hissed. “Keep — keep guessing.”

“Okaaaay,” Enid said, willing to concede the point for the sake of continued peace. “How many British monarchs, then?”

“…Ten, I believe.”

“Wow. That seems like a lot.”

“It was.”

They went back and forth this way for a while. Enid was distantly pleased at the fact that she hardly noticed the time passing, too busy narrowing down the window of Wednesday’s potential lifespan. With the help of Google, Enid had ascertained that she was born during the reign of George III, had seen three comings of Halley’s Comet, and had her sixteenth birthday photographed by the earliest model of the camera.

“1805,” Enid guessed.

“Close.”

“1800.”

“Closer.”

“18…02?”

“Shall I just tell you?”

“No! 1803? 1804?” Enid frowned. “1801?”

Wednesday nodded.

“No fair! That’s the last one anyone would guess.”

“Why?”

“Because — just, the first year of a century, it’s so specific.”

“Well, if it helps, I did not engineer my birth in order to confound you in this insipid game.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Enid said, punching Wednesday’s arm gently. She looked unimpressed.

“If you are trying to injure me, I assure you that you’re incapable,” she said.

Enid smiled. “No, dude. I’m being friendly. You do know what that is, right?”

Wednesday stared in a way that made Enid question, for a moment, if she did know what friendliness was. When it became apparent that Wednesday wasn’t going to say anything more, and once Enid’s mouth had gone thoroughly dry under the weight of her stare (Enid wondered if the endless intensity was a vampire thing, or a Wednesday thing), she decided to divert the conversation elsewhere.

“Um, so, you look about twenty, right?” Enid said. “So that means — is ‘sire’ the right word—?”

“Enid Sinclair?”

Enid looked up to see a woman with pulled-back hair standing in the doorway with a clipboard. She was smiling thinly in that generic polite manner.

“That’s me,” Enid said. The second she stood up, she felt Wednesday do the same.

The woman gestured for Enid to follow her down the hall, which she did, Wednesday closely in tow.

Enid’s blood was drawn without much fanfare. She saw hunger flare in Wednesday’s eyes for a moment at the sight of it in the syringe, but it was quickly replaced by a look of nausea as she sniffed the air. Enid had to restrain herself from laughing while the doctor removed the strap from her arm as she watched Wednesday hold back a gag, fist pressed tight to her mouth.

“Great. So, we’ll email you in two to three days, and ask you to come in if there’s anything to be worried about,” the doctor said, sliding her glasses past her forehead to rest on the top of her head.

Enid thanked her more profusely than she normally would, figuring that enduring the stare of a (apparently) two-hundred-and-twenty-three-year-old vampire boring into her was more than she would typically handle in an appointment.

A few moments later, Enid and Wednesday were standing outside again, wind biting at their exposed skin. The clinic wasn’t far from campus — Enid could see the taller buildings from where she stood. She supposed it was around the time that Yoko would be finishing her last exam, and that she might appreciate hot coffee and a hug at the door. She should head back soon.

She wrung her hands absently.

Was this it? She didn’t see why it wouldn’t be. Beyond a mild investment in Enid’s continued existence, and a desire for the human populace to generally smell better (which Enid herself shared), Wednesday hadn’t exactly expressed interest in Enid’s friendship. Or … anything else. (Anything more.) A few weeks of tutoring and one vegan lunch didn’t really constitute a relationship.

Enid turned to face Wednesday anxiously, her eyes big, and found she was already being watched. She cleared her throat.

“So. Um,” she said, scratching the back of her head. “I should really, like, get back to campus soon. You know how it is.”

“Right,” Wednesday said.

Enid nodded. “Yeah. So. Uh, I guess maybe I’ll see you around? I don’t know when you’re graduating. You could be a freshman. I’m here for another year and a half, though. So. Maybe I will see you.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Enid,” Wednesday said through gritted teeth. (She coughed a little around the word ‘Christ,’ but nothing was set on fire, so all seemed to be well.) “Do you want my phone number, or not?”

Enid grinned, flooded with relief. “Only you could make asking for someone’s number insulting.”

“Give me your arm. Moron.”

Enid pulled up her sleeve happily, letting Wednesday paint the digits neatly onto her skin with the fountain pen she apparently kept in her pocket. She put the cap on it with a click and tucked it back away.

“Don’t touch that to anything for at least a minute,” she said. “Unless you want it to stain your clothes.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Enid said, still giddy. “Your handwriting is so nice.”

“Well. Two centuries of practice,” Wednesday muttered. “And that’s a landline, so none of your vapid texting. It won’t go through.”

Enid pouted. “What?”

“You’ll simply have to bear it.”

“But I was gonna send you so many cute selfies over winter break. And photos of my dogs. How will you see my dogs?”

“Take a polaroid and mail it to me,” Wednesday said.

There was definitely something, something simple and happy, dancing in her expression. Enid was sort of glad. Wednesday’s face was usually complicated by her two hundred years of living, marred by all sorts of emotional scars that Enid couldn’t hope to understand. Something that probably only other immortals could sympathize with. And not that she frequented any vampire hangout spots, but the only person Enid ever saw Wednesday with was herself.

“I will,” Enid said. She hesitated, stepped forward, then slung her arms around Wednesday’s shoulders and pulled her tightly to her chest. (She took care to turn her still ink-wet forearm outwards.)

Wednesday stilled. Her entire body was thin, cold, and taut, pulled to attention like a bowstring. Enid could feel every quivering sinew through the layers of fabric Wednesday wore. Could feel the obvious lack of a pulse. Everything was sharp and at the ready.

Then, slowly, Enid felt two hands interlace across the small of her back, and she smiled into Wednesday’s scarf.

—

“What do you do on breaks?” Enid asked. It was late — so late that she had to whisper, afraid to break the frail quiet of her childhood home. “I mean. I assume you don’t really have, like … a home to go to.”

“...I suppose not.”

“Sorry. That was rude.”

“It was fine.”

“No, really. I’m sorry.”

“It really was fine,” Wednesday said. “It’s true — I don’t have a home aside from my apartment near campus. I haven’t since I was very young, sixty or so. That was when my parents passed. I still own that house, but it isn’t quite the same. The silence is different now, without people holding their breath.”

“So — your parents knew that you were…?”

“Of course. They were well acquainted with the supernatural. My mother was half-witch herself. I suspect my father had orc blood in his ancestry.”

“Wow.”

“Yes. Quite.”

“But you didn’t…? I mean, they didn’t want you to … bite them?”

“My mother had no interest in eternal life. She said that the ninety-odd years she’d have were painful enough. And my father, he had no interest in eternal life without my mother.”

“That’s kind of romantic.”

“They were like that. They would make out in every corner of our house for about as long as they could still stand. I was always interrupting them.”

“Oh. Gross.”

“Isn’t it?”

Enid found herself laughing. She muffled it into the palm of her hand.

“What about you?” she asked next.

“What about me?”

“Do you have interest in eternal life?”

Wednesday was silent for a while. She was silent often, so Enid wasn’t quite sure whether she had struck a nerve, or whether Wednesday was simply thinking.

“I have an interest in a life that I can choose when to end,” she said. “I’m not truly immortal. Nothing is. One ill-fated brush with fire, or a collapse onto a wooden fence, and I’m gone. That brings me some solace.”

“Really? Because honestly, dude, death scares the shit out of me.”

“It does most people. I was never afraid of it, even before I encountered it firsthand. It was … comforting. That one day my soul would be poured back into the universe. Placed into the chest of another life.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at it.”

“It’s the only way of looking at it. I can’t hoard my life. It’s a finite resource.”

“I guess,” Enid said. She wasn’t quite prepared to discuss existentialism with a doctor of philosophy, so she attempted to change the subject, casually, to something that she had spent a good deal of time wondering about. “So, wait. How exactly were you bitten? Turned? Whatever?”

There was another stretch of silence. Enid could hear Wednesday swallow.

“So. Do you remember how I said my parents were familiar with the supernatural?”

Enid smiled slightly. “Uh, yes?”

“Well. I had met vampires here and there by the time I was twenty.”

“Right. I think I see where this is going.”

“So. In the interest, primarily, of getting to keep my mind sharp into my old age, writing more books in a lifetime than any other person before, and ensuring that I would see the day women could vote in a presidential election, I—”

“Tempted a vampire?”

“You make it sound like a tawdry erotica. It was very tasteful.”

“Did you bare your neck to him and say, oh, bite me, savage beast of the night?”

“It was a she, in fact, and I said no such thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I laid out my arguments rationally, on a day when she had not fed yet, and — yes, perhaps I bared my neck to her. It isn’t anything … it’s like hovering a greasy cheeseburger under a human’s nose. It’s simply making the meal look more appetizing.”

“You brazen harlot.”

“Yes. Well.”

Enid was laughing. She hoped the light crackling coming from the other end of the line was Wednesday softly chuckling, and not the sound of her having a fit.

“There was also the fact that it wasn’t exactly easy,” Wednesday said, after a moment, “to have any sort of … contact, with another woman.”

Enid shifted her weight to her arms, rolling over onto her stomach. Her chest felt vaguely tight. “Oh.”

“Yes. Even among nonhumans, who were freer with themselves. So, when presented with the chance…”

A small smile played across Enid’s lips. “I don’t think that a girl sucking the blood from your neck is an exact substitute for a hot makeout sesh.”

She ran a hand over her own scars, as had quickly become her habit. They were entirely healed over by this point, little bumps of gooseflesh hardly visible to the naked eye, but she suspected they would always be there, in some capacity. At the very least, she would always feel them.

“Well. There was that,” Wednesday said. “There was also … hope.”

Enid swallowed. “Hope?”

“A fickle thing. Silly, really. I have very few.”

“Tell me.”

There was a rustling sound, like Wednesday was adjusting her position.

“Similar to my desire to vote in a presidential election,” she said, lightly. “I hoped… well, I hoped that…” She paused. “I didn’t quite believe.”

“Right. Yeah, I get that.” Enid liked to think she did — in some small way. “But, hey. Congratulations.”

She could practically hear Wednesday’s sardonic almost-smile spreading her lips.

“Thank you.”

—

(2:08 AM) Enid: what if hypothetically your mugger gave you her number.

(2:10 AM) Yoko: oh my fucking god

(2:11 AM) Enid: and you keep having these really deep late night conversations where she tells you all about her life and why she started mugging to begin with.

(2:11 AM) Yoko: no, enid. i’m not fucking hearing you out

(2:12 AM) Enid: over THE PHONE

(2:13 AM) Enid: so you can hear the softness of her voice and her breath in your ear

(2:13 AM) Yoko: YOU CANNOT FALL IN LOVE WITH YOUR MUGGER.

(2:13 AM) Enid: THAT IS SO NOT WHAT I SAID!

—

“So. How come when you bit me, I, like, didn’t turn?”

“Apart from the fact that I got a mouthful of your blood before promptly spitting it out and regurgitating?”

“Yes. I’m still offended, by the way.”

“If you had heeded my advice sooner…”

“We’re not getting into this again. Me. Why not vampire.”

“Did all my tutoring fly out of your head in San Francisco?”

“Stop dodging the question.”

Wednesday sighed over the line. “Well, for a transformation to be completed, I would have had to bite myself and feed you some of my blood.”

“... Dude. Gross.”

“I guarantee you would have quite enjoyed it. Do you know why?”

“Why? Because as an almost-vampire, I would have known that blood was actually a delicious and extremely healthy snack?”

“Because I have appropriate iron levels.”

“Jesus Christ.”

There was an amused huff of air over the phone.

“Not to steer the conversation away from your abysmal hygiene yet again, but I wanted to ask you something.”

Enid shifted her phone to her other hand in order to dig around in her pocket for her keys. “Yeah?”

“When are you supposed to be returning to campus?”

Enid rolled her eyes silently, trying not to feel snubbed. She had gone over this with Wednesday at least twice, down to the details of her flight. It probably wasn’t the greatest sign for the future of their relationship — friendship — whatever — that Wednesday still couldn’t find it in herself to remember.

Enid tried to make her voice light as she said, “Any minute, hopefully, if I can find my goddamn house-keys.”

Wednesday was silent as Enid checked each pocket of her jeans, jacket, and the cardigan underneath. Finally, she managed to produce her keys from one of them, and slid them smoothly into the lock. The door creaked open and Enid hauled her suitcase over the threshold.

“I only wanted to check because apparently, your flight was delayed by two hours. Really, Enid,” Wednesday said. “I’ve been sitting here for far too long, and I had no explanation to offer your roommate if she arrived before you.”

Enid dropped her phone and it clattered to the floor. Reclined on her couch, albeit rather uncomfortably (with a straight back and crossed legs), was Wednesday, in all her gothic, showy-cheekboned glory.

“You vampires,” Enid said, “have no sense of boundaries.”

Wednesday’s lip pulled back slightly, showing off the lines of her protracted fangs. “I had nothing else to do this afternoon.”

Enid grinned, crossed the room, and wrapped Wednesday in a hug, hauling her until she was laying sideways next to Enid, splayed horizontal across the cushions.

“Your smell … is not repulsive,” Wednesday mumbled into the junction of Enid’s collarbone. Her lips were cold.

“Well, I’ve been taking these new-fangled things called iron tablets. Apparently, they do wonders.” Enid tugged playfully on one of Wednesday’s braids. “Am I going to have to start wearing a cross? Or a rosary?”

“No,” Wednesday murmured. She sounded almost sleepy. Enid thought back to one of their midnight conversations, when Wednesday had confided that the smell of potent blood had almost the effect of warm tea in the way it made her drowsy, nearly docile. Repressed her hunter’s instinct, when she had it all under her lips for the taking. “Don’t need to. Won’t bite.”

Enid felt stupid with how much she was smiling.

—

Having Wednesday around, in a non-tutoring capacity, was as nice as Enid expected it would be. She was good company, despite her rotating door of emotions that pretty much consisted of apathy, sardonic amusement, and contempt. She was especially fun to watch historical dramas with — the sort that claimed to be realistic, but especially the ones that took extreme liberties.

Wednesday was shouting at Bridgerton on the TV as if it were a football game, and Wednesday was the sort of person to care about football.

“Hey, maybe this is what it was like in England, right?” Enid said, in mock-seriousness. Just about her favorite thing to do with Wednesday was poke the bear until Wednesday’s cheeks went red with stolen blood. “You don’t know. You weren’t even a socialite — you were a vampiric recluse.”

Wednesday growled. “I did not spend two hundred years being sexually repressed for this man to have a bi-sexual menage a trois with royalty.”

Enid went a little pink around the ears and tried to wrench her gaze from Wednesday and turn it back to the TV, where she was pretty sure two guys were going at it, by the sounds of it. It was more strenuous than she expected.

When the front door opened, Enid jolted. She looked up, and Yoko was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised as she looked between the two girls huddled on the couch. Wednesday’s eyes were still narrowed in hatred and glued to the screen. Enid worried her fingernails. (She supposed it had to happen eventually.)

“Um, hey,” she said. “Uh, Wednesday, this is my roommate, Yoko. Yoko, Wednesday.”

“Uh, hi,” Yoko said. She stepped further into their apartment, kicking the door shut behind her. Wednesday had still not acknowledged her presence, so she mouthed to Enid something like, who is she? Enid winced.

“Wednesday’s … a friend,” she said.

“We met in a dark alley,” Wednesday offered helpfully.

Enid cringed as the full weight of Yoko’s disapproving glare was leveled on her. (It didn’t take a genius to put the ‘mugging’ story together.) She shrugged helplessly. Yoko shook her head.

“We’re just watching TV,” Enid said. “I hope it’s — I mean, if you need quiet…”

Yoko covered her eyes with one hand. She looked like she was restraining herself from screaming. “It’s fine,” she said. “But don’t think for a second you’re getting away with not talking about this.”

Enid swallowed. “Uh, noted.”

Yoko closed the door to her bedroom with a slam.

“What did she have to be upset about?” Wednesday asked.

“Uh.” Enid swallowed. “No idea.”

Enid thought Wednesday might have more follow-up questions, but instead, she almost immediately launched into another lecture about costuming and cleavage. Enid felt herself smile involuntarily, watching Wednesday’s gray skin grow steadily more flushed as she ranted. (She could deal with Yoko later.)

—

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“You have no sense of self-preservation.”

“I know.”

“You’re a big, gay, non-self-preserving idiot.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

“You can’t fall at the feet of every girl with dark eyes.”

“I don’t! Just this one.”

“You can’t fall at the feet of a girl who pulled a knife on you.”

“Well. The knife was an … exaggeration.”

“Right.”

“And I’m not falling at her feet. I think we’re taking it slow. It’s kind of an unspoken thing, actually. It’s very mature of us.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having adult relationships, Enid.”

“Thanks. I actually think it’s going really well.”

—

Wednesday was very confused by the concept of brunch, no matter how many times Enid attempted to describe it. Eventually, she simply said, “You know what? It doesn’t matter, because you’re going anyway. Yoko and her girlfriend will be there and it’ll all be very pleasant. Okay?”

Wednesday frowned.

It was pleasant. The icy tension of winter had thawed in favor of early spring, the scent of pollen dancing on the air. Enid had managed to break out her first sundress, and even with a cardigan overtop, this felt like a momentous occasion. She was practically bouncing on her toes outside the cafe.

“You are so annoying when you’re chipper,” Wednesday said, grimacing. Enid grinned, slinging an arm around Wednesday’s shoulders.

“Jeez, Little Miss Grumpy-Pants, tell me how you really feel,” she said. Wednesday looked at her in horror, probably in response to the nickname, which was among Enid’s best work.

Wednesday, oddly enough, looked significantly more vampiric when the weather was warmer. It was possibly the fact that snowy, dreary weather was forgiving of a certain level of paleness, as people avoided the outdoors. Now that the sun was warm and yellow and nature was blooming again, Wednesday’s gaunt grayness was glaring in comparison. Enid wondered what was wrong with her that she found it sort of cute.

“Enid!”

Yoko was jogging a little to catch up with Enid and Wednesday outside the cafe. Enid frowned.

“Yoko?” she said, accepting her hug in hello. “Uh — is something wrong?”

Yoko shook her head, slightly out of breath. “No, uh, not exactly. I just — Divina’s grabbing something from the car, and I wanted to say that … she’s kind of gotten into some conspiracy stuff recently, so if she brings it up, please don’t make fun of her. It’s basically just a hobby. Like UFO hunting. Okay?”

Enid raised her eyebrows, but nodded. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Yoko turned her attention to Wednesday. “Hi.”

Wednesday stared. At a nudge from Enid, she drawled, “Hello.”

Yoko’s responding smile was tight-lipped. 

Once at their table, Wednesday ordered the same thing as Enid. She was fairly out of touch with most modern-day breakfast items, as before Enid, she apparently ate about one full meal a decade, and was currently picking around her granola with distrust. (She had attempted to describe her outlook towards food to Enid once, and settled on ‘It’s as if you were presented with a plate of gray, flavorless paste. You could eat it, but it wouldn’t taste like much of anything, and while it won’t kill you, it won’t award you with any nutritional benefits. It’s not … appealing.’)

Divina was sweet enough, though, that Enid didn’t mind Wednesday’s silence. It had gotten to the point where Wednesday’s mere presence was enough to bring her a semblance of comfort.

They were maybe halfway through their meal and on their second coffees when Divina’s ‘conspiracy stuff’ came to light.

“So — I mean, have you heard of the vampire hunting group on campus?”

Enid nearly choked on organic yogurt. She noticed Wednesday looking up from her meal in curiosity.

“Uh, no,” Enid said, spluttering. She tried to think back to what someone who didn’t think vampires were real would say to a conversation about vampires. “But, like, they aren’t real, right?”

Nailed it.

Yoko gave Enid a warning look.

Divina shrugged, lips pulled tight. “Yeah, I thought so too. Until about a month ago.”

It was then that she pulled back her crop of short hair to reveal two pinpricks on her neck. As subtly as possible, Enid swung a pointed glare to Wednesday, who was studiously avoiding eye contact.

“It’s weird. So many people around here have the exact same story. We all kind of thought it was a dream, or some weird hungover hallucination, but it’s too much of a coincidence, right?” Divina said. “I mean, there are like fifteen people in the club, and new people are joining all the time. Now, none of us saw a face, so we have no idea how many are out there…”

Enid put a hand over her mouth to hopefully stifle whatever wanted to come out, like laughter, or, worse, a confession. She honestly wasn’t sure what she would do with herself if her roommate’s girlfriend drove a stake through her long-time crush’s heart before she could kiss her.

“I guess I just brought it up in case there was any chance that you…?” Divina trailed off hopefully.

Enid’s eyebrows shot up and she pointed to herself in what she hoped was an appropriate display of incredulity. “Me? Oh, no, you’ve got the wrong girl. Nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to me. Nope.”

Wednesday gave her a look that pretty clearly said overselling it.

Divina’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. Yoko’s hand came up to rub her back in a comforting gesture.

“Don’t worry, babe,” she murmured. Then, she gave Enid a look. “Besides, I think if Enid got bitten by a vampire, she’d probably find a way to fall in love with it.”

Enid coughed.

—

In Enid’s room, dusk descending softly on the horizon outside her window, Wednesday began to unwrap her layers of clothing. Her scarf, which she still wore in mid-March, was pulled softly off her neck and folded over the spine of Enid’s desk chair. From her vantage point on the bed, Enid could make out the puncture marks of Wednesday’s bite, just under her jaw. They were healed, of course, but more obvious than Enid’s and even Divina’s, a slight blushing quality to them, the flesh knotted and raised.

“I can’t believe you tried to eat Yoko’s girlfriend,” Enid said. “I feel like we should make a rule. Fatal or not, no biting people I know personally. Stuff could get messy real quick.”

Wednesday was silent. She was pulling off her coat, next, then her lumpy wool cardigan, placing both carefully on top of her scarf. Her back was facing Enid, and she was standing on Enid’s carpet, surrounded by the same movie posters that used to decorate Enid’s childhood home, wearing a small black dress and tights with no shoes. Enid thought to herself, numbly, that it might have been the most vulnerable she’d ever seen her.

“How come you wear all those layers all the time?” she tried. “I know you’re, like, cold, but I sort of figured you couldn’t feel it the same way we do. Since it’s just your, like, natural state.”

“Enid,” came Wednesday’s voice.

Enid was still. “Yeah?”

“What did your roommate mean?” she said, quietly. “When she said that if you were bitten, you would fall in love with the vampire?”

Enid’s cheeks flushed angry red and she fought the urge to hide her face in her hands. “Oh. Oh, don’t worry, it’s just, like, an inside joke. It’s nothing.”

“It sounded pointed.”

“Yeah. Well.” Enid chewed her lip, brainstorming all the ways she could potentially get out of this, then stopped. It wasn’t like she wasn’t planning on saying it eventually. “I guess… When we first started talking, I kind of told Yoko that you were a mugger.”

Wednesday sounded almost amused when she said, “A mugger?”

“Yeah. Because, like, I really wanted to talk about it, and I kind of had to think of a way to describe how we met,” Enid said. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “So, I said that a girl tried to mug me in an alley, but she saw, like, a rash on my neck, and was so worried for my health that she stalked me into going to a doctor.”

“I wasn’t worried. You were a biohazard.”

“Right,” Enid said, letting herself smile fully only because Wednesday’s back was still turned. She wished she could see Wednesday’s expression. “And that, like. Even though it didn’t make any sense, the mugger was actually kind of cute.”

“...Cute.”

“Actually, really beautiful,” Enid said, softly. “I think my words were ‘classically beautiful, like a renaissance painting.’” She left out the ‘creepy’ part. She didn’t think it would do her any favors.

Wednesday turned around. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, forcing what little blood was in her knuckles out, turning them ghost-white. Her face was open, its hard edges erased. Her fangs made little indents in her bottom lip.

“You’re in love with me,” Wednesday said, carefully, like putting it out in the open might make it untrue.

Enid’s first instinct was to minimize it. It was probably a bit extreme to jump to declarations of love before a first kiss, or even an actual date. But Wednesday was on her third century of living. She was clever, and gorgeous, and frighteningly intense, and even though she had not said it in so many words, Enid was fairly sure that since her parents’ deaths, Wednesday hadn’t heard the words directly.

“Yeah,” Enid said, slightly overcome by the weight of what she was about to admit.

There was also the fact that Enid was mortal. She couldn’t predict exactly where she would end up, especially with the curveball in her life that was Wednesday, but she liked the idea of growing old. That meant she didn’t have much time for tiptoeing around things that could make her life better if she stopped being afraid of them.

She stood up off her bed, crossed her room to stand across from Wednesday, and placed a hand softly on either side of her face. Her skin was freezing. Holding her felt like clinging to frost on a metal surface, but there was no way Enid was going to stop.

“I do love you,” she said, quietly. “I think.”

It wasn’t grandiose. It wasn’t Byron, or Austen, or Forster, or any of the writers whose lifetimes Wednesday had spanned. It was shaky, and a little awkward, and honest.

Wednesday looked pained. Her brow furrowed.

“What is this?” Enid asked, desperate to know.

“I’m,” Wednesday started, and stopped. She looked down where her hands were fisted in her lap. “My inclinations were not favored by most of history, and when the nineties came around, I was … used to being alone.”

“Oh,” Enid said, and thumbed Wednesday’s cheekbone. Wednesday flinched.

“I live my after-life based on precedent,” she said. “I am … not certain how to do things I have not done before. I haven’t had a ‘first’ in over a century.”

Enid smiled, soft and slow, and turned Wednesday’s head to face her.

“This is so … frustrating,” Wednesday said. Her eyes were flickering with annoyance and what might have been apprehension. “I have lived your lifetime eleven times over.”

“You’re only twenty-one,” Enid said.

“Yes,” Wednesday admitted. “I should have waited for my frontal lobe to develop, but unfortunately, the science wasn’t there yet. I was also afraid that the scarlet fever might reach me before the vampires did.”

Enid put her forehead to Wednesday’s. She could feel Wednesday’s nervous swallow in her temples.

“There’s no shame in being bad at something you haven’t done before,” she said.

Wednesday frowned. “There is nothing I am bad at, Enid, except understanding that insipid modern journalism you follow on your cellular telephone.”

“Oh yeah?” Enid said. She was smiling so hard that she worried the next step would be impossible. “Prove it.”

A look of stubborn determination took hold of Wednesday’s face before she kissed Enid. It was hard, at first, complicated by the bulge of the protracted fangs in her mouth, but Enid ran a hand over the curve of Wednesday’s jaw and went about the slow work of softening it. She moved their mouths together until it was something gentle and rhythmic.

Wednesday’s lips absorbed Enid’s body heat. Their temperature averaged to something lukewarm. Their kiss thrummed with the promise of blood.

“Well?” Enid asked gently, into the part of Wednesday’s mouth.

“Well,” Wednesday said, beginning to push Enid towards the bed, “I’m glad you are taking your iron supplements.”

Enid laughed, and let herself be straddled.

Wednesday had a fondness for Enid’s neck. No matter where her hands strayed, her mouth came back to her jaw, her collarbone, the space in between. Her tongue mapped the roads of her arteries over and over and over like she could taste them through Enid’s flesh. Once, she dragged her teeth lightly over Enid’s twin puckered scars and she gasped.

There wasn’t one second in which Enid was afraid.