Chapter Text
Mina Ha has never even met the assassination-prone idiot who ruined her life.
She tried, many times. Once the engagement was secured she attended every gala, jubilee, fete and soirée in the Cursed Apple, hoping to get a glimpse of her ticket to the top. She even charmed her way into a Fairfax Industries shareholder meeting. Her enigmatic fiancé never showed.
Maybe they were a loser, or scared to death of the world. (A justified fear, in the end, she supposed). Maybe they didn’t want to run the company. That was fine; that was what lackeys were for. She could tally her partner’s personality defects later. She just wanted to make sure they’d look good together.
Whatever. The Fairfax scion could spend eternity decaying in some gaudy mausoleum. She looked plenty good alone. She had a new life now, and it was going to last forever.
In fact, she had two. The first was spent kissing the asses of an even worse kind of elite, a cabal of centuries-old freaks who all talked like New York was still a Dutch island and acted like she wasn’t in the room. They made the socialites and shmoozers she was familiar with look like grounded, reasonable people.
They were inescapable. Even fashion, her one true love, turned out to be crawling with vampires. She’d already had to make several concessions to the creepy ghoul who owned most of the Manhattan runways.
She was on the outside looking in, and that was not where Mina Ha belonged. It’s not like she could just wait for the old guard to die, either. But the vampiric world was brutal, and eventually one of them would fall to the others. If she was patient, in a few decades she might get off the bottom rung.
She was not patient. So, the second life.
This one involved the patrons and ritual sacrifice and even more freaks. Was it beneath her, running around the streets of Manhattan doing battle with thugs and monsters in service of the Archmother? Probably. But it was exhilarating. And she had to get her fangs wet somehow.
And if she pulled it off? Not another second on the outside. The cabal — the city — would belong to her.
That was what she told herself as she spent another day alone in her apartment, cleaning out the soul residue from underneath her nails. Her radio sat beside her on the ottoman, playing staticky harpsichord music. It was tear-inducingly boring, but it was all the other vampires listened to, so she was trying to acquire a taste.
“It’s been weeks of this,” she complained aloud to the empty air. “We break bones, sweat and nails to gain ground, only to lose it a day later to that antlered freak. Maybe I can pay off all his stooges to flee to New Jersey, or betray their dumb King.” She held up her hand, checking her cuticles in the light. “Though it’s not like she’s any better. She keeps promising me an introduction to Geist, then says I need to wait a little longer. Now I’m thinking it’s all a lie. Lady Geist has it all. Why would she stoop to serving some extra-dimensional stone bitch—”
Lady Geist indeed serves the Archmother. But you will never be introduced to her that way.
Mina froze. She had grown used to strange voices in her head. The Archmother’s emissary had a method of communication that was presumptuous but pleasantly discrete.
But this was a different voice. A deep, bassy growl.
Mina looked around her silent apartment. The lights seemed dimmer than usual, and the shadows in the corners, a little too long. The radio was emitting pure static. Her eyes shot over to her gun. New Money was sitting in her purse on the side table.
I serve the Hidden King. If you do the same, he can provide what you seek. He can give you Geist.
Mina scoffed. “This is pathetic. You think I’m going to leave the Archmother after all I’ve done for her? At least she has class. I’ve seen your King’s shrines and I am not impressed.”
There was no response.
“Besides,” she couldn’t help but add, “You just admitted Lady Geist is not on your side. How could you possibly be the one to get me to her?”
She simpers for the Archmother today, but has served our King in the past. Lady Geist has lived many lives. Go to your door.
She became aware of a break in the light coming through the bottom slit of her front door. Someone was standing in the hall. That was not okay. This apartment was a secret to everyone, even her parents. She fished New Money out of her purse and clicked the safety off, tiptoeing towards the door.
Something was slipped through the slit. A piece of stationery.
She checked the many locks on her front door. All were in place. She grabbed the paper and stepped away, quickly reading.
It was a filigreed letter, a formal invitation to a secret, invite-only midnight masquerade, three nights from now, a celebration hosted by… one Lady Jeanne Geist.
Mina’s heart fluttered. Geist was an icon. Her idol. Everything Mina wanted to be. She had the social capital to rival any vampire in the city, other than the Viscount himself. Getting on her good side would shoot her up the vampiric hierarchy.
She sat against the wall, staring at the invitation, blood racing. Finally, she spoke again, peering into the shadows in the corner of the room. “What does he want?”
Our King asks nothing of you yet. Earning the favour of the Lady Geist is your sole mission and boon. A time will come when this bond serves him, and only then will he collect his due.
“Sure, sure.” Her mind was already in her closet. She had to find something to wear, and nothing was good enough.
One last detail, Mina Ha. The invitation must be shared. Another servant of the Hidden King will accompany you, on their own mission. You will not be alone.
“What?” She stood up. Always something else, with these stupid Patrons. “Who?”
A knock on her door.
She opened it the slightest bit, New Money in hand, still weighing whether the chance to get in with Geist was worth having someone know about her secret apartment.
Standing in the hallway, pointing an enormous gun straight back at her, was a scruffy, black-haired mope with a good scarf and dark circles under their eyes.
Neither of them blinked. Their guns were almost touching. Then, the mopey stranger lowered theirs, scoffing in disbelief. “It really is you. Hi, Mina.”
Mina looked at them with mild distaste. In their other hand was a suitcase emitting strange, gurgly sounds. She supposed she was lucky. It could’ve been the mole, or the mole’s friend, or the guy with the goat head. This one had a passable fashion sense and cute hair. “And you are..?”
They tilted their head at her. They were waiting for her to remember them. Mina hated when people did that. Then, it came to her. It was staring her in the face. The gun. The suitcase.
“No, I know you. We’ve tried to kill each other before. Three or four times, at least.”
Confusion flashed across their face, then recalculation. They smiled and nodded to her gun. “You almost took my head off with that thing the other night.”
She lowered New Money and took a swing at the vague memory. “Was it Packet?”
“Pocket.”
“Well, I don’t know how you expected me to remember that.”
They smiled again. Mina hoped that would stop soon. It made her feel like she was out of the loop. “That’s the point. I usually don’t want people to remember me.”
“Maybe ditch the suitcase full of glowing frogs, then.” The chance to know Geist was worth it, she decided. She holstered her gun and opened the door the rest of the way. “You may as well come in. If you’re attending this masquerade, there’s a lot I’m going to have to teach you about high society.”
They entered, hanging up their gun and scarf and coat, and setting their suitcase by the door. Mina inspected the overcoat.
“This is a Kelsey Evans. How the hell did you get it?”
Sitting on her couch in a ratty undershirt, they were slow to answer. “Good fortune.”
“Lucky bastard.” She tried it on, checking herself out in her full-length mirror. It looked way better on her, but that wasn’t really a fair comparison — everything did. “I’m guessing you don’t own a tux.”
“Good guess.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Come here. I’ll measure you.”
They didn't come. “Measure me?”
“I’ll tailor you something to match the dress I’m gonna make. I’m not showing up to an event like this in someone else’s work.”
They raised an eyebrow in doubt, but finally approached. “It’s in three days. And we’re not going so you can dress up and have fun. It might be life or death.”
“Put your arms out. Three days is plenty, I’m not some hack like Hartnell. And trust me, whatever mission your King has for you, you won’t have a chance at accomplishiing it if you show up looking like filth. These people will eat you alive.”
“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Pocket stretched their arms out. Mina found her gloves and a measuring tape and got to work.
She measured waist, shoulders, arms, hips, thighs. She was expecting them to fidget like a kid — amateurs always did — but they held perfectly still. That annoyed her, for some reason. At one point she ran her nails down the side seam of his pants, just to see if she could get a reaction. Nothing.
“You’re pretty stoic,” she admitted. “Cool under pressure. Maybe you won’t embarrass us at this thing.”
“A minute ago you were pointing a gun in my face. Last week you were firing it at me. You want your bare hands to make me nervous? We’re past that.”
“Maybe that’s what I wanted.” She stood directly behind him, speaking in a low voice. “To lower your guard.” Pocket remained still. She gently wrapped the measuring tape around their neck like a garrote. “Maybe I invited you in so I could suck you dry and gift your bloodless corpse to the Archmother.” She ran her tongue over her fangs. It wasn’t a totally idle threat. She had fed not long ago, but there was something enticing in their scent…
“It crossed my mind.” Pocket still didn’t flinch, didn’t move. She was practically breathing on the nape of their neck.
“And?” It would be so easy to slip them in. Just a small taste. Was Pocket tempting her on purpose? Testing her?
“The meeting with Geist is obviously worth more to you than a meal, and keeping favour with your current patron. So the only reason you’d make such a shortsighted bargain is if you can’t resist your vampiric urges. I don’t think you’re that weak. And if you are…”
Their hand shot back, behind them, against her, sliding against her stomach — ??? — into the borrowed overcoat she was still wearing, into an inside pocket she hadn’t noticed. She instinctively pinned the hand there with her elbow, before it could emerge brandishing whatever it found. She felt the intrusive hand fish something out, and then felt something burn against her, an unending hornet sting grazing her midriff. She shoved them hard and they stumbled away, the glint of a miniature silver stake in their hand.
They glared at each other, at hands and teeth. Neither moved. The only sound was the harpsichord arpeggiating rapidly over a minor key. It fit the moment rather well, she had to admit; perhaps she was starting to see the appeal.
She prompted them to finish the sentence. “And if I am?”
“...Then there’s no point in us working together anyways.”
Mina weighed her options once more. Part of her still wanted to kill Pocket simply for knowing about the apartment. That was the simplest way forward. It was also weak-minded and sentimental. A future Viscount could not be soft. She could always get another apartment. She could always kill Pocket later. Greatness required risk.
“It’s a good thing, then,” she said at last, “that I am not weak.” She tossed the measuring tape onto the ottoman. She’d already committed their measurements to memory. “Three days,” she said, approaching them. “For three days, we’re on the same side. We trust each other, we rely on each other. That’s how we manage this. Then we can go our separate ways, never speak again, and get back to killing each other if the Patrons see fit.” She offered them a gloved hand of alliance.
Pocket considered her hand for what felt like an eternity. Finally, they took it, but their other hand never let go of the stake. “Alright, Mina Ha. Three days.”
They shook. “Am I really going to call you Pocket when you know my real first and last name? I suppose you’ll need a false identity for the masquerade. I can help you come up with that.” Her radio crackled as a new song started up, this one a classical waltz, the kind they played all the time at these types of events. She sighed. “Ugh, I’m going to have to teach you how to dance, too…”
“I know how to waltz.” Still holding her hand, they placed the other on her hip. It was a surprise, but she did not startle. She was no amateur either. Though one soft thought did spring to mind: I have not been in the company of someone my age in so long. The warm touch of another human was practically alien.
Now she was being led around her apartment in a graceful, sweeping dance. They did know how to waltz. Their movements were smooth, assured, always in time with the slow rhythm of the song. You’re no mere urchin, Pocket. Who are you?
As they danced, she caught a glimpse of them in the mirror. Pocket’s hand on her hip, hers on their back. Her still wearing the overcoat over silk pajamas, them in their undershirt and pants. Despite that, they seemed to fit together, and it tugged at an old memory, something from her childhood. She tried to grasp it but it slipped away. Ever since she had undergone the Change, memories from before became harder and harder to hold onto.
I’m going to figure you out.
In a bit of brazen intimacy, she pressed closer, letting her forehead rest upon their shoulder, lips angled towards their neck. That got a reaction. I’m also going to make you fall for me. Whatever she wanted to do with Pocket: Use them, kill them, understand them, it would be easier done if they were in love with her.
They passed the mirror again. She caught his expression. Pursed lips. Tight focus. Perfect.
She checked the two of them out, imagining them in a tux, herself in the elegant satin number already taking shape in her mind.
Whatever else happened, at least they would look good together.