Sucks to Suck – Chapter 4

Not being able to exist in any effective capacity during the day really put a damper on one’s job perspective. Many of her kin had found ways to survive without the need for a job, and others lived under the patronage of their Sires or the rest of the bloodline. But that didn’t come without a cost; for as long as you lived out of your Sire, or ‘family’, they would control you. No, more than just control you, they owned you. And the politics of the Courts were not just labyrinthian and esoteric, they were also deadly. That was a game Marion had no interest in playing. In the decades since she went independent, she never properly thrived, but she always found a way to survive. She had worked as a night-time receptionist at a hotel, and at the front desk of a hospital too, but her current work was perhaps her favourite, because, as a rule, it did not involve talking to people.

As she mopped the marble floors of the large lobby, she whistled an upbeat tune, as if trying to make the most of her newfound breath. She forgot the lyrics that went with the melody and even the name of the song. It had been stuck in her mind though, for at least a couple of decades. Being a night shift custodian didn’t pay exactly well, but it wasn’t terrible either. Enough that she could afford rent in the city with a roommate while only working part-time. But then again, that was only in part because she was extremely frugal with unnecessary expenses, and because she didn’t need to really drink and eat. That was until she needed to spend four hundred dollars on a single meal. Her boss was Mr Ramirez, a second-generation immigrant that started his career doing exactly what she did. Mopping floors at night at places that saw too much foot traffic to get proper cleaning during daytime. But he had saved some cash, bought his own van and cleaning supplies, and then set up his own small cleaning company. He often employed people with dubious legal statuses and seemed to have no issue with paying them under the table, which suited Marion perfectly. At first, he had lifted an eyebrow at the very American-looking girl wanting to be paid under the table, but he didn’t ask many questions. And after six years together, any initial estrangement had been eroded by the winds of familiarity.

They didn’t have any big, fixed contracts. Usually, he would simply text his crew the address of their client for the night, although a few places were part of their regular rotation. And that was where they were right now. Marion never paid much attention to the name outside the building, as she quite literally kept her head down, but it was some office building filled with investment firms and tax-lawyer offices, she was sure, just judging by the soulless, sterile aesthetic of the lobby. Marble floors, black and white, led up to the trio of elevators opposite the large glass doors. A mezzanine looked down into the atrium, and the columns and reception desk were built of the same materials as the floor. Whatever they did there during the daytime, she was sure it was as bland and joyless as the architecture hinted at.

Her shift ended around four, and it took her twenty minutes more to change out of the large overalls she wore over her regular clothes while on the job in the back of the van where she stashed her cleaning supplies. She noticed then that she had broken up a sweat as she worked the vast floor space. She touched her forehead and brushed away a strand of dark hair that clung to it before stepping out of the van. One of her co-workers, a tall man in his mid-forties with an eastern European accent and a bushy dark moustache was arguing with her shift manager, Mr Ramirez's son, Eduardo, which everyone just called Junior.

“Sorry, Grigore, but that’s just the deal,” Eduardo concluded as Grigore simply shook his head, hands on his waist.

“I worked more than twenty hours last week. I need the money.”

“I know but we can’t pay you until the client pays us, and even after that, we need time to… Move things around,” Junior said, uncomfortably.

Marion closed the van behind her, adjusting her hoodie. She didn’t want to interrupt their conversation but she knew it would be rude to just go away without saying anything. Grigore's frustration was understandable, sometimes their payment would lag behind for a couple of weeks but that was the price of being paid in cash. It was clear to Marion that the boss’ son wasn’t as comfortable with his father's less-than-legal way to do business, let alone having to explain it to the new people. Grigore had only been with them for a couple of months, so he didn’t know that in the end the money always came. At least in Marion’s experience. She could’ve stepped in to reassure him of that but she would much rather not talk to anyone else. As she found a breach in their conversation, she approached them and spoke almost too quietly.

“I’mma bounce, Junior. See you Monday.”

“What? Oh, yeah, sure, Marion…” He turned to her as if he had almost forgotten her presence, nodding before turning back to write something on his clipboard. “Did you sign in the timesheet?”

“I did.”

“Okay, great. Think we’ll be doing the Albion next week.”

“Yeah, okay.” She dismissively nodded in acknowledgement, putting her hands in her pockets.

Her phone vibrated. A text from Logan telling her she had just gotten out of her shift. And then she asked:

‘Are u home yet?’

She had been offered to stay one extra night in the pink-haired girl’s apartment, and Marion took that offer. She wasn’t sure why, especially given the girl's seeming fixation with fictional vampire media. But Marion could tell Logan was concerned about her, and maybe she could use that concern as a buffer as she looked for a more permanent solution for her living situation. It was a bit exploitative, but one didn’t get to survive as long as Marion had without being willing to take advantage of some opportunities, she reckoned. Yet Marion did not have a key to the girl's house and would depend on her to get in. As their shifts would end roughly at the same hour, the two had agreed to just text each other and meet in front of the building so that Logan could let her in.

‘OMW right now.’ Marion texted back, before pocketing her phone as she walked away from the van.

And just as she was reaching the corner, another van that she hadn’t even noticed until then, turned its engine on and slid forward from where it was parked, right along the sidewalk, until it was intercepting her path from crossing the street. She halted, waiting for the vehicle to drive past her to cross, and only way too late realising it was slowing down until it came to a halt right as the sliding door was right in front of her.

The door glided open, and she saw two figures in suits standing inside looking at her through sunglasses despite it being night. The woman had dark hair cut in a short bob with bangs, and the man had a close crew cut and a very well-shaped beard. But what caught her eyes was the ring stuck to his hand. Silver contrasting starkly against his dark skin, the hand placed on his knee as he sat leaning forward made the ring stand out prominently, and it took her a moment to look past it and see the gun strapped to the chest holder under his open blazer.

“Get in, girl,” he spoke.

“Uh… No.” Was her first reaction, and she tried to step back.

Too little too late. Much like the security guard, he reached down and touched her shoulder, not grabbing but firmly planting his hand there.

“I think you better listen.”

She focused again, looking through the black lens of his glasses where she knew his eyes would be. And then she spoke:

“Let go.”

He didn’t even waver, grasping her firmly, and just as Marion was stunned by the failure of her power to command him, he pulled her inside. He was strong, but just human strong. If he had not caught her by surprise, she’d have been able to easily shrug him off. But as she was pulled inside the van, she fell on the floor inside of the vehicle on her fours and the door closed behind her. He finally took his hand off her shoulder, giving Marion time to get up, but by then the van was already in motion.

Her heart had only been beating again for a little more than four hours, and now it was already racing. She scurried up and pressed her back against the door, trying to find the handle to open without turning, but the inside of the van door was completely smooth. The two only watched her in silence for a few seconds and it was the woman that spoke next.

“Sit down.”

“Who are you?”

“Not important. Sit,” she spoke, curtly.

Marion considered her odds. Guns were a bad sign, and perhaps the ring was just a coincidence, but she didn’t like its presence either. Yet she was strong enough to take on two humans, she’d guess, especially in close quarters like that. But fighting them in that vehicle might mean she’d need to kill them before she could escape, and for all her time surviving, she had never killed anyone. If she tried and hesitated, she might be destroyed before she had a chance to try again. And who were those people, anyway?

“Alright.” She exhaled and took a seat across from both, so her back was facing the front of the van.

There was no window there, where there would normally be one, allowing the passengers to see the driver. Only a solid border. That was strange but perhaps the least strange thing of all the recent happenings.

“Good. We can start now,” the woman decided and made a head gesture towards her companion as if they had a script, and his line came first.

He reached into his blazer but to the side opposite the gun. Marion shifted uncomfortably still, but when his hand came out, he had produced a picture. Printed on a sheet of office paper, it was grainy and with reduced colours and seemed to show a man sitting with a bloody shoulder in some sort of waiting room, hand near his neck. She couldn’t be sure but he seemed familiar. And then like a rock, realisation dropped into the pit of her stomach. The man in the red pickup truck.

"Do you know this man?" he asked.

“I… Am not sure.” she lied.

“I don’t buy it,” the man continued, holding the picture out to her still as if expecting her to take it off his hands, so Marion did.

“I mean… Maybe?”

“Cut the shit,” the woman spoke, impatiently, crossing her legs and leaning back on the seat.

The interior of the van had no windows, Marion realised, even though from the outside the car seemed to have them. Why would someone put glass on the outside if the car had no windows? For the same reason someone would have a door without a handle, she reckoned. She just didn’t know what that reason could be.

“I am telling you I’m not sure… It doesn’t look like anyone I know.”

“That’s funny,” the ringbearer spoke as he leaned back after handing over the photo. “Because he gave a good description of you.”

“Down to the clothes you are wearing right now.”

Marion's eyes widened. Her hoodie. She had sewn the gash made by his knife but she was still wearing the same hoodie. The patching was almost invisible. Black thread on black fabric, but it was there. Probably a dumb decision. She should’ve discarded it. But she wasn’t going to give it to those two easily.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t know him. Never saw him,” she decided.

“Funny. You weren’t sure a second ago.” The woman pointed.

“We are not the police.”

“Well… Clearly, since nobody read my rights,” Marion barked angrily.

“Only the living have rights,” the woman spoke, callously.

Marion's heart could’ve dropped from her chest. A cold chill ran down her spine, and chilly tendrils of dread wrapped around her chest. Her fingers suddenly grew numb, and a knot was caught in her throat. That was it. That was how it ended for her. They knew what she was, they knew what she did, and they were going to destroy her. She had heard of hunters and others like them. Mortals that were not just aware of her kin but sought them out and destroyed them. Her Sire warned her about them countless times. Used them, even, as a reason for why she did all she did.

There was silence following those words, and all Marion could hear was the sound of the car. The muffled sound of tires scrapping asphalt and the distant humming of the engine. That was when she realised that she could barely hear any of the noises of the city. Sirens, car horns. It all was too faint, even with her sharper senses. The vehicle's walls were likely much thicker than most cars. Armoured, even, she’d wager. After what felt like an agonising eternity of uncertainty and doom, the man spoke:

“Maybe we can start again. I’m Houston, this is Paris,” he said with a nod towards his partner.

“Get out.” Marion couldn't resist but challenge the unusually matched names.

“Yeah, I know,” ‘Houston’ offered. “What’s your name?”

“Call me London,” Marion replied defiantly.

“Ha! Spirited. London. Okay, that’s fine. I can work with that,” he continued. “So, London… You are smart. You have to be to survive, right?”

‘You have no idea,’ she thought but didn’t say anything, just nodded. Was he aware of how cliché ‘good cop’ he sounded right there? Very likely. But it was easier to go through the motions.

“So, you probably already know what we know. Guy shows up at an ER talking about being attacked by a vampire. People dismiss him, he might be drunk, or high, or trying to cause a fuzz. Gets treated anyway, someone is cleaning his wounds and thinks ‘wait, this doesn’t look like any animal bite I have ever seen… But it’s no human bite either’,” Houston narrated to her. “Next thing you know, nurse’s posting a tweet…”

“Tweeting,” Paris said.

“What’s that?” Houston turned his head.

“You don’t ‘post a tweet’, you ‘tweet’. It’s a verb,” she explained, short and deadpan.

“Oh. Right. Thank you, Paris.” He doesn’t sound sincere in his gratefulness. “Well, you get the picture, girl. This sort of thing is… Not great for the Veil.”

“Not great,” Paris agreed.

“The Veil,” Marion echoed. “What are you? Men in Black?”

“Oh, that’s a fresh reference. Only twenty-something years old,” Houston said with a tone that edged on patronizing. “More up to date than some of your type we deal with.”

“Thirty years if you count the original comic,” Paris added, sounding bored.

“Not super fresh then,” Houston conceded before turning back to Marion. “We are kind of the Men in Black. But we don’t work for the government.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Humanity,” Houston said.

Marion let out a dry, joyless laugh. That was a lofty claim if she ever heard one.

“Doesn’t matter if you believe us. Some stuff has to be kept under wraps and you can’t go around biting people and letting them walk.”

“I… I know,” Marion protested. “I didn’t have a choice. I was attacked, I fought back and the guy escaped.”

“I’m surprised a guy without any military training, just a normal human, gave someone like you trouble.”

“I was… Starving. Sluggish, weakened…” Marion shifted uncomfortably; it was humiliating to discuss it with strangers.

“Hmm,” Houston pondered. “Who's your people?”

“Excuse me?”

“Bloodline? Your family?”

“Oh. I don’t really… I am alone.”

“We don’t care about your living status.” Paris broke her silence. “Who made you?”

She had to think about it. She wasn’t sure how to talk about those matters. She only had something her Sire had commented in passing a few times to go about her identity. As an afterthought, and maybe a deeply ingrained habit, she pulled out her phone to check the time as she thought about how to answer. Then she frowned, realising she suddenly had no signal. It had to be the van. She pursed her lips and pocketed it back. She didn’t have a better response, so the one she had would have to do:

“I’m one of the Children of Aveline,” she spoke.

“Black Rose,” Houston said and looked at Paris.

She nodded at him and offered a triumphant smirk, before tapping the side of the sunglasses she was wearing.

“Black Rose,” Marion repeated, for her own sake.

That name wasn’t strange to her but wasn’t one she had ever used for herself. And her Sire didn’t seem to like it.

“Your family is strong in the city. How come you were starving?” Houston asked, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer.

“I told you. I’m alone.”

“She’s a solo, Houston. Loner,” Paris spoke as if translating for him.

“How long?” he asked.

“Fifty-something… Almost sixty years.”

“Impressive. Well…” Houston nodded. “Look, I don’t know what you heard but… Let me put you at ease. We are not here to destroy you…”

“Yet,” Paris added.

“Yet,” he repeated, agreeing. “We are more interested in keeping the peace in this city. That’s not always best accomplished by going around killing everyone that steps out of line once. You didn’t kill that guy, and that’s why I’m inclined to give you a pass.”

“A pass?”

“Houston is trying to be nice. What he means is that next time we must come after you, you can expect more than just a chat.”

“Hate to say it, but Paris is right. You stayed under the radar for sixty years… Try to stay sixty more. By then I’ll be dead and you’ll be someone else’s problem, fair?”

“You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“That’s kind of the point, London,” Houston said, “Men in Black and all that.”

“Suffice to say… We are not the only game in town,” Paris added. “But I assure you, we are, by far, the nicest.”

“So… What is this? Some ‘scared straight’ bullshit?”

“That’s exactly what this is. And you only get one,” Houston explained. “In the name of maintaining good relations between your kin and our… Group.”

“I…” Marion simply hung her head low, defeated. “I’ll be more careful.”

Houston and Paris exchanged a glance for a moment and while it was hard to read their expression behind the big sunglasses, they seemed to be satisfied, to some degree.

“Alright, London. We are going to drop you off now. Stay out of trouble so that we never have to meet again, yes?” Houston offered.

Marion nodded and said nothing as he reached into his cuff and spoke into it.

“We are done here.” And then lifted his eyes. “Turn around, let’s drop her with the Roses.”

Marion widened her eyes. ‘Drop her with the Roses’? With her ‘family’? What if… What if Mother was there?

“No!”

Houston was startled as she suddenly shouted and Paris even reached for her gun, for a fraction of a second, but her hand stopped short of touching it. They exchanged glances behind those glasses and then a hint of understanding seemed to dawn on him.

“Right. Flying solo. Okay, then. Where do we drop you?”

The van came to a halt and the door opened without anyone touching it, allowing Marion to step out.

“Take care of yourself, London,” Houston wished before the door slid closed.

She had managed to calm down but for some reason, as the car drove away and she was out of immediate danger, something went off in her head. Her heart began to race again, and the knot in her throat from before felt tighter. If they knew about her, who else did? How had they found her? Could Mother find her as easily as that? She could feel her heart beating in her throat and her chest felt as if it was filled with cold lead.

She was unused to breathing, she realised as she felt dizzy and placed her hands on her knees. She didn’t even notice her phone had regained signal as it buzzed and she received a stream of texts. Her dizziness was turning into something more intense like she was spinning in place. Would she have to leave the city? How would she travel? She needed to find a new place to live and a new job all in the span of a couple of days… And get used to a new hunting scene… And could she even do so before Mother found her? Her hands clung to her knees as she bent down trying to slow her breathing and failing. Every thought brought a new concern, every concern graver than the one before.

And then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she should’ve jumped out, but there was something strangely comforting about the gentle squeeze it delivered to her. She turned to find Logan standing there, looking very concerned.

“Marion? Marion?!”

She was calling her but it seemed so… Muffled, distant.

“Marion… Slow down… Your breath, slow and deep… Come on, slow and deep.”

She didn’t know why she listened. She didn’t even need to breathe. But she obeyed. She focused on taking slow and deep breaths. At first, it slipped her, the thoughts kept coming, but Logan kept repeating it. And then she found a rhythm she could bear to keep. And the spiralling around her seemed to slow down, to stop. She focused on the other girl’s voice.

“There you go… In and out… Easy.”

In and out. She could do that. Deep and slow. Her heart seemed to gradually slow down, and the knot in her throat felt smaller. More than the breathing, it was strangely comforting to have someone staying there with her. For her.

“Fuck… Marion, what happened?”

How much had she seen? Had she seen the van? How could Marion even begin to explain? She rose from her bent position and tried to speak but she had no words she could say.

“I was texting you like crazy… Did you…” Logan paused and seemed deep in thought for a moment before she began anew. “Did you run into someone on your way from work? Someone that scared you?”

Marion nodded slowly. She could snap a person’s neck with not much more effort than it would take a normal mortal to break a dried twig, and yet she never felt as vulnerable as then, as she looked into Logan’s face of concern and she was not even able to form a sentence.

“That’s fine… You took a while, I was worried… I was looking out of the window and saw you standing here. Seemed like a bad time.”

Once again, all the other girl could do was nod. And then Logan signalled to her building’s entrance.

“Come on in then. You’re safe now,” she assured Marion, passing an arm around her shoulders to guide her inside.

Her arm was soft and warm. And her scent was sweet and calming. Marion didn’t know what took over her but before she could think, her body was moving. She twisted herself towards Logan and her face dove towards where the girl’s neck met her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around her, resting her chin on Logan's shoulder and squeezing her tight. A deep inhale of her scent.

“Oof… You’re strong… Okay,” Logan declared, patting the other girl's back softly as she returned the hug. “It’s okay. It’s okay… We all have our demons.”

‘You have no idea,’ Marion thought to herself.