V. H. King's Ink

Come 6 AM in the summer time, the dawn is far from gloomy.  Malcolm—or Wick, to their loved ones—has taken to wearing long sleeves to and from work.  Thin things that protect their skin from the potential sunlight.  Given the propensity for a breeze or the morning dew, it wasn’t so odd a sight. 

Wick walked home from their overnight shift at the bakery, smelling like bagels and tea.  There was something satisfying about ending the day, knowing that their work meant others could start their own day well-fed.  Wick always baked with the intent of comfort, kindness, and care.  The world could certainly use more of all three.  Compassion seemed to be woefully lacking.  Unfortunately, Wick had seen enough days to know that times like these—the whole world aflame—was the normal state of things. 

Despite their immortality (thanks to a hickey from an overenthusiastic encounter), Wick had yet to figure out how to solve the world’s problems.  For one, it wasn’t something they could do on their own—immortal or not.  For another, most vampires Wick knew weren’t exactly keen on organizing for causes which, in most vampires’ minds, brought them little to no advantage.  For most vampires, it was hard enough just trying to coexist.  And of course, there were those who had no sympathy for their former kind.  Some vampires hoped that humanity would rot in whatever grave it made for itself, as was their just desert. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, Wick came to the apartment they shared with Mallory, managing to avoid any of the neighbors.  It was still early enough that most people in the building were either showering or sleeping through another snooze alarm.  Lydia Beck from 508 was the happy exception to that rule, with a knack for accosting her neighbors at the most inconvenient times. That way, she could share the most recent gossip under the guise of helping with whatever chores you happened to be doing—all while helping herself to more clues about the state of your affairs.  Wick thought she was a sweet woman, just a little too eager for a story that wasn’t there—or wasn’t any of her business. 

Mallory was usually snoozing between alarms when Wick got home, but this morning she was already in the bathroom.  Except, by the sound of it, Mallie wasn’t singing her way through her usual shower routine.  Wick frowned, knocking on the doorframe. 

“Mallie?  What’s wrong?”

A flush.  Water in the sink. Then the door opens, golden light spilling into the dim hallway. 

“Just nervous,” Mallory said, shoving her hair back from her face.  “I’m good.”

The splotches on her face looked anything but good. 

“You sure?”

“I’ve got that presentation with the board today.”

“You were still up practicing when I left.”  Wick tilted his head, reaching for her fingers.  “Did you get any sleep at all?”

Mallory shrugged, trudging back to her bedroom.  Wick followed, noticing the way Mallory weaved slightly from side to side. 

“Hard to tell.  I don’t know, I don’t remember.”  Mallory poked through her closet.  “It doesn’t really feel like it.”

“It doesn’t look like it either.”  Wick sat on Mallory’s bed, which had a mattress so soft, it was a wonder Mallory could ever leave it at all.  “Are you sure you’re good, or are you determined to do that presentation no matter what?”

“You’re so nice when you’re rude.”

“I care about you.  And it just doesn’t seem like you’re as good as you say.”

“I’ll be fine.”

If she stayed home and rested, maybe.  Going into the office was bound to just make things worse, but Wick didn’t bring that up yet.  So instead, Wick opted for asking,

“What are you looking for?”

“That dress I picked up from the cleaners the other day.  I hate going to the cleaners, because then you have to go back and pick it up, and who has time for that?  Like I’m going to take my chances with delivery—they’d leave it at the door and it would get soaked with rain.”

Mallie’s tangents were another thing that Wick loved about her.  She had no shortage of opinions—and when it came to business savvy outfits, Mallie had excellent taste.  Wick took the dress off the hook on the backside of the bedroom door and held it out.

“This the one?”

“I need coffee,” Mallie groaned.  “Espresso, triple shot, extra heavy cream.  Do you mind?  I know you just got home, but—“

“Mallie…” 

Wick chewed their lip.  Normally, they wouldn’t mind going.  Sometimes, they even surprised Mallie with coffee and bagels at the office.  But this didn’t feel like a normal kind of day, or a just-because occasion.  Board presentation aside, something about today was different. 

“I don’t think you should go to work today.”

“What?”  The shrill lilt in Mallie’s voice was another hint that Wick was right.  “What do you mean not go to work?  I can’t not go, Wick.  There’s no way I’m rescheduling with the board last-minute.  I just can’t, I have to go.”

“There’s no way they’ll let you live down hurling on the table, either.”

“Fine, no coffee.  I’ll have some earl grey with a bit of honey.”

“You still shouldn’t go.”

“What if you drive me?”  Mallory offered.  “Or we can take the metro—I can’t remember if it’s supposed to be overcast today or not.  I swear Wick, I can’t miss work.  Not today.”

Wick went back to the bed and sat down, thinking it over.  As much as they wanted to relent, that feeling in Wick’s stomach resisted.  They couldn’t cave.  And maybe they were being selfish, but vampires really weren’t as ruthless as society made them out to be. 

The loneliness could leak into you and leave you unhinged, but that hadn’t happened in a long time.  There were care programs now for soloists—vampires who were alone by choice or due to the circumstances of a very long life.  For vampires who did have a sense of social responsibility, they were more concerned with helping their own communities before worrying about the rest of the world—especially a world that hadn’t been kind to them.  

Wick supposed that, some day, they might find themselves in such a care group.  Maybe it would even be good for them, to find company with other vampires who were otherwise alone in the world.  But Wick didn’t want that yet.  Wick wanted Mallory to be okay, and that meant not going into work.

“I have a feeling, Mal,” Wick said.  “I really don’t think you should go.”

Mallory pursed her lips, laying the dress out on the bed. 

“Is it a bad feeling, or just a strong one?”

It was a fair question.  Wick had a habit of erring on the side of caution more often than not.  Mallory was one of the few people who could push them outside their comfort zone, daring them to take risks that were usually worth it—or at least led to some fond memories.  But this time…

“It’s strong enough that I don’t want you to risk it,” Wick said.  “But it’s your choice, ultimately.”

Mallory sighed and sat beside them, resting her head on their shoulder.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Wick said, kissing her forehead and hugging her close.  “I know this was everything—“

“It is literally the biggest case of my very short career.”  Mallory huffed.  “I can’t believe I’m getting kicked to the curb because of a stomach bug.”

Wick hummed quietly, rubbing Mallory’s back.  Wick didn’t have any magic words to make things better.  Seeing as Wick didn’t have any professional ambitions beyond the bakery, it didn’t seem like a good idea to give advice anyway.  But they could imagine how devastating this felt.  The raise would help with the student loans from Mallory’s PhD.  References and referrals would establish her expertise, even if she had only been in the field for three years.  Really, her portfolio was always impressive, but Mallory still doubted that other people trusted her qualifications. 

“You do it for me,” Mallory said.

“What?”  Wick’s brow wrinkled.  “I can’t—“

“You’ve listened to me stress about this for the past month, at least.  You know all my best lines because you helped me with the delivery.  If you shift—“

“Mal, that’s not even—that’s just propaganda, going around to make people even more afraid.  ‘They won’t just drink your blood and leave you for dead, they’ll steal your identity?’  I’m not a shapeshifter.”

“There’s a ten-day window where you could do it, though.  Only for the last person you bit, which happened to be me.  You can do it.”

Wick looked down at the floor.  The bite had been small, barely enough to leave a mark.  They weren’t keen on feeding like that, but Mallory assured Wick that it was fine—and as long as she didn’t feed, she wouldn’t turn.  Not completely.  That was another choice that they had talked about but hadn’t completely resolved. 

“Mal, I—“

“Will you try?” Mallory asked.  “You don’t have to follow through—you don’t have to do the whole presentation or even leave the room if you don’t want to.  But will you at least try?”

The two of them certainly couldn’t spend the entire morning arguing about it.  Or they could, and the meeting would be missed anyway.  Wick sighed, slipping their fingers out of Mallory’s.  The first time they had shifted into someone ese, it had been an accident—and it had been scary enough that Wick hadn’t tried to do it since.  But Mal was right; they could shift on purpose. 

Wick closed their eyes and took a deep breath, forcing themselves to focus on the taste of Mallory’s blood.  Cinnamon spice wasn’t always nice; it was like swallowing fire.  Mallory had no shortage of passion.  Appearance was secondary to successfully shifting into someone else.  It was more about their spirit and their sense of self—which, if you could impersonate that, you really could do a whole lot of damage. 

Mallory’s heart was closer to Wick’s own, though.  She was motivated by compassion and care more than anything else.  Her sense of justice ran deep into her marrow.  She felt—and often expressed—that it was her responsibility to do whatever she could to make sure people had a fighting chance at being treated well, where they worked. 

Sometimes, it just takes reminding people of their humanity. 

Not that it was easy, but it was damn worth it.  It was what each person deserved—not just to be treated well, but to remember their own opportunities for care.