Retro - New Beginnings - Chapter 1
The kitchen smelled like sugar, hot oil, and something faintly metallic underneath it all — comfort, if you asked me.
I spun slowly across the checkered tile, wooden spoon in hand, humming under my breath as flour dusted the air like snowfall. The radio crackled somewhere behind me, but I barely heard it over my own singing. A lazy sway of my hips, a small kick of my heel — the oil popped in greeting as I dropped another square of dough into the pot.
Beignets puffed instantly, golden and soft, swelling like little clouds.
“Perfect,” I murmured, leaning over the stove. “Absolutely perfect.”
The phone rested between my shoulder and cheek, cord stretched halfway across the counter. I could practically hear the smile on the other end before he even spoke.
“You sound positively radiant today,” Alastor said, amusement threading through every syllable.
“I’m cooking,” I replied, as if that explained everything. I dusted powdered sugar over a cooling tray with theatrical flourish, watching it settle into soft white drifts. “And dancing. Multitasking.”
“Yes, yes, I can hear the clattering. And singing.” A pause. “You’ve improved.”
I gasped softly. “High praise.”
A laugh crackled through the receiver — warm, sharp, and delighted.
Around me, the kitchen counters were crowded: pralines cooling beside a neatly arranged tray of finger sandwiches, jars of preserved fruits, and a dark stew simmering gently at the back of the stove. The scent was rich, savory, unmistakably New Orleans… if New Orleans had fewer moral restrictions.
I lifted the lid and stirred thoughtfully.
“Do you think smoked thigh pairs better with cayenne or clove?” I asked.
“For today’s company?” he replied. “Cayenne. Keeps things lively.”
I added a pinch, humming again as steam curled around my face. Cooking always settled me. Measured steps. Predictable outcomes. Unlike people.
Alastor made a thoughtful noise. “You sound content.”
Another beignet flipped itself with a practiced flick of my wrist. Oil hissed approvingly.
There was a brief silence before he spoke again, tone shifting just slightly — curiosity edging in.
“I must admit,” he said, “I remain astonished.”
“That in all your time here, no one has captured your attention.”
I smiled despite myself, leaning my hip against the counter. “I can’t believe it either.”
And it was true. It felt strange — unsettling, even. Back when I was alive, obsession came quickly, violently, like a storm rolling in without warning. Here… nothing. Interest, yes. Friendliness. Companionship.
“It’s only a matter of time,” I added lightly.
“Oh, undoubtedly,” he said. “And when it happens, I suspect Hell itself will notice.”
I laughed, shaking powdered sugar from my hands. “You make me sound dramatic.”
“My dear, you are dramatic.”
I plated the last batch carefully, arranging them into a neat pyramid before stepping back to admire my work.
On the other end, Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “I do find myself theorizing, you know.”
“Extremely,” he agreed cheerfully. “For instance — I believe you would be in particular trouble if your affections landed on Niffty.”
I nearly dropped the sugar tin.
“What?” I barked out a laugh. “Niffty?”
“I’ve noticed the two of you spending a great deal of time together,” he continued innocently. “Cleaning, chatting, exchanging techniques—”
“We are friends,” I interrupted, still laughing. “If it were anything more, it would’ve happened already.”
I wiped my hands on my apron, grinning to myself. “We just enjoy cleaning together. And she has excellent stain removal advice.”
“That she does,” he admitted.
“And she doesn’t mind when I get… thorough.”
Another warm laugh traveled through the phone. “Yes, I imagine you two understand one another in that regard.”
I stirred the stew again, satisfied with its thickness now. “Besides, I like predictable friendships.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “But predictability has never truly suited you.”
I didn’t answer right away.
The spoon traced slow circles through the pot as I watched the surface ripple. Maybe he was right. Maybe that restless part of me was only sleeping.
“Well,” I said finally, brightening my voice again, “whoever it is, they’ll have excellent food waiting for them.”
“I wish them luck already,” he replied.
The conversation drifted after that — small things, gossip, observations about mutual acquaintances, his latest radio amusements, my newest photography attempts. Comfortable. Easy. The kind of quiet companionship I’d grown to treasure.
By the time I hung up, the kitchen was spotless.
I packed everything carefully into boxes and baskets, tying ribbons around handles so nothing shifted. The beignets went last — delicate, precious things.
A glance at the clock made my stomach drop.
I grabbed my coat, nearly tripping over my own feet as I rushed for the door. Keys, basket, scarf — back for the stew, don’t forget the stew — okay, now go.
The front door slammed behind me as I hurried down the path, white picket fence flashing past in my peripheral vision.
The entertainment district greeted me with its usual chaos — neon lights buzzing, laughter echoing, distant shouting, music bleeding from open doorways. Familiar streets wound ahead, alive and dangerous and oddly comforting all at once.
I adjusted my grip on the baskets and quickened my pace, humming again despite myself.
And for once, everything felt calm.
The baskets balanced carefully in my arms as I walked, each step measured so the powdered sugar wouldn’t slide, so the lids wouldn’t shift, so nothing spilled before I reached the hotel. I moved like I always did when carrying food — slow, precise, deliberate — weaving around cracks in the pavement and sidestepping puddles that shimmered with colors no liquid should naturally possess.
The rest of the spread waited safely at home, ready to be summoned with a snap of my fingers if I needed it. I’d learned quickly that carrying everything through the entertainment district was asking for trouble.
Neon lights flickered overhead. Music thumped through walls. Someone laughed too loudly somewhere behind me.
Then every speaker along the street crackled to life at once.
A smooth, amplified voice rolled through the district, followed by a burst of synthetic music and flashing lights that reflected off every surface.
I groaned aloud, shoulders tightening instantly. “Oh, come on…”
The screens lining buildings lit up in unison. Advertisements bloomed across windows, hovering projections, even reflections in passing glass. I kept my eyes firmly forward. Looking directly at them always made my head pound — something about the frequency, the brightness, the way the sound crawled under my skin.
Around me, demons stopped walking.
Like puppets with cut strings, the crowd slowed, turned, stared upward in rapt attention.
I muttered under my breath, slipping into the bits of Creole Alastor had insisted on teaching me. Half curses, half complaints, none particularly polite. “Bon Dieu… toujou menm bagay… move machines…”
Excuse me. Sorry. Coming through.
I twisted sideways between frozen bodies, clutching the baskets tighter as I navigated the sudden congestion. Someone nearly stepped into me without looking. Another leaned backward, eyes glued to a towering screen.
I took one more careful step—
—and collided solidly with someone who absolutely had not been there a second ago.
—and froze mid-fall, caught in a shimmer of my magic before they could hit the pavement. Containers righted themselves obediently, hovering for a brief second before settling gently at my feet.
Right into a glowing screen and a perfectly tailored suit now dusted generously with flour.
Heat flooded my face as recognition hit. Of course it was him. This was his district, his broadcasts, his everything.
I was still covered in baking flour, apron hastily removed but clearly ineffective, fingerprints of sugar and dough marking my sleeves. And now his immaculate suit bore the evidence.
He offered a hand, smile bright and polished enough to blind.
“Well now,” he said smoothly as he helped pull me upright, “most people stop to watch the announcements. Any particular reason you didn’t care to pay attention? This one’s rather important.”
My words tangled immediately. “I— I wasn’t trying to be rude! The ads just— they give me headaches sometimes, that’s all, I swear— I didn’t mean— I’m so sorry about your suit—”
Embarrassment burned through me, and with it came the familiar mistake.
Smoke slipped from my skin in faint curling wisps before I could stop it.
His fingers lifted gently beneath my chin, tilting my face upward so I met his gaze. I didn’t resist — politeness, instinct, maybe curiosity.
But then his expression flickered.
The confident steadiness faltered.
Static crackled faintly along his screen as a flush of color spread across it.
“Ahhh— shit, shit, shit,” I hissed under my breath, eyes darting as realization slammed into me. “What did I take earlier—?”
He blinked slowly, movements lagging, shoulders unsteady. Heat radiated off him; even the small fans along his frame spun faster, whining softly as they tried to compensate.
I groaned quietly. “Okay… okay… chloroform residue, definitely… something sedative… and—” I winced. “—that stupid love potion.”
Not actual love. Thank everything merciful. Just amplified attraction and lowered resistance. Combined with the rest… it hit hard.
The food vanished instantly, sent safely back to my kitchen.
Then I smiled up at him, forcing casual warmth into my voice, loud enough for anyone watching.
“So,” I said lightly, slipping into conversation like nothing was wrong, “you mentioned an announcement? I must’ve missed it — what’s the big reveal?”
He blinked again, trying to focus, smile still glued in place through sheer habit.
“A— ah… new VoxTek VR headset,” he managed, words slightly slurred as he gestured vaguely toward the glowing screens. “Full immersion… next generation interface…”
I nodded attentively, guiding us slowly down the street, one careful step at a time, as though we were simply walking and chatting.
We turned into an alley deep enough that the lights barely reached.
The moment we were out of sight, his composure shattered.
He shoved me back against the wall, breath uneven, frustration and fury flashing across his screen as his systems struggled against whatever cocktail my body had released.
Fans roared louder, trying desperately to cool him as heat overtook his frame.
“You—” he started, voice rough with static—
—and then his strength gave out.
His weight dropped forward.
I caught him instinctively as he collapsed into my arms.
Oh shit, I thought, panic hitting all at once. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
I adjusted my grip, hauling his arm over my shoulders while supporting most of his weight around the waist. He was heavy — solid, awkward — but not nearly as bad as some bodies I’d had to move before. That realization did absolutely nothing to calm me.
My phone nearly slipped from my flour-dusted fingers as I pulled it from my pocket and called Alastor.
He answered almost immediately.
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed out, breathless as I steadied Vox against the alley wall for a moment. “Something’s come up — an emergency. I won’t be able to make it today.”
There was a pause. Not suspicious, exactly. Just thoughtful.
I said nothing more. Definitely did not mention the unconscious overlord currently sagging against me. I knew enough about their rivalry to understand that would complicate things immensely.
“Very well,” he said at last, tone polite as ever. “Though I do trust next time you might give me a touch more notice.”
“Yes, of course,” I said quickly. “I’m really sorry.”
I slid the phone back into my dress pocket, exhaled shakily, and shifted Vox’s weight again.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “We’re going home.”
I took the long route — back streets, service alleys, dim corridors between buildings where neon barely reached. Every shadow felt like a threat. Every distant voice made my shoulders tense. If anyone saw this… if anyone realized an overlord was unconscious and being carried through his own district…
He would wake up furious.
And I would probably die.
So I walked carefully, quietly, praying under my breath until my fence finally came into view.
I fumbled the door open and half-carried, half-dragged him inside before kicking it shut behind us. The house felt suddenly very small with him in it.
I eased him onto the couch, stepping back to assess the situation.
“…God,” I sighed. “I have a lot of work to do.”
The radio clicked on for company, soft jazz filling the room as I rolled up my sleeves. Magic shimmered at my fingertips while I practiced a newer spell Alastor had shown me — delicate, precise manipulation without direct contact.
His suit jacket lifted away first, carefully sliding from his shoulders without disturbing him. I exhaled in relief when it worked, guiding the fabric toward the laundry room. His cravat followed, then smaller accessories, all floating obediently away to be cleaned.
Soon he was left in only his white button-up and trousers.
I brushed flour from his pants with gentle flicks of magic before hesitating, rag in hand. Slowly, cautiously, I pressed the cool cloth against his screen.
“I’m helping,” I murmured instinctively, even though he couldn’t hear me.
His fans still whirred loudly, working overtime. Heat radiated from him, uneven and wrong.
Then I noticed it — faint movements beneath the fabric near his ribs. His shirt puffed outward slightly with each breath, air pushing through hidden vents.
I didn’t have gills, but I’d seen enough aquatic sinners to recognize something similar when I saw it. Cooling structures, maybe. Ventilation.
That heavy suit must’ve been trapping heat.
This time I abandoned magic and reached forward carefully, fingers slow and respectful as I began unbuttoning his shirt. His skin felt noticeably cooler underneath, confirming my suspicion.
“Sorry,” I whispered anyway.
I eased the shirt off his shoulders and slipped it free, tossing it toward the growing pile of laundry. Almost immediately, the frantic pitch of his fans softened. The heat rolling off him began to fade.
Relief loosened something tight in my chest.
I sat back on my heels, watching him for a moment. Without the constant motion and sharp confidence, he looked strangely peaceful. Vulnerable, even.
Small. Sudden. Familiar in a way that made my stomach twist.
Admiration crept in first, warm and curious, followed by that sharper edge — fascination, interest, the beginning pull of attention narrowing toward a single point.
Obsession didn’t arrive loudly. It never had.
It slipped in quietly and made itself at home.
Before I fully realized what I was doing, I’d fetched measuring tape from my sewing basket, carefully noting dimensions with practiced efficiency. Adjustments would be needed if I was going to repair or replace parts of that suffocating suit properly.
The food I’d prepared earlier stayed warm on the stove, gently reheating under a low flame. The house smelled sweet and savory again, comforting and expectant.
I glanced back at him, excitement fluttering under my ribs.
I hadn’t felt this in so long.
Thrill sparked through me — nervous, electric, alive.
I folded the measuring tape neatly, humming to myself as I returned to the kitchen.
“Well,” I murmured softly, unable to stop smiling, “this is going to be interesting.”
