Maggie stirred awake to the chill of morning clinging to her skin. The grass beneath her was wet, each blade slick with dew that had soaked through the thin fabric of her yellow dress until it clung heavy against her body. She shivered, rolling onto her side, strands of damp hair plastered across her cheek, the taste of earth and sleep still thick in her mouth. She ran her tongue over her new fangs, still unfamiliar in her mouth. For a moment she stayed still, before forcing herself upright.
The world looked washed pale in the early light, a soft blue haze stretching across the open field. Maggie hugged her knees, staring down at the dirt smudges on her bare legs, then rubbed her arms as if she could wipe away the cold. Her dress was darker now at the hem, heavy with moisture, and she brushed at it pointlessly. A sigh slipped out of her, half annoyance, half exhaustion. She tilted her face to the sky where the sun was still a muted blur behind thin clouds, not yet strong enough to warm her.
It was then she saw the town across the field. Low rooftops broke the horizon, clustered together like a quiet promise. A large manor stood above the rest, and a single column of smoke rose from somewhere unseen. Maggie blinked, pushing back the strands of hair that clung to her face, and felt a strange pull in her chest. The place looked small, ordinary, almost forgettable but to her, standing in the wet grass at the edge of morning, it was the beginning of something. She got to her feet slowly, barefoot in the dew, and started walking.
Ward stood on his balcony, wearing a white cotton dress shirt and his black tie, smooth Dress pants and polished shoes. He was drinking from a glass of Whiskey and watching the field.. his eyes took in each sight. He sipped from the drink and spoke briefly
"There's no finding me here, been watching my back for days, as long as I lay low im good. Ill be fat capping on this life for the rest of my days."
But then his eyes settle on the girl in the field. And his eyes locked onto her.. when he saw her discombobulated and walking towards town. He thought for a moment, and he felt as if he had to investigate. So he went back inside, and put on a long coat and a fedora.
She would see a figure walking up to her, a Black figure in a black hat and long coat.. and the orange glow from a cigarette in his mouth.. he approached with a hand in his pocket and another holding the cancer stick to his mouth. It was accidentally intimidating, behind the shadows his eyes watched her approach
Maggie slowed as the figure broke from the haze of the morning light. At first all she could see was the wide brim of his hat and the dark weight of his coat, his shape blurred by the rising mist that clung to the field. For a heartbeat her breath caught, and an old story clawed up from memory, the Hatman, the shadow that lurked at the edge of sleep. She stood frozen in the wet grass, arms tightening around her body until her nails pressed hard into her skin, as if she could hold herself steady against the sight.
But the shadow didn’t vanish. It came closer, step by step, the ember of his cigarette flaring in the dim light like some watchful eye. Maggie’s throat felt dry, and in the damp morning air she caught the faintest trace of something sharp, coppery, unmistakable, the scent of blood. It slipped into her senses before she could shut it out, winding through her hunger.
“Hello?”
She swallowed, forcing her voice out, cautious and small, the word carried thin over the field. Her eyes stayed fixed on him.
"Its a cold night out here. And from what I saw you look a bit under the weather.
His voice was not thick with an Irish accent but rather it held the undertones of his voice. He noticed her weariness and pulled his coat off his back, he held it out in the night, wide enough to show his Lean figure
"I don't bite now, and I hope you don't either. But I'd hate to see you catch a cold out here.
He said offering it to her walking closer, his other hand pulled the cigarette from his mouth, tapping its side so its ashes could fall to the wet grass to snuff it out
Maggie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him shrug free of the coat, the fabric hanging wide in the pale light. She stood rooted in the damp grass, the morning chill had seeped too far in to shake off.
Her breath drew in sharp, carrying with it again the copper trace of blood that clung faintly to him, it wasn't only his, she wasn't sure which unsettled her more. Still, she didn’t move back. She let her arms loosen, slowly, and reached out to take the coat from him, the fabric warmer than she expected against her fingers.
Her eyes flicked up to his face once, wary and questioning, before she slipped the coat over her shoulders. It was too big, of course, swallowing her figure in its folds.
“Do you offer your jacket to all strangers you meet?”
Her voice came out slow, honeyed with a small-town southern drawl, the kind that softened her words even when they carried an edge.
He chuckled slightly, as he stood off to the side, he noticed her fangs and nodded
"Anyone deserves politeness. In most cases." He gave her a hand for a handshake "Keelan Ward, how about you?"
His eyes examined her, checking body movements and the way she looked at him. He already knew what she was already. Yet he smiled anyway
Maggie's eyes flicking from his outstretched hand back up to his face. Then she let one hand slip free of the coat, her fingers cool and delicate as they met his. Her grip was soft, not timid exactly, but measured, as though she wasn’t used to giving anything away too quick.
“Magnolia Thorne,” She said, her drawl curling around the name like it was meant to be spoken slow. A faint smile tugged at her lips, almost shy.
“But most folk just call me Maggie.” She released his hand gently, tucking hers back into the safety of the coat’s folds.
His grip was firm, professional, practiced. He let her hand fall
"A wonderful name, French I believe. But you clearly aren't French. You sound.. American?" He asked almost like it wasn't a question, like he knew, but he kept a smile on his face "Its a pleasure Maggie."
It almost sounded regal, with the Accent. He had a way with words, that made them sound like he was talking to an old friend.
His accent curled around her ears, warm and deliberate, though in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think it sounded a little too much like that leprechaun from the cereal commercials. The thought almost tugged a smile out of her, but she kept it hidden.
“Natchitoches,” She said at last, her drawl leaning heavier into the syllables. “Down in Louisiana.”
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as if testing how much he really wanted to know.
“Not much of a place, but it’s home.”
"Aye well, seems you've made a new home here." He said as he gestured to the town. "You will fit right in.. but uh.. how long have you been..?" He pointed at his teeth. He was asking how long it was since she turned.. as if it wasn't a sensitive topic.
Maggie’s gaze followed the sweep of his hand toward the town, but it didn’t linger there. At his question, her chest tightened, and she dropped her eyes to her bare feet sunk in the wet grass. Her toes curled against the earth, as if grounding herself might make it easier to say the words. The coat hung heavy around her shoulders, smelling faintly of smoke and blood.
“Not long,” She said quietly, after a beat, she lifted her chin just enough to meet his eyes. “Less than a day.”
The admission hung between them, fragile as glass, and she tightened the coat around herself.
He stared at her.. and then he crouched down next to her.. he looked saddened.. putting a hand kn her shoulder
"Probably hungry too, I got some Synthetic at home just in case.. uh.. doesn't matter would you like some lass?"
He asked as he made sure she was okay, trying to catch her gaze so she could focus on him.. although he hoped that wouldn't mean death
She took a careful step back, putting distance between them so his hand couldn’t rest on her shoulder.
“…Fine,” She said cautiously, voice low but steady. “I’ll take the synthetic… back at your place.”
He nodded and stood up, putting his hand down. He nodded to the apartment building
"Alright.. it will get you on your feet, and get a clearer head. Then you can navigate the new world you are in." He started to walk to his place, waving her along.
She fell in step behind him, keeping a careful distance, letting the warmth of the morning settle into her. The streets of Stokers Grove stretched out under a soft amber lamplight began to flicker off as the sun began to rise above the horizon. The quiet hum of small-town life drifting through the streets, the smell of fresh grass mixed with faint woodsmoke filled her senses.
She tightened his coat around her shoulders. The warmth of it seeped into her skin, and she realized with a mild surprise that her bare feet didn’t ache on the gravel. Not even a little. She followed quietly, keeping her gaze on the morning light on the rooftops as the shadows disappeared into back alleyways.
“It’s not so bad,” She murmured, mostly to herself, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
He looked around as he looked to her, leading her to the front of the building he opened door for her
"If anything, best place to come after being turned. Lots of experience here for you to learn.. I don't know much. Just know enough to keep them happy and my blood in my body."
When she tightened the coat she could feel a sense of toughness in thr fabric.. almost as of the suit was reinforced.
"Unfortunately I can't lead you to any of them because im new here as well."
She stepped inside, letting the door click softly behind her.
"…If you don’t mind me asking," She said, her voice was quiet but curious, "when did you get here?"
Her gaze flicked up to him, trying to read the unfamiliar lines in his face.
He paused.. his mind shifting to standing in a street coated with blood on his hands..
"Couple days ago, just needed a change in scenery. Got too bored of my work and such." He said with a perfectly manufactured tone. As he led her up stairs and hallways.. eventually leading them to the hall with his apartment on it "Heard only fools come here and im a big one so, decided to play magical fairy princess and come here."
"I see… so you just up and left, followed the whim of boredom,"
She murmured, her eyes tracing the hallway as they led to his door. She paused at the threshold, feeling the air shift somehow, as if something, unseen, was stopping her. Bare feet shifting against the carpeted floor, she hesitated.
He walked ahead of her, walking to his door and using a key to unlock it. Then he glanced at her
"Yeah that's something else you need to get used to, can't come in without permission. Give me a second ill be right out." And he walked in, leaving her out there while he went to get some Synthetic for her.
Her brow furrowed as she edged closer to the open door, peering inside. She shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other, testing the boundary with a step that never quite landed across the threshold. The irritation flickered across her face, sharp and undeniable.
“Seriously?”
She muttered under her breath, dragging her fingers along the doorframe as if feeling for seams. The barrier mocked her, solid as stone and yet invisible. She pulled the coat tighter around her, exhaling sharply, annoyance curling under her ribs.
She could see a office area immediately at the front to the right next to a coat rack that held a underarm holster, and next to the rack was a empty keyhook. Past the small office was a living space with a nice leather couch with a blanket on it, a coffee table that held up a fancy whiskey and a glass, beside the vices was a nickle plated handgun resting like the TV remote next to it for the expensive TV. When he walked inside he turned left into a cramped kitchen, at the end of the Kitchen was a fridge and whne he opened it she could see the bottles of Synthetic blood on the shelves as he grabbed two of them. Among other various foods and treats a Irishman would love, including a good amount of beer for passing time. A knife holder was on the black marble counter, a microwave and an air fryer sat next to each other with the coffee make on the other side beside the small sink. Beside the sink was a dishwasher. All anyone could need. Beside the kitchen was a hall that must have led to the bathroom, and the bedroom.. but she couldn't see from her position.
He turned closing the fridge and walked back to her, holding the drink in his hand.. her food. He walked back out and closed the door, handing her the drink.
"This should keep you as you find your home in this place, everyone has one." He said handing her the two bottles.
She reached out, fingers brushing against the cool glass as she accepted the bottles. For a moment she just held them. Tilting her head, she offered a quiet.
“Thank you…”
Her gaze flicked back up to him, she hugged the bottles lightly against her chest, she could feel her body ache with the need to drink both right there.
“What do you mean, everyone has a home? Like… here in town? Or...” She hesitated.
"Anywhere really, follow where you think your home is lass. You'll find it there, I think im not too sure how it works."
He chuckled as he leaned against the wall, his eyes locked between her in the bottles as if waiting for her to lose composure.. he looked impressed.. at the resistance she had for not drinking it right there.
"Like I said, I've not been here long enough to know everything. But just enough to know the basics. And so far im the only human here." He shrugged, looking off for a moment, clearing his mind with a joke. "Makes me feel a little special, im gonna be famous."
Her grip on the bottles tightened, the glass cool against her palms as her gaze fixed on him. The chestnut warmth in her eyes bled away, deepening into a dark maroon that caught the low light like polished stone.
“Special?” She said softly, her voice carrying a sharper edge now. “Or just… a target?”
Her head tilted slightly, looking down the hall towards the exit “If this place really is full of vampires… being the only human sounds less like fame and more like walking around with a ‘bite me’ sign taped to your back."
"Let them try, I can handle myself here. I've had run ins with many folk who come with bad intentions."
He said with a smile, shrugging slightly as he watched her movements. Vigilance keeping him ready for a lunge or an attack, new vampires tend to do so.
"You just worry about yourself there, there's a lot you need adjusting to and I think you should try and reach out to others for help. I can only tell you so much but im not a Vampire, so I can only tell you what I learned."
She shifted the bottles in her arms, as she gave him a small nod. “Well… thank you, truly. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Her voice carried that soft southern drawl,
“If I ruffled your feathers any, I’m sorry. Lord knows I’ve had a rough go of it an’ my tongue gets ahead of me sometimes.”
She glanced back at him, the faintest flush of embarrassment creeping into her tone. “Do you… uh- want your jacket back?”
Her hands fumbled at the collar and sleeves as she tried to shrug it off without dropping the bottles, the motion clumsy.
He reached out and pulled the coat back over her shoulder instinctively, like a man dressing his child in their first suit. His eyes focused more on the coat, but then he met her eyes and pulled his hands back.
"Sorry, right no-.. You can wear the jacket until you get something warmer to wear, I got other coats. It should protect you from the cold and you could use some comfort. Just bring it back to me when you don't need it anymore." He leaned back against the wall again, giving her a smile.
"You know where to find me anyway, and in the jacket is a card I normally give out when I need to share contact info. You ever need me there's a number."
She blinked up at him, surprised by the small, careful gesture, then lowered her gaze, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Alright then… thank you. For the jacket, the bottles-"
She gave him a small nod, hugging the bottles close as she turned toward the hallway. Bare feet carried her forward, the coat brushing against her legs as she walked, her gratitude lingering in the air between them.
“Thank you!” She called back lightly, before slipping through the stairway door.
"No problem!" He called to her as he slipped back into his apartment.. and closed the door. Making sure it locked behind him. He went back to his table and sat down, pouring a small glass of Whiskey to settle in his hands. Her smile lingering in his mind way longer than it should
"Very strong woman.. takes a lot of strength to resist the urge of blood of any kind when you are hungry." His self reflection ended with a chuckle, and a sip of the stiff drink.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the careful mask she’d held in place cracked. She stumbled into the shadowed stairwell, pressing her back against the cold wall until her legs buckled, sliding down into the corner. The bottles trembled in her grip, hunger louder than thought. Her chest heaved once before she yanked the first cap loose with a snap of her teeth.
She drank greedily, the synthetic blood rushing over her tongue, flooding down her throat in desperate gulps. It wasn’t enough, not fast enough, and crimson spilled over her lips, streaking down her chin, darkening the collar of his coat. By the time she drained the first, the second was already half open, clutched so tight the glass bit into her palm. She drank again, savage, as though the liquid might vanish if she didn’t take it all at once.
A guttural sound, half moan, half growl, escaped her as instinct overpowered restraint. Her tongue flicked out, unnatural, curling across her chin and cheek to lap at the mess she’d made.
Only when both bottles lay empty, rolling across the floor, did she slump back against the wall, chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. Her eyes glowed maroon in the dim light, raw hunger still simmering even as she tried to catch herself again. She tilted her head, gaze drifting toward the narrow stairway window. Beyond the glass, across the dusky field, a white house stood at the corner, aged paint, weathered roof, but something in its silhouette tugged at her chest with an ache of familiarity.
Her breath hitched. Before she could think, before reason could anchor her, she was on her feet. The bottles clattered where they’d fallen as she bolted down the stairs, bare feet striking fast against the worn steps. The door burst open under her hand, and she spilled out into the street, coat flaring behind her as she ran toward that house in the fading light, drawn by a pull older than hunger.