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Onto chapter two! Thank you for everyone who came to my AMA yesterday - I had a blast and very much appreciated your support. :) As always, you can check out the full story on AO3 or FF.Net - and please be sure to listen along to marshofsleep‘s playlist! You can see both hers and thefishywitchy’s art all together in these posts!

Comments, criticism and reblogs are, as always, highly appreciated. Thank you for reading!

WAYWARD SOULS ACT ONE: PACTS

the experts

"MAKAAAAAAA!" Spirit blubbers as he opens his arms. "My little girl has come home to her papa!"

Maka brushes past him, completely ignoring his look of hurt. "Stein?" she calls, stomping down the hallway. "Stein, where are you?"

"So cruel," Spirit whimpers from where he's crumpled in the doorway. Soul carefully steps around him, nursing his still-aching arm. "You!" he hears him shout and rolls his eyes as the man scrambles upright.

"Stein!" Maka yells again. "Where is he?" she asks, finally acknowledging her father's presence.

"Basement, my darling daughter."

Maka barrels down the stairs, Soul reluctantly in tow. As always, the basement looks like someone set a bomb off in a library - dusty ancient books form precarious towers that Maka expertly weaves around, papers littered with strange languages and symbols flutter in her wake.

"Stein!" Maka bellows as she rounds the corner of the book maze. "We need -"

Stein holds up one long finger. "Yes," he says into the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. "Agents Eitri and Gokaho were sent out to investigate the murders that had occurred in your town."

Maka huffs, but wanders over to one of the tables half-buried in books and begins to leaf through them. Soul opts to lean next to the rows of phones, careful of his wound. He reads their labels - "FBI", "CDC", "Animal Control" – and making sure to not disturb the melted silver and empty shotgun shells on the table next to him.

"…I'm sorry, that's classified," Stein drawls, twirling around in his chair. "…That's also classified. That's…yes." He picks at one fingernail idly with a pocketknife. "Perhaps if you had a clearance level high enough -"

Soul's close enough to hear a torrent of angry squawking that pours out of the speaker. Stein winces and holds the phone away from his ear.

"…Yes. Glad to have your cooperation."

Stein hangs up and rubs his temples. "This is why Spirit handles the calls," he mutters to no one in particular. He shakes his head, adjusting his glasses as he focuses on them. "Maka. Soul. What brings you here?" A tilt of his head. “What happened to your arm?”

“A ru-“ Soul begins, before Maka barrels over him.

“We need answers, Stein. And fast. Soul -"

"Makaaaaaa?" Spirit's voice winds around the stacks. "Did you find Stein? Are you hungry? I made sandwiches!"

Soul's stomach chooses that moment to remind everyone, very loudly, that the last thing he ate was a shitty gas station hot dog five hours ago. He looks at Maka, who rolls her eyes. "Go eat," she tells him. "We're gonna be down here a while anyway, and I don't want to hear your whining."

"What about you?" Soul asks her.

"Actually, I'm famished myself," Stein says. He stands up and stretches, cracking his back. "Ever since your call, Spirit has been doing nothing but cleaning and cooking and fussing. I've had to answer the phones and research how to kill a lamia at the same time."

"But this is really important…" Maka says, pouting.

"Come on, Maka," Soul says, taking one of her shoulders and steering her towards the stairs. "Few minutes for eating isn't gonna make a difference."

"We've got a time limit, you know," she grumbles, but allows herself to be led into the hallway.

Soul's mouth is already watering at the smell of melted cheese and crispy bread. Spirit lounges in the doorway, a hopeful look in his eyes. Maka doesn't spare him a glance as she takes a seat next to Stein.

Soul attempts to edge past Spirit, but a hand shoots out and blocks his way. "Nuh uh, not you, not yet," Spirit says, folding his arms.

"Papa," Maka warns.

"Just making sure your partner is being good to you," Spirit simpers. His expression hardens as he glares at Soul. "You haven't tried any funny business with my daughter, have you? Don't think just because you're partners that it means you can take advantage of -"

"Shove off, old man," Soul growls, attempting to push past him.

Spirit grabs his good arm, ignoring Soul’s snarl. "Are you taking care of my little girl?" he demands.

"He traded his soul for my life," Maka replies calmly, digging into her grilled cheese. "So yes."

The blood drains from his face, and Soul ends up having to stabilize Spirit as he swoons. Behind him, Stein lowers his sandwich.

"Perhaps food can come later," he says.

Just listening to Maka explain Soul's predicament is too much for Spirit, and they end up moving to the living room so he can be dumped onto the couch without Soul constantly needing to grab hold and make sure the man doesn't greet the floorboards face first.

Stein's as quiet and unreadable as ever, still as stone in his armchair. Maka doesn't look at any of them as she relates their encounter with the demon, hiding the waver of her voice with well-timed bites of her sandwich. Soul picks at the food balanced on his lap, and next to him, Spirit slumps against the cushions, not even scolding him for eating on the couch.

"I can't believe it," Spirit whispers. "My little girl…my darling daughter…"

Tone softer than normal, Maka says, "I'm fine, Papa. Soul brought me -"

"You died, sweetheart!" His eyes fix on her face, and there's a glossy sheen to his eyes, one that speaks of old loss and sorrow. "I would hardly call that 'fine'! I told you, I told you over and over, hunting is going to get you killed -"

Her mouth curls. "Just like it got Mama killed?" she asks, overly sweet, and Spirit falters. "Don't worry, Papa. Unlike her, I have a partner that I know I can trust."

Spirit flinches like he's been struck, and even Soul winces at the venom in her words. Maka ignores both of them, lacing her fingers in her lap and looking at Stein. "Moving on, any ideas on what we can do?"

"An arachne, you say." Stein polishes his glasses on his shirt, looking thoughtful. "That does sound familiar…I will have to check the literature, but I believe I may know of the monster you're looking for."

Maka nods. "Good, yes, but what about demon deals? How can we break Soul's?"

Stein rubs his chin. "That will be harder to find out. You've already gone after the demon…Have you read The Munich Manual? I can't remember if there was a passage about demon deals in it…"

"I already checked, and it only went over deals made with black-eyed demons…" She follows him as he gets up and makes his way back into the kitchen.

Soul lets them talk shop, getting up from the couch and setting his plate down on the coffee table. He drifts over to the mantle instead, which overflows with pictures of a younger Maka. He could never get over the shot of her proudly standing over her first ghoul kill with her mom. Most children would be happy with a rabbit.

"Did you really trade your soul for my daughter?" Spirit asks, and Soul jumps at the sudden intrusion on his thoughts.

"Mm." It's not quite a confirmation, but he seems to understand.

"Thank you," he says softly, sincerely. Soul eyes him, but Spirit is too busy staring at younger Maka's bright, beaming face. He reaches out a finger and runs it down the frame of one of the pictures, the weight of loss aging his features. "I worry about her," he confesses, "so much sometimes, but I know I can't…she wouldn’t…" He trails off, looking dejected.

Truth be told, Soul understands Spirit the most out of all of them - dragged into this business by another, more seasoned hunter. Both of them thrust from a world where one's life stretched out in front of them, rife with expectations of jobs and relationships and living to a ripe old age, to an endless parade of nightmarish monsters and small towns and at the end, if one was lucky, a funeral pyre.

"Soul," Maka calls. "We've got a couple of leads," she says as Soul slouches into the kitchen, Spirit in tow. Her mouth is set into a grim line of determination.

"The easier one is this arachne," Stein begins, adjusting his glasses. "According to my research, it's a type of rare monster, known for trapping victims in webs and poisoning them with venom. It eats them, and reproduces itself by biting and turning humans."

Soul pales. "So Wes -"

"It would be unusual for it to keep a victim around for so long," he says. "Unless they had already been turned."

Soul shakes his head. "The demon made it sound like he was being tortured by it."

Stein makes a noncommittal noise. "I have, actually, been hearing rumors of something that could be an arachne in Arkansas. Given how rare they are, if it does turn out to be one, you may be able to gain more information about your brother there."

"Great!" Soul exclaims. "So let's -"

"There's someone in Arizona who's an expert on demons," Maka interrupts him loudly. "A witch. Supposedly they were able to break a deal with demon."

"Yes, unfortunately my research doesn't show anything of use beyond what you've already tried in terms of breaking a demon's deal," Stein says. "However, I did hear rumors of a powerful witch that once subverted a demonic contract. It was quite some time ago, but I think their last location was in Arizona. Perhaps they would be able to help you." He stretches. "In the meantime, I'll continue to look into things. Queen of the Crossroads you said? Spirit will call around, see if anyone knows who that might be."

"Your bed is made up, Maka," Spirit interjects, still avoiding her eyes. "You two can stay the night here, get a fresh start tomorrow morning."

"Fine," Maka says. "But we're leaving at seven. The sooner we get some answers, the better."

Soul goes to follow her as she leaves, but Spirit stops him. "Not so fast, punk," he says, back to his overprotective self. "You're sleeping on the couch."

Papa is already up and waiting for her when she shuffles into the kitchen early the next morning. Her place at the kitchen island is already set, and she sits, picking up a spoon for the cereal in front of her. Papa slides a glass of juice towards her before turning to attend to the bread baking in the oven.

She takes a sip of apple juice, savoring the tang on her tongue. There's the strange quality to the pre-dawn light that slides in through the tiny window, and the air feels both sharp with lucidity and muzzy with sleep. Papa's features waver between stony anger and frantic distress, though he does his best to smooth his face into some semblance of calm and buries his anxiety in piling her with more and more food.

"Papa, there's enough here to feed an army," she says, watching pile of baked goods grow. "Most of this will go stale before we can eat it."

He snorts. "With your partner's appetite, that's not likely." More cereal and milk appear as she begins to reach the bottom of her bowl, and he says, "I'm sorry I didn't make you waffles or pancakes, I used the last of the eggs yesterday and I didn't have time..."

"It's fine, Papa." She eyes one of the baguettes, and he takes it before she can reach, using the bread knife to slice her off a few pieces.

The bread is still warm when he hands it to her. "Thank you," she says, quieter. "For the food."

"I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast this morning," and they both ignore his careful phrasing, his avoidance of what comes after.

Soul's made a nest of the blankets on the couch, burying himself in them so only the wild mess of his hair is visible. He snoozes quietly, and she can't help her fond smile as she tiptoes past him to the hall.

She slips into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and when she comes back to her bedroom, Papa is sitting in the desk chair, staring blankly at bookshelf.

She follows his gaze, noting the presence of some of her fiction books, ones she thought long lost, victims to their endless parade of moves. Crude drawings in crayon perch between some of the novels, neatly labeled with her name and age. She focuses on the center one, squinting at it through the dust. She can make out a blob with two pigtails, holding the hands of a taller blob with red hair and another with black hair, and a silver scribble of a spirit on flames above them.

She shakes her head and bends to pick up her backpack. She has no attachment to this place, no matter how much Papa tries to pretend otherwise - the only time she lived in this house was when it still smelled of fresh paint and the only thing in the room was the mattress and a lamp. Everything else is just Papa's attempts to surround himself with the ghosts of the people he drove away.

He blocks her way to her suitcase of books on the other side of the bed. At first, she thinks it's because he's planning on helping her move it out to the car, but a minute passes and he makes no move to pick it up, and she realizes soon what this is going to be about.

"Maka -"

"Don't," she says roughly.

She can tell by the look on his face what he wants to say, to do - how he's fighting the urge to yell and put his foot down, to tear the bags out of the hands and tell her she is forbidden from leaving -

But she knows, too, that he's just as terrified of losing her in other ways beyond the physical - that he knows, like she does, the futility in trying to stop someone from leaving when their mind is made up, how it only ends up hurting the person who stays behind to wait.

He reaches for her, and she takes a step back, gripping the strap of her backpack. She nearly falls into him as he grabs her and crushes her to his chest, arms a tight band around her.

"Please," he whispers, and all of the resentment she keeps burning in the bottom of her heart is drowned in the sorrow and fear laced in his voice. "Please be careful. Please come back."

"I - I will," she's startled into saying. He doesn't let go, and the sharp corners of the books in her bag dig painfully into her back as he grips her tighter. His hand comes up to stroke her hair, and she closes her eyes, feeling like she's five again, Papa's patient hands combing and parting them into pigtails. "It's just a witch, Papa," she says softly. "And I'm only going to talk to him, I'm not even going to fight him."

"I know," he sighs, resting his chin over her head. "I just...you know how I worry, and you already..." He sniffs. "You've already died once. I don't want that to happen again. And we both know what can happen, with witches."

The crackling of the logs echo in her ears, and she can feel the heat of the pyre on her face, drying her tears before they can fall from her eyes.

"I'll be fine," she says firmly, removing his arms. "Soul will be with me," and Papa's face crumples as she turns away.

She grabs the suitcase, stalking back to the hallway, but hesitates before she exits the room.

"I...I'll call," she finds herself saying without looking at him. "After we're done with the witch, I'll - I'll let you know," and she leaves before any more ghosts come to haunt her words.

The next morning, they're in the jeep, idling in Spirit's and Stein's driveway. Soul drums his fingers on the steering wheel as Maka wrestles with the maps.

"So," Soul says, injecting false cheer into his voice. "How long to Big Flat, Arkansas?"

The map crinkles in Maka's hands. "I'm not sure, Soul," she says testily, "because we're not going there. Prescott, Arizona, however, is only twelve hours away."

"Maka," he tries, "we have no idea if the witch is even there anymore. We don't even know if he has anything useful to say, or even if he won't just blast us to pieces on sight. And I know how you feel about witches -"

"I don't care if it's a witch. I don't care if it's a vampire, or a - a siren - Soul, I don't even fucking care if it's another demon! It's your life on the line here, I don't see why you can't understand that -"

"You know why," he says lowly. Her mouth tightens, and he says, pleading, "Stein's lead on Wes is pretty solid -"

"Wes has been waiting for five years! You, on the other hand, have less than one!"

"The demon said -"

"Fuck the demon!" she spits, and Soul is startled to see the telltale glint of tears on her cheeks.

"Maka-"

"No, Soul," Maka says, cutting him off. "I'm not budging on this. We're going to Arizona and that's final."

Soul's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He swears loudly, slamming his palms into the wheel, then throws open his door and stomps outside.

Five minutes later, he gets back in the car. "Fine," he says tersely, reaching for his seatbelt. "But if this guy has nothing, if he's not there, we're turning right back around and going after the arachne."

"Fine," Maka says.

He puts the car into gear and backs out of the driveway. The drive to Arizona is silent.

Soul's hunted enough witches to know that the vast majority are just normal humans with normal lives and nine-to-five jobs spiced up with the occasional spell or ritual.

It's still weird, though, to pull up at what looks like a completely mundane house in the suburbs and realize that behind that white picket fence and bay windows lives someone who can kill with just a well-placed hex bag. He's never really sure what he expects to tip him off - bubbling cauldron next to the Buick? black cats hissing at him from under the gardenias? - but it's definitely not a collection of ceramic garden gnomes. Honestly, he finds it creepier.

Maka knocks forcefully on the door, glaring at the zinnias as she waits for a response. He doesn't bother to ask her what she plans to do when the witch opens the door - they're still not exactly on speaking terms.

The door swings open, and a lovely young woman appears in the doorway. Hair black as ink is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she favors Soul with a small smile, revealing perfectly aligned teeth.

"Hello," she says, in a voice as smooth as her hair. "Can I help you?"

Maka shoves her way in front and crosses her arms. "Listen, we're on borrowed time here, and we just drove fourteen hours nonstop, so I'm going to cut to the chase. Are you the witch that broke a deal with a demon?"

"Maka," Soul hisses.

The woman's face clouds with confusion. "I…I'm sorry?"

Maka snaps her fingers in front of the woman's face. "You. Witch. You know, sold your soul to a demon, got the power to win the lottery and get rid of anyone in your way for that promotion -"

"MAKA!"

Maka drops her hand, and, to her credit, does look a little ashamed.

"Sorry," Soul says, sending Maka a glare. She pretends to ignore it, looking away at one of the gnomes. He intensifies the look, pouring into it all of his frustration at the situation, and Maka eventually sighs and scuffs her foot.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"We were hoping you could help us," Soul says carefully.

The woman looks between the two of them. "I see," she says slowly. Then, miracles of miracles, she backs up, stepping aside and gesturing inwards. "Perhaps you should come inside."

"The hell was that?!" Soul hisses, grabbing Maka's arm as they enter the house. "You go off on me about how we have to save my soul and need to get information from this witch, and the first thing you do is insult her? Way to make friends with people we need help from!"

"I said I was sorry," Maka grumbles. "But she's a witch, you know how they are. How many cases have we taken because some witch got upset that Karen got first place at the garden show and decided to off her? Or because their wife had an affair, so the most obvious thing to do was to behead her?"

"This is why we should have gone to Arkansas -"

"Tea?" interrupts a voice from the kitchen.

Maka opens her mouth, and Soul quickly clamps a hand down on it. "Yes, please," he replies.

"What kind? Do you take sugar or milk?"

The force of Maka's glare is enough to make him wish for hellhounds instead of the death she silently promises him, but Soul didn't get this far by being a coward. "Green tea, if you have it. And no to both, thank you."

There's the click of the stove and clattering comes from the kitchen. Soul slowly unfurls his fingers from Maka's mouth, then quickly stows his hands behind his back.

"Great," Maka complains quietly. "Now we have to search ourselves, our tea, and our chairs for hex bags."

"Oh shut up, Maka, and just drink the damn tea," Soul says irritably, and shoves her into the kitchen.

"I see," the witch, whose name turns out to be Tsubaki, says, pouring them tea. "Hunters. That explains much."

"What do you mean by that?" Maka demands.

"Not many know about witches," Tsubaki replies neutrally. Soul admires her tact.

Maka takes a defiant gulp of her tea, and blinks, surprised. "This is good tea," she says, begrudgingly.

"I'm glad you like it." Tsubaki picks up her own teacup, a gaudy affair of naked pastel cherubs. "Temomi shin cha - it's quite expensive. Poison would dilute the flavor."

Maka's face flushes, and she hides it with an extended sip.

Soul stares down at his own mug – a perfect replica of Chip from Beauty and the Beast - and watches his murky, green-brown reflection. "We've got a…friend," he begins cautiously, "who has landed in some trouble with a demon."

Tsubaki says nothing, but watches him with shrewd eyes.

"They, uh, made a deal. With a crossroads demon. Standard issue deal, though a little…accelerated on the collecting part." He clears his throat. "On the friend's behalf, we summoned the same demon, and asked it to reconsider. It, um, didn't. Or couldn't. Don't know which."

"So how do we break this friend's deal?" Maka asks.

Tsubaki's face falls. "I'm sorry," she says, genuine. "But you can't."

"But…but you broke a deal with a demon!"

"I did." She takes a sip of her tea.

"So break his!" Maka snaps, but Tsubaki's already shaking her head.

"It's not that simple." She gets up from her chair. "Come. I think it will be easier to show you than tell you."

They descend downstairs, and Soul shivers at the sudden chill in the air. It doesn't look that much different from a normal basement, though perhaps a little more tidy - there's a bike in the corner, collections of old books and car supplies on top of a blue bucket, boxes stacked neatly into towers.

"It sounds like you're familiar with the most common way to become a witch," Tsubaki says. "How was it that you expressed it - 'sell your soul for lottery winnings and revenge'?"

Maka says nothing, pretending to be watching her step down the stairs very carefully.

Tsubaki grasps the handle of an unnoticed trapdoor, lifting it up and revealing a short ladder. She begins to climb down, and Maka frowns, peering down; Soul nudges her, and reluctantly, she descends. "In truth,” comes Tsubaki’s voice from the bottom, “there are three different ways of becoming a witch. Receiving your powers from an outside source - a demon - is the most common way. Many choose to study the art of witchcraft, though this takes much longer. And there are a lucky few who, like me, were blessed with the gift at birth."

She leads the way through a surprisingly clean and well-lit underground passageway. "My brother was not so lucky, sadly," she continues. "He coveted the power that so easily came to me. I offered to teach him, to take him on as an apprentice multiple times. But he was too proud, or perhaps too ashamed and hateful of himself, to accept.

"He showed up one day," she says, almost as if to herself. "I hadn't seen him in years, and he just…he looked so different, so gaunt and thin, but I could tell. It was still him. He attacked me. And when it was all said and done, I was still standing, and he was not. But I…" and here she stops to look at them, old doubt and hurt in her eyes.

"Perhaps it was foolish." Tsubaki turns away. "Perhaps I was merely looking for something that wasn't there - simply deluding myself. But my brother…" She hesitates in front of an old door, staring through the wood with unseeing eyes. "He checked under the bed to make sure monsters weren't hiding underneath it when I was little. He put bandages on my hands when I burnt myself making potions. He let me cry on his shoulder when my first girlfriend broke up with me."

She shakes her head. "It's difficult, I suppose, when someone has everything you've dreamed of having, no matter how close they are to you."

"I know the feeling," Soul mutters, feeling a stab of bitter empathy.

Tsubaki smiles at him. "Then you know how it is with siblings, yes? Despite it all, he was still my big brother. I loved him. I looked up to him." She turns the knob and pushes open the door. "And I couldn't let him go to hell."

Dried herbs swing from the ceiling of a tiny room, and small jars line the shelves, each labeled in looping handwriting. Along one wall, a bookshelf groans under the weight of its tomes. An antique writing desk stands opposite of it, pens neatly lined up beneath a thick well-worn notebook. Strange, unfamiliar symbols are everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceilings, glowing a soft white-blue.

And on a stand in the center, there's a curious-looking bell jar pulsing a dull, dirty gray.

"This is my brother," Tsubaki introduces them. "Masamune."

"It's a very complicated spell," Tsubaki says, leafing through her spellbook. Maka peers curiously over her shoulder as Soul studies the glass jar.

All this struggle for this, he thinks. For something so small and so fragile. He tries not to think of his own soul, pulsing somewhere within his body.

"So basically, he's in limbo right now?"

"Essentially. Our fight left my brother barely clinging to life. There was nothing I could do to heal him - but I was able to devise a way to capture his soul before it was collected.

"It's been ten years," Tsubaki says, sighing. "Little by little, I've been able to purify it, but I'm afraid it will be a very long time before I can release him and be assured that he'll be free from hell's grip."

"And I only have one," Soul murmurs.

"You're also not dead," Tsubaki points out, unsurprised at his admission. "Pulling a soul from a body generally results in death, and I don't believe the spell works on the living."

"What are these symbols?" Maka asks, gesturing to the jar.

"I'm not sure," Tsubaki replies. "I found them in a very old book, half-rotted and with most of the papers missing. From what I could gather, it was a way to ward off those that would seek to take a soul."

"Like…monsters?"

Tsubaki shrugs. "As I said, the book was in poor shape. Perhaps it's a sort of invisibility spell, one meant to shield the soul's presence from monsters - maybe even reapers."

"Wait, reapers?" Soul asks. "Like…Death? The grim reaper?"

"There's more than one, from what I've read," Maka replies. “If they’re real.”

"That's what my research shows too," Tsubaki agrees. "Speaking of research - although I may not know how to break your deal, I do know more than most about demons and their hierarchy. In fact, I believe I'm one of the few to own some very rare demonology texts - Pseudomonarchia Daemonum comes to mind. Would you like to look at them?"

Maka's eyes shine brighter than stars, but she affects a bored attitude. "Yeah, that might be nice," she says gruffly. Soul rolls his eyes.

"Let's relocate to my study then," Tsubaki says, and gently places her fingertips against the glass jar. "Until later, brother," she says quietly.

"Crossroads demons are little better than your common black-eyed demon," Tsubaki says, back in the house proper. Her study is as neat and organized as the rest of the house with the exception of the desk, which contains a veritable sea of books and papers. “However, unlike black-eyed demons, they have a boss, so to speak - the King or Queen of the Crossroads."

Maka and Soul share a glance as Tsubaki continues on. "Now in terms of demon hierarchy, this position is actually fairly low; they have none of the special powers and privileges granted to them like the Generals, or the Princes of Hell, or even the white-eyed demons. For most intents and purposes, the King or Queen of Crossroads is just a more powerful common demon. Still, demons in general are almost impossible to kill, so they are a force to be reckoned with."

Tsubaki looks at Soul. "Now, you said your demon refused to break your deal?"

"It said it couldn't," Soul replies, frowning. "And then…it said something about the Queen of the Crossroads."

"Interesting…" Tsubaki arises from her chair, walks over to one of her filing cabinets and begins rifling through the folders. "As you might expect, the King or Queen is technically responsible for all deals made by crossroads demons. It's not common, but not unheard of for them to personally take hold of a contract."

"Do you know who the Queen is?" Maka asks.

"Last I knew, it was Medusa. But that may have changed - demons aren't as united as they may seem when we encounter them in their vessels here. There's constant political infighting, as they vie for higher positions."

"Medusa," Maka muses. "Interesting name."

"She was appointed by the current King of Hell, Asura. Unusual, from what I gather - generally the red eyed demons are left to fight for the position amongst themselves. I'm not surprised she's decided to personally intervene in your contract though. Supposedly she's more…hands-on than her predecessors. Be careful," she says, serious. "Medusa…she held my brother's contract too. She's cunning and clever, and worst of all, ambitious."

"You said demons are almost impossible to kill," Maka says. "Does that mean you know a way?"

Tsubaki shakes her head. "I said almost because I've read texts that suggest there may be certain artifacts out there. And of course, the lore does state that angels are demon counterparts, capable of banishing them permanently."

"But angels don't exist," Maka says, sighing.

"So it seems."

"But," she continues, hopeful, "if we were to kill Medusa, would Soul's deal be broken?"

"It's possible," Tsubaki replies. "But as I said…how?"

And to this, Maka has nothing to say.

"I'm sorry," Tsubaki says again as they load up the car. "You drove all the way out here, and I was unable to help you."

"That's not true," Maka says, though Soul can hear the strain in her voice as she forces a smile. "We've got a lot more information now." And indeed, beyond the information on Medusa, they now know a lot more about demons and how to hinder them than before. Copies of simpler devil traps and shorter exorcism spells now take up a dozen pages in Maka's notebook, along with Medusa's sigil. Tucked between the front seats is more holy water, along with freshly baked muffins.

"I will talk with the other witches in my coven," Tsubaki promises, and misses, or chooses to ignore, Maka's grimace. "Perhaps they will know more, or know who you can ask. Should you find anything, don't hesitate to contact me. In the meantime, though…I truly hope you can find what you're looking for."

"Me too," says Maka, and they take their leave.

"So?" Soul asks when Tsubaki's cottage can no longer be seen in the rear-view mirror. "Arkansas?"

Maka crosses her arms, stares out the window. "Arkansas," she says finally. "But if I hear even the hint of demonic activity or anything that could remotely involve them, we're turning around immediately."

the crossroads << previous chapter || next chapter >> the blood

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