The Secret Ingredient Is Love. No, Really

by RoAnna Sylver

  Jude opened his mouth, but instead of replying, folded his arms and looked at the floor. Some points he wasn’t ready to concede. “I close my eyes, and every time, I see fangs. Nothing stops the nightmares. Hell, even back then—I died! My heart stopped for sixty seconds. You’d think it would be over then, if nothing else. But it wasn’t, and I can’t forget what I saw then, either. Even death wasn’t enough.”

  “At least that part wasn’t as terrible as the rest of it,” Pixie said, in a tone that clearly meant he was trying to find a nonexistent bright side. Jude had no patience for it, or anything else that masked reality. “I mean, if you’re gonna almost die—”

  “I did die,” Jude maintained, feeling oddly defensive. “Temporarily, but I died.”

  “Well, I died too,” Pixie said, and Jude shut his mouth, breaking off his automatic retort. It was the way he said it that hit harder than the actual words; plain, simple, and inarguable. “And I didn’t see anything like that. At least you got something.”

  “No, I didn’t. It wasn’t Heaven,” Jude said, but there was no fire in his words, only exhaustion. “And that burned person wasn’t an angel. They were an aggregate my subconscious made up of everyone I’ve ever pulled out of a building on fire. It was my oxygen-starved brain calling up old memories while it broke down.”

  “How do you know, though?” Pixie pressed, with the slightest edge of desperation. “Five years ago you didn’t believe in vampires. A couple days ago, you didn’t think you’d ever have a conversation with one. What are you gonna believe in tomorrow?”

  “If there was any justice in the world, none of this would have—” Jude broke off and took a slow, deep breath. When he spoke it was at a normal volume, not the near-shout he’d started without realizing. “Do you know what was left of Felix after that thing was done with him?”

  “No,” Pixie said in a small voice, sounding afraid to hear the answer.

  “Enough to bury, but that’s it. He wasn’t recognizable. There were human remains all over that construction site—homeless people caught inside, they said. Most so badly burned that all they could tell was the DNA was human.”

  “So then… if there was no body, and no DNA evidence for sure—”

  “There was blood. Too much for a person to lose and survive. Felix is dead, and he went up in smoke along with everyone else we couldn’t save.” Jude’s voice was flat. He was starting to feel detached again, like someone else was saying the words coming out of his mouth. “They did find his suit and helmet. The helmet was broken, and the suit was torn to shreds. I don’t need to tell you how impossible that is.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot of things are impossible,” Pixie said. But he didn’t seem as optimistic as before, and Jude found some dark pleasure in that. “Until they actually happen. I’m—I’m sorry.”

  They were both still, heavy silence hanging between them. Then Pixie sighed and held up his hands.

  “Okay. I’m gonna level with you. No more tricks, no more word games, no bullshit of any kind, yeah? From now on, we’re in this together. You got me. For real.”

  Jude just stared at him for a couple seconds. In all their interactions before, Pixie had given off the feeling of apprehension, nervous energy, desperately seeking cooperation and approval. There was none of that here. Jude had the feeling that for the first time, Pixie was being entirely honest with him. But none of that actually helped him understand. “Why?”

  “I lost someone too,” Pixie said with a casual little shrug. He used the same tone as before, when talking about his own death, as if it were simple, obvious, and not overly important. “Sometimes I try to think about what he’d want me to do, and the answer definitely isn’t ‘mess with you and try to screw you over,’ especially when you’re kind of in the same boat as me.”

  “The same boat,” Jude repeated, but for once, it wasn’t a challenge. He still wasn’t sure if he could trust or believe anything Pixie said, but was surprised to notice that he actually wanted to. “Because we both lost someone, and we’re trying to put our lives back together?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. And neither of us can do it alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” Jude said, defensiveness returning in a heartbeat.

  “Your friends aren’t really here for you on this, though, are they?” Jude didn’t reply. He knew the answer, and knew Pixie knew it, but putting it into words would feel like a betrayal. “That can feel pretty lonely.”

  Jude stayed quiet for a few seconds, folding his arms across his chest. “They say Felix wouldn’t want me to throw away my life, and they’re right. I’m lucky to be alive. I shouldn’t waste that.”

  Pixie was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he didn’t meet Jude’s eyes, but he didn’t sound remotely uncertain either. “I don’t think they can really know that for sure, can they? The only one who knows what he’d want is him, and, I mean, sorry for saying this, but Felix isn’t around for you to ask anymore. So, sounds to me like you should do your own thing, whatever helps you. Forget what anybody else thinks.”

  Jude searched Pixie’s words for any sign of mockery. He fumbled for an easy, sarcastic response that would re-establish the distance between them. Neither came. “That’s… wise.”

  Pixie grinned, showing his small, pointed canines. “That’s punk.”

  This night, and the one before, had been filled with more strange and ominous changes than Jude could remember experiencing. Not at least for five years. But the most surprising thing yet was how easily he smiled back. “What was their name?”

  “Who?” Pixie looked too happy at the reciprocated smile to have quite followed.

  “The person you lost.”

  “Oh.” Pixie’s own smile didn’t so much disappear as slowly evolve into something else, something quiet, reflective, introspective but not shutting down. He wasn’t building up walls between them, he was just turning his attention to something buried deep inside them. “Jeff. That was his name. He gave me this.”

  He held up the guitar, which Jude hadn’t taken the time to seriously look at, despite carrying its unwieldy dead weight all the way home. Now, for the first time, he was glad he’d made the effort. Pixie pointed at the sticker, and Jude finally read the phrase he’d only caught in the corner of his eye before: This Bass Kills Fascists.

  “Huh,” Jude said, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know much about musical instruments, but I’m fairly certain that’s not a bass.”

  “It’s not!” Pixie caught the confusion on his face and chuckled, but in a different way than his usual laugh. He was still turned inward, seeing and remembering things Jude could only guess at.

  “See, Jeff got a sticker and put it on his bass, saying, you know, the Woody Guthrie thing, ‘This Machine Kills Fascists?’” Pixie explained. “Except his said ‘Guitar,’ like, specifically. And he didn’t care, because technically a bass guitar is a guitar—but everybody gave him shit for it. Jeff didn’t care, he said if people didn’t get it, that was their problem. He wouldn’t change it. And one day I found a sticker saying the thing, but with ‘bass,’ and put it on my guitar. A not-bass guitar. Both wrong, both awesome—they match.” Now, everything bright and happy did disappear from his face, naturally and all at once, as if it had happened too many times before. “Matched.”

  “I’m… sorry,” Jude said, tentatively and wondering if it was the right thing at all. If there was something else he should say or do. He moved his hand, surprising himself with the automatic impulse to reach out and put it on Pixie’s shoulder. But he didn’t. Jude might do that with Jasper or Eva—that was why he recognized this, he realized, and felt oddly relieved—but they’d shared five years of tragedy, and many more years of happier history. He’d only known Pixie for two nights, no matter how much familiarity he found. He held still.

  “It’s fine.” Pixie gave a one-shoulder shrug, but didn’t meet Jude’s eyes. “I’m over it. I mean, as much as possible. I try to focus on the good times, smile because it ha
ppened, you know? And think about what he’d say, or want me to do—then do it, that’s all. And for real, if Felix was anything like Jeff, he’d tell you not to give up. Not ever. Give the bastards hell.”

  Jude probably only stared at him for a few seconds, but it felt longer. “Why are you doing this?”

  “What?”

  “This. Telling me this. Trying to be my friend.” He might have said these same words earlier. His voice would have been harder, with a skeptical edge. He would have glared at Pixie instead of looking at him thoughtfully, and wondering what else he’d formed too quick an opinion about.

  “Do I need a reason?” Pixie raised his eyebrows and readily met Jude’s direct gaze.

  “People usually do,” Jude said in his same considering tone, evaluating but not rejecting. It was a strange feeling. “Nobody gives you something for nothing, not even if you have things in common.”

  “That’s for sure.” Pixie almost smiled again, but his mouth twisted into more of a grimace. “Listen, I shouldn’t have tried to play you. I just—I didn’t know if I could trust you, so I was trying to get two for the price of one, come out on top with no risk, you know?”

  “But you trust me now,” Jude said. Again, the words were skeptical, but his tone wasn’t.

  “More than I did before,” Pixie said, nodding. “At first? Nah, why would I? I did the smart thing, seeing how far I could get without giving you a chance to hurt me. But now?” He gave Jude an appraising look as he wiggled a little deeper into the couch cushions, head tilting a little to one side. Jude thought it was a similar expression to the one he wore right now. “You didn’t have to save me. You didn’t even have to agree to help me in the first place.”

  Jude shrugged, and broke their shared gaze. Compliments, even indirect ones, always left him unsure what to say. “Anyone else would.”

  “No, they wouldn’t,” Pixie said immediately. “They really, really wouldn’t. Like you said, nobody gives you something for nothing, and I’m not giving you anything good enough to deserve saving. But you helped me anyway.”

  “It was nothing.” Jude shook his head, but instead of a flare of annoyance, he felt something else. Satisfied? Relieved? Those came close, and neither of them made sense. None of the past two nights had, but the fact that he actually felt… glad about any of it, instead of angry or scared—that made the least sense of all. “Forget it. When we’re done, forget it.”

  “I’m gonna have a hard time doing that.” Pixie smiled and, again, Jude couldn’t find it in himself to doubt. That was what scared him now, not Pixie. “When I got into this, it was just a deal, yeah. But now it’s a promise. This is for real, now. You got me.”

  Jude didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he picked up the half-empty bottle of steak sauce again, and held it out. Pixie accepted and drank the entire thing, looking much more recovered and stable by the time he was done. It was only then that Jude realized he’d been smiling back.

  “Just try not to do anything… shocking,” Jude said, trying to keep the plea out of his voice as he and Pixie approached Jasper’s store.

  The crowds had thinned out, and they almost had the mall to themselves, a last few underpaid retail workers closing metal shutters across their storefronts and securely locking them. He had no doubt Jasper would be here, though. The few occasions he’d been here after everything else was dark and quiet, he’d noticed Jasper’s storefront stayed open, its owner working overtime. Catching up on inventory, he’d said. Jude had honored their unspoken agreement: don’t push Jasper for details, and he wouldn’t inconveniently remember that Jude didn’t actually work nights.

  “You got it,” Pixie said in a casual tone that did nothing to calm Jude’s nerves. But, despite his misgivings, Jude was relieved Pixie was here with him. He’d die before admitting it, but there was just something eerie about a deserted mall. The mannequins in particular.

  “I mean it,” he said, stopping outside the store entrance. There was one other mall patron left; the woman in black still haunted her regular table, still with her cards and coffee. She raised it to them in a little toast and Jude nodded back, maneuvering Pixie far enough away that their near-whispers wouldn’t be overheard. “I’ve told him as much as he’ll let me, so this won’t be a complete shock, but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing. I don’t know if you can ever be ready for it.”

  “So, showing off the fangs, turning into a bat…” Pixie started to tease, but stopped at the look of increasing apprehension on Jude’s face. “Are on the list of things I won’t be doing.”

  “I just don’t want to scare him,” Jude mumbled, eyes on the doorway he was suddenly having a hard time walking through. Jasper had enough hard days without Jude adding to them.

  “So just act natural?” Pixie gave him an unconvincingly wholesome smile. But it was a closed-mouth one, which Jude greatly appreciated under the circumstances.

  “Natural is good. Still, maybe it’s better if I do the talking, at least to start.” Trying to gather his somewhat scattered thoughts, Jude led the way inside, stopping when he saw nobody behind the counter. “Jasper? Are you here?”

  “In the back!” Jasper called and, a moment later, the rest of him followed. “Jude! And…” His eyes lit up in recognition, but he was looking past Jude, at the vampire behind him. As he looked at Pixie, his face underwent a strange series of undisguised reactions. First Jasper seemed dumbstruck to see him, then on the edge of panic—but then he seemed to reach some resolution and smiled. It wasn’t one of his theatrical grins, instead looking a little sad, or maybe resigned. “Pixie. Didn't expect to see you here before sundown.”

  “I didn't really plan on it either,” Pixie said, looking considerably less-chagrined, but still peering at Jude out of the corner of his eye, as if gauging his reaction. Jude didn’t have one yet. That required a working brain, and his had just ground to a halt. "But I'm just kind of rolling with it."

  “I was wondering when all this would bring us together,” Jasper said as he rounded the counter, and Jude stared at them both in increasing bafflement, words failing. “I should have known it’d be sooner rather than later.”

  “Me too!” Pixie laughed, and it only sounded slightly nervous. “Honestly though, I was gonna drag Jude to you if he didn’t think of it himself.”

  “Wait,” Jude said, finding his voice at last and forcing himself back into the present. A present where his oldest friend and newest maybe-friend were already acquainted, and apparently several steps ahead of him. “Wait. You know each other?”

  “We met recently,” Jasper said, turning to him, still looking sheepish, and that was strange in itself. Jude couldn’t remember him being embarrassed about anything. Jasper refused to be ashamed of his questionable tastes or life decisions, to the extent that Jude thought some of it had to be just to get under his skin—but he looked like he was now. And a little worried. “I was going to tell you, Jude. I just wasn’t sure…”

  “This is why you weren’t surprised,” Jude said quietly as comprehension slowly dawned. As he focused his attention on Jasper, Pixie drifted some distance away, wandering through the shelves and surveying their strange contents. He stopped at a silver skull with ruby eyes, looking like he wanted to touch, but deciding against it with a great deal of self-restraint. “When I told you I was working with a vampire the other day. I knew something was going on!”

  “Yes—and I’m sorry.” As he spread his hands, Jasper really looked and sounded it. “Jude, I haven’t told you a single untrue thing the entire time we’ve known one another—but that’s not the only way to lie to someone. Lying by omission is still a lie, and it’s still a breach of trust, no matter the reason. If that trust is gone, or at least damaged now… I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jude demanded, still stunned and disoriented by this reversal of circumstances he thought he’d finally gotten a handle on. “All this, just because you didn’t want to get involved
?”

  “I’ve been involved for a while, I just didn’t want to admit it,” Jasper said dryly. “But that ship’s long since sailed. No, this was about confidentiality,” he said with a pointed nod to Pixie, who’d moved on to ogling a glass display case of antique tarot cards. “He came to me for help.”

  “Jasper probably saved my life,” Pixie said, sounding a little more trepidatious and a lot more serious than he usually did. Jasper wasn’t the only one to keep a secret from Jude, and Pixie was clearly even less confident in his reaction. “When you asked how I stayed alive? Yeah. You can thank him for me still being around.”

  “Blood?” Jude managed to ask, still trying to wrap his brain around all this, mentally replaying every conversation he’d had with both of them and scanning for tip-offs. He didn’t find any.

  “Pretty much the only way,” Pixie said with an attempt at a causal shrug, still obviously anxious. “Gotta say, I like the sauce a lot better.”

  “Sauce?” Jasper asked, sounding intrigued but much calmer than Jude might have been in his place.

  “Eva’s,” Jude supplied, still looking back and forth between them and trying to regain his equilibrium. “Is there a reason you didn’t tell me you knew each other?”

  “Pixie trusted me not to reveal his existence to anyone who might endanger it," Jasper said, sounding entirely level and reasonable. It didn't make Jude feel better. "And I thought vampire hunters qualified.”

  Jude glared, feeling unexpectedly defensive. A few nights ago, he would have eagerly agreed with the sentiment. Undead monsters better believe he was a danger to their existences. Now, the idea wasn’t nearly as appealing. “You thought I’d try to stake him or something?”

  “You did try the holy water,” Jasper pointed out, as Pixie scanned a set of leather-bound, parchment-filled books, still not touching but seeming to find them much more interesting than the conspicuously charged conversation going on just a few feet away. “Good thing it didn’t work, in retrospect. I’m just as surprised as you are, for the record.”