UCPA Chapter 82: Time Together

Chapter 82: Time Together

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: PlumSauce

 

After the Prison Cart was finished, Coraci took off his coat and draped it over John, instructing him to crouch and cover himself fully. It was just like the first time they had dealt with a succubus together. The lining of Coraci’s coat was enchanted with protective spells, shielding John from the blinding light of the Prison Cart.

A silver orb bounced into the air, exploding in a dazzling flare that engulfed the succubus crawling on the ground. After a brief, pitiful cry for mercy, the creature was drawn into the crystal sphere. John lifted the coat, retrieved the orb, and secured it safely.

The basement still played French music, and the scent of incense lingered, but the moans and heavy breathing of the people gradually faded, as if they were drunkards all succumbing to sleep.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” John said, handing the coat back to Coraci, “doesn’t the Prison Cart. hurt you?”

“It doesn’t,” Coraci said. “Because my body’s still human… or maybe the Prison Cart. doesn’t affect devils. Who knows?”

John stepped closer, resting one hand on his neck. “Are you okay?” he asked. “There’s a scrape here…”

“Just the incubus’s claws,” Coraci replied. “It’s fine — like a cat scratch.”

The demon blood had left John fully sated; this little wound held no real appeal. Yet he still felt an itch in his chest, a low-burning sensation radiating outward through his limbs.

He bent down, almost involuntarily pressing his mouth to the scrape and licking it. Coraci stiffened, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

John wasn’t sure what had come over him. He was certain he wasn’t hungry; his fangs remained neatly hidden, with no urge to extend them. Yet he craved the subtle pulse at Coraci’s neck, the familiar scent, the warmth and smooth texture of his skin.

Unconsciously, he wrapped his arms around Coraci’s back. His light licking became soft kissing, moving away from the scrape to the earlobe and jaw. Coraci was gently pushed backward until he leaned against the wall. He didn’t resist John’s closeness, though he found the sudden intimacy puzzling.

“Is it because of the scent?” Coraci asked, turning his head with effort. Bloodkin usually weren’t affected by airborne toxins because they didn’t breathe, but magical potions could be different.

Coraci cupped John’s face, examining his pupils to gauge how deeply he was affected and whether there might be side effects. But John brushed Coraci’s hand away and fumbled at his shirt. “Please…don’t move.”

Coraci could only laugh and sigh. “I could stay still, of course… But…are you really awake?”

Because of John’s words, he let his hands fall. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the crack in the door and the hole in the ceiling. The sweet, cloying scent inside vanished instantly.

The people on the floor stopped moving entirely, now in a deep sleep. John’s knees went weak at first, but with Coraci’s support, he regained his balance.

The door creaked open, and Jožef’s silver hair shimmered in the colored lights.

“Uh…guys…” He looked around, seeing John and Coraci practically pressed together. “You know, I’m better at healing, so I cleared the magical smoke… Did I do something unnecessary?”

“No. You saved them.” Coraci gestured toward the disheveled bodies strewn across the floor. Thankfully, the incense had slowed their movements. They hadn’t managed to do much, otherwise facing each other after waking would have been difficult.

Jožef planned to stay in Darling Town a few more days, bestowing multiple years’ worth of blessings on the crops. He intended to leave only after all traces of the Healing Hands religion vanished and the town returned to normal.

Forest Spirits were few in number. Even traveling through several cities and forests, he rarely found another of his kind. Yet he wasn’t lonely. He could slip into family diners to watch sports games with humans, stroll the streets to tuck stray postcards back into mailboxes, soothe barking dogs — and secretly double the yield of strawberries growing on windowsills.

“If I ever get lonely, I’ll just go to any big city,” Jožef said. “I could visit the Association’s offices — they’d probably let me join.”

“Yeah, you’ve done the basic registration,” John said.

“But not yet. I have no plans to work. Our lifespans are longer than most spirits, so I can take my time.”

Jožef’s words left John momentarily dazed, echoing some unspoken thought buried deep inside him.

After this, he would return to the suburbs of West Bay City, continue addressing the legal documentation for the Ural Mountain bear-people, and tackle countless other cases waiting for him. Coraci might leave again, occasionally appearing. John often wondered — will they stay like this forever, getting along like this and nothing more?

Every time he considered it, the conclusion was the same. I have time. Coraci has time. We can take it slow.

He knew, of course, that this wasn’t really a conclusion — just a pause in thought.

Even if there was time, even if their lives were long, what did it matter? Each day of the future repeated the same patterns as the present. Coraci would always have to hide, never to have what could be called a “life” again.

 

“What are you thinking?”

After staying another evening, they left Darling Town. Coraci planned to accompany John for a while. Jožef had long disappeared into the trees, and now they had no car to drive, which was immensely frustrating.

John said, “I’m thinking about several things. First — how far do I have to walk to get back? Why didn’t I just drive myself…”

“You can run back later,” Coraci said. “Just be careful not to be seen.”

“Of course. Oh, that reminds me of something else,” John said, looking at Coraci. “What are you planning to do next? Are you going to…”

“I can’t go back to live there, you know that.”

“I know,” John said, hesitating as he pulled out a card and handed it to Coraci. “Here — take this.”

Coraci looked down at the card. It was a business card, slightly soft, printed in an old-fashioned style. The name on it was John’s, and it noted his night-time weasel-catching work.

“What is this? Your business card from decades ago?”

John nodded. “Exactly. From decades ago. The point is the address at the bottom. It’s a real address — my parents and sister still live there. I was just about to take some vacation time. Humans get annual leave every year, but I haven’t had one in almost four years. I want to rest for a bit… Go home, see them.”

Coraci waited for him to continue. John met his gaze, then looked away and asked hesitantly, “Would you…like to come with me? If you don’t mind a house full of vampires…”

“I can’t operate with you long-term,” Coraci said.

“I know. That’s why I’m giving you the address,” John said. “I’ll first contact other hunters to take away the succubus in the Prison Cart. Then I’ll pack some things and start my vacation. If you want, we can meet there?”

Now, almost every sentence John spoke came out as a question. Coraci knew why.

He tucked the card away. “Of course. By the way… how do you plan to introduce me? ‘Your willing bound’?”¹

“No way. I won’t say you’re Deville Coraci. I’ve thought about it… I can’t tell anyone about you, not even family.”

“It’s easy,” Coraci suggested earnestly, “You can say I’m another one of your bounds. You can bond with plenty of humans — back in the Middle Ages, wandering bloodkin often took a new bound each year; it wasn’t unusual…”

“That doesn’t sound right,” John shook his head. “Sounds…too frivolous. Like Smith.”

Coraci caught the humor in John’s last words. He was deliberate. They joked a bit and decided to take their time figuring out how to introduce Coraci.

Not far outside Darling Town was a transit center with long-distance buses. The last bus left before seven in the evening. Coraci planned to leave from there, not wanting to be too close to West Bay City for safety reasons.

While waiting for the bus, Coraci asked, “I really want to know… Why invite me to your home? Is it because you want it to be like a romantic drama with a moral edge — where even a cross-species, same-gender relationship has to fight for the conservative family’s approval?”

“No,” John laughed. “My father is a conservative bloodkin, sure. But my reason isn’t that complicated.”

“This is complicated?”

“Complicated enough for me,” John said. “I didn’t have to invite you home. I didn’t have to work with you. Traveling, resting, or sitting together to discuss succubi — anything would’ve been fine. I just…want to spend some time with you.”

John would remain at the Association, continuing to help others as best he could. That was what he wanted to do — and also what Coraci hoped for.

But they could no longer work together, walk side by side on West Bay City’s streets at night, park by the roadside — one sipping from a blood bag, the other drinking coffee. John would have few chances to buckle a sleeping Coraci into a seatbelt, and Coraci would no longer have the opportunity to write reports together with John.

Bloodkin and Umbrals both “had time,” but the time they could spend together was so very little.

A phone call broke the delicate silence. It was Erica. She said Master Joseph in the park had reported a stray Clade dog bullying cats and wanted John to handle it. John said his vacation had already begun and suggested Erica assign the task to Carl instead.

While John was on the call, the long-distance bus arrived. Coraci looked around; the dimly lit waiting area was mostly empty, and the few passengers were busy loading their luggage. He mouthed “see you later” to John and leaned in to kiss him.

The kiss was hurried, a little crooked, but forceful. John wanted to kiss back properly, but Coraci waved and walked away.

“John? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Erica asked. “What was that sound just now?”

“Nothing,” John replied. “I was chewing gum… Blew a bubble and it popped.”

“Bloodkin can chew gum?”

“Of course,” John said. “You don’t have to swallow it, it smells nice, freshens your breath — perfect for us. We’re very particular about not having a bloody taste in our mouths…”

He watched the bus depart before leaving the empty waiting area. It was time to seriously think about how to introduce Coraci to his family.

At the Association’s office, Erica hung up John’s call and contacted others to relay various matters. She was the only human at the West Bay City office who wasn’t a hunter, an exorcist, or a spellcaster. Many interns and trainees — like Lathander and Carl — admired her courage. She was just an ordinary person, yet she worked among dark creatures without fear.

On calls with other hunters, she addressed issues regarding a group of mortal-born demons. The hunters couldn’t help but remark again, “You actually had a bunch of demons line up in front of you? My god, you’re brave!”

Erica felt she had earned the right to be brave. She didn’t understand spells, but she possessed plenty of defensive tools.

Coraci had given her a gun capable of shooting force-field spheres. A small tattoo on the back of her neck was a protective rune, preventing incorporeal creatures from entering her body. Her necklace contained a potent demon sedative, far stronger than ordinary “catnip”; she only needed to open it to weaken nearby demons and slow them down.

Erica was just a clerk at the front desk. The collapse of the old Association building three years ago still haunted her. Strangely, even though Coraci had caused it, she didn’t fear him. She and the hunters had been endangered because of him, yet in a sense, he had always been protecting them.

During her call with John, she thought, If not for what happened three years ago, I would have called Coraci instead. In the past, she always notified him directly.

Footsteps echoed from the main entrance. She looked up to see a figure draped in black entering the office.

Most people would have assumed it was a Middle Eastern woman. Erica, however, remembered John’s warning about the Menkovár family — bloodkin who wore black veils — and immediately recognized the figure as a bloodkin. He even wore sunglasses.

“Uh, sorry, you can’t come in…” Erica began, though what she really wanted to say was, “How did you get in?” The office prohibited unauthorized access. Even someone seeking help needed to pass through the access control system and be checked by a hunter.

The security system hadn’t alerted her, nor was there any sign of tampering. Even some bloodkin who could transform into mist couldn’t usually get in; the building’s exterior walls were filled with protective substances. Unless he could open a hole in the wall silently, entry was impossible.

Erica stood, using her body to block the black-veiled figure from entering. As she stepped aside, she saw the entrance in the middle of the hallway — there was a hole in the wall.

She vaguely remembered that some creatures could do this, but she wasn’t a spellcaster and couldn’t recall the specifics.

“Unthreatening Creature Protection Association, West Bay City office, right?” the black-veiled figure said. “A few days ago, you detained a Gorgon. She is both a criminal and an important witness in a certain case. That’s why you didn’t execute her or transfer her to the nearby supernatural containment facility.”

Erica stared at him in surprise, unsure of his intentions.

Indeed, there was a Gorgon in the isolation room — a remarkably rare creature, the one spoken of in legends as Medusa.

 

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