Chapter 3: Morning After Waffles
The morning light bled through the thin, grimy curtains in weak, jaundiced streaks, painting the chaos of the bedroom in sickly gold. Ashanti surfaced from sleep like a diver breaking through murky water, her consciousness dragging itself upward through layers of exhaustion and vague, half-remembered dreams that dissolved the moment she tried to grasp them.
She was naked. That wasn't unusual. What was slightly unusual was the tangle of limbs she found herself in—a smooth, tan leg thrown over her hip, an arm draped across her stomach, and a shock of electric violet hair fanned out on the pillow beside her.
Jackie.
Ashanti blinked, her green eyes adjusting to the oppressive dimness of the room. The air was thick and stale, carrying a cocktail of patchouli, sweat, and the metallic tang of dried sex that clung to everything like a second skin.
She didn't remember much after the bathroom. The stranger on the subway, the way he'd filled her, the way his cum had dripped down her thigh as she climbed the stairs. Then—nothing. A blur of dark and whiskey and whatever Jackie had been drinking.
Ashanti propped herself up on one elbow, her long black hair falling in tangled ropes around her shoulders, and looked down at her roommate. Jackie lay sprawled on her back, one arm flung over her head, her lips slightly parted. Sleep softened her features, making her look almost innocent—an illusion that would shatter the moment those golden eyes with their slit pupils blinked open.
Her breasts rose and fell with each slow breath. Small and perky, nipples a darker shade against her tan skin. Ashanti had seen them enough times not to stare, but there was something about the morning light catching the curve of Jackie's body that made her pause.
She reached out and poked Jackie's cheek.
"Mngh." Jackie's nose wrinkled. She swatted vaguely at the air.
Ashanti poked her again. "Wake up."
"Fuck off."
"Jackie."
"I said fuck off. It's—" Jackie cracked one eye open, squinting at the window. "—some ungodly hour. Go back to sleep."
"It's almost noon. I can hear the street vendors."
"Then I'm even more justified in staying in bed." Jackie rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. Her voice came out muffled: "I was up all night. My pussy's sore and my back feels like I got ran over by a truck."
"The landlord?"
"Zenu." Jackie's voice carried a note of exhausted pride even through the pillow. "That fat red bastard wore me out. Three rounds. He's got more stamina than his gut suggests."
Ashanti snorted. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet landing on a cold pizza box that crumpled beneath her weight. "You're a succubus, Jackie. You feed on sex. How are you the tired one?"
Jackie lifted her head just enough to glare at her. Golden eyes caught the light, the slit pupils narrowing. "Because he's an Oni, Ashanti. Oni have stamina that puts humans to shame. And I had to actually work for it—he wanted cuddling after. Cuddling. I don't feed on that shit, I was just doing it to keep the rent low."
"The rent's not that low."
"It's lower than it would be without me letting Zenu's fat cock ruin my sleep schedule."
Ashanti stood, stretching her arms overhead. Her body ached in that pleasant, hollowed-out way that followed a night of good sex—or in her case, multiple rounds with different partners. The phantom sensation of the subway stranger was gone now, replaced by the faint soreness between her legs that served as a grounding reminder of reality.
She grabbed a hoodie from the pile of clothes on the floor—a crop-top style that had once been black but had faded to a grimy gray—and pulled it over her head. It barely covered her breasts, leaving a strip of her dark stomach exposed.
"Come on," she said, kicking through the debris toward the door. "Get dressed. We're going to get waffles."
Jackie let out a groan that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. "Waffles?"
"Yes. That diner a few blocks over. The one with the syrup that's actually maple and not that corn syrup garbage."
"It's a twenty-minute walk."
"It's fifteen if we don't run into anyone we owe money to."
Jackie rolled onto her back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The patches of mold had formed an abstract pattern that she'd mapped out during many sleepless hours. "I don't want to go outside. The sun is offensive."
"The sun is always offensive to you."
"Exactly. It burns. I'm a creature of the night."
"You're a creature of laziness." Ashanti found her mini skirt balled up in the corner—not the one she'd worn yesterday, but a denim one that had seen better days. She stepped into it, pulling it up over her hips, not bothering with underwear. "You can't stay in bed forever."
"Watch me."
"Jackie." Ashanti's voice sharpened. "When's the last time you ate actual food? Real food? Not literally drinking someone's essence or eating leftover pizza?"
Jackie was quiet for a moment. Her brow furrowed. "...Tuesday?"
"It's Sunday."
"Okay, so maybe I've been living on protein shakes and male orgasms. That's still sustenance."
"You need real calories. Get up. I'll buy."
That got Jackie's attention. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her violet hair sticking up in wild, unkempt spikes. "You'll buy? You don't have money."
"I've got twenty bucks. Enough for two waffles and a coffee."
"Twenty bucks that could go to rent."
"Rent can wait. My stomach can't."
Jackie studied her for a long moment, those golden eyes unreadable. Then she sighed—a long, theatrical exhalation that seemed to drain all resistance from her body—and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
"Fine. But I'm wearing the shortest thing I can find, and if anyone catcalls me, I'm draining them dry in the alley."
"Deal."
The apartment was quiet as they emerged from the bedroom—or at least, quieter than it had been the night before. The living room bore the scars of last night's activities: beer bottles clustered on every flat surface, a half-smoked blunt crushed into the coffee table's surface, and a suspicious stain on the couch that neither of them chose to examine.
James was sprawled across the couch, his bare chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. A thin line of drool traced from the corner of his mouth to a crusty spot on the cushion. His arm was flung over his eyes, blocking out the light.
"James," Ashanti said, stepping over his outstretched leg.
He grunted.
"James, you're in my way."
"Move me then."
She nudged him with her foot. He didn't respond.
Logan was nowhere to be seen—probably crashed in James's room, or gone on some errand for the Ace.
She made her way to the kitchen, where she rooted through the cabinets in search of a coffee filter that wasn't too moldy. She found one, mostly intact, and set about making a pot that she'd probably drink half of before they even left.
"You ready?" Jackie appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She'd changed into mini camo shorts that barely covered her ass and a crop tank top that left little to the imagination. Her hair was still a wild mess, but she'd at least tied it into a loose ponytail. She'd forgone both bra and panties, as promised, the outline of her nipples visible through the thin fabric.
"You know those shorts leave nothing to imagination, right?"
"I'm counting on it."
They stepped out into the hallway, and the building's ever-present perfume—stale piss, mildew, and despair—hit them like a physical wall. Jackie didn't even flinch. She'd been breathing this air for so long that it had become a baseline, the scent of home.
The stairwell was its usual charming self—graffiti layered so thick it was nearly a mosaic and a stench that suggested something had died in the walls and never been found. Sunlight stabbed through the grimy windows as they pushed through the front door, momentarily blinding them both.
Jackie hissed, throwing up a hand to shield her eyes. "I hate the sun. I hate it so much."
"Suck it up, vampire-wannabe."
"I'm not a vampire, I'm a succubus. We don't burn, we just hate mornings."
The walk to the diner was just as crappy as the apartment. The street was filthy with garbage and dirty puddles from broken gutters, the runoff stained a murky brown that could have been anything from oil to something far worse. The sidewalk was cracked and buckled, the concrete heaved up by tree roots and neglect, and they navigated the obstacles with practiced ease.
Pigeons pecked at a burst bag of trash that had split open, revealing old takeout containers and someone's discarded receipts. A mattress had been abandoned on the curb, stained so badly that Ashanti couldn't tell if the pattern was original or the result of decades of misuse.
The usual prostitutes stood at the corners smoking, their outfits ranging from faded lingerie to ill-fitting miniskirts that had seen better days. One of them—a thick woman with deep brown skin and gold teeth that flashed in the light—caught sight of Jackie and gave her a lazy wave.
"Hey, girl. You working tonight?"
Jackie returned the wave with the same energy. "Maybe. Depends on whether I get my waffle first."
"That asshole Mikey still shorting you on your cut? 'Cause I got a bat with his name on it."
"Nah, I'm good. Zenu made sure I got paid in full." Jackie winked. "Literally."
The woman laughed, a throaty sound that dissolved into a cough, and turned back to her cigarette.
Ashanti and Jackie continued past the corner, weaving through clusters of loiterers and the occasional person too strung out to notice them at all. A car with bass so loud it rattled the nearby windows rolled past, the driver a blur of dark skin and flashy chains.
"I hate this neighborhood," Jackie said, not sounding like she meant it. "It's so loud. And dirty. And full of people."
"And yet you keep living there."
"And yet I keep living there." Jackie shrugged. "Anyway, it's got character."
"It's got rats."
"Same thing."
The diner was a dingy hole in the wall place with surprisingly good food owned by some retired army guy—a squat, bald man named Hank with a handlebar mustache and a chest full of medals he'd hung behind the register. The neon sign in the window flickered, the "D" in "DINER" buzzing with a dying quality that never quite killed it.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of bacon grease and burnt coffee. The floors were checkered linoleum that had been scrubbed so many times the pattern was fading, and the booths were cracked red vinyl patched with duct tape. A few scattered customers hunched over their plates—a trucker in a filthy cap nursing a cup of black coffee, an old woman with a shopping cart visible through the window who had claimed the corner booth as her own.
Hank looked up from behind the counter as the two women walked in. His weathered face cracked into a grin that was equal parts warmth and exasperation.
"Ashanti. Jackie. You girls here for the usual?"
"Two waffles," Ashanti said, sliding into a booth by the window. "Extra syrup. And a pot of coffee."
"Make that three waffles," Jackie added. "And whatever's greasiest on the menu. I need to soak up two days of bad decisions."
Hank chuckled, shaking his head as he wrote on his notepad. "Coming right up."
The coffee arrived first, black and strong enough to strip paint. Ashanti poured herself a cup, watching the steam curl upward, and took a long sip that burned her tongue but felt like coming home.
"So." Jackie propped her chin on her hand, those golden eyes fixed on Ashanti with an intensity that usually preceded a demand. "What's on the agenda for today? Besides me eating my weight in carbohydrates?"
"Chores," Ashanti said.
Jackie's face dropped. "Chores?"
"Name the last time you cleaned anything."
"I wiped down the counter last week."
"With what?"
Jackie paused. "My shirt."
"That was my shirt."
"Well, it's dirty now."
Ashanti shook her head, but there was no real heat behind it. She pulled out her phone, checking the cracked screen for messages. Nothing from the pharmacy, nothing from Gotherik—which was odd, considering he'd been inside her not two hours ago. The stranger from the subway hadn't left a number, but she hadn't expected him to. That was the point.
"I need to get the water bill sorted," she said. "The mail's been piling up, and I've got past-due notices threatening to cut us off."
"Get James to do it."
"James has been dealing with the Ace's distribution for the last three days. He's got his hands full."
"And Logan?"
Ashanti gave her a look. "Logan calls our landlord 'Big Red' and throws bottles at pigeons. He's not exactly capable of handling paperwork."
"Fair point." Jackie drummed her fingers on the table. "What about the bathroom sink?"
"What about it?"
"It's clogged. Hair and soap scum and whatever else has been building up. The water takes forever to drain."
"Then unclog it."
"I'm not sticking my hand in that." Jackie's nose wrinkled. "That's a sewer thing. Let the landlord handle it."
"Zenu's already handling you. I don't think he's interested in plumbing."
The waffles arrived—golden brown, crispy at the edges, and slathered in butter that melted into the wells. Hank set them down with a flourish, along with a plate of bacon so crispy it shattered at the touch. Jackie dug in immediately, moaning around her first bite in a way that bordered on obscene.
"God, I could marry this waffle," she said, mouth full. "I'd spend the rest of my life drowning it in syrup."
Ashanti bit into her own, the sweetness coating her tongue. For a moment, staring out the grimy window at the street that refused to get better, she let herself feel almost content. It wouldn't last. It never did. But she'd take the moment where she could get it.
"After this," she said, "I need to check on Gotherik's wife. I think she's getting suspicious."
Jackie snorted. "His wife? You're fucking her husband and you want to have a chat?"
"I didn't say chat. I said check on. She's been texting him nonstop, and I want to make sure she's not planning to show up at the pharmacy with a shotgun."
"Ah." Jackie took another bite of waffle. "So you're scouting the threat. Smart."
"Look, I like him, but I don't need a domestic situation blowing up my entire life because his wife found out he's got a side of witch."
Jackie grinned, her fork spearing through another chunk of waffle. "You know, for someone who claims they don't do drama, you sure do attract a lot of it."
"Shut up and eat your breakfast."
"Mmm, but I'm not done with you yet. What about our electricity bill?"
Ashanti sighed, rubbing her temples. "That's due Friday. I was thinking maybe you could ask Zenu to..."
"I am not sweet-talking the landlord into paying our utilities just so I can fuck him for free rent," Jackie said, cutting her off. "Perks only go so far."
"Fine. We'll skip the power bill. Live by candlelight."
"That's cute, but I need my vibrator charged."
"Use a candle."
"Ashanti, I swear to every god in every pantheon, if you make me use a candle for sexual stimulation..."
"Okay. Okay... I'll score some extra cash after I do laundry."
The sizzle of the bacon and the bitter coffee in her mouth kept her grounded as she mapped out the day ahead—laundry, bills, rent, and the endless, exhausting grind of simply surviving in a world that seemed to take pleasure in pushing her down. She was, after all, a witch. A powerful one, when she bothered to tap into it. But she wasn't a sorceress of miracles, and her abilities couldn't conjure clean clothes or clear a past-due notice.
Jackie clucked her tongue, not looking up from her plate. "Score some extra cash? You and me both, sister—"
"No," Ashanti cut her off, holding up a hand. "You are not working tonight. You look like a half-drowned kitten. If you drain anyone else's essence, you'll probably pass out mid-act."
Jackie pouted, swirling a piece of waffle in a pool of maple syrup. "I'm a succubus. I need to feed. I'm not like you humans who can just, you know, eat a salad."
"I'm not human," Ashanti reminded her. "And I still eat waffles."
"Mmm, but you witch-types, you don't depend on sex to survive. You depend on... herbs and moon phases and whatever mystical crap you pull from the ether." Jackie lowered her fork, a glint sharpening in her golden eyes. "But me? I need a good, thick, juicy, willing cock to keep my powers aligned. It's not just pleasure. It's sustenance."
Ashanti snorted into her coffee cup. "You are an exhausting creature, you know that?"
"I'm your favorite exhausting creature. Now, you said something about laundry." Jackie grinned, syrup glistening on her lip. "Please tell me you're going to wash that skirt you've been wearing all week."
"This is the first time I've worn it."
"Yes, and the third time you've slept in it." Jackie's grin only widened. "You've got a bit of... something, on the back. Dried. Is that—?"
"It's not what you think." Ashanti's cheeks warmed slightly, though she refused to show it. It was exactly what Jackie thought.
The stranger on the subway had left more than just a memory behind.
Jackie let out a low, throaty laugh that drew a few glances from nearby tables. She leaned closer, voice dropping to a sultry murmur. "You've got a good enough figure for it, but that skirt has seen better days. Let me guess—your orc friend's cum dried into the fabric, didn't it?"
Ashanti didn't answer. She shoved another bite of waffle into her mouth and glared out the window, watching a street sweeper try and fail to push a mound of dead leaves that had been soaked by some leaky pipe.
"Ah, I see. Not sweet Gotherik." Jackie leaned back, a knowing light in her eyes. "Someone new, then. A stranger with a thick cock and a fast exit."
"You're reading too much into—"
"I am literally a demon who reads sexual energies," Jackie said. "You have the aura of someone who's been thoroughly ravished. And not by that orc. Orcs leave a specific mark. They're rough. This was... sneaky. Quick." She tilted her head. "And you enjoyed it."
Ashanti finally snapped her gaze back, her green eyes flickering with a dangerous energy. "Why are you so invested in my life?"
"Because you're my roommate, and my entertainment." Jackie shrugged. "Also, I worry about you, even if I don't show it. You take risks—and that's coming from me, a literal creature of appetite."
"I've got everything under control."
"Do you?" Jackie's gaze held hers, the golden eyes no longer lazy but sharp, assessing. "You're running from your coven. You're fucking a married orc who could get you fired if his wife goes nuclear. You're picking up strangers in the middle of rush hour and letting them ruin your underwear." She paused, then added, "And you've got half a dozen of the city's most dangerous people sniffing around that apartment, thinking you're some helpless little human they can use."
Ashanti set down her fork. The sizzle of the grill behind the counter was the only sound for a long moment.
"I'm not helpless," she said, her voice quiet. "And I'm not ashamed of who I am or what I want. The coven wanted to control me. They wanted me to suppress everything that made me powerful. They told me my hunger was a curse, that I was a deviant for wanting to feel alive." She met Jackie's eyes, a slow fire flickering in her own. "I left. And I'm better for it. I'm stronger. I just... haven't quite figured out how to use that strength to, you know, keep the lights on."
Jackie's grin softened into something more genuine. "That's the first honest thing you've said all morning."
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late."
They finished their meal in relative quiet, the clinking of cutlery and the background hum of the diner a comfortable soundtrack. When Ashanti got up to pay, she reached into her pocket and found only the crumpled twenty she'd mentioned. It was enough, barely, but it meant she'd have to pick up extra shifts or find another way to scrape by.
But then her phone buzzed against the counter. She glanced down.
Gotherik: "Need you to come in today. I'll pay upfront. Becca called out sick. See you at 5p.m."
She let out a sigh. "Welp, it looks like I gotta go do slave work. We can start on the laundry tonight when I get home."