There was no class on April 16, Liberation Day, the commemoration of the lifting of the Martian siege of Pittsburgh. Sebastian was ambling around Squirrel Hill, basking in the light of the waxing sun. It was 70 degrees and cloudless, the kind of day that made northeasterners sigh, look up at the blue sky, and say “Finally!”
Sebastian had traded his long-sleeved dress shirts and thick jackets for a pair of canvas shorts and a New York Highlanders1 tee. He thought eagerly of the longer and warmer days to come. He was especially enthusiastic about five months of short skirts and plunging necklines. His secret second life as a costumed vigilante was now far from his mind. Already he’d forgotten about the disturbing encounter with Miasma only a few nights previous. It wasn’t that he had a short attention span, just that he had another confrontation to worry about. While less physically dangerous than his midnight extracurriculars, it was a challenge he found more daunting and uncertain than bloody street fights.
It was, in fact, this confrontation that he was trying to delay as he lingered at the crosswalk in front of the Carnegie Library, staring blankly at the blinking ‘WALK’ sign like a confused Chinese peasant who had never seen an alphabet before. He stepped back onto the curb as the signal went red, turned on his heel, and sucked in his cheeks with a deep gulp of air. He studied his distorted reflection in the library’s wall mosaic as if he hoped to find some hidden message, some steganographically obscured encouragement in the coruscating swirls of stained glass that would defeat his stomach-twisting anxiety. He glanced down at the watch face of his mobi as the minute hand moved past the quarter-hour mark and the inner voice that had been so determined throughout the morning began to counsel surrender.
No, not surrender, he corrected himself, just a reasonable delay. Evangeline’s shift ended at two o’clock, and it might take him another 20 minutes to walk to the Allegheny Grill from here, leaving him a mere half-hour during what was bound to be the busiest part of lunch to get her attention, strike up a conversation, and work through his carefully prepared angle, all while she would be hurrying to finish her rounds, clean up, split the tips, and whatever else waitresses did at the end of a shift. It would be better to try tomorrow, earlier in the day when the place would be less crowded or — even better! — wait for that perfect moment with no onlookers and no pressure, when things could develop naturally. They’d meet accidentally on the walk home from school, their paths intersecting serendipitously on a quiet, depopulated side street in Shadyside, the wind gently rustling the young blossoms in the branches above their heads, the tranquil cooing of the pigeons the background music to their hushed conversation. He would offer to carry her bag and escort her home, and she would bashfully accept, and as they walked, the distance between them narrowing with each step, their eyes would linger on one another’s until, moved too strongly by instinct to be overcome by fear, their lips would meet in a soft kiss.
How can you rush something like that? You just can’t.
Of course Sebastian knew that he was deluding himself, especially since, as far as he knew, Eva was still mad at him. She had done an exceptionally good job of avoiding him for the better part of a fortnight. Nonetheless, his inner coward felt very content with this passive approach. He resolved to forget the plan to make peace with his crush, as well as the deliciously greasy sandwich he’d had his mind on all day and just head home where he could rehearse that tender moment to come with his pillow.
And then, abruptly, one of the private buses that the trendy clubs and shops sponsored to shuttle patrons around a circuit of hotspots from the South Side to Squirrel Hill screeched to a stop in front of him, waiting at the red light. He found himself transfixed by an unusually provocative image glowing from the LCD panel on the bus’s flank. It was a young woman, her hair a blonde ziggurat of outrageous height and spangled with ribbons of twisted metal, with smoky eyes behind gold-flecked eyelids fixed in a hard, almost contemptuous glare. Her gaze and her glistening, slightly parted lips seemed a demand of wanton carnality made directly of him. And she was completely naked except for a bizarre ribbon of what looked like interlocking pieces of steel that followed the curving contours just above her waistline, crossed above her navel, and slanted across her shoulders by way of her exceptionally round, cream-colored breasts in a path that just barely obscured her nipples, which Sebastian somehow knew to be very pink and very hard beneath that chain of cold, glittering metal.
His head swiveled to track the shuttle as it rolled on down the street, the dirty thoughts that flooded his head delaying for a few seconds the recognition that it was a billboard for Magnetrix's Great Attractor tour. Magnetrix, the pathetically ineffectual metahuman criminal turned pop tart 'musician' who had inadvertently provoked his rift with Evangeline. Surely it was a sign, but was it a bad omen or was it a prodding reminder that romancing a pillow wasn’t going to cut it anymore? He quickly decided that it must be the latter. Now he had all the hormonal encouragement he needed to see Evangeline tonight.
Not quite speed-walking, he arrived at the Allegheny Grill quicker than he expected to, whereupon a sudden assault of self-conscious embarrassment nearly convinced him to keep on striding right past the door. Only the certainty that he would lay awake all night beating himself up in regret over the missed opportunity kept him from doing so.
“Do it now or go through this all over again tomorrow,” he said quietly to himself as he pulled open the door.
The interior of the sandwich shop opened up before him in the shape of a backwards “L,” with a line of booths running the depth of the building and tables and stools laid out to his left, filling the space between the storefront’s streaky glass window and the red-stained oak counter. He made a quick reconnaissance of the place, but didn’t immediately spy Evangeline. It wasn’t as crowded as he expected, and he felt relieved that at least he wouldn’t humiliate himself in front of a lot of people. A moment later he thought he heard her voice echoing from the back, but not wanting to look like he was looking for her, he squinted up at the menu board above the counter, feigning thoughtfulness.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the big, barrel-shaped man behind the counter. This guy was a true Yinzer2: his voice was deep and unnecessarily loud, raspy from too much drinking and smoking. He looked a decade older than he probably was, with deep creases on his pudgy face and more hair on his multiple chins than on the top of his head, but somehow still full of strength and vitality. In short, he looked like he could brain a guy with a full keg of Iron City and then down it all by himself.
"Whoa, hold it! A Highlanders fan?” he mockingly declaimed. “Sorry buddy, we don’t serve your kind here.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and hooked his thumb toward the framed Pirates and Strikers posters hung on the far wall and riposted, “Ah, losers only. I get it.”
“Hah! Listen to this guy… what’ll ya have today?”
“Turkey and bacon on waffles,” Sebastian answered enthusiastically.
“Anything to drink?”
“I’ll have a medium pop,” he replied.
“And here I was thinking that you weren’t from around here!” the man said, nodding approvingly. “That’ll be three bucks for me and six cents for the man in Harrisburg.”
Sebastian paid in cash and then slid into a booth to wait for his food. He sat facing the back of the restaurant on the idea that it was Evangeline’s voice he heard coming from the kitchen. There didn’t seem to be anyone else bringing out orders or cleaning tables, so with some luck she would be the one bringing his food out. He spent the next several minutes curiously studying a flag encased on the wall above his head. It was a flag of the Confederacy, not the more familiar cross-barred pattern of the battle flag, but the national ensign, the “stars and bars,” and evidently ancient as its reds were faded and whites yellowed. Modern day Pittsburgh was pretty cosmopolitan, sitting astride a watercourse that carved out a border among four different countries, so it wouldn’t have been unusual to see the flags of any of the American states hanging around, and Lord knows there had always been a lot of Copperheads in Pennsylvania, but this particular flag was remarkable for its vintage. He counted 10 stars on the canton, which marked it from the 1890s, after the separation of Virginia and Kentucky, the flag as it would’ve been at the time of the Martian War. He wondered if perhaps an ancestor of the owner had served in the allied army that broke the siege of Pittsburgh and had settled here after the war.
The sound of a plate scuffling across the table and the improbably aromatic mélange of bacon grease, maple syrup, and melted cheese stirred Sebastian from his musings. He glanced up excitedly, but instead of Evangeline, he was face to jowl with the fellow who took his order.
“Here you go, Highlander. You need anything else?”
“Ah… nope, thanks,” Sebastian answered, then hesitantly added, “Hey, is there a girl that works here, red hair, thinks pop is called ‘soda?’”
“Why yes, I believe there is,” the man confirmed, his big, droopy eyes humorous. “If you’re looking for her phone number, a generous gratuity may induce my cooperation.”
“I don’t think I’ll need any help with that,” Sebastian scoffed almost on reflex, but his voice betrayed his nerves.
“Oh ho! Well, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”
The big man then left Sebastian to his dinner, though all of a sudden his stomach was doing somersaults and he wasn’t hungry anymore.
A few minutes later, Evangeline rounded the counter and stepped slowly down the aisle, glancing uncertainly at the faces of customers for someone she recognized.
“Sebastian!” she said, as if she’d come up with something she’d been trying to remember all day. All the tension of the workday seemed to have left her as she smiled broadly, pale pink lips curving around straight white teeth. “Wow, hi! What are you up to? Besides eating, I mean.”
Sebastian had been probing the steaming waffle melt with his fork when she called out to him. He was startled by her ebullience. It was close to the opposite of what he’d expected, and he didn’t know how to respond.
“I was just walking around the neighborhood and I was hungry,” he eventually said, then hastened to add that she had something to do with his choice, too. “I saw your status that you were working today, so I thought I’d say hi.”
“Really?” She looked down nervously for an instant and her voice dropped almost too low to hear. “I’m a little surprised. I didn’t think we were friends anymore.”
“That was rude of me — ”
“I was a jerk,” she blurted, and went on talking as if she didn’t hear him about to apologize. “I overreacted to what you said and made you out to be the bad guy, and that was really unfair of me. I knew it that night, but I was so embarrassed at how I acted, and you left so mad at me, that I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you. I should have apologized, but I was afraid you wouldn’t — ” Evangeline's tight voice trailed off to silence. She bit her lip.
“No. No way,” Sebastian whispered. He stood up and reached out for her hand, squeezing it. “I missed you.”
“Yeah?” she said, lifting her wet eyes up to his.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”
Evangeline tilted her head and smiled a little. “I’m a girl. You were supposed to come after me.”
Sebastian laughed, held out his arms. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You sure took your time!” She took a half-step closer and touched him on the shoulder. “But I’m glad you came. I missed you, too.”
Evangeline’s mere proximity made his head swim; the warmth of her hand on his arm was almost too much to bear. Before he knew what he was saying, he blurted: “You get off work at two, right?”
“Yes, I’m finishing up now. Why do you ask?” Her voice was full of an affected coyness.
Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, quiet incoherencies emitting from a mouth still moving faster than his staggered brain. Something cracked inside him, and he let out a self-deprecating chuckle at how ridiculous this all was. He threw up his hands and gave in. “Because I wanted to see if you wanted to do something tonight.”
Evangeline’s long lashes fluttered over her bright green eyes in exaggerated coquettishness. “Do you mean just with you?”
Sebastian sighed in defeat. “You’re making this very hard.”
Taking pity on him, Evangeline ended the game. “I’d love to, Sebastian. Where are you taking me?”
He flashed an exhausted smile. “Where do you want to go?”
“You know,” she said, hugging herself tightly–and, Sebastian couldn’t help but notice, in a way that made her round breasts strain against the white cotton blouse she wore– “It doesn’t even matter. Finish eating and think of something.”
While he had worked out a multitude of come-ons and hundreds of different lines of conversation, Sebastian belatedly realized that he had no solid plans of where to take her. It was almost as if he expected her to blow him off. He was too happy for that to trouble him, however, and he had his appetite back. When Evangeline returned slightly after two o’clock, he had just finished off the last syrup-slathered strip of bacon. He then uncreatively suggested they check out a movie (he had no preference and didn’t even remember what was playing), but she demurred, saying that she preferred to spend the time in a place where they could talk and actually see each other. So, after a fifteen minute walk around the neighborhood filled with pleasant conversation, they settled on a table at a small coffee and dessert shop in Squirrel Hill. Evangeline ordered a cherry slush and Sebastian had a strawberry and banana smoothie, both of which he paid for without any objection from his companion. That made it an official date, he decided.
Their conversation wandered broadly, from their birthdays and hobbies to their thoughts on current events and back to trivial and disconnected observations. They talked about their families, tiptoeing around last month’s disastrous dinner with her father. Sebastian was still plenty sore about that episode, but he pressed her for more details of her dad’s adventures in the Compass Society, why he quit, and whether he’d done anything exciting afterward. She explained, with notably little appreciation in her voice, that her father did short-term, high-pay stints as a consultant for various companies, requiring them to move often even though it seemed to her that most of his work could be done remotely. The relocation to Pittsburgh had been their third move in as many years. In Deseret, where they last lived, her dad worked for the Mormon church which was attempting to verify some theory about ancient American civilizations.
“Did they?” Sebastian asked with real curiosity.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, then added sourly, “Showing interest in my dad’s work never paid off for me. The main thing I remember is that the people were nice, but nosy.”
“I remember you saying so.”
“And strict on themselves. It was hard to find soda out there.”
“Pop,” he corrected her.
“If you insist,” Evangeline replied, noisily slurping the slush through her straw. She held the cup in front of her with both hands, looking at him over the rim somewhat reticently, weighing her words. “So do you get in a lot of fights?” she finally asked.
Sebastian almost choked with surprise, something he didn’t think people really did. “What do you mean?” he blurted out, his eyebrows knitting together.
She set the slushie down gently. “That night you came over for dinner you said you’d been hit by a brick. Then you had some bruises on your face and a long cut on your cheek; I can still see them a little bit,” she explained and leaned forward, minutely touching a couple of the slightly uneven spots under his eyes with her index finger, “here and here.” Sebastian reddened at her touch and his eyes briefly looked away, but Evangeline pretended that she hadn’t noticed the reaction and withdrew her hand casually. “Every time I see you, there’s a new mark. I wanted to ask you about it a couple weeks ago, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends. It seemed like they hadn’t noticed that you were wearing makeup, so I didn’t want to point it out.”
“Well thanks,” he said with a sort of astonished look about him, marveling that once again she had caught him off guard. Evangeline, smiling back at him with that playful, but completely confident and self-satisfied expression, was clearly not the tentative and retiring ingénue he had thought she was. Despite the long mental rehearsal for this night, he was prepared only for outright rejection or meek acquiescence, not for the clever and pert young woman that sat before him, and his attraction to her was never more palpable and urgent because of it.
“So I guess I didn’t do it so well,” he said eventually.
“It makes me happy that you don’t know how to put on makeup.” She inclined her head, her voice more gentle now. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Sebastian sighed, surprised that he actually considered telling her the whole story. ‘That wouldn’t be prudent,’ he thought, ‘you don’t know her that well and it would probably scare her off.’ He settled on something more cryptic. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I probably would.” Evangeline once again reflected that innocence and naiveté that Sebastian found more familiar, though at that moment he couldn’t have guessed at the depth of her meaning.
“It’s not always fights. Sometimes I’m just clumsy,” he confessed.
A smile played on her lips. “Why wouldn’t I believe that?”
Sebastian let out a little self-conscious laugh and lifted his drink. “You’re hurting my self-esteem,” he said around the straw.
“I didn’t mean it quite like that,” she said. “If you do exciting things, you’re bound to get injured a little. You just seem like the adventurous type. Heroic.”
Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. He knew that he had to tell her.
There will be (many, many) more East End Irregulars stories, but this marks the end of After Dark. We hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, it would help us a ton if you would please leave a positive review for it on the After Dark Amazon page. Even just two sentences is a big help.
And if you consider picking up a paperback or e-copy for yourself, know that there are extras in the back, such as profiles for John Silence, the Troubleshooters, and Thorpe, among other goodies.