Where the Darkness Resides

189 4 7
                                    

Sabrina and Caliban arrived in the kitchen of the Spellman house in a whirlwind of smoke and fire.

Everything was just as she remembered it. Details had faded with time, but it still seemed the same. No major changes had been made. The paint was still the same, the cabinets and drawers were unchanged. Cooking and baking supplies were all over the countertops, neatly organized. Her Auntie Hilda liked everything just so.

And the smell. It was divine. None of the food in Hell, no matter how luxurious and decadent, could ever stand up to a home-cooked meal. She took in a deep breath, savoring it, and her first taste of freedom.

"Happy to be home?" Caliban asked, taking a look around the room.

He just had to ruin the moment.

"I wish it was under better circumstances," she said, and she began opening drawers in search of something to use to clean up the blood on the side of her face. She eventually found a stack of kitchen towels in a drawer by the oven and did her best to clean herself up without a mirror.

"Allow me," Caliban said, reaching for the towel in her hand.

Her first instinct was to refuse, but she didn't want Ambrose to see the unfortunate side effect of his prayer. Begrudgingly, she handed him the towel and pushed her hair back behind her ear. Surprisingly gently, he used his fingers to tilt her head to the side before beginning to clean up the blood.

The cloth was roughened with age, but it was clear that he was trying to avoid causing her any further discomfort. The bleeding must've been worse than she had initially thought because Caliban was running the towel along her jaw and neck.

"As though it never even happened," he murmured.

She took the towel from his hand. Its purple color made her blood look black. She scrunched it up into her fist, setting it ablaze. For a few moments, she just watched it burn. When she had enough, she tossed it into the sink and headed toward the embalming room. She didn't even bother to see if Caliban was following her.

The metal stairs that she had seen Ambrose walk down just hours ago were now creaking under her feet. "Ambrose?" she called, "Ambrose?"

When she got to the bottom of the staircase, she found him staring at her.

"Please tell me you are here this time, and that sleep deprivation is not causing me to hallucinate."

She couldn't help it. She smiled, high on happiness, and threw herself into his arms.

It had been so long since she had experienced any kind of genuine affection. Everything with Caliban was just for show. Her interactions with Lilith were strictly business and revolved entirely around Sabrina's needs. Any tenderness Lucifer tried to show her came off as creepy and perverse, and she spent her evenings dodging his touch.

But this, hugging Ambrose, was safe, warm, real, and it felt like coming home. He even smelled like home, underneath the scent of embalming fluid.

"You smell nice," she murmured into his shoulder.

He laughed and pulled back from their embrace to look at her, "It's hard to believe that you are really here."

"It is for me too," she admitted, "I've missed you so much."

"Not nearly as much as we missed you, Cousin."

"He's right about that."

Sabrina hadn't noticed anyone else in the room, but she hadn't been paying attention. She turned towards the voice and discovered a figure leaning against an empty embalming table.

Cult of TwoWhere stories live. Discover now