signed_sabrina | got the devil in her heart

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got the devil in her heart

Sabrina leaves a note on her door-- Went to the woods, be back before dark --S-- for anyone to see, and she packs a black candle, matches, a knife, and a few other assorted items into her school bag. Her familiar waits at the front door of the Home, patient and ready.

"I'm fine," she tells someone as she heads out, though she's not, not at all, and it reads on her face.

The train takes her far enough, and they leave a double track of footprints in the snow, human and cat, until she's just deep enough in the woods that it's trees everywhere.

She finds a tree stump quickly enough, and Salem leaps up to watch her warm a bit of old candle wax so the fresh black candle will sit upright. Sabrina doesn't waste tie with ceremony; her movements are brisk and efficient.

Light the candle. Cut your finger. Let the flame eat your blood. Ring the bell times thirteen.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

The candle burns down, and Sabrina begins to talk.

"I don't know if you're here or not. I don't know if you can hear me from here, but I need to you listen." The voice coming out of her thrums low and raw. "I did what you asked. I signed your book, and we both know it's a matter of time before everything in my mortal life falls apart. I did what you wanted and now I'm here, because either you're fucking with me or you're not as powerful as you could be. See, I was willing to rule you out until that dream. Except it wasn't just a dream, they told me I wasn't the first to talk about dreams that feel real, delusions about a place besides this, and I just know."

She wipes at her cheeks, leaving a streak of blood.

"So if this is you, then I compel you. I, Sabrina Spellman, compel you, the Dark Lord whose Book holds my name, to take me or leave me. I could be happy here. I can be happy here. I did what you want, I wrote my name and if you're going to take this back, just do it and I'll go back and keep my end of things." Her voice grows louder and louder. "Listen to me, I fought it but you have my name, and if you're going to leave me here you had better let me go." She presses her hand to her mouth, and sucks in a wet breath, and then she's just standing there, breathing until it's all she can hear in the trees.

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The note is worrying, and he can't find Salem anywhere, so Charlie puts on his coat and his scarf and he heads for the train station. When he gets to the stop, it takes a little while to find their footprints, but they're footprints that unmistakably belong to a girl and her familiar.

When he finds her, she's talking, and he just listens, quietly. There's a part of him that feels deeply ashamed for overhearing. It doesn't seem like it's meant for anyone.

Eventually, though, he clears his throat.

"I was worried about you," he says.

Sabrina freezes for a moment, and her shoulders slump.

Of course she'd known this was a possibility, and maybe it was even easier this way. She waits quietly for a moment more, but the woods seem to simply be woods, empty but for nature. Licking her fingers, she snuffs out the candle, and she turns to face him like she's bracing for something.

Eyes rimmed pink and a smear of blood on her cheek, she seems to be struggling for words, even as Salem moves from his spot watching the trees to nestle at her hip. "I didn't want you to worry, but past evidence seems to indicate that I make rash decisions about my place on the Path of Night."

There's blood on her face and she's clearly been crying and Charlie finds his heart hurting, just a little bit. Things have sort of snowballed where Sabrina is concerned, but he doesn't regret anything that's happened between them so far.

"I'd be a pretty shitty person if I didn't worry about you, Sabrina," he says, gently. He frowns. "Did you hurt yourself?" He touches his own cheek, mirroring the blood showing on Sabrina's skin.

Her face crumples a little, but she's fighting it back, because at this moment there's no denying how large the part he plays in her demands to be freed is. "I mean, I don't like making you worry," she says, letting her good hand clutch at Salem. She holds up the other, where she's still bleeding a bit from her index finger, the cut having gone a bit deeper than planned in her determination.

"Just my finger. Blood can be a very powerful ingredient in any spell." She doesn't need the encouragement of her familiar to know it's time to talk about this. "I was trying to see if I could speak to the Dark Lord. I don't think of him as my lord or anything, that's just what the coven calls him. Mortals call him a lot of things. The devil is a good one. It's going to make my life a lot easier if you've read the Crucible or know about the Salem witch trials."

"Both," he says, and then closes the distance between them so that he can take her injured hand in his, examining the cut. "A bit, anyway? I've been to Salem. I know John Proctor was real?"

She sucks in a breath as he takes her hand, as if she's not prepared for this part. The cut itself is going to need to be wrapped up and bandaged, but shouldn't need stitches. "Well, Greendale, where I'm from, we had our own witch trials. They hung thirteen witches from a huge tree, all together, and they thought they'd solved their problem. And they kind of did, because the rest of the witches, my coven's ancestors, I guess, they were quiet and careful. They sacrificed the Thirteen. But they still followed the Path of Night."

She's not sure where to look.

"When a witch turns sixteen, they have what's called a Dark Baptism so they can join the Coven. The idea is that you're reborn on the Path of Night, and a big part of that is signing your name in the Book of the Best, pledging yourself... to the Dark Lord."

"The devil," says Charlie, like he's making sure. He tugs a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and starts taking care of her hand. "Calling it the Path of Night makes it sound really sinister."

"Less sinister than the devil?"

She's trying not to shake too much, but he hasn't recoiled, and while she doesn't really think that will happen-- it's still something she's afraid of, that this will be too much.

"I didn't want to do it, anyway. I made a huge mess and refused and everyone was so upset. But I didn't want to give up everything I loved about being a mortal: school, my friends, Harvey, my name and freedom. So I ran away that night, and it didn't do me any good. The Thirteen rose up and they were angry, and they were going to kill everyone in town. Then Ms. Wardwell was there with the Book, and she said it was the only way I'd have enough power to stop it."

The words come easier and easier.

"And I cut my hand, and then I felt his hand on my hand, and I wrote my name in my own blood in the Book."

"I can't think of anything to do with you as bad or evil or anything, but..." He frowns but he also doesn't let go of her hand. All of this felt beyond the realms of possibility, like something from a fairytale. But they are also having this conversation in a pocket universe or something, so who knew what was actually possible?

"So then what's supposed to happen?"

Sabrina holds tight to his hand, because he hasn't left yet, and it wasn't as if she'd been fundamentally changed in her strange remembering dream.

"I don't know, besides that he can call on me whenever, and I have to answer. The implication being that I also have to obey. I'm not very good at taking orders, but I would do whatever I needed to, to protect everyone."

She finally finds herself able to look up at him. "I can't tell if he has dominion over anything here, or if that got cut too. It's why I came out here, because I feel like I'm on the edge of being able to make some kind of life here, and I need to know if I'm still bound to the Dark Lord."

The next question that occurs to him femme s incredibly selfish, but it feels like something he had to ask anyway.

"What would it mean for us... If you were, I mean?" He looks down at their linked hands.

She takes a ragged breath.

"I would probably make some dumb choices, if we're using the past as a guide. I would find out what I need to do to keep you safe, and everyone else. That would probably mean following the Path of Night like a good little witch, and answering summons. It would be smarter to let you go, probably."

But he has her hand.

"Listen, the dream I had, it wasn't a dream, it was some sort of thing that can happen here, like remembering things that haven't happened to you. When I found out it was memories, everything-- I would let you choose, because that's where I went wrong before."

He doesn't let go of her hand. He has no intention of letting go. He squeezes her fingers.

"Let me choose what?" He asks. He keeps feeling lost in all of this; he's got no point of reference for any of this.

"Whether to stay with me or not," she answers. "Knowing what I am and who I may have to answer to, knowing that it's not always safe. It hasn't been that long but you-- you mean so much to me, and that by itself marks you, if there's reason to worry about it."

She turns to look back at the woods.

"I don't feel any of it. No one answered." There's the smallest smile in her voice. "No, you answered."

"None of this feels real," admits Charlie, his voice low and a little rough. "But...I know I'm just a normal kid, Sabrina. I know that none of this happens where I come from...or, at least, I don't think it does. I am so, so freaking out of my depth."

He steps closer, reaching up to rub at the blood on her face with the pad of his thumb.

"But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

"If I'm really lucky, it will never have to feel real to you," she answers, her voice softer as he draws nearer. "And who knows, maybe the witches where you live are better at this than the Church of Night. I don't think they even try to be subtle." She's teasing, a little, because she feels lighter for having said it all, for his thumb on her face.

"I'm going to believe you, then," she whispers.

"The way I see it, you might as well," he murmurs, and then he sucks on the pad of his thumb so that he can properly wipe at the blood on her face. "And if we end up up shit's creek, at least we'll be there together, right?"

A long breath escapes her, her eyes closing, as she leans into the touch. This place, she thinks, really is different. And she knows people who can help her, help them if it comes to it. She can't quite wrap her head around the acceptance, but it feels like such a relief that she almost needs to sit down.

"Together," she agrees.

He curls his arm around her shoulders, tugging her in closer.

"Come to the New Year's Eve party with me," he says. "And we'll figure everything else out as we go."

The added touch is enough that she nearly falls into his chest, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face against his shoulder to breathe him in even as she's nodding.

"Yeah," she agrees, when she finally turns her face up to him. "That sounds pretty much perfect."

He drops a kiss into her hair.

"I don't really know what we're doing here," he murmurs quietly. "But I know I like it. I know I dont want it to stop. And I can't promise I won't freak out, sometimes, but I'll do my best, okay? For you."

"It's more than I thought to hope for," she whispers back. "I'll do my best for you too." She pulls back just enough so that he can see that she's calm and centered again, her eyes wide and serious.

"For you."

She leans up to kiss him.

There's a note from that weird new girl at the Home, and even though Richie knows it's not meant for him, that doesn't make him any less curious about it. He's pretty sure they're not supposed to go into the woods at night the same way they weren't supposed to go to the Barrens back in Derry.

He takes Eddie's bike-- again-- and leaves his own note, heading out. And the whole thing seems like a pretty dumb idea until he sees the footsteps and follows them, hopping off the bike and walking beside it. He wasn't sure what he expected, but what he finds definitely isn't it.

"Well this is fucking weird," Richie says, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Before Sabrina even turns, Salem leaps off the tree stump and lopes forward.

MrrRRRRRooOOW.

Sabrina does turn, then, wiping her face with both hands and only managing to smear more blood on her cheek. Cutting your hand for a spell is a lot messier on her own, it seems. "Salem, it's okay. I know him. He's not going to hurt me."

MrrrrrR.

"Richie," she answers the cat. "I met him when I arrived, and I know you he lives with us."

Apparently satisfied, Salem returns to his place, winding between her boots.

"Hi," Sabrina says to Richie, trying not to look like a teary, blood-smeared mess, and failing.

Richie takes a step back when her cat fucking leaps at him. And if that isn't weird enough, she starts talking to it, like it can understand here. Richie's seen some real weird shit since he showed up in Darrow a while back, but it never gets any less weird.

"Why'd you come all the way out here to yell at your cat? It's so cold out here, my balls are shriveling up."

"Thankful as I am for the status update on your balls," Sabrina says, trying for something more than sniffling about the lack of status update on her soul, "I'm not out here to yell at Salem. He's a good boy. Very precious."

She waves a hand toward the woods. "I don't know. I thought maybe I could get some answers, but it's not happening."

Sabrina Spellman has more in common with the Mortiz sisters than is probably healthy for someone like Nova. Once was his own fault. Twice seems to run in the family. But this is the third time he's met a witch who thinks she can backtalk and make demands of the forces of nature. He really should learn better.

"Just me," he says, raising his hands. "Not the devil." He still thinks goat stew is the best solution here.

"Should you be throwing your blood around like that?"

To be fair, the signing of the Book should ensure some sort of two way street. Right?

But the day Sabrina accepts she truly cannot hack out her own path with the decision-making equivalent of a machete is far, far away. "The devil is a jerk," she sniffles, and Salem mews in apparent support and agreement. "But I don't think he's here. At least," and she's talking theory with the sniffles and blood on her face, "not the one I have any business contacting. I just had to check. Hence the blood. I had to sign in blood, it made sense. I'll have to make sure I clean up, you're right."

Nova is a lot more experienced in dealing with rage than he is with tears. Crying isn't something that's allowed all that often in his world. Brujas are expected to be tough and brujos from the hood are supposed to be even tougher. Nova hasn't had a lot of time to cry since juvie.

"Blood is life," he says simply. Their magics have that in common, he'd guess. People forget that beneath the spookiness and the fire and brimstone, the whole point of a sacrifice is that it's something that is dear. A beautiful blue parakeet, the panic of a subway rat, human blood. The Deos want life force, essence.

"I should probably ask if you're all right but if you're yelling at Ol' Scratch, you're probably decent."

There's a nod of agreement about the blood, and by now Salem has hopped down to pull a stolen hand towel from her schoolbag.

"I'm fine," she says, and finds that she believes herself. "I just needed to try, you know? I'm getting used to being here, I'm making friends, I-- have a boyfriend, and if I don't have to follow the whims of the Church of Night or its Dark Lord, life could be good here."

She collects the towel from Salem with a soft thanks and begins to clear herself.

"Clever cat," Nova says. He's not condescending about it. Even without knowing that Salem is a familiar, Nova thinks that Salem is the type of creature who'd naturally demand respect. "I'm pretty sure if your Dark Lord was here, he'd be just as trapped as the rest of us." He's pretty sure that solstice party he went to was thrown by an actual god, which doesn't speak well of any exceptions this place might make.

Bending down, Nova holds out a hand for Salem to sniff. The blackened skin is nearly to his wrist now and he wonders if Sabrina's noticed it growing. Not that there's much he can do about it except deflect when asked.

"He's a good partner," Sabrina says, scratching behind his ears. "Aunt Zelda was unhappy that I'd want some feral forest spirit for a familiar, but she's just a bit too blue-blooded for her own good." The rest of it makes her look up in interest.

"I suppose. I'd be more concerned that he would-- still be able to compel me, in some way."

Sabrina has been too thoroughly caught up in her own drama to notice the change on her own; it's Salem who not only sniffs the outstretched hand, but nudges curiously, emitting a series of mews and chirps to Sabrina. She turns to Nova, eyebrows growing up. "Are you okay?"

"Well, speaking as pretty much a feral brujo, I say you shouldn't diss the underdog, right?" Nova says. "And if he hasn't shown up yet, not much you can do, right? Except wait around and worry about it. Sounds like a literal damned if you do, damned if you don't."

Salem rubs his head lightly against his fingers but before Nova can attempt a real pet, the familiar turns his attention back to Sabrina or, really, talks to her. He closes his hand and puts it back into his pocket, willing the gesture to look casual. "Yeah, I'm a'ight."

Sabrina watches as Salem winds his way insistently around Nova's legs. "That's a pretty apt description of it. Well, there's no harm in making other plans, anyway. I met Thor. I think he's actually the Thor, like, a deity." She gives a thin laugh. "Maybe he'll buy out my contract. This place is somehow still weirder than home."

She lets the quiet hang there a moment.

"I won't push if you don't want me to," she finally says, "but I don't know about that. You know, I work over at Leviathan now. They seem to know their stuff."

"Do Norse gods trade in that kind of thing?" The Deos don't have much use for souls, he doesn't think. They want the sacrifice of life force and blood, maybe service, but souls are nothing. Nova's eyes follow Salem's movements, uncertain if the cat is claiming Nova as one of his own or trying to keep him from Sabrina.

He wonders what Salem told her.

Nova clenches his fists tighter in his pocket. "Nothing anyone can do," he says. "Trust me, ain't no poultice or potion or poppet that can fix this."

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