Chapter 21
Iprobably should have woken Omen before I slipped out of bed. He was sleeping peacefully and I didn't have the heart to wake him. Plus, he deserves it for leaving me while I was sick. It's not like I'm going far. Hopefully, he doesn't freak out and punch a wall again.
“Hey, Kitty Cat,” I coo as I step into the kitchen. He meows and I scratch him under the chin. “Are you supposed to be on the counter or is Omen going to threaten to skin you if he catches you?”
His tail pops up and he stretches before jumping down.
I smile as he sashays away. I still need to ask Omen what the cat's actual name is.
It almost feels like it's been too long, though. He hasn't corrected me so far, but I doubt he calls the cat Handsome or Kitty Cat. Sunshine is definitely out since he’s not orange. Plus, his behavior doesn’t lend to a sunny disposition.
Omen probably calls him something ridiculous like Bane or Charcoal.
I set about gathering all the ingredients for cinnamon bread.
Part of me wonders if I should question a bag full of baking supplies found in a closet.
Then again, Omen didn't say anything and this is his place.
Maybe Hell often leaves groceries out based on cravings. Who am I to question these things?
I search around for music, but the kitchen is devoid of literally anything. As I go through the cupboards, I wonder if I'll even find a bread pan to bake this thing in. I open a drawer and go back to the cupboards on the bottom.
“What the fuck,” I mutter. “How much magic is in this place? Random cooking utensils shouldn’t just pop up.”
Once I've found everything, I set about mixing the ingredients.
The kitchen could probably provide me with a mixer, but I need to do something with my hands.
It's not until I'm halfway through I realize I don't have any eggs.
I glance around the space as if they'll magically appear.
If Hell can bring me all the supplies and tools, it can get me some fucking eggs.
Omen stumbles into the kitchen, sweatpants hung low on his hips. My mouth waters as I stare at his crotch. He clears his throat and my eyes pop up.
“My eyes are up here, little witch. What are you making?”
“Uh, bread?”
“That a question?” He leans against the counter and peeks in the bowl.
“No. It's bread. Cinnamon bread. I need eggs, though. Do you have any?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I don't keep food here. I eat in the mess or with Dimitri. He cooks, but food down here is different. You need eggs, though, I'll get you eggs.”
He disappears before I can question him about how food is different.
I never thought about how demons eat. In my mind, the fries were a fluke.
Omen has a weird amalgamation of knowledge when it comes to the human realm.
I scoot around the counter and haul myself up on a tall stool.
My feet dangle and I kick them back and forth.
If he takes forever, I'm going to end up getting bored.
“Got it,” he calls in triumph ten seconds before he appears.
“That is not an egg,” I choke out.
“Yes, it is.” He turns the thing over in his hands.
“Well, maybe, but I need a chicken egg. Those don't have scales and they certainly aren't iridescent. Oh and that thing is about fifty times bigger than a chicken egg.”
He scowls at the thing, then bellows, “Dimitri.”
The other demon pops in before Omen's voice fades and I jolt. At least I don't scream this time.
“Hey, Clara. Nice to see you're still in Hell.” Dimitri flashes me a grin before turning to Omen. “Uh, why do you have a dragon egg? And how the fuck did you get it away from the horde?”
“It was just sitting there in the coals. I just grabbed it. She needs eggs. Not this egg. Like, squawking eggs.”
“Chicken,” I say, fighting a grin.
“I know, but they squawk. Funny little fuckers.”
“Perhaps you should take the dragons back their egg. I'll keep Clara company.”
“The fuck you will. Get your own witch,” Omen snarls and shoves the dragon egg into Dimitri's chest. “Take this back and get us the right egg.”
Dimitri opens his mouth to argue and I clear my throat. “Please and thank you, Dimitri.”
His eyes narrow and I swear smoke swirls in them. “Fine. But I'm doing this for you because you're actually nice to me. And you have manners.”
He snatches up the egg and vanishes. Thunder rumbles overhead and I glance up.
The ceiling flashes, revealing dark swirling clouds overhead.
In a blink, it's back to normal, though what's normal, I don't know.
I feel like I should know more about this place.
My mother probably has some books about it I tucked away in my spell room.
They were written by witches, though, so I don't know how accurate they'd be.
“We should actually talk now, shouldn't we?” I whisper.
“Suppose we should. What did you want to talk about?”
“Well, my spellsickness, which I'm still not convinced that's what it was, is gone. You didn't die a horrific death at the bottom of a chasm. And I'm in Hell after falling into your summoning circle.”
“None of those are things we need to actually talk about. We've settled all of those…issues.” He settles onto the stool next to me and sighs. “You can't stay in Hell, Clara.”
I nod, hiding the stab of pain his announcement brings. “I figured. Witches aren't exactly built for all this, huh?”
“Not usually.” He drops his elbows on the counter and stares at the bowl.
“What's that mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
I don't believe him, obviously. Dragging anything out of him seems damn near impossible. Despite that, he usually lets it slip eventually. I don't know how long I can wait for his walls to break down, though. I don't know if I want to wait.
Part of me thinks it would be easier to walk away now. Our experiences have been stilted and I'm worried I'm clinging to something I've built up in my mind. Him randomly popping into my life added to the chaos. I thrived off it when it felt like the rest of my life was falling apart.
Yet I can't deny I feel better when I'm around him.
I'm happier when he's in front of me. I feel safer when I'm with him.
Something is tying us together, shoving us into each other's orbits.
A voice screams at me from the ether, telling me to sit up, pay attention, don't let a good thing go.
In the time we've spent together, I've seen what my future could be—uncertain and full of hope.
“So, you'll take me back and then what?”
He clears his throat. “Actually—”
“Got it,” Dimitri cries as he appears next to me. Omen's hand shoots out and steadies me as I rock back on the stool.
I hop down and grab the eggs from him. “Thanks, Dimitri.”
I hurry around the island and crack them into the bowl.
Whatever Omen was about to say, I'm not ready for.
I just want to make this bread. Omen pulls Dimitri from the room, and I swallow hard as I concentrate on the dough forming in front of me.
I spend the next few minutes trying to convince myself I don't want to stay in Hell even if it was an option.
I don't succeed.
As I knead the dough, I focus on the rhythm—push, roll, turn, push, roll, turn. It's enough to center me. By the time Omen steps back into the kitchen, sans his friend, I've got my shit together. He watches me for a minute, then collapses onto the stool.
“How long will the bread take?” he asks softly.
“It's gotta rise for a bit, then it can be baked. You know how to do that?”
He snorts. “I don't even know how to turn the oven on, little witch.”
“I can show you.” My nose itches and I sniff, hoping he doesn't think I'm about to cry. I am, but that's not the point. I didn't think I'd be heartbroken over leaving Hell—over leaving him. “Then you can bake it and you'll have fresh bread.”
“Or you could just stay and do it. You don't have to leave—”
“If I do it for you, you'll never learn.”
“And if you keep interrupting me, we'll never have a full conversation.” He shoves to his feet. “I'm going to take a shower.”
He stalks from the room, his shadows trailing him. As soon as I finish this, I'm going to ask him to take me back. Rip off the Band-Aid and all that. No use hanging around when he's so conflicted over my presence. I should tell him I want to stay, though.
I scrunch my nose over and over as the itch intensifies. With my fingers full of dough, I resort to using my sleeve, but it doesn't help. I end up shaking my hands and my head, desperately trying to get it to stop.
Omen’s cat curls his way around my legs, and I glance down. “You got claws, Handsome? Because I could definitely use them right now.”
I glance up and to the right. I think I heard it's supposed to stop the itching. Or maybe that's sneezing. Doesn't matter, since it doesn't work.
The cat hisses, then flounces away. “Omen would have helped me, ungrateful little brat.”
I tip my head back and close my eyes. I probably look ridiculous, wiggling my entire face.
“What's wrong?” Omen says from directly behind me.
“My nose itches,” I whine.
He chuckles and presses his chest into my back.
Sweet relief hits me as he scratches my nose.
It's not until I open my eyes, I realize he's using his shadows.
A shiver runs through my body, though whether it's from his closeness or the reprieve, I don’t know.
He drops his hand to my hip and slips the other around my waist. I rest my head on his chest, and he presses a kiss to my temple.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper.
He sighs and holds me closer. “I can't guarantee time will be on our side. If I keep going back and forth, it might be longer. We could go years without seeing each other. You don't deserve to have your existence put on hold waiting around for me.”
“Except my only other option is Brandon.”
He tenses, a rumble rattling in his chest. “Don't say his name.”
“What happens to witches who stay in Hell? Do they die? Am I technically dead right now?”
“Clara, you're not a ghost or dead. It's just another dimension. Yes, some souls come down here when they die, but witches go to another dimension usually. You're just…here.”
We need to keep having this conversation, but I don't want to do it with my hands full of dough. “I need you to move.”
He drops his hold on me and steps away. I glance over my shoulder at him, then scan the area.
“Uh, where's the sink? I need to wash my hands. And I'll need cling wrap or a towel for this.”
He snaps his fingers and a sink appears.
Another snap and a towel flutters in front of me and settles on the bowl.
There are so many things I don't understand when it comes to Omen and Hell.
I just went along with whatever was happening.
I trusted karma or fate or the forces of the dimensions to guide me.
Now, it feels like I'm making a series of missteps.
Too scared to tell him what I want. Too annoyed to call him on his bullshit. Too tired to question anything.
As the warm water rushes over my hands, I attempt to imagine my life with him—and without him. Do I take the leap and hope he wants to stay with me? Do I cut my losses and live a life of solitude? Or do I spend the rest of my time waiting for him to show up?
My spine snaps straight and I spin around. “I don't think we should keep going like we are.”
He nods, avoiding my gaze. I open my mouth to explain when he finally lifts his head. Sorrow rests in the blackness, and a familiar ache takes up residence in my heart.
“It's been a pleasure, little witch.”
He snaps his fingers and the world goes dark.