Sabrina had grown up around death, with crowds of mourners in their parlor lingering over the body of a loved one, and people coming in to make funeral arrangements bursting into tears because it finally hit them that this was real. Death is final. That the person they love will never walk this earth again.

She found some comfort in knowing that death was impartial. It didn't take its victims out of greed or malice, it just took because that was the way it had to be. She had seen all kinds of people in the parlor. The old who died peacefully in their sleep after long lives. The young who died in accidents or of illness and never even got to start their lives. Somehow, it was always sadder when they were younger.

Death was different in Louisiana. The first thing she had noticed was that the dead were buried above ground because the water table was so high. The stone of the tombs had been bleached white by the sun, and tall crosses cast long shadows across the ground. Rusty iron gates guarded the entrances. Some of the crypts looked like little houses, and it was easy to see why they were called cities of the dead. Death was a part of life here, not separate from it.

She had taken to exploring the cemeteries on her days off. There were all kinds of guided tours, but she never signed up for any of them. She wanted to be free to wander.

Her first trip had been to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. It was one of the most popular burial places to visit because it was home to the final resting place of Marie Laveau. There were all kinds of offerings left for her from those who believed she worked her magick from beyond the grave. On an impulse, she plucked a single golden bobby pin from her hair to add to the offerings.

Sabrina may not have ever believed in fate, but she had always believed in magick.

It took a few months, but she had managed to make a dent in the list of cemeteries to visit in the area. St. Louis Cemeteries No. 1, 2, and 3. The first and second Lafayette cemeteries, along with the second St. Roach Cemetery, and the Cypress Grove. Next on the list, and the subject of her current adventure, was the Masonic Temple Cemetery.

The gates weren't rusted, and the Eye of Providence at the entrance overlooked all of the cemetery's occupants, living and dead. The tombs were much grander than the ones she had seen so far. They looked more like temples, and churches than burial plots. It occupied two, oddly shaped city blocks, and she was tired by the time she rounded out her visit at the section consisting of recent burials.

The smell of fresh concrete lingered in the air, and the area was colored by fresh flowers. A dark object amongst the grass caught her attention. She looked a little closer and discovered that it was a jacket. A leather one with a patch that said 'King' across the back. It was Caliban's. She would recognize it anywhere.

She picked it up and rounded the small patch of grass she had been standing in. She found him kneeling over what looked to be a new grave and placing a bunch of wildflowers in front of it. He didn't even notice when she walked right up to him.

"Hey," she said softly.

He looked up, surprise evident on his face. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. It didn't do much good. The golden strands just fell back into their previous position, and he left them there. She was tempted to reach out and push them away herself, but he was in mourning, and everybody mourned differently. She wasn't sure he would be receptive to her touch.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Princess."

"I figured," she turned to look at the tombstone. It was new like she had thought. It read: Sycorax Rivers. "Who is she?"

"My mother," he answered simply, "She was a Mason's daughter. Belonged to the Order of the Eastern Star herself. She wanted to be buried in her home."

"When you said you were here to visit her, you were making arrangements for her to be buried."

"Yeah," he nodded, "Yeah, I was. Hell of a process, too. Another country, a different way of doing things."

She was tempted to ask him why he didn't tell her, but that wouldn't be a fair question. He didn't even know her name, and it wouldn't be right for her to expect him to tell her about his recently deceased mother. "If you need any help with anything, this is sort of my area of expertise."

"Thank you, Princess, but I wouldn't want to burden you."

"You wouldn't be a burden," she assured him.

He was staring back at the gravestone, his hair falling to obscure his face once more, "She would've liked you." His voice sounded far away, as if it was coming from somewhere outside of himself.

"You think?"

The first hint of a smile appeared on his face, "Certain of it, Princess."

"I'm honored." She couldn't think of a greater honor to be given.

He turned back to her, "She'd also tell me to quit my moping, and that a graveyard is no place for a beautiful girl like yourself, and that I should use this opportunity to take you out to dinner."

"She'd really say that?" Sabrina asked, with the barest hint of a teasing tone in her voice.

He laughed, "Most of it. The part about dinner was me talking."

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he smiled and began leading her out of the cemetery.

Much to her delight, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him as they walked. She reached up to loosely intertwine her fingers with his. His hands were warm and strong, but just like the other day in the diner, he was being incredibly gentle with her. It wasn't out of fear that he would break her. It was out of respect, admiration, and affection. It made her wonder if he was this gentle in all aspects of his life.

Part of her really hoped that there were certain areas of his life that he was a lot rougher in.

"What are you thinking?" Caliban's voice pierced through the haze of her thoughts.

She hummed, "Nothing too interesting."

"I'm sure all of your thoughts are interesting."

She shook her head, "Not all of them. Why? What are you thinking?"

"Wondering if you've ridden a motorbike before."

She stopped dead in her tracks, effectively answering his question.

"I'll take that as no."

"Never," she confirmed.

"Frightened?"

She answered without any hesitation, "I trust you."

A glance away from his face revealed that they were just a few yards away from his motorcycle. She hadn't even noticed they were approaching it. She was too wrapped up in her thoughts and too wrapped up in, well, him. This was the first time she had gotten a good look at it. It was black and well cared for like she had thought. She didn't know a single thing about motorcycles, at the very least Sabrina could say that it was beautiful, but God did it look better with him on it.

The leather jacket she had been holding was back on him, and the way he swung his leg over the bike was going to be burned into her brain for a very long time. She was still unabashedly staring at him when he handed her his helmet.

He smirked, clearly pleased with the way her gaze raked over him, "Safety first, Princess."

She rolled her eyes, snatched the helmet from his hands, and got on the bike behind him. It was a thrill to be pressed against him. She could feel the heat of his body through their clothes, and she couldn't resist completely melting into him. He gently lifted her hands from where they had curled into the edges of his jacket and wrapped them around his waist. Her fingers sunk into the fabric of his grey t-shirt.

"Hold on to me."

She slowly tightened her arms around him and opened her palm to curve around his waist. He rested his hand on hers for a few more moments before letting go, kicking back the stand, and taking off.

Sabrina didn't pay much attention to the ride itself. She didn't know where they were going or where they had been. If she had been paying attention, she might have been able to figure it out, but all of her focus was on the feel of him. Once she had grown more comfortable during their drive, she let one of her hands start to wander. One still clung to him, but the other splayed across his abdomen.

His breath hitched, and she waited for it to even out again before continuing. Her hand shifted and she was able to feel every muscle through the thin fabric. It was a cliche comparison straight from one of her Auntie Hilda's harlequin romance novels, but it was like he was sculpted from marble. Her fingers traced the contours of his abs before trailing up his chest and settling on the curve of his strong, sturdy shoulder. It remained there for the rest of their trip.

Once they arrived at their destination she let go, with a reluctance that might've manifested itself as a groan, and if it did, that was nobody's business but her own. She slipped the helmet off her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She didn't know what her hair looked like, but it was fair to assume that his was worse. Windswept and tangled. She reached up and ran her fingers through the golden strands in an attempt to fix the worst of the damage. The results were only moderately successful, but she couldn't complain too much. He looked wild and downright tempting.

He indulged her for a few moments before slinging an arm across her waist and leading her inside the building he had parked in front of. She kept her fingers in his hair and looked up at the red and white neon sign that was glowing above them.

"Saints & Sinners," she read aloud.

"You don't seem like the type of girl whose ideal date is at some upscale restaurant."

"I'm not," she confirmed.

"I also imagine you've eaten an obscene amount of diner food in recent months, so that wouldn't do. I figured something in between would be appropriate."

She slipped her hand from his hair and planted it firmly on his shoulder. She used it to steady herself as she pushed herself onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's perfect."

And it was. Sabrina had been on all of two first dates in her life. Harvey had taken her to dinner at Dr. Cee's and Nick had planned a picnic in her favorite clearing in the woods. It had been nothing like the red leather walls and plush velvet chairs of 'Saints & Sinners'.

The atmosphere was decadent and vaguely sultry. Almost everything was red. The walls, the chairs, and even the wood of the bar Caliban had seated them in front of had been stained a daring shade of crimson. It was strangely inviting and intoxicating.

"How did you find this place?"

"I believe I mentioned my brother, Asmodeus?"

"The bartender," Sabrina recalled, "He works here?"

Caliban nodded, "Not today, though. I'm still unsure of him."

"You don't trust him."

"I do not know him," he explained, "I also do not know the extent of what he was involved in. All I know is that my mother and father didn't want me growing up around them for a reason, and I suspect that reason is more than a few drug deals."

"Fair enough," she said, reaching for a menu and attempting to change the topic. If talking about his brothers was anything like the way she felt talking about Lucifer, he was probably itching to change the subject. "So, what's good here?"

The menu seemed to be a mix of American comfort food, cajun cuisine, and seafood. She drifted away from cajun and seafood as she had, as Caliban had put it, eaten an obscene amount of it in recent months. It was all very enjoyable, but the promise of comfort food was too much to resist, and she eventually settled on mac and cheese with bacon crumbles. If it was half as good as her Auntie Hilda's recipe, she would be happy.

"So, Princess, care to tell me as to why you were wandering around a cemetery?"

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"Well, I'm willing to listen," he paused, "If you're willing to share, that is."

"I grew up around death."

"Your family's mortuary."

She smiled, "Yeah, and in front of our house was this graveyard. My family were some of the first people to settle in Wyoming, by this river, Sweetwater, in the late eighteen hundreds. Ever since then, every member of my family has been buried there. Well, except for my parents."

"May I ask why?"

"They were on a business trip to Italy. I was supposed to go with them, but I had a fever and had to stay behind. Anyway, there was some kind of mechanical failure, I don't know what, but their plane went down somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Nothing was ever recovered."

"I'm so sorry, Princess," his fingers curled loosely around hers, and his thumb ran soothing circles over the back of her hand.

She squeezed his hand, "It's okay. It was almost twenty years ago. I don't even remember them, but everyone says I look just like my mom."

"She must've been beautiful, then."

"She was," Sabrina smiled, "To answer your question, death has always been a part of life for me, not separate from it like it is for most people. I guess I was just trying to find something that felt like home."

Sometimes, Sabrina liked to imagine what Diana would look like now. Maybe her hair would've started to gray. Perhaps she would've let it grow out long, but Sabrina didn't think so, and she didn't think she would've dyed it if it started to gray. Not like Zelda did, anyway. She and Ambrose always pretended not to see the boxes of red L'Oreal hair color in the trash.

Sabrina would never know for sure because Diana was forever frozen in a photograph she kept on her bedside table. Forever young, forever beautiful, and forever twenty-eight.

"I know your mom is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now, but what about your dad?" she asked, "What about life in Australia?"

It was a happy life, Sabrina learned, along the Central Coast of New South Wales, and she was more than content to listen to his stories as she enjoyed her meal. His father, Prospero, owned a bookstore that he worked in during his two years of University, with his cousin, Miranda. He had an associate's degree in photography. He was freelancing while he was here. Most of the work he was hired for was digital, but he preferred to shoot in film. It was more romantic and more sympathetic.

"It's about capturing a feeling, Princess."

From the way he talked about it, she could tell that he loved it. It made her interested in his work, and she commented that she would like to see it. He agreed with the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. She wondered what kind of things he would take pictures of. People or nature, maybe. Something alive.

Later, when dinner had been finished, and their plates had been whisked away they got into a rather heated debate about pineapple on pizza, of all things. Caliban firmly believed pineapple and pizza was the perfect balance of sweet and salty, while Sabrina thought it was a sin worthy of an eternity in the pits of hell.

"I can't believe you're one of them! I can't believe I like you!"

She feigned loss of interest and let him coax himself back into her favor with a piece of red velvet cheesecake, a glass of red wine, and an amused smile.

They shared the cake, and it was heavenly. It was moist and sweet, but not overly so. It was also creamy and decadent, and she nearly moaned when she took the first bite.

At first, she thought he didn't notice, but his grip on his wine glass tightened, and the way he shifted almost imperceptibly towards her informed her that he had. She felt herself blush, but she maintained eye contact with him and reached for her glass as though nothing had happened.

The wine was intense and full-bodied, but Sabrina was the furthest thing from tipsy as they walked out into the cool evening air with their fingers interlaced. It was only one glass, and she wasn't a lightweight. Far from it, actually. She was a girl with a preference for things like absinthe, whiskey sours, and Manhattans, much to the delight of Prudence, who detested the sickly-sweet cocktails her sisters adored.

She smiled at the memory. Remembering her friends and family back home typically made her sad, but not tonight. She was too dazed on a feeling that felt like equal parts drunkenness and stone-cold sobriety.

Every sensation felt sharp and raw. The leather of the bike seat she had her hand braced against, the slightest scratch of his stubble against her skin as he nuzzled against her cheek, and the way his hands framed her hips as he guided her onto the back of his motorcycle.

A giggle escaped her lips that would have been enough to convince any passer-by she was drunk, and, in a way, she supposed she was. Drunk on the sultry atmosphere, the crisp evening air, and the feel of him. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt like this.

The more she thought about it, the more she didn't think she had ever felt like this. In the past, she had been focused on tomorrow, or next week, or next year, or forever, but there was something about him that grounded her to the present, to the feeling of here and now.

Whatever it was, she decided that she liked it.

She liked the way he made her feel, and she hoped she made him feel the same way, but hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like her to have.

As he led her up the steps of Marie's front porch she realized that she didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to stay with her, or she wanted to go with him. Whatever scenario where they were together would be fine with her.

"I guess this is the part where we say goodnight."

"I suppose so," he agreed, "but we could also promise each other tomorrow."

"You're coming in tomorrow?" she asked, not bothering to hide the eagerness in her tone.

He nodded, "I can't promise I'll be able to stay for the entirety of your break, Princess, but I will be there."

"See you tomorrow, then," she whispered.

One of his hands reached up to cup her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned into his touch. His hands were warm and slightly rough. Fingers caressed her cheek, her jaw, and tucked a stray piece of moon-white hair behind her ear. She only opened her eyes again when she felt his thumb caress her bottom lip.

She was greeted with the sight of ocean-colored eyes trained firmly on her cherry-red painted lips. Her breath fell out of rhythm as she took his wide pupils, and breath that was just as unsteady as hers. She placed her hands on his chest and leaned forward to press her lips against his.

It was quick, but it was long enough for her to learn that his lips were soft. She could taste the faintest hint of wine. Notes of red plum, cocoa, smoke, and cedar that tasted pleasant in the restaurant were somehow more enjoyable with the taste of him lingering beneath the surface.

She leaned in again, and he met her halfway. It started just as sweetly as the first one, but it was longer, slower, as though he was trying to memorize the feel of her lips. She parted her lips in an effort to entice him, and it seemed to work, but not in the way she had planned. He backed her up against the front door and slipped his tongue past her lips. Her hands tangled in his hair, and he groaned. It was low, primal, and it sent shockwaves throughout her entire body. It was going to be fodder to the fire of her fantasies for weeks, just like his taste. Once the wine faded away, all that was left was him.

He didn't seem to be going anywhere, and Sabrina wanted nothing more than to keep it that way. She hooked her leg around his and felt him smile into the kiss. Even though he seemed to be enjoying their activities, he broke the kiss.

She was just about to complain when he sharply nipped at her jaw. Her hand gripped his hair tighter in response, and the nails on her other hand bit into his shoulder. Her heart was racing, her blood was pounding, and her breathing was erratic.

She had never felt more alive.

"Do you want to come inside?"

He chuckled and soothed the bite he had left with a gentle kiss, "You have no idea how tempting that is, Princess."

"I think I have some idea," she breathed out.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you have to work tomorrow, as do I, and it would be extremely inconsiderate of me to deprive you of your beauty rest."

"Always such a gentleman," she teased.

He placed a kiss on her temple, "Well, that is only one reason, the other is purely selfish."

"Tell me."

"I know that I wouldn't be able to bear parting with you in the morning."

"Until tomorrow then?" Sabrina asked.

Caliban kissed her gently, "Until tomorrow, Princess."