Chapter Six: The Righteous Side of Hell

Brooke didn't even notice the motorcycle pull up to the curb in downtown Los Angeles. She'd been watching the white lines streak passed as she held onto Sam. The sun had set hours ago. The only light in the area came from the flickering street lamps and the bright neon sign above a door. She dragged her tired eyes away from the curb and studied the sign. It was bright green, flashing in the shape of of triangle with different colored circles inside it. She'd never seen the shape before, but Sam seemed to know exactly what it was. He tilted his head a little, smiling at the confused princess.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking up at the building. It was an old brick building with no windows. Three concrete steps led up to the old double doors. The white paint was chipping away, weathered by age. The more she stared, the more her unease grew. Where had Sam taken her?

"This is Hell Mouth Pool Hall," Sam said, removing the key from the bike. He handed the key back to her, red pom-pom first, and smiled. He took her hand and led her up the steps, into the darkened space.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Brooke took in her surroundings. There were several tables set up around the room, each with balls on top of them. Over each table were fluorescent lights, illuminating the game that was being played. Around the walls were faded posters from movies, one catching her eye. A girl was swimming in the ocean while a mammoth shark was stalking her from below. She pulled her gaze away to look at the bar. A very big man with tattoos up and down his arms was chatting to a red headed girl. A few other people were around, playing whatever game was played on the tables. In the back corner was a card table, its seating completely filled.

The one thing Brooke noticed about the patrons of Hell Mouth Pool Hall is that they were all residents of the Underworld. They were demons.

"Just because I'm Hell's Princess, doesn't mean I will be comfortable in a demon den, Sam," she said, clinging to her companion's arm. He smiled meekly at her.

"Perhaps, but don't you think you'll be safe here?"

Brooke bit her lip, looking at the red head at the bar. On closer inspection, she could see her legs turned transparent the further down she looked, as did the tips of her hair. She was a Siren. The Hell-bound Princess knew exactly what that meant.

"They're not all demons in here, are they?" she asked as she and Sam stepped up to the bar. The bartender have her an odd look and leaned down to look at her.

"I wouldn't generalize in here, Missy," he warned, his voice gruff and worn. Brooke blinked at him. "Newbies get punished if they step out of line in my place."

"Easy, Malachi," Sam said, his tone dropping. The usual lightness in his voice was gone. Brooke pulled away, feeling the muscles of his arm stiffen. He let out a low growl as he held eyes with the bartender. "It's unwise to mess with me today."

Malachi raised an eyebrow and straightened, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Even if you're one of the Horsemen, Saturius, that doesn't mean you can walk in here like you own the place."

Brooke stiffened. Sam was one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? As far as she knew, the Horsemen had been banished from Caina after their previous master was dethroned. Her mother hadn't taken their powers, but none of them had returned in centuries, long before her birth. As residents of Hell, however, did that mean Brooke was technically his superior? Time to test that theory.

"Stand down, Saturius," she growled, calling on her confidence, hoping it wouldn't break before she said what she needed to say. She had promised herself upon on her arrival in Los Angeles that she wouldn't use any of her powers, so perhaps her name alone would defuse the tension.

Sam smirked and peered at her out of the corner of his eye. He knew exactly what she was doing.

"As you wish, Princess Brookai," he mused, turning and taking her hand. The red head at the bar spit her drink all over at the bar as the two companion's made their way through the tables to one at the far side of the room. "You're lucky no one here has contact with your mother," he whispered, handing her a stick.

Brooke grinned in return.

"I was betting on that," she said, winking and poking her tongue through her teeth. "Now, would you kindly teach me to play whatever this game is?"

~X~

The sun was rising over the city skyline when Brooke returned home, giggling up a storm. When she unlocked the door to the apartment and swung the door open, she stopped short. James was leaning against the wall near the window, gazing out at the flickering lights of Santa Monica pier. She swallowed back the last of her laughter and stepped into the room, eyes glued to the man before her. He turned his head as she entered the room, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I hope you had a good evening," he deadpanned. His eyes were dark and distant.

"I... I did. Sam taught me how to play pool," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

James seemed to pale. He chewed his lip, watching Brooke as she sat down on the sofa. She looked up at him after a moment, brow furrowed. She chewed her lip, absentmindedly fiddling with the silver rings around her fingers. She looked at her feet, her nerves getting the best of her. She knew that the conversation she was about to have would be difficult, and judging by James' demeanor, he knew it too. She and Sam had discussed what needed to be said, but she had no idea what James' reaction would be.

"Look," James said, drawing her attention. She looked up at him surprised. James took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry about how I reacted before. I only spend time with the guys and they know not to go in that room. I should have mentioned it to you when you moved in."

"I shouldn't have gone in there without knowing," Brooke replied, smiling meekly. James returned the smile.

"I lost everything I loved a couple of years ago and I've never come to terms with it. It's why I don't sleep well at night. My grief haunts me, even when I'm unconscious." He shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I don't talk about it because it's too hard. It brings back memories I don't want to remember."

Brooke looked down at her feet again. What she needed to say was hard.

"I understand that," she finally said. "Losing your child must be the hardest burden in the world to bare. No parent should ever have to bury their child."

James' lip trembled as he held back tears. She could see the memories floating behind his eyes. They must have been truly painful. What she had to say next would be hard for him to hear.

"James... come and sit with me."

He peered at her, shaking the haunted look from his eyes. After a moment, he pushed himself away from the wall and wandered over, sitting down beside her. He still kept his distance, however, as he slouched forward and rested his head in his hands. Without thinking about it, she reached over to rub his back, as soothing as she could be given the circumstances. He was broken, still in the process of breaking. This was a difficult conversation for both of them to have. She was apologizing for a mistake, something she'd never done before, and he was coming to grips with his pain. Perhaps, after this was all said and done, they could be friends.

"James, until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed."

He looked up at her, shock written all over his face. She dug in her heels and continued. It needed to be said.

"You can bandage the bleeding with as many distractions as you can think of. But it is like applying a band-aid to a stab wound. You will still bleed through and eventually it will stain your life." She pulled his hands down, holding both of his between hers. They were warm, and the callouses on his fingers sent shivers through her. "You must find the strength to open the wound, stick your hands in and pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past... those painful memories... and make peace with them."

"That is something I know I can't do," he whispered, gripping her hand tightly. It felt as if he was holding onto her very spirit, using it to anchor himself in this reality.

"I bet you could, if you try. But it takes time, and I will be here to help."

James looked up into the emerald pools of his friend. The corners of his lips twitched and threatened to curl into a smile. She really was going to help him. She didn't know it, but by letting him open up instead of trying to distract him, she was already helping. Just sitting there beside him, she was chasing away the shadows that haunted him with a merciless vengeance.

"I should get a little bit of sleep," Brooke said suddenly, smiling at him. His brow furrowed, confused.

"Why?"

"I am working at the cafe this afternoon. I have been up all night trying to figure out how to apologize to you."

James smirked. He stood, offering her his hand.

"I have to sleep as well; been up all night waiting for you to come home. As much as I trust Sammie, Santa Monica is a bitch when she wants to be."

Brooke giggled and took his hand, stumbling slightly when he yanked her to her feet. He caught her before she could fall, however and smiled down at her. The electricity that ran between them was palpable. They were close enough now that her nose could graze his chin and his skin was warm where his hands were on her lower back. The warmth seemed to spread to her face as she giggled slightly and stepped away, covering her reddening cheeks.

James smirked down at her.

"Well, good night, Brookey. I'll see you in the morning." He mock bowed, ending his little show of smugness with a salute as he straightened.

Brooke smiled after him as he wandered down the hall way. He produced a small key and unlocked his bedroom door. Before he entered, he turned back and smiled at her.

"I'm glad you're still here."

Brooke's smile only grew.

"I am too."

~X~

The sweet aroma of pancakes wafted in from the living room. It was this that stirred Brooke from her sleep, not her alarm blaring beside her or the tweeting birds on her window sill. As her eyes adjusted to the light filtering through her curtains, she sat up and stretched. It was a beautiful day on the Golden Coast and she could see why it had the nickname it did. The reflection of the sun glittered across the crashing waves of the beach. Through the window she could see the rooftops of the buildings next door. She smiled, watching the mother bird on her sill, feeding her babies. A wave of emotion swelled up in her chest and she looked down at her wrist. Under the bracelet she wore to hide her identity from the world was the birthmark she'd been born with. It was a tiny brown flame, surrounded by freckles. Her twin had one as well, except his was a snowflake. She did want to see Blakius again, but it would mean returning to her home where her mother was waiting, probably prepared to smack her daughter down for disobeying her.

Turning to face the mirror on her dresser, she smiled at her reflection. She was almost an exact copy her mother's mortal shell, Glory. In Caina, her hair would usually flow a vibrant red with a single blonde streak through her fringe, and her eyes would blaze with the very fires of Hell itself. Her human appearance wasn't that different; she still had her high cheek bones and narrow jaw, as well as tanned skin and freckles. Her eyes, however, were a brilliant emerald color, something she liked. She smiled at her self. She was pretty, but not exceptionally beautiful. As plain as day.

Brooke's inner musings were interrupted by a knock on her door. She looked up in time to see James poke his head through.

"Morning, I made breakfast!" he mused, holding out a plate stacked high with pancakes. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Has Hell frozen over?"

He raised an eyebrow right back at her.

"Never assume I can't cook, Brookey. I can, I just choose not to. In fact, that's a good life lesson. Never assume anything of anyone; it's the mother of all fuck ups."

Brooke giggled. James appeared to be much happier since their chat the night before. There seemed to be a skip back to his step and a smile had returned to his handsome face. She took the silence between them to study him. He really was quite attractive. With long dark hair, emphasized by a blond streak on the right side, hazel eyes and narrow features, he could walk the catwalk and people would think he was a god among men. The scar that split his left eyebrow caught her attention and she tilted her head.

"What?" James asked, placing the plate on the vanity near the door. She giggled.

"Nothing, I was just curious as to how you got the scar near your eye."

James smirked and ran his finger over the scar, his mind thrown back to the day he'd been thrown through several walls after meeting the business end of Charlie's dagger. Not his smartest move to attempt to soothe the aching soul of a witch, but he had at least made a little progress. He hadn't seen or heard from Charlie from that day until he'd ran into him yesterday. Almost a year to the day since he'd tried to redeem himself.

"Well, redemption starts with forgiveness, and the person who gave me this scar clearly hasn't forgiven me yet."

Brooke stood, smiling at him. She wandered over and picked up a fluffy pancake, folding it and sticking it in her mouth. James smirked at her. All she could do in return was continue smiling and chewing. Eventually, she swallowed and pointed at him.

"They will eventually."

The smirk on James face faltered as Brooke brushed passed him into the hall way. He hadn't exactly lied to her, but he hadn't told her the truth either. He wasn't looking for Charlie's forgiveness. He was trying to forgive himself.

That was the hardest thing he would ever do.