O'Malley was not a witch.
She was a pirate. She smuggled goods in and out of the city, she owned a bar, and she did not help people because it was right.
That was Wyr's job.
It had been Wyr's job.
But Wyr wasn'there anymore, so she had a dying, raging, snarling deer demon, a small pouch of potion bottles smaller than her thumb, and no witch to administer the doses. That hurt like hell to think about.
So she wouldn't.
O'Malley had skills like that; ignoring things that hurt her.
"Where's Wyr?" his voice practically hissed out of the grimacing mouth, pulling O'Malley's attention from the three similarly coloured potions and back to the radio demon. He was gasping, or really, gurgling for breath, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. His hand was weakly holding the gaping wound in his chest together, which was probably doing nothing if O'Malley was being honest. His suit was soaked, the red staining covered up by the colour of the jacket itself. Peaking out from the slashed clothing was pale skin that turned an angry red along the lines of the slash. The open wound was a mess of broken ribs and sternum that punctured his vital organs, and torn muscle. O'Malley had seen viscera in her time and was pretty sure she could see a lung in the mess, but Wyr had been the one with a knowledge for bodies… O'Malley knew where to shoot to kill.
She didn't want to answer him. Didn't want to tell Alastor that their best friend, the woman who had backed both of them, supported both of them was dead…Her cold, lifeless body was under the vigilant, broken stare of a broken king. Well, maybe not broken.
It was strange.
One minute he was beyond words; a statue holding up his daughter, and then the wind changed. He'd commandeered the scene, demanding the group spread out and search for any injured survivors. O'Malley could still feel his firm hand on her shoulder, his smile, soft and sad.
You need to find him for Wyr. You're the best one to do that.
He hadn't needed to explain, she knew he had meant Alastor. O'Malley hadn't been able to fathom letting go of Wyr, her braid had come undone and needed rebraiding, and she wouldn't like her stomach showing. She needed another shirt, and her hooves were scuffed, the fur on her legs was matted with blood and dust…Wyr liked her hooves shiny and polished, her fur clean and not dropping dander.
The king seemed to understand enough what O'Malley had been unable to verbalise, and waved his hand, creating a white tent around them with a pristine white bed in the corner. They'd settled Wyr into bed and O'Malley had turned away, only to look back as the king had taken off his jacket, and laid it over Wyr's torso, like a blanket…Like she was only sleeping.
She'd left after that.
A hand reached out and gripped her wrist tightly, as tightly as a man about to die could. His eyes were wild, his grin psychotic as he asked again.
"Where is she?"
O'Malley took a shuddering breath and tore her eyes away from his. She tore the lids off all three bottles of unnamed (illegibly written label)potions and clamped a hand around the radio demon's jaw. His skin was mostly smooth, even as his anger raged, green magic flaring to life around them in the shadowed darkness. He snarled and she used that moment to splash the potions into his mouth, past the sharp teeth and down his throat. Alastor coughed, blood spurted from his mouth and the oozing blood from the chest wound finally slowed.
No, O'Malley wasn't a nursemaid. She wasn't caring, and certainly not for Alastor. He really was Wyr's friend…And he would rage when he finally accepted the unacceptable. O'Malley watched as the wound in Alastor's chest started to close up. He was gasping for air, sweat starting to drip from his forehead as the healing capabilities of Wyr's magic sped up the process. It was a lucky thing then that she'd grabbed the right potions from Wyr's bag. She tossed the empty bottles, looking around the destroyed radio tower she'd been unable to take in yet. Buttons flashed an angry red like most things associated with the radio demon. His staff lay broken in two beside them, the microphone scuffed and dented now.
She stood and moved to the console, looking at broken instruments, the sparking machinery, and the small, unexpected photo that had fluttered to the ground in the destruction. O'Malley stooped, picking up the small, tin-type photograph.
"Give that back."
O'Malley shot Alastor a look, watching him as he tried to push himself into a seated position. She snorted at him and watched his grin turn into a feral snarl. It never ceased to amaze her that someone as ruthless and psychotic as Alastor had deer features. It was like the coloured poisonous frogs of the Amazon. Pretty to look at, but if you touch it it will kill you. O'Malley had never understood Wyr's insistence that this guy was worth being friends with. For all she knew, the radio demon could have left Wyr behind to die. He was in it for himself.
Or maybe not.
The photo, when she held it up into the dim light that filtered through the broken tower, said eighty percent of everything she'd thought about Alastor and how he used Wyr, was probably false. It was a plain enough photo, Alastor on one side, Wyr standing beside him, and both with wide grins on their faces. Wyr's curls were piled on top of her head, a ribbon tied around her forehead and O'Malley could make out the beaded handkerchief dress that she was pretty sure was still in Wyr's wardrobe. Wyr was holding a long, thin cigarillo holder, and around her neck, covering the mark of a witch's collar was a choker with a pendant. Her breath hitched.
O'Malley turned back to the radio demon and handed him the photo. He glared up at her and she waved it at him, tying down the storm of emotion that was working to capsize her ship.
"Just take it."
With surprising speed considering the damage, Alastor snatched the photo from her grip. She watched his throat work silently, his smile dimming for less than a second, so quick that if she hadn't been studying him for decades, she might have missed it.
"She'd dead."
O'Malley hadn't meant to say it so casually. Maybe she thought ripping it off like a bandaid would make it better. Maybe forcing the other sinner to recognize their loss would make her feel better. Maybe she wanted to be one up on Alastor for once.
In any case, the hurricane had come; they were in the eye of the storm now and the deadly calm was cradled between them.
His chest had healed now, and through the bloodstained clothes, O'Malley could see the angry pink scar. Soon it would fade to white. She wondered if he had other scars under there. He was always dressed head to hoof, so nobody would ever know. He probably intended for nobody to know he'd been hurt today.
"Did he come?"
The words were quiet, filled with promise.
"He did."
Too late.
It was left unsaid, but Alastor understood. With a flash of green magic, that made O'Malley blink back stars, Alastor was on his feet, and his clothes now impeccably clean and tailored once again. He tucked the photograph in the inner breast pocket of his coat. Except for the pallor of his skin, that fact O'Malley had found him bleeding out would become a myth.
"Eve?" O'Malley shook her head. The last time Eve had interfered, it had been just as the killing blow had occurred. It had been in an instant. One minute Wyr had been falling, blood arching in the sky like a rainbow, and then she'd been standing upright, staring down at her hands. It had taken her days to finally admit the truth of what had occurred. Not this time…This time she'd died alone. The thought jostled O'Malley's calm exterior and she adjusted her bloodstained, torn jacket.
"No." She cursed as her voice croaked out betraying her. Alastor didn't take the bait but instead fiddled with his broken staff. After a moment, it vanished in a puff of green.
"I do believe it is time to see our dear witch."
"Haven't I done enough?"
The cosmos twisted around them as Wyr sat at the small wrought iron table, glancing at the condensation that beaded on the glass of her iced tea. Eve was tapping her long nails against her own, nails now a shade of Red Delicious red that mirrored her lips. The second wife of Adam was delicately sipping at her tea through a paper straw, eyes closed in pleasure. When she sat back up she glanced at Wyr, then gestured to the glass.
"Aren't you going to have some?"
Wyr frowned and reluctantly picked up her glass. Eve smiled, pleased and went back to sipping her own. Wyr took a cautious sip of her own and tucked away the flavour in the back of her head because damn it all if that wasn't delicious. How did one make an iced tea that tasted of apple pie? The fresh slices of Pink Lady in the glass looked crisp and made her mouth water. How long had it been since her last meal? There had been no breakfast for the fighters, and the night before she'd ignored dinner to brew one more potion. For what good it had done her.
She sat the glass back down on the apple-shaped coaster and clasped her hands in her lap, waiting for Eve to finish her glass. Once the woman had finished, she sat up and smiled across the table. Her teeth flashed blindingly white in the darkness of the universe around them.
"So you think you've done enough?"
Wyr stiffened under Eve's gaze but refused to back down. As much as she wanted to go back, to see her closest friends, the reason she'd fought, the man she loved…Well, she'd been around a long time. Had put the dead to rest for a long time. Wasn't it her time to rest? Eve had let her really die this time. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on herself.
"I did what you said" she started. "I sided with Charlie, I sided with redemption. I died for it too, if that wasn't obvious enough." Eve's spurious smile was unnerving.
"All I said was that you knew what side to be on…I never told you to fight, honey." Her voice was syrupy sweet, but beneath it, Wyr felt the iron will of the second wife of Adam.
What had it been like, she wondered for a moment, having to be the second wife to a man who only believed he was god's literal gift to Earth? To be created to be the wife of a narcissist, and knowing that the one who came before you chose damnation over that existence, and found love. How would that harden the heart of a person?
"You implied-"
"Ah, see sweetheart? That's where you're getting all mixed up!" Eve examined her nails glibly. "You assumed. And you know what they say about that!" She winked conspiratorially with a giggle, sending a wave of fury through Wyr that wiped away the amazing taste of the apple pie ice tea. Ash coated her tongue, familiar as ever whether she was dead or alive.
This tricky bitch.
Wyr had to wrestle herself under control. She couldn't react. That was O'Malley. She had to think. Eve was in this… purgatory with her and that meant she was up to something. There was little the second woman could do to her now though. Wyr was dead. So whatever outcome Eve was trying to control, Wyr was her pawn. The knowledge grated inside her, feeding on the slow realisation that O'Malley had been trying to force into her since the day she'd first met Eve.
Wyr was a pawn in a game millennia old.
The two women sat silently for a minute, maybe more, as Eve poured herself another glass of tea from a crystal carafe. She leaned forward, elbow landing on the tabletop as she propped her cheek on her fist. She was smiling now, but it was pitying like Wyr had danced to her playbook. Which she might as well have. Wyr had been fucking around with beings she couldn't even fathom. Eve was millennia old, and she was younger than Lucifer… She clamped a lid on that thought before it could spread its icy fingers through her. Wyr had to focus on the now, on the immortal in front of her; the woman who was wrangling fate and playing a cosmic game of chess that Wyr was too narrow-minded to see the end goal of.
"So? What do you need with me then?"
"Who says I need you at all, sweetheart? Aren't I just a benevolent goddess?"
Her nails bit into the flesh of her hand and Eve's smile grew. Wyr was not cut out for word games, and her patience wore thin. She flicked a lock of curls behind her and turned from Eve, looking into the swirling galaxies beyond their small table. It was just the right amount of disrespect and ignorance. Wyr caught Eve's frown out of the corner of her eye and braced herself.
"You owe me your life, you know." Her voice was flatter now, bereft of the false warmth she'd had before. Wyr looked back now and steeled herself. Gone was the glittery, bubbly goddess of benevolence. In her place, a shrewd, cunning woman who'd had to fight for everything, even her place in heaven.
"Once, or twice?" Her question came out lighter and airier than it meant to. There was nothing light about the topic. Wyr wanted to know why Eve was here, why Wyr was here. Eve's smile wrinkled her nose.
"Depends." Wyr chose to fill in the blank.
"On whether I can help you more." Eve's dark hair shone with the light of the stars as she shrugged, leaning back in her chair.
"You've proven to be somewhat useful so far…But we talked about Luci, didn't we? I specifically remember jotting down that little note in our deal."
Ashes coated Wyr's tongue and her fingers tightened their grip on her wrists. She hadn't broken the oath. Hadn't spoken a word, right? Everything that had happened…
"I don't know what you're talking about." Eve scoffed, a sound so unladylike that it almost felt as though Wyr had imagined it. But Eve's look was condescending.
"Sure, sweetheart. Sure. Now you might not have said anything…But you sure aren't stopping him from remembering anything."
Deny, deny, deny.
"Again," she said, working hard to stop her voice was quaking. "I don't know what you're talking about."
But Eve wasn't having it. In an instant she was bent over the table, hands pressing into the iron so hard Wyr could almost hear it creak. Her voice was grating and low, a snarl of violence at the edges of her voice.
"Listen, witch, you might think you're safe with your little loopholes, but if he remembers, you'll lose him just the same. We had a deal, your life for your history with him."
She remembered. It didn't seem important at the time. It wasn't like she'd even been with him since Wyr had entered Hell. Her patron had abandoned her. So what was the harm in a deal where she couldn't talk to him about their past?
She'd gotten her hopes up though… Eve's bargain had been tightly woven. After that chance meeting, for a brief moment, she'd thought he would remember her on his own. But Wyr had learned. She'd grown accustomed to the taste of ashes, even as every passing word with him evolved the way she felt about him.
"I remember."
Eve didn't sit back, glaring at Wyr with hellfire in her eyes.
"You won't mess this up for me. Do you understand?" Wyr nodded slowly and Eve shook her head.
"Do. You. Understand?"
"I understand." Her voice broke in the middle and she cleared her throat. Eve, finally satisfied, sat back and picked up her glass of tea.
"Good. Now, I'm sending you back. There's still more to do." Wyr sat up.
"But I died." Eve rolled her eyes like Wyr's situation was nothing but that of a toddler not understanding their role in life.
"Yes." Eve nodded patronizingly. "And I'm feeling particularly benevolent what with my new 'widow' status, so I'm sending you back. Stick with the brat." She shot Wyr another dark-eyed look. "And remember who holds your life in her hands, hmm?"
"Adam's dead?" Eve's teeth glinted through her smile, canines looking sharp enough to pierce skin as she pushed away from the table to stand.
"Yes, shocking isn't it? I'm devastated." She pretended to pout even as she waved her hand, vanishing the chairs and table, leaving Wyr standing in the void.
Adam was dead. She didn't know how to feel about that fact. It was good news, right? It meant that the battle had gone well. It meant Charlie should be safe, and maybe…Maybe Lucifer had joined the battle after all.
Eve was certainly not devastated by the news, and it made Wyr wonder what the woman's real end goal was. Just how many strings was she pulling, and why? Wyr looked around her, feeling a yawning hole of servitude opening up around her. This was different from the first time. Eve had let her stay in this…She didn't know what to call it. Stasis? Surely there was a reason? She was asking the question before she could stop herself.
"Why are you doing all this?"
Eve narrowed her eyes at Wyr and cocked her head to the side. It was a moment before she answered, walking over an invisible floor towards Wyr until she stood, looking down at her. Wyr swallowed dryly as this close, she could smell apples and the cloying scent of roses. It made her want to gag. Eve raised a hand and cupped Wyr's cheek. The heat of the goddess' touch seared in Wyr and she flinched, even as the burning sensation raced through her body, spreading fire into her bones. Had she really been this cold? Wyr's eyes squeezed shut as she felt the space wobble and shift, immediately making her head spin.
"What are all disputes about, sweetheart?"
Wyr didn't have breath to answer as with another violent tremble, she dropped through space like a meteor.
Sensation hit Wyr like an avalanche. Not that she'd ever seen one in person, but she'd watched movies, and that's how this felt. Instead of freezing, crushing snow though, her senses were all at once taking in the world around her. She could feel soft cloth touching her, covering her body, and when she opened her eyes, all she saw was white. Her lungs burned, screaming for air and she lurched, jackknifing upright as she gasped and coughed, choking back air as her lungs burned. The air tasted of smoke and there was blood on her tongue as she pulled back the white sheet that had covered her head. The familiar heat of Hell crowded her, smothering her with its oppressive humidity. Smells invaded her nose, caramel, apples, smoke, blood, salt, herbs.
Looking around, Wyr noticed the white draped walls, the vaulted tent… The rows and rows of covered bodies on the ground. Her heart hammered in her chest, as she realised she'd been placed away from the bodies, set up on a small cot…and covering her bare torso, a familiar jacket, dusty and stained. Wyr wanted to throw up. Her mouth tasted like blood and bile and she was alive.
She pressed a shaking hand to her neck, almost afraid to know, but she felt the pulse there, heavy and accelerated like her body was working overtime. Looking around, she half expected Eve to pop out and jump-scare her, but the goddess hadn't followed after Wyr. Nor had she returned Wyr to the exact moment the roof had crumbled.
How long have I been gone?
Wyr pushed the rest of the sheet back, setting Lucifer's jacket aside and promising to think about that later. Her stomach was an ugly mess of scar tissue. A round, angry pink mark had obliterated her belly button and sectioned off her previous death blow scar in two. Her stomach ached. Everything ached. Despite the warmth of Hell, there was a cold dread in her bones that she couldn't ignore.
"Hey! Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
Wyr flinched, yanking up Lucifer's jacket to cover her naked chest as she looked down at the small, familiar woman standing by the cot. Wyr struggled to breathe because Niffty had come out of nowhere. The cyclops was stained in gold, splatters of it covering her head to toe as she looked up at Wyr, almost as though she were in awe. Wyr's tongue felt thick and awkward in her mouth. What was she supposed to say? How long had she been dead, and how many knew?
She wanted to curse Eve, but seeing how conniving the goddess was, she wasn't convinced Eve wasn't somehow seeing all of this.
Niffty blinked rapidly up at her and Wyr shook her head slowly, working her tongue to build up some saliva.
"I…" Her voice was grating. "I'm not dead."
It was all she could think to say, but Niffty didn't seem to mind. The young woman nodded quickly.
"You were! But everyone will be happy you're not now!" She knew most would be…Logically, everyone would be happy she wasn't really dead…But it opened her up to a lot of questions.
"The battle-"
"We won!" Niffty's grin went wicked as she waved a stiletto dagger drenched in golden blood at Wyr. "I stabbed Adam!" She cackled. "A lot." She laughed again, and Wyr felt the world rock around her.
The battle was won, and Adam had been downed by Niffty? For a second Wyr had wished she'd been able to see it, and hadn't been killed by that angel…But that wasn't her lot.
"How long…No, never mind. Have you seen O'Malley? The pirate-looking woman?" Niffty nodded happily.
"Yeah! Master and her are fighting the biggest, baddest boy." Her eye shone bright like she was excited, and Wyr pieced together the information. Her heart kicked up a beat.
"Alastor is alive?" Niffty nodded. "And he and O'Malley are fighting with Lucifer?"
She nodded again.
Wyr swung her legs over the side of the cot, feeling sick as she spotted the blood staining her fur and the scuff marks on her hooves. As soon as she was able, she was having a shower. She didn't even want to think about the stiffness of her curls right now. She held out a hand to Niffty.
"Can you take me to them?"
"Of course! Master will be so pleased!"
Her tiny hand grabbed Wyr's and though she was small, Nifty's strength showed as she helped haul Wyr up to stand. From her thighs to her hooves tingled like pins and needles as she tottered forward, Niffty hovering beside her. She tightened her grip on the sheet and tied it up around her bust.
Wyr was glad Niffty had taken a liking to her. When they'd first met she'd thought Niffty would be the jealous type of Alastor's bound souls. It hadn't been the case. Once they'd started talking, Wyr had realised Niffty was so much like Alastor but without the cunning that she adored the little woman and Niffty seemed to enjoy her company too.
It made it easier for Wyr to use Niffty's strength to help her leave the tent, and take in what had been the hotel.
Wyr drew a sharp breath as she looked around the piles of rubble and steel. Pockmarked and scorched earth, blood both gold and red riddled the grounds of the hotel. It left a sour taste in Wyr's mouth as Niffty led her through the piles. Fires were scattered across the area, but the smoke was drifting on a breeze out to the wastelands. The small cyclops didn't stop until they'd made it to where the courtyard had once been. A massive crowd of Sinners were gathered and Wyr could see familiar faces from Cannibal Town as Niffty glibly led her through.
Wyr could hear the argument before she saw the fighters.
"-told you! I told you she would die!"
"I-"
"O'Malley, please! He couldn't have known! Would Wyr-"
"Respectfully, princess, stay out of this."
"Alastor, please, you have to."
"Well now, I'm sorry, my dear, but my hands are tied. The pirate is an overlord…I can't interfere."
"She was his friend too, Charlie. He robbed us of our friend. If he'd shown up earlier…She wouldn't be GONE!"
Close to the front of the crowd, Wyr was tall enough that she could see through the gaps. It was a messy scene filled with desperate looks and grief that she had caused. If she'd been better, stronger, maybe none of the people she cared about would be in their positions. Lucifer was on the ground, his shirt collar gathered up in O'Malley's fist as she stood over him. Alastor stood, hands behind his back beside O'Malley and Charlie knelt on the ground beside her father, holding onto him. Vaggie was being held back with shadowed tentacles as she snarled and snapped at Alastor's magic. Familiar faces watched the scene unfolding, Angel Dust, Husk, Cherri Bomb, they all stood close together, watching with torn expressions. Wyr's throat worked tightly. She couldn't see Sir Pentious with them.
She watched as O'Malley shook Lucifer again, her snarl of anguish showing off her sharp teeth. Wyr focused on Lucifer, watching as he hung limply from O'Malley's grasp, not moving, even as O'Malley shook him. His eyes were downcast, and he was covered in blood. None of it was gold. It was the decided look in his eyes though, that made Wyr's heart ache. Broken, accepting, with no real want to fight back.
Wyr let go of Niffty's hand and pushed her way forward through the last of the onlookers. She didn't stop at the crowd's edge but strode forward, keeping a tight grip on her sheet.
"That's enough now."
She looked the same, her hair matted in dried blood and her skin was patchy with it. She was clutching a sheet to her chest and her shoulders were bare beside their constellations of freckles. She looked tired and sad, but her mouth was set in the way he'd come to learn brokered no argument. She held a sheet around her chest, and the way it draped over her body made her look more like a goddess of death than ever before. He could have imagined it, like he'd heard her voice on the wind, prompting him to take control. He could have been unconscious, and she was visiting in a dream. But Wyr was standing in the middle of the crowd and he wasn't the only one looking at her.
O'Malley released his collar so fast he dropped back, elbows landing painfully in the dirt as she stood and took a faltering step towards the witch.
"Wyr?"
Wyr's smile was so small and fragile.
Charlie leaned forward and for a second Lucifer couldn't see Wyr beyond his daughter's blond hair. His heart thundered in his chest as she moved, helping him to his feet but when he looked again Wyr was bundled up in O'Malley's arms, face tucked away from sight. Alastor was standing beside the two women and his red gaze softened as he took in the witch.
Lucifer felt like an outsider looking in as the three stood close together, Wyr sandwiched between the two overlords. All at once the horrible things he'd said to Wyr filtered back to him like an echo, drowning him along with the crowd who knew of Wyr, piping up into a roar of chaos.
The crowd screamed and cheered and Wyr ducked low, even as Alastor's tentacles rose up, snapping angrily around them as the crowd, tension now broken, began to converge in celebration.
Wyr was alive.
She was alive and whole, and breathing and walking and smiling, and alive, alive, alive. Wyr is alive.
His chest hurt, and he hiccuped once, his eyes stinging and hot as tears forced their way up. His swallow was painful as he tried to force back the relieved sob. Charlie's arms around his tightened and she buried her head in his shoulder, freely sobbing as Vaggie came to them both. The crowd flowed freely around them like a boulder in a river.
Wyr was alive, screamed the world.
She was safe, they screamed.
We won.
So why did she feel so much further away?
