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“What are you doing here?”
Lilith turned. She already knew who the voice belonged to — Zelda Spellman, who stood in the kitchen doorway, cigarette holder in hand. Her tone contained a fair amount of distrust, through it was veiled. Zelda still hadn’t fully come around to her. Lilith didn’t blame her; her involvement in Sabrina’s antics had been thorough and troublesome, and she’d just let herself into the Spellman residence without permission.
“Why,” she replied, with an injection of faux incredulity. “I came to visit you.”
Zelda narrowed her eyes. “At nine o’clock on a Wednesday night?”
“It’s important.”
It was a short statement, designed so that her interlocutor would be forced to fill the gap.
“Very well,” she replied, in a manner just short of a sigh. She gestured to a closed door. “If you make yourself comfortable in the parlour, I’ll bring through some tea.”
Lilith wasn’t one to refuse invitations. She walked through to the parlour, seating herself on a velvet-covered armchair. With a pointed glance and a thought, she set a fire burning in the fireplace; it crackled warmly, throwing deformed shadows across the patterned wallpaper.
She had a few minutes to herself, staring into the shifting flames, before Zelda entered carrying a china-laden tray. She remained silent while her host set a teacup in front of her and carefully filled it, then took a seat opposite her.
“Well,” Zelda said, impatience bubbling under her cool demeanour. “How can I help you?”
She let the moment hang for a heartbeat. There was no need to beat about the bush, but she never failed to enjoy the taste of tension. “What if I told you that my name isn’t Mary Wardwell?”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “My reaction would depend on whatever you said next.”
Lilith stood. A few steps took her to the mantlepiece, upon which she rest one bony, taloned hand. “I’d say that you already know me. In your heart.”
Zelda tossed her head dismissively, deliberately ignoring the way that her viscera had turned to lead. “I don’t follow.”
“Think,” she practically purred, allowing a smirk onto her face, a farrago of flashing white teeth and scarlet lips, glistening oddly and reflecting the flickering orange. “Think.”
A suspicion, unfounded and rootless, crawled into her brain. It was a preposterous idea, she rejected it as soon as it arrived. Yet it was strangely, almost preternaturally, compelling.
Sensing her bewilderment, Lilith sought to prompt her. “There are some that would call me the unholy patron of women.”
And then she knew.
In her shock, Zelda shot to her feet. “The Mother of Demons?” she whispered, not quite believing it. “Lilith?”
Just for a moment, she let enough of her true nature poured through her eyes to convince her. “The very same.”
The blood drained from Zelda’s face. Theoretically knowing was one thing. Seeing proof was another. “How — how long have you-”
“Possessed Mary Wardwell?” she completed. She revelled in Zelda’s rising panic. “Since around the time of Sabrina’s ill-fated baptism.”
At the word ‘baptism’, an abrupt reminder of her faith, Zelda dropped her eyes to the floor, head bent, and extended her hands in a prayer-like position. This was Lilith. A divine being. “Forgive me. I’ve been arrogant and ignorant.”
Lilith laughed, unnaturally loud. “That’s not why I revealed myself.”
Uncertain, Zelda slowly moved out of her exaggerated posture, resuming her previous position — albeit avoiding eye-contact for fear of offending her. She waited for Lilith to speak.
“I want to recruit you to my cause,” Lilith said, every word measured and calculated with chilling precision. “To reform the Church.”
That’s insane. Those were the words that sliced through Zelda’s mind.
“What kind of reform?” she asked, struggling to balance her inherent reverence and her natural suspicion. “What do you want?”
“The Church of Night is languishing, dying.” Lilith paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I want to free it from the shackles of tradition. I want to bring it into a new age — an age of power, of freedom. Just as the Dark Lord intended.”
An enticing image. “I see.”
“Are you going to join me, Zelda?”
For a moment, Zelda turned her attention inwards, scouring her own thoughts.
The life of a witch, barring catastrophe, was long. A life as long as a witch’s required purpose and direction. A sense of solidity. Since she was a little girl, the Church of Night had been her guiding light. She’d had her waverings and her moments of doubt: during her harrowing, at her first Feast of Feasts, when Edward married, when he and Diana had died. It was only logical; fear and pain and doubt were immortal companions. Her true faith, deep inside her, had always been steady.
Of course, Sabrina had derailed that. From the moment that her niece, a wide-eyed toddler, had insisted on going to Greendale’s preschool, the Spellmans had been brought into contact with the mortal world in a way that most witches never experienced. When she’d grown up, Sabrina’s resistance and her trials and tribulations had given rise to Zelda’s own.
And Faustus Blackwood… the way he’d brushed off his wife’s death, the way he revelled in the birth of his son, yet ignored his daughter, Prudence.
Yes.
Zelda shocked herself with the insistency of her mental response. She spared a thought for Sabrina — who, she thought suddenly, would probably approve of such rebellion — and Hilda and Ambrose and Leticia. But surely this was to their benefit? This way, she could guarantee Leticia’s safety from her father. Hilda, after all, was an excommunicate. And Ambrose… he might object, but he would understand why she’d done it.
“Yes,” she echoed, this time aloud.
Zelda was a proud woman, always had been. But it was easy to kneel in front of her. Natural. There was something so utterly compelling about her.
Wordlessly, Lilith pressed a nail against her neck, hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. There was a fierce bite of pain; she clenched her jaw, but otherwise suppressed the sensation.
“I bind your powers to mine.” Lilith moved a thumb across her forehead in the shape of an inverted cross, the same gesture made by the High Priest when conferring a blessing. It left a pattern of blood, oily against her skin.
“Hail Satan,” Lilith said simply. “Rise, Zelda Spellman.”
The moment was nearly baptismal. It had a sense of glorious revival — even the awakening of something new.
Despite it all, Zelda’s voice was strong and clear. “How can I serve you?”
Lilith cast an assessing eye over her. “Learn, grow stronger, spread the word.”
A nod.
“Blackwood,” she continued, spitting out his name with unescapable disgust. “Trusts you. That makes you my secret weapon.”
Lilith sat, returning to her armchair. A short distance away, Zelda mirrored her.
It was at odds with the tension that had just passed, that had yet to fully evaporate.
Lilith took a sip of her tea, adding to the scene’s surreality. Conversationally, she questioned her. “Do you know why I chose you to be my first?”
Zelda shook her head. “I really couldn’t say.”
“Because you’re a strong witch,” she said. “You have a mind of your own.”
Though she would deny it, Zelda glowed at the praise.
“Besides,” she added. “There’s something sweet about revenge. Winning you away from Blackwood is a reward in itself. Especially given that I desire you, as he does.”
With a jolt, Zelda looked up. “What?”
She shrugged, matter-of-fact. “It’s the nature of the Dark Lord. To inspire those darker feelings within us.”
The words were standard doctrine, she’d heard them all her life, but now they were strangely seductive. They were conspicuous and physical, as if Lilith had whispered them into her ear, breath warm on her cheeks.
“Oh.” Zelda took a deep breath, attempting to calm her racing mind. “I - I suppose…”
Lilith’s unwavering gaze grew amused. Mind blank, she gave up trying to respond.
Lilith drained her cup and returned it to the table. “In terms of business, your job is simple, but difficult.”
“Anything.” Zelda was somewhat disorientated, having expected Lilith to explain herself, but her voice was not lacking in conviction.
“We can’t do this alone. I’ll need you to recruit fellow believers.” Acolytes. She tasted the word, relishing it. “Your niece and her friends would be a good place to start.”