She was three weeks and two letters into her stay in the French Quarter, and things were quiet. Not just quiet in the sense that everything was normal and usual, but it was also physically quiet. It was nine-thirty at night on a Wednesday. Marie had just left to attend ten o'clock mass. Many of the Soul Food Shack's usual patrons were at mass as well. That meant she was all by herself in the dining area.
She usually used this time to write her next letter back home. She had no way of knowing if her letters ever arrived at their destination, but writing them made her feel better. A pen and some paper were in her bag if she ever felt the urge to write anything down. It was a very one-sided way of talking to her family, but she didn't feel like doing that right now, so she just sat there staring at a blank piece of paper with a cup of black coffee, remembering the day that started this whole journey. The day Lucifer first showed up.
Her Aunt Zelda had been incredulous. She said that he had some nerve showing up to their house and intruding in on their lives after fifteen years. That someone guilty of the things he was, had no place in Greendale, and no place around Sabrina. He just laughed and turned his attention back to her. He went on and on about how much she had grown since the last time he saw her, how beautiful she was, and how smart she must be. He seemed only slightly disappointed when she didn't recognize him. Auntie Hilda took the flowers from her hands and tried to lead her into the dining room, but she refused to go. If this man knew her parents, he could answer some of her questions.
"Enough of this nonsense, Hildegarde," he had said, "You always were the sensible one," he pulled something from the breast pocket of his suit and held it out to her, "Shouldn't the girl know the truth? Have the father she always wanted?"
The truth? What truth? She carefully reached out to accept the piece of paper he was offering to her. It was a picture. There were wrinkles around the corners, and it was at least a decade old. It was a picture of him. He was younger then, but he still had the same curly brown hair and attractive features. Next to him was a young woman. She was striking with her waist-length brown hair, slightly sunkissed skin, and unusually sharp features. They were outside on a picnic blanket. It looked like it was a sunny day. Both of them were smiling, but not directly at the camera. The woman was trying to get the little girl, who was sitting in her lap, to look at the camera, and Lucifer was smiling down at her with all of the love and affection of a father. The little girl was no older than three, had little blonde curls with a black headband nestled neatly on the top of them, and she was unmistakably Sabrina Spellman.
The loud revving of a motorcycle brought her back to the present day. Unfortunately, it also scared the living daylights out of her. She had jumped and spilled her coffee onto her paper and the counter. Thinking quickly she untied her apron from around her waist and used it to absorb some of the spilled coffee. The bell above the door rang, indicating that whoever was riding that obnoxious machine had decided to grace her with their presence.
"Welcome to Marie's Soulfood Shack. I'll be right with you."
She had successfully managed to clean up the worst of the spill, but her apron was soaked and her paper was ruined. She dumped the paper in the trash and put her apron to the side. It would need to be hand-washed as soon as she was done here.
"Did I frighten you?"
That was certainly not the voice she had been expecting. It was low and accented. Australian, perhaps. She looked up to see a man who couldn't be more than a few years older than her. He had strong features, tan skin, and jaw-length golden hair. He was, to put it simply, beautiful. He ran one of his hands through his hair, and she noticed that he was wearing a leather jacket and carrying a motorcycle helmet.
"Don't worry about it," she shrugged, "Motorcycles make noise, and waitresses spill coffee. Well, sometimes they do."
"My apologies," he said. He was well mannered, too. Definitely not what she had been expecting.
"What can I get you?"
"A cup of coffee, that is, if you can promise not to spill it."
There was a teasing tone in his voice, and she couldn't help but laugh. It was a real genuine laugh. She hadn't laughed like that since before she left Greendale. It felt good. A smile appeared on his face, and it somehow made him even more attractive
"I promise," she said, "Anything else?"
"Whatever you recommend. I am not familiar with the food here."
"Gumbo it is then. It was the first thing I had when I got here."
She went back into the kitchen, retrieved an empty bowl, and filled it with gumbo. Marie kept the pot simmering on the stove and left her with instructions to tell any customer that arrived that it was the only thing they were offering at this hour. She brought it out to him and went back to retrieve the pot of coffee and an empty cup.
She smiled triumphantly when she didn't spill a single drop, "So, you're not from around here?"
He shook his head, "I'm visiting my mother. I'll probably be here a while," he paused, "What about yourself? If I had to wager a guess, I'd say you aren't from around here either.
She poured herself another cup of coffee and sighed, "No, no I'm not."
"Too or from?" he asked, "Are you running to or from something?"
Was she that easy to read? Maybe it was written all over her face. It might've been in the way she walked or the way she talked. It could be in the way she held her head. No one else saw it. He was the only one. That could only mean one thing. At some point, maybe now, he was running.
"My name isn't really Victoria. Not exactly."
"Running from, then," he concluded, "I cannot say that I blame you."
"You don't even know what I'm running from."
"I do not need to. I recognize that look in your eyes."
She smiled. It was nice to be understood.
"Do you plan on staying long?"
She hadn't thought about that. She just planned on staying until it was all over. Except, she didn't know what over was going to look like. It might end with Aunt Zelda showing up at Marie's front door, or Lucifer showing up at Selene's while she was getting her roots touched up.
She shrugged her shoulders, "I haven't really thought about it."
"I don't know how long I'll be staying either."
"If you liked the food here then maybe we'll be seeing more of each other."
"The food was incredible," he smirked, "And so was the service."
The smile that had been plastered on her face since he made her laugh just grew wider. She hoped and prayed that she didn't have lipstick on her teeth.
"It's getting late," he said, "It would be rude of me to keep you any longer."
Sabrina glanced up at the clock. It was ten twenty-three. Dining hours officially ended at ten o'clock, and so did Marie's mass. She hadn't even noticed that much time had gone by. Marie would be here to pick her up soon. Lazily, she ran the credit card he handed her through the register and handed him the receipt to sign.
In an effort not to stare at him, which was really hard to do as his hair fell over his face, she looked around and tried to think about the cleaning she had to do. Her gaze settled on the last piece of cherry pie in a glass cake dome on the counter. It would just go to waste if she didn't do something about it.
She opened the lid and packed it up into a small to-go bag. He handed her the receipt, and she handed him the bag in exchange.
"What's this?"
"Cherry pie," she answered him, "It's on the house."
He tried to shove the bag back into her hand, "I can't possibly accept-"
She cut him off, "It's the last piece. If you don't take it, it will just go to waste."
He somewhat reluctantly accepted her little gift.
"Welcome to New Orleans. There is no better place for adventure, or at least, that's what I've been told."
She was a little sad to see him go as he walked out the door. He was good company. She locked the front door behind him and watched as he got onto his motorcycle. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it looked sleek and well cared for. He looked back at her just as she was flipping the sign on the window from open to closed. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave. He raised his hand in response and returned her smile. After a few moments of just staring at each other, he turned and took off down the street.
She stood there for a few moments more, staring into the darkness. Eventually, she returned to the counter where he left his receipt. She picked it up and examined it. His handwriting was bold, large, loopy, and cursive. There was the slightest indent in the paper from the pressure he put on it with the pen. For no particular reason at all, or at least that's what she told herself, she folded up the receipt, tucked it into her pocket, and went back to work. There was cleaning to be done.
It wasn't as tedious today, and she didn't know why. Maybe it was because she was in a good mood. Tonight was the first time she had laughed in a long time. There wasn't exactly much to make her laugh on her trip here from Greendale. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, and the old sitcoms that were always playing in the motels she was staying in were only funny for so long. Especially when you had no one to watch them with.
In her good mood, she was able to get most of the cleaning done by the time Marie arrived. The tables had been wiped down, the dishes had been washed, and the floor had been swept.
Marie entered through the back door like she always did on Wednesdays, "How was the rest of your evening chérie?"
Sabrina looked down at the coffee-stained apron floating in the sink below her. She had been scrubbing at it relentlessly for a few minutes, and the stain was only just starting to fade. She could see her reflection in the water, and just for a split second, she thought she could see her mother staring back at her.
"I had an incident with some coffee," she gestured to the apron in the sink, "but I guess I had a pretty good evening. How was mass?"
"It was good," Marie replied, "We will leave this to soak with some dish soap and some vinegar and the stain will be gone by morning."
"Thanks," she said, "Sorry if I ruined it."
"There is no need to apologize. These things happen."
She retrieved her purse as Marie turned off the lights and the stove. They made their way out to her car when a question popped into Sabrina's mind, "Marie, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You already know about my parents, but I don't know anything about yours. What were they like?"
Marie smiled fondly, "My mother worked as a hairdresser. There were not a lot of salons that knew how to take care of black hair back then, so she was always busy, but she always made time for me. I remember how every Sunday after church, I would sit in front of her and she would comb and brush and twist my hair into the most beautiful styles to wear to school. While my mother was doing that, my father would be cooking Sunday dinner. The most wonderful smells would fill the house. He was the one who taught me how to cook."
They sounded like wonderful people. Wonderful people who raised another wonderful person. The kind of people that there should be more of in the world, "They sound amazing."
She nodded, "They were. My mother taught me to wear my hair with pride, and my father taught me the value of honest days' work and the importance of laughter. I miss them greatly."
Sabrina frowned. She didn't mean to make Marie sad, "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I am not upset, chérie, I am just wistful. Come now, it is late and we need our rest."
The drive home was uneventful. It was quiet again, but it felt different. It didn't bug her as she got out of the car, or as she sat down at the little desk in Marie's spare bedroom.
She pulled out a piece of paper from her bag and picked up a pen.
Dear Aunt Zee,
Today was a little better than yesterday. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one here who's running from something.
She pulled the receipt out of her pocket and examined it again. She traced the loop and curve of every letter with her eyes and ran her fingers over every indentation they made in the otherwise smooth paper.
Caliban King.