Hells' library was many wonderful things but organized, it was not.
At least, it wasn't organized in any way that Sabrina understood. She had tried her best to familiarize herself with the layout since becoming a permanent resident, but she'd had very little success.
It wasn't all bad, though. On days where she wasn't holding court, she could disappear between the shelves for hours. Every so often she would stumble upon a new section of books, and spend her whole day there. Something about reading the works of Shakespeare in his own handwriting was incredibly exciting.
Every alcove and isle gave her a sense of privacy and security. Most of the time, no one bothered her. Except for Caliban, who always seemed to know exactly where to find her. He knew the library like the back of his hand. It usually bothered her, but today she was grateful for it. They didn't have time to be wandering around aimlessly.
He did make a few wrong turns, but she said nothing. It wasn't as if he read about Eldritch Terrors on a regular basis. If he did, well, that would just be weird.
"Here they are," Caliban said, reaching for several leather-bound journals.
She took a look at the shelf they were on. The whole shelf was full of journals.
"Are these all Lovecraft's?" she asked.
He nodded, "His visions of the Terrors drove him mad, and he spent all of his time recounting them in his journals."
She reached for another one of the journals and turned it over in her hands, "We'd better get started. There's a lot to cover here."
"Couldn't agree more," he said, "There is a fireplace close by if you would be comfortable working there."
"Sounds good."
It wasn't the same fireplace they sat in front of while searching for the Pygmalion Spell, but it looked enough like it to stir up old memories. It had the same macabre carvings and the same plush carpets. It was tucked away in a small alcove, forcing its occupants into close proximity.
Your heart might've softened towards me by then...
She no longer felt the desire to rip him limb from limb or crush him beneath her feet just because she could. He was useful. But, not wanting to brutally murder him was not the same as professing her undying love for him. So, she supposed it was all in how he decided to measure success.
The first journal she had read, something called 'The Alchemist,' yielded nothing useful and she set it aside before reaching for the next.
"May I ask you something?"
She hummed her assent as she started to read.
"Who is Tommy Kinkle?"
"Why do you care?"
He shrugged, avoiding her gaze, "You seemed upset when he was mentioned earlier."
"Tommy Kinkle is-" she paused to correct herself, "Was Harvey's brother."
"He's passed on, then," Caliban observed, "My condolences."
"He didn't 'pass on.' He was murdered," she informed him, "I killed him."
"You're not a killer." The tone in his voice was serious. He didn't believe her.
"Harvey's ancestry is... interesting. He is descended from witch hunters. The Weird Sisters found out after his father shot a wild familiar in the woods," she explained, "Dorcas and Agatha collapsed the mine Tommy and Harvey were working in. Harvey survived, thanks to a protection spell I cast, but Tommy didn't."
"That is not your fault, my lady," he tried to comfort.
"Maybe not," she agreed, "But I resurrected him, in exchange for Agatha."
"A soul for a soul."
"I tried to bend the laws of the Universe, and I failed," she had no idea why she was telling him any of this, but there was no point in stopping now, "Tommy was soulless, and Agatha was coughing up graveyard dirt. There was no saving Tommy, but Agatha was saved when Harvey... He put a bullet in his own brother's brain."
"My lady," Caliban said.
"That," she said, "That is on me, and the last thing I need is one of your smart-mouthed comments about how I should've known better."
She threw the journal onto the table. It was just as useless as the first, if not more so. There was no mention of Eldritch abominations. It was all about brick houses and rose gardens and the Industrial Revolution. She reached for the next one, opening it up to a random page.
"I was going to say that your heart was in the right place."
"Really?" she asked, somewhat skeptically.
He nodded, and she was once again reminded of the Pygmalion Spell.
Your heart might've softened towards me by then...
"Whatever," she turned back to her book, "I don't need your sympathy."
"You do not need anything from me, my queen," he said softly, "But, whatever you desire from me is yours."
She pretended not to hear him. Pretended that his voice wasn't drenched in devotion. She pretended that she didn't like it because she didn't hear anything so there was nothing for her to like. She pretended that she wasn't starting to understand why her father was so arrogant if devotion made him feel like this.
She didn't hear anything. Not a single word.
It took several minutes for her to focus on the page in front of her. By the time she did, she was ready to dismiss it as the ramblings of a mad man, but a single sentence caught her eye.
Then the lights went out all over the city...
"Third time's a charm," she murmured and handed the book to Caliban, "Look at this."
He took the book from her hands and raked his eyes over the page. When he was finished, he turned to the next page.
"A rising wind blew out most of the candles so that the scene grew threateningly dark..." he read, "Dark . . . The lightning seems dark and the darkness seems light. . . ."
"Is that all it says?" she questioned.
"He keeps saying the Darkness 'escaped,' that he released it."
"So, it can be contained?"
"It appears that way, my lady. It was contained in a box in a church, but it fails to mention how it ended up that way."
Well, that didn't help. It wasn't as if either of them was going to be able to enter a church. It did make a certain amount of sense, though. Absolute Darkness in a place full of light...
"I think I know how we can trap it," she blurted out.
Caliban looked at her expectantly.
"It's drawn to light, so we just need a vessel full of light to hold it," she said, "A lantern."
"That could work," he agreed, "Where did this idea transpire from?"
"There was this old story I stumbled across. Ambrose told me never to mention it again, that it was blasphemous, but I never forgot it. It was about a man who tricked the Devil."
"I've never heard of such a story."
"I'm not surprised," she said, "Long story short; a really awful man died. When he went up to the gates of Heaven he was rejected, so he came to the gates of Hell. During his life, though, he managed to trick my father into making a deal. A deal to never let him into his kingdom. That meant that he was doomed to wander the Earth for all eternity. My father sent him into the darkness, with only a coal from the fires of Hell to light his way. He put it in a lantern, and, apparently, it still burns to this day. If a lantern can hold hellfire, why can't it hold the Darkness?"
"That is brilliant, my lady," Caliban complimented, "The Darkness' desire to consume all light will leave it unable to resist the allure of Hellfire."
"Exactly," she said, glad that they were on the same page, "So, are you ready to save the world?"
Caliban chuckled, "I always thought I would be the one to damn it."
"Very funny," she huffed, snatching the journal from his hands and heading for the library's exit, "Come on, we have work to do."
She didn't turn around to see if he was following her, because he'd made it clear that he would follow her anywhere. Even into the Darkness.
***
A/N The work I am referencing here is 'The Haunter of the Dark' by H.P Lovecraft if you want to check it out.