Claire's: The Devil's Threeway
Claire did, in fact, have the door unlocked while also having the wards down. The wards had not been put up for a long time. She had stopped being afraid of anything coming to harm her in this town. The soft notes of Memoryhouse hung in the air to keep the house from feeling so empty. Slate eyes, bloodshot and rimmed wet, flicked across the items that were laid out on the counter. Her french press, hot with steeping tea. A tin of Russian Caravan. The teacup that had been bought on impulse. An antique silver teapot. Her gaze lingered on the intricate curves etched in the silver. The teapot would not be used for tea as other small precious items were kept inside; a bundle of letters, a shard of opal, a makeup stained handkerchief, and an empty red and gold bottle of rose oil. As she had told Lucifer earlier, she had faith that Misha would return. She had to believe that or she would drive herself mad. If he was gone, then there would be no way for Daniel to get back, and that would be all her fault.
Her home was as cute and cozy as ever, impeccably clean, but it had not felt right for a very long time. Since the Cardinals. The only sign that someone was actually living there were the scattered papers and boxes full of food for the Mainchance holiday food drive that were on her living room table. A good hostess would have prepared something for her guests. That thought did hang in the back of her mind. Yet, despite manners, she could not bring herself to move from where she was beyond typing in messages on her phone. So, feeling sorry for herself amid the entire unreality that clawed at her mind, Claire sat on the kitchen counter, knees pulled up and held tight to her chest, while she waited for Lucifer and his favorite demon to arrive.