Sabrina had hated Hell when she’d first been introduced to it. It was the place that had taken everything from her, forcing her into a role that she hadn’t wanted to play, tying her to a father she’d never wanted to acknowledge. When pieces of it had started arriving in Vallo she’d raged against it, tried multiple ways to destroy it and then locked it away, content to let it do its own thing, hopeful that it would burn itself down.
But the fires raged on and while it didn’t gain new souls, it kept on existing. Flourishing in ways that she hadn’t been able to understand at sixteen. Half in the mortal world, half in Hell. That was before she’d died for her world (for the third time, but who was counting) and then been thrust back into it. She’d been needed but Nick wasn’t, sacrificed to stay behind in her place. More bullshit about balancing the realms and a thousand little betrayals that she didn’t have the compassion to forgive her family for their part in anymore.
Forgive but don’t forget, had been a lesson someone had tried to impart. Sabrina would rather do neither. For at least another century or two.
The Hell in Vallo wasn’t complete, bits and pieces of the realm that molded to her will when she decided to grace it with her presence. Her alternate self had reveled in its power when she’d forsaken it, desperate to be normal just a little longer. Go to mortal school and the witch academy, live with her aunts, have mortal friends and witch ones, live as though she was like anyone else.
But she wasn’t normal. She’d never been and never would be.
Everything had become a lot easier once she accepted that fact. Hell breathed easier, altering its appearance to her whims as she stepped into the place, the demons quickly following suit. They wanted entertainment and she wanted to be entertained. It was easier to do inside Pandemonium’s palace walls, far away from the tormented souls that begged for an audience, desperate for some relief.
There was only so much she could give, the shifting of souls a precarious balancing game that she was still figuring out the rules to. But that wasn’t what tonight was about anyway.
The throne room was draped in red, statues restored from the crumbled mess she’d made of them as a teenager. Demons moved about, their laughter off kilter as they danced and conversed, bowing whenever she passed them. Sabrina hadn’t bothered with one of her crowns, settling on a red dress with a short skirt and a dipping neckline. Gold skulls were embroidered along the edges, looking as though they were screaming whenever she spun around. Tables overflowed with food and alcohol as music was pumped into the room. She didn’t know from where and she didn’t particularly care as she reached for Callum’s hand, intent on pulling him onto the dance floor.
Callum Nova had been raised Catholic, which was a laugh. He liked the aesthetics of the religion, but had little use for its specificities; the vibes were good, the Word was not. The most fun he’d ever had with religion had been horrifying the priest during confession, making up wild stories and forcing the poor man to believe them. He was the backstory to some sot losing his faith, which entertained him greatly. The whole concept of religion largely bored him.
But parties, he liked those. Callum was great at parties. Parties in hell? Sure. He’d have gone to Holy Mass more if there’d been a good sound system.
He set his empty drink glass onto the tray of a passing demon and accepted Sabrina’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled. She was the queen; she got what she wanted - even if they both knew that Callum did nothing that he didn’t want to do at any time.
“Things seem to be going well. Everyone here is afraid of you,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. He was barely even paying attention to his powers; it was obvious that the staff here respected Sabrina.
“Fear is the only way to get anything done around here.” Sabrina had tried other ways when she was younger, but kindness and compromise had led to attempts to usurp her power.
She’d seen futures play out where they locked her away and Hell tried to take over the mortal realm (and failed) because she’d thought demons might play fairly. She’d seen Heaven come in and kill everyone but herself as well. There was no real loyalty in the place. The demons liked to play at it, but they would quickly betray one another if it meant they got a step up in the ladder.
Only the animals understood loyalty. They were the ones she was kind to. Well, and some of the souls, but most who ended up in Hell had deserved their fate.
“There’s princes and lords and kings.” Knights and dukes and an array of other titles. Sabrina never remembered all of their names. “They all think about being the one to run Hell, to take over, but the place falls apart without a Morningstar running it.” Literally fell apart. She’d seen that happen a few times too. “And Lucifer and Rory aren’t quite the right type so oh well. They get to deal with me.” The half mortal. The ones that had really bothered were all dead. She’d tired of listening to their bitching.
“Your old coworkers are fitting in nicely.” Sabrina gestured to where some of the former Demonikea employees were moving around. They did a great job handing out cocktails.
“That’s the problem with a family business. It’s required to be run by family.” Callum managed an expression that was both long-suffering and superior. “Who likes that? No one likes that.”
He could sympathize with Sabrina. God knew he didn’t want to have much to do with illusions, despite Nova industries running so much of the elite world. At least Sabrina was free to run things as she saw fit now. The thought of having so much power was enough to give Callum nausea; responsibility? Hard work? Ick.
He glanced without care toward where she was gesturing, and saw a few familiar faces from Demonikea. “See? They just needed a little direction.”
“They’re decent and unlikely to try to instigate a mutiny.” Which was all the criteria Sabrina had for them. Out with the old and in with the new.
She deliberately steered them away from his old colleagues and snagged two more flutes of champagne from the passing trays. There was a time when it would have been blood illusioned to look like champagne, the foods molded and covered in worms and flies with an illusion to look like a scrumptious feast. Now it was all real, edible for her half-mortal stomach. It wasn’t like the demons needed any of it to survive anyway. Most of them feasted on emotions while in Hell.
“I don’t think we’ve done the grand tour yet.” Of the palace. She wasn’t sure how Callum would do out in the rest of Hell where the souls could be pure emotion from time to time, their pain and suffering ripe for the picking. “Do you want one?”
“Maybe of the bedroom.” It was an obvious joke, but Callum was on his fourth glass of champagne and frankly didn’t put much stock in originality. He took a drink of the champagne and left the glass on the tray of a passing demon. The sticky sensation of envy moved over him, and he blinked, recognizing it as not of him. It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint the origin of the emotion; Callum’s eyes narrowed and he indicated the female-appearing demon in the corner glaring daggers at the two of them.
“Or the dungeon,” he added after a moment. “That one there is going to be a problem for you. Do you know her?”
Ah. “Lucia.” Of course it was that one. “She was one of my dad’s concubines.” She hadn’t made any waves before, but any chance of Lucia rising in ranks had ceased. All of her former allies were dead.
Younger Sabrina would have tried compromising with her, offering up some sort of place in the higher court to stave off whatever jealousy lingered. Younger her had believed Hell could be a kinder place. She’d been wrong. Hell was Hell and compromise was only going to be seen as weakness.
Sabrina passed off her glass and snapped her fingers. The demon’s head snapped and she fell to the floor. Dead. Those around her looked down as she dropped before carrying on as if nothing had happened, the band never missing a beat. A minion would dispose of her soon enough.
She extended her hand toward Callum. “The dungeon is currently occupied but we can head down there if you really want.”
Callum downed the rest of his glass. “Let’s skip the dungeon,” he quipped, “as there’s adequate dinner and a show here.” So much for Lucia, whoever she had been. Callum didn’t concern himself with wondering. He fluttered his eyelashes toward Sabrina, and offered her an arm. “Gosh, does this make me a narc?”
He supposed a hungrier Callum would have been thrilled to play the game of ambition, but he hadn’t been that Callum in years. Ambition - seeking of some sort of cosmic pat on the head, some affirmation that you were worth something - largely dull stuff, in his estimation. It was a lot more fun being what amounted to hell’s trophy husband.
“Pretty sure you’re supposed to get some tacky medal or something now since you technically helped the queen.” Sabrina wrinkled her nose as she tucked her arm in his. The upper echelon of demons were glancing their way and back at Lucia’s body. Ugh. “But I really don’t want to deal with the bloodshed that would lead to. One of the new Plague Kings would probably demand to rip the medal off someone else, there’d be some protesting, and then they’ll devolve into stabbing and ripping one another limb from limb.” She motioned down at her dress. “I don’t want to get blood all over this.”
She steered him away from the swelling crowd and off the dance floor. “What about a crown? I’ve got a room full of those and they don’t get a say in any of that. Not all of them are shaped like bones.”
“One murder is spicy, a massacre is messy,” Callum agreed, allowing himself to be steered. “Be good!” He couldn’t resist calling over his shoulder at the staring demons in the tone of a particularly syrupy preschool teacher, then he turned his full attention to Sabrina.
“You’ve a room full of crowns. How very King Charles the II of you. Very well, I do enjoy trying on hats; let’s have it.”
“I don’t think we have anything of his, but I’ve got one of Queen Victoria’s tiaras.” The Lucifer in Vallo had given it to her. “It’s my favorite of the lot. I’ve had the ones made for me designed after that one. I think there’s a couple of Henry the VIII’s too and Anne Boleyn’s.”
Sabrina waved her hand and the large doors opened to a dimly lit room. Black pedestals with bottoms like dragon's feet dotted the room, a different crown resting on top of each one. Most of them were golden and shaped like finger bones jutting upward. There were a few black ones with a similar design.
“That one’s Herod’s.” Sabrina nodded to a silver crown. “And that one’s Solomon’s.” Her favorites were in the back. Queen Victoria’s emerald tiara sat on one of the pillows and beyond it were other tiaras with different jewels. “Which do you want?”
After momentary consideration, Callum grabbed Herod’s crown. Anything too grandiose or heroic felt patently wrong; Herod’s crown wasn’t one of the finer ones but felt solid and well-crafted. And he’d always preferred silver to gold.
He didn’t ask how it looked, instead striking a pose and batting his eyelashes at her. “What occasion do you ever have to use so many crowns? …not coming from a place of judgment, of course. You should see my collection of white silk shirts at home.”
“Well, I wore a few at my coronation back home, for the actual ceremony and then another for the events afterward. It’s not easy to dance with the bulkier ones.” She reached up and adjusted the crown to sit better on his head, giving a nod once it was where she liked it best. “Technically, I wore two different ones on my two failed coronations that my father tried forcing me into. So I wasn’t wearing those again.” Sabrina pointed to the two offenders and then plucked one of the tiaras off their pillow, plopping it down onto her head.
“And I have to wear them back home when I’m dealing with the rulers of different realms. Especially the fae one. They’re big sticklers on protocol.” Thankfully she had nothing to do with the ones in Vallo. “I don’t really wear them much in Vallo but I have to keep Hell’s goldsmiths busy so I commission new ones every so often. Plus they’re pretty and I like pretty things.”
“Hell has goldsmiths.” Callum mused on that for a moment. “Do they have garbage collectors?” It was quite the populated little ‘ville, from what he’d heard about it. Callum had minimal interest in hell as a place to rule, but he didn’t mind visiting provided that it was entirely Sabrina’s headache. “I feel like if hell has garbage collectors, Milton would have mentioned it.”
He glanced at her in her tiara, and offered his hand. “Well. Beauty like that can’t be hidden from an adoring, if somewhat victimized crowd. Let’s head back upstairs and see if they’ve cleaned up Lucia enough that there’s a dance floor again.”