sanctuary | on hold indefinitely

ten | domum praesidio

Greer hadn't wanted to come. She hadn't intended to come. She had looked her grandfather in the eye at breakfast this morning and told him that she would be in the studio all day. And yet, when she had gotten down there to her damp little room in the basement, the smell of the paint fumes making her dizzy, she had imagined Devan Lee waiting in the middle of nowhere for someone who was not coming. She couldn't do that to someone who had asked for her help, not when she had already agreed. Besides, she would never hear the end of it from Shyla if she did.

That was why she had parked by the side of the road after a two-and-a-half-hour drive, taken a deep breath in, and began traipsing through farms and then, the further out she got, woods. It was damp everywhere, the pungent smell of the moist earth suffocating. She had not been prepared for a hike, and she was following the map on her phone to keep from getting completely lost. She wondered more than once how she could cast a protection spell on a property when there was no property here. Even the sheep in the fields around her looked surprised to see her.

Her shoes were caked in mud by the time she found the clearing, her legs aching from scrambling through underbrush and over fallen tree trunks and her phone no longer in service. In the centre of it, beside a brook that rushed noisily with this morning's rain, stood a small cabin that was barely bigger than a garden shed. The wooden panels were dark and old, rotting, and one of the windows had shattered. Whatever Greer had expected, this had not been it.

She trudged through the clearing and knocked on the door timidly, pulling her backpack closer to her body as the feeling of being exposed in such a deserted part of the world caused her hair to stand on end. With a loud creak, the door opened, disrupting the bed of weeds that served in place of a welcome mat.

Devan was almost unrecognisable without her hood and sunglasses on. Her face was rounder when it was free of shadows, her features softer, younger, though still no friendlier. She was disheveled, too, her clothes torn and soiled with mud and her hair a wild mass of black curls.

"Well," she said impatiently, leaning against the door frame with an arched eyebrow, "are you going to stand outside all day or are you going to come in?"

Greer stepped inside, feeling the wooden floorboards shift beneath her shoes. The interior was no better than the exterior. Cobwebs hung in the dark corners of the cabin, and it was empty save for a few cupboards, an old table, and a sleeping bag on the floor, which Greer presumed was Devan's being as it was the only thing here that wasn't covered in dust. It was draughty where the autumn breeze blew in through the broken window, and a stale smell hung in the air.

"You could have chosen anywhere and you chose this?" Greer questioned, turning to frown at Devan.

"Sincerest apologies, Mrs. Protector. I didn't realise the cabin I found in the middle of nowhere was not up to your standards of real estate. I assure you, I won't be staying here long." Devan crossed her arms, her lips pursed. The light pooled in from the square windows in a silver sliver that fell over the top half of her face, illuminating the blue cracks hidden in her irises. She would not look as though she belonged in the shadows of the cabin, where the spiders lived, if it was not for those eyes: detached, cold, hooded.

"Thanks for coming, Greer, I really appreciate the help." Greer mimicked Devan's Southern-English accent as she placed her bag down on the table and unzipped it with a forceful tug. "Oh, don't worry. I only drove three hours and went on a small hike to find you. It was nothing, really."

"Are you this polite with all of your clients?" There was a hint of amusement in Devan's tone.

She ignored the question, pulling out her herbs and crystals and lining them up on the table instead. "Can't Dark witches have anything they want? I'm still failing to see why you need my help."