Breath In The Dark // P. BLACKWOOD

Chapter 10

Not Edited

It was nice and warm in the cottage that evening. The atmosphere was tranquil as Mary Wardwell stared at her ticking clock.

"Why, look at the time. It's almost midnight. Very nearly the witching hour. Time enough for one more story about Sabrina, as she takes one more step into fulfilling the Dark Lord's prophecy. And Mora, one more step closer to getting to know her true heritage." She said at ease, as she sipped her wine.

"It's a wonder anyone in Greendale was surprised by what happened the night of the storm."

"All the signs were there," she told her house guest wistfully, reminiscing on that glorious night, before locking on their eyes, "if you knew where to look."

"A dead bird brought in by a cat; a spilled bottle of black ink; a broken mirror in an empty room; a loaf of bread split clean down the middle; a blind woman knitting her own death shroud aware of what's coming."

.

Mora was in the garage, the hood of a green 1976 C-20 Chevy pickup truck propped open, a tool box beside the front wheel and legs sticking out from under the vehicle. That's how Matt found her.

Her cleared his throat, and before he chicken out, kicked her gently on the leg meaning for her to come out.

She sighed, "Dude, seriously. I'm good with either/or." Sliding out from under with the backboard, she saw it was in fact her dad and not Elijah with snacks. "Oh. You're back."

"Yeah, I am." He said. She said nothing and got up. She took a distributor that she had placed on the table early and went back to the engine bay.

"What are you doing with this old thing?" He asked her.

She froze for about a millisecond before answering as she place the distributor in the engine point, "Tommy and I would work on whenever we could, getting it ready for my 16th. Said he'd give it to me. And since he's not here—again—figured I'd fixed as much as I could. Distract myself for a bit."

She grabbed a screwdriver and started twisting on the first screw, "And if you're to forbid from taking it, try again next year—"

"No, no. He wanted you to have it. I'm not here to fight."

She looked up at him for a moment, "That's a first." He chuckled for a bit.

"Tell me about." He looked at her as she was focused on the car. Eyebrows furrowed, a piece of her dark hair falling to the sides of her face but the bandanna she had on prevented it from falling in front of her, obstructing her view.

"You look so much like her," he said softly.

"Like who?" she asked not fully paying attention.

"Your Mother."

The air went still. Her hands stopped moving as her mind rewinds the last five seconds.

She managed a "What?"

"Natasha would, uh, get this look when she'd be concentrated on something. You have that same look. You have her . That was one of the many things your father loved about her. That and her pastries. Oh, she would make the most heavenly tasting coconut cream pies. A-and I know you don't like coconut but you'd love hers." He assured her.

"Sophie's baking was terrible, though. God, she'd murder me if she heard me say that." He told her, chuckling softly.

"What are you doing?" he heard a voice say so softly, he almost missed it. Mora had long since abandoned the truck and was staring at him with tearful eyes.