Oh the confines of mortality, continuity, and conventionalism. Rarely would I find myself a vehicle of any of those adjectives; larger than life, unable to continue an activity longer than a goldfish's memory span, and what... who, me? Conventional? There's a stronger chance you'd find Lucifer's name under the Webster definition of conventional. But who am I kidding; aren't we related? It's entirely possible that it's my own inclination towards the derisively dark relation and I am not actually related to the Angel of Light. Oh wait, that's not proper. We're not supposed to paint the Dark King in a light way.

But hey, the guy had nice blonde hair. Give him that.

Regardless of what I might profess to be or not be, there's one fact surrounding my return to Sacrosanct. I'd needed the time to myself, I'd needed the time to expel whatever demons were in my path before assuming my regular appearances and duties. Askaree and Spencer were successful running Arsenaal. Tetradore had his hands on any of my shipments, Tobias probably killed all of my cats or created a Feline Empire, Rowena had seamlessly taken care of any Coven and Witch business and Serafina â€" well. The areas of my life that needed to be run were run by efficient hands and minds and had put me at considerable ease. Elenore returned to Sacrosanct upon my arrival as well; while her absence might not have been as all-inclusive as my own, Elenore had kept a low profile while I was Missing in Something But Probably Action. And Finley?

To be fair, Finley had left his job at the Cat's Meow on a moment's notice for me. He had packed his bag and climbed into the seat of a truck I hadn't driven in a while, anticipating a destination neither of us had been in too long. Savannah was a long drive.

Maybe my affiliation with some darker presence was magnified because Savannah was hot enough that it was almost impossible to believe the devil wasn't prancing about the streets. If he was, I didn't see him, just the demons I was closest to. Then again, isn't that always how it is when you retreat to your old stomping grounds? Upon return to Sacrosanct, I think my internal temperature lowered at least 20 degrees and I took a sigh of relief as the wait of the demons leashed to us were released.

I suppose it's important to have an excuse to offer any of my associates or those who know me, but then again when has that mattered? I have doubts that any of them might venture to ask me where I'd been. What I'd been doing. Who I was with. Many of them would know better than to ask, many of them would simply wait for the answers to fall from my mouth uttered as singular glimpses behind the iron curtain. Never had it registered that there might be individuals who missed me, but I'm not entirely reliable about who I decide might not miss my presence. Surely Damon and Isolt had noted my lack of appearance on my typical bar stool in the corner by the whiskey at Red on the Water. Perhaps Alexis had noticed there was no shadow intent on stroking her fur in her second form. And maybe Azrael had enjoyed a clearer schedule now that I hadn't wrecked any havoc to burden him with.

The familiar doors parted for me when I stepped up to them, acknowledging the door tender with a brief nod before I slipped between them and felt the faintest of smiles touch my lips when the very wood the establishment was built upon gently quacked when it felt my presence. The shudder of magic tingled from my fingertips, rushing through my veins with a venom-like presence as it found my feet and flooded to every part of me as the floor energized the magic I had allowed a rest. A similar shudder ran up my spine, and I rolled my neck as if accepting the presence of buzzing magic before effortlessly parting the crowded room to walk towards the bar and accept the drink the bartender had already prepared for me upon my entrance into the establishment. The whiskey would warm my throat and belly, but it did nothing to quell the manic stir of mischief brewing. I accepted the drink and took a sip before slipping into a seat that was directly in line with the offices of the management so I could intercept either Damon or Isolt before they missed my presence. The typical waitresses watched me with unease as they so often did, avoiding the table. With not so much of a sigh as an exhale, the magic buzz in my veins seemed to settle to a dull throb, reminding me that there was oh so much I had to do now.



Oh, that's right. I'm home.