Chapter Text
Abaddon crouched in the dark, knees drawn to his chest, his breath slow and measured. The vents had been his refuge for days. A narrow, metallic heaven where no one could reach him. ‘The Hunter’, Nathan, hadn’t come by in a while; if he were still around, Abaddon half-expected to see a broom handle gently prod through the grate in some pitiful attempt to flush him out.
‘I have finally claimed this territory for the Cobra King,’ he thought to himself, his chest swelling. ‘This crumbling, dilapidated husk shall be my fortress, and I its sovereign. I will rule it well.’
The mustached man with his never-ending parade of moth-holed sweaters was already forgotten. Abaddon had greater visions: the careful arrangement of bones drafted into blueprints for a future throne room. Just as he perfected his architectural draft, his fantasy was shattered by a door slam somewhere below. The ducts quivered, and Abbaddon jerked, his skull cracking against the metal. A scowl twisted his lips as he crawled toward the grate, ready to punish the offender who dared interrupt his triumph. Through the thin slats of the vent, the boyish outline of his face pressed close to the grate. Through the metal, he could vaguely make out a mortal woman. Her hair was bound tight behind her head, like a French soldier, Abaddon thought. He watched in silence as she tore through the room, smashing vases, splintering furniture, kicking holes in the plaster. The French have very short tempers. Abaddon had experienced it firsthand while wandering through the Napoleonic Wars.
At last, she collapsed before his hiding spot, rage collapsing into grief. Pain carved itself into her face, a face that sparked something in Abaddon. He had seen it before, her and her offspring, pinned in photographs Nathan had plastered throughout the hotel. Recognition narrowed his gaze as he lingered at the slats, studying her with sharp, suspicious interest.
“Fucking idiot!” She wept, voice fraying. Her lip quivered, fury and sorrow feeding into one another, as she fought the bubbling rage that nearly ate her up entirely. Her eyes flickered upward, the same way sinners at Abbadon’s mercy once begged for mercy from God. “How could you do this to us? You didn’t even try to talk to me! Nathan…” She folded into herself, knees clutched tight.
From her spilled bag, papers scattered across the floor. One pamphlet landed square in Abaddon’s line of sight, Nathan’s face stamped across it. He didn’t need to sound out much; he wasn’t the strongest reader, but one word burned familiar: Obituary. Clawed fingers darted through the slats, and he began to pull it toward the dark.
The woman blinked, barely processing what could be tugging at the funeral program. The hotel had always harbored its share of strange happenings, whenever she stayed, rare as those visits were. Now she found herself locked in a tug of war with what was probably one of the ghosts or ghouls Nathan was always rambling bout.
“Hey! Stop! Stop it! That’s mine!”
The struggle ended in a sharp tear. The paper split in half, vanishing into the grate with Abaddon, and the other clutched trembling in her hands. She lunged for the vent, fingers scraping against the metal, attempting to drag whatever thief lurked inside out into the light. But whatever this was, it was quicker, slippier, and after a few useless swipes, she dropped her hands in defeat. Her chest heaved once, then again, until the fight finally drained out of her and her breath became weak quivers. The tears returned heavier than before, and she returned to her spot on the stained carpet to fall apart once more.
Hours blurred together, her sobbing the only sound besides the too-fast ticking of the wall clock. When Katherine finally hauled herself upright, her eyes were swollen and her throat raw. She drifted toward the kitchen on heavy feet, needing water to soothe the headache that pounded against her skull. The sight there was worse than she remembered: dishes stacked and food left to rot. The air was sour with neglect since Nathan’s death, with all his unfinished repair jobs scattered around the room, and the cupboards yawned open. She turned the faucet anyway, water spurting and coughing from disuse. She scrubbed at a plate just to feel her hands busy when a sharp rattle sounded beneath the counter. At first, she thought it was a rat in the supply closet, something she couldn’t bring herself to care about.
But then the door burst open and a filthy boy tumbled out, a bottle of cleaner tilted to his lips. It took her a moment to register what she was seeing. He looked like some street urchin, ragged and thin, face smeared with dirt. Then horror snapped her into motion. “Jesus Christ, spit that out!” she shouted, lunging forward. Her hands locked hard around his wrists as she wrenched the bottle away, panic tightening in her chest. “Goddammit, kid, you’ll kill yourself! You’ve gotta throw it up. Throw it up!” Her voice cracked as she dragged him toward the sink, maternal instinct running hot and rough, fueled by grief and desperation.
But the boy fought like something feral. He kicked and writhed, teeth snapping close to her skin. “You dare command Abaddon?! High Prince of the Black Realm?!” he spat, thrashing in her grip. Katherine doubled down, refusing to let go, until he sank his teeth deep into her arm. But it wasn’t the bite that broke her hold. It was the sudden glow, red and burning, that flickered in his eyes as his rage surfaced.
Katherine stumbled back, clutching her bitten arm, her breath ragged with shock. Before she could even speak, the boy darted past her with startling speed and snatched her phone straight off the counter. He clutched it to his chest like treasure, then bolted to the far corner of the kitchen.
“Hey! You've got to be kidding me. Give me back my phone!” She barked, but he was already pressing buttons with frantic, clumsy motions, as if trying to understand the intent of such a device. The screen’s glow washed his sharp, small face in the pale light as his fingers fumbled. He glanced up at Katherine before tucking the phone into his breeches for later. He then calmly pulled out his crumpled half of the funeral program. “Where is this man? Is he expired? Are you here to take his place?” Abaddon spoke, though his words were broken by a kind of desperation Katherine didn’t expect.
Katherine froze, heart hammering. What the hell was wrong with this kid? Children didn’t speak like that, and they certainly didn’t have eyes that glowed in the dark as his did. Yet his wrists were so thin, his clothing was in tatters, and his movements were wild and just the slightest bit scared. She tried to make sense of it, her voice trembling. “What the hell are you?”
Abaddon’s gaze snapped up to her, sharp and accusing. “You will tell me. Where is the innkeeper?” His voice cracked with a mix of fury and something almost like grief, echoing strangely within the small body it occupied. A notification buzzed in his pocket; he flinched, then fumbled the phone out and stared. He jabbed at the screen with awkward, impatient motions, then suddenly went very still, his shoulders slumping, hands loosening around the device. For a second, he looked, absurdly, like a child.
Katherine felt a chill go down her spine as she backed up her hands searching for any form of weapon she could find behind her. She rolled a hammer off the counter slowly, the weight heavy against her palm. She rolled it in her hand gently but couldn’t bring herself to swing. She let herself sink into a chair instead, watching him lock her out of her phone by entering the incorrect password. When she said it at last, the words felt like gravel in her mouth. “He’s dead.”
At that, Abaddon’s face fell. The war within him stalled as he stared at her with an indifferent expression. He remained silent for a while, his eyes flickering to the torn page of the obituary. After a long silence, Katherine surprised herself by answering with another question, something softer: “Are you… hungry?” She shoved herself up and crossed to the sagging pantry, clinging to the familiar rhythms of caring for two kids, even if this wasn’t her child, or a child at all. “We’ve got canned beans, stale bread…cereal.”
Abaddon blinked, confusion and hunger warring on his face. He walked over, pulling a chair with him so he could look into the pantry. “Fruit Loops. Bring them to me.” He pointed at the cereal box with ridiculous authority that resembled a child playing pretend. Katherine shook her head once with exhaustion and grabbed the box, only to watch crumbs fall out of the bottom that mice had gnawed through. She swore to herself before glancing at Abaddon’s face, his large eyes hopeful for a bowl of cereal.
The engine coughed twice before the car finally turned over, headlights cutting pale cones through the dark, empty road. Katherine gripped the wheel tighter than she needed to; the boy, or whatever he was, hunched in the passenger seat with his knees tucked up, his eyes wide at the things passing by so quickly. He hadn’t spoken since the kitchen, just stared out the window, his reflection lit by the passing streetlamps. “So,” Katherine muttered, breaking the silence, “Do you have a name?”
His gaze didn’t move from the glass, but his lips parted. “Abaddon.” The word landed heavily, like it should mean something to her. But he didn’t add on his usual spiel about being the Cobra King or the Prince of Darkness. Katherine snorted, exhausted but unafraid to jab bitterly at the demon in her car. “Sure. Sounds like something out of a heavy metal band. But fine. Sure. Abaddon.” She gripped the stirring wheel, trying to calm herself. “And what are you exactly? You talk like a priest, you bite like some sort of rodent, and you glow in the dark. That’s not normal, I’m not an idiot.”
At that, his eyes slid toward her, red irises catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I am no child, I am Abbaddon.” He sat up, pulling himself toward the front seat to meet her head-on. “High Prince of the Black Realm. Cursed Decedent of the-” Katherine slammed on the brakes, partly to obey a traffic light but also to teach the demon a lesson. “Yeah, well, Prince Abbaddon, if you’re going to be in my car, you’re going to wear a seatbelt,” Katherine said flatly, flicking on her blinker as they turned toward the 24-hour grocery store. “Prince or not, I won’t get a ticket because of you.”
Before he could spit out another grand title, the car console chimed. Her phone, still synced to Bluetooth, lit up with her oldest’s name, Ben. Katherine tapped the steering wheel to answer, her voice softening immediately.
“Hey, honey. Sorry, I’ve been at your uncle’s. Everything alright?”
“Hey, Mom, can you pick up some more fabric softener? This motel’s sheets are just too starchy and are causing that heat rash I told you about to flare and-”
“Children?” Abaddon curiously lifted his head after trying to mimic Katherine’s seat belt usage, staring at the dashboard. “You’ve got children trapped in that box?”
Katherine shot him a look but kept her voice steady, “Ben, can’t you last a few nights until I clean up the hotel? Just… text me if you need anything from the store.” She ended the call, dragging a hand down her face.
“Look,” She said firmly, “I don’t know what you are, but after this run, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to hole up. My kids are moving in, and this move is hard enough without some… whatever you are squatting in the vents and drinking Clorox. Got it?” Abbaddon’s eyebrows furrowed, his pride flared, but he remained silent. He didn’t answer. Just turned back to the window, glaring at the wilderness he once inhabited for thousands of years.
Katherine parked outside the brightly lit grocery store and sat with the engine idling, staring at the dashboard. Abaddon’s gaze flicked between the neon signs and the empty parking lot, restless and irritated. Katherine debated internally on whether or not she should let him inside. On the one hand, she didn’t trust his mysterious intentions to behave inside the store. But on the other hand, leaving him alone in a vehicle felt like an invitation for disaster. With a sigh, she opened the back door. “Come on, let’s go.”
Katherine yanked him along, lifting him and buckling him into a cart like a squirming child, kicking and flailing. “How dare you! UNHAND ME!” he roared, the words turning into shrieks. People passing in the lot froze mid-step, glancing at the woman who calmly pushed what looked unmistakably like a wiggling, screaming child in a shopping cart. Katherine ignored the stares. Today, she couldn’t care less what anyone thought of her. She was in stained clothes and hadn’t slept in a week. Besides, she had her fair share of tantrums; this wasn’t anything new.
Inside, Abbaddon thrashed violently, lunging for her as she pushed him just out of reach. But out of habit, Katherine pulled out her phone and shoved it in Abbaddon’s hands to hopefully get him to relax. She unknowingly played a song that she had saved from years ago, some corny beach song she kept from when her kids were toddlers. The melody spilled out, light and carefree, utterly incongruous against the chaos. At first, Abaddon’s screams paused, then faltered, his head tilted. The wild movements slowed. He leaned forward, fascinated, red eyes fixed on the phone, pressing a tentative finger to the screen to repeat the song. Again. And again. Katherine let him, pushing the cart slowly down the aisles. When they reached the cereal aisle, she grabbed a box of Fruit Loops and a carton of milk. Abaddon barely registered her reaching for them; his focus was locked on the screen, the tune looping endlessly.
Katherine rolled her eyes, muttering softly to herself. “I really gotta clear out the storage on my phone.”