Chapter Text
January 2019
A spoon slips off one of their mother’s best saucers and clatters to the floor. The old adage immediately comes to mind, but Zelda looks at her as if daring her to say it, so Hilda bites her tongue.
Nearly a month later and they’re still finding Lettie’s things about the house in unexpected places.
Zelda makes an extensive list of things to take to baby Leticia, plans a time she can make the trip to Desmelda’s later in the week.
Hilda consults her own calendar.
A Few Years Later
The man standing on their porch has her daughter’s lovely olive complexion and traces of her dark curly hair left in his gray.
She has never wanted to kill anyone more.
“Zelda.” He smiles. “It’s been awhile. I don’t know if you remember me--”
“I do.”
There’s more smiling and a little chuckle at her tone.
Her nails may chip paint from the door she’s still holding.
“I was hoping Hilda might be home.”
“She is not. Now if you will excuse me.”
She starts to close the door because there isn’t any more to say.
“You were supposed to be finding me.”
A tremendous amount of exasperation pours out of the small figure suddenly by her side. The current pouting of her lips is distinctly her mother’s, though she uses it far more often. The tone, Zelda will have to take responsibility for.
“Sorry, darling.” Zelda’s hand tilts the little chin up at her and forces herself to smile. “Go and hide one more time.”
Based on the clatter of shoes on the hardwood, she runs off somewhere into the room behind them but not far.
“Maybe I could leave a number for Hilda to call me.”
“If you must.”
Zelda makes no offer of pen or paper nor gives any indication that she plans to remember it, just taps her foot and sighs.
“Was that the post?”
Her sister’s cheery British accent is unmistakable.
He’s looking past her now into the house; she herself turns to watch Hilda.
“Teddy, bug, get out of the dumb waiter.”
She tugs the little girl--who was halfway to cramming herself into the small space--up and grunts as if she is terribly heavy before setting her on her feet.
“It is old and dumb and you are likely to get stuck between floors.”
She glances in the direction of the door which Zelda has shut too late and stops short.
“Was that—”
There’s no use lying. She’s clearly seen him. But that doesn’t mean she has to make it easy. She leans with her back against the door until Hilda is saying, “Really?” and pulling her away by the elbow.
Teddy watches the exchange from close behind Hilda and giggles.
*******************
“Cee?”
“Your sister said you were out.”
“Wasn’t exactly in.” She rubs her hands down the front of her apron, as much a nervous tic as a practicality. “I was downstairs. With a body.”
Teddy looks at Cerberus dismissively then pulls on Zelda’s hand.
“Mummy found me. It doesn’t count.”
“Come with me, Theodora,” Zelda says, clasping her daughter’s hand tightly and leading her into the kitchen. “Time for a snack, I think.”
“You don’t make snacks.”
“Of course not. You’re going to be in charge. I think I want rack of lamb and jellied eel.”
“Nasty.”
Any other time the child’s perfect parroting of Hilda’s accent would have made her laugh.
*******************
Teddy, satisfied with a mouthful of one of the cookies that appear on the table every afternoon, is quiet enough that Zelda can eavesdrop on the conversation taking place on the porch.
“This is a surprise.”
Her sister has always had a penchant for stating the obvious.
“You look well.”
“So do you.”
Zelda rolls her eyes and accepts the cookie Teddy is jostling in her direction.
Hilda’s lessons about sharing being caring or some such drivel have resulted in the girl forcing food, drink, dolls, crayons, insects, whatever she has in hand, onto the people around her—whether they want it or not.
“Hilda, I hate the way I left things.”
“The way you left with no explanation?”
Good for Hilda.
“There is one, an explanation, but it’s one you might not believe, and really it doesn’t excuse anything.”
“I think you would be surprised at what I could believe.”
The cookie becomes crumbs as Zelda’s fingers become a fist. Was Hilda flirting with him?
“Could we meet sometime soon? Tonight maybe and have dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please. I know. I’ve got no right to ask. But I’d like to make things at least better between us. As friends.”
“Alright.”
“Should I pick you up--”
“Better I meet you in town somewhere.”
Better, indeed.
*******************
“I won’t be gone long.”
Hilda kisses the top of Teddy’s head and smiles down at the two of them on the living room rug.
“Dinner just needs to be warmed.”
“We are perfectly capable of feeding ourselves, aren’t we?”
“Uh-huh,” Teddy answers but she’s obviously too busy with the crayon in her hand to worry about things like dinner. Her tongue is soon poking out of her mouth again as she concentrates.
Zelda hasn’t spoken directly to Hilda all evening.
She knows that Hilda finds her silence more frightening than her outright ire, that the longer she seethes, the jumpier and more unnerved Hilda will become.
She ignores her now as Hilda says, “Right. I’ll see you later then, I guess.”
Instead Zelda looks down at the messy tracing Teddy has made of her hand.
She lifts her hand and compares it to the paper.
“That looks nothing like my hand.”
“You were wiggly.”
************************************************
Hilda had not moved out of their room after her “temporary” return at the holidays. While they hadn’t actually shared a bed again, she’d assumed it was only a matter of time.
She had not taken the news of her sister’s dalliance well.
Why Hilda had ever thought she could simply swan into the kitchen that night and announce, “You can stop teasing me now. I’ve finally done it,” Zelda will never understand.
Not with the amount of sharp objects surrounding them.
It had been a toss-up between killing her and fucking her and she’d gone with the later only because she refused to break the promise she had made to herself after the Batibat incident. There was no sense in torturing herself for her sister’s stupidity.
Was it hypocritical? Absolutely. She’d certainly had her share of lovers over the years, though not as many as she’d led Hilda to believe. It was good to keep her sister on her toes.
It was downright blasphemous to discourage Hilda from exploring her carnal side outside of their own relationship.
But there it was.
And of all the people Hilda could have taken to bed (she assumes it was in a bed and dreadfully missionary) over the years? This mediocre mortal? Who dressed as a celluloid vampire? On purpose?
Had she known her sister was about three hours pregnant, she probably would not have bent her over the table the way she had and been so rough with her.
If she is completely honest with herself, had she known, in that moment, she would have killed Hilda and taken her sweet time digging the grave.
Hilda would have emerged from the Cain pit the next morning; her little problem would not have.
It isn’t a night she likes to think back on.
Especially not with that once hypothetical child now curled beside her, very real and fiercely loved—her daughter, who she’d finished off a quart of chocolate ice cream with in front of the television earlier after tossing the dinner Hilda had prepared in the bin.
She had been there for her quickening, the moment she moved within Hilda.
Months later, she’d drawn her from Hilda’s body. Cleared her mouth for her first breath and laid her against Hilda’s sweat-slicked breasts. She’d severed her, for better or worse, from the safety of Hilda’s body, tied the cord and looked on in wonder as their daughter squirmed and cried in her mother’s arms.
“Hilda . . . look what you made.”
Their daughter was born on the collision of a Cold Moon and the Solstice with Zelda wrapped around her tiny little finger.
************************************************
“Doctor” Cerberus was gone well before Hilda had realized she was with child.
There had been a month of limbo after Hilda’s announcement of her milestone in personal growth.
Hilda, at the epicenter, was convinced this independent new life she thought she could have could somehow run parallel to the life they had always had: mornings around the table with the family, her days serving coffee and exchanging saliva with the mortal, nights spent under and over Zelda.
But at the end he was gone.
Of course, Hilda was hurt.
“Did you say something to him?”
“Did I, your sister, go into that wretched shop and play the jealous lover?”
She hadn’t been able to tell by the strange look on Hilda’s face what answer her sister had wanted to hear.
“No,” she had answered honestly. “I cannot be blamed for this.”
The next morning had found Hilda picking at her breakfast, expression decidedly hangdog.
“Men are fickle.”
Both Sabrina and Ambrose had agreed.
A ludicrously vague letter had arrived within the week and Zelda had not mocked. Abusing her sister when she was already down had never brought her any real joy.
Things should have gone blessedly back to normal.
*******************
“Sabrina! Come here immediately!”
She can’t think of a time she has been any angrier at the girl. Not even when she had run away from her own Baptism and humiliated all of them had she reached this level of, of--
Her niece has the nerve to walk calmly into the bathroom and ask, “What’s wrong, Auntie Zee?”
“Explain this.”
She points to the counter, cluttered with evidence.
Sabrina raises her eyebrow and crooks her mouth.
“Someone left a bunch of stuff out on the counter?”
“I think you know very well what this ‘stuff’ is for.”
Sabrina looks genuinely confused. But Zelda will not buy this innocent act Sabrina plays at. She is not Hilda.
“Did you learn nothing from the talks we had? I feel I was very thorough. Especially about how to prevent this!”
Ambrose appears in the doorway, drawn by the shouting in such an unusual location. He takes one look at the counter and asks, “Who’s pregnant?”
“Hold on.” Sabrina’s eyes have gone wide. “That’s what this is? I’m not pregnant. I assure you.” She even laughs at the end, shaking her head.
“Don’t lie about this!” Zelda rubs her fingers into her temples, head pounding. “You’ll need my help to take care of it safely while there’s still time.”
“Once again. I am not pregnant, Aunt Zelda.”
Her expression has changed when Zelda looks back at her. She’s working herself up to be righteously indignant.
“Sabrina.”
“I don’t need your incredibly threatening help.”
“Zelda. Obviously wasn’t expecting you home so soon.”
Hilda’s standing in the doorway now.
The components of the spell to determine pregnancy had obviously been Hilda’s.
Zelda feels as if she’s been run through with great grandfather’s broadsword, split right open, the depths of herself pouring out for all to see.
Her eyes burn.
Hilda is with child. His child.
Zelda reaches out for something to lean on as her world tilts sharply off its axis. Her vision has gone blurry.
“Aunt Hilda? You’re pregnant?”
Sabrina launches herself at her younger aunt. They hug, grin, laugh, giddy at this news.
But Ambrose has been watching Zelda carefully.
“Cuz, I think we should go out for a while.”
“Why? This is--”
“Trust me. You don’t want to be here for this.”
*******************
“Say something, sister.”
Hilda’s voice is so wretchedly expectant. She looks like joy incarnate: face scrunched in a grin, cheeks rosy, her blue eyes framed by damp lashes.
Hilda reaches for her and Zelda recoils as if her hands were made of fire.
“How can you”--do this to me, without me, leave me, hurt me, betray me, love someone more than me--“smile?”
“What?” She snorts at the absurdity of the question. “Of course, I’m smiling, silly. I’m happy.”
She takes a step towards her sister, still too dumbstruck by her news to realize what she is heading towards.
“A baby, Zelda. We’re having a baby.”
She forces her voice to come out steady, formal: “You’ve located the absconded father then?”
“Cee? I haven’t looked for him.”
Another step towards her, until there’s barely any space between them.
“I meant us, obviously. You and me.”
Hilda should not have trapped her against the sink and left her nowhere to retreat. It was her own fault, what Zelda says next.
“What makes you think I have the least interest in helping you raise your bastard?”
*******************
Things had only escalated from there.
Zelda had pointed out how particularly cruel it was that just after she’d given up Leticia, Hilda would be bringing another babe into the house—a house that was no safer now than it had been then; how stupid Hilda had been that not only did she let this mortal she barely knew fuck her, she hadn’t even had the good sense to use protection of any sort, magical or more mundane; how baffled—utterly dumbstruck—she was that another of her siblings was polluting the Spellman line with mortal blood.
She still deeply regrets that Sabrina overheard that last part.
*******************
“You could always do the sensible thing and brew yourself a tea.”
“No.”
“Or I could expedite the matter with a shove down the stairs.”
In their very long lives, that remains the single time Hilda has slapped her.
She still has no idea where Hilda went that night.