Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lilith Ashtoreth woke before her alarm, as she did every morning, and smiled a little, turning on her side to watch her husband sleep. Francis was perhaps not the most handsome man on the planet, but his cherubic sleeping face was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever laid eyes on. She let her gaze roam over his beloved features, over his shoulders and the top of his chest where the blankets had slid down, revealing soft pale skin and curly chest hair. She traced gentle fingers over his cheek, smiling wider when he nuzzled into her touch. She gave herself a few more moments to just look, and then slid out of bed.

The mid-summer air was warm enough that she did not throw on a robe over her ankle-length black nightgown, instead choosing to just head downstairs to start breakfast. She poked her nose into Warlock’s bedroom, confirmed that her son was still asleep, and continued down to the kitchen.

Lilith glanced at the clock, and decided she had time to be a little fancy. She was just plating the dippy eggs, cheesy toast soldiers, and rashers, when Warlock barrelled down the stairs, Francis following him at a more sedate pace. Warlock was still wearing his pajamas, which had a pattern of flames on them, and Francis had thrown on a worn t-shirt and pajama trousers of his own. She accepted Warlock’s hug around the waist and Francis’s kiss on the cheek, and they all sat down for breakfast.

She looked around at her little family and a smile blossomed on her face, like one of Francis’s prize peonies.

Something’s wrong , a voice said in her head. A man’s voice, with an English accent, and yet somehow it still sounded like her own voice. This isn’t right .

***

Human belief is a powerful thing; it can change minds, move mountains, change the world. Celestial (or infernal) belief is even more powerful still; it powers miracles.

It’s a good thing that belief is tempered by a lack of imagination. Well, most of the time.

Because, you see, an angel or demon’s belief, powered by a true imagination, can warp the very fabric of reality.

Who knows what that power, accidentally loaned to a sad little boy that an angel and a demon believe is the Antichrist, might be capable of?

Chapter Text

Francis gets dressed and heads off to work after breakfast, right now a small landscaping project for the MacKenzies on the other side of town. Between his work and that of the town’s home gardeners, Tadfield regularly wins gardening awards every year, and Lilith knows it is easy for Francis to keep up the work when he loves green and growing things so very much.

Lilith herself is a school teacher, so she and Warlock both have the summer off. “Heading down to the Pit today, my little hellspawn?”

“Yes, Mum,” Warlock says, with a little preteen roll of his eyes. Sometimes, Lilith missed her son’s sweet behavior from when he was younger, though years of teaching secondary school reassure her that he will likely grow out of this attitude, even if it will be a few years and probably will get worse before it gets better.

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do for your birthday?”

“Adam’s mum and da are throwing him a party, we’re going to share,” Warlock says, chasing the last drips of egg around his plate with a bit of toast.

“At least let me bake a cake, darling boy,” Lilith says, and Warlock shrugs. “Well, your father and I will have a surprise for you at home, and I’ll speak to Mrs. Young about the cake. Remember to put your dishes in the sink before you go!” she calls as Warlock fairly sprints away from the table. He circles back, does as he’s told, and runs off to his room to get ready for another day of he and his little friends valiantly trying to kill each other while they play. She smiles to herself and goes about the process of clearing up after breakfast before going upstairs herself to get dressed.

She doesn’t dress as formally as she would for school, but she still styles her hair and does her makeup, smiling thinly at her reflection in the mirror. She’s by no means a young woman anymore, but she’s satisfied enough with her appearance, and Francis certainly seems to enjoy her body.

Does he? that English voice chimes in from the back of her mind. Where did such a negative thought come from? She’s never doubted Francis’s feelings for her for a minute. Are you sure it’s real?

Lilith shakes her head as if to rid herself of the intrusive thoughts and stands up from her vanity table, slipping into a summer-weight dress with a grey on black pattern to it and a pair of sensible sandals. She bids Warlock goodbye as he yells up to her before leaving, then grabs her purse from the sideboard in the entryway and heads out herself. She may have to go to the market after talking to Deirdre, she might as well just walk over and say hello.

***

Deirdre is out in front of the house, watering the plants hanging from the porch, when Lilith arrives, and smiles as she comes up the front walk to greet her. “Good morning, Lilith,” she says, putting down her watering can.

“Morning, Deirdre,” Lilith replies, admiring the potted impatiens and pansies. “Warlock says you and Arthur are hosting a birthday party for the boys tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes,” Deirdre says with a chuckle. “They were very insistent about both wanting a party on their birthday, and Pepper suggested they just share one.”

“Such a clever child, that one,” Lilith says with a slim smile. Pepper is her favorite of her son’s friends, though her mother can be a bit...eccentric. Not that Lilith is one to talk, honestly.

“That she is,” Deirdre agrees readily. “Did you want to help with preparations? I’ve already started on a cake, but we should have something savory, as well.”

Lilith nods, already picturing Warlock’s favorite treats. He is especially fond of a party snack she makes with sticky hoisin-dipped cocktail sausages wrapped in fried potato…

Since when do you know what to do in the kitchen besides order takeaway or open a bottle of wine? the voice comes, and Lilith is almost expecting it now. She taught herself to cook, when...when she was at university! She’s told Warlock this story. She was training to be a teacher, and she and Francis were living together in a tiny flat near the campus, and she taught herself to cook to keep from going insane from all the homework.

But the more she thinks about it, the less it feels like something she actually lived, and more like a story she’s been told. She doesn’t remember anything about the flat, other than that it was small, the kitchen barely a closet. She doesn’t really remember university, either; little stories she might have told Warlock about growing up, but not the terror of sitting exams or the elation of walking at graduation.

What in the world is going on?

Deirdre doesn’t seem to notice Lilith’s distraction or confusion, luckily, so she’s able to extricate herself from the conversation easily by saying she has to go to the shops to get what she needs to cook for the party. Deidre sends her off with a wave and a smile, and Lilith continues down the road toward the center of town.

Normally, when she has a problem, the first person she goes to is Francis. They’ve known each other practically their whole lives, been together almost as long. He knows her practically better than she knows herself. But she finds herself hesitating when she considers how she’d even explain to him what’s going on.

No, she’ll wait. It’s probably nothing.