“Rowena?” That was all Sam could think to say, seeing her standing there in the door of the bunker.
“Yes, yes, Samuel, it’s me.” She swept inside, bags in tow. He gaped at her.
“You…Lucifer…he said you were dead.”
Rowena placed her bags on the war room table and turned to him. “I was. But I’m a survivor, Samuel. Twice he’s tried and twice he’s failed. This time, I’m goin’ to make him pay.”
Sam looked at her. “Good luck with that. He’s stuck in an alternate dimension with…with my mom.”
The witch raised an eyebrow, then her face softened. “I…I am sorry, Samuel.”
He nodded, trying not to cry. Rowena turned to one of her bags, then turned back to him. “I’ve been tryin’ to reach Fergus. His phone goes straight to voicemail and he’s not answerin’ when I try to summon him. D’you know where he is?”
Sam froze, and Rowena immediately knew something was wrong.
“Samuel? What is it?” He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
She stared at him, her mind whirling. “No…” she finally said. “He’s the King of Hell. He can’t be dead.”
Sam looked at her, his face compassionate. “He is. I’m sorry, Rowena. I really am.”
Her face became expressionless, became a mask carved from porcelain. “D’ye have a spare room you could let me stay in for a couple of days? This is probably the safest place on the planet right now.” She grabbed her bags and waited.
He nodded and led her down the hallway to a room they usually let others stay in. It was clean and the linens were fresh. She walked in and sat her bags down. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need my beauty sleep, Samuel. Bein’ burnt to a crisp wasn’t exactly good for my complexion.”
Sam nodded again and left, quietly shutting the door behind her. Rowena waited til she heard his footsteps move away down the hall and then sat down on the edge of the bed.
She felt as if ice had clogged her veins. Her empty stomach wanted to revolt.
Fergus was dead. Her son, her boy…he was dead.
She had often wondered how she would feel when this day came. It hadn’t been too long ago that she had tried to kill him herself.
She only noticed the tears when they splattered on her skirt. She wiped them away furiously with the sleeve of her blouse.
“Weak. Bloody weak, y’are,” she muttered to herself. “Bloody cryin’ over that ungrateful–”
Rowena sobbed out loud, not even caring if Sam heard her. The weight of her nearly four hundred years seemed to slam down onto her all at once. Her heart, the heart she had tried to deny she had for so long, was shattered.
She stopped crying some time later. She was curled up on the bed, and the pillow was wet from her tears. She sat up, feeling hollowed out and numb. She changed into a nightgown, not even realizing what she was doing. She lay back down on the bed, but left the lamp on.
“I loved you,” she whispered into the silence. “I loved you so much.”
After a while, she slept.
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