Welcome to my crackfic oneshot that could potentially turn into a full blown epic.


Home is where the heart is…
Esmerelda Spellman contemplated these words as she eyed the hodgepodge of headstones in the cemetery that constituted the front yard of her family "home", brow raised in wry amusement.
Some things never changed.
She hadn't returned to Greendale in over a decade, yet the sight of smoke rising from the chimneys of the some what rundown house-cum-mortuary filled her with a sense of peace…and dread.
She wouldn't have returned at all, but it's not everyday that your niece turns sixteen and receives her dark baptism. Sabrina was why she was here. These words played on repeat through her mind. Of course, it would also do her good to see her sisters and nephew, Satan bless them. It's a wonder the lot hadn't burned the bloody house down in her absence. Esme let out a resigned sigh, glancing up at the nearly full moon, before resuming her trek up the long drive towards the house. She had nearly reached the stairs when she felt something brush against her leg. She stopped walking.
"It's about time you caught up." She groused, glaring down at the Irish Wolfhound standing by her side. "I thought I'd lost you in New York." Her familiar, Icarus, had a tendency to wander off for indeterminate amounts of time, but he always managed to show up when she needed him.
"What do you mean you sense danger? Darling, you must be more specific." The dog let out a disgruntled growl. "Someone from my past? You sound like a fortune cookie, Ic." She tucked a stray curl of brunette hair behind her ear as she attempted to mount the fist step, but was halted by a tug on the back of her skirt. "Careful, you meddling mutt. That's Chanel you're drooling all over." When he refused to release the midnight blue knit, Esme let out an irritable sigh and turned to face her familiar. "Alright then. Out with it." The wolfhound proceeded to let out a series of growls and grunts. "Icarus my pet, you have always been an immense worry wart. I'm here for my niece. Nothing or no one is going to stand in the way of that." Her ultimatum was answered with an indignant huff. "Good. Now lets go. We're late enough as it is." The odd duo made their way up the stairs. Hand poised to ring the bell, Esme paused. She might not have been back for a spell, but it was still her family home. She'd be blessed it she rang the doorbell. She tried the door and found it unlocked. The front door swung inwards with a quite squeak. Esme glanced around the foyer, a fond smile lighting her lips.
Home was most certainly where the heart was.
She was snapped from her reverie by the sound of voices coming from the parlor down the hall. She recognized the clipped tones of her sister Zelda, and the youthful voice of what must be her nearly grown niece, Sabrina. From the sounds of the discussion, things were getting quite heated. Esme made her way towards the parlor, with the intention of making her presence known and finding out what all the fuss was about, motioning for Icarus to remain in the foyer as she did so.
"She'll be there, with bells on." She heard Zelda say, with a little more force than necessary. "Won't you Sabrina?"
Esme reached the door to the parlor just as her niece was responding.
"Looking forward to it." The young witch stated.
Esmerelda was so taken with the resemblance between Sabrina and her brother, Edward, that at fist she did not notice the fifth person in the room, sitting in the chair across from her family.
"So sorry I'm late." She effused as she stepped fully into the room. "Am I interrupting?"
At the sound of her voice, the unknown visitor whipped violently around to face her, his face ruddy with shock and anger. Esme felt her own cheeks redden when she met the eyes of the not-so-stranger.
"Shit." She muttered under her breath. She contemplated her odds of fleeing before his shock ran out, but he spoke before she could even take a half step back towards the door.
"Esmerelda Spellman." He ground out, rising to his feet as he clenched his rabbits head cane between spindly fingers.
"Faustus Blackwood." She spat with as much malice as witcly possible.
"That's High Priest Blackwood to you, witch." He growled as he took a step around the chair and towards her.
"High Priest? Bloody Hell, they must have been desperate after Edward died. Who's arse did you have to kiss for that unholy promotion?"
"Esme!" Zelda exclaimed, completely scandalized. Both Esme's and Blackwood's heads whipped around to glare at their forgotten audience.
"Not exactly the homecoming you were expecting." Her sister, Hilda, muttered meekly.
"Leave us." Blackwood demanded, his voice laced with poorly tamed rage. After a conspicuous pause, her relatives shuffled out of the room, her nephew Ambrose barely making it out the door before it was slammed shut by an unknown force, locking with a resounding click. Esme stared at the closed door for a few seconds before turning to face the enraged warlock that was somehow a few steps closer to her then he had been seconds before. They stared at each other in silence for what felt like an age, the only sound was that of his somewhat ragged breaths.
"Thirteen years." He stated hoarsely, finally breaking the silence. "Thirteen years since you ran off. Since you abandoned your coven. Your family. Your dark lord." He took a step towards her. She retreated. "You were one of the most powerful members of our church, and yet you left. Like a selfish child. What have you to say for yourself!" He advanced on her and in three rapid strides, he had her pinned to the parlor door. Most witches would be terrified by now.
But Esmerelda was a Spellman. And she refused to give Blackwood the satisfaction of her fear.
"Lets not kid ourselves, Faustus." She spat out his name like a curse. "'Abandoning' my coven and family isn't what has you in such a lather." She tilted her head forward, they're noses nearly touching. "You're acting like a petulant child because I abandoned you. Jilted you at the alter. It burns you doesn't it?" They were so close now, she could feel his breath on her lips. "The rejection. First, you were bested by my brother, and then you were bested by me. It would be rather funny, if it wasn't so damned pathet—" but the rest of her sentence was cut off by Blackwood's lips slamming against hers with bruising force. Esme let out a surprised squeak before her lips were summarily wrenched apart as her mouth was plundered by his searching tongue. She attempted to extricate herself from the unwanted bind, but her wrist were gathered in one sharp nailed hand before being pinned to the door above her head. Blackwood broke the kiss only to move his lips down to tease the soft flesh of her neck, growling in her ear on his descent.
"Why did you leave?" She heard him rasp. "We could have done great things together." He tangled his free hand in her hair and pulled her head back sharply. "You were supposed to be mine."
Esmerelda had heard quite enough.
Before he could say anything else or continue his physical barrage, Esme ripped her wrists from his grasp and sent Blackwood flying across the room with a wave of her hand. With another sharp flick of her wrist, she had him pinned against the opposite wall, feet dangling a foot off the floor. He struggled against the binding curse to no avail. Esme approached him with calm, sure strides, smoothing the wrinkles on her blouse and re-arranging her hair.
"Thirteen years and you still haven't learned a blessed thing about me, Faustus." She stated coldly as she stopped in front of his immobile form and gazed up at him. The air crackled with her rage-fueled power. The lights flickered and the fire in the hearth roared and spat. Esme ran her hands up and over his stomach and onto his chest before curling her fingers around the lapels of his perfectly pressed frock coat. And then, in a voice tinged with spite, she stated,
"I belong to no man."
The lights flickered and then the room went dark for an instant before blazing with light a moment later. Blackwood fell to the floor, knees cracking against the hardwood, but by the time he regained his bearings and looked up, Esmerelda was gone.
He couldn't stop the flash of amusement that flitted across his face as he rose and straitened his coat. Although her goal had been to frighten him off, he was far from intimidated. On the contrary, her show of power over him, and what power it was, only deepened his desire to posses her. He gave a moment of pause to consider his pregnant wife at home, but the thought was fleeting.
He was the High Priest. And he deserved the best. Esmeralda Spellman, twin sister of his rival Edward Spellman, was defiantly the best.
The game, as they say, was afoot.
"You can run, little witch," He muttered, plans already swirling rapidly though his mind. "But you cannot hide."