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Under the Spell - Chapter 1/?

Pairing: Mary Goore x f!OC

Rating: Teen and up (later chapters will be mature to explicit)

Tags: first person POV, Sister of Sin OC, he/they Mary Goore, smoking, banter, flirting, Sister Imperator jumpscare

Words: 657

Summary: Mary Goore is spending the summer at the Abbey to assist with the Ghost Project when one of the Sisters of Sin catches his eye. Can they find love--or even just a place to hook up--under the wrathful gaze of Sister Imperator?

A/N: I was supposed to be finishing another fic, but this little chapter struck me like lightning, and I could not bear to let it go unwritten for even one more night. I'm thinking there will be 4 or 5 chapters by the time it's done.

ao3 link

divider by @gothdaddyissues

“Those’ll kill ya, you know.”

I look up from trying–unsuccessfully–to light my cigarette to see them striding across the courtyard toward me. All long legs, knees peeking through torn denim, self-assured swagger, yesterday’s skull paint still smeared across their smirking face. 

“You’d know a thing or two about dying,” I retort, words muffled by the cigarette dangling from my lips.

“Blasphemous rumors, babe. Here.” He holds out a cheap plastic lighter and I lean in, letting him give me a light before he settles next to me on the wrought iron bench.

“Thanks,” I say. “And don’t call me babe.”

They finish lighting their own cigarette and ask, “Well, what can I call you?”

I tell him my name. He holds out a hand to introduce himself, but I cut him off. “Oh, I know who you are.”

“That right?”

Mary Goore. Not clergy for damn sure, not even really Ministry, but summoned into our unhallowed halls on occasion even so. 

Mary fucking Goore, the very picture of “came back wrong,” but who always makes it look so right.

I nod, exhaling a lungful of smoke into the early summer afternoon. All of the Sisters of Sin have been abuzz since his arrival a few days ago. Half of them annoyed by the distraction that he presented, the other half eager to be driven to distraction by him.

“Sister Imperator told us all about you,” I say.

Their eyebrow cocks at my words. “Oh yeah? What did she have to say?”

“That you’re here on important Ghost Project business.” I straighten my spine, sitting up primly. “And that we are not to bother you, or to interfere.”

He snorts a sardonic laugh. “In other words, stay away from the big bad wolf.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of staying away from me.”

“You’re the one who came to me,” I remind them.

He grants me a smile, a genuine one, and regards me with a mixture of amusement and respect before conceding, “Touche, Sister.”

A moment passes as we smoke in silence, gazing out over the courtyard–the flowering trees still holding onto some of their spring petals, the sun peeking through the clouds a promise of heat to come. Their knee brushes against mine and I try to ignore the swoop I feel low in my belly at the grazing contact.

“So what brings you out here?” he asks. “Smoking alone?”

I roll my eyes. “Hard Latin lesson.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get about this place,” they say with frustration. “You hear ‘Sisters of Sin,’ ‘Satanic nuns,’ you think they’re having a good time. Then you get here and it’s all Latin classes and rosaries and polishing pews and shit.”

“So why do you stay?” 

“Eh, the Ministry coffers pay pretty well.” He gives me a long, appraising look, up and down. “And the views are nice.”

Before I can think of what to say to that, I hear Sister Imperator’s voice ringing out. “Goore! Get over here!”

“Uh-oh,” I sing-song, looking over to where she stands at the edge of the courtyard, hands planted on her hips. “She sounds pissed.”

Mary stands with a groan, every movement radiating reluctance. “Welp, duty calls, babe.”

They walk a few steps away before turning back to me and saying, “Catch!” as they toss something at me, fast.

“Hey!” I fumble but manage to catch the lighter in one hand. 

“I’m going to want that back, you know!” they call over their shoulder.

“Whatever! And don’t call me babe!”

They wave me off, leaving me in a wake of smoke and dismissive laughter. I watch them disappear into the Abbey, Sister Imperator berating them all the way. 

I’m left holding a rectangle of cheap red plastic that feels heavier in my hand than it has any right to, wondering in spite of myself when I’ll be called upon to return it.