Unholy Cult of the Blood Rose

Sarah Jenkins sat at her desk, carefully studying the text of her latest book. Her eyes, deeply etched with lines of worry, stared at a troubling section. Her expression twisted with impatient anger as the passage displeased her. After she typed in a few sentences, she sat back to study the wording again. Her frown turned even more intense as she tapped one fingernail on the worn oak desk. A forced sigh of exasperation escaped through her tightly clenched teeth. The entire chapter needed rewriting.

Gabriel shifted around from his perch near the monitor and blinked at Sarah lazily with his yellow eyes. The cat arched his back and stretched before approaching her for attention. She smiled at him and reached out to pet his head. He began to purr softly and nudge against her hand to entice more interaction. She rarely spoke aloud to him. The method of communication between them seemed almost telepathic.

Sarah sipped on coffee and brandy, which was slowly getting cool. She realized then she had been sitting for too long at the desk. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Three hours had passed. Her knees creaked and popped as she straightened her legs to stand. She stepped out of the study into the living room, stretching the tightened muscles in her legs and back, looking outside the window as the day began to brighten.

“This would be a beautiful day to work out in the garden, Gabriel. The flowerbeds have missed Juan’s attention and desperately need weeding and care.”

Gabriel expressed his indifference with a wide yawn.

Sarah moved through the old house into the kitchen where she had done most of the interior work. A meticulously restored Victorian, the house itself had been in terrible shape when she found it. Thieves had torn through walls to steal what they had thought would be a boon in copper wiring. Then vandals, perhaps boys in their tweens trying to prove their manhood to neighborhood brethren, had broken nearly all the ornate stained-glass windows. Rats and termites were also responsible for the damage to the structure. She had to spend a small fortune to restore the old house to its former splendor, but the work reflected the message she wanted from the house.

Sarah went into a kitchen where her taste for decorating changed dramatically from formal to informal. While most of the rest of the house had a restrictive, almost prudish manner, the kitchen appeared warm and inviting. The ceilings were high in this room as well, and she opted to paint with bright colors, cheerful and pleasing to the eye. The upper cabinets did not reach all the way to the ceiling. Here and there, she placed colorful, ornate bowls or a floral arrangement of silk flowers. She had canisters and cookie jars of many shapes. Most were whimsical representations of farm animals.

All these items were set on top of the cabinets at various intervals, so they were not too crowded or overpowering. The counter tops were bare of all but the essentials. Sarah had seen many kitchens so crowded on the counters there remained no room for work. She had a set of canisters and a lazy Susan that held her basic cooking utensils. The rest of her utensils were stored away, each in its proper place.

The kitchen existed as a tie to her past. Sarah remembered the little table that graced the humble cottage her grandmother had lived in. The kitchen in that house had always been warm and inviting and scented with fresh baked goods. Sarah never knew a day when the kindhearted old woman did not offer a cookie or pastry. She tried her best to evoke the memories within the decorations of her own kitchen.