Obligatory Spiel: All characters, names, settings, places, plots, lines, everything belong to the respective creators, writers and actors; I'm just playing with them. Special acknowledgement to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuck for fueling my addiction. Thanks for reading! As always, note the rating and be aware of explicit content.
Tribes
I.
Cordelia would later believe she had recognized the cloaked figure in the mirror behind her before her sight was burned away. Truthfully, she was wishfully thinking. She had been taken completely by surprise, and was no closer to figuring out who attacked her than she was to reasoning why. She developed an instant resentment towards Fiona. Her mother had many enemies, and Delia had few. Her injury had to be a fault of Fiona's, and Delia hated that she had been caught in the crossfire of her mother's battles.
Fiona's reaction had been short-lived and lacked the passion that Delia had long ago given up hoping for. She could hear the fear and concern in Fiona's voice, but felt it was tainted with fear for her own well-being. Fiona had gotten the message. Next time it will be you.
Delia tried to help instruct Fiona on the concocting of salves and elixers from her greenhouse stashes, but they only served to deaden the searing, heavy ache that the burns left on her once beautiful face. She didn't care as much that her appearance was certainly ruined; she was deadened by the thought that she'd never be able to see her baby's face. She would have a baby. There was not an ailment that some kind of magic couldn't cure, and though she knew it meant great patience and a lot of searching, Delia would find a way to have a child.
One week had passed since the night at the bar. Fiona was off fighting her own battles, claiming she was on the trail of avenging her daughter, but truthfully she was probably injecting herself with more immortality. Delia hoped she'd never be as bad as her mother. She'd age gracefully and die after a full life; she just wanted a family first.
She'd cried for most of the last day, but she wasn't sure if it was because of her situation or the weeping of pain from her damaged eyes. Her husband had still not returned, but he'd said over the phone that he would as soon as he could. She hadn't told him about the injury yet. She couldn't say it out loud. Instead, she'd cried that she needed him and that things had gotten worse. He'd probably assumed it was about her infertility. She could sense him giving up on her, but she couldn't admit that either.
The girls went about their business as usual, which was a comfort to Delia; she didn't want anyone to make a fuss over her. She could sense when Spalding brought her things, his silent softness familiar enough to be her own father's. She also talked a bit with Nan when she'd come in to hear her thoughts out loud. She wondered just how much Nan knew about her, but she trusted her goodness enough to not worry.
Fiona came and went; Delia could smell her cigarettes and expensive perfumes before she'd even hear the clacking heels over the tile outside her bedroom. She rarely said anything new. She'd prop her daughter up and stroke her hair, her long fingernails at once comforting and repulsive to Delia. She'd gotten used to pretending to sleep when Fiona would come in, and was doing so when she heard a softer voice.
"Cordelia?" From somewhere in her memory but out of her head, Delia recognized the voice as Zoe's, and felt instantly guilty about forgetting her newest student. Quickly, she turned over in her bed and faced the sound of Zoe's voice.
"Zoe, how are you holding up?" Delia felt silly addressing the air, wondering if she was even close to facing Zoe in the bright light that was her new world.
"I'm fine," Zoe said plainly. Delia thought this odd for a girl who had already suffered so much in just one week at her new school. "How're you?"
Delia cracked through the dried tears on her cheeks to smile. "I'm alright."
Zoe was silent for a moment, and Delia realized how lost she was without the language of facial expressions and gestures.
"I know someone who might be able to help you," Zoe said quietly.
Delia sat up a bit more. "What do you mean?" Did Zoe know about her infertility problem?
"With your burns," Zoe said. "I have a friend."
Delia stared into the whiteness, unsure how to respond to this unexpected offer. "Who is it?"
"You can't tell anyone," Zoe said. "Just to be safe."
Delia nodded, realizing that Zoe was putting her trust into her like a daughter, and warming at the thought.
"And don't ask me how I met her," Zoe continued. "It doesn't matter. She found me."
Delia nodded again, but found herself wanting to know just that.
"I can take you to her," Zoe said. "I have seen her heal burns before. And cuts. She might even have something for your eyes."
Delia could hardly fathom that a girl who just found out her status as a witch would have connections that she didn't, but something in her voice suggested that Zoe was sincere, and wanted to help. Cordelia had nothing to lose.
"When can we go?"
Zoe left the windows cracked in the car to let in the passing breeze, but the stifling Louisiana humidity clung to their skin and clothes like muck, and Delia felt the effects of not showering in days. She could smell the exhaust on the road, but then something else. A muddy, sodden scent tickled her nostrils and she was reminded of playing outside during her childhood. That smell could only be one thing. The swamp.
"Where are we going?" Delia asked quietly, concentrating on her senses.
"She kinda lives apart from the world," Zoe said. "We're almost there."
When the car stopped, Delia automatically fumbled for the handle, got out of the car, and then realized she had no idea which way to walk. A soft hand took her arm and Zoe guided her over a crunchy gravel pathway.
"We have to walk a little ways," Zoe said, her feet finding a regular rhythm a few inches in front of Delia. "It must be weird to not be able to see."
Delia scoffed. "It'll take getting used to."
"Maybe it won't have to," Zoe said. Delia hoped she was right, but didn't set her hopes too high.
The frogs and creatures of the swamp buzzed in chorus, and Delia realized she was squeezing Zoe's hand as they traipsed further into the darkness. The white blindness she'd grown used to had transformed to smothering black with the lack of light, and she wondered what time it had gotten to be. She'd heard stories of the people of the bayou, and suddenly feared for the people Zoe might have gotten mixed up with.
"You're sure we can trust this person?" Delia's voice seemed miniscule in the enveloping environment. "My mom has a lot of enemies around here."
"Yeah," Zoe said. "She's helped me before. She works on her own."
Zoe stopped walking before Delia expected her to. She bumped into her softly before stopping and letting go of her hand. Zoe's knuckles thumped against something hard, and a small sliver of light fell upon her dead eyes. Music played from somewhere inside and the nip of incense twisted around Delia's head.
"Zoe!" The voice was a woman's, excited and welcoming, and Delia lowered her head as she realized she had no idea how to stand or look when meeting someone new now.
"Misty can you help?" Zoe was guiding Delia inside, where the floor was hard like the door and the scent of herbs and incense stronger. "She got burned. Acid, I think. She's my headmistress."
"Depends on what's wrong," a strong southern accent purred near Delia's ear. Her presence was warm and bright, and Delia automatically formed an image of a beautiful forest fairy with glittering hair and vine adornments, then cracked a half-smile at her silliness.
"Cordelia, this is Misty," Zoe said, and Delia could picture her motioning.
"Delia is fine," said Delia before she was tickled by realization. "Misty?"
"Yeah," Zoe sounded slightly guilty. "Misty Day. The one you told us about, the witch they burned."
Delia frowned as she tried to piece together the impossible. "You survived?"
There was a moment of pause and Delia cursed her inability to see the women she was talking to.
"Power of resurgence," Misty said with a smile that Delia could hear, "isn't that what you called it Zoe?"
Zoe must have nodded, because there was silence.
"Can you help her?" Zoe said. "She was attacked. We don't know who did it. She doesn't deserve to live like this."
"It may take time," Misty said, and Delia felt soft fingers stroking down her cheek. "But if I could help Kyle I can help her."
Delia turned towards Misty's voice and was about to ask, but Zoe was suddenly talking very quickly.
"Great, thank you so much Misty I owe you so much," Zoe mumbled and Delia could hear her moving across the floor. "I really have to go now but I will come back with some of her stuff tomorrow."
"You could stay too," Misty said, still close to Delia's side.
"I really can't tonight," Zoe sounded almost out of the door. "I really have to take care of something."
Delia couldn't see Misty's expression but she knew Misty was disappointed.
"I'll come back tomorrow," Zoe said. "Promise."
With that, the door shut and Delia was uncomfortable enough in the presence of a complete stranger to forget Zoe mentioning Kyle.
Misty was humming along to the tune, and Delia wondered what she could possibly say to break the awkwardness.
"We should get started right away," Misty saved her the task. Gently, she took Delia's arm and was guiding her closer to the light. Misty helped her sit on something soft and feathery, and sat next to her holding her hands.
"So what exactly do you do?" Delia knew she was talking for the sake of talking, but she was also curious about Misty's incredible story.
"I use the power I have," Misty said mystically. "And the gifts around us. You'd be surprised what the swamp can offer."
Delia smiled knowingly. "My power is alchemy."
Misty laughed and squeezed her hand tighter. "Both of us using the magic of plants! We must have lots in common Delia."
Delia felt a familiarity that she wasn't sure was a trick of Misty's hospitable personality or a genuine connection, but she felt comforted by her. She figured Misty probably talked to all her visitors like this; she must live a lonely life alone in the swamp. Still, Delia had been lonely too.
"Do you like Stevie Nicks?" Delia asked, letting go of Delia's hands and pouring her something that splashed noisily on a table before them.
Delia knew the name, but barely. "Yes," she lied. "He's wonderful."
"He?" Misty laughed. "Stevie is a girl. THE girl. She's my goddess!"
Delia cursed herself and felt her cheeks blushing. "Oh, right, I'm sorry."
Delia felt Misty wave a hand in front of her. "Don't be, it's alright. Lots of people seem to have forgotten about her music. But not me."
"Is this her?" Delia asked, motioning to the music she couldn't source. "It's great."
Misty didn't say anything but Delia felt she had been forgiven. A warm mug was placed in her hand and Misty stood. "Drink that. I'm going to run a bath."
Modesty thundered into Delia's chest, and she instantly wished to be home in her own bed and bathtub. But Misty's soft humming reminded her that they were sisters, bound by ancient blood ties and magical roots that were unbreakable and sacred. She'd have to trust Misty completely, and she didn't have anything to loose.
Fiona's bones had been vibrating with the static of change and inevitable mortality. The pills only quelled so much, and the alcohol had long ago lost the warming comfort that she once turned to. The drinks were cold, and the pills hard to swallow. Still, she couldn't stop. Pangs of maternal concern sunk into her stomach every time she looked at her daughter's burned face, and she wondered at the feeling. For years, Cordelia had been on her own. Fiona had been too busy trying to prolong her own life to be involved in her daughter's. Now, when confronted with Delia's mortality, something had awakened in Fiona, and she regretted the time lost with her little girl.
But, Fiona's sense of pride was strong, and as usual, she washed away her feelings with drink, and tried hard to not let Delia see her struggle. She envied the mother in the hospital whose daughter she'd saved. They had the rest of their lives together to have a normal, healthy and beautiful relationship. Fiona had given that up the day she left eighteen-year-old Delia on the steps of the academy and drove away with her latest man-toy. The least she could do now was take care of Delia with whatever magic she had, and protect her from the evil that was targeting them.
When Delia was not in her bed one afternoon, Fiona instantly expected the worst. A new supreme was rising, her daughter was missing, and the witching world was at war. For the first time in her career and life, Fiona felt completely powerless.