"Why is it that when I need you, I cannot find you, and that when I look for you, you are here?"
"She didn't deserve this."
The white faced demon looked the witch over, his red eyes bright in the dim neon lights, the storm raging outside the windows. He extended his hands in mock apology, a small smile on his dark lips. "I have told you before. She entered my realm on her own free will, very well knowing the consequences if she did not find her way back." The last word rumbled and died in his throat. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on and made for the door. "Come, little helper."
"No." Nan didn't budge from her seat on the window's ledge, in between the beakers and the boxes of dead frogs. She shook her head once, twice. "No, I want to help her. She doesn't deserve this hell."
"We have other souls to ferry, to place, little helper." Papa Legba said. His voice, although quiet, rang throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. His back faced her. "Forget her."
Nan jumped down from her perch, balling her hands into fists. "She never did anything wrong! I didn't, and you saved me. Why not her?"
"You were given to me as payment." The demon turned to her. "Your soul was exchanged, it was different."
"She could be of use to you."
"In what way?"
Papa Legba took a step back to let the biology teacher march past him, headed for the blonde seated at one of the low tables, a frog in front of her. The animal croaked and she gasped out in relief.
"Mister! Mister!"
"Well if she won't dissect a dead frog, she'll dissect a live one."
Nan cringed as Misty Day's screams began and rang in her ears. The instructor walked away as the necromancer continued sobbing, her ringed fingers clasped over the dead animal.
"How is a witch who brings back the dead not useful?" The girl asked the demon.
"If she brings back the dead, then who do I have to torment?" Papa Legba laughed, his teeth showing, like a sneer.
"I'll trade you her soul."
The demon scowled from underneath his feathered top hat. The frog came back to life. He took a few steps towards the young witch, his cane tapping on the tiled floors. "Where will you find a soul to trade, little helper?"
"Mister! Mister!"
"Well if she won't dissect a dead frog, she'll dissect a live one."
"-And why would you trade a soul for hers, and not yours?"
The mind reader shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "She's never harmed anyone, I have. I deserve to be in your service. Not her."
Ice blue eyes met blood red ones.
"I know of one wayward soul. One that hasn't found her way here yet, she's lost, trapped, in the house. Do you…" Nan paused, mulling her words over. "Do you remember that witch we placed in The Sound of Music?"
"Little Liesl." The demon laughed. Misty Day's sobs drowned him out.
"She found her way back to the light."
"She's dead." Nan corrected. "I'll bring her to you if you let Misty 'll sing for you forever."
He gazed her over. "Trapped soul, you say? Who says she'll follow you back into hell?"
The witch smiled. The frog croaked.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Cordelia had gotten so used to hearing her greenhouse filled with Stevie Nick's soft drawl that she'd set up her iDock to play on loop in her little sanctuary, but she couldn't replace the twirling swamp witch however hard she tried, her Misty Day, blonde curls and glittery shawls and all. Even as Supreme, she didn't have all the answers.
So instead, she stood in between the plants, Misty's favorite black shawl draped over her shoulders, softly humming to Stevie. Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You. She would have cried, but she'd done so for so long that her tears had dried out. All that was left was her aching heart.
She talked to the blonde necromancer often as she worked, hoping that in hell, the young witch could hear her. She talked about her day, about Zoe and Queenie, and all the new girls that had graced Miss Robichaux's in the last few weeks. And every night before turning off the lights, she murmured an 'I love you, Misty Day' to the plants, to the empty room, to Stevie's voice.
Rather pathetic. Cordelia thought. I'm glad no one comes down here, that we haven't found a potion maker in all the new students. But it kept her going, kept her mask up. She'd do her rituals until the day a new girl took over, until she herself passed away. Until the sun stopped rising and the birds quit singing. I owe her that.
She whispered to the flowering plant in front of her, her breath lifting its leaves and its buds blooming to the sound of her sweet voice. Almost as if sighing in contentment.
"Miss Cordelia?"
The Supreme didn't look up, but she broke into a small smile, her fingers petting the plant's soft leaves. "Look at that, dead voices are finally answering me. Maybe I am going crazy."
"It's me, Nan."
The blonde witch turned abruptly, the shears in her hand clattering to the floor as the young mind reader stepped out from the shadows. "Nan?" She gasped, her fingers flying to her mouth. "But, we buried you, I saw your body-"
"I'm still dead." The witch answered. "But don't worry about me, I got revenge in the afterlife. And a job to pass eternity."
"Revenge? A job?" Cordelia shook her head, brown eyes wide, still in shock. "I don't understand."
Nan cut her off. "I don't have a lot of time. I have a present for you. A congratulations to becoming the Supreme, of sorts." She grinned at the blonde. "She's upstairs. Take good care of her."
The witch disappeared in a puff of dust and ash.
And Cordelia began to run for the door. She knew exactly what the young girl meant.
Misty Day was home.
We all know that Nan would help if she could.