Title: Bad Influence

Author: Foxchaos

Fandom: Glee (Au!)

Pairing: Pezberry (and probs some others along the way)

Chapter 1: "In Which the Cat is Friendly, Santana is Intrigued, and Rachel Has Selective Hearing"

Rated M, for Santana's vulgarity and future perverseness (and possible sexytimes?)

Word Count: +4,600

((A/N: Special thanks to Purrpickle for going along with my crazy and also being my first beta reader. Hopefully you all will be as intrigued by this odd story as she is. Enjoy =). Chapter 2 is on the way within the next 48 hours-ish, depending on how much I get done tonight. Also, pardon my Latin, as I am not fluent. I won't be using it too often, so as to save your poor eyes, but it will make an appearance every once in awhile.))

It had taken Rachel an hour and a half to get from the Tisch campus to Queens, which was an hour and 20 minutes too long because she was seriously beginning to regret her decision and thinking about turning around and just heading back to her dorm - or possibly visiting her fathers instead. Just as she was about to turn on her heel and head back to the bus stop, there was a loud clang just off to her left and a garbage can toppled over. Taking a breath to ease her nerves, the petite brunette steeled herself and took out her phone, looking at the directions her Navigation app gave her, and took a left.

Another 30 minutes later and she was standing in front of an old, Victorian-styled house - which was honestly huge as far as she could tell from the front; two stories, and probably an attic, with a large porch that was mostly hidden by somewhat-kept shrubs and varying plants that Rachel honestly didn't recognize. Overall the house seemed… aged. And there was a weird kind of energy around that both unnerved the girl and somehow made her feel safe.

She wasn't sure how that worked, but at the sound of another trash can crashing just to her left, she decided it didn't matter. She hurried up the stone walkway, skipping the two steps to the porch altogether, and was in front of the old oak and glass door before any more thoughts could rattle through her head.

Of course, now that she was here, all her worries and misgivings returned full-force.

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and knocked.

After a few minutes passed with no reply, she tried again, harder this time, and more than once.

Another couple of minutes, and now Rachel was getting fidgety. This was a horrible idea. Stupid really. What if she isn't even home? Are people looking? She glanced around, trying to reassure herself that at high noon everyone was at work or inside. I should leave… But I can't leave. Well, I mean, I could of course, but for all intents and purposes I can't. She's the only one I know that could possibly help with this. And I don't think I can go another night… Right. Okay. You are Rachel Barbra Berry and you do not quit. You are going to stay right here, knock on this door, and get this all fixed.

With that, she knocked again, even harder, waited a few seconds, knocked, and-

"AY Dios mio! Hold your fricken horses for fuck's sake!" The yell startled Rachel, and she quickly put her raised fist down and tightly clasped her hands in front of her. Momentarily, she wondered what the point of censoring yourself once was if you were only going to swear a few words later, but she didn't have time to finish that thought when the door swung open with a whoosh, and there, standing before her with a sharp scowl on her features and clear irritation swirling in her eyes, was possibly one of the most casually attractive women Rachel had ever seen.

Sun-kissed skin, long black hair pulled up into a messy bun, slightly worn and loose, dark wash jeans (with a hole in the left knee, the smaller girl noted, tie-dyed shirt of various reds and purples that hung just loose enough on the woman's shoulders to be considered baggy, and bare feet. The woman was standing with her hip jutting out to one side and arms crossed over her… prominent chest - and at that thought Rachel could feel her face flush slightly. Forcing her eyes up, she noted both the silver bangles on slim wrists and the black choker around a slim but strong looking neck (to go perfectly with that jawline and - oh my goodness Rachel, stop it). Rachel found herself staring at the blood-red Ankh attached to the choker, completely losing track of what was going on in her quest to take in every single detail this taller woman had to offer. The subject of her speculation, however, wasn't so distracted.

"Hey!" And suddenly two snapping fingers came into Rachel's line of sight. "Eyes up here, chica." Rachel felt herself flush hotter and quickly made eye contact, which might have been just as bad had she not already been so embarrassed. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but for this 'Santana Lopez' to be so… gorgeous definitely hadn't been in the cards.

"E-excuse me, Ms. Lopez. I just- I have a problem, and I'm told- well that is to say, I've heard from a reliable source, that you might be able to help m-EEE!" The rest of Rachel's sentence turned into a high pitched squeal as she was suddenly thrown forward forcibly into the woman, completely losing her footing and hands flying up in a desperate attempt to catch herself. The woman squawked in surprise – a rather unattractive sound, said some vocally-attuned part of Rachel's brain - and caught the girl, stumbling back into the house as she balanced them both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing! EH! Hands off the goodies!"

"I am so, so sorry! Just let me-"

"Ow!"

"Oh dear-"

When they finally managed to settle themselves and both were standing upright and separate from each other, the shorter girl's face was absolutely red and the other one looked livid. Before any more words could be exchanged, however, the door slammed shut and Rachel yelped, twisting around sharply. "I told you to leave me alone!" she yelled, seemingly at nothing. Santana watched this curiously, a thin brow rising sharply. She opened her mouth to comment sarcastically, but got distracted by a streak of black shooting past her and jumping onto the back of the couch nearby. The cat, black with a single white sock on its front right foot, had its ears drawn back and was hissing fiercely at the same space of air that Rachel had just yelled at.

"NO!" came a voice from the very spot, and Santana's eyes went from curious to serious in a second. She stepped forward, moving Rachel behind her gently, and drew out a long, thin wand from her back pocket with her left hand. The shutters on both sides of the door banged open and closed and the cat growled.

"Show yourself", spoke the Latina sternly, though much more calmly than Rachel had heard her sound since laying eyes on her.

The shutters rattled again. "NO!"

Rachel ducked completely behind the taller woman, eyes wide and head peeking out just over her shoulder. She clutched at Santana's shirt tightly, jumping a little as a potted plant was pushed off a nearby stand by nothing. Apparently shutters were one thing and her plants were another, because Rachel felt the woman in front of her tense, able to see the muscles in her neck and on her jawline working as a scowl set itself firmly in place.

"Show yourself so that we can have a civil conversation or I will fuckingexercise you right the fuck now." Part of Rachel wondered if the vulgar language was necessary. The more prominent part of her, at the moment, wondered if Santana could really do that. Isn't there some big long process involving crosses and Bibles and priests for that kind of thing? Santana doesn't really look like a priest, and I'm not sure an Ankh counts as a real cross…

The disembodied voice just laughed and pushed over another plant breaking its ceramic pot and seriously pissing Santana (and her cat, apparently) off.

"Yeah, okay, fuck this." Taking a small step back with her right foot, Santana raised her oak wand and aimed it straight at where the cat was glaring. "Relinqueremalumspiritus, ad infernum!" There was a cry and another, "NO!", but this time it was more of a shriek. "Relinqueremalumspiritus, ad infernum!" repeated Santana forcefully. More shrieking along with a "STOPPIT". "Relinquere-"

"OKAY! I'm sorryI'msorryI'msorry!" Not seconds later a figure appeared. A small boy, clearly no older than ten or so, stood next to where the last plant was knocked over, just off to the right off the door. He had loose clothing on, was all a very, very pale blue, and looking at him was like looking through frosted glass. Rachel had seen all of this already, but what she hadn't noticed before was the sharp red-lit outline surrounding the boy, nor the same kind of outline surrounding his milky-white irises.

Santana glanced at the cat, still crouched down and growling low in its throat. Not lowering her wand even a centimeter, she spoke, her voice once again calm, though just as stern as it had been before. "Why are you following this girl?" It was a simple question; one that Rachel had asked before and received nothing but pulled hair and a book nearly to the face. Apparently though, the threat of a wand-wielding Latina was more persuasive.

"I need to find my sister," came the mumbled reply.

Santana frowned and looked back at Rachel, keeping the wand up and the spirit in her peripheral. She didn't look too impressed with the small girl hiding behind her back, but also wasn't the least bit surprised. "You know this kid?"

Rachel, for her part, could only shake her head vehemently. "I've never met him until two days ago. I swear."

Santana nodded and looked back the child. "This isn't her and she can't help you. You need to leave her alone now."

Well I suppose I could try to help him, but he certainly hasn't said anything about needing help up until now… thought Rachel to herself. She was smart enough to keep her mouth shut, though, and opted for continuing to watch the proceedings from behind the safety of the woman with the know-how.She smells like spices and the outside. It's very nice - Rachel! Again? Really?

The spirit didn't seem to like what Santana was saying. "I need to find my sister!" he yelled, pale blue hands tightening into fists.

Santana raised her voice, but refrained from yelling in kind. "We can't help you. I'm sorry, but you need to leave right now." The red tint around the boy's eyes had gotten darker – more prominent.

"FIND MY SISTER!"

"Leave. Now." Several books flew off the bookshelf next to the plant stand the boy was near and slammed into the wall opposite the room.

"I WANT MY SISTER! GIMME MY SISTER!"

The cat yowled, back arching up as its fur rose. Santana didn't ask again. "I've you asked you thrice to go away, and yet you choose to scream and stay. By the Goddess and Blessed Three, I banish you now - away with thee!"

The spirit, a little overdramatically in Rachel's opinion, twisted and screamed and howled before being thrown out of the house completely, through the wall and to Lord-knows-where. And everything was instantly calm - including the cat, which was now sitting on the back of the couch and cleaning its paws.

Rachel stared in wide-eyed awe, mouth slightly agape and brain working to catch up with what just occurred. "That's never happened before," she murmured, half to Santana and half to herself. "They've never been that violent." She backed off a bit, putting space between herself and Santana as she worked to right her frazzled nerves. Santana visibly softened, just a touch, though kept her irate posture.

"You gonna be alright?" Her tone was even - hard even; but her eyes gave away a certain amount of concern, and Rachel held onto that as a form of reassurance. She opted simply to nod, not quite trusting herself to speak as yet. With a nod in turn, Santana moved swiftly past her, heading through a large arch that the little diva could only assume was the kitchen, judging by what she could see through the large opening in the wall between the two rooms, where a breakfast counter sat. "Good. You can leave now," spoke the taller woman briskly.

Ignoring that completely, Rachel began looking around the living room and anywhere else she could spot from said room. The area was spacious yet somehow managed to feel cozy and cluttered. The walls were covered in family photos (some so old they were black and white and faded), odd art work that was distinctly art nouveau in nature, if what little art history knowledge she had served her correctly. There was a large, brick fireplace, which looked like it had been used recently judging by the cast-iron fire gate and ashes, and on the mantle were various candles and some statues of figures she honestly didn't recognize. In the center were three large pillar candles: one white, one red, and one black. All three looked as though they had also been lit recently. The furniture was obviously old (like most of the house), but it was nice and well kept, and looked incredibly comfortable. Rachel tested the theory by slowly seating herself on the couch as she continued to study the various hanging and potted plants, bookshelves filled to the brim (she saw some titles in Latin and Spanish for sure, but some of the languages were completely unrecognizable), and the various little knicks and knacks that made the entire room feel… safe; homely, even.

She liked it, and said as much. "You have a lovely home, Ms. Lopez."

From the kitchen, said woman's head snapped to look through the window into the living room. "Why are you still here?"

Rachel smiled, standing up and making her way over to the stools by the counter. She took a seat, resting her hands in her lap. "I haven't properly thanked you for helping me."

Santana said nothing, merely raising a brow and resting a hand on a popped hip, waiting.

Taking that as her cue, Rachel inhaled, "With the utmost sincerity, I would like to extend my gratitude to you, Ms. Lopez - "

"Santana."

"- My apologies. Santana, then. I would like to extend my gratitude to you, Ms. Santana, for aiding me in that rather harrowing, and, if I may say, terrifying experience. I don't know what I would have done had I not been able to call upon your immediate and most experienced assistance. You have my eternal thanks and most sincere gratefulness."

Without missing a beat Santana turned back to the stove. "Great. You're welcome. Now go away."

Again Rachel ignored the woman's words completely. She was just too curious now. Here was this beautiful woman who could banish ghosts and had a real wand that was now behind her left ear and that made her look even more casual and stunning and – and - I just want to know everything about her. It's just… fascinating. I've never met anyone like her before. "So how much do I owe you?"

She watched as Santana's shoulders tensed and dark, dark brown eyes glanced back at her as the woman's head turned just enough to get the small young woman into her line of sight.

"Excuse me?"

"Payment," the student repeated. "For helping me."

Scoffing, Santana shook her head and rolled her eyes, returning to stirring whatever was in the large, cast-iron pot. "I don't charge for important shit. Don't be stupid."

Cocking her head to the side curiously and furrowing her brow, Rachel asked, "Isn't that kind of backwards?"

"Why are you still here?"

Rachel continued without missing a beat. "I mean I can understand maybe not charging for small, simple things. But for something important or difficult, wouldn't asking for monetary compensation be more sensible?"

With a long, possibly melodramatic, suffering sigh, the Latina turned around to once again face the girl completely, arms crossed over her chest (making Rachel's eyes flit down to it again for a split second before quickly looking back up into the woman's eyes). "Your life was in danger."

Rachel frowned in reply to this, and looked ready to argue it.

Santana, however, shot a finger up and shook it side to side. "Nu-uh. Don't speak. Just listen."

"Fine."

"What did I just say about speaking? Anyway. Your life was in danger. That was a poltergeist. They are nasty, bitter spirits that are nearlyimpossible to really help, and if they decide to focus on you it can cause some serious issues. Life-threatening issues. I'm not some fucking charlatan - " (Rachel thought it oddly hot that Santana used that kind of vocabulary despite otherwise talking between ghetto and too-much-swearing) " - who's gonna charge people an arm and a leg when they're already at risk. That shit's fucked up. Besides, the insurance companies do that shit enough. So whatever. If you came by for a cold remedy or whatever it'd be different."

Rachel was momentarily stunned by the answer; both by the nature of the response and the length that it was delivered in - neither of which had been at all expected. Then she grinned brightly, clapping her hands together while exclaiming, "You're so sweet!"

Groaning and muttering something in Spanish that Rachel couldn't quite catch, Santana turned around, shaking her head. "Ay Dios - pleaseleave."

It was quiet then, for a considerable amount of time, and Santana figured the little brat (was the kid even old enough to be walking around alone?) had left, even if she hadn't heard the door open or close. She was just getting back into her groove when out of nowhere, "Your cat is wonderful, by the way."

"FUCKIN' A - !" she shrieked, spinning on her heel and wielding her wooden spoon like a wand all its own. There sat Rachel, still at her counter, except now with her damn cat - wait, why was her cat sitting on Rachel's lap and purring like the shrimp was stuffed with catnip?

"She's very friendly. It's a she right? I just assumed by the color of the collar. Purple's a relatively feminine color. And the little ankh is cute, too, by the way. What's her name?" Rachel wasn't even looking at Santana at this point, just petting and looking at the cat on her lap with the brightest smile in the world. The cat, for her part, looked like she was in heaven.

Santana lowered the spoon, watching the unfolding scene carefully. "Yeah… Her name's Raza, and she's usually a complete bitch to everyone but me. What's up with you?"

Rachel continued to scratch Raza behind the ears, humming to herself a little before continuing on with her train of thought and, once againconveniently ignoring certain parts of what Santana was saying. "That seems silly. She seems perfectly amiable to me. Of course not that I know much about cats, seeing as I've never had one, sadly, but even so I would like to compliment you on how well you seem to take care of her. Her fur is very soft and despite earlier she appears to be very happy and pleased."

Walking over to the counter and setting the spoon down, Santana leaned on her elbows and raised a brow. "Yeah… Sure… But you didn't answer my question."

"Hm? Oh, I'm sorry. What was it again?" Before Santana could get another word in, Raza was pushing herself up into the crook of Rachel's neck and rubbing the top of her head against the bottom of Rachel's jaw, the tip of her tail twitching contently. "Oh you're so cute! And so soft!"

Santana watched the interaction carefully, eyes picking it apart piece by piece before she seemingly came to a decision. Her shoulders loosened up just a bit, and her eyes softened once again. She shook her head. "Nevermind… So, hey, since you seem intent on ignoring the ten thousand times I've told you to get out of my house, do you want some tea or something?"

Santana was pretty sure the smile on Rachel's face couldn't have gotten any wider, but it did as she looked up at the ebony-haired woman. "That would be lovely! What kind do you have? I'm not that picky but I do have my preferences and - "

"I can make pretty much anything here," cut in Santana quickly, before turning away and beginning to dig through the various cupboards in the kitchen. "Name it."

Frowning slightly, somewhat put-off by the interruption and briskness of the woman's tone, Rachel nonetheless replied. "Oh, well, in that case I'd like a simple chi and cinnamon, please. And thank you." Shrugging nonchalantly, Santana took out the necessary supplies and toned the pot burner down, while turning on and up the burner under the tea kettle resting on the back of the stove.

"So…"

"Rachel. Rachel Berry."

"Ber-"

"You helped my father, a year or so back. It's how I knew of you. Well I mean, there are the rumors, and everything, but I try not to read too much into hearsay, so to speak."

By this point Santana wasn't sure if she wanted to be more annoyed with the girl or, well, oddly charmed. She decided to go with the safer option of annoyed. "Ahuh… Anyway. Talk. What's up with the ghost kid?" She immediately regretted asking the question, as Rachel's eyes lit up, her back straightened, and she took a deep breath.

"Well, when I was a little girl, perhaps eight or so, there was this old woman that lived in our house. Or, well, not so much 'lived', but she was there. I tried telling my fathers about her, but they just assumed I was making up an imaginary friend and told me to be careful who I told outlandish stories to. They humored me for awhile, but as I got older they began dropping hints that maybe I should stop telling them about my imaginary friends. Or stop having them.

"Either way, I learned quickly to not speak about what I saw. And of course I saw other things, but Marge, the woman, was the most consistent. I would always talk to her when home alone, and in the evenings. She taught me so much, and I'm very grateful for having been able to see and speak to her.

"That, of course, was when I realized I was very different from my daddies, and possibly many other people. I mean, no one ever said anything about Marge, and I learned later that it was because they could neither hear nor see her. When I got older I began going to the local library on my own and learned about mediums and ghosts and that sort of thing. Not that I had much time to devote to it, and not that I really wanted to devote myself to it. I'm a star, you see. Or, well, I want to be.

"I want to be on Broadway. Have since I was four years old and saw the incredible and absolutely stunning Barbara Streisand in Funny Girl. Have you ever seen it? You should. It's very good. I could loan it to you, perhaps? I'm sure you'd enjoy it.

"Anyway, as I was saying. I learned what I was, but that really just taught me to keep it to myself. I was already somewhat of an outcast at - oh, thank you, at school, and I didn't need to give the popular kids any more reason to pick on me. Eventually Marge was able to move on, and she thanked me for giving her the opportunity to talk to someone, and to watch someone grow up. She had a daughter who died at a young age, and she had never been able to get past it. I guess watching and speaking with me filled that void for her somehow. It was a very beautiful experience, watching her pass on.

"After that I never had many issues. Once in a while I'd come across a lost spirit, or a frozen one, or someone stuck, but I very rarely ever spoke with them. Then of course I got into Tisch, moved out of my house here in Queens and into the dorms, and began studying in the Dramatic Arts. A few days ago that little boy appeared to me while I was walking in Central Park, and followed me back to my dorm. Thankfully my roommate is gone for the week, but I was very unnerved by the fact that he had followed me, as no spirit had ever done so before. I tried speaking to him, but he just screamed at me and pulled my hair. Then he laughed. He started messing things up in my dorm, would keep me awake at night, follow me to my class. It was horrible! I couldn't concentrate. I could barely sleep, if at all, and even eating was difficult!

"…Which I suppose now I understand what you meant by being in danger… I truly was terrified… But, well, finally I called by fathers in a rare moment of when the boy was gone, and said that I had… a special kind of problem.

"I'm not sure if you're aware or not, but that's kind of code for this neighborhood when they need to deal with things that are… well, your forte, I suppose. So they gave me your address, and here I am. Of course they weren't particularly happy about me coming here, and I certainly didn't tell me my actual reason, but I suppose that isn't really the point."

Having returned to her pot, it honestly looked like she hadn't been listening to a word Rachel had said. She had, though. Sure, Santana had allowed herself to zone out at certain parts, but for all intents and purposes she had hung onto Rachel's every word. There was something differentabout this girl, and it wasn't just the fact that she was clearly a first generation medium. No, she had dealt with mediums before, new and old, and Raza had never been anything more than civil to them. Her familiar was practically in love with the Berry girl, and that was enough to, at the very least, make Santana curious about her. By the time she had stopped talking, Rachel had gone through three cups of tea, and Santana, spooning the mixture from the pot into several small, glass vials, wasn't totally sure how she had found time to drink any of it. "Fascinating. Really."

Again, Rachel's expression faltered just a bit, for reasons she couldn't quite explain. Something bothered her greatly about not having Santana's full attention, and she didn't know why - only that it did and that she didn't like it. She blamed her need to be at the center of everyone's attention, because that was the safest option. "What about you?" she asked, both in an actual need to learn more about the woman and as a means to distract herself from whatever her other feelings were. Not that they were really anything at all.

Santana turned to face her, the six vials held expertly between her fingers. "What about me?" she asked in return, brow raised.

"What's your story?"

And then Santana grinned, and it was absolutely predatory, andsomething in Rachel's stomach twisted and churned and her mouth felt completely dry despite the three cups of tea she had just consumed. "I'm a witch. Duh."