Title: Resurgence

Summary: Misty Day had scarcely done anything truly wrong in her entire life, and trapped herself in hell when the test of The Seven Wonders went awry. The others aren't quite so willing to just let it go, though; and, as it turns out, Papa Legba isn't so big on injustice. Will be some Foxxay/Gooday in addition to the cannon pairs.

Chapter One: Senseless Discipline

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For Misty Day, the worst torture one could possibly endure would be feeling responsible for taking an innocent creature's life. The moment her hell took her back to was when she was around ten or twelve years old, still feeling powerless and terrified of her parents (who hated her- oh they hated her something fierce), surrounded by children who were significantly more willing to believe in her abilities than the teacher. Her mind was stuck in that childhood of constantly trying to suppress her abilities, hiding- primarily- from that look her pa gave her the day she discovered that she had something different, something special, inside her. The day she cried over her pa killing a rat (running around, screaming "Filthy varmin! Filthy varmin!"), and he'd left it on the front porch. Her four-year-old self was out in the outdoors, mourning the loss of life, when some tug deep within her chest told her Touch it, touch it- and she remembered what they said in Sunday School about that still, small voice of the Holy Spirit, so she did. It's neck was broken; that was the fact she'd gleaned from the contact, though it was just a 'knowing' that couldn't be explained. Within seconds, she'd found herself on her knees, feeling a strange vibration in the center of her brain, and she lowered her face towards the rat's as though she thought she could...well, she wasn't really thinking anything...but that tug spoke to her again and said Breathe! Breathe and share your life force! and she'd thought of the breath of life that God gave Adam in the book of Genesis and she felt for her own life force and she breathed. She could feel her life force wrap around the creature and restart his heart and she held him- however unwilling he was- to her chest and whispered "Now don'chu be comin' back here, Mousey. My pa won't like it," and he left. He walked with his head cocked crookedly to the side (for healing wasn't a power she'd learn until much later) and when she went back inside proudly to tell her pa what had happened and that he only needed to speak to the creatures to get them to go away, he gave her a glower of pure hatred and screeched that she was the anti-Christ and clobbered her across the face.

"Why'd you hit me, Pa?" she cried and clutched the throbbing side of her face. "I was list'nin to the little voice like the pastor tol' me-"

And he got down to her level so he could glare straight into her eyes with a look that would turn lava to stone-cold ice. He grabbed her shoulders so furious and hard that it jerked her and she cried out in pain, and in his low, deep voice he said "Don'chu be blasphemin' the Good Lord, girl! Jesus Christ 'imself is the only one who could bring the dead to life!" and he smacked her again, this time on the other side of her face, but she couldn't get away because his other arm held her. "Necromancers! Witches! You do somethin' like this again- you say somethin' like this again- and I'll have you burnt up, girl! Do you hear me?!"

"I-I-"

"This ain't no damn essay question, girl!" she was sobbing in terror, but it only made him clasp her harder- bring her closer- insist more loudly: "You damn devil! Satan! Anti-Christ! I know them ain't yer' real tears! Them is croc-o-dile tears, sent to put me off! Now you answer me!"

"I hear you! I hear you!"

He pushed her down so she was on her knees and barked one last order that was "Now you pray for forgiveness, miss Misty Day! You renounce that demon inside you that tells ya' ta' raise the dead to life or by God I'll be forced to burn the bastard out of you!"

And the little blonde cried so hard she choked on her tears and nodded fervently in obedience. "Yes, pa," she bawled, willing to do anything she could to appease him. She'd never, in her whole four-year-old life, seen him that mad about anything. Sure, he'd wacked her good a few times when she "mouthed off" or did something she wasn't supposed to, but she couldn't comprehend why he was so angry with her. When he finally walked away, he mumbled to himself that he just must not have killed that rat all the way and she was greatful- ever so greatful- that her mother hadn't been there with him. Her mother, in many ways, was a more fearsome creature than her father- more hurtful with her words and manipulation than with her hands. She didn't think he'd ever told her, she surely would have heard about it, and perhaps the fact that he'd neglected to do such was his way of apologizing for the over-reaction. Southern men, especially in those days, had a lot of pride about apologizing- especially to their daughters. You couldn't expect one to just walk in and say "I'm sorry, I was wrong-" their apologies came more discreetly, in the form of an extra hour of sleep the next day before getting up to milk the cows or, perhaps, in not informing one's mother of their abilities.

But her science classroom tested her resolve to renounce those powers. There were dead frogs floating in jars and dead butterflies pinned to a board and for what? For decoration? So that a bunch of kids could cut into them? So, rather than renounce that gift completely, she'd tried to be discreet. Someone had suspected that a particular student, most likely a male, was frog-napping the experiments, but they never showed up anywhere (of course, Misty made sure they were all returned safely to the swamp). One day, she was caught by the students- actually, one particular student- the boy who bullied her, whose name (Georgie Clapton) hadn't escaped her in the hundreds of years it had been since then and the rumors started going. At first, the teacher had protected her to the rest of the community by telling them it was a sleight of hand trick, that she was probably hiding the dead ones or throwing them somewhere else. They didn't suspect she was a witch- a trouble maker, but not a witch- and that protected her, at least in her childhood. But that protection was a double-edged sword, because he refused to allow her to opt-out of the dissection without a note from her parents (and both were unwilling to give one). She hated Georgie Clapton and she hated the teacher and what she hated the most was the sickening feeling of flesh splitting apart under the sharpened scalpel.

She wasn't aware of being older than ten. She was only vaguely aware that she'd been repeating this same scenario over and over, in streaks of deja vu. It didn't occur to her that her parents were long gone, that she'd come back from the dead, or that (thanks to Cordelia) she now had more power than what any mere man would be able to handle. In hell, she was taunted relentlessly and forced to feel the death of a small, defenseless frog under her hand and she was completely powerless to stop it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Zoe Benson was perfectly aware that she owed Misty a great deal. She was reminded of it every time she looked at Kyle. Yes, it had been Madison who brought him back, but Misty healed him. Cared for him. She brought Madison back when they needed her. She cared for Myrtle, without whom Cordelia would have never realized her power. If not for her friendship, there would be no council for her to be a part of, and the coven would likely have crumbled under Fiona's willingness to murder her own daughter and secure her immortality. More than that, though, the woman was innocent. She harbored no evils, loved all creatures, cared even for the most hopeless of beings.

And she was stuck in hell.

She still remembered that moment- that pitiful moment- when the innocent girl begged her to stay, or to let the boy stay. It had occurred to her then that the woman was probably lonely, but she hadn't realized the extent of it until later.

"Don't worry, I'll come back,"

"No...you won't,"

"Girl," Queenie's voice startled her out of her thoughts. "What are you doing? It's past midnight. Miss Cordelia wants us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by seven for new student orientation,"

'New Student Orientation,' since the television broadcasting, had been going on once if not twice a week. All council members (and, of course, the Supreme) were expected to be present.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, innocently enough. Secrets weren't kept so easily in this house, though in this case, it wasn't unconscious mind reading but Queenie's perceptiveness that saw through the situation like an open book.

"Zo, you've been through every book in the library. Don't you think it's time you give it a rest?"

Zoe frowned back at her. She said that every time they had a conversation about this. "I can't 'give it a rest,' Queenie," she answered, though that explanation never seemed to be exactly enough for her. "She trusted us, and now she's stuck in hell. Because of us,"

"She chose to go through the test, Zoe. She knew what she was getting into,"

Zoe shook her head at that. "She never would have gone through it if she hadn't met us,"

"You mean Fiona. We had nothing to do with it,"

That was a fair enough interpretation of the events, so Zoe gave her a nod. "I still don't want to leave her there, Queenie. If there's a way I can get her out- any way at all- I want to try,"

There came a light, tapping knock on the door. With twenty-odd girls in the house, and more piling in every day, they never knew exactly who it was who might need them- only that they recognized the knock.

"Gi-" Cordelia started to call them 'girls' out of habit, but stopped herself and corrected with "Zoe? Queenie? Is that you in there?"

"Yes, Ms. Cordelia," they both responded. She opened the door and peeked in.

"Not to pry, ladies, but we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,"

"We understand," Zoe answered with a light smile. "I don't plan to be up much later,"

"I was just takin' care of a problem with one of the girls," there was a silent understanding in the room of what Queenie meant when she said that. One of the new girls had gone into her first menstrual cycle and, in a rare handful of practitioners, the start of one's first cycle could mark the beginning or an intensification of their magical abilities.

Cordelia smiled softly and replied "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Queenie, it was just a friendly suggestion," she looked at Zoe curiously, wanting to see if the girl would reveal what she was up to but not wanting to pry and come off as a nag.

"You can ask if you want to know, Ms. Cordelia,"

"I've told you over and over, you don't-"

"-have to call you 'Ms.' Cordelia," both of them replied in unison. Referring to her differently, though, felt strange. Even the idea was weird, not just because she had been their teacher, but also because she was now the Supreme. Both of them felt that, so they had continued referring to her that way in spite of these near-protests.

She stopped talking for a second and looked away, somewhat flustered, before continuing. "I would like to know what's keeping you up so late, Zoe, but you don't have to tell me,"

"It's okay," she shrugged one shoulder. Telling her that she had an ongoing personal project with trying to get Misty out of hell felt wrong. It seemed like something Cordelia shouldn't know. She trusted that intuition, for the moment, without questioning it. She wanted to keep it as secret as possible. "I'm just studying- the test of the Seven Wonders. How it originated," she swirled the tip of her pointer finger around and around the page she was looking at. The look on Cordelia's face told her that she wasn't buying it, that she knew there was more to it, but she also trusted her not to pry into her mind for more answers than she was willing to give. If it had been Fiona, she probably would have said 'Exactly how full of shit do you think I am?' or something to that effect. Before Cordelia really had a chance to respond, though, Zoe injected a question into the little chat; "Do you know what going into hell has to do with being the Supreme, Ms. Cordelia?"

She was visibly taken aback by the inquiry. All the books on the Seven Wonders, including the Secret Books, simply stated that they were abilities that elevated all magic into an 'art form.' "No, I'm afraid I don't,"

She knew the question was probably a dead give away, but even if it was, no one was talking. "It just seems weird that someone would want us to put ourselves in mortal danger unless there was a reason for it,"

Somehow, Zoey thought saying that might throw Cordelia off her trail, but based on that responding sympathetic smile and the way she walked in and started stroking her hair, she'd just succeeding in practically giving herself away. "I can't tell you what they were thinking,"

With that, she closed the book and slid it back on the desk, contemplating whether or not to leave it there. There didn't seem to be any information of use in it, nor in any other book in here. Maybe she'd have to get creative. But there probably wasn't much more she could do tonight. "Thanks," she gave them each with sincere gratitude. "I think I'm prepared enough for the new students tomorrow. See you guys in the morning,"

Queenie replied with an expected "'Night,"

And Cordelia actually turned to watch her leave and said- "Goodnight, Zoey," then looked back. "Queenie," as her name was called, the human-voodoo doll turned back towards her and gave a quizzical 'Hm?' "I want you to keep an eye on her,"

She nodded understandingly. "I try. 's why I came to the library after, 'stead o' going to bed," when it came to magic, both of them understood how easy it would be to get reckless- and Zoey had done so before, with the Axeman on the ouija board.

"Thank you. But you don't need to give up your sleep to do me a favor," she decided she was done for the evening, though, and gave Queenie a little pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to bed, myself. See you in the morning,"

"'Night." she replied and left the room herself.