Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, American Horror Story or any of their characters. They are owned by the wonderful Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan.
(A/N: I know a lot of you guys were hoping for Faberry, and don't worry! Quinn will be introduced in this chapter, and there will be plenty of Faberry! I promise! Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you like it! :) Don't forget to review! Oh, also, in Coven, a Supreme is basically the leader of the coven- a super powerful witch who has mastered the 'Seven Wonders' or powers. A new one comes up every generation... Oh! P.S Sorry I haven't updated in a little while... I discovered Flappy Bird and got a little carried away...)
Chapter 2 - Quinn's POV
As I, along with the rest of the girls, walk through the doors to the house after getting back from the worst fucking field trip since my elementary school had the bright idea to take a group of eight year olds to Alcatraz - Madams Delphine LaLaurie's estate (good call, Cordelia), I take off my jacket and hang it on the coat hanger by the door.
Santana walks down the stairs, and I'm about to ask her why she didn't have to go to the old lady's house when she suddenly looks back upstairs and says, "Hey, Rachel! Come downstairs! I have to show you the kitchen. The cook always has a cake somewhere,"
Rachel. The girl Cordelia was telling us about. She must be here.
"The new girl's here? Oh, and she's already met you. The poor thing," I say to Santana. I am slightly bitter that Santana didn't have to go; she never has to go. She thinks she's the next Supreme, so she thinks she has some special privilege.
My thoughts are cut off when I see who I assume must be Rachel. What I notice first about her isn't her beautiful smile or silky locks or stunning eyes, but a glow about her. She has an essence about her that is unmistakable. There are just some people with that certain quality. Not exactly charisma- no, that's not right, but it's the kind of thing that intoxicates you and makes you absolutely transfixed by them.
She looks at me and smiles again.
"Oh, hi. I'm Rachel Berry," she says. Her voice is sweet and soft. Comparing it to honey would be an insult to her. (A/N: Sorry. That's so sappy, but I had to.)
"Hi, I'm Quinn. Quinn Fabray," I say back. She smiles as she finally reaches the bottom of the stairs and stands next to Santana, who looks very irritated and hasn't stopped glaring at me since I first saw Rachel. Dammit. Was the look on my face when I saw her that doe-eyed and wonderstruck?
Santana, ever so subtly, clears her throat. Jesus Christ. Has she already made a move? No. She couldn't have. Rachel's probably not even gay. It wouldn't stop Santana from trying, though. Why is it that everything I want, Santana gets? God, I'm being crazy. I'm making assumptions, and I'm acting like I own her; I mean for the love of fuck, I literally just met her. Still, there's this kind of... chemical, physical, undeniable allure that goes beyond attraction - it's almost like a fascination or magnetism between us.
I pay no notice, and I think Rachel genuinely thought she just needed to clear her throat, so I say again to Rachel, "So, I hear you and Satan- sorry, Santana, are sharing a room together,"
"Yeah. It's a beautiful room," Rachel says.
"Believe it or not, mine's even lovelier. You should come by and see it some time," I say.
"Anyway, Rachel, where are you from," Santana interjects, and I make an effort not to roll my eyes.
"Ohio," Rachel says.
"Oh, I have a cousin who lives there," I say. I don't have a cousin that lives there.
"So, what do you guys normally do around here?" Rachel asks.
"Nothing too fun. Boring field trips and shit, but luckily, I can keep it pretty interesting. Not that any of the bitches around here know how to have any fun... or a good idea when they hear one," Santana says, looking pointedly at me.
"We were not going to set the Lambda Sig house on fire, Santana," I say, referring to the last great idea Santana had.
"Yeah, I know. I was there; I heard the ruling, short round," Santana said.
"You're less than an inch taller than me," I say, exasperated.
"Do you wanna get out the tape measure again, Fabray? I'll do it," Santana threatens.
"So, Rachel, if you really want a tour, I can show you up to the attic," Santana says, as if that's some incredibly mysterious and sexy place. It's probably covered with dust bunnies and mold.
"I thought we weren't allowed up there," Rachel says.
"We're allowed anywhere we want. See Rachel," Santana puts her hand on Rachel's shoulder, semi-sweetly and semi-seductively, which causes me to hold back another eye roll. Santana and her always wanting the same things I so will be the death of me, or at least of my vision, "we're witches. We make the rules," Santana finishes.
I notice something about Rachel's body language. She looks... flustered but also a little embarrassed. Thoughts wandered into my head about what could have happened in the mere hours since Rachel's been here. Part of me thinks nothing could happen... Not that quickly, but then again, it's Santana.
Rachel looks at me. She smiles, but Santana just stares at Rachel.
"Come on; let's go," I say, not willing to be the third wheel, left out.
I grab Rachel's hand and she, shockingly, amazingly, doesn't let it go or twitch away. She giggles and runs up the stairs with me as if we were children.
"Hey," I say excitedly when we get to the top, "can you do transmutation?" (A/N: Here, transmutation is like transportation from one place to another instantaneously, like a flash)
"Umm, I don't know. I've never tried," she says.
"Here," I say, holding her hand tighter, "I'll show you."
With that, I can see Santana flash from the bottom of the stairs to where we are. 'Butt out, Satan' I think to myself.
"I could show you. Quinn's a beginner. She could over shoot her destination and get impaled on the front gate," Santana says. She grabs Rachel's hands, and before I can do anything, or snap back at Santana, Rachel's warm palms are no longer pressed against mine, as Santana, from Rachel, literally tore Rachel from my arms. How sad and... literal is that?
I decide it's better to stay where I am. If I make the wrong move, Santana or Rachel would reappear exactly where I'm standing, and I don't even want to know what would happen if that was the case.
Suddenly, Santana and Rachel reappear beside me, hand in hand.
I know it's dumb, but it's like if you were to see a really hot guy (or girl) at a party, and you make eye contact across a crowded room, and it's like you can detect your chemistry immediately; you've never even spoken to them, but when another girl (or guy) has the balls (or... lady balls?) to go up to them and hit on them, it's like you've lost something really special, and the jealousy you feel is sharp and painful, even though you know it may not be warranted exactly.
Only, it's different now. When I learned I was a witch, part of what they told me was that, even if your gift was not clairvoyance, all witches possess a certain intuition, especially when it comes to reading people.
Things are more acute, heightened, stronger for us; we experience emotions on a higher lever than the lower beings - anger, jealousy, infatuation, sexual desire and attraction, though they are not exactly emotions... We take time to fall in love just like anybody else, but when we see... potential in someone, it is obvious and irrevocable, and it is what I, and I suspect Santana too, saw in Rachel.
"So, now that the joy ride is over, Rachel, I'll show you around the house-" I'm cut off.
"Sorry, Q, Delia already gave her the two dollar tour," Santana says with a little bit of a smirk.
"Well," I start, desperate to not be excluded by Sergeant Santana's Slutty Hearts Club Band, "anyway, the attic. Let's go."
"Let's," Santana says.
This time, I don't give Santana the satisfaction of getting one more step ahead. I grab Rachel's hand again and focus. Before my very eyes, the floor of the head of the stairway turns to that of the attic.
Santana's already there, standing just beside a tall, white, dusty bookcase, smirking.
"Glad you made it, Glinda," Santana says. Her incessant smirking is going to give her the weirdest fucking wrinkles when she gets older.
Rachel giggles. I look to her, and she looks back at me. She looks guilty and embarrassed. Oh, shit. Did she just hear that?
I look back to Santana, who is rummaging through an old, musty box on the floor.
"Oh, no way," Santana says, standing up and turning around. She has a large box in her hand. I can't quite tell what it is.
"What is it?" Rachel asks, walking over to Santana and letting go of my hand again.
"Ouija Board," Santana says, mischievously.
(A/N: Sorry that this is kind of short and its sort of kind of not really a cliff hanger; I just wanted to get the next chapter up. Don't worry; the next chapter will be longer and almost exclusively Faberry. Thanks for reading; don't forget to review.)
:)
