DEAD SOULS

…~°~...

They'd fought well enough against the natural witches that had left the Fox Clan to find their fix amongst straws and packets of sickly sweet mind altering drugs. It was no wonder they couldn't break through to Tia before she'd gone wild and chanted words they'd never heard before, blowing the roof off of the Whyte Wyrm entirely. Between selling secrets to Hiram Lodge and filling her body with Jingle Jangle, Tia had managed to find her way through the Greendale witches, to align herself with the Dark Lord and learned a thing or two. Her recuperation after the fight between herself and Betty had turned into a full fledged conversion. Nothing that Mercy and Alma and Ferka taught them could have prepared them for the hellfire that reigned down upon them all when Father Blackwood took a stand against Mercy Smith and she'd raged every conceivable element over the dark priest's head until there was nothing left of him but his robes and a few bones. Screams piercing the darkness came when the smell of burning flesh rose over the ashes of what used to be the Greendale Coven leader. They'd run from the quickly crumbling Serpent bar and into the night before they could make a real plan on where to go. Betty, Sweet Pea, Jughead and Fangs made it to the House of the Dead just as Malachi, Batso, Kevin, Ratso and Charles took down what looked to be three eyeless creatures that had attacked the club.

The air was thick with a putrid odor, rotting and burning flesh was all around them, making it difficult not to wretch where they stood in the street. They'd all met with their parents and friends at the Riverdale Register in the early morning hours of the next day, after having to fight every single step of the way there. It was bloody and brutal and there were casualties of every conceivable type.

When they'd learned of Pop Tate's victory over the Greendale Coven in its entirety, they all sighed in relief that at least one establishment was standing. Pop's was generous and helped to secure the Ghoulies and Serpents that were still standing with a hot meal and a place to rest until they could figure out how to retaliate. The heads of the families stayed upstairs to plan, Betty was not involved in these plans. When the walls shook violently and the ceiling began to crumble over their heads, the mix of groups in the basement of the Choc'lit shop made a dash for the stairs and consequently the doors at the back and front of the tethering diner. Pushing through the throngs of people, Betty screamed for Malachi to no avail. At one point she'd seen Charles with Ratso and Batso, Archie and Veronica with FP and her mom. There was Jughead, Tony and Cheryl with her Grandmother and Ferka. Fangs and Sweet Pea were running off with Alma, Benny and Kitty. When she had seen Filthy Fil, he was grasping onto Andrea, who was holding onto Malachi's coat tail. That was when the first gust of wind came roaring through the crowded streets, then the screams came and the asphalt beneath their feet shook and broke into pieces. When her flight or fight instinct had finally kicked in, stumbling was her only way of fleeing, she had barely begun to run away from the splitting and opening street and its flanking crumbling structures when a hand tugged on her upper arm. The feeling of the strong palm taking grasp of her arm had utterly jarred her out of her tunnel vision, whipping around to meet the eerily similar eyes of the very last person she'd ever expect to help her when she was totally hopeless. He was terrified and despite the freezing wind and snow still on the ground, he was glistening with sweat, beads of moisture were falling freely over the sharp planes of his face. He'd been yelling at her, so loudly in fact that the tendons in his neck were strained with the effort, and she registered nothing, her fear had left her with instincts alone. Shaking her violently, his urgent wails and determined tugging broke through Betty's shock. When she finally came to and heard his pleas, albeit far from her reality, they ran as the fissure opened wider and swallowed Pop's Choc'Lit Shoppe whole.

…~*~...

"If I'd have known we would have ended up like this, I never would have hopped on board the band wagon princess." The deep timber of his voice resonating deep within her sternum, stirring the feelings of dread she'd done such a good job of stuffing down lately. Her heart was pounding beneath her rib cage so violently she thought she might burst open from the pressure, and rubbing her sternum with the pads of her fingers only made it feel worse.

"I never asked you to hop on anything. You came along for the ride, of your own free will. So stop acting like I forced you to be here." Her words came out strong, no hint of the trembling she felt in her every extremity, a vibration deep within her marrow that threatened to spill over the water lines of her eyes.

"You're too quick to disregard that I was drug here, defending you. I had no choice in that. We've lost a lot of people, there's only so much hope left now. Come on, get your shit so we don't get caught in the crossfire." Stamping out the small fire held within the minuscule ring they'd made the night before, he swiftly turned to the collapsing tent they'd slept in. It was erected in haste, in a barely moonlit clearing.

"If I'm a burden to you Fil then why don't you just leave me here? You aren't bound to me, you don't see me as part of the club anyhow. I can find my way without forcing you to die in the process, for me." Stuffing her worn blanket back into her backpack, she huffed angrily. They'd narrowly escaped with what little they could grab, she had no earthly idea how she'd managed to get stuck with Filthy Fil, in the deepest darkest parts of her, she was grateful. He wasn't her first choice, but he was close enough to the one she really wanted to be with and that was such a great comfort to her in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. She'd take what she could get in this uncertainty. And despite his hurtful words, he literally had no idea of how he helped her.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Leave the goddamn princess to fend for herself in the crazy Greendale Coven's territory. Let you get snatched up by those three sisters? I think not. What would FP do, jeez, and Mal? I'd be lucky to live through their wrath if I left you here alone, forget the heathenous hellfire I'd catch at the hands of those witches." His breath hung heavy in the cool air. There was snow and dirt kicked up, obvious that someone had been here. He'd have to do something about that, but they needed to pack and quick.

Now that they had stopped speaking, they began to work together, tearing down the small tent and rolling it's contents back into shape for easy travel. They didn't have much else. Standing just outside their camp area, Fil took Betty's hand in his; her head jerking in his direction in shock, breath audible amidst the plumes of steam coming from the unlikely pair.

"We have to fix this. So they don't follow us. You can do this, I watched you and Pea, and I'm better at elemental magic than he is." Squeezing her hand for a moment, Filemon closed his eyes. Feeling the rush of cold around him, he imagined the earth receding from the ice and snow, settling back into its place beneath the white that blanketed the forest floor. Next he imagined the snow without feet, or a fire. He'd seen in his mind the way it ought to look without people in the way. The wind blew slightly and then it was done. They both opened their eyes and the clearing was totally devoid of human contact. Just as Fil intended. Betty felt the corners of her eyes sting. He was rather good with his elements and she was suddenly grateful for his willingness to stay with her and fight.

"Thank you Fil you know, I do appreciate you." Standing there, still grasping Malachai's brother's hand, she felt morbidly alone. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, she wasn't supposed to be here with his brother, and yet, here they were.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too used to it, we have a traitorous bitch to find. If my senses are right, we have at least eight hours before the next storm blows in." There was the faintest hint of a smile on his pouty lips, leaving Betty with a little less tension in her ribcage, and a little more patience for the smart mouthed shape shifter.

"So, where to then?" With her bag slung over her shoulder, Betty watched the sharp features of her unlikely defender. She was truly thankful for him, he had really held his own when they were forced to separate from the others.

"I guess we can follow the old trail, but just inside of the tree line, we want to stay hidden in case Hiram's guys are patrolling through there. If we're lucky the Greendale coven won't find us either. Different magic, different types of wards to look out for and I don't think you got that far in your training. Jesus, listen to us." Shaking his head, Fil looked down at his well worn boots. The skull Dre had painted on one steel toe stared back at him, it's hollow eyes glaring back at him. The sharp pain in his heart was quickly met with the pressure of Betty's hand on the inside of his left bicep. Eyes darting over the gloved fingers grasping at his leather, he sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed back the bile that threatened to spill past his lips.

"I learned a little. We'll make it. Let's go." Then she was tugging him over the small hill they'd tumbled down the night before. Stopping just over the top to clear their footprints and to look for the path that led to the Fox Clan's compound. With any luck, they'd find their way with little to no problems along the way. It was a long shot she knew, but in the silence, they were both longing for their families. For the comforting arms they'd missed over the several days of battling and running.

Doing her best to push away the memories of the Greendale witches coming from, who even knew where, with their fast paced chanting and herbs and their hooved deity that came to bat for them without provocation from their opponents. It was the most mind numbing thing they'd ever seen and there was nothing they could do to stop the beast. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the images, the smells, and the screams. They fell into place at the forefront of her mind, assaulting her with their potency.

"Stop reliving it Betty, we can't fix it. We need to stick to the trail, get to the compound and hope everyone else does too." Flexing his bicep, Fil held Betty's hand closer to his ribcage. She could feel the steel blade beneath his jacket front, and that brought her comfort. Not just because he had a weapon for self defense outside of their abilities, but also because it reminded her of Malachai. He had shown her the many hiding places he'd stashed his knives and blades of all sizes. Then she realized that Filemon knew she was thinking about last night, about the last couple of nights, the stench in the air, and screams of torment and despair. Fil was poking around in her head and she hadn't realized it. He was far beyond any magic she'd come to know.

"What else can you do that I don't know about?" Watching him as they made their way through the snow, she waited patiently.

Raising one finger into the frosty cold air in front of them, Fil blew over the tip like it was a candle. It lit with a green flame, rising high in the space above it. It almost resembled a snake when it rose higher still, changing it's appearance entirely, a gray wisp fanned out to its sides creating an almost skull like shape before it shot upward out of the tree tops and exploded without sound.

"Hopefully they'll catch my signal, if not, we will run like hell and talk in our heads, Firka taught you that right?" It was the first time she'd even remembered that they could do these things. Feeling a little ashamed of her thoughtlessness, she shook her head, pushing a memory of her and her cousin practicing magic at the compound.

"Yeah, alright. Let's get on." He didn't know what else to say, it was too much for him at the moment. He was thinking about Andrea and his brother and dumbass cousins and their family. There wasn't enough time to call out for any of them, and if he caught the wrong mind, they'd be strung up without a second thought. It wasn't high on his list to be hung by his own innards in the Greendale woods by witches that had left his ancestors high and dry to be hunted by the normies of Riverdale and Centerville. There was quite a large rift between the covers and this made Fil wonder. How exactly had Hiram Lodge wedged himself between the two groups so effortlessly? What did he know that none of the leaders cared to dig deeper? Then it occurred to him to silently ask.

"Hey, your Grandma is a Smith by marriage right? Firka is your cousin on her side?" Squeezing her hand again, he glanced at her for a moment before tugging her under a massive low hanging branch.

"Uh, yeah, Firka's dad is my gran's younger brother. Why do you ask?" Furrowing her brow, Betty tried to remain optimistic waiting for an answer.

"The Pike's were an original Greendale family. Before all of the fire and brimstone. Before the weird shit started happening in these woods. That's why your grandma lives out here, why she came back when your granddad passed away. It's where she was born. Hiram had to know that. The Smith's were an original Riverdale family. That's gotta mean something. Your dad's people, Greendale or Riverdale?" There was something in all the pieces, he could feel it. He just wasn't sure what it was yet.

"Riverdale. Well, that's not entirely true. His father was a Blossom. So Riverdale on his dad's side. His mom was a Cooper, and she was from Centerville." Trying to piece together what Fil was asking all of these questions for, she felt like she might vomit.

"Betty, that's four original families, of pure witch blood. Wasn't your sister running around with Edgar Evernever?" He stopped and looked at her, eyes wide with fear of what he already knew was true.

All Betty could do was nod her head to concur. Polly had been with The Farm for months now. She had been over for Thanksgiving trying to get them all to come and visit. Polly was adamant about what a great guy Edgar was. Her grandmother had said that Edgar was into something darker and he had his hooks sunk into Polly. It was all right in front of her face, the whole time.

"Betty, RUN!"

…~*~...

"Look at this, what a pleasant surprise! Isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Turning around to look at the room of people, a smile spread from ear to ear. Silently, they bowed their heads in agreement. "Just so happens you fell in Riverdale, and we took hold overnight. This could very well be the last of Old Greendale coven. The Foxtale clan that ran rampant in our woods for as long as I can remember. Here is the end of the line, the end of the tyranny of magic."

"What about the others? They could be out there. We just haven't found them yet." A voice came from the sea of bodies, no one daring to turn around and find the soul that spoke against their leader.

"There is no other true heir. How dare you even consider it! It took us the better part of a year, but we were successful in infiltrating, in taking what was rightfully ours. Who are you, that speaks out bringing doubt to the masses? Come forward!" His muscles were rippling with anger, the tendons of his hands flexing over his taught fist at his side. The need to punch through something, someone, was growing ever stronger. So he took to turning in and looking for the insolent mouth that spoke from the back, where he couldn't see them. They weren't eager to expose themselves, they had an agenda and he could feel the mounting tension.

"Where is Alice and Betty Cooper? Aren't they heirs of the original Greendale Coven?" A different voice came this time, causing murmurs to erupt from the group.

"I ask again, who are you? Why would you say these things to these people?" Angry was putting it lightly. The heat that coursed through his veins at this moment in time was threatening to boil over. There was not a single inch of his body that wasn't tingling with a need for it's release.

"Where is Pop Tate and Alma Cardenas? What about their children? Where are the Ghoulies, and the Serpents? Answer us!" Another voice, and the murmuring was beginning to escalate.

He whipped around, eyes raking over each face before him. The voices of his followers rose to an almost deafening pitch. They would question his authority, the information he had been giving them, the very basis of his institution. If there were mutiny, where would that leave him then? Some of these people have spent literal years in silent servitude, needing to be told who to be and how to act, and what to think and who they were. The inner turmoil of this particular crowd could be volatile, it could reign hell fire upon his head.

"Where are the Coopers?" The original voice came booming from his side. Snapping his head in the direction of the outburst, he barely caught the hooded figure moving in the background of the room.

"Where is the Cardenas Family?" Again, the voice came and he swiftly turned his head, another hooded figure with a flash of stark white beneath it.

"Where is the Voodoo King of Riverdale?" He thought he hadn't turned in time, but he glimpsed the hood, and white chalky form underneath it, and the stitches in a jagged line where the mouth should have been.

Jumping backward from the crowd, he looked again at the direction of the previous hoods, but all he saw were the faces of his congregation, his wife, Polly. She was holding both of their children, swaddled in plush white blankets, their mouths stitched closed like the hooded figures before. Polly was a stoney eyed, wide smiling statue in the face of her new husband, and their many followers. She stood eerily still when he jerked away from her, choking back his scream and fear.

"What's wrong dear? Don't you think our babies are beautiful? I did this all for you. I helped them to be better, for you. They'll never question you, not like the others, not like Evelyn, not like Father Blackwood. I'm good to you, and I love you. Aren't you proud of me? I made this all for you. I did this all for you." Polly's eyes were saucers in her too small face. She moved forward, jerking motions nearly making him sick. He'd seen this only one other time, and even then he didn't entirely understand it. He made a move to turn and run, but he found he was stuck in place, ropes of thick thorned ropes were holding him down in a chair. A chair that he knew for certain was not in this particular room, as it was used for teaching, and standing was what kept his flock from falling victim to sloth. He knew these types of ropes only came from one place in Greendale, and he hadn't been there since he was a boy. Knowing full well that this was impossible, Edgar Everner shook his head to regain his composure. It worked for a moment, when the bright white of the room cracked slightly, allowing for the greying stone of his prison to bleed through the facade of this hell.

"Not so fast Edgar! You wanted this didn't you? You wanted to flock, and to get rid of Evelyn, take on Polly and her babies to make your bed a little warmer at night? You got Polly and the kids, Evelyn wasn't exactly a problem, what with her little accident and all. Let's see, what am I forgetting?" The hooded figure from before, with the stitched up mouth, walked jerkily toward him, struggling in the chair.

"You're wrong you know? About Evelyn, that was no easy feat. She didn't die quickly nor was she quiet. Polly was the perfect partner in that particular crime. You'll find that Cooper women are extraordinarily eager to defend what they believe is theirs, or act on their incredible rage. All that pink must be a real bitch to deal with." Another hooded figure came into view now. Spewing forth a couple of truths he chose to forget, but now they were swirling in the forefront of his mind.

"Not to mention those poor people. A congregation is what you call them? More like meat puppets prone to abusive relationships and a need to be controlled. They're not really followers are they? Not when they sell their homes and cars and businesses and forking over all that dough to you Edgar my boy. How do you sleep at night, knowing you're a third rate witch who sucks the bank accounts of pinheads who don't know any better?" The third hooded figure was in his face, a faint scent of nutmeg and vanilla wafting in the air between them. It made his mouth water, the way it tortured his scences, lingering over every taste but as he drew a long breath in through his mouth.

"Isn't that cute? First he thought he was capturing Mercy, then he thought he could smell his sweet young wife. Is it tourture Edgar, the way this all works?" The first figure stood motionless, arms folded over it's chest, exposing his inner thoughts like a cheap grocery store tabloid. It made fire erupt in his veins at their mockery.

"You of all people should know how this works Edgar, you created it. You, and your thieving whore of a dead wife!" Then he was falling, still wrapped inside of those thorn encrusted ropes; a tomb that he was certain he'd never break free of. He had given up fighting against them once the scents had assaulted him, it was more than he could bear.

The three hooded figures laughed menacingly in his ear, deep chortles that sent shivers of ice cold washing through him. Just when he thought the falling was his own personal purgatory, it stopped. There were no hoods, no laughing, no thorny vines nor was he freezing from the inside out. Opening his soggy eyes, he realized that he was in fact in his bed, safe and warm with the limbs of his new bride entangled with his own. The shock of seeing her here, and remembering how she was in his dream was violent. The sobs that escaped him were loud enough to wake the dreaming young woman beside him.

"Edgar? Edgar are you alright?" Her voice was husky with sleep as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I'm, uh, yeah. It was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep. You need the rest, think of the kids. Good night Polly." Scrubbing at his face with his palms, he sucked in a deep breath then released it with a heavy throb in his heart.

"Good night Edgar. I love you." She was very nearly asleep again.

"I love you too Polly, so very much." Then he kissed her forehead, hoping like hell that he could right the wrongs he'd set into motion.

…~*~...

"You are one sick fuck, you know that?" The three boys took their hoods from their heads, shaking their heads in disbelief of what they'd just done.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know, Ratso." Laughing to himself, Charles felt a little guilty for using his half sister against one of the threats to their lives. She was just as involved with Hiram as Father Blackwood was, and look at where that got him? A pile of ash in front of what used to Pop's.

"If he hadn't have used the Polly card, there wouldn't have been the same outcome. We can't be sure that Edgar isn't privy how we do things in the Fox Clan." Batso lit a cigarette with his zippo, flipping the lid shut when he took a great pull from the burning tobacco.

"You think he knows Bats? Polly couldn't have told him, she was long before even Betty and Jug knew. Shit, we really didn't think any of this through." Worrying his lip, Ratso took his spot on the badly deteriorated mattress on the floor.

"It doesn't even matter now, she's one of them. Sister or not. She chose sides when she married that sick son of a bitch and killed that twisted wife of his in cold blood. Besides, you think for one second they don't know that there are dream walkers? He's as dumb as he looks if he doesn't concider that someone was influencing what he saw." Charles took a swig of something before shoving the flask back into this jacket pocket, then lay down beside Ratso on the mattress.

"All I know is, I can't believe this place is empty. Same shitty mattress though, you'd think they would change 'em out once in a while." Batso took the remaining sliver next to his brother, turning on his side. "Just like the good ole days huh Babyface?"

"Yeah. The good ole days." Charles said in a hushed tone.

"I hope we can make it back, I miss Mama Coop already." Ratso, rolled to his side too now, listening to the howls of wind outside the building walls, it was helping to lull him to sleep.

"We'll make it, just don't know what we're makin' back to. Mama will be happy to see you Rat, don't trip. We'll see her again." Charles lay there in the quiet for who knows how long, watching the minimal light coming from the window on the opposite wall where they lay.

Wondering just how many of his family and friends had died, who were dying while he lay with his two closest brothers in the long since abandoned Sisters of Quiet Mercy. His stomach churned with unspoken worry and regret. He wished he'd been warm with his parents, and his siblings, but he didn't know if he could be warm at the time. He wasn't sure when the bottom would fall out from under him leaving him with nothing again. When he watched the House of the Dead burn to ground, he didn't know what the hell to think about any of it. It was a horror show of mass proportions. Then The Register, and finally Pop's, it was more than he could take, more than what he wanted to think about, so he rolled over onto his side. It was so much like the old days, when they would get into trouble and be sent down here, in the unkempt portion of the hospital, home, hell. They'd spend unknown periods of time here, with only their imaginations and abilities to keep them sane. With one last look around the nearly blackened room, Charles huffed and settled himself further into the musty mattress and hoped they would make it for the next couple of hours, maybe even until morning if they were lucky.

"Get some sleep Babyface, we can worry in the morning." Batso reached back and patted his friend on the arm before settling back into rest.

"Yeah, tomorrow." Was all Charles could muster before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.