Emily's fingers twitched at the feeling of mist upon her skin, prickling dampness that made her hair stand on end. The air was stagnant save for that mist, still enough to make her feel as if she were encased in amber. Her eyes felt heavy as led, fluttering open before being pulled closed against her will. It was a familiar battle. Clawing her way out of dreams was all too frequent a struggle.
When her eyes finally opened, everything around her looked hollow. Mist was mist no matter its form, she surmised. It existed and did not exist – solid as stone and as tangible as water. Such was the nature of dreams.
Above her, a cave ceiling stood, stalactites jutting from the ceiling like teeth in a gaping maw. From the roaring rapids behind her, stones jutted from the water in a similar fashion. Somehow, she knew it was River Styx. She didn't know how she knew… it was as if the knowledge had always been there.
The massive tunnel went on for miles left and right. Wooden beams were placed along the cave walls, reminiscent of what you would see in a mining cave. No humans were there to have constructed them – another fact that existed without reason in her mind. They simply came into existence. Emily took a moment to absorb these facts, whispers dashing past her ears like a gentle breeze.
In front of her was where the true wonder began. She had seen this place before, known it as well as she knew the back of her hand. It was ancient, predating the Greeks, the Egyptians, and even the Mesopotamians.
A pressure that had been on her chest throughout her life lifted. Emily could finally breathe. Dreams had offered momentary relief, but this? This was freedom. She took the first step forward, adjusting to the sensation of feeling and not feeling while resisting the urge to run towards the door she knew waited for her ahead.
Grey marble jutted out of the otherwise brown and bleak rock, a staircase with intricately carved designs inlaid with silver. The first staircase was followed by a large equally-decorated platform and another short set of stairs. Beyond that sat a door all too familiar, engraved with snakes and sigils. It stood taller than any decent-sized house, making her small and insignificant in comparison. Emily found that she didn't mind the feeling that thought evoked.
The blonde-haired figure standing before it was also familiar, making Emily halt in her steps. Michael peered at the door before him, pushing on it to no avail. His lips twisted in annoyance. The least his father could do was make this task easy.
If this were a dream, it was the most tangible one Emily had ever experienced. She followed him up the stairs, feeling the ground buzz beneath her feet. The energy of this place was rising from the floor, traveling up her legs like roots drinking water and centering itself on her heart.
Michael was thrown off by the sudden presence beside him, more surprised when he turned to see Emily. He had stared at the door for a good five minutes before she appeared. He had pushed it, tried to use his magic, and done everything within his ability to make it move. Though the structure appeared as a door, it lacked any definition. More a tomb than an entryway.
She did not acknowledge his presence, eyes distant but all-seeing. Slowly, she placed a hand on the stone. Eyes narrowing, she regarded the structure with scrutiny — focusing in on the bumpy and damp feeling of it under her fingers.
"I know this place," Emily murmured.
"I think most people know this place… it being hell and all."
The woman either didn't hear him or didn't care to respond.
"I had a dream," she said, voice distant and light as her hands fell back to her sides. The pieces were coming into place. "A man with golden hair. I called out to him… called him…"
Michael's expression alone could have cut through the door. Emily ceased her rambling as she looked into his eyes, sensing his annoyance and quickly looking back to the door.
"You don't open it," She said, placing her right hand on it once more, "You go through it."
Why couldn't things be to the point with these people — witches and wizards alike? It was always cryptic statements that procured more questions than answers. Michael was about to make some stabbing retort at the girl when her hand started pushing through the door, eyes closed and brows knitted together.
It felt like walking through a bubble, a cooling sensation around her arm where it met the stone. Mist danced upon her fingers which had reached through it, the world beyond nothing but a cloud of uncertainty. It had yet to form, a living organism recognizing a new presence and adapting to it. It looked like she was sinking into quicksand, body pushing through until the rock consumed her arm, and then her torso, and then her legs.
Then… she was gone.
Michael regarded the whole thing with calculated interest, head quirking to the side as the last of her went through. The stone looked like stone and it remained cool and hard beneath his fingers. Pulling away, he regarded his palm with interest for but a moment, brows furrowed.
He didn't know whether to be impressed or irritated at the girl's ease in this realm. Either way, he had a job to complete.
Placing his own hands on the spot the brunette once stood, all he felt beneath his palms was solid stone. Slowly, he applied more force. All that accomplished was making his hands red from where the rough surface pushed into his skin.
Closing his eyes, Michael focused on the door, pictured it transforming into mist. When he opened them, he was in a long hallway covered in mirrors, the pale-yellow light bouncing down the hall and scattering their reflections into a thousand separate pieces. Mahogany doors broke up the mirrors, making them more tolerable to deal with. Michael flinched as he caught sight of hazel eyes reflected in the glassy surface.
Emily stood in the center of the hall, patiently waiting for him, eyes fixed to the spot he emerged. Seeing that she was not bothered by the reflected eyes staring back at them, Michael did his best to hide his own anxiety. If the warlocks taught him anything, it was how to hide insecurities under a pompous mask.
Something about her eyes unnerved him. She looked the same as she had before the fire, but there was a glassy sheen to the hazel color. Emily wasn't looking at him, she was looking past him… or into him. He didn't know which was more unnerving.
"You have dreams?" He finally asked, straightening his jacket and turning his attention away from the walls.
"I wrote in my journal that the name I called out was Lucifer," she said, "but the real name was Michael… it didn't make sense so I thought I remembered it wrong."
The Anti-Christ froze but quickly recovered his senses. Perhaps she should be lost to the underworld forever… she did seem to thrive. Cordelia knew there was a chance of death, after all. Emily's disappearance would cause tension, but wouldn't raise too many brows.
"Any other tricks up your sleeve?" he asked.
"That's where the dream cut out."
Michael hummed, looking around before speaking, "you have quite the memory."
Emily either did not catch the sarcasm or did not care.
"Things are easier to remember in dreams," she said, breaking his gaze and finally turning to peer at her surroundings, "and harder to ignore."
Before Michael could respond, she spoke again.
"So… this is hell."
He did his best to suppress a scoff, "Let me guess: never thought you'd come here?"
"Just expected to see more people."
"Tortured in a pit of fire and brimstone for all eternity?"
"No…" she said, her voice fading a bit as she took a few steps forward, "this makes more sense, actually."
Emily turned back to Michael, moving to the side of the hall. "It's your trial. I'll follow your lead."
With a nod, the boy moved in front of her. She followed obediently. Michael still found himself looking back often, just enough to see her out of the side of his eye. Her presence seemed to flicker in and out. At times he'd turn and it felt as if nothingness was at his back, reminding him vaguely of the Greek story of Euridice. As with Orpheus, it wasn't in Michael's best interest to lose the girl. His father had to have a reason for her to be there, after all.
The hallway went on for eternity, with no adjacent halls to turn down. Emily began to feel as if she might go mad. The thought of being trapped in such a place, with no windows and no sky, made her skin crawl. She crossed her arms to rid herself of the feeling, scratching them for good measure.
Time wasn't linear in places such as hell, places that existed while simultaneously not existing. At times, it felt like they had been walking for days, then moments, then eons, then seconds. She wondered how much time was passing above-ground.
How did she get there, anyway? How could things feel real one moment, then dreams the next? This was more vivid than her usual dreams… then again, all dreams felt vivid until you awoke.
Emily stopped in her tracks as the lights around them flickered, her hand reaching out for Michael's back. She stared up at the ceiling. The orange hues of light in the hall took on a shade of muted purple. It was dark enough to be afraid but light enough for her to see the shadowy forms flickering here and there.
Michael watched her, unsure what she was staring at with such intensity. Nothing had changed. The hallway still stretched on for eternity and the lights still blazed steadily.
"Visions," she said, noting his expression before looking back the way they came. He could feel a slight tremble to her hand before she let go of his blazer. "I'm remembering."
"Remembering?"
Figures began seeping from the walls, dark masses without any discernible features. Mist-like goo rolled off them, thick globs floating towards the floor before disappearing. They were looking at her. She could feel their eyes even if she couldn't see them.
The words left her before she could even think, "purgatory."
Michael watched her for a moment, the way her arms curled to her chest as she looked back down the hall. Pupils dilated and eyes dashing here and there, he could feel her magic flickering in the air around them. Emily took a step back until her back brushed against him, an unconscious action she didn't even seem to notice.
Gently, he reached out for her hand, ignoring the way she jumped against his touch. She offered a thankful smile and accepted the gesture.
"Just keep walking," He said, turning around and trying to ignore the way she unnerved him. The hairs rising on the back of his neck was an unfamiliar feeling. The way she spoke and acted reminded her of an oracle.
He wondered which Greek hero he was in her tale.
They walked hand in hand as they continued onwards. Michael was feeling out for Misty Day, but her energy had been diluted after being in the afterlife so long. New souls had a particular feel to them. More like Emily, burning bright with blood that still strummed through her veins.
At some point, her visions must have stopped. Her fingers slipped from his and they continued to press onward. He had forgotten they were holding hands until the cold began to sting at his palms. Emily's eyes on his back, Michael was unsure whether to be relieved at the presence of his companion or unnerved.
Clenching his hands into fists, he rested them behind his back and continued walking.
.
.
.
Emily stood to the side as Michael stood before the door. How he could tell the difference between them, she would never know. The only choice she had was to trust his judgment.
He spared her a glance before he waved a hand. The familiar click of a lock echoed down the hall before the door swung inward. Michael's hands rested behind his back once more before he took a step inside.
Emily wondered if she should stay in the hall. While she didn't want to interfere with the trial, the silence and never-ending monotony of the rows and rows of doors made her bones buzz in her body. Being alone in this place was more frightening than whatever horrors lied before them. If she was to be lost to hell forever, she didn't want to be alone.
Catching the door before it slammed shut, the witch wormed her way inside. Stumbling over her own feet, she came to a stop behind boy-wonder. He spared her a glance but quickly turned his attention back towards the scene ahead.
The smell of bleach and formaldehyde were the first thing to assault her senses. Instinctively, she covered her nose, but it did nothing to ease the stink. That smell was far too familiar. Memories of dead sharks, frogs, and sheep's brains were brought back into the forefront of her mind — back when Emily was still ahead enough to be considered "gifted" in the public elementary schools of the south.
Sobbing was the next thing she distinguished, finally looking up to see the rows of black-topped lab tables. The children were all small in comparison to the blonde-haired woman that sat at the center of the room, draped in a black rose-embroidered shawl. It wasn't hard to realize she was staring at Misty Day.
Some of the children stared at the new pair with unblinking eyes that were detached from the scene before them. They were so small, smaller than she remembered being at eleven years old. Dressed in polo shirts and khaki shorts, she felt she was at a Mormon meet-n-greet back home in the suburbs of Georgia.
Then, the sobbing stopped.
"Mr. Kingery," An obnoxious southern-twanged voice spoke, "She did it again!"
Emily watched as little tiny heads turned robotically towards Misty once more. A middle-aged man with a receding, gray hairline stormed towards the table. The frown etched in his face made her hair stand on end.
Michael only spared the brunette woman a glance as she came to stand beside him, her shoulder slightly behind his own. Self-preservation — he could respect that.
"No, No," Misty begged, voice wobbling with tears, "I don't want to kill a living thing, please!"
A loud sobbing filled the room once more, Misty howling in pain. Emily watched as the teacher forced a scalpel in her hand, the frog screaming in pain as the knife pierced its chest. All she could do was stare in horror.
Her heart lifted in her chest; body weightless as if she were falling. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came as the scene reset itself once more.
"Mr. Kingery!" The voice came again.
Michael felt a pressure on his arm, turning to see Emily clinging to him. Her eyes were wide in horror, glossy sheen nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he had forgotten she wasn't a figment of his mind — as if she had been but a ghost until this moment.
Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper, hands falling back to her sides, "Make it stop,"
Michael's movements were always calculated, she realized. Steps were taken as if he were following a dance and he held things as if they would break under his touch. Plucking a scalpel from one of the tables, he regarded it for a moment.
The blade went through the teacher like butter. Entering through the back, it stabbed through until blood began to ooze from the man's chest. It took a moment for the teacher to realize what happened, looking down at his belly where his organs began seeping from his belly.
His hands floated above his abdomen, a squelching sound now emitting from him as his intestines slipped from the confines of his skin. Blood dripped to the floor, sounding more like a faucet leak than… well… she didn't really know what blood sounded like. Emily's hand reflexively rested on her churning stomach.
The teacher fell to the floor, unconscious or dead. Michael's hands were covered in blood and all Misty could do was stare at him with wide-eyed wonder. Even the boy-wonder seemed surprised at his strength, the expression falling back into an expressionless mask.
Misty looked upon them both with tear-filled eyes, her shoulders falling slack as she felt relief after ages of torment. She was barely able to get her voice above a whisper, "Are you here to save me?"
Emily's mind was racing, trying desperately to comprehend the incomprehensible. How could a man be dead if he was already in hell? Was he even a man at all? If he was, was his hell paired with that of Misty Day?
Her existential crisis didn't last for long. Movement danced in the corner of her eyes — the type you'd see all the time and turn to find turned her head to see a small girl, sneaking her way towards the boy-wonder.
"Michael!" the brunette exclaimed. It wasn't her sudden cry that made the boy-wonder flinch, but the roaring flames that erupted from the gas lines. He jumped as a line of fire came between himself and the tiny figure that had been standing behind him, locking himself and Misty away from any harm.
Misty instinctively grabbed his arm, but let it go just as quickly. He did not like the expression she wore, looking into his soul like Emily had moments ago outside the classroom from hell.
The tiny gremlin of a girl turned her eyes on Emily, hunched back and foaming mouth reminding them all that these creatures were anything but human. The growl that left her small frame was deep and demonic. She barked at the brunette witch like a dog before charging.
With a wave of Emily's hand, the girl was thrown back into one of the flames. She was reduced to ash, the smell of sulfur simmering in the air.
Another shadow darted in the corner of Emily's eyes, dragging her back to where Michael and Misty stood. The pair watched her with wide-eyes, unaware that, above them, another child stood on the countertops. He growled and gurgled like the other girl; eyes fixed on Misty.
Michael watched as Emily's hand shot out, muscles tensing and poking out of her hand from the strain. When he looked behind himself and Misty, the demon boy was clawing at his neck. His gaze traveled back to Emily, her nostrils flaring as she pushed back against the demon. It was fighting back, her posture implied as such… but more impressive than that was that, in this fight, Emily seemed to be winning.
Cordelia was right — the girl had untampered power in her veins. Perhaps this is what his father intended.
Then, Emily was thrown back. He watched her slam into the nearest wall like a rag-doll in the hands of an angry toddler. Michael braced himself for an attack, turning to face the demon boy with scalpel in hand.
But the demon boy hadn't moved. He stared forward with his milky white eyes, arms limp at his sides. When Michael looked around the classroom, he realized all the students had the same trance-like appearance.
Emily muttered curses as she pulled herself into a sitting position, grumbles dying in her throat as she witnessed the scene around her. A hand rested on her shoulder, her own going out to strike until she recognized Misty kneeling at her side.
"What's goin' on?" the blonde witch asked, eyes darting between Emily, Michael, and the students, "Is this supposed to happen?"
"… I have no idea."
Then, in unison, the students threw back their heads. Mouths agape and stretched far wider than any mouth should, they gazed up at the sky.
"What are they—" Emily spoke, cut off by a booming voice.
"She is my gift to you," it said, a thousand tongues in a thousand voices speaking at once, "and will be your greatest asset."
"What does that—" Emily went to ask Misty but found the woman was no longer at her side. Her eyes dashed to where Michael had been standing. He too was absent from the room.
"No, no," Emily muttered, jumping to her feet and turning in circles. Her heart raced and pounded in her ears. She dashed to the door, only to find it locked. The brunette yanked at it with both her hands, only succeeding in making the door rattle in its place. "No, no, no, no, no."
Emily gasped as the floor gave way beneath her, her heart leaping into her chest. A black void consumed her. She could not tell if she was falling or simply weightless in this nothingness.
Heart continuing to thrum in her chest, threatening to burst from fear, Emily attempted to swing outward. She couldn't feel her own hands, couldn't see anything but this consuming nothingness. Desperately, she tried to reach for her face but sobbed as she felt nothing beneath her fingertips. Her head started to become fuzzy, her thoughts like water through her fingers.
"Let me out!" She screamed, scared that her voice too would soon give way to nothing, "I can't think! I can't see!"
"You made a deal," a deep voice said, smooth but crackling like a fire. In the shadows, a darker one moved, she barely made out the vision of a white skull painted upon dark skin, a pair of red eyes the only sign of light in this damned darkness. "Really, mambo, you were better off returnin' back to the other realm."
"Then—" Emily said. She recalled a dream — nothingness… then stars. A council asked her to make a choice. All she wanted was to go back home…
"Yes."
"I didn't mean—"
"You gave your answer none the less," the voice said, a tut-tut hissing out from the darkness, "my master put good weight in your words."
"It was a dream!"
The voice chuckled, "you've always known they were more than that."
.
.
.
Michael awoke with a gasp, the words of his father still ringing in his ear. His heart raced and the world spun around him, his soul trying to orientate itself in his body once more.
The observing witches and warlocks rose to their feet, coming to convene around him. Michael could still feel Emily's hand in his own, cold and still. The red ribbon was gone, but he could still feel it tied around his wrists and up his forearm. It was as if his very veins had been connected to the witch and for a moment it felt as though his entire existence was dependent on her own.
"Well, that's that," Madison Montgomery spoke from above him, crossing her arms and sparing a pointed look at the warlocks that stood on the other side of Michael. She turned back to her fellow witches with an air of condescension. "C'est la vie."
"This was not a fair test!" Ariel protested. Michael did not have to look at the grand chancellor to know his jaw was clenched and his nostrils flaring.
Cordelia's voice was bored as she spoke, "What happened?"
Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked up to the current supreme.
"Where's Misty?" Cordelia pressed, not patient enough to wait for his reply to her first question. Michael wanted to snap at her to get a moment of peace, but he knew it was better to bite his tongue. He was to be the next supreme, after all.
"Isn't it obvious, dear," Myrtle sighed, not even bothering to look down at the boy-wonder that looked upon her with disgusted awe, "She's right where she's been the last-"
Eyes rolling into the back of his head and hands laying palms up, Michael conjured the last bit of energy he had to pull Misty from the realm of the dead. Ash and smoke rose from the floorboards, shifting into the shape of a woman. Flesh unfurled from the mass, draping itself over the newly formed body of Misty Day.
Cordelia gasped, hands trembling above the body as she fell to her knees. Her hands when to the other woman's face, fingers smoothing over Misty's cheeks as if to wake her from a blissful dream. "Misty. Misty."
Michael stumbled to his feet, Professor Pennypacker helping him into Behold's arms. The feeling had yet to return to Michael's legs, forcing him to hobble to the nearest table to regain his senses.
"My dearest Misty," Cordelia cried, a smile flickering to her lips as Misty's eyes slowly blinked open. Breath left the once-dead woman's lungs in sputtering gasps, drawn in just as harshly until her body remembered the motions. There had been no need for breathing in hell. Like a dream, you simply assumed you were doing so.
Hot tears dripped down Cordelia's cheeks as Misty stared at her in wonder, the Supreme's arms curling around the woman and pulling her towards her. Cordelia never wanted to let go lest this moment be a fleeting dream.
Misty stared at everything in wonder. The shocked expression of Myrtle, the crying Zoe, beaming Queenie, and disinterested Madison. They were all so beautiful. Everything was so beautiful.
"Am I…?" She asked Cordelia.
"Yes!" The woman said, laughing in glee as she nodded vigorously. "You're back! You're safe!"
"… back from perdition," Myrtle muttered, still unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before her.
Michael watched them with disinterest. He had done what was required, now the pieces must fall into place. Waving off his fellow warlocks, blue eyes flickered to a mass behind the pair, still sleeping.
Myrtle caught his gaze, following it to Emily's unconscious form. Whatever warming glee she had felt from the resurrection of Misty quickly to ice in her veins.
"Delia," She gasped, swatting at the air beside the Supreme, "Delia, she's not waking up!"
Cordelia froze momentarily before turning back to her newest charge.
"No, no, no," the woman cried, relief turning back to grief. She scrambled towards the girl, pulling Emily into her lap. Hands trembled over the girl's pale face, brushing the hair from her closed eyes. Cordelia wanted to see those eyes. She needed to see those eyes. She could not lose another girl. "No, no. You have to come back! You have to wake up!"
Michael regarded the scene, equally worried. He willed her to wake up, to take one breath and then another. Why would his father give him a gift only to take it away? If Emily was a key to his ascension, losing her could jeopardize—
He watched as her fingers twitched, then her shoulder. Then, Emily shot up.
"NO!" She screamed, louder than any of them had heard her speak before. Cordelia let out a cry of relief and went to pull her closer, but Emily shoved her back with another strangled cry. Her eyes were wide with horror, darting here and there and unable to focus on a single thing. Cordelia tried to reach for her again but was swatted away. Michael could feel the same magic from hell surging in the air, but fizzling out just as quickly.
Misty shoved herself between the two women, grasping Emily by the face and forcing her to look the revived witch in the eye.
"It's alright. You saved me." She whispered, "We're back. You're back."
"Was that supposed to happen?" Emily asked, voice hardly louder than a whisper. The adrenaline wore off and made her body shake, she clenched her hands into fists to make it stop.
"Most certainly not," Ariel spoke before Misty could ask for clarification. His eyes burned into Cordelia. "What kind of sabotage—"
"I would not risk the life of one of my girls for some petty stab at power!" Cordelia hissed. Her anger ebbing as she turned back to her girls.
"Can you stand?" She asked the pair. Misty nodded, easing Emily to her feet. The brunette closed her eyes as the world began to tilt, but quickly righted herself.
"I'm okay," Misty reassured her mentor, Cordelia smiling and patting on her cheek before turning to Emily. The girl nodded.
Emily stepped back as Misty turned to her friends. Queenie rushed forward to hug her, the others following suit with tear-filled eyes. Michael watched the newest member of their coven pulled herself away back into the shadows, forgotten. Hazel eyes glanced to her hands before squeezing them shut, arms curling into her body.
Hell… Emily had just been to hell. She came back from hell. She had seen demons. Asleep, the reality of the situation had been easier to comprehend. Now, it was hard to process it as anything more than a dream.
"Cordelia!" Myrtle gasped, pulling Emily from her thoughts. Blood oozed from her headmistress's nose; her hand covered in the substance. Misty rushed to her side; eyes wide in fear as she rested her hands upon Cordelia's arm.
"Oh, my god," Cordelia muttered.
"W-What's happening?" Queenie stuttered, looking to Myrtle for answers. The red-haired woman did little to ease her concern, rushing to Cordelia's side as the woman began to waver.
"What always happens when a new Supreme rises," Ariel said.
Behold nodded at his Chancellor, finishing the statement for him, "The old one fades away."
Ariel was quick to circle the wounded animal, going in for the final blow, "We demand what's ours."
"You are a pathetic, pompous ass!" Myrtle snarled, curled over Cordelia like a mother over its cub.
Emily regarded the scene with confusion, eyes flickering between the two sides. Michael had passed the test. What more was there to argue? What did it have to do with Cordelia's bloody nose?
"I did everything you asked," the boy-wonder reminded the women, his back straight and eyes unwavering. Eyes flickered towards him, his tone and posture commanding respect. "I descended into hell and I did what you couldn't. I brought her back.
Emily watched the lips of her fellow witches twitch and twist into frowns and snarls. She did not understand their animosity. Had they expected him to fail? Had they hoped she would fail?
"I passed the seven wonders," Michael concluded, head turning to the side as he regarded Cordelia. The woman could barely stand on her own, leaning on Myrtle and Misty whose muscles strained to hold the woman up. "…Unless you want to add another one."
"No," Cordelia sighed, shaking her head with knitted brows and tear-filled eyes. "No."
The pair stood in silence for a moment, eyes locked in a battle of wills. Michael waited. He had patience.
"There can be no doubt," Cordelia finally continued, lips curling in disgust at the words leaving her mouth. "You are the next Supreme."
The final word left the woman with her breath, crumpling to a heap on the floor. Misty gasped as she was forced down with the woman, doing her best to break Cordelia's fall. Emily pushed off the wall she had been leaning on, watching Misty stare at the boy wonder who could not help the smile from his face.
Michael had won.
.
.
.
Emily had somehow found her way towards Michael, standing next to him between the two sides of witches and warlocks. Once again, the Warlocks took to one side of the fire and the witches the other. Now and again, one of the men would glance back at the younger women. They did nothing to hide their contempt and smug expressions. The witches paid the men no mind, giggling and speaking with Misty Day. They'd all reach out to touch the woman now and again if only to convince themselves that she was there.
Cordelia had been lifted onto the nearest couch, Myrtle staying behind while the rest of them lingered in the hall. They stood around a large bonfire. The students of Hawthorne had long since gone to bed, leaving the halls to be filled with the crackling fire and quiet murmurings of their little group.
Michael and herself stood in silence, staring at the roaring fire. Emily glanced at him now and again, doing her best to ignore the comfortable silence. Now of all times, she could not stand the silence.
The warlock watched her in turn, the way her brows furrowed as she stared into the fire which reflected itself in her eyes. Michael was busy in his own thoughts, contemplating his father's plans. One battle won, but the rest of the war was still before him.
When he glanced to the girl beside him, her eyes looked distant. It was as if she was trapped in hell once more, glazed eyes peering past the physical and into the core of what surrounded her. The fire crackled, reaching higher as a log broke in half and sent embers flying. When his gaze returned to Emily, he saw a trail of red run from her nose.
She flinched as a white handkerchief was held out to her. When Emily looked at Michael, he simply gave her a pointed look before turning back to the fire. Hand instinctively going to her nose, she found it was bleeding. Face flushing with warmth, she took the handkerchief with a quiet thanks.
"That's something I've never experienced before," Emily noted awkwardly once the blood had stopped flowing.
"Hell?"
"A nosebleed."
A small smile curled to Michael's lips and he let out a short airy laugh.
"So… that was hell."
"Not what you expected?"
"I don't really know what I was expecting."
Michael stared at her for a moment, searching her face. "You're afraid."
She chuckled, looking at him pointedly. "It's hell."
"Don't worry," Michael reassured, "They say the devil is a fallen angel. I'm sure he'll have some mercy."
"Don't talk to me about the devil right now," Emily said with a sigh, "I thought the existence of magic was going to make me insane. Contemplating religion might push me over the edge."
Michael laughed at that, shaking his head. It was hard to remember an outsider's view on these matters. Occultism was all too familiar to the boy-wonder — from ghosts to the devil himself.
They stared at the others for a good while, the warlocks plotting and the witches basking in their perceived success.
"Stupid question," Emily finally spoke, dragging her eyes back to Michael, "What's a supreme?"
Michael laughed. She shrugged as he rose a brow and his lips curled into a confuddled expression. Cordelia sent that girl to hell when she didn't even know—
"The supreme is the most powerful magic wielder of their time, tasked with guiding and protecting their brethren throughout their life."
"Why does Cordelia have to die?"
"We can't all be Supremes."
"So, it's kind of like Buffy the Vampire Slayer," she noted, brows furrowing as she put the puzzle pieces together, "one dies and another is born."
"To a degree."
"So, what will be your first business as Supreme? Preparing any radical change?"
Michael did his best to subvert the question. If Emily noted, she didn't mention it. "The fact that I'm a man may be radical enough for now, don't you think?"
"Oh," Emily said, realization donning, "I forgot about that. Usually, it's the opposite."
She understood the hostility of the witches now. They had one section of the world where they could be the reigning force… now that was gone too. Emily would be lying if she said the concept didn't bother her. Still… it wasn't as if it was Michael's fault. Fate was fate, she supposed — depressing as it was.
"But I have a few ideas," Michael reassured, watching the emotions pass on her face.
"Such as?"
They were interrupted by the sound of the sliding door to the salon, Myrtle's signature red hair taking on an orange tint in the light of the fire.
"She's awake."
.
.
.
It felt like an eternity that they waited outside that door. Misty and Myrtle had gone in first, talking for what seemed like an eternity. All Emily could make out were the muffled lilting sounds of indiscernible words spoken back and forth. The wizards had gone away, offering them some level of privacy.
So, Emily stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot and counting the minutes passing by. The air was so thick with tension that one could cut it with a knife. Hazel eyes flickered between the faces of her sister witches, waiting for someone to say something. They were all so intent on not meeting the others' eyes.
Finally, Madison looked down the hall, rolled her eyes, and scoffed, "I don't understand why we have to wait here."
"Cordelia fell," Zoe snapped, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the nearest wall.
"It's not like she's dead."
"…yet," Queenie said. Madison opened her mouth to retort but was silenced by the creaking of the door.
Zoe rushed to Cordelia's side, offering an arm to lean upon, but the Supreme refused with a short gesture and a reassuring smile. Her brown eyes landed on Emily, pulling the girl towards her in a hug before she could protest. As usual, Emily was tense under her touch. Her arms did not move to return the affection, hovering in the air like they were held up by puppet strings. "Miss Cordelia—"
"I thought I lost you," the woman admitted. Emily fought the urge to pull away as a hand came to rest on her cheek. She could not understand the woman's fascination with the gesture but had been unable to find a polite way to tell her to stop.
"I had to find my way back," Emily replied. Ever since she had woken, she had prepared her questions meticulously word by word — the voice, the darkness. Her gut churned in warning and she listened to it, resigning herself to silence. "Didn't exactly have a map."
Cordelia giggled a bit at that, bringing her other hand to cup Emily's cheek so the girl had no choice but to look her in the eye before finally letting her go, "I told you that you could do it."
Misty had come to stand beside the pair, beaming smile unwavering. When one had been to hell and freed themselves from its grasp, it was impossible not to.
"There's not many people I can say have been to hell and back with me," the swamp witch noted. She rested a hand on Emily's arm for but a moment to show her appreciation, but finally let go.
"I think you should thank Michael more than me," Emily noted, finally pulling herself away from Cordelia's grasp. The Supreme and the swamp witch shared a look. It was brief, but Emily could see their smiles falter ever slightly.
"Why don't we get you girls some food," Cordelia noted, putting a hand on Misty's shoulder and easing her along, "You must be starving."
"I could eat a horse," Misty admitted.
It was easy enough to find a table. The kitchens were more than adequately supplied. Most of them weren't hungry. Cordelia offered Emily some food, but she turned it away. Something about hell made food feel unpalatable for the time being.
Misty insisted she sit right next to her, offering her a few fries now and again for good measure. The brunette took one just to ease the woman's worrying. Cordelia sat on Misty's other side, carefully attending to the woman as the others spoke around her.
For the first time, Emily was able to understand the world of the witches. Around the table they went, sharing their stories since the last Seven Wonders.
In terms of history, Cordelia had only recently become Supreme. Her reign was short in comparison to those that came before her. They didn't stay on that topic for very long.
Madison herself was also newly resurrected by the boy-wonder. Hell seemed to be catered towards the individual. Though, Emily would argue customer service to be anyone's hell. Michael had brought the former starlet back around the same time Emily arrived at the Robichaux Academy.
"If Michael already proved he could both perform and conquer Decensum, why would he have to repeat the task again?" Emily asked.
"Bureaucracy, darling," Myrtle responded, earning a strained smile from Cordelia. That topic was also brushed over.
Queenie had gotten herself tickets for The Price is Right on the courtesy of her Supreme. A wasted effort, she noted, as she had been killed before she could attend the showing. Ghosts were hard to tell from real people, it seemed, and had a natural defense against witchcraft. Cordelia had tried to save her, but it was ultimately Michael that pulled her back into the world of the living.
"Bet March wasn't too happy about that," Misty noted.
Queenie only scoffed, "After beating him at cards 56,433 times, I think he was glad to have me gone."
"You kept count?" Madison asked, all but rolling her eyes.
"Wasn't much to do." Queenie said, "I'd of much rather been stocking shelves and hunting for personal massagers."
Emily's train of thought wandered as the two bickered, her mind replaying the void of eternity and the voice. She made a note to meticulously go through every dream she had ever written down.
"She is my gift to you," the voice echoed in Emily's mind. She shook her head to rid herself of it.
"You alright, firefly?" Misty asked as Zoe joined in the debate at hand.
"Just tired," Emily said.
"When did you join this gaggle?"
Cordelia spoke before she could open her mouth, smiling at the pair. "Emily is one of our most recent additions."
"Not that she can do much," Madison noted.
"Girl," Queenie said, "Why do you have to be like that?"
"What? It's true!"
"She killed one of those demons," Misty noted, perplexed at the statements of her fellow sisters, "if they can die."
The table went silent. Cordelia looked at Emily with a slight furrow to her brow, searching for an answer.
"Things are different in dreams," Was all Emily could say.
A hum from Misty turned the uncomfortable conversation away from Emily, who spared the woman a thankful look.
"I'm starving!" the swamp witch exclaimed, shoving another fry into her mouth, "They don't serve solid food in hell."
The clanging of the sliding doors made them all jump in their seats, gazes turning towards the sound. A woman stood there, searching the room for a moment. She smiled as she saw Misty.
"Is that…?" Emily asked, fumbling for words.
Misty leaned against Emily and squeezed her arm, grinning ear to ear, "That's Stevie."