Michael let out a sigh as he entered his room, the smile he had been wearing all day finally leaving his lips. He could handle the attention if he didn't need to smile at every moment. It was annoying, their pride. As if they were the ones who had descended into hell. As if they had seen the river Styx and spoken to the devil himself. Michael had known they would treat him like a puppet, but he hadn't expected it to be so annoying.

Ariel tried his patience the most. The blond boy could barely get in a word when he was around, hand on his shoulder and speaking for him. If not for Miss Mead, Michael wouldn't be able to bear it. Who did the man think he was? His father? Then again… the two weren't as different, he supposed.

He let his bag fall off his shoulder and onto the floor. Why he even bothered with classes anymore was a mystery. What little friends he had — if he could call them that — shrank away from him. Such was the cost of power. That's what Mead always said.

He missed her.

Pulling off his tie, he settled into his desk chair. Taking a book from the collection in his room, he set to reading. That girl had been looking at it while the witches and warlocks discussed the semantics of the Seven Wonders. He could still feel the way his finger burned, the way her green eyes bugged from her head before she tossed the book back on the shelf.

The last thing he needed was some inexperienced witch accidentally putting a hex on him. What sort of fool read magic spells aloud without considering the consequences? Had she not seen a single horror movie?

Michael remembered her eyes, the milky film that came to them in hell and the fire that burned in them when she faced that demon. If she were a fool, she was certainly a competent one.

Written mainly in Latin, Michael did his best to translate the words of the tome, some of them lost to water damage or tears. Speaking Latin, which had slowly become a synonym for the devil's language, was simple for him to master. He thanked Satan for that ability. It was the only thing that could have put him behind his fellow warlocks. Ariel and the others had to think the blond boy was perfect. Anything less would ruin his plans.

Even so, perfection wasn't easy. Mead assured him he was, but perfections seemed more impossible than hell itself.

He tutted at himself. So, this is what the girl had been talking about.

With a sigh, Michael moved to ready himself for bed. Passing the Seven Wonders only ensured him more work during the day. Ariel may not be a demon, but he certainly worked to possess the boy day and night. Nothing would satisfy the man until Michael moved like him, sounded like him, ruled like him. A perfect replica.

It was pathetic, really.

He tossed his tie onto the bed and slowly went to work unbuttoning his shirt. There was not a moment in the day where he wasn't deep in thought, planning, re-planning, checking the chessboard to see how his pawns moved in his absence. The only time his mind was silent was when he dreamed. Even then, they felt like fevered visions, quickly forgotten when his alarm rang in his ear.

Unbuttoning his sleeve, Michael was startled by a flurry of pages. He jumped and his eyes were wide for only a moment before they hardened into an unreadable mask. When he turned, the pages of the tome were moving on their own, the force behind it frantically searching for something.

"Finis venit, ante initium." A chilling breeze whispered.

The end comes before the beginning.

Slowly, Michael moved closer, body tense and on alert. He half expected the book to fling itself from the desk. His father was always impatient.

Finally, the pages settled. Craning his desk light closer, Michael saw the layout of a summoning circle. The spell, its components and the words to be spoken, were laid out in perfect detail. What it was to summon, however, was but a blur of intelligible ink.

The faint voice continued to whisper, "Mulieres gladius tuus sic recensetur. Tempus belli."

Your sword has awoken. It is time for war.

.

.

.

Emily stood in a field, a sea of green reaching out for miles around her, no sign of ever stopping. She spun like a dog chasing its tail, hunting for something familiar. There were no wildflowers, no clouds in the sky. The air was not too warm nor too cool. It was, in all ways, perfect.

She didn't know tranquility could be so suffocating.

Panic rose in her bell. In hell, at least she had Michael, but here she was alone. Emily ran towards the horizon even though she knew it would never end, tall grass catching at her legs like a million tiny hands. They whispered as she pushed on.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

The mere thought was enough to make her breath catch in her throat. If she had any need to breathe, that is. Dreams were peculiar that way. You could be strangled even when your body needed no air.

"You're back!" A voice cried. Emily turned to the familiar figure, tripping over her own feet before righting herself. Her chest heaved and her eyes were dilated in alarm. A dark figure stood in long robes, unaware of the heat. How long had the heat been there? "They said it would take longer, but I knew you'd get Cordelia's help."

"Nan?"

Emily's mouth had opened to say the name, but it was not her voice that spoke. Instead, another's passed her lips. It was an unpleasant feeling — as if someone had reached down her throat and pulled out her tongue.

Her head turned as if someone were doing it for her. The brunette's resistance only made it worse. Behind her, Cordelia stood almost swallowed by the verdant grass. Each step she took was careful and calculated. If she ran, the pair would only get further away… or so she believed.

Nan.

Nan.

Nan.

Then she was by Emily's side, placing a hand on her shoulder. They felt like talons instead of flesh, digging into her shoulder; a breath away from being painful. She did not want to look. Looking made it real.

"What are you doing here?" Cordelia asked.

"I was asked to be here," Nan replied, then nodded to Emily, "to meet a friend."

The younger witch spared a glance to her Supreme, brown eyes meeting green for a fraction of a second. Those brown eyes quickly flicked back to Nan, unwilling to give anything else her attention. Emily opened her mouth to speak, to ask Nan all the questions that had been plaguing her since Hawthorne — What voice had spoken to her? Why had it spoken to her? What did it all mean? Why her?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Once again, she was spoken over. The words caught in her throat by something she could not see. Green eyes narrowed and grew dark, annoyed as Cordelia spoke once more.

"Nan, where are you?"

Emily's heart fell. This was her Supreme's true intention. She shouldn't have been surprised. When Cordelia had said the spell would unleash the true potential of her powers, Emily had expected something different. Optimism had made her foolish.

The sky turned dark, gray clouds replacing azure skies. Emily did not notice, far too consumed by her doubts and fears. Why were her dreams always subverted? Why did they always get torn out and turned into another's designs?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Nan's eyes dashed from Cordelia, eyes narrowing as she observed the changing sky. She did not have time for this. Cordelia was a side effect and the spell would only last so long. There was work to do, work Cordelia would never comprehend or appreciate. Nan walked towards Emily, shuffling through the tall grass, her hand reaching into her cloak to pull out a bright, shining orb from the void and shadow.

Emily was nice. Her thoughts were nice. Overcast skies peeled away into bright blue once more. Nan's eyes flickered towards her former Supreme whose brown eyes looked upwards in silent awe. Her thoughts were less nice. Then again, they had always been that way. She blamed Fiona.

With a flourish of her robe, Nan's face lit up with a proud grin she couldn't control.

"I believe this is yours."

Confusion laid wake to slow joy which reminded Nan of a child on Christmas. It flickered in and out, but never disappeared, her mind warring between blinded optimism and pessimistic doubt.

It was beautiful, more than beautiful; opalescent and scattering light like the brightest star in the sky. Blue skies and the bright sun paled in its wake. A rainbow of refracted light scattered colors here and there.

Dainty hands hovered over the orb as if the smallest touch would burst it like a bubble. It was warm, magnetic — like a fire on a cold day.

The dead witch held the orb out even further, nodding to Emily with enthusiasm. Cordelia should appreciate the girl more, Nan thought. Perhaps, after this, she would. There were so many plans for the girl. More plans than a mortal mind could comprehend.

Emily cradled the orb like a child, her chest thrumming. A buzz filled her body. She looked between Nan and the object in her arms, unsure which she should focus on.

"What is it?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper, "is it—"

Nan smiled, "Exactly!"

Emily stared at her. Reading her thoughts, Nan smiled and nodded, giving the girl time to process.

"Your power," Cordelia said.

Her eyes fixated on the orb as if it were a star held in Emily's arm. "I've never seen—"

"I tried to give it to you last time," Nan said, leaning in to whisper, "but you weren't ready for it yet."

"Ready?"

She looked to Cordelia, but the woman held no answers for her. When Emily turned back to Nan, the girl was gone, carried away by the breeze.

Cordelia looked to Emily only to stumble back and fall to the grass. Swallowed whole by verdant green. There was no pain. No sense of impact. Even if there were, she would not have noticed. All she could do was stare.

Emily's green eyes had become a solid, glowing white that matched the glow of the orb in her hand. The girl looked ethereal — skin as clear as marble, hair swaying as if it were in water instead of air. When Emily knitted her brows and cocked her head in confusion, she didn't look human at all. She looked… more.

Her gaze quickly returned to the orb, curling around it like a content cat. The smile on her face was that of relief, of a mother holding a newborn babe. Her hand gently brushed over the orb, trying to convince herself it was real.

"I'm afraid it will disappear as soon as I awake," Emily said, a faint laugh leaving her as she said the words and looked back to Cordelia. "No matter how hard I try to pull it into the physical realm."

Even her speech sounded different. Cordelia, at that moment, realized why Emily was so different than her other girls. With a power rooted in the limbo world — the world of visions, dreams, and hellish realms — Emily belonged more there than she did in the physical plane. The strain, the spark not quite a flame, was not her power trapped in this plane, but her body trapped in theirs.

Emily watched Cordelia, a flicker of anxiety and fear breaking past the overwhelming joy, "What must I do?"

The Supreme sputtered. She and Myrtle had worked tirelessly to create this spell, to get them into this limbo, but the next steps were lost to her. The blissful smile left the girl's lips, Cordelia's doubt hanging in the air like suffocating humidity. Why? Why did she torment her like this — with intangible possibilities and crushing hope?

The brunette's voice caught in her throat. The sound startled the Supreme. "Please."

For a moment, it seemed golden tears would pour from eyes of pure light. "I have missed it so much."

One moment Cordelia was sprawled in the grass. The next she was standing. She had not moved to stand. It just, quite simply, was a fact. Something in her hand threw her off balance, hard and cool — A dagger, sharp enough to cut stone and polished so well she could see the conflict dancing in her eyes. Those eyes looked to the weapon with furrowed brows. Then, they looked at the girl before her.

What was this power? If she looked in her own soul, would her eyes be consumed by the same light? She thought of the dream Emily had told her, the child witch nearly burned to cinders. Was this the force that saved her that day?

Would this be a force that could save them?

But why was Nan there? Was it even Nan or was it a spirit playing pretend? You could never trust anything in a dream.

Emily stood, enamored by the orb, wanting to commit it to memory before it was lost for good.

Cordelia spared one last glance to the shining beacon in her student's arms. The knife felt heavy. That heaviness only grew as the moments passed. It was divine, that light. She didn't want to move. She wanted to bask in its light till the world stopped spinning.

But she was the supreme.

She was a leader.

She had lives to protect.

She had no choice.

In the end, it took little force to strike. Weight was but a concept in this realm. Cordelia's ears rung as blinding light burst forth, a bomb of magic. Its comforting warmth burned with the heat of a thousand suns.

She had no choice.

The good of the coven had to come before all else.

.

.

.

"Delia? Delia, are you alright?"

Cordelia was pulled from her dream by an urgent voice. A blur of red was all she could see of Myrtle, a blur that refused to go away. Her hands shook over her face as she tried to rub her sight back into existence. Was she blind again? What had she done? She couldn't be blind. Not now. There was far too much work to do. Far too much—

The Supreme swayed ever slightly and steadying hands tightened around her arms.

"Get me a chair," Myrtle ordered.

"I'm fine," Cordelia insisted, "Did we get it right? Did we—"

"Calm yourself, Delia. Getting worked up won't help anyone."

Cordelia felt a stood hit the back of her leg. With shaking hands, she reached back and lowered herself upon it. She couldn't do this again. The girls could not see her fading. The warlocks could not see her fading. Not now. Not like this.

"Emily?" Cordelia called out, "Emily?"

Misty came beside her Supreme, brows knit with worry and hands reaching out for hers, "Miss Cordelia—"

Words were torn from her mouth as a loud gasp filled the room followed by a gust of wind that those of the inner circle could not shield themselves from. Queenie ducked to the ground, Myrtle to the table, and Madison to Zoe. If not for Misty, Cordelia would have been thrown to the ground. They shielded their eyes from the dust and debris that had accumulated over decades and when the wind stopped all they could do was stare with open mouths.

The greenhouse had always been well-loved. It had been attended to over the years by many a witch, creating a chaotic accumulation of plants, dirt, and tools. Cordelia herself had spent many an hour inside those walls. However, with her role as Supreme, she had found herself there less and less. The plants that did continue to grow were stubborn and dry, the colorful petals of flowers muted and wilting.

Cordelia rubbed her eyes and the blur receded from her sight, details coming into focus. First her fingers, then the table, and finally beyond.

"Oh, my god," Zoe said, hardly louder than a whisper. Cordelia's vision continued to clear, but she did not need sight to know the look upon the young woman's face.

Queenie looked to her friend, muttering out, "holy fucking shit."

Every brown, dry, and twisted stem now grew a verdant green. The flowers were brighter than any they had ever seen. Vines curled and moved before their eyes, curling up the table and around Emily's arms.

She was still panting, covered in a cold sweat as if she had woken from a nightmare, but she could feel the vines slowly creeping up her hand. She held it up before her, eyes wide as the vine continued to advance up her arm. Her body was buzzing. The vine seemed to be a part of her, yet entirely separate from her being, a phantom limb or a tail that moved in instinct. It reached towards her wrist and settled in the palm of her hand, blooming a single small wisteria flower.

"Behold," Myrtle spoke, "our oracle has awoken."

Emily's green eyes danced around her. Her heart drummed in her ears and nearly burst from her chest.

"Did I — Did I do this?"

Misty left Cordelia's side, content now that the perceived danger had passed. A smile came to her lips as she came to Emily's side, a spring in her step. She regarded Emily's wide-eyed awe with amusement.

"I'm going to teach you about Louisiana mud now."

"O— ok."

"I don't think she needs Louisiana mud," Queenie noted, pulling off a few plants that had rooted themselves around her leg.

Misty frowned, "A little mud never hurt nobody."

"Say that to my neck," Madison scoffed, "I still have to use a bottle of perfume to mask the smell of shit."

"I think that's just you," Zoe said.

"Whatever."

Queenie moved closer to Emily as the two began to bicker.

"Did you see Nan again?" she asked.

Emily regarded her expression, the grief in her eyes and the heavy weight which pressed upon her shoulders. She nodded.

"Did she say anything?"

The expression on the brunette's face spoke louder than her words. "Nothing beyond the circumstances."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you done being a killjoy?" Madison snapped from across the table.

Queenie's grief quickly melded to annoyance, "You done being a bitch?"

"You say that like a bad thing."

"Because it is."

"Whatever."

Flicking some dust off her shirt, Madison sauntered to the door only to turn back at the last moment.

"Welcome to the coven, bitch." She said, "You're our new Sabrina."

When Emily stepped out of the greenhouse, the sky was scattered with stars. Time was different in the other. She shouldn't have been surprised, but her mind was still buzzing, her ears still ringing.

She was a witch.

She was powerful.

She was something.

"Someone looks happy," Misty noted, linking their arms together. Emily wasn't even put off by the contact. All she could do was beam until her cheeks hurt. Words were intangible. Not a single one could describe the elation that beat in her chest with every step. If she could, she would soar.

"Careful there!"

Cordelia's voice cut through the night, the songs of crickets and frogs stopping in their tracks. A hand latched on to the back of Emily's shirt, pulling her back like a toddler on a leash. Her feet sink into the grass… or, should she say, back on the grass. The light from the house was enough for her to see Cordelia's expression turn from that of surprise into one of amusement.

"Let's save the levitation for later."

"…my bad."

The Supreme couldn't quite place the look Emily gave her. It felt like she was looking past her… into her. She didn't move, a deer caught in headlights. Her hand remained balled around a piece of Emily's shirt until another voice broke the silence.

"Don't worry, Miss Cordelia," Misty assured, tightening her hold on the girl as the Supreme fell back into pace with her red-haired mentor, "I won't let her float away."

Queenie bumped Emily's shoulder. "What else you got? Besides that, Airbender, Earthbender shit."

"I… have no idea," Emily said, "What else is there?"

Cordelia's voice rang out behind them once more.

"Perhaps we should leave the experimentation for later."

"You're the one who keeps telling us to push ourselves." Queenie reminded, reaching into her pockets and presenting a coin. "Here. Take it."

Emily did as she was told, plucking the coin from her hand.

"Not like that, idiot. With your mind."

"Oh."

Holding the coin in her palm, Emily focused on her hand. Her fingers curled around the coin as if she were holding an apple instead. A picture of the coin pushed into her mind, she imagined plucking it up with her fingers, turning it in her hand.

The coin rose, fell, then rose again. Twisting her hand, it began to travel towards the girl before dropping in her empty palm. Emily shook her hand free of the buzzing, cracking her fingers for good measure.

"Smart-ass," Queenie muttered.

"But you said—"

"I'm teasing, girl. Relax."

"At least now you can actually participate during lessons," Zoe noted, stepping aside to let Emily up the back steps of the mansion.

The brunette frowned, reaching for the handle of the back door, "I participate."

"Whatever you say."

"Look—"

One moment she was opening the door and the next she was in the hall. The breath left her lungs as she fell face-first onto the hardwood floors.

Zoe's voice came from down the hall, "Emily?!"

"I'm fine," the girl groaned, rolling over and laying on her back. When she looked up, the inner circle was coming around the corner. Queenie and Misty were snickering at the sight. She frowned.

"Oh. shut up."

"At least you weren't impaled," Zoe offered, moving to help the girl to her feet.

"At least I wasn't what now?"

"Don't worry. Misty would make you good as new. You'll smell like shit for a while, though — Louisiana Mud and all that."

"Okay. Wait. Hold on." Emily said, pushing up her glasses just so her hands had something to do, "Let's go back for a second. You were way too calm about that. How often does this shithappen?"

"What was it?" Queenie asked, looking to Misty as she counted on her hand, "Madison died twice, Zoe died and came back, you died and came back and died again. Plus Nan, then me. So… seven times?"

"Don't forget Myrtle."

"Oh shit, you're right. That's two more deaths — so nine?"

"She died twice?"

"You were dead the second time," Zoe interjected. Misty simply nodded in acknowledgment. "And don't forget Fiona."

"Fiona doesn't count. She was a bitch."

"So is Madison."

Madison, who had been regarding the interaction quietly, frowned. "Hey!"

"Fair point. So that's a total of ten."

Emily looked to the three women with an expression of concern — like watching the village idiot run into a wall over and over and over.

"Only one impalement, though," Misty reassured.

Emily sighed, "This place really needs to come with a liability warning."

Zoe shrugged, "Just don't use it to play tag and you should be good."

"Well damn, that ruins all my plans for tomorrow."

Zoe smiled and shook her head, "I think all that power is going to your head."

"… maybe a little."

"At least you're honest."

"One question: How do I stop the spontaneous…" Emily said, gesturing about her, "y'know?"

"Only by training and hard work, my dear" Myrtle spoke. "Which is why my dear Cordelia made you this."

From her hands, a necklace hung. It wasn't fancy or ornate. A simple thing, really. It looked like something you might find in a thrift store. At the end of the leather chain was a gold coin with a singular line carved in the center.

"It's —"

Emily interrupted before she could finish, "The Isa rune."

Myrtle smiled and nodded. Good. The girl was prepared. She would need that knowledge in the coming conflict.

"Simple, but effective," The red-head said, "It should help you channel your power properly until you can do so yourself."

The brunette looked at the amulet for a moment, turning it this way and that. Had runes always felt so… alive? The closest way she could describe magic was the buzzing of bees in your body mixed with a magnetic pull. Her eyes flickered between Myrtle and the coin.

"Thank you," She finally spoke, moving to place the object around her neck. It weighed more than she thought it would and rested right under her heart.

"Think of it as insurance," Myrtle said, "we've got enough destruction with our younger girls."

"At least now I can keep up with them."

"Or join them," Madison said, pushing herself around the small crowd they had formed in the center of the hall, "now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do… like sleep."

Emily listened to the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her. Then, she turned.

"Madison."

The woman sighed and turned around, "What?"

"Thank you."

The former starlet was silent for a moment, then turned around and kept walking. "… Whatever."

Emily smiled ever slightly and turned to the other girls. "You guys, too."

"You know what they say:" Myrtle said with a knowing smile, "blood of the coven is thicker than the water of the womb."

Her words echoed in Emily's mind as she prepared for bed; rosewater for her face, rosemary for her hair. Before, they were household remedies. Rose was an anti-inflammatory that helped with redness. Rosemary promoted hair growth. There was something more to them now — her skin glowed and freckles danced across her face like stars, her hair was soft under her fingers and shone in the bathroom light.

Misty was already snoring when she made it back to her room, curled up on a thin mattress set up beside Emily's bed. The brunette tip-toed across the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboard she had come to know by heart.

Heavy eyes pulled her towards the realm of dreams. The bed was warm, the sheets just heavy enough to sink her into the bed. Her thoughts began to slip into white noise, echoes of words that could not be recalled.

"Finis venit, ante initium." A voice whispered, just as she was about to doze off. She hummed in annoyance, turning over on her side.

A cry made her blood turn to ice. She shot up in her bed, looking around for the source. She had nieces and nephews. She knew the sound of a baby's cry. Footsteps paced the floor above and the cry continued — the attic.

"Misty," She hissed, "Misty!"

Silence consumed the room, only broken by the baby's cries. Emily climbed across her bed and reached to shake the woman awake.

"Misty! Do you hear that?"

The woman groaned and swatted at the hand that shook her. Her words came out low and slurred. "'Is jus' a bird. Go t' sleep."

Emily looked to Misty, then back at the ceiling. Footsteps came from above once more. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the crying stopped. She regarded the ceiling with narrowed eyes, then slowly lowered herself back in the bed. Someone must have taken care of it. One of the younger girls probably had a nightmare.

With a sigh, she turned on her side, willing sleep to return to her. Her hair continued to stand on edge and an intense need to move plagued her limbs. With the grace of a mouse, she scampered over to the door, locked it, and threw herself into the covers once more.

The moon cast the room in a pale glow. Emily had lucked out, the room facing the back of the house where she was free from the obnoxious yellow lights from the street lamps. She looked at the plant on her bedside, wilted flowers now proudly blooming. She reached out a hand, picturing water crawling up the stem. Yellow petals turned blue, the color sweeping across them like an ink stain. Even when she pulled back, the color proudly stood. One minute, two minutes, three — the color remained.

Emily stared at it with pride. Something had awoken inside her, something she had yearned for since the moment she was born.

Power.

She finally had power.