Chapter 2: Seduction

"This is Spanish moss… it's got amazin' healin' properties."

Misty was surrounded by some of the students from Miss Robicheaux's Academy the following day to give a lesson on how to make her magic healing mud, a poultice used to heal wounds and burns. The sun was high, and the beams glistened on her tall, statuesque form; her golden curls were radiant, and her white dress and shawl looked absolutely ethereal as she put some of the moss in a jar she brought with her. A few other students gathered some as well, at her instruction.

"How much do we need, Miss Misty?" a student asked.

"Oh, not a whole lot. Maybe a handful," the white witch replied with a smile.

"Did you say there was… poop in this mud recipe?" another novice witch asked.

"Oh yeah, alligator dung."

"Ew!" exclaimed a few students.

"It's nasty, I know," Misty said, standing up and closing the lid on her mason jar in which she put her handful of the soft botanical. "I was burnt 'live a few years ago. This mud helped me. Looked good as new, and still do."

Misty began to walk with the students, Myrtle walking in front of her like a bodyguard, dressed in an eccentric ensemble featuring a black cape over a white polka dot top. On her hands were canary yellow gloves, and her bright red crimped hair extensions blew slightly in the wind that brushed against her wrinkling face.

"I, too, was burnt at stake. Twice," the old witch said, "and Misty's magic poultice helped me regain my appearance. I had lost all of my hair, but luckily, I was buying from Korea for years."

"Extensions?" Mallory, who stood nearby asked. Myrtle nodded.

"They look so real, don't they?"

Mallory nodded slightly in agreement to avoid insulting her elder to her face.

"Where to next, dear bird?" Myrtle asked Misty.

"Mud."

The group of witches went forth on foot to the bank of the swamps nearby, the place where Misty remembered calling home. After she was discovered resurrecting a dead bird at a Pentecostal revival, she was dragged from her home in the night and burnt alive. Through her natural-born power of resurgence, she rose like a phoenix from the literal ashes and it was as though she never died. She hid out in the swamps, spending her days tending to a once-flourishing garden outside her cabin, listening to Stevie Nicks on her boombox, and meditating in the woods. That was until a witch hunter found her in hiding and nearly killed her and a recovering Myrtle at the time. The memories passed through her mind before she snapped out of it and instructed the students to get some mud from the moist, nutrient-rich bank.

"Here," Misty said, leaning down. "This is good stuff."

"All along this bank?" a student asked.

"Yes, go right along."

As Misty stood up from gathering a fair share of mud from her demonstration, she bottled it up and twisted the cap, but looked beyond the water at a very familiar cabin overlooking the swamp. Her eyes were drawn to it like flies to honey, and she found herself wandering closer to the small house; it was her house, still standing, but vacant and abandoned. Carrying her jar of mud and moss, she kept walking as though in a trance until a familiar voice snapped her out of it.

"Misty, my dear. Where are you going?"

The white witch turned around and looked to see Myrtle, standing there in her unusual designer garb looking at her through thick-rimmed cat eye glasses. Her hands were clasped in front of her, looking refined even in a place where it was not necessary.

"Oh…" she said. "I… just want to see something. I-I'll be right back."

"Don't travel too far," the old witch said. "We still need to get that dung you were mentioning."

"I-I know," Misty said with a smile. "I'll be right back."

Myrtle kept her dark blue eyes locked on the young white witch as she walked off on a grass trail leading from the swamp the field trip was taking place. She looked over at Mallory, who was dressed in very similar fashion to Misty; a white sleeveless dress with uneven mesh netting for the skirt, brown calf-high boots, and her trademark celestial jewelry with a gilded leaf headband. The girl's dark brown eyes looked back at her elder, knowing she needed her, and walked toward her.

"Everything okay, Miss Snow?"

"Yes, all fine, dear bird," Myrtle said. "Misty went off to see something on this trail." She pointed at the ground where she first saw Misty begin to walk toward the abandoned cabin on the other side of the swamp. "Do you remember our promise?"

"Oh, yes," Mallory said. "Do you need me to follow close behind her?"

"Please do," Myrtle said, "but please do not make it so obvious. Give the girl some independence."

Mallory walked diligently on the trail, following the boot prints left by Misty until she saw her, golden curls cascading down her back as she stopped for a minute before walking forward slowly. The novice remained close behind her and observed quietly behind a thick brush. From her perspective, she could see the white witch lean down toward a huge, broken flower pot with soil still spilled out of it. Some of the soil was reclaimed by nature, small sprouts of grass starting to grow from the descending pile. Mallory could hear a sad, nostalgic sigh before she witnessed Misty stand up and walk toward another flower pot, shaking her head.

"My house," she whispered. "My garden."

Mallory felt bad for the poor girl – but what exactly happened that made her leave her humble abode, she thought to herself. Her eyes were fixed on Misty, who examined her old, broken clay flower pots nostalgically before heading toward the ajar front door of the cabin.

From Misty's perspective, the first step into the little cabin she once called home brought it all back to her. Her bright blue eyes started to tear up, looking and seeing the massive bullet holes still in the bed she once slept in, the same bullets that nearly killed her had she not moved from the spot sooner, let alone the possibility of Myrtle not having woken her up from a deep sleep that fateful night. Feathers were blown around the floor, and some were on the small, filthy Persian-esque knockoff rug that was in front of the small table that once housed her beloved boombox. The pieces of the boombox were still shattered on the floor, remnants of a fit of rage one of her resurrected ward had. She leaned down and sighed, picking up the broken keepsake she once treasured before putting it on the bed. She wiped her teary eyes with her shawl.

"My Stevie," she whispered to herself.

On the wall above the table hung an old poster dating from Fleetwood Mac's prime in the 1970s, a psychedelic style of font and art surrounding the White Witch she looked up to so much. Moving a little closer, she looked at the soiled paper and touched the face of the singing lady clad in a black shawl, her mouth near a microphone. She sighed, but then heard footsteps behind her. Turning to look behind her, she was taken aback by the sight of a very familiar young man. He had short, wavy blond hair neatly styled, and he was clad in a black dinner jacket, undershirt, slacks and leather shoes with silver accents near the toes. His eyes were a light, piercing greenish-blue, and his facial structure was quite angelic… yet the feeling Misty got in her chest was far from that.

"Oh…" she gasped.

"Did I scare you?" the young man asked with an eerily amiable tone.

"Y-You're the… one who saved me…" Misty stammered. "W-What are you doin' here?"

"I came to see how you were doing. I hope you've fared well," he replied.

"Your name," she said. "What's it again?"

"Michael," the young man replied suavely. Misty looked down at his hands to see the once-broken boombox fully together again, good as new. Her bright blue eyes looked at him with amazement, yet she could not shake the uncanny, intuitive fear that made her heart pound and vibrate in her chest.

"H-How did you-"

"It's quite easy," he said with a smile, his head and back straight like a prim and proper gentleman. He held out the newly-repaired device toward the swamp witch and smiled, his piercing eyes gleaming to draw her in. "Test it out. See how it works."

Misty shook her head hesitantly, seeing through Michael's calm, demure expression. "I…I can't."

"Why not, Misty?"

Her eyes widened – he knows my name, she thought. "I ain't no fool. I-I got bad vibes. Real bad. I… surround myself with the white light of spirit to protect me."

Michael saw a hint of white light surrounding her aura, but it was not enough to fully shield her like she thought it would. He gave a lighthearted chuckle and watched her open her eyes.

"What makes you think I would do you harm?" Michael asked, concentrating on Misty's mind. She felt the slight invasion, but it overtook her consciousness before she could expel it entirely. He inched closer to her and stared right into her eyes, stroking her cheek. "I saved you. I would never hurt someone I chose to save."

Hypnotized by his intense light blue-green eyes and his masculine, angelic face, she blinked wearily and leaned her cheek into his hand, taking the boombox out of the hand that held it. "I… I guess you're right."

"Good," he said, pleased by her obedience. "Now, go play something on this for me."

Misty backed away and set the boombox on the table where she once kept it years ago when she lived there. Michael took a seat on one of the chairs that was knocked over in the little cabin and watched her lean down to try and work the music player. He saw her thin form through her white maxi dress and matching fringed shawl, and he perked up when he heard her giggle happily at the first few notes of Rhiannon.

"It works!" she exclaimed. "It works! Oh…" she turned around and looked at him. "Thank you so much!"

"I know how much that meant to you," he said to her.

"It did," she nodded. "It got broken… Kyle, he broke my Stevie. Now I have her back!"

Michael was silent for a few seconds before blurting calmly: "they're using you."

Misty's smile faded slowly to a blank expression, going closer to him and looking down at him as he sat in, coincidentally, the same chair Kyle sat in upon his resurrection, where she applied her magic mud poultice to the wounds he still had at the joints. Kyle was now the butler at Miss Robicheaux's, and still very much in love with Zoe. His claim, however, threw her off. It simply was not true. Everyone at the academy showed her so much sisterly love and acceptance. Cordelia mourned her loss for five straight years. There was no way he was telling the truth.

"No… t-they ain't," Misty said defensively. "They let me stay with them… especially after-"

"After a witch hunter nearly killed you," Michael said, finishing her sentence. "It also happened to be Cordelia's husband."

"But she saw he was bad," Misty corrected. "She tried leavin' him." She shook her head. "Look, what is it you want?"

Michael stood up and met her gaze, circling her slowly as if to size her up. His hands delicately started to play with her golden curls, his nose catching the light, earthy scent of patchouli as he held her from behind and spoke convincingly in her ear.

"Even you felt bad vibes in that house when you first stepped foot into it," he began. "To a degree, you still do. If Cordelia cared so much about you, she would have foreseen your death before even trying to make you attempt Descensum like you did. She let you die."

"W-What do you want?" Misty asked, tearing up but feeling her heart flutter; this time, it was like it had butterfly wings.

"I gave you life," he continued. "Just like I gave to Madison and Queenie. Your Supreme couldn't even do that."

"W-Why don't you wanna talk with them instead? W-Why me?" she whined. "Why are you only nice to me?"

"Madison was too brash. Queenie is too big and rough around the edges," he whispered, turning Misty around by the waist to face him, eyes locked. "They both have baggage… but you, my dear," he moved closer, tilted her chin up to look at him, "you are pure. You are too good for those other witches, too good for this world, even. I want you. In my moment of exhausting coming back to the mortal coil, I saw nothing but your light and beauty, and I knew I had to have you for myself. You are my opposite, Misty. You compliment me."

"I lost my footin'," Misty said despondently. "I don't know where I am anymore."

"I gave you life, my dear," he whispered. "I can give you… so much more."

Suddenly, a voice that didn't belong to either in the cabin broke the mood of the moment: "Misty? What are you doing in here?"

Misty looked to see it was Mallory, whose expression was one of confusion and worry. Before she could say anything at all to her sister witch, she felt Michael's hand wrap over her mouth, and before she knew it, she could feel a burning sensation on her skin. She glanced down and saw the lower half of her body disintegrate into black ash. Mallory watched in horror as the blond-haired handsome stranger, with Misty in hand, turned into ash and disappeared before her very eyes. She let out a shrill scream and ran back to where the students were still having their field trip, waiting on Misty's return to get the alligator dung.

"AHHHHHHH!"

She made it back and collapsed on the grassy terrain, caught by Myrtle and another student witch, who both looked at her with great concern and fright.

"Dear! What is it? What's happened?" Myrtle questioned.

"Misty," Mallory cried. "She's gone! She's gone!"

"Gone?!" Zoe, who was nearby, ran over to the scene that caught her attention. "What do you mean, gone?!"

"S-She turned into ash! Someone had his hand over her mouth…and they disappeared," Mallory said, starting to cry. "I tried to watch her! I tried!"

"Was that the little cabin over there?" Myrtle asked, taking Mallory by the arm and walking along the path with Zoe walking not too far behind them. However, a few student witches started to follow with curiosity, but the young witch behind Myrtle and Mallory enchanted them to stay in their places.

"Stay there," she commanded; and the novice witches did so, not moving another step forward in their direction. Running ahead, she caught up with Mallory and Misty.

"Where were you when you saw it?"

"Right at the doorway," Mallory recalled. "It was wide open. I could see them."

"What did he look like?" Zoe asked.

"He was… uh… blond… tall… actually quite handsome… there was some off about him though," Mallory described.

Langdon, Zoe thought to herself.

"It was all so sudden," Mallory cried, wiping her eyes.

"I hear music!" Myrtle said, moving faster along the trail with the other two with her. They eventually reached the cabin, and the door was still wide open, as Mallory described. They stepped over the broken, large flower pots, hearing Gold Dust Woman, the next track after Rhiannon on the cassette that played in the boombox. It was toward the end of the song, with heavy drumbeats, guitar string flicking, and soft lyrics by Stevie Nicks.

"Oooh, pale shadow, of a woman…

Black… widow…

Ooooh, pale shadow, she's a dragon…"

Zoe stepped into the house first, looking around and then glancing down at the floor to see there was no black ash anywhere to be seen. In fact, aside from a chair propped up where Michael had sat and the boombox playing music, there was no sign of any activity, let alone struggle.

Then, the song changed.

"How could this have happened?!" Myrtle shrieked in distress, some tears forming in her eyes.

"Cordelia is not going to be very happy," Zoe said. "We need to gather up the girls over there and get back to the academy before any more go missing."

They fled from the scene, but before Zoe stepped foot from the little cabin, she took the still-playing boombox off the table and walked off with it. However, she had to turn it off to not draw attention.

Before she did, she could hear Stevie singing: "you said you'd give me light, but you never told me about the fire."

A/N:

Hello everyone! It's been a solid two years since my last ever story on here, or anywhere for that matter. It's good to be back. I was inspired on a whim to write this story, I absolutely LOVE season 8 so far. I hope you all are enjoying it. Please leave a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow me and this story! Stay tuned!