Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!
chapter six
You're a Witch.
The words are small, just three syllables in all, but their meaning is as large as anything Santana has ever seen or felt. Their significance overwhelms her, makes her feel tiny, like a speck of dust in a vast, unknowable cosmos. Somewhere, deep down, she'd always known what she was, in a part of her mind that always seemed just out of reach. She'd had moments, seemingly trivial times where it was like a light would flicker on for just a split-second, and then go out again, to leave her longing in the dark. Those moments, when she felt like she knew something she shouldn't, something no one else knew, were few and far between, and never lingered. Oh, but when they happened, those were the times that Santana felt most alive. Connected to the universe through the magic in her blood.
You're a Witch.
She is spiraling through her memories, recounting all those fleeting moments when her true nature had revealed itself to her, only to be brutally repressed, stomped down by her overwhelming fear of being different, of being judged by her peers, by society. It was hard enough to struggle with her sexuality, but to be a Witch, too? Yet she knows, just as she had known she must accept being different in that way, that she must accept this difference as well. There'd been no going back after the first time she had kissed another girl. There is no going back now.
You're a Witch.
Slowly, the sensation of falling subsides. She begins to feel, instead, that she's floating, steadily gaining control of herself and the forces acting upon her. Her future is not going to be determined by the ignorance and prejudice of others. There are always going to be people in the world who hate and fear what they don't understand. Well, screw them. She's not going to let a bunch of mindless, unthinking sheep control her life, her destiny.
She is Santana Lopez. She is a Witch. And she's going to own it - even if she isn't entirely sure what it means just yet.
Opening her eyes, she sees the faces of Rachel and Quinn, looking at her with worried expressions. Rachel is biting her lip and wringing her hands, while Quinn chews on a piece of her wild pink hair, fraying under the assault of her perfect white teeth. As she comes back to herself, it occurs to Santana that despite the fact that she's been all kinds of awful to the two girls seated on either side of her, they're clearly nothing but concerned for her in this moment, and a pang of shame and regret stabs at her heart.
To Santana, it feels as though she'd been in a trance for a long time, but when she glances down at Quinn's watch, she realizes that it had only been a minute, maybe two.
"Holy shit," she breathes, squinting against the light when her eyes snap open. "That was intense."
As Rachel wraps both of her slender arms around Santana's shoulders, the smaller girl lets out the breath she's been holding in a huge sigh of relief. Quinn covers one of her caramel-skinned hands with one of her own, the pale, creamy skin contrasting in that pretty way Santana's always loved.
"You're back!" Rachel exclaims, brushing at Santana's hair, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "I was beginning to think we might have lost you. I was about to go in after you and pull you out, but Quinn said -"
The pink-haired girl cuts her off with an amused half-smile, loving the way her tiny girlfriend gets so worked up and lets all her feelings out in an animated rush. "I said that Santana Lopez is way too tough to let something like a simple searching spell beat her down."
Santana stares at her for a moment, blinking incredulously. Then a wide grin breaks across her face, and she squeezes Quinn's hand in thanks. "Hell yeah, Q. You're damned right."
Whatever the hell a "searching spell" is.
"The shield of silence is about to drop," Rachel advises in a stern whisper. "So I'm going to say this before anyone else can hear, knowing how concerned you are about your rep and all – you're one of us now, Santana, and that means a great many things. Some good, some bad. We will proceed to my house directly after Glee to discuss them."
The sincerity in the smile Santana gives Rachel surprises the smaller girl. No doubt she'd been expecting some kind of snarky comment about her being bossy and overbearing. Santana finds her baffled expression both amusing and endearing. "Yes, ma'am," she replies simply - then, because she just can't help herself, gives a small salute for good measure. "And...thanks."
The air around them shifts again, and all three girls know that they can be heard by the rest of the Glee Club once more. Quinn withdraws her hand with a soft, knowing smile, while Rachel snaps her expectant gaze towards the classroom door.
"Mr. Schuester's coming. It's showtime," she says brightly, and Quinn and Santana laugh at her eagerness for the meeting to start as the curly-haired, sweater vest-loving advisor walks into the room. Rachel quietly huffs, slightly indignant. After all, they should know by now: no matter what else is going on, Rachel Berry is always, always ready to sing.
After a spirited – and quite successful, Rachel pronounces (despite Finn's continued difficulty with mastering the choreography that Mike and Brittany have already simplified for him) – Glee rehearsal, they split up briefly to gather their things from their lockers and meet up in the parking lot. It's decided that Santana will drive her car and follow Quinn and Rachel to the Berry house, since Quinn's red Beetle doesn't really have enough room for a third passenger.
Santana drums her fingers nervously against the steering wheel of her sleek little sports car, a black beauty that had been a gift from her parents and abuela when she became old enough to drive. Her parents had always used their money to provide her with material things that they hoped would make up for the long hours they spent at work, away from her. It wasn't a substitute for love, though; Santana knew they loved her, even though she thought they didn't always understand her. Being an only child wasn't ever really hard for her, in all honesty. She didn't mind her own company, and Brittany had always been there whenever she really needed someone, even after Tina had come into the picture.
Yes, Brittany had always been there for her, in good times and bad times, through thick and thin. Now Santana was determined to be there for Brittany, to protect her and keep her safe from whatever weirdness had infected Lima. It was what best friends did for each other, no matter what. She hoped that being a Witch would make a difference, whatever kind of power she actually possessed.
She bites her lip and narrows her eyes through the oversized round lenses of her sunglasses at the back of Quinn's car as they zip through the late afternoon Lima traffic, enjoying the rush of wind through her long, dark hair. Not since she joined the Glee Club has she looked forward to anything the way she's looking forward to this.
It's oddly exciting, yet kind of frightening for Santana to finally know for certain that she really does have some kind of paranormal ability. Exciting, because she's always dreamed of finding a way out of Lima, this boring, backward town in the middle of nowhere, and she thinks maybe this will be it; frightening, because she knows it's going to introduce an element of serious danger into her life that goes way beyond the risk she takes almost every day at Cheerios practice. Being tossed up into the air and trusting a bunch of scheming bitches who want nothing more than to take your spot as team captain to catch you is nothing compared to confronting ghosts and demons and who knows what other freaky shit might be out there. Things that can, like, suck your brain out through your eyeballs, or rip your soul away from you as easily as tearing a sheet of paper.
The slowing of the red VW in front of her jolts Santana from her dark and slightly grisly thoughts, and both cars slide gently into the Berry driveway. She finds that her palms are sweaty, wipes away the perspiration on her black skinny jeans, adjusts the zipper on her snappy red jacket. There's not much in this world that can intimidate Santana Lopez, but she finds herself feeling strangely out of her depth. This is not her territory. It's Rachel's, and Quinn's, and they hold all the power here.
She takes a deep breath, frowns at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, at seeing her internal worry clearly showing on her face. This is a turning point in her life, she realizes. Once she steps out of the car, her feet, in their insanely expensive killer heels, will be set on a path that's completely different from anything she's ever known. She'll never admit it - not to the tall, pink-haired former cheerleader and the petite diva emerging from the car in front of hers - but she's actually scared, even shaking a little. Brittany's memories, unbidden, flood back into her mind, and she shudders at feeling the same helplessness, the same crushing fear, that her best friend had felt when that psychotic bird-thing had come flying at her face.
It's that fear, ultimately, that cements her resolve, guides her hand to the handle of her car door, opening it to a world that's both seductive and terrifying. That fear is the reason she lifts her head defiantly and murmurs to the wind, Bring it, bitch, whatever the fuck you are, as she steps onto the black gravel and walks with all the confidence she can muster towards the two girls who stand waiting for her. That fear is what she never wants Brittany, or Tina, or anyone else, ever to feel again. If she can play any part in preventing that from happening, she'll do it to the best of her ability.
Rachel wraps her in a hug. She stiffens at first, then returns the embrace. Blood calls to blood, and blood answers. Magic sings in their veins. Santana surrenders to it, melts into the smaller girl's arms. Nothing has ever felt better than this, she thinks. In this moment, she realizes that she now has sisters who would die for her, for whom she would die, gladly and without hesitation.
What was the line from that song Rachel had sung with Kurt, another lifetime ago?
Something has changed within me. Something is not the same.
It's true.
Quinn smiles a gentle little smile, looking at the two girls sharing this profound moment of bonding. She remembers what it was like for her.
Rachel steps away. Her grin is absolutely radiant. She's actually glowing. The skin on her face shimmers with a faint sheen of perspiration. Quinn's breath catches. Her girlfriend has never looked more beautiful, she thinks.
And Santana, too, is flushed, her flawless skin darkened with additional color. She's dazed by the power of the connection she's just experienced. Her knees are a little shaky, but she refuses to give in to the impulse to reach out and steady herself against Quinn's shoulder. Quinn knows this, of course, and reaches out instead, also knowing that Santana will seek her out later to whisper a quiet thanks when Rachel's not around.
"Welcome to my home, Santana," Rachel says around her smile. "Come on, let's go inside. I have a wide variety of snacks and drinks on hand, and a living room that features the most comfortable couch ever made."
"That sounds good," replies Santana, drawing out the o sound. "You know why they say these shoes are to die for? Because if you wear them too long, they will kill you." She winces as the other girls laugh, then laughs at herself for showing her weakness, for not caring at all that she's done so.
Quinn inserts herself between Santana and Rachel, placing an arm around each of them, planting a light kiss on her girlfriend's cheek. "Lead the way, Rachel," she says wryly, a sardonic smile quirking her lips upward. "I believe the couch is calling someone."
They get inside, and Santana immediately tests the veracity of Rachel's claim about the living room couch, plopping herself down onto it with a whoof and tossing her folded sunglasses onto the coffee table as she sinks deeply into the plush cushioning.
"Damn, short stack. You weren't kidding about this couch. I may never get up again."
Quinn's laughter carries from the kitchen; Santana swears she can actually hear Rachel's frown. "Believe me," Quinn says, amusement in her light tone, "Rachel's not going to let that happen. She'll levitate you right off that couch if need be. I'm not even kidding. Trust."
Santana's eyes pop open, as wide as they've ever been. "She can do that?"
"As a matter of fact, I can, should the need arise," Rachel confirms, bustling into the living room with a large serving tray laden with plates of cookies and crackers, bowls of chips, and three tall, empty glasses. "And Quinn can, too. So while this couch is indeed amazingly comfy, we are not going to remain seated on it for very long. We have many things to do while we begin your education on what it means to be of the Witchblood."
Santana groans and rolls her eyes playfully at the petite diva's words. Apparently she's going to be just as bossy about this as she is about Glee, she thinks.
"Yes, I am," Rachel says, offering Santana a plate. "Cookie? I baked them myself. Chocolate chip."
Quinn covers her mouth with a hand, trying and failing to stifle a laugh, while reaching for a cookie with her other hand.
"Oh, hell no!" Santana exclaims in horror, fixing Rachel with a look of alarm. "Please tell me you did not just read my mind. That...that's just all kinds of wrong."
"I did not, Santana. You projected your thought without meaning to do so. This is because you don't yet know how to shield your mind in the presence of other Witches. That's just one of many things you'll need to learn if you hope to develop to your full potential."
"At least it was a relatively innocent thought," Quinn says, seeking to console the mortified cheerleader. "You should have heard what Rachel picked up from me the first time we trained together as Witches. She'll never let me live it down." She shakes her head ruefully, biting into a cookie.
"And rightfully so, Quinn! It was an exceedingly inappropriate, although extremely flattering, thought," Rachel huffs, turning to Santana, who looks back at her with a confused expression. "There we were, in the middle of our very first lesson in the Witchlore, and suddenly she's picturing me wearing – ouch!"
"Sorry for the shock," Quinn says, watching her girlfriend with icy eyes as she rubs the sore spot on her arm where Quinn had zapped her with a tiny spark of lightning. "Well, no, actually, I'm not sorry. Santana really doesn't need to know about that."
"I suppose not," Rachel grumbles, clearly unhappy at not being allowed to finish what Santana is sure would have been a pretty funny, not to mention embarrassing, story.
"You brought glasses, but it looks like you forgot to bring the drinks along with them," Santana observes, considering the items on the serving tray that's been placed on the coffee table, next to her sunglasses. "Better go get 'em before Q zaps you again, Berry."
Rachel brightens, forgetting to be offended by the use of her last name in addressing her. "No need, Santana. Watch."
Several blurred movements of a delicate hand and slender fingers later, one of the glasses fills with a dark liquid. Rachel smiles as the glass rises from the tray, floats over to where they sit.
"Voila, as they say. One carbonated cola beverage for you. Quinn tells me it's your favorite, despite the many deleterious health effects associated with its consumption."
Closing her hand around the floating glass, Santana gasps - it's cold, as though the drink inside had just been poured into it from a bottle right out of the refrigerator.
"If the guys on the football team knew you could do that, you'd be invited to all their parties," she tells the beaming girl. "How long do you figure it would take you to refill a keg of beer?"
Quinn laughs. "She would never. That would be contributing to the national scourge that is underage drinking, don't you know?"
"Oh, hush, you," Rachel admonishes, though there's no real bite in her tone. "To answer your question: it would take considerably longer. Beer is more complex, what with all that alcohol to manipulate."
"Right...I'll just forget you said that." Santana sips from her glass, eyes widening as the fizzy beverage slides past her tongue and down her throat. "Wow! This tastes just like Coke. I'm impressed, tiny."
Rachel beams even more brightly at the words of praise even as she dismisses them. "It was nothing."
Quinn gestures, and another glass fills with a clear, sparkling liquid, nodding with satisfaction as she watches the thousand tiny bubbles within rise to the surface, bursting when they get to the top. "I've never been a cola girl. It's lemon-lime for me," she says airily.
The last glass fills at another gesture from Rachel. The liquid is dark, but lighter than Santana's. As it floats over, Santana looks at the smaller girl with a question on her lips.
"Iced tea," she shrugs. "Complete with ice."
"Show off," Quinn teases. "It's not easy to create ice at room temperature, but Rachel is sickeningly good at climate manipulation. As she is at most things."
Rachel drinks from her glass, then sends it back to the tray, watching it land safely, as though it were a tiny airplane setting down its wheels at JFK International. A cookie floats up from the plate and into her hand. She smiles sweetly at Quinn as she takes a bite of it.
"This is all pretty cool, but somehow I'm guessing you didn't bring me over here for party tricks."
"Got it in one, S. Bonus points for you!" Quinn chuckles. "Yes, you're right. As cool as this stuff is, it's really just the tiniest fraction of what we can do. We showed you this as a way of demonstrating what magic really is."
Santana finally takes a cookie off the plate, moans with pleasure as the flavor explodes on her tongue. "My mother would kill for this recipe," she mumbles while chewing. "Seriously, she would."
Rachel smiles at the additional praise, then takes on a more serious expression. "This is the part, Santana, where you ask us just what magic really is, as Quinn said."
"Oh. Well, then. So just what is magic, really?" she replies, trying to match Rachel's serious tone and failing.
The girl stands and draws herself up to her full height, which shouldn't be imposing at all, since she's barely over five feet tall - yet Santana shrinks back, suddenly daunted by the sight. Quinn takes in her friend's reaction, amused once again. Rachel's flair for the dramatic actually does have its uses.
"Simply put, Santana: magic is the imposition of one's will upon the world's natural energies. We of the Witchkind are the foremost practitioners of this art, this most highly advanced skill. With proper study and training, a powerful Witch can work wonders, create marvels the likes of which you've never seen. But if a Witch turns her powers to...shall we say, less than benevolent ends, then she can wreak havoc and destruction beyond anything your darkest nightmares can conjure. There are laws in the Witchlore that mandate the capture and imprisonment of any Witch who is found to be practicing magic for evil purposes. This sacred task is entrusted to two of the most powerful Houses in all Witchkind."
Rachel nods to Quinn, who nods back at her. Santana watches in silence, mesmerized. She couldn't take her eyes off Rachel even if she wanted to.
"House Fabray. And House Berry. We are the protectors of all Witchkind, even those who don't know they are of the Blood. It falls to us to ensure that the practice of magic is done within the bounds of the Accords, which are the supreme law among all Witches. Think of it as our equivalent to the Constitution of the United States, only it binds Witches all over the world. We act not only to protect our kind, however, but to protect all living things from those who would misuse their gifts and seek to cause harm to others."
She pauses. Her glass of iced tea floats over to her, ice cubes still perfectly formed. She takes a sip, lets the glass float back to the tray, then continues.
"There is something going on here in Lima. Obviously, you're already painfully aware of that. What we don't know yet is exactly who – or what – is responsible for the attack on Britt and Tina. We've been trying to figure that out since the night it happened. We think it might be something very old, and very powerful. And extremely dangerous, to all of us."
Quinn slides over, closes the distance between herself and Santana. "That's why we didn't want you to be involved in this, Santana – at least not until we were sure you'd be able to understand what's happening, and that you'd be able to defend yourself against a magical attack long enough to get away. Brittany's natural goodness is a sort of defense in itself, but that kind of pure spirit is very, very rare. That's why she was able to survive what happened. However, none of us here have that same purity of spirit, so we need to be able to fight off such attacks more directly."
"And that requires training," Rachel nods, affirming her girlfriend's cautionary words. "And study. And, most importantly, it requires that you stay out of harm's way whenever the next attack comes – and it will come, I assure you. Quinn and I have the training, the study, the experience and the power to fight against whatever our adversary chooses to throw at us. You don't. Not yet. And maybe not ever. We still don't know what you can and can't do, which is why we need to get started on your training as soon as possible."
"You understand what we're saying, right?" Quinn asks, taking one of Santana's hands in her own. "We don't want to see you get hurt trying to do something you're not ready to do. If and when something happens, you need to get away, get to safety. If not for your sake, for ours. For Brittany's. Please. Okay?"
Santana closes her eyes, inhales deeply. She holds the breath for a few seconds, then lets it out with a great sigh. Images of dark wings slicing the air towards Brittany's head, her bright blue eyes glistening with tears, wide with terror, play in her head like the scariest movie ever.
"No. Whoever, or whatever, went after Brittany...they made it personal for me when they did that. I can't just sit back, or run and hide, if they do it again. I have to fight. You get that, right? I have to. She's my best friend. I...I can't lose her. You know that."
Quinn shakes her head. Rachel purses her lips in disapproval. "We understand how you feel, San – but we would never forgive ourselves if anything happened to you. You're family now. Please say you won't do anything to put yourself in danger," Rachel pleads, worry plainly evident in her large, dark eyes.
Quinn scoots even closer. She feels Santana trembling with barely contained fear and anger, the two emotions that have always been closest to the surface for the girl, ever since Quinn has known her. Then she plays the trump card, the one that carries more power than any other.
"For Brittany's sake," she says quietly. "Think about it, San. Think of how she would feel if...if the worst were to happen. If we couldn't save you. Do you think she'd be able to handle that?"
Santana gasps, as though she's been struck. Her eyes narrow with fury. Quinn knows there's a good chance she could be slapped hard across the face in the next fifteen seconds or so, feeling the rage boiling up inside her volatile friend.
And then she deflates, like a punctured balloon. All the air, all the fight goes out of her, and she sinks bonelessly into Quinn's gentle embrace.
"Fuck. That was a low blow, Fabray. Like, really low."
"I know, San. And I'm sorry." Quinn's voice is a low, somber whisper. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She hates having to hurt her friend like this, but there's nothing for it. Santana can't protect Brittany if she doesn't take care of herself first. Simple as that.
Rachel resumes her seat at Santana's other side, listens as the two other girls cry softly. Her own eyes glisten, though no tears fall. Quinn, Brittany, Santana...these are her sisters. There's nothing in this world, or any other, that will keep her from defending them. Even if the all the gates of all the Hells there are were to open at once, Rachel knows that she will stand against the darkest of tides, oppose the greatest of evils, and turn them aside.
This she swears. And a Witch's oath is not something to be taken lightly.