Hank woke from something resembling the worst hangover he had ever had. His mind might be dulled by his borderline undead status, but his organs sure as hell felt alive right about now. The paper filter Misty had created did nothing to filter alcohol it seemed. He almost regretted testing his theory.

In truth he had almost regretted it about fourteen times in the past two weeks. After Cordelia turned her back on him for good and he realized he was left with nothing to return to, he saw no reason not to get absolutely hammered. The almost regret hit once a day, typically in the morning, but it was quite possible to drink it away. And so he had. Fuck if anyone saw him. He was so beyond recognition to himself now that he figured he would be to everyone else as well.

Last morning he had woken up in bed with some chick he had found in a bar and though he barely remembered half of the encounter or anything about the night for that matter, there was a feeling in his bones, which said that he had felt just a little more satisfied then compared to the rest of the week. And that was something after all. He left her there and went home with no intention of even remembering her face. She was stuck on the paper filter.

This morning he felt different. He woke up alone and with an accumulated hangover from two weeks, and thought to himself that this was where he drew the line. He didn't know why today of all days was the line-drawing day, just that it was. It felt slightly like that night he woke from death and just knew that the plan was laid out for him. He didn't have to think. Today he knew he had to pick up the slack and he didn't question it.

He went to the Goode mansion. There was still things to be done here, relationships to have. If it wasn't with Cordelia, then at least maybe he could spent some time with his kid. Get to know him. He was a special boy, that much Hank had realized already, so smart for his age. And he had a strangely soothing effect on people that Hank had no idea who he had gotten from. None of his parents had any particularly remarkable people skills, Hank probably least of all.

It took a long time before anyone answered to his knocking. It was a thick door and impossible to hear anything through, but the house seemed quiet beyond that somehow. Like there was a shadow hanging over it. He knocked a second time before the door finally opened. It was Spalding.

Hank had only encountered the strange butler a couple of times, but he didn't think he had ever looked like this. He wasn't a well-kept man, too thin in bones and the hair as well. It hung loosely around is head like a thin dusty curtain. And he was even worse today. His pale skin was ashy grey, except for the eyes, which were swollen and red. The sorrow leaked off him like a cold wave.

"You okay there?" Hank couldn't help asking. Spalding stared back with blank, sad eyes and Hank became uneasy at the intensity of it. "Er, is Cordelia here?"

Spalding pointed to the passage leading around the house. Then he shut the door in Hanks face.

"Some butler", Hank mumbled to himself and went around the house to the back yard. He hesitated when he reached the corner, unsure if this was the right way to go. Misty might be out there and the feeling is his gut today wasn't a compass for trouble. Besides, he didn't feel like losing more teeth.

The back yard was empty, but the door to the greenhouse stood ajar. Hank walked towards it with careful steps. Cordelia used to spend a lot of time in that greenhouse, mostly when she was upset. In retrospective he thought this might have been a way to be close to Misty with all her love for plants and nature and stuff – in fact he was sure of it, even if she hadn't been consciously aware that that was what she was doing – but now they were back together as far as he knew. The fact that Misty had forgiven Cordelia and once again had everything Hank had ever wanted had escalated his drinking quite a bit. And now Cordelia was out here again and it shouldn't make him feel uneasy, but it did anyway.

As he got closer, he heard someone cry. It took him a while to realize it was Misty. It hit him with the most surreal kind of shock. He had never heard her cry, never seen or heard her display any sort of vulnerability. She had fucking alligators at her disposal and now she was crying like a scared little girl.

"Get her out", he heard her say, and wondered whom she was talking about. Was there a third person in there?

He heard Cordelia's voice then, worried but soft and soothing: "You need to calm down, love. Getting worked up doesn't help."

"I want her out!" A sob broke through and Cordelia shushed her gently. Hank stood by the door, still hidden and hesitated for a moment. Then he turned, went back to the front door and had Spalding let him into the house. Hearing Misty so completely stripped of her usual cool shook him in a weird way. She was a terrifying woman, but more so when she was out of control. It reminded him of that moment when she had knocked him over and her hands locked around his neck. She had looked so frightened for a second. That stuck with him more than the punches for some reason.

Twenty minutes later Cordelia came into the living room through the door to the porch. She saw him at once and froze.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just came to talk. Spalding let me in." He didn't mention what he had heard outside just before, because Cordelia's eyes were red and her whole body leaked devastation, same as Spalding's.

She sighed, closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I can't deal with this now, Hank. I can't, I-" Her voice started to break and he darted up from the couch.

"What happened?"

"I can't-" She turned to walk out again and he stepped forward, hands raised as if to reveal that he was hiding nothing.

"I'm not here about us. I get it now, I promise. I'm done pushing you on that, just tell me what happened?"

She stood still and looked at him. And then, as if some button had been pushed, she caved in.

"My mother is dead." It was all she could get out before she started crying. He hurried over and embraced her. He kept it clean; let her cry out into his shirt while the shock settled in his brain. He tried in vain to connect the dots, but it was like fitting a star shaped puzzle into square boxes. Cordelia's grief made perfect sense, but he couldn't think up any scenario wherein Misty would be this upset about Fiona dying. And that was the next; what force on earth was strong enough to take the life out of that woman?

Cordelia slowly regained control over herself, sniffled and pushed herself out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spring this on you like that." She dried her eyes and shook her head at herself. "There's just so much to take care off, with the funeral and just processing this- she was sick, but I didn't know it was that bad and I don't even think that's what…" She sniffled again and Hank pulled her to the couch so she could sit down. She allowed him, sat down while she kept on talking: "And- and I had to send Cage to daycare today. I wanted him home, but I can't be in two places at once and Misty is…" She started crying again. If Misty had left her again, he would get a good punch in this time. Still, it didn't fit with what he had just heard.

"Why don't you tell me what happened? How did Fiona…"

"I think it was Marie Laveau's doing", she said and Hank's mind finally snapped into alertness. The pieces started to release themselves from the filter and come together. He knew just what force was strong enough to take the life out of Fiona. He urged Cordelia to tell the story and she told him how she had found Misty, Cage and Fiona in Misty's shack in the woods. There were holes in the story, but Hank got the feeling it wasn't because she omitted; she didn't know. She looked so confused. All the while, Hank's filtered heart sank in his chest, because he suddenly remembered his conversation with the Voodoo Queen many beer bottles ago. She hadn't wanted to tell him, but in reality that was no excuse for him to be this blind. "… And she just won't tell me. She won't let me help her either. I don't know how to keep holding it together, I fear I'm going to break soon and I just can't allow myself that. But I have to arrange a funeral and Cometh wants to see the body, but he doesn't know anything of these… special circumstances." She finally ran out of words and looked to Hank with a pleading gaze. Hank had the weirdest sense that somehow his body had woken up today and known that he was needed here. That was why he went.

"I'll help", he offered. "I know the way to the swamp. I can go make sure Fiona is good for travel and for… being seen."

"I shouldn't be asking this of you", Cordelia said, dried her eyes again and looked at him with apologetic eyes.

"You're not asking, I'm offering. I've been a jerk, let me make up for it", he said, suddenly fighting to keep his own voice controlled. Jerk couldn't cut it. He had really fucked up this time. He suddenly realized just how badly – if Laveau had a finger in this, he might just be accessory to murder. He almost couldn't get it out, but said it anyway: "Go be there for Misty. You of all people know about that stuff right? I'll get Fiona into Misty's shack and then your liver-failure story makes sense, right? Then we can call an ambulance."

Cordelia nodded slowly, suddenly heavy with thought. When Hank asked, she said: "It's just that Misty doesn't want anyone finding that spot-" She shook her head. "No it's silly, of course. We need to call people. Thank you." Her mood was far too grave for a smile, but she lightened just a little. Hank offered a smile, kissed her forehead and got up. Cordelia called for Spalding, who appeared within three seconds, and asked him if he would help. He nodded and went to the door. Hank was sure he had been eavesdropping on the whole thing. He remembered all his jokes about how Spalding's odd crush on Fiona had caused him to stalk her all around Boston and suddenly another piece fell into place.

They entered the clearing not half an hour later. Hank wanted to stop, take a moment to absorb that he was going to find Fiona Goode dead within the next minute, but Spalding allowed no waiting. He waved at Hank and went around the shack at once. Hank followed reluctantly. He had only bad memories here and he was pretty sure this wouldn't be so positive either.

Even so he followed Spalding and found him facing a pile of dirt. Behind it, he caught a glimpse of a head and his heart started pounding. It was stupid really, because there was no uncertainty to work with. The pain in Spalding's face told him so even if Cordelia's devastated confession hadn't been enough. With a thumbing heart, he went around the pile and there she was.

It's funny how facing someone dead almost always make people second guess every bad thought they've ever had about that person. Hank was no exception. He had hated Fiona with a passion. He had wished her gone so many times he couldn't count it. But he had always made sure never to wish her dead, because he had seen what family death did to Cordelia. Now he found himself surprised that Cordelia was so coherent. As if he only just now realized that she was lucid. Sad, grieving and utterly confused, but lucid.

Fiona looked supercilious even in death. A brow was slightly raised, as if she was mocking him even from the deep dark beyond. It would be just like her to do so. Her skin had the pallor of death and she looked heavier somehow. Not bigger, just more solid, as if dying had turned her body to stone. He found himself doubting if he could even carry her. He would have to, because Spalding – now crouching and stroking Fiona's wispy hair while crying – would snap like a toothpick. If not from brittle bones, then from the sheer force of heartache.

He took a deep breath, stepped close and manned up.

"Spalding? Can I take her?" The old man looked up at him and there was a darkness in his eyes. Hopelessness perhaps. He looked lost. "I'm just going to move her into the shack, lay her on the bed. Then we'll get back and call the ambulance for her."

Spalding hesitated. It was so odd seeing someone cry like that, with no intention of hiding it. He really looked like the world around him had ceased all meaning.

Then he nodded and stepped aside.

Hank gave him a nod back and took a moment to plan out the job in his head. He asked Spalding to make sure the door was open and when he left, Hank bend down and scooped his arms under the body of his lifeless mother-in-law.

She was heavy, much heavier that the last lifeless body he carried. He cursed and hoped this wouldn't become a habit. Finally, he gained a solid grip and lifted her. The dirt fell off her and revealed a dark, blood-clotted hole in her chest.

"What the fuck?!" Hank exclaimed and almost dropped her. He managed to kneel and put her down somewhat gracefully instead. He sat there, back on the ground and stared at the hole in her chest. He gently, reluctantly – feeling like some twisted pervert all the while – dug her shredded clothes aside to see just how deep the hole went. His stomach turned, he yelled out again and crabbed backwards on his hands, away from the body.

This definitely wasn't liver failure. It was fucking murder and nothing could convince him otherwise.

"Fuck…" He mumbled. And remembered his conversation with Marie Laveau. I assure you all the rumors are true, she had said. Her opponents came to tragic ends. But it was another thing she had said, which stuck with him: You have the intel, I have the means. And Cordelia had found Misty here, all bloodied and shaking. And she wouldn't talk. Hank was under the impression she never denied Cordelia anything.

Spalding came out again, looked at him with question. He looked as if he was far too tired to be upset about whatever had made Hank scream out.

"Did you know about this?" He asked him, pointing at the hole. The butler nodded solemnly. Hank looked back at the body. "What the hell have I done?" He said it low, but maybe Spalding heard him anyway. It didn't matter, because he couldn't speak of it either way.

Hank cleared his throat and gave Fiona a last look, before he stood up to finish the job. There would be no calling the ambulance. He wanted to go straight to the police, but from the little he knew of Laveau he was about positive that this murder would never fall back on her.

O0O

When Hank came back an hour or so later, Cordelia had had some time to regain composure. Her defenses were so fragile at the moment, but it strengthened her to know that it wasn't strangers she had to deal with today. Hank had seen her cry a million times and Zoe had been kind enough not to get too flustered, when Cordelia had burst into tears again while explaining the situation to her. Now she was out of the house, tending to all Cordelia's duties. She didn't feel good about it, but she had to stay home today.

The front door opened and the men came back in. Spalding's steps faded out along the hallway and he vanished, but Hank went straight for her. He was pale as a sheet.

"Did Misty talk yet? Did she tell you what the hell happened out there?"

Cordelia's heart started pounding. She was exhausted now, but even so her heart wouldn't stop reacting. Every beat rang with worse news. "What's wrong?" She realized how foolish a question that was to ask, but did so anyway. She couldn't think anymore today.

"What's- she…" He stammered and then stopped. Sat down beside her. "It's done now. But we can't just call an ambulance. It looks suspicious. I, um… I'll figure something out."

"Hank, what is it?" Her pulse hammered into her throat now. It shouldn't be able to get any worse; she was already gone, but somehow Cordelia expected it to be.

"Her chest, it looks like her…" He stopped, as if reconsidering his wording and then said: "It looks like she's been stabbed."

"Oh God", Cordelia covered her mouth with her hand, as a sickening wave washed through her. With all the surreal things happening around her, she couldn't wrap her head around something as simple as brutal human violence. She helplessly pictured Laveau stabbing her mother with a knife. And she knew Misty was a factor in this, but that was one puzzle piece too painful to put into the picture and she shook her head, desperate to knock the images out of her head again. "Oh God, I can't…" She whispered.

Hank caught her again, pulled her in. "I'll figure it out. We'll get her a funeral and if you need me for anything, tell me. I can pick up Cage."

Cordelia swallowed her crying and shook her head. "I have Zoe to pick him up."

"But I'm his father. I just want to help."

"I appreciate it, Hank, really." She sniffled and dried her eyes again. "But it's too new. I won't send a stranger to pick up my son and you are still almost a stranger to him."

"Okay then I'll cook. I don't want to just leave you with all this."

"It's kind of you, but I need you to go." He looked at her incredulously.

"But, Cordelia-"

"Please. I'm trying to hold everything together and with you here… It stresses her and…" Cordelia trailed off, but the look on Hank's face told her he had no trouble figuring out who she talked about. He looked as if he was about to get angry but fought it down. This was one of the new things about him; he was never able to fight that down before. This would be where a fight would start, but today he calmed. He spoke his words more firmly, he was obviously indignant, but he didn't yell.

"Fine. But I'll come back and check on you. And I'll call you about what to do with, um, Fiona. I'll keep 'the special circumstances' on the down-low."

"Thank you", Cordelia said and with real warmth. Funny, she thought, how a voice like that could keep coming out of her when she felt so cold on the inside.

"We'll at least need some new clothes for her", Hank said. Cordelia agreed, found some for him and then he left. When the front door closed, she went back out into the greenhouse.

Misty sat in the same position she had left her in, still curled up in the corner. The trails of tears were dry now, but she looked haunted as ever. And exhausted, yet agitated, as if her mind and body were split between too opposing personalities.

Cordelia went straight to her, crouched down in front of her and said: "I need you to tell me what happened out there."

It took a few seconds before Misty moved her head and looked at her. Her face was smeared with dirt and it made her blue eyes stand out. They flickered with fright.

"You don't wanna know", she said.

Cordelia shifted her balance, moved a little to release the frustrated energy from her body. She put a hand on Misty's knee, because she couldn't reach her hands.

"I just told you I do."

"It won't make you feel better." Her voice was even, still rough from screaming, but steady now. She wouldn't cave. Not for anything.

"Just tell me dammit! Hank says she's been stabbed! It's my mother, I deserve to know!" She cried again, cursed herself for being so weak when she needed strength. Misty's hand came into her view, closed around hers.

"You don't deserve to know what I know, Delia. I can't put that on you. I'm sorry."

Cordelia withdrew her hand again. "You won't tell me and you won't let me help you. I can't be this useless to you. I just can't." She got up, wiped the tears away again. "I'll go prepare dinner. I hope you will come in and join us."

"Is Hank still here?" Misty asked. She didn't sound angry, didn't look it either. Just scared and tired.

"No", Cordelia said. "I sent him away, because that's apparently all I can do for you."

Then she left the greenhouse again.

Misty came in for a quick dinner later, but said as little as possible. Only choked out a few words whenever someone spoke directly to her. Zoe tried to engage in conversation with Cage, to keep his mind occupied, but the boy was far too bright for his own good. He sensed the atmosphere the same way Misty did and he wasn't fooled. But no one had answers for him.

The night came, Hank called and said he had called the hospital and gotten them a mortician to ready the funeral and there was nothing more to do but wait. It hit Cordelia the hardest, the waiting. She had put Cage to bed and Zoe had gone to keep Kyle occupied. She was alone when she went to bed herself.

Then there was a faint knock on her door and Misty stepped in. Cordelia sat up straight, expecting Misty to reveal that some new facet of horror to their story, but she only closed the door and stepped close to the bed.

She gave Cordelia a leading stare and Cordelia asked: "What is it?"

"Being close to you helps", Misty said. "Even if I'm scared she's gonna make me do somethin'. That okay?" Her tone was asking, as if giving Cordelia the out, in case she was scared also. Cordelia couldn't gather words to tell Misty that there was no choice. Instead she drew the covers aside, leaving an open space for Misty to take. She did so hesitantly, feeling her way, not for the bed, but for her head. Finally she laid down on her side and Cordelia settled in beside her, became the big spoon. She sifted through Misty's hair with her fingers, drew it away from her face. Misty's features folded into nervousness, her body tensed, but at least she was here.

"She's not so present tonight", she said then. She turned her head, looked up at Cordelia. "Hold me?"

Amidst all the different kinds of pain that she was in, Cordelia felt her heart break just a little at the simple request. She inched close up against Misty's back and put her arm around her. Misty grasped for her hand and put it to her chest. Cordelia could feel her heart beating fast with anxiety.

"I'll hold you all night if you need me to", Cordelia promised. She thought she felt Misty's heartbeat settle down a little. Her body relaxed and she fell asleep almost at once.

Not many people turned up for the funeral. Fiona was someone you could never ignore and you could never forget the imprint of her presence, but she didn't have many friends. In truth she just wasn't liked. A few former colleagues had come to pay their respects and Cordelia thought she recognized Cecily Pembrooke, Fiona's most persistent secretary, but the weight of the turnout was carried by those occupying the Goode Mansion. Hank was there, much to Misty's distaste – and she might have made a bigger spectacle out it, had she had the mental resources – and Cometh as well. They made a nice row in front of the casket, as it was lowered into the ground. The hospital was notified, Hank had somehow worked around the aspects that went against the liver failure story and left was only to say goodbye.

Cordelia hadn't expected how empty she would feel. Fiona had never been the mother Cordelia was looking for. There was always that cleft between them. Her mother was a monster under her bed, she was the statue in whose shadow Cordelia had always lived. She had spent most of her life trying to please her mother, connect with her or get away from her. There was a part of her, which felt relieved that the constant fight was over. The same part, which now made her feel empty. A whole persona of hers was missing and she didn't know what to do with that space. She didn't know how to process it and while the tears fell from her eyes, it didn't feel like they washed away any pain, the way crying is supposed to. She felt like she cried to no avail.

Misty's hand slipped into hers, when the tears started to fall. Cordelia looked at her quickly and saw the pain there. She thought she saw guilt also, but she didn't have resources to process that either. Misty was a mess today, however well she hid it – and she did, because there were people here that she didn't know and Misty was very feral that way. But she was barely holding it together. It reminded Cordelia a little of Hank's funeral, only the roles were reversed. She could barely remember that funeral, so far gone in psychosis she was then, but she wondered how Misty had done it. Misty knew how to keep herself upright and keep Cordelia safe at the same time. Cordelia did her best to shield Misty, but she had no idea how to keep herself upright. She didn't know how it was that she was still standing. She only knew that her three-year-old son sat right beside her and he had just lost his grandmother. His second mother was too plagued to take care of him now and the line ended there. So there was no allowance for Cordelia to break down and quit now. Or he would have no one.

The priest finished his words and they all stood up. One by one they went to the hole in the ground, one last look at the descend of the great Fiona Goode. She always said Papa Legba would get her soon enough. Now he had. Cordelia wondered if she had seen him coming too. Had he tipped his hat at her the same way?

Cordelia looked at Misty to see if she wanted to go, but she shook her head and stayed back as Cordelia carried Cage to the hole.

"Say goodbye to grandma now, baby", she told him. He looked at her first and pointed at the casket. Cordelia nodded.

Cage turned his head, hesitated for a moment as if weighing his words and then said: "Bye grandma." His voice was light, not cheerful, but not weighed by sadness either. As if he was just sending her off on a trip, expecting her to return in a week's time. It was the lightness of his voice that made Cordelia break into tears again. She kept upright, still not sure how, but suddenly crying felt like releasing something from her chest.

"Goodbye mother", she said and turned. She couldn't stand to be near the coffin any longer. She sat back on the chair, hugged Cage closed and let the tears flow free. They felt so good.

Misty sat beside her, trembling, curling her hands into fists and staring intensely into space. She didn't appear to be looking at anything, rather she looked inside. She was fighting again. Cordelia wanted to reach out, do something to relieve her, but she was too trapped in her own pain to do so. She couldn't help. Instead she watched Zoe step forth, throw gravel into the hole. She came and offered to take Cage, but Cordelia shook her head. She needed him or she would fall apart.

Just then Misty got up. Her walk was stiff, as if every cell in her body fought against it, but wasn't powerful enough to overwrite it. She staggered to the grave, stopped and then her body relaxed.

She spit into the grave, mumbled something in a language Cordelia didn't understand and turned on her heel. Her face was completely blank when she walked by the chairs. She crossed the cemetery and kept walking until she was out of sight.

"What just…" Zoe trailed off again, looked to Cordelia, but received no look in return. Cordelia kept staring at the spot where Misty had disappeared. For a few timeless seconds everyone stared after her. Cometh had seen it too and he was just about to burst into a fit of rage, when Hank put a hand on his shoulder and talked him down. Cordelia couldn't hear what he said and they soon moved further away, towards the hole, which should be Cometh's rightful point of focus.

"Where did mama go?" Cage asked, but no one answered him. A wild anger pushed to blossom in Cordelia's chest as well, but it kept losing to the cold fear of knowing that Misty's wasn't in control of her own mind anymore.

O0O

Misty hadn't crawled under the bed since she was a little girl. She hadn't needed safety this badly since she first came to this house and everything smelled so foreign. Now when she was scared she would usually go to Cordelia, find safety with her, but when she woke up from the trance to find herself in the middle of the street and nowhere near the funeral, she felt the strongest urge to seek away. She couldn't remember what she had done, because there was only black where her memory should have been, but she remembered her feet carrying her towards the grave when it all went dark and she was sure she had done something awful. All she had in her head was Laveau's hate and she wasn't strong enough to stop it. No matter how much she fought. The hum of it had exploded in her brain and while only a faint echo remained now, it reminded her that she was never safe. She would never be safe from her compeller.

She could tell from the light that it was much later when Cordelia's steps finally carried her inside the room. The door was carefully closed, the light turned on and the steps continued around the bed. Misty tried to taste the air for anger or hurt or whatever she had triggered in her compeller's overwrite and found the atmosphere flavorless. She couldn't decipher it.

Cordelia sat down on the floor next to the bed.

"Are you okay?" She asked. Her voice was calm, soft. Worried. The worry stung most of all.

As soon as she was addressed, the spell wrapped around her tongue grew faint enough for her to speak. But she had nothing good to offer.

"I did somethin' terrible, didn't I?"

"You don't remember?" She didn't sound surprised. More like she already knew what Misty was going to say.

"No", she admitted. She looked at the folds of Cordelia's black dress as it fell over her knees. It was all of her she could see from here.

Cordelia breathed a small sigh. "It doesn't matter. Will you come out please?"

Misty tried to work her way to the edge. This was much easier when she was a kid, she didn't fill up the space under the bed quite so much as she did now. Her neck was stiff from lying in there and it took effort to wiggle herself out. When the light finally hit her face she squinted, pulled herself the rest of the way out and sat up to face Cordelia.

She looked older somehow. As if all this grief was robbing years off her life in mere days. And she looked sad, just sad. She was lucid and she was there, it was just that sadness, as if the usual palette of emotions was unreachable for her today.

"I'm sorry", Misty said. She didn't dare ask again what she had done, she just knew she needed to apologize.

"You weren't yourself", Cordelia murmured. She reached up and rubbed her temple. She did this the way any other would when they succumb to a habit, only this wasn't the same as running a hand through the hair or picking at your skin. This was keeping the psychosis away. Keeping the voices in check. Cordelia appeared to have the same thought, because she looked at her own hand and chuckled helplessly. Then she looked back at Misty. "Do you know who would have great experience battling a foreign voice in their head, someone telling them to do things? Me."

It took Misty a while to realize what she was talking about and then her heart fell. "Delia…"

"Why won't you talk to me?" Her eyes filled with tears, flashed with the devastation from Misty's constant rejection. "Why won't you let me help you? Are you still angry with me?"

Misty felt the old iron fist clench around her heart again. Her body turned cold when it held her like that and though Cordelia's gaze burned her eyes, she couldn't shake that cold. She was still mad, in a way, but that didn't change the fact that Cordelia would hate her if she admitted the true reason for her silence.

"I don't know, but… I ain't ready to talk 'bout what happened."

"Then talk to me about something else. Anything. Please. I can't stand the silence anymore, Misty." Her voice broke at the end. Misty swallowed the lump in her throat. She started fidgeting with her dress, uncomfortable with the question she needed to ask, but she knew this was the time to get it out.

"Can I ask you 'bout… the other thing?"

It startled Cordelia a bit it seemed, and she looked like someone about to take a hit, but she nodded anyway. "Yes."

"Your mama said you don't know how to be happy. Or stay happy. That's why you did that thing. That true?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. Then she chuckled again, a breathy, incredulous laugh. "I suppose you could say that. Fiona did used to tell me I have a knack for self-destructiveness."

"So that's all? It's not… him?" Misty kept diverting her gaze. It was too much watching her words hurt Cordelia like that. She didn't even cover herself from the blow, she just took it while the tears silently left her eyes.

"No, darling, it's not him." Misty heard her say.

"'Cause I know you still love him", Misty muttered into her own shoulder.

"Please look at me." That voice was a compeller in itself. She looked. Cordelia's eyes were wet, shimmering in the light, but dead serious. "I do love him. But not enough that I want to be with him. And not enough to excuse what I did to you."

Misty wasn't sure if the admission offered her relief or more questions. She nodded to show that she understood, all the while looking at Cordelia's pale hand. She wanted to take it, but the few inches between them started to look like a mile long cleft. She just wasn't sure she could reach over there.

"You're all I've got in this world", she said instead. "You and Cage. And that's all I want." She looked up again. "But do you want somethin' more than that? Somethin' I can't give you?"

Cordelia exhaled with exasperation. She went quiet for a moment, while looking around the room, gathering her words. "I want… I want to feel like I'm enough. I never have. I don't know that anyone can give me that."

"You've always been enough for me. You're my life, Delia."

She smiled and reached out. The abyss shrunk down in a matter of milliseconds and her hand closed around Misty's. A bit of warmth finally reached under Misty's skin and loosened the iron fist enough for her to catch a healthy beat of heart.

"I know", Cordelia said. "And thank you. I don't doubt that anymore. But I meant that… I want to be enough for me. I want to be able to handle myself, handle Cage without help. I need to know I'm not chained to anyone with dependence because of my demons."

On the first floor, Cage started crying. Misty held onto Cordelia's hand as if for dear life, but she didn't know what to say. She always knew what to say, but now she was at loss for words.

"I have to go check on him." She loosened the hold on Misty's hand, but swept it under her chin instead and pressed a kiss to her lips. Misty made fists of whatever she could grasp of Cordelia's clothes, trying to keep her there. It was the only way she could express herself. When Cordelia moved to get up, Misty let go without protest and let her leave.

O0O

Marie sat in the rocking chair of the old nursery, slowly rocking back and forth. She held no baby that needed calm; the rocking was for herself.

She had won. She had defeated her lifetime enemy, and now the enemy was dead and gone. Put into the ground. Her heart saved as a bleeding trophy, stashed away in the basement in a jar of its own. It should feel like a victory. It didn't. The triumph had been a short taste, because killing Fiona solved nothing. She had had her revenge and now all she had was… aftermath. An empty house, because Chantal had bolted the door to the saloon shut and left. They had all left, wanted nothing to do with her obsession and her ravenous, half-dead child. She had nothing now but echoing halls, her short taste of victory and the shadow of Papa Legba. He felt ever-present these days.

She felt after the Goode witch, reached out through their minds' connection. Tried to see through her eyes and see what she was up to. The view in her mind's eye was fuzzy, as if looking through a dusty window. The witch was strong. She constantly fought against Marie's orders and she was hard to compel at this distance. Emily, the nurse, she could order around with no effort, even from miles of distance. Most of her subjects were easily overtaken, but not this wild girl. Something as simple as making her spit in Fiona Goode's grave had Marie working up a sweat. She almost shook the curse off; she was that strong. But the hold hadn't broken yet. Still Marie feared and she couldn't let Misty know this. There was a moment in that shack where she didn't think she would be able to compel Misty. One thing was making her spit on a woman she didn't particularly like herself, but forcing her to kill her own child – that was another thing entirely. Luckily the threat had been enough.

Marie thought of that child now. He was a precious one. Almost as pretty as her Damian. She wondered if she could have gone through with it, have the witch kill the boy just to make an example of it. She thought of Fiona's daughter then, unwillingly so, because she didn't want to imagine it. She didn't want to put the loss of a child on anyone. Not just because of her promise to not harm the other Goode girl, but because she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy. Then better they be dead and not bother her. She had gone easy on Fiona compared to that pain.

At the other end of the house was a knock on her front door. From the other room, Damian started wheezing and scratching on his door to get out.

"It's okay, baby", she said to Damian as she walked by the door.

Outside, still knocking, stood Hank Foxx. His face was ashy grey and his eyes wide with incredulity. She would have found his shock amusing, if she wasn't so preoccupied.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

He blinked and appeared to be collecting himself for a few seconds before he looked at her, reproach taking form in his gaze instead.

"You used me."

"That was the deal, honey."

He looked perplexed, frustrated beyond comprehension. "But I- I never agreed to that! You… you murdered her." He lowered his voice when he said it, as if afraid to speak it out loud. Useless, Marie thought, because done was done.

"Well, what did you think I was gonna do, hm? Ask her nicely to quit botherin' me? And let's be very clear, I didn't touch her."

Marie could see some realization dawn him, something falling into place in his head. "So it's true then? You made Misty do it?"

Marie waved her hand at him. "Don't belittle yourself, you were a great help." It made Hank cringe. He was about to speak, when Damian started to whine, frustrated and scared by the foreign voice. He never was good with strangers.

"What's in there?"

"None of your business", Marie snapped. "If you're just here to whine, then I got better things to do, Foxx. Your part is done, go home and celebrate your freedom."

"But you didn't keep your part of the deal", he said then and the reproach returned. "You promised you wouldn't hurt Cordelia, but this most definitely hurt her."

The hint of regret that lingered from before blossomed at the mention of the other Goode girl's name. She shouldn't feel this, she shouldn't care about that woman. She couldn't, because she had to put herself and Damian first. She pushed it aside, before it had a chance to latch on too tight and pierced Hank with a cold gaze.

"You should have been more specific." With that, she closed the door in his face.

She sat back down in her rocking chair and pulled the little doll out. The witch might be too strong for compelling this far, but there were still means to break her down and make her tame. Marie pulled out her box of needles and began to poke.

A couple of miles away, Misty started screaming.