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Misty knocks once on the door to Cordelia’s office. She slumps against the wall, running her fingers along the wallpaper until she hears Cordelia telling her to come in, and it takes nearly all of her energy to push herself off and open the door.
“Sorry to bother you,” Misty says sheepishly, lets the door shut behind her with a click.
“You never bother me.” Cordelia’s smile is kind and undemanding, much unlike the shuffled stack of papers on her desk that seems to be screaming for her attention. Misty feels guilty for distracting her. “Is everything alright?”
She lazily shrugs a shoulder.
“This happens every time the weather starts to change,” Misty explains, settling down in the chair in front of Cordelia’s desk. “I don’t know, I just get…I get these feelings. It’s like when the leaves on the trees die, a part of me dies, too.”
“I’m sorry you’re upset,” Cordelia empathizes. “You’re more connected to nature than any witch I’ve ever seen. You feel what the world around you feels.”
“Just brings me down. All the plants crying out, begging for salvation.” But she didn’t come here looking for advice, or guidance regarding her magic. No, she came here seeking reprieve. A pick-me-up. Seeing Cordelia fills Misty with a kind of light that she can’t explain, and she’s been talking to some of the other girls about something else that happens around here when the seasons change. Misty can’t fight the smile that emerges. “I think the only nice thing about fall is that you were born.”
Cordelia’s face turns a shade of pink Misty’s never seen before, and she bows her head in embarrassment, always gracious, always humble.
“Well, I’ll take the compliment, but I’m not sure being a Scorpio necessarily counts as a nice thing.”
Misty chuckles at that as she twists one of the rings on her finger.
“It does when it’s you. So, what do you want for your birthday?”
Cordelia shakes her head.
“Everything I could possibly want is right here. This house, my girls and their safety, it’s all I could ever ask for.”
Misty rolls her eyes.
“Something real,” she presses, “and not that trademark, selfless shit.”
Cordelia laughs, and it’s a sound Misty has very much grown to adore.
“How dare you? I’m being very genuine. All I want is a peaceful night in, surrounded by all my talented, young witches, knowing that I am keeping them protected and providing them with everything they need.”
Misty just raises her eyebrows.
“Alright, if you won’t tell me, then it looks like you’re getting a measly, old gift card.”
“You won’t hear me complaining if it’s for Starbucks,” Cordelia teases. “Seriously though, Misty, don’t. I’m perfectly content with what I have.”
Misty remains unconvinced, but lets it lie, lets the ideas run wild in her mind.
“Fine. I’ll think on it,” she says, then, “hey, is it okay if I stay in here for a while if I promise to shut up and let you do your work?”
Misty doesn’t disclose that it’s because the mere presence of Cordelia incites a welcome comfort within her, and Cordelia doesn’t ask.
“Of course,” Cordelia says, and the warmth in her expression has the power to split Misty at the seams.
//
“Hey, Zoe,” Misty calls as Zoe rounds the corner, “are you busy?”
“Nah, my first years are on break right now. What’s up?”
Misty sits up from where she’s sprawled across the sofa in the great room and glances around, surveying the area for any eavesdroppers. As Zoe steps closer into the room, Misty leans in and speaks in a hushed tone.
“What are we doing for Miss Cordelia’s birthday?” she asks.
“Something small. You know her, she won’t want any of the fuss, so maybe just the Council. Some wine, or champagne.” Then Zoe’s face brightens. “Oh, and a cake. It’s not a birthday without cake.”
“No, I mean—I guess I mean, what are you getting her?”
Zoe frowns in confusion.
“Oh. Well, I haven’t had much time to get around to it, but there’s this dress at Armoire Boutique that she always stares at when we take the girls on field trips.” Zoe pauses as Misty nods. “What about you? What are you getting her?”
She feels her cheeks burn hot at the question, at the thought of giving Cordelia something she’s put her heart and soul into, but even more so because she doesn’t have an answer to it. She’s given it an enormous amount of thought, and she feels so ashamed. To be a person as kind and caring as Cordelia, and then for Misty to have nothing to offer on a day celebrating her. It’s embarrassing.
“Don’t worry,” Zoe tells her with a reassuring smile. “You’ll think of something.”
“What if I don’t?” she asks nervously. “What if I can’t think of anything and everyone else gets her these grand,swanky gifts?”
“Then she’ll be happy just to have your company,” Zoe tells her gently. “She missed you every day you were gone, Misty. Just you being here, that’s enough for her.”
Misty’s mouth goes dry.
She missed you every day.
The words ring loudly and wildly in her head. They haven’t talked about it much, not the specifics anyway. Cordelia knows what Misty’s trip to hell was like, and she knows Misty has been taking the time to recover from it, but Misty doesn’t know what her absence caused, if it took a large toll on Cordelia. She doesn’t think she wants to know; it’s bad enough that her experience with the Seven Wonders was a total bust. That she let everyone down, most importantly Cordelia. No, Misty doesn’t want to know how far that impact truly reached. She has trouble sleeping now as it is.
“Thanks, Zoe,” is all she can say, weakly, and Zoe gives her an apologetic smile before she leaves the room.
(Misty’s not entirely sure if the conversation actually helped.)
//
She hears thumps coming from her shared bedroom with Queenie, and the closer she gets to the door, the louder they become. There is definitely some sort of struggle happening, Misty thinks. When she tries to open the door, it’s locked, and she rattles the handle.
“What the hell—”
The door swings open and Queenie tugs her inside before slamming it shut again.
“I know you’re tight with Cordelia, but if you ruin the surprise for her, I will not hesitate to throw down.”
Misty crosses her arms.
“What are you talking about?”
Distantly, from behind them, the smallest of mewls breaks the silence. Misty raises an eyebrow.
Queenie sighs and walks over to her bed. There’s a pillow fort surrounding something, and when Queenie reaches down and lifts up a grey kitten, Misty melts on the spot, hurrying over to them.
“Oh my god, look at you!” Misty exclaims, bringing her hand up to brush against the cat’s face. The cat raises a tiny paw to swipe at the rings on Misty’s fingers, and Misty giggles.
“Just keep it down,” Queenie tells her. “I’ve been planning this for weeks. I just picked him up from the shelter today.”
“What’s his name?”
Queenie shrugs.
“That’s up to Cordelia.”
Then Misty realizes.
“You got Miss Cordelia a cat?”
Queenie just stares blankly at her.
“Well…yeah? I mean, she had one last year, and she said it kept her company in the greenhouse. But I think it ran away. Either that, or Fiona killed it. Hard to say for sure.”
Planning this for weeks. Queenie said she’s been planning this for weeks, and Cordelia’s birthday is in three days, and Misty still has nothing.
“That’s so thoughtful,” she says softly.
Queenie frowns at her, then hands the kitten over to Misty.
“Here, why don’t you hold him for a while?” Misty smiles at the small cat in her arms, watches as his little claws tangle in the ends of her hair. “Something’s got you down. You weren’t gonna get her a cat, too, were you?”
Misty laughs lightly.
“No, I, uh—I’m not really sure what I’m gettin’ her yet.”
Queenie makes a noise in the back of her throat that sounds as if she knows something Misty doesn’t.
“Trust me, she’s gonna love whatever you get her just because it came from you.”
“But I don’t want that,” she sighs, frustrated. “I want to get her something good, like everyone else. I want…” Misty shakes her head. “It has to mean something.”
“You could make her something,” Queenie suggests. “You know, from the heart. Cordelia loves that shit.”
Misty nods; she hadn’t thought of that, too preoccupied with some sort of tangible purchase, an object, a gift.
“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Queenie turns her attention to the cat Misty is still holding, and he is audibly purring now. “Wow, okay, he likes you way more than he likes me.” She holds up her hands so Misty can see the scratches, and Misty tries not to laugh. “Yeah, I’ve never been much of a cat person.”
“Take a break,” she tells Queenie. “I’ll watch him a minute.”
Queenie takes her up on the offer, and then it’s just her and the kitten. She sets him down on her bed and makes her way over to the record player in the corner.
“Hope you like Stevie,” she says before dropping the needle down.
//
The next morning, Misty drowsily descends the staircase and follows the smell of breakfast into the kitchen.
“Misty,” Cordelia greets her with a warm smile, and Misty blinks the sleep from her eyes and smiles back, something twisting tightly in her stomach.
“Morning,” she says lamely, then she sees the two places set at the table.
“Oh,” Cordelia says, flushing slightly. “I made you breakfast.”
“Just me?”
“Well, you and I. Us. I made us breakfast.”
Misty’s chest feels like it could burst, the sunlight streaming in through the windows suddenly too intense, the gesture overwhelming her, and jesus, she’d slumped downstairs without even changing out of her pajamas or brushing her hair, but Cordelia is standing here immaculately made up and put together.
“Thank you,” she says, and Cordelia motions for the table, then sits down, so Misty follows. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you breakfast? Supreme status and all that.”
This gets a laugh out of Cordelia, and some of the tension in the air thins, and Misty breathes a little easier.
“Well, sure, I wouldn’t say no to that. But there were so many mornings that I’d wake up and just wish you were here, so I could do something as simple as this. As simple as French toast and orange juice. I don’t know, I guess…” Misty’s throat tightens as she waits for Cordelia to find her words. “I just missed you.”
Cordelia reaches for one of Misty’s hands, and the contact nearly sends Misty, her mind and pulse racing.
She missed you every day, Zoe’s words echo.
Misty believes it, with the way Cordelia is gazing at her. Like there are stars in her eyes, and she is swimming in the depths of them.
“I missed you, too,” she says with as much promise in her tone as she can manage. She doesn’t want to completely break, but if Cordelia can see the cracks in her veneer, then there’s nothing she can do about that. Cordelia has always had the gift of sight, of seeing right through a person, and Misty has never been immune to those powers. What could Misty possibly do or say that would convey what Cordelia can’t already perceive?
//
After breakfast, Cordelia has a meeting, so Misty takes dishwashing duty. The least she can do, she thinks. She’s got her hands covered in soap suds when she hears a derisive snort from the doorway.
“You’re even stupider than I thought,” Madison says, strutting over and sitting up on the countertop.
“Sure would hate to have to kick your ass again,” Misty comments, then, “On second thought, I wouldn’t be too miffed about it.”
Madison grows more serious as she lets out a deep breath.
“Look, I’m done making enemies in this coven. This is where I belong. Just like you. So, whatever, I get it, I killed you once. But no hard feelings, okay?”
Misty can’t help but laugh.
“That’s the shittiest apology I’ve ever heard,” she says.
“Hey,” Madison says, grabbing her arm, and Misty looks at her. “I mean it. Really. I’m just trying to help.”
Misty narrows her eyes, and she thinks a part of her will always hold some kind of distrust for Madison, but she also knows genuine when she sees it. So, she nods, accepts it.
“Okay.” Madison releases her arm as she lights up a cigarette, and Misty’s nose wrinkles at the odor. “Help with what?”
A smug grin curls onto Madison’s face.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Madison sighs, feigning wistfulness. “I hear Cordelia has a birthday coming up.”
“Yeah…” Misty draws out the response, trying to make sense of this. “Why? What are you getting her?”
Madison laughs, short and haughty.
“An oil painting of a bluebell field done by the great Ariana Richards herself. Had to call in a few favors from my acting days for that one, but anything for our Supreme, am I right?” Misty’s face turns an embarrassing shade of pink. “But I’m more interested in what your plans are.”
“I’m not sure yet,” she admits, but apparently that’s exactly what Madison wants to hear because her face lights up.
“Good, then I have an idea.”
“No offense, but I can do without your advice.”
Madison ignores her.
“Strip down and tape a big, shiny bow to your ass. You want to get her attention? That’ll sure as hell do it.” Misty is too stunned to speak, so Madison continues. “Or get her a pair of glasses. For a bitch with second sight, she’s blind as fuck.”
“Madison, stop,” she says, shaking her head. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m trying to get you both laid.” Madison huffs like she has the right to be outraged. “Christ, am I the only one who has any game around here?”
Misty turns back to the dish in her hands and scrubs, almost violently, willing the sudden onslaught of thoughts out of her brain.
“It’s not like that. Miss Cordelia’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I’d do if…I just don’t wanna ruin that.”
Madison hops down off the counter with an exaggerated sigh.
“Whatever. At this rate, you should just hand your soul back over to Papa Legba because you’re wasting a fuck ton of time.”
“Well, thanks for stickin’ your nose in my business, but you’re a little off on your observations.”
Madison drops her cigarette into the sink and it sizzles out as it floats on top of the dishwater.
“No, I’m right. But that’s okay.” Madison pats her shoulder once before turning to leave. “You figure it out on your own.”
“I will,” Misty mutters to herself.
Madison’s not right. Madison is never right. Especially not about this. Misty doesn’t even understand what she has with Cordelia, so how the hell could Madison know?
//
Misty’s mindlessly humming along to the lyrics of Sorcereras the nameless, smoky-grey kitten sleeps in a heap on her chest. Queenie gets too annoyed by him, so Misty has been deemed his temporary guardian. She hopes the soul-awakening clarity of Stevie’s voice will help her sort through her agitation about Cordelia’s birthday.
It’s stupid. So, so stupid. How hard is it to get someone a birthday gift? People do it every day. Not that whatever’s between herself and Cordelia has ever been normal, or easy to navigate, but still, it should be simple but significant. It should be something Cordelia deserves.
The record transitions to the next track, and the cat snores softly.
Misty suddenly sits upright, shifting the kitten into her lap, and her thoughts happen in rapid succession. She thinks of the things that have happened to her in the past few days and starts to piece them all together. She thinks of the breakfast Cordelia made her yesterday, and she thinks of the cat she’s holding, a companion for Cordelia because Cordelia is lonely. She thinks of her time away, of her time spent in hell. Zoe’s words scream out in her head, and, as much as she wishes otherwise, so do Madison’s.
What does Cordelia deserve?
Cordelia deserves to know that she’s notalone. Cordelia deserves to know that she is loved as much as she loves this coven.
Cordelia deserves to know, Misty decides.
//
It’s fairly late when the night comes to a close, after Cordelia has opened everyone’s gifts and after they’ve all had cake. Misty thinks Cordelia is a few glasses of champagne down, but Misty is stone cold sober. She’s nervous. She didn’t get much sleep, too busy preparing her own present and overthinking the implications, worrying over how it will be received by Cordelia.
“You’ve been quiet,” Cordelia’s voice interrupts her thoughts, and her pulse jumps when she realizes how close they are to each other. “Are you okay?”
Misty is standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the fireplace, and Cordelia must have snuck up on her when she wasn’t paying attention.
“I’m fine,” she tells her. “I’m just fine.” Cordelia’s smile could light up the darkest of night skies, Misty thinks offhandedly. “Hey, you think the others can do cleanup? I have something to show you.”
“I think we can handle taking down some decorations,” Madison speaks up, sauntering over with an all-too knowing look. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort.”
Cordelia looks curiously between Madison and Misty before conceding.
“Okay,” Cordelia says, biting her lip. “Where are we going?”
Misty’s body feels like an unruly mess of a storm, her gut clenching with fear and her veins pumping pure adrenaline.
“You’ll see.”
Misty doesn’t know where she gathers the nerve to grab one of Cordelia’s hands and hold tightly to it, but it happens as they’re leaving the house, making their way down the sidewalk in the cool, Louisiana air. Cordelia does not question it, though. She just wraps her fingers around Misty’s and strokes her thumb over the skin of Misty’s hand.
It’s a long walk to the swamp, but the weather is perfect for it. Misty can hear the buzz of insects, can smell the firewood when a gentle breeze passes.
“I’ve had a wonderful day,” Cordelia says, unprompted, and Misty looks at her. “Thank you for being a part of it.”
“Always,” Misty promises.
“It’s the best birthday I think I’ve ever had.”
Cordelia’s voice is tearful now, and Misty imagines a young Cordelia, alone and afraid and miserable on her birthday, suffering under the strain of Fiona’s hostility and belittlement. She squeezes Cordelia’s hand.
“It’s not over yet,” she reminds her, and it surely only adds to Cordelia’s confusion, but she smiles at Misty regardless.
When they finally make it to Misty’s shack, dimly lit by hanging lanterns, she stops Cordelia at the door.
“Here we are,” she says nervously, then gestures for Cordelia to open the door. “Go ahead, you first.”
Cordelia gives her a final quizzical glance before turning the knob, slowly pushing the door open. Misty’s heart is beating a hundred miles per minute, but she hears Cordelia release a soft breath.
“Oh, Misty…”
There are strings of fairy lights hung from the ceiling, potted plants and roses covering nearly every surface of furniture, and the voice of Stevie Nicks floating in the background. The table in the center of the room is set for two, with one elegant candle in the middle.
“Wait,” Misty blurts, “wait, I forgot.” She hurries over to the hook on the left wall and removes the garland of violets from it, then walks back over to Cordelia. “This is for you.”
She delicately places the makeshift necklace around Cordelia, letting it rest against her shoulders.
They’re close again, Misty thinks, and this proximity is doing nothing to steady her nerves. She inwardly berates herself for choosing such a flower, for going with something so painfully obvious that a gifted herbalist such as Cordelia is bound to latch onto the meaning.
“Violets?” Cordelia asks in a small voice, and she’s openly crying now, and Misty wonders if she’s done something wrong, if she’s done too much, if this is all—
But Cordelia is pulling her into a hug, the tightest, warmest embrace Misty has ever felt, and all she can do is return the gesture, wrap her arms around Cordelia and try not to think about letting go. Cordelia laughs into her neck, and Misty can feel the dampness on her skin from the tears, and she holds Cordelia tighter.
“So, it’s not too much?”
“This is perfect,” Cordelia breathes. “This is everything, you are everything.” Cordelia leans back to look at her, but keeps Misty in her arms. “You didn’t have to do this. Just having you back, getting to see you every day, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Misty shakes her head.
“That wasn’t enough. I wanted you to know how important you are to me. I wanted to get it right, and I wanted your birthday to be special. It’s what you deserve. To know how much you’re cared for.”
Cordelia just stares and stares and runs her fingers through Misty’s hair, brushing it back and then letting her hand slide down to the ends, wrapping her forefinger around a tapering curl.
“Thank you,” Cordelia says quietly, “for being so good to me.”
Misty can’t bring herself to speak actual words into existence, too afraid that if she opens her mouth they may never stop, and she will dig herself into a hole. She wants somuch more, could shake right out of her skin from the anticipation. She can’t stand here and look at Cordelia any longer without thinking about it.
“Come on,” she urges, “food’s getting cold.”
Cordelia beams as they make for the table.
“What are we having?”
“Red beans and fried rice,” she announces proudly. “Then I made these little fritters for dessert.”
Cordelia takes the first bite and closes her eyes like she’s savoring it, and, really, Misty’s never been much of a cook, has primarily relied on gardening, but she can work with a few basic recipes. Apparently pretty well, if Cordelia’s appreciative moan is anything to go by.
“Misty, this is amazing,” Cordelia praises, and Misty blushes.
“Well, it’s no French toast,” she teases, “but I tried.” Misty bites her lip. “I wouldn’t have been able to pull any of this off if you hadn’t taken care of this place for me. While I was gone, you know.”
Cordelia’s eyes sadden at the memory, looks as if she’s feeling the loss of Misty all over again, and Misty hates herself for bringing it up, but it’s true.
“I hope you don’t mind. I just—I wanted you to have something to come back to. I didn’t mean to…invade your privacy.” Cordelia glances around at the slatted, wooden walls, then to the rug-covered flooring. “Your sanctuary.”
Misty laughs.
“Seriously?” she asks in disbelief. “I’m not offended, not even a little bit. I’m touched that you care so much about makin’ me feel at home.” She feels her cheeks burn with shame. “No one’s ever done that for me before.”
“Of course I care,” Cordelia tells her determinedly, a look of loyalty shining in her eyes. “I’m just sorry you’ve never had a real place to call home. Someplace to belong to. I know how lonely that feels.”
This happens often, Misty thinks. Moments of understanding that pass between the two of them. There is always a subdued current of trust, and maybe that feeling is the someplace she belongs to. Maybe that feeling is a home. Who says it has to be a tangible thing? After all, when Nan returned her from hell, she brought her to Cordelia. Misty wonders if that is significant, or if she is just searching, grasping.
I’d do the same for you, Misty wants to say. That greenhouse of yours. All your wonderful plants, all the life. I would guard it with my heart and soul.
“Thank you,” she says instead, opts for simplicity and keeps the rest out of it.
Cordelia smiles warmly.
“It was nothing.”
“I don’t just mean my swamp. You’ve always treated me like I was something special.” Misty grins. “Now it’s your turn. So, just eat your food, listen to Stevie, and forget about everything else. Just for tonight.”
Cordelia looks as though she is itching with the urge to say something, and Misty can feel it in the air, the absolute unknown between them.
But it fades as Cordelia inhales a deep breath.
“I do like the music,” Cordelia tells her.
“I picked it all out myself.” She gestures to the 8-track player on her nightstand. “Made you your own little mixtape of all her songs that remind me of you.”
Cordelia must realize what a hefty statement that is, because she carefully reaches across the table and gently takes one of Misty’s hands.
“You’re full of surprises.”
Misty makes a promise to herself in that moment that if Cordelia looks at her like that one more time, like she’s the most important goddamned treasure on this planet, then she’s going to spill her entire heart, birthday be damned.
//
“These are so beautiful, Misty,” Cordelia breathes, grazing her fingers over the flourishing spider lilies on the dresser. “How did you do it?”
Misty lifts her shoulders, wraps her shawl more tightly around her in a self-conscious manner, and leans further back into the sofa cushions. She looks around the shack at all the dozens of plants she’d worked her magic on, all the life she’d given back. All for Cordelia.
“I just…saved them. Brought them in from outside and healed them, best I could. They were all dry and wilted, I guess from the chill. Swamp life doesn’t take too kindly to the winter months.”
Cordelia walks over and sits next to her, pulls her legs up and folds them beneath her.
“You have such a perfect place here. It reminds me of the greenhouse,” Cordelia tells her. “I understand why you love it so much.”
Misty feels bad for keeping her away from the coven, wonders if Cordelia would tell her when she’s had enough of a birthday celebration. Wonders if she’s satisfied or if she’s missing home.
“We can…well, we can head back to the academy whenever you’re ready. This place isn’t going anywhere.”
Cordelia bites her lip and scoots closer, like she has something to say and is afraid of it.
“What if we stayed here tonight?”
Heat swallows Misty’s bones and makes her face turn red, makes her throat dry up to the point where she has to clear it before she speaks.
“Yeah, that—that’d be okay, I think.”
“It’s so peaceful out here. And I love my girls, but I want to sit with this for a while longer. This one night of self-indulgence, just to be surrounded by all the life and all the calm.” Cordelia smiles then. “And you.”
Misty nods slowly.
“And me,” she agrees.
//
Misty lies awake in the silence—she’d cut the music off when Cordelia’s eyes had gotten heavy—and remains entirely overwhelmed. Cordelia is breathing next to her, crickets are chirping outside, and she can hear the gentle creak of tree limbs when the wind blows.
She stares up at the slanted ceiling, counts the notches in the wood. She makes it all the way to nine before she caves.
“I can’t sleep next to you like this,” she whispers. “I thought it’d be so nice, but I think I have too much to say.”
Cordelia turns over and her eyes meet Misty’s, openly and honestly and without fear. Misty wishes she were as brave as Cordelia looks right now.
“So, say it.”
And this is what has been building since Cordelia first offered out her hand, since the day Misty showed up seeking refuge and Cordelia welcomed her, gave her a home. This was always going to happen. Should have already happened. The feeling of being afraid is one that is so foreign to Misty. She never knew of it until she met Cordelia, and then met her end. Then she knew it well, trapped in a classroom, doomed for the rest of time to kill and revive, kill and revive, until her powers were no longer meaningful. No longer mattered. Until she was nothing.
Now Misty is friendly with fear, and she wishes she wasn’t. She wishes for the naivety she once possessed. But, she supposes if she still had that, she wouldn’t have Cordelia, here, with her, in her bed.
The moonlight catches in the cracks of the walls and bathes them in a soft glow, glinting off the two carefully placed rings on Cordelia’s left hand.
There are several things she would like to say, but she will start here.
“Are those frogs?” she asks, studying the sterling jewelry.
Cordelia doesn’t say anything for a long time, and if she wasn’t still looking at Misty, then Misty would assume she’s asleep.
“The Romans believed in something called vena amoris. It’s a vein that runs from the left ring finger to the heart. It’s a myth, just some easily believable story. But I liked it. And I wanted to feel connected to you. Something about you called out to me. I heard it every moment I knew you and every moment you weren’t here. And I tried sohard,” Cordelia says, and her voice is this gravelly, broken thing that Misty almost does not recognize. “I could see you there, in hell, but I could never touch you. I could never save you or bring you back to me. I just had to watch while you suffered.” Her eyes fill with tears, and they shine in the darkness. “I didn’t want you to just be a memory. I didn’t want to forget you.”
Cordelia holds her hand up, uses her other to run her fingers over the rings. Misty imagines Cordelia exhausting her magic, travelling down every dark avenue, going through every trap door. Nothing works, because nothing is supposed to work. Not in that realm. Not in the underworld. She can feel Cordelia’s guilt rushing out in waves, drowning her.
“So, this one’s supposed to be you,” Misty asks, tapping the ring on Cordelia’s middle finger, then she moves over to the one on her ring finger, “and this one’s me?”
Cordelia tries to laugh, and a lone tear falls down her cheek as she shakes her head.
“I guess so. I’m not really sure. I just couldn’t let you slip away. I needed something. I needed to feel that you were still with me.”
“I never blamed you for what happened,” she says quietly, because she didn’t, could never, and it’s something Cordelia needs to hear. “And I’m with you now.”
Misty reaches up and uses her thumb to wipe the tear tracks from Cordelia’s face. She doesn’t know where they go from here, but apparently Cordelia does because she’s leaning in and kissing Misty, holding her face in her hands and really kissing her, something Misty hardly dared to even dream of. She thinks even if she had, this is better than anything she could have come up with in her head. Just because it’s real.
She kisses her back, and she’s careful about it, frightened and cautious but wanting so badly. Cordelia’s lips are soft against her own, over and over, deeper and deeper still. It takes a few slow moments for Misty to realize there is nothing to be afraid of when it comes to Cordelia; she wants what Misty wants. Whatever doubts she’s had this whole time are swept away by the taste of Cordelia’s tongue, the way she sighs and melts into Misty.
This is what home feels like, Misty thinks. This is what she has been looking for, and this is what she has been trying to give to Cordelia.
When Cordelia pulls away, Misty is left breathless and shaking and wanting. Craving. Cordelia smiles down at her and Misty watches her bashfully bite her lip.
“Think you can sleep now?”
She now knows what it feels like to kiss Cordelia, and she doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t ever want to stop. How is she supposed to sleep?
“Hell, no,” she whispers with a grin. Cordelia just laughs and drops her head to Misty’s shoulder, grabbing one of her hands and locking their fingers together. “Happy birthday, Cordelia.”
Cordelia hums contentedly, and Misty feels it vibrate against her skin.
“Thank you,” Cordelia breathes gently. “Thank you.”
(Misty does sleep, though, and this is the first night since she’s been back that she has dreams instead of nightmares.)
//
“I bet they didn’t even fuck,” Madison says—complains, really. She takes a drag off her cigarette.
“You’re nasty,” Queenie says, pulling a face, and Madison rolls her eyes. “At least they spent some time together.”
“Yeah, and they got to stay at Misty’s place. God knows how good it must have felt to get out of this house for a while.” Zoe shrugs her shoulders when Mallory frowns at her. “I love it here, don’t get me wrong, but everyone needs a break. Especially Cordelia.”
“The whole point was for them to bang it out. Aren’t you all sick of them making eyes at each other?” Madison waits for a response, but no one else seems to have as strong of an opinion, Zoe, Queenie, and Mallory all sharing a look of indifference. “Whatever. You guys are fucking losers.”
Madison struts out of Queenie’s and Misty’s bedroom, passing by Misty on her way through, and Misty has to laugh.
“To be so hateful, she seems to care an awful lot about my sex life,” she jibes, and walks over to her closet.
“You heard us talking?” Zoe asks.
“You all weren’t being very quiet.” Misty grabs a skirt from the hanger, then a shawl from another. “Plus, I was just right down the hall.”
“Were you in Cordelia’s room?” Queenie asks. Misty shoots her a look, and Queenie puts her hands up. “Look, it gets really boring around here when there’s no one to save or no classes to teach.”
“We’re just excited,” Mallory speaks up, giving Misty a kind smile that causes her irritation to dissipate just a touch. “I think it’s nice.”
“Well, I was in Miss Cordelia’s room, but we didn’t—it wasn’t…like that.” Misty feels her face grow flush. “We’re taking it easy, so could all of you just cut us some slack? Please?”
The girls mumble embarrassed apologies, and Misty sighs, making her way to the bathroom and turning on the shower water.
//
She finds Cordelia later in the greenhouse, hovering over a flask of muddy, green liquid. Misty watches her work for a while, not yet making her presence known, and she smiles to herself as Cordelia recites an incantation, then curses when it doesn’t work.
“Is it supposed to explode or something?” she asks, and her voice must startle Cordelia because she jumps. “Sorry.”
Cordelia smiles at her, and Misty steps further into the greenhouse, sidling up next to Cordelia.
“Don’t be. I’ve been too focused on this, anyway.”
“How long?”
“An hour or two. I’m close, I just need…” Cordelia shakes her head in frustration, and Misty rests a hand in the middle of her back, feels the dips of her spine.
“Maybe I can help,” she offers.
Cordelia looks at her, eyes glossed over with something dark, and Misty suppresses a shiver, then Cordelia nods.
“Okay.”
Misty raises her hands above the flask, glancing at Cordelia, and watches her speak in a language Misty doesn’t understand. The words combined with Misty’s magic, her healing, her lifeforce, bring the potion to a boil. The liquid in the glass bubbles and changes colors, changes consistencies. From thick, dark green to transparent pink. Cordelia lets out a delighted breath of laughter.
“That was perfect,” Cordelia tells her, taking Misty’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Misty’s breath stalls from the wonder in Cordelia’s eyes. The wonder that is because of her, and them, together. Making magic. “Now Queenie has a control to use on Monday when she teaches the second years their incantations.”
She nods but can’t focus on the words, residual magic still flowing through her. All her brain is picking up on is Cordelia’s perfume, and Cordelia’s eyelashes that flutter when she blinks, and Cordelia’s grip on her hand that moves up to her forearm.
“So…you’re done for tonight?” she asks, unable to keep the shy smile from her face.
“Yes.” Cordelia’s hands trail up, up Misty’s arms, over her shoulders, until they rest at her neck, her thumbs stroking over collarbones. “You have my full attention.”
Misty’s not sure who moves first, but her lips are on Cordelia’s in the next instant. Cordelia’s hands tangle in Misty’s hair, her fingers twisting, and Misty drops her hands to Cordelia’s waist. Misty wonders how long they could have been doing this, if it would have changed anything, if it was always supposed to happen just like this, at this specific point in time. Would her life have gone any differently if she had pulled Cordelia to her and kissed her on the day they met? Probably. This was all necessary, she reminds herself. All of it. The Seven Wonders, her time in hell.
She stops thinking about it when she feels her back pressing into the table behind them, and she grips Cordelia tighter. Cordelia moans when Misty’s hands slide beneath her shirt, running along her sides, along warm skin, and it’s a fucking soul-shattering sound. She pulls away just to breathe, Cordelia’s mouth moving to her jawline, then her neck.
Misty hums, lowly and throatily, as Cordelia’s tongue swipes across the dip of her shoulder, and it’s happening so fast, she’s—
“Cordelia,” she breathes, begs, really, because they are very quickly reaching a moment of permanence. Of significance. She can feel it, the sharp spark of desire moving through her, and she needs to know if Cordelia can feel it, too. “You’d tell me, right?”
Cordelia moves back to look at her, lips pink and swollen, chest heaving, pupils blown wide.
“What?”
Misty shakes her head and exhales shakily.
“I mean, if this isn’t…something you wanted, you would tell me?”
Cordelia reaches up and brushes hair out of Misty’s face, and fuck’s sake, Misty doesn’t even want to imagine how disheveled, how unkempt and desperateshe must look right now.
“But I do,” Cordelia tells her, her voice ragged and raw, and it makes Misty ache. “I do want this. I’m just—I’m worried I might overwhelm you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she whispers, and the care that Cordelia is so determined to take with her will bring her to tears every time. Every single time.
She leans in slowly, unhurried, kissing Cordelia softly, and then less so. Cordelia kisses her back like it is a reckoning, and Misty’s nails press into Cordelia’s back, making marks as she fights for something to hold onto. The shirt just has to go entirely, Misty decides, because she is tired of working in such a confined space. She undoes the buttons with as much diligence as she can, but she is so lost in this haze, can hear her own heartbeat pounding in her eardrums, so she misses a few, has to go back.
Cordelia’s shirt falls to the floor with finality once Misty has pushed it from her shoulders. And then she is seeing so much of Cordelia, all at once, and it is beautiful. She is beautiful. Her hands skip across Cordelia’s back, soft skin yielding to every touch. She’s obsessed with the lace pattern of Cordelia’s bra. Feels as though it would be wrong to not see her in it. So, she leaves it. For now.
When Cordelia runs her fingertips along the waistband of Misty’s skirt, Misty decides she wants to feel her everywhere, and slights her hips forward, enough to communicate her absolute need for this. Cordelia responds with more aggression, though, and grinds Misty back into the table, causing it to creak with the force. Then they’re moving against each other in frenzied, synchronized motions, shifting, chest to chest, hips to hips, and Misty stifles an impatient groan.
She reaches down and tugs her skirt off, lets it pool around her ankles before she kicks it away, and doesn’t break eye contact as Cordelia’s hand slides between her legs.
//
The next day, Misty is in a bit of a panic. She rushes to the greenhouse as soon as she wakes up, leaving Cordelia in her bed to sleep. It’s Sunday, so there are no classes happening, which is truly a blessing because she is embarrassed enough as it is.
When she throws the door to the greenhouse open, Mallory is standing over a plant in the window sill, watching as it regains a bit of spring in its leaves. Mallory turns and greets Misty with a smile.
“Hey.” Mallory picks up the potted orchids and moves them to the shelf to her right. “These guys have probably been getting too much sun.”
“Right,” she replies distantly, her eyes searching the room rapidly.
Cordelia’s grey kitten skitters up to her and rubs against her leg, and she begins to wander, feigning aimlessness, and bends down to glance beneath the workbench, cursing to herself when there’s no sign of them.
“Is everything okay?” Mallory asks, and Misty’s cheeks warm at being caught.
“Um, I think I just—I lost somethin’ in here yesterday.”
“I’ll help you look,” Mallory volunteers, and Misty has to swallow the words bursting on her tongue, and she has to find them before Mallory does. “What did you lose?”
“Oh,” Misty sighs, walking over to the desk in the corner, “well, you’ll know when you see it.”
They look around in silence for a few moments, Misty leaving shears and potion bottles and everything else she touches misplaced as she turns the place upside down.
She hears Mallory chuckle, and her heart stops as Misty makes her way over.
Shit.
“Is that it?” Mallory asks, pointing at a pair of simple, black panties hanging from the arm of a fern. She doesn’t even remember how they got there, really. There were more important things happening last night other than the location of her lost underwear.
Misty quickly snatches them and stuffs them down in her boot, glancing at Mallory with a bright red flush across her face, the tips of her ears flaming.
“Sorry,” she says. “Uh, could you…could you maybe not, um…”
“I won’t say anything to the others,” Mallory promises, and Misty sighs in relief.
“Thanks,” she says, giving Mallory’s arm a squeeze before making as hasty of a retreat as she can.
Mallory just grins to herself, amused as she watches Misty leave, and, yes, she thinks, the favor she’d cashed in on to bring Misty back to Cordelia had been a good show of judgement on her part, indeed.