Chapter Text
Cordelia Goode. Blonde hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Get in, kill her, get out. That was the plan. That was usually the plan. And as you heaved a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves before the big moment, you impatiently wondered why you were here, leaning, waiting against the rusty metal of a street sign instead of waiting on the rooftop of a nearby building with a sniper rifle.
But the day you received the mission report from your brother, you’d sat in your living room, surrounded by all the information you had about Cordelia Goode, and had concocted an elaborate plan that your brother had sneered at for being too complex.
You had your eyes on the Supreme the moment she left Miss Robichaux’s. There was an alluring presence about her that made it hard to look away. The way she held her head so high, the elegance of her style, the confident sway of her walk. No one would ever suspect the type of person she was. But you knew. A liar, a manipulator, a witch.
She seemed to have grown since the last time you saw her. You had remembered her as the quiet, placating wife when you met her at the conference, bumping into her husband in a guise to hand him something. And now, Henry – Cordelia would know him as Hank – lay dead with the back of his head blown open. You’d heard all about the catastrophe, how the witches had managed to collapse Delphi Trust, entirely destroying the hold the hunters had on New Orleans.
It had been surprised to learn that Cordelia was now the Supreme. Who could’ve guessed? The woman wasn’t known for her magical abilities, and up until her, a Supreme had never been succeeded by her daughter. It’d puzzled your when you first heard the news. But as you watched her walk down the street, head bowed as she typed away on her phone yet walking in such a way that implied she knew people would give way to her, you wondered instead, who couldn’t guess.
The air stirred around her, alive with the sort of witchery that made you tense. She moved through the world like she could control it, and you reckoned she was the kind to speak to people with that patronizing smile that said she already had what she wanted. Cordelia had shed the skin of meekness and wore the crown of supremacy with a confidence you would never have thought her capable of when you first met her.
But you couldn’t help but smile to yourself now, because the higher she held her head, the more satisfying it would be to dethrone her.
As she stepped out on the street, headed in your direction, you checked yourself. A gun, loaded with bullets, tucked in the back of your jeans. Two knives strapped to your ankles. Another two to your wrists. And pepper spray in your bag. Bullets and knives and a spray. They would be useless against a normal witch with decent control over her powers, let alone the Supreme. Luckily, these were silver. Telekinesis couldn’t touch them, and magic couldn’t heal these wounds.
Your heart beat heavy in your chest. It was family business, the witch-hunting. You’d grown up learning how to shoot a gun and throw a knife, to fake a smile and make new identities on the fly, and most importantly, that this was a legacy. A fragile and precarious legacy.
It’d been family, though you’d never felt like a part of one, not with the patronizing pat on the back, the it’ll be your turn soon, the cursory glance across the room your father did that somehow always skipped over you. You were just as good as your brothers, if not better. You were younger than all of them when you killed your first witch, and had proceeded to kill more before you were even eighteen. And still, your father had looked over you and appointed one of your good-for-nothing, arrogant brothers as heir. That had been the last straw, and you’d left.
Until half a year back, when you’d heard about the fall of Delphi Trust, and your brother had turned up on your doorstep, asking you to return.
Here you stood now, on a mission for people who’d laughed at you when you tried too hard, but called you back when they needed you.
There was no time to ponder about your family any further, however, when you picked up the click click of heels. Cordelia was nearing, and you had a plan to enact.
You took in a sharp breath and shook your head to clear your thoughts. Focus, a harsh voice in your head reminded you. A single slip-up could destroy your entire plan and put your life in danger. There would be no time for anything other than making cold, calculated risks.
You counted a minute in your head, then stepped out around the corner.
“Oh –”
“Sorry– sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled as you bent down to retrieve the phone you’d dropped.
“Oh god, is it cracked?” Cordelia asked. The screen of your phone was shattered, cracks splintering across the glass like lightning. “I am so sorry,” Cordelia continued before you could say anything, “could I help you get it fixed?”
Liar, manipulative, witch, you reminded yourself. “It’s fine.” You forced a smile as you swept your hand across the screen, dusting off any small chips of broken glass.
“No no, I should’ve seen where I was going,” Cordelia sighed, head bowed as she rubbed her temples. After a moment, she looked back up at you, lips pulled tight into a worried smile, “can I pay to get it–”
“How about a coffee?” You cut her off.
“Sorry?”
“You could buy me a coffee,” you suggested.
She glanced at her watch, lips pursed in a frown. “I’m busy now, actually– is ten on Saturday good for you?” She asked.
You made a show of checking your calendar. “I’m good.”
“Great, I’ll see you then?”
“I’ll see you.” The smile crept onto your face, wider than you’d anticipated, unable to be helped.
Cordelia returned it with a nod, waving goodbye to you, before heading off. You took a few steps forward before stopping, spinning round on your heels to turn in her direction. “Oh, what’s your name?” You asked just before she could disappear around the corner.
She turned at the sound of your voice, smiling in what looked to be amusement. “Cordelia,” she replied, voice lilting, “what’s yours?”
You’d came up with a name before this. But at her question, against your better judgment, you replied instinctively, “y/n.”
Every fiber of your being cursed you for being honest. Any simple google search would show that you were the daughter of a known businessman, and Cordelia would be sure to recognize the name as a witch hunter family. A smirk crept up on your face, however, as you continued down the street.
You wanted Cordelia to know your name, you wanted her to curse your name, you wanted her to fear your name.