“You know, next time I won’t let you in,” Cordelia’s breath is a little heavier than usual, catches at the last syllables. She’s still crouching over Madison’s body, right where she put it on the ground only seconds ago. The cut on girl’s throat is deep and dark red, but surprisingly clean, as it didn’t happen in the heat of a moment, as it wasn’t made by a shaking hand of a half-drunk, petrified woman. As it was deliberate. As it was well-trained.
And maybe it was. Cordelia knows better than to discard this possibility.
She turns to her mother, who’s standing behind her. “You always make a mess.”
Fiona doesn’t respond. Instead, she reaches into her clutch bag, finds a cigarette and lights it with only the slightest move of her index finger, only the smallest flicker of gold in the corner of her eyes. Cordelia feels her skin tingle at the sight. Watching her mother using her magic has always been something she enjoyed, but with fire it’s different, more intense. For the longest time she thought she must be a pyrokinetic, because whenever Fiona sets something on fire, or just lights a cigarette, or a candle, or a fireplace – Cordelia could swear she feels it. This weird, burning sensation of power flowing through her veins, and into her lungs, and her heart, staying there, accommodating itself in every fibre of her body, until there’s nothing left besides that overwhelming heat.
It’s almost sensual, but Cordelia knows better than to even think that.
She swallows (and when did her throat become so dry), slowly stands up and moves to her mother’s side. If it was the first time she buries someone’s body after that someone crossed her mother’s path, she might have wondered how Fiona can look so calm. With a cigarette in her hand, intimidating in her favourite, royal red, looking straight ahead.
“I killed Anna Leigh the same way,” are the first words her mother says.
“How very poetic,” Cordelia snorts at the revelation. It’s hardly a surprise; she might have never asked about how Fiona got her Supreme status, but it’s not like she was expecting her mother to patiently wait for her turn. She’s learned long time ago you should not expect Fiona to be anything, and certainly not patient. “You could have just asked for a poison, it would be neater.”
Fiona’s mouth curves into a smile over a cigarette. “Delia, with her powders and potions.”
They played it, this I will hurt you, but I don’t mean it game, so many times before that the only thing Cordelia can do right now is just to laugh. So she does, genuinely and long, until all the tension leaves her body and she feels a little light-headed.
Fiona throws a cigarette to the ground, crushing it with her shoe. She then looks at Madison, lying on the cold ground, and as soon as the familiar, warm sensation makes Cordelia’s heart beat faster, the body starts to burn.
Cordelia inhales and exhales slowly, fighting the urge to close her eyes. Instead, she says, not turning to her mother, “They will want to know what happened here.” No explanation is needed, they both know who she means. The Council is not known for letting a witch go missing without a further inquiry.
“We will take care of them,” is Fiona’s only response and Cordelia nods, knowing that yes, they will.
She smiles and says, “Well, my mother is the Supreme for a reason.”
And then they don’t talk anymore, watching the flames envelop Madison’s body as the wind blows stronger around them. The storm is coming.