Following the River Styx

Chapter One

A/N: After a long hiatus from Wattpad, I have returned with more fanfiction! Enjoy my new piece from American Horror Story season three, Coven. Comments are always appreciated. Happy reading!

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The late evening sun streaked the sky pink and orange as Zoe paced down the stairs outside the school and followed the broken sidewalk to the greenhouse. The lawn had grown over since their gardener disappeared. Dry autumn leaves whistled across the cracked stone path, and she plucked her thin sweater tighter around herself before she entered the greenhouse.

Only a step into the glass building, soft tones of Fleetwood Mac drifted on the breeze, and Zoe had to pause and swallow hard before she proceeded deeper into the home of the plants. "Cordelia?" she called out. The air stiffened under her tongue. "Queenie and I helped Kyle serve dinner. Everyone's cleaning up for the weekend..." As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of the Supreme. Cordelia poised neatly on a wooden stool, staring intently at the dead belladonna plant. The vinyl spun onward, but even under the influence of the Supreme's magic, the deceased plant didn't revive itself.

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover?

Zoe cleared her throat. "Cordelia?" The older witch flinched and whirled around, brown eyes wide with surprise. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you..."

"It's fine." With a flick of her hand, the music scratched to a sudden halt. The silence hung, empty, as Cordelia woefully looked back to the plant. "I haven't been able to revive her. She doesn't answer to my magic." A despondent puff flared Cordelia's nostrils. "Nothing works. Not the potion, not the mud—not even the music. A damn picky plant." Her fingers traced one brown leaf. It crumbled to pieces in her palm. She snatched back with a hiss of frustration, lips twisted downward in dissatisfaction. Her eyes fell closed. "She died with Misty. The others, I could bring them back, but this one—she doesn't want my touch anymore."

In a moment of regrettable callousness, Zoe asked, "Couldn't you just get another one?" Cordelia fixed her under a hot brown gaze, and Zoe quickly scrambled to rectify her position. "Ick—sorry. I sound like Madison." She cleared her throat. "Dinner is finished," she said finally. "Everyone is clearing out for the weekend."

"But that's not what you came to talk to me about."

The corners of her mouth pinched unpleasantly. She should have known that Cordelia would see through any facade of smalltalk. "No." She crossed her arms. Her eyes refused to meet those of her Supreme's; instead, she stared plaintively at Cordelia's feet. "Queenie and I finished packing up Misty's and Nan's things. Nan's grandmother is supposed to be in the area next week to get what's left, but—we don't know what to do with Misty's, if we should track down her family..."

Cordelia's hand clasped the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Misty's family allowed her to be burned at the stake. They don't deserve any shred of her," she spat.

Fidgeting with one foot, Zoe lifted her gaze. "Right. So do you want us to donate them?"

"No." The younger witch froze at Cordelia's quipped word, and she waited for an explanation, but it seemed that the Supreme would not provide. The older returned her attention to the plant. "Put the box on my bed. I'll find a place for it in the basement." She brushed her fingers along the sturdy stem of the plant, but just a brush, a feather—light touch, as if she feared that it would snap off and ruin all chances of ever salvaging the bell—shaped flowers. With a flick of her wrist, the record replaced itself and began to play again its scratchy tune. No words passed, but Zoe understood the message: She was dismissed.