Lady, You Don't Need to See

Clouds Never Expect It When It Rains

The rain had cooled the atmosphere as Cordelia stepped out upon the lawn holding Misty's arm. She breathed a chuckle under her breath as the grass licked her ankles with rainwater. The chilly breeze shook the trees overhead. As they passed beneath them, raindrops fell from the leaves. They splattered, fat and heavy, in Cordelia's hair. It's cold. The rainfall had slowed into a faint drizzle.

Her heart swelled up, gray and used, like drenched cotton. Misty intended to cheer her up, but some of her sadness refused to lose its grip, no matter how Misty distracted her. Cordelia's guilt clung to her. And she had so much guilt.

Misty cleared her throat. Cordelia perked up at the sound. The wind through the trees muffled everything a little. She had to strain to hear everything. The rain had crazed the birds, which sang just like they did at dawn. It was all distracting. "So we're playing Star Trek ?" Misty asked cheekily.

The sadness softened inside of her. She smiled and nodded. "No transporters, though." She released Misty's arm from her grip. Misty didn't move; she remained steadfast there, beside her, blocking the wind from touching her. "It's called transmutation," she said, more seriously now. "And it can be dangerous. If you don't have enough intent, you can wind up in tons of places you don't mean to go." Cordelia remembered, when she was a girl, a witch who had attended Miss Robichaux's who could transmute. The girl had always transmuted in her sleep, in her dreams. Once she appeared in the front yard in the wee hours of the morning, naked. I wonder what became of her. All of the girls Cordelia had known as a child had fled far, far away from the academy as adults.

"So if I wanna go to the Maldives?"

Cordelia held up her hand. "No, no--don't go to the Maldives. Let's start small. Just back here."

"Oh, that's boring."

"I know. I'm such a buzzkill."

Misty laughed, and the sound of it lifted Cordelia's heart into her throat. Misty made her warm on the inside. "Alright. You got a lot of confidence in me doing all these fancy things." There's only this and one more, Cordelia thought with her eyebrows raised. She is the Supreme. What were the odds that Misty could perform five of the seven wonders, but not the last two? Cordelia didn't think there had ever been a witch recorded in history with so many powers who hadn't eventually ascended to take the Supremacy. "So what do I do this time?"

I don't know. Cordelia had never transmuted before. But she had read a lot about it, and she guessed that was about the same--that was what she knew about all of the magic she passed on to Misty. None of it was within the realm of her power. "Look at where you want to go and think about it. Imagine yourself being there, but not walking toward it."

"Sounds like it'll give me a migraine."

"Just try it." You're so powerful. Cordelia wondered if Misty knew it, if she recognized the sheer force of the magic pulsing through her veins with every beat of her heart. Misty was composed of raw, unharnessed energy, and yet it comprised such a gentle soul: one who liked to pick flowers and enjoyed her solitude and the smell of the autumn leaves and the rain and the sound of the crickets. I don't know if we've ever had such a Supreme before in history. She prayed Supremacy would not break Misty's spirit.

Restraining herself from reaching out to touch Misty again, Cordelia waited with baited breath. She listened. Under the dull roar of the wind, the sound of Misty drinking in a heavy breath met her ears. She held it. Then, her person whooshed and a loud crack resounded from across the yard. "Misty?" Cordelia called. The drizzle sprayed tiny droplets of water into her face when the breeze caught them. "Misty?"