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Misty did not grow up in her swamp, but she didn’t grow up in the suburbs, either. She grew up around her own “people.” Not witches, of course. Not her tribe. Not exactly a place to call home.
Her people were the neighbors that resided in her very small town in Louisiana a few miles north of New Orleans. A small, secluded bunch they were, rejoicing every Sunday in a tiny church no bigger than her shack, and gathering for cheap, “family-oriented” potlucks and get-togethers in a field where the few kids would play and the adults would make small talk until sunset.
She remembers church. Her mama and daddy were believers, and strong ones, too. Misty can recall slipping into her second-hand floral Sunday dress with pastel pink mary jane shoes and frilly white socks before they took her to their crowded place of worship. Almost every member of the town was there each Sunday morning to praise their lord for who knows what reason. They didn’t have much to praise for.
Inside the church was one pastor. The same one every Sunday. Misty can’t remember his name for the life of her now, but he was loud and frightening when she was a child. He would rejoice in his Bible and condemn the “wicked” until he was red in the face. The Cajun girl was eight when she first heard the word “homosexual.” She was twenty when she found out what it meant. And she sat there, bewildered at how something that sounded so normal was considered “wrong” or “blasphemous.” It seemed like a natural part of the world.
Her powers evolved soon after and she was burned at the stake by her own people before she could explore that world.
Back then, things were different. Now it’s 2017 and the world has evolved into something Misty doesn’t recognize. She no longer lives in that town of seventy. She lives in New Orleans, in a coven. She is powerful beyond belief. She isn’t some child with her hair in tattered bows sitting on a creaky pew in a church being shouted at for something she didn’t understand, or being told something—or everything—was wrong and sinful and she would burn if she did said things.
She ended up burning anyway, but for different reasons.
Misty is now in her early thirties, and the memories of that pastor haunt her. She’s too afraid to find real love, despite longing for it. When she watches Zoe and Madison cuddle up, her heart sinks. They display it with no sense of shame. Like they were never told it wasn’t an option.
Her daddy is no longer around to scold her for misgivings and potential sins. Her mama left her when the gasoline ignited. That pastor could be dead. He was old when she was a child. But the written word remains in her head, and she can feel her soul burning back to hell when she thinks of Cordelia Goode.
Zoe finds Misty on their wooden swing in the backyard. The young witches begged Cordelia for it over the summer and ended up not using it once it was hung, and Misty is the only one who appreciates it. It’s her quiet place when the greenhouse is occupied.
“What’s on your mind?” Zoe asks as she crosses the grass to Misty. The Cajun shrugs and swings gently. “Mind if I sit?”
Without a word, Misty scoots over to one end and lets Zoe sit on the other, leaving a few inches of space between them. She begins to swing them both a little.
“It’s nice out here,” Zoe points out at she looks to the blue sky above them. Not a cloud in sight. “I asked Madison if she wanted to take a walk and she said she’d rather eat her own cigarette. While lit. So I guess that’s a no.”
Misty laughs a little. As bad as Madison is, she can be funny sometimes. Maybe that’s why Zoe loves her so damn much. And Zoe has her quirks, too. Like deadpanning at the end of sentence to turn it into a joke. It makes the older woman smile. For once.
“Ya know, you two are so lucky,” Misty says with a shy grin.
“How so?” Zoe asks.
“Well, you love each other. That’s being lucky. Some people don’t get to have that.” Misty’s smile vanishes at the end, and she looks down at her hands and fiddles with her fingers and the ring on her right middle.
“I guess we are. I love her a lot,” Zoe says. “After Kyle. . .I didn’t know if I could love again. But he did wrong and I had to let him go. I don’t blame Cordelia for what she had to do.”
Cordelia. That goddamn name has been spinning in Misty’s head for months. Despite having to burn people at the stake—even if one was a half-dead frat boy who strangled a witch—Cordelia is still a good-hearted, well-mannered woman. She is Supreme and knows best for everyone, but it seems she’s lost sight of herself in all of it.
“I know it had to be difficult,” Misty replies, though not fully attentive to the conversation.
“It was, but it had to happen. Really, I don’t know how the hell Madison and I ended up together after all she did. But fate does work in mysterious ways.” Zoe cracks a smile in an attempt to convince Misty to, but the other necromancer doesn’t budge more than the wind allows her to.
“Fate? You believe in that?” Misty questions, turning her head to look sidelong at the brunette.
“Yes. It’s one of the only things I do believe in,” Zoe says.
Nothing more is said, and Misty continues to sway them on the swing in comfortable silence. The wind blows the wind chime hung on the back porch. It reminds Misty of her birthplace. Her first home. Her parents had a rusty wind chime that rattled wildly with every kiss of air and disrupted her sleep on many occasions. She hates it, but she can’t bear to ask Cordelia to remove it, in fear of unwanted questions.
“Zoe, can I ask ya something?” Misty suddenly asks.
“Sure, Misty. That’s why I’m here.”
“How do I ask this without soundin’ weird? Well, do you believe in a higher power? Were you religious growing up? Your parents?” The Cajun tilts her head down as to not look at Zoe.
The sudden inquiry stumps Zoe. It’s not where she thought this conversation was headed, but she accepts it, though she has to rack through her many memories to piece it all together.
“My mom raised me. She was a believer—probably still is—but she was secular. I knew what religion was and things, but it wasn’t practiced in my house. My mom was too busy working to support me to ever teach me about a god or religion. She was more worried about feeding me. It just wasn’t for us. Then I found out that I’m a witch, and it kind of went out the window. I’ve been to hell. There is an afterlife, but it’s nothing like that book says it is. There’s no fire. It’s just your worst fear on loop,” Zoe explains. “What about you?”
Misty sort of laughs to herself. She is adorable when she laughs. And Zoe knows Cordelia notices that.
“Mama was a strong believer. Baptist. Daddy was even stronger. Evangelist. I grew up not far from here, but it was very religious and tight-knit. All about Jesus and stuff. Church mass every Sunday. Bible study. Sunday school. Adam and Eve. I walked to regular school every day, but we actually prayed there before class. Didn’t know what for,” Misty says, swinging some more using her feet. “I didn’t like our pastor. He was loud and yelled at people. Even the kids. I remember, when I was little, there was a young mother in church. No husband.”
Zoe’s eyebrows furrow. “And? Lots of people are like that. I mean, my parents were married when they had me but divorced when I was a baby.”
“Don’t ya know that’s bad? Well, to them? She was young and had a child out of wedlock, Zoe. Nobody knew until she brought the baby to mass without a husband and started to nurse the baby there. First she got yelled at for exposing herself. Then she got kicked out for having a baby without being married,” Misty says.
“How old were you when that happened?” Zoe questions.
“Eight or so. That’s when our pastor told us that having a child out of wedlock is bad. And then he said it’s almost as bad as being in a relationship with the same sex. I remember him yelling, ‘Homosexuals will burn in hell.’ I didn’t want to go to church after that. It scared me. I didn’t want to burn.”
Zoe falters. She’s never come across someone with such a background. Her home was liberal and secular. So were her few friends in school. Religion was not a friend, nor was it a fiend. It was just there to exist for those who enjoyed it. Sort of like a hobby, but one that could harm others. Like when Madison attempts to cook and causes a fire and causes the witches to evacuate.
“That’s why I say you’re so lucky,” Misty says. “Because you get to love without fear. I think I’m scarred for life.”
“Misty, you don’t have to be that way. You can love just like us. You are allowed to love whoever you want,” Zoe assures, resting a hand on the wild blonde’s shoulder.
“Doesn’t feel that way. Look at me; I’m in my thirties and actin’ like a baby. I know nothing about love or sexuality. I knew nothing but my hometown for eighteen years, and then my swamp for another ten. I know nothing about the real world. I’m not like you. I’m a dumb swamp witch and that’s it,” Misty huffs, crossing her arms.
“Stop that. You aren’t dumb and you know it. You are smart, Misty. You have a lot of love inside of you. You are worthy of being loved. You just need to be able to overcome that fear of rejection and being condemned. Nobody here will ever judge you for who you are.” The brunette witch tries to give her a smile, but Misty rejects it. “And if they did, Cordelia wouldn’t allow it.”
Perhaps Cordelia is the underlying issue. Maybe it’s not sexuality on its own. Liking girls is one thing, but liking the Supreme? Misty will burn for that alone.
“Zoe? If I tell ya something very personal, promise to keep it to yourself?” asks the Cajun.
“Of course.”
Swallowing hard to fight away tears, Misty sighs and looks at her bare feet before beginning to speak in a hushed tone.
“What would you say. . .if I said I like Cordelia?”
Again, Zoe is stumped. The word “like” has many implications and she isn’t sure which is correct in this situation. This is becoming more and more complicated by the minute.
“We all like Cordelia, Misty. She’s our Supreme,” Zoe replies.
“No, no. Not like that. Like her. As in, you and Madison, like,” Misty says.
Oh. Well, there goes Zoe’s tongue.
“You mean you have a crush on her?” Zoe finally asks.
“If that’s what it means, yes. I get all weird and giddy inside when I see her. Or think about her. Or get near her,” Misty giggles, blushing. “I feel guilty. But I like it. Is that okay?”
Zoe squeezes Misty’s hand reassuringly and smiles at her. The other witch returns it this time.
“It’s okay. Maybe tell her how you feel?” Zoe suggests.
Suddenly, Misty feels defeated. Cordelia was married to man. It’s impossible that she would feel the same way, and Misty would just be making a fool out of herself for nothing and would probably be sent back to her swamp to live out the rest of her days with nothing but her Stevie collection and the cicadas to keep her company. Being alone is her worst fear, tied with failure.
“I can’t do that, Zoe. I’m scared. What if she takes offense? What if—what if she tells me it’s wrong? What if I’m forced to go back to the swamp forever? I love it here and don’t want to leave!” Tears spill over the edge and Misty begins to cry.
“Hey, hey. Stop crying,” Zoe soothes as she wipes a tear away from Misty’s cheek. “It’s your choice. But you never know unless you try. Cordelia will not make you leave. I promise you that. I’m part of the council and I will not allow it even if she tried. Which she won’t. Don’t miss out on the chance of something great because of fear. You don’t have to do it now. Take baby steps. But remember, time flies.”
“I’m so scared,” Misty hiccups.
“I know. But that’s life, Misty. You are allowed to love who you want. Whatever you were taught growing up, it’s bullshit. I have to be real and say that you’ve already missed some time, even if it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. But now you do, and you deserve to live your life to the fullest,” Zoe says. “The biggest failure in life is missing a great opportunity because of fear of failure. Only then will you have actually failed.”
Mostly sniffles. “How the hell did you get so damn wise? You talk like Myrtle.”
“That’s where I got it from,” Zoe laughs, head tilted back. “God, I miss her.”
“I do, too. At least you aren’t so blunt. She prolly woulda smacked me around and told me to get over myself. But she did raise Cordelia, and she turned out pretty great.”
Zoe nods in agreement. The fiery redhead did raise their Supreme into the powerful witch she is today, and that’s why Misty trusts Zoe. She’s like Myrtle in some ways, too. It’s like pieces of her fell into the witches—even Madison—when she died. They all live on in her name.
“I think Cordelia is in the greenhouse,” Zoe says. “Why don’t you see what she’s doing while I go check on Madison? She was trying to make sautéed chicken breasts earlier and she may have caught the stove on fire by now.”
Although nervous, Misty laughs and stands up, Zoe following. Without warning, the Cajun envelopes the shorter girl in a tight hug.
“You are a good friend, Zoe. A very good friend. Madison is lucky,” Misty says as they pull away. “And you’re lucky to have her, too.”
Just then, Queenie comes rushing out of the house to them, a haze of smoke behind her.
“Zoe, get your damn girlfriend outta the kitchen! She can’t cook for shit!” Queenie shrieks.
Zoe recognizes the beeping of the smoke detector and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before stalking into the house with a string of cuss words. Queenie quickly follows, leaving Misty standing the yard alone.
She turns to the path of the greenhouse and bites her lip. Her feet find a mind of their own and begin walking towards it. She can faintly see Cordelia’s shadow inside, mixing potions and such. Maybe tending to the greenery.
“Cordelia?” Misty asks as she enters the greenhouse.
Cordelia jumps and turns around, hand on her chest. “You scared me! What’s wrong?”
“Just wanted to see what you were doing,” Misty replies, rocking back and forth on her heels.
“Oh, I’m watering your plants for you. I didn’t know if you’d been in here at all today. I saw you out on the swing by yourself, so I decided to leave you be,” Cordelia says as she waters a small rose in a pot.
Misty beams in gratefulness. Even being caught up in taking care of the coven, Cordelia always finds time to consider the little things.
“I could use some help with these potions, too,” Cordelia says, gesturing to the test tubes and whatnot on her work bench.
“I’m no good at it.”
“You won’t know unless you try,” Cordelia replies, almost teasing more than convincing.
Good god, how many people will tell Misty that in one day?
Thinking about it for a moment, Misty nods. Cordelia smiles and offers her a tube, and then begins to demonstrate to her how she creates her potions. She starts off easy; with remedies for colds and such, since it’s flu season. Misty watches intently, but she’s focused on Cordelia’s features as well. The butterflies return, but Misty doesn’t feel so guilty for it. She is allowed to feel this way. This is her life now.
“Now you try,” Cordelia encourages.
“What if I mess up?” Misty questions, cheeks reddening.
“That’s okay. I messed up at first, too. That’s normal and easily repairable. Just try. For me?” Cordelia prevails.
And Misty tries, and she fails, but not really, because she gets to try again and again. She isn’t ready to make potions on her own, just like she isn’t ready to confess her undeniable love for her Supreme just yet. But she will be, one day.
It may take a week or a month, maybe a year, but Misty will get both of them right. She swears by it. Because she refuses to give up. It takes practice to perfect it, and even then, she’s imperfect, but that’s okay. As long as she continues to try, she will never fail.
Eventually, her fear of failure vanishes, and she succeeds.