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Chapter Text

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Wilhemina stood, her cane tapping heavily on the stone as she adjusted her immaculate attire. She’d been expecting another visit from Ms. Mead to discuss their plans now only they and Michael remained in the outpost. She had to admit that the thought of leaving the safe haven of the building was daunting, even for her, though the belief that The Sanctuary existed somewhere beyond the gates was enough to keep her spirits alive.

She checked her reflection in the mirror again, admiring the beauty smirking back at her, before promptly answering the knocks. “Yes?”

“It’s me; can I come in?” Ms. Mead’s familiar robotic tone said from the other side.

Venable sauntered over to the door, unlocking the bolt and swinging it open to reveal Mead’s stout figure.

“You seem concerned. Is anything the matter Ms. Mead?” Wilhemina closed and locked the door as the woman entered, before turning around to face her with a puzzled expression.

“It’s Langdon. I returned to my room after the poisoning-“

“Cleansing,” Venable interrupted. “We were only doing what we had to in order to survive.”

“Fine. After the cleansing. I noticed that Mr. Langdon had left me a message, stating that a threat is arriving almost imminently.” They both seated themselves by the fireplace, opposite one another. Venable’s cane rapped against the floor repeatedly, an almost furious response to Mead’s news.

“Why didn’t he just speak to me? He knows where I am and there are no others left to eavesdrop on our conversations. Did he say anything else?” Wilhemina frowned, gazing into the fire in contemplation and vexation. She was used to being excluded from such issues, though believed she’d left that all behind after leaving Jeff and Mutt. Then again, they and Langdon did work for the same company. The Cooperative…The Illuminati…Whatever they were actually called now.

“He also added that I am to meet with him privately tomorrow. Alone.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have no idea as to why, Ms. Venable, though something tells me I have to,” Mead answered, noticing Wilhemina’s deathly glares as she spoke.

“We’ll see about that in time, Ms. Mead. For now, drink, talk, toast our success in freeing the outpost of the vermin,” as Venable spoke with her serpentine voice, Mead noticed a tone in her words that wasn’t altogether reassuring. The kind of tone of which she had only heard whilst carrying out the poison apples plan; assertive and harsh and…joyful. After spending almost two years working alongside the matriarch Mead knew full well that that tone was a sign that someone would die. Though she stayed silent and listened, too afraid, too smart, to do anything else. “And tomorrow…we deal with Mr. Langdon."

Everything was gone. The entire world was a cesspool of ash and corpses, all seven billion. Though back in New Orleans, a single hand shot out of the debris of Ms Robichaux’s Academy, followed by another, and another. Digging themselves free from the ash mounds, Cordelia, Myrtle and Madison brushed themselves off, exchanging concerned and pitiful glances.

“It’s all gone,” Cordelia tried her hardest to smile weakly at her mentor, though the stone sign of her academy, cracked and defeated, made itself known to her peripherals within seconds.

“It’s time, Delia,” Myrtle responded, clutching the Supreme’s hand in an attempt to comfort her after she noticed her plight.

“Can’t wait,” Madison interjected sarcastically, smoothing down her hair as she looked around in disgust at the state of the city.

Cordelia locked eyes with Myrtle, biting her lip and shaking her head softly. “What if it doesn’t work, Myrtle? What if he’s too powerful for us to stop him?”

“He is, my dear,” Myrtle brushed a strand of Cordelia’s hair from her face, stroking her cheek affectionately. “But not for Mallory.”

There was no one nearby – the whole of New Orleans seemed deserted and dead. Anyone not killed by the blast had already died from cancer stemming from the radiation, or worse. Cordelia took one last look at the rubble, allowing a subtle tear to escape her eye.

“I need my girls back,” she cried, clenching shut her eyes to remember their faces. “I miss them so much, Myrtle.” She could only remember the shots, the deafening screams. Their lifeless bodies strewn across the floor. Cordelia let out a stifled sob before turning to the others.

“I’m still here,” Madison said, breaking the silence of The Supreme’s mourning. “Did you forget about me?”

“I know. You’re here, safe, with us and that’s all that matters. We need you Madison. Until we get to Mallory and Coco you’re all we have left.”

“Well we better hurry up girls,” Myrtle rejoined the conversation with urgency. “Otherwise someone else may get to them before we do.”

“Michael?” Madison presumed.

“No my dear. Cannibals.”

Madison frowned in disgust. As much as she despised Coco and envied Mallory, the thought of their bodies being eaten was an image she’d rather not picture.

“Before we go anywhere,” Cordelia added. She paused, holding out her arms, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.

“You know I’m not a hugger,” Madison protested.

“Tough shit.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long before Mead left Venable’s office. They’d discussed a lot, laughed, reminisced, though something had lingered in the air from the very moment Michael’s name was spoken. She noticed that Venable seemed distant, distracted by her thoughts – an unusual occurrence – so thought it best to exit as soon as possible.

Wilhemina, however, wasn’t as preoccupied as she made out, and scrutinised Mead’s every move with a hawk-like glare. She’d been on edge ever since Miriam had mentioned the note and had made it her priority to ensure that nothing came of it, except the Antichrist’s painful demise. Left alone to contemplate the matter, Venable came to the conclusion that she would meet with Michael herself, alone, at the time he’d desired to meet with Mead. Of course she would have to take care of the android first, not that it’d be too difficult.

She changed into one of her more formal wears, the decorative white blouse and layered black skirt, accompanied by her padded blazer and five-inch belt. She knew for sure that Langdon would have already predicted the turn of events so planned in haste a method of disposal for Ms Mead in the hope of shocking Michael into submission. She watched them, cautiously, whenever they were together; she saw the way he stared at her, almost lovingly. It disgusted her, and frankly pissed her off – if he was to focus on anyone at the outpost, it should have been her, right? Though for the time being, she could use it to her advantage. I will destroy the one person he loves, she thought, formulating slyly. And then it will be his turn to pay.

Venable arrived at Mead’s door before long, her cane rapping against the stone as her hand followed suit on the door. “Ms Mead?” She spoke, concealing any connotations in her tone that could hinder her progress. She was greeted with silence. “Ms Mead. Let me in. There’s something we forgot to discuss.”

More questionable silence lingered around her. Trying the door, she found it unlocked and pushed it ajar slightly to peer inside. Though she could have never prepared herself for what she saw.

“Oh my god!” Venable inhaled sharply at the sight before her. On any other occasion, the death of Mead would have been like any other: emotionless, not harrowing in the slightest.

She made her way over to the body as quickly as her cane allowed, examining the decapitated robot with concern as she watched the white fluid pour from her neck. Mead’s head lay beside her body, eyes and mouth wide open, expressionless, functionless. Gone. What shocked Venable most was not her death, but the hand at which it occurred. If Michael was capable of murdering the only person who gave his life meaning, what could he do to someone he cared nothing about…like Wilhemina.

“But I do care about you, Ms Venable,” Michael interrupted Venable’s thoughts, causing her to lose her nerve and drop her cane in a moment of slight panic.

He just read my mind. What the fuck is he? Wilhemina turned to face Langdon, her eyes stricken with a fear she no longer dared to hide. She wanted to run, to escape, though she was trapped. Penned in not only by Langdon but by her own body, and any movement she knew would ultimately lead to her own death.

“Mr Langdon,” she began, pausing for a moment to process the expression on his face. Pure ecstasy. He found pleasure in her weakness. “You…startled me.”

“Don’t play dumb Ms Venable. I know you had already planned on killing Ms Mead so I just saved you the trouble.” He strolled up to her casually, kicking her cane from reach. He kept his face only a few inches from hers, delighting in every emotion she felt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilhemina’s breathing became heavy and panicked. She attempted to hold in her tears, though felt a single drop escape as she shut her eyes. Langdon smiled down at her in condescension, before continuing to speak.

“I loved her, you know,” Michael pressed forward, forcing Wilhemina to step back into the wall. She winced, biting her lip as her eyes opened to meet with his. “But sacrifices had to be made. She went willingly.”

Venable tried to change the topic, looking down to Mead’s body. For the first time in her life, she felt a sadness, a remorse. Although she didn’t kill the woman with her own hand, she would have. And it was her fault that she was dead. “Why did you want to meet with her, Mr Langdon?” She had gained some control, or so she believed, and cracked a weak smile.

“Isn’t it obvious? I already knew that you wanted to kill me, long before you poisoned the others. I spoke to Mead to discuss how we were to remedy that.” Michael smirked, finding joy in her confusion.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Venable frowned, making sense of Michael’s words to some extent. Her smile faded as she realised. “She wanted to die. For you. You knew what I’d planned and used it against me. You fucking bastard.” Venable let out a wry chuckle, staring straight into Michael’s eyes. He stayed silent.

“So what now? Are you gonna kill me too?”

“Oh, Wilhemina,” the patronising stillness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. He called her by her name. Her forename.

“You will call me Ms Venable.”

“I’d suggest that you stop talking before I decide to snap your neck.” Michael lifted one hand beside Venable’s head and within seconds she felt a sudden clenching in her throat. She gasped and spluttered, desperate for oxygen, falling back into the wall and clutching her neck.

“Stop…can’t…breathe…” Wilhemina wheezed, begging for release.

“I don’t want to kill you, Wilhemina. If I did, you’d already be dead. So I think you should sit down before trying anything else. Otherwise I can – and will – kill you.”

He dropped his hand, letting Venable breathe once more. She fell to the ground panting, her eyes rolling, everything going dark. She could feel her world spinning around her as the darkness took hold, until another kind of darkness gripped her face under the chin, staring, smiling.

“Fuck you,” Wilhemina rasped, her delicate formal tone now utterly gone, replaced by a broken, soulless voice.

Michael laughed, sneering at her despair. “Still got some fire in you. I like that about you.” Venable raised an eyebrow, masking her fear behind an unfazed façade.

“Now. I need to discuss the catch.” He stood as to tower above her, still only an inch away.

“And that is?” “You will serve me, with all your fidelity, until I decide your time has come to die.” Michael held out his hand to Wilhemina, expecting her to decline. She grasped it almost immediately, lifting herself to his level.

Pausing for a second, she grimaced, regretting everything she was about to do and say. “Yes…Sir.”

Chapter Text

Michael could sense the Witches from ten miles away. He knew as soon as they’d made it to California. He sat in the old dining hall – in Venable’s chair – with his legs crossed over each other, contemplating their return. He’d known ever since they’d fled to Misty’s shack that they’d take revenge, though had never expected Mallory to be one of them, not until the Grey showed her true colours.
He would just have to erase her soul, like he did at Robichaux’s. The bitch must be powerful if Cordelia sent her undercover, he assumed. The Supreme would have no choice but to surrender.
“Wilhemina?” He called across the room. Venable entered reluctantly, shivering at hearing her name be spoken, especially by the man whom she despised more than anyone at present.
“What?” Speaking with the same tone of voice she had used when he first arrived, Venable attempted to be civil, polite, in vain as it turned out.
“We will be expecting guests shortly and I plan to have a civilised conversation before I kill them. Ready the table.” He stood slowly, advancing on Venable with a frightening unpredictability. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Wilhemina sighed, gulping as she nodded in submission with the fakest of smiles. “Certainly. Is there anything else you need, Mr Langdon?”
“That’s all, Wilhemina.” Michael made direct eye contact, his lips coiling in an ironically devilish smile. He sensed her hatred, the burning desire inside her to kill him, to set herself free. He knew it was a rouse; that one day she’d turn on him again. And with the arrival of the Witches, he had an inkling that that day would be sooner than anyone believed.
Be shooed her away, seating himself once more with a supercilious leer.
It’ll be over soon, she prayed, leaving the room with her cane rhythmically tapping by her side. I’ll kill him…or they will.

The entire earth was a graveyard. Fogged and freezing, full of corpses and regret. Though through the eternal darkness, three single rays of light shone in parallel all the way from Massachusetts. New Orleans, to be precise. Cordelia and her entourage approached the wrought iron gates of Outpost 3, opening them with one subtle flick of the wrist.
They entered the building, prepared for the very worst that Langdon could throw at them, but Cordelia knew that with Mallory and Coco back with her everything would be okay. They would almost be a Coven again, and if everything worked out, she’d have Zoe and her girls back before she knew it.
“Well that was gross as fuck,” Madison complained, getting a view of the grandeur of her surroundings. “This place is pretty nice though.”
“Not when occupied by men, my dear,” Myrtle said, following Cordelia through to the main halls. “Once we destroy Michael once and for all, this beauty will be restored to its former state.”
Cordelia held out her hand behind her to quiet them both, sensing Michael’s presence. “Find our sisters. We must deal with Dinah before we can defeat Langdon; she’s his only remaining ally.”
*
A mere minute passed before Cordelia heard a frantic voice call her name. She rushed to the room from which she heard it, and stumbled back at the sight before her.
“Oh my god!” she gasped, clutching her chest before losing stability. Madison rushed to her and clutched her arm, keeping her standing, if only slightly. She was unfazed by the many corpses around the room: Timothy and Emily, Gallant, André – god knew she’d seen enough bodies already to last her a few lifetimes of Supremacy. What distressed her more than anything was that Mallory and Coco were gone. No body, nothing.
“It appears that Michael already got to them, Delia,” Myrtle approached Cordelia and Madison, trying to be of some comfort. She could sense the pain in Cordelia’s eyes. There was nothing left anymore. They’d lost Zoe, Queenie, Misty was probably killed by the blast along with Stevie and…now Mallory. Her last hope. Mallory had been the only one capable of Tempus Infinituum and with her gone, there was no semblance of hope, no chance to right the wrongs of the world again. It was over.
“No! No no no no no, Mallory,” Cordelia lamented, letting her feeble body fall to the ground. She sat in a sobbing heap on the floor, surrounded by her remaining sisters. He could erase their souls, couldn’t he? Mallory was gone, Coco was gone. The entire world was gone.
“So what now?” Madison sighed, making her best efforts at reassuring Cordelia.
“Nothing,” the Supreme choked. “We have nothing. No one.” Madison scowled, partially in thought though also in irritation at the lack of tenacity Cordelia showed compared to her old self. The bitch has really let herself go. She speculated. At least her fashion sense has improved.
“Wait.” Madison stood, adjusting her dress before addressing the others.
“What?” Cordelia raised her head to the witch, tears dripping from the dark pools of her eyes. There were no sparks anymore; no optimistic glow. She was dead inside.
“Mallory was the next Supreme, right?”
“Why does that make any difference now, Madison?” She sniffled, composing herself momentarily.
“You know what happened with Fiona and me. You’ve taken Mallory’s life force now.” Madison crouched to Cordelia’s level. “You have the power to defeat Michael.”
Cordelia frowned, turning to Myrtle with a glimmer of her original sanguineness returning to her eyes. “Is that true?” She grasped Myrtle’s hands in hers, beginning to sob again. Though this time, the tears were of joy, the thought that there was a chance once again.
“There is only one way to test it, my dear,” they both stood, exchanging a brief hug. This was their chance. One shot to defeat Langdon and all he stood for. They couldn’t go back in time, though with the combined power of two Supremes, the Witches had a chance to be the last ones standing.

Wilhemina had sensed as soon as the Witches had arrived underground, as if she and the outpost were one and the same. Having never done it herself, setting the table took her the best part of half an hour and by the time the final plate was laid, her feet were sore and mind numbed by the tediousness of the task. Something so menial should be performed by a Grey, she inwardly sneered, seating herself in her chair now that Michael had left to prepare himself for greeting his guests. Some of her original charm and ascendency had returned –despite there being no one around to experience it – and for the first time since the poisoning Wilhemina felt at peace: in her mind and in her body. It was as if a part of her had died when Mead had, though whatever part that was, she felt that without it she could take on anything. Even Langdon.
Venable heard Cordelia’s wails from the music room and, unaware of who had entered the building, proceeded to make her way there, despite Michael’s commands to stay within the dining quarters.
“This is still my outpost and I will go wherever the fuck I want,” she muttered to herself as she exited the room through the halls.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Wilhemina,” Venable heaved a vexed sigh at the sound of Langdon’s voice. How long had he been standing there? He stepped from the shadows of the hall, grinning with a Machiavellian smile. He’d changed into a red velvet jacket and stood with a confident artfulness before her, his hands joined behind his back.
“I’m just on my way to console your guests, Mr Langdon,” Venable hissed, her own confidence returning in her words. “Seeing as you seem to be doing such a spectacular job at it.” She made a move to walk past him, though was halted as she felt a hand forcefully grip her cane.
“I can make that curve in your spine even bigger. Just painful enough that you’ll wish for death, but not enough so that it would kill you,” Michael’s eyes and threat burned into Wilhemina’s soul. She felt a slight shiver run through her as every syllable was processed. He meant every single one. “So I would be more careful with my words if I were you.”
Venable greeted him with silence, afraid of him once again. Letting his grip loose, Langdon traced his forefinger down her spine, highlighting every angle of the curve. “Maybe just don’t speak at all.”
He left her alone in the hallway, knowing what he’d accomplished and rejoicing in the fact. He knew exactly how to break her, and he’d do it – again and again, until she was unfixable.

Chapter Text

It could have been summer; it could have been winter – July or December. It could have been the first of the month or the last, day or night. No one knew, and at this point no one really cared. The remaining five people on Earth were focused on more pressing matters: who would be the lone survivor? Complacent and naïve, Madison believed she would be last, and being the youngest of the five, reckoned the odds were in her favour. Cordelia hoped it would be Myrtle, Myrtle rooted for Cordelia, and Michael…Michael was more than prepared to ensure that it would be him. He was more powerful than any Supreme, after all. Venable, however, was in mixed minds. She yearned to be last, though at present wished for nothing more than the blissful sleep of death, to be released from her psychological agony into freedom. The dark abyss seemed to welcome her now that she had accepted her fate, though there was still more to do, and she wouldn’t succumb until Langdon had been obliterated into cinders.

Carrying a candelabrum in one hand and her cane in the other, Wilhemina made her way to the entrance of the music room. She’d perfected the skill of walking without making a single sound, even mastering the silent lowering of her cane. It took longer than her usual tread, though was worth the panicked expressions of those she snuck up on. She was never able to do that with Mead or Michael – they always sensed her presence immediately – but now had a chance to achieve another scare. Coco had always been the best to frighten – she was one jumpy bitch, Venable reminisced as she reached the doorway. For a brief moment believed that it would work, though immediately thought otherwise as the realisation of her guests’ identities hit her. She’d been around Michael for long enough to know that they were supernatural, witches of some description. What baffled her more was why they were here, though more pressingly: why now?

Wilhemina cleared her throat with the full intention of disturbing their obvious grief. The corpses were nothing new to her; she was responsible for their demise anyway. Madison was the first to lock eyes with the matriarch, scowling right at her. At this, Venable was taken aback – no one had ever given her such a look of contempt as this girl before her, especially when she always tried her upmost to pull of an intimidating air.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Madison raised an eyebrow, primarily at the sight of Wilhemina’s dated attire.

“I am Wilhemina Venable,” she replied, as authoritatively as possible. “This is my-”

“Yeah, no one cares,” Madison interrupted, smiling a not so benevolent smile back at her.

“Madison! Manners,” Cordelia sniffled, getting to her feet, though not yet looking in Venable’s direction.

“What? We don’t have time to introduce ourselves. Especially not to the help.”

“I beg your pardon?” Venable scoffed, suppressing a boiling rage in her throat at the very notion of being referred to as the help. She was a leader, the face.

“I’m sorry for the terrible introduction,” Cordelia turned to Venable with an apologetic curl of her lips. She held out her hand, before concealing her disappointment behind a lip bite at her greeting being ignored. “Cordelia Goode. Supreme.”

“I won’t bore you with my presence any longer,” Wilhemina said with a sarcastic undertone that screamed disdain and hatred. “I only came to inform you that Mr Langdon would like to speak with you all in the dining hall. I would also warn you that he does intend for you to die this evening.”

“We’re counting on it,” Myrtle chimed in, causing Venable to turn her attention away from Cordelia.

With a concerned grimace, the woman turned away from the Witches, cane first, echoing across the halls. Within seconds, she paused, sharply turning back and directing her interjection to Myrtle. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t believe you would, my dear,” she blatantly lied.

“Odd. I swear I remember your face from somewhere before the war,” Wilhemina hesitated, formulating a mocking response to lighten her dampened spirits. “I don’t think I could forget such hideous hair, even after all the death and destruction.”

“And I’m sure I’d recognise such a vulgar incompetence,” Myrtle said with a concealed smirk at her retaliation.

“I’ll take you to Mr Langdon,” Venable feigned a smile, correcting her expression into a soulless grimace as soon as they’d passed her.

“We know where to go, thank you Ms Venable,” Cordelia’s voice, though still assertive, trailed off as they left the room, leaving Wilhemina to herself.

“Know this,” she called to the Witches. “You don’t want to get on the wrong side of me, especially not now.”

Taking the passive threat in their stride, Cordelia, Myrtle and Madison found their way to the all too familiar dining hall, still as majestic as it’s former state, though now enveloped in a shroud of decay and sin. Even to the most untrained witch, the vividness of the darkness was strong enough to pierce the purest soul, and the night wasn’t over yet.

*

At reaching the room, they were greeted with empty chairs. Michael was nowhere to be found and for a moment they began to consider the possibility that he’d grown bored and left the outpost. They seated themselves at the table, Cordelia at the foot, opposite Wilhemina’s – now Michael’s – chair, with Myrtle on one side and Madison the other.

“Where is the dick anyway?” The younger witch complained. She rolled her eyes with an increasing boredom, taking in her surroundings with a disdainful scowl.

“He’ll arrive,” Cordelia promptly answered, holding out a hand to relight the fireplace and the pillar candles decorating the table. “He expected us long before now.”

“Since your sisters’ demise, actually,” Michael appeared, as suddenly and as silently as a ghostly apparition, startling all but Delia with his impromptu greeting. “I knew you’d come for revenge. It would be impossible for you to resist the temptation of destroying me after I did the same to your coven.”

“No one has to kill anyone,” Cordelia kept a stoic composure, gesturing to the chair opposite with a smile of hidden intent.

“Delia what are you-” Myrtle tried to interrupt, cut short by Cordelia.

“Let me talk, Myrtle. I know what I’m doing.”

“So…” Michael began, strutting his way to the table in his red velvet jacket. “You don’t want to kill me.”

“Not yet.”

“So why are you here? I already know of course, but I want to hear you say it.”

Cordelia paused, locking eyes with Myrtle, then Madison, before turning her sincere gaze back to the Antichrist. “Because I believe we can come to terms.”

“You want to make a deal. Interesting.” Michael leaned forward, resting his elbow on his thigh with his chin propped between his thumb and forefinger.

“Of sorts. It’s clear that we have some…discrepancies, that we will need to push aside but for now I’m willing to make this work.” Cordelia refused to look at Myrtle who, to no avail, glared at Cordelia with such an expression of disbelief that Madison couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“What’s in it for the both of us?”

“You will return to us our sisters.” The Supreme demanded, the smile fading into an expressionless stare.

“I can’t do that.”

“You will bring back Mallory and Coco for us, and once you do that…you can kill me.”

“Delia no!” Myrtle half screamed. The pain in her eyes glistened, beginning to trickle down her face. Even Madison showed a staggering concern.

“That is my offer, and nothing will change my mind,” Cordelia discretely grasped Myrtle’s hand beneath the table, a gesture of apology. “You can kill me however you like, as long as you don’t harm my girls.”

“That is hard to resist. I’ve wanted to kill you ever since you burned my Ms Mead. And I will take you up on that offer. Though I will only return one of your sisters. A life for a life. Choose wisely.”

Without consulting her council, Cordelia spoke. “We choose Mallory. Now honour your deal.”

Before Michael responded, he turned to the arch of the hall, the shadowy tunnel where Wilhemina, unbeknownst to the Witches, had been standing and eavesdropping the entire time. “Leave us, Ms Venable,” he commanded coolly. “I wouldn’t suggest you staying for the remainder of this conversation.”

“She can stay,” Cordelia had known of Wilhemina’s presence from the vert beginning of the meeting and had been keeping a close eye on the woman. From the very first moment she laid eyes on her, something about her had intrigued her very soul, whether it was her attitude or stature or her eccentric attire. Something in her veins told her that there was more to Venable than she was letting on, and Cordelia was set on releasing these truths.

“I have seen far worse than this, Mr Langdon, believe me,” Venable said, directed at Michael though she never let her gaze slip from Cordelia. From the first moment she saw the witch, something about her had drawn her in. She wasn’t sure whether it was her vulnerability, something she so desperately kept concealed in herself, or her sheer confidence in Michael’s presence, but she knew from that very greeting that she would need to speak to her again. She needed to bear her soul to someone, and Cordelia seemed to fit that image.

“Okay then, you may remain, Wilhemina,” Michael’s words hissed, condescension like a dagger in Venable’s chest. He faced Cordelia once again, now with a more informal tone. “I won’t bring Mallory back just yet. There’s still more fun to be had.”

No one knew what that meant. It could have meant killing, it could have meant torture. But one thing was for sure: no one would enjoy it except Michael.

Chapter Text

An hour later, the discussion concluded. Throughout the entire sixty minutes, Venable remained rooted in the doorway, picking up on every nuance, every detail of expression on both sides. Though she knew full well that she was a born leader, a matriarch, Wilhemina was just as good a listener, taking into account every single thing being said. From Robichaux’s to Misty’s shack, all the way back to the Hawthorne School, nothing was left in the dark, almost as if Michael wanted her to know everything. Though within seconds of this realisation, the thought dawned on her that he would ultimately be planning to kill her. She’d known this from the very start and it wouldn’t be long before she received her fate. But for the time being, regrettably, she remained in servitude, and could do nothing but live our her days in concealed trepidation.
The Witches spent much of this time exchanging both perplexed and bored glances. Their firm belief was that they’d come for a fight, of sorts. Not one of them predicted such lengthy conversation, especially with so many questions. For someone who knew everything about everyone, Langdon was definitely curious.
“This has gone on long enough, Langdon,” Cordelia interrupted Michael sharply, midway through his – as Myrtle referred to it – monotonous drawling about Mallory and her suspected dawning Supremacy. “If you won’t grant our demands then at least tell us why you wanted us to talk.”
The Antichrist leaned back in his chair and grinned once again; a smile that made every other being in the room internally writhe with vexation. He said nothing, though his expression spoke a thousand words.
“For someone supposedly so powerful, you really are a dick,” Madison sneered, using the silence as a golden opportunity to make her opinions known.
Another silence.
“As crass as that was, I agree with Madison on this one,” Cordelia bluntly stated, her face showing nothing, though her mind screamed with a million thoughts. “I think we’re done here.”
The Supreme rose to leave, followed by her magical entourage, heading towards the door. She got as far as being level with Venable, before halting abruptly, turning to the woman and meeting her gaze for what was probably the tenth time. All she had to do was lock eyes for a moment, and almost instinctively, Venable knew what Cordelia meant. With a calm though concerned nod of agreement, Wilhemina trailed behind the Witches as they left the room, rhythmically tapping her cane with undoubtedly more vigour than her usual tread. Her spirit had returned, and though she didn’t realise it herself, the morning after would be brighter than any previous sky.
*
Venable had returned to her room after the peculiar conversation, dressing herself, albeit slowly, into one of her traditional formal attires. Though she missed her purple business-wear from Kineros, the occasion would require something more discrete, more dramatic, and certainly more imposing. She’d sensed during the wordless communication with the Witch that revenge was in order, and whilst watching her every move earlier on, Wilhemina had concluded with little thought that Cordelia despised Michael even more than she did, if that was at all possible.
“Keep it together, don’t show any weakness,” Venable prepped herself in the mirror, once again staring at herself in admiration. “She’s your ally; treat her like one.” Even as Wilhemina spoke these words, she felt a sharp pang in her chest. At first she passed it off as nerves, though realised that she had never felt anything like it before. It was a bittersweet agony, something she hated and loved to feel at the same time. Could it be…? Even at the very presumption, she felt her entire body run cold.
Love.
It couldn’t be, could it?
The Witch had caught her eye from the first meet in the music room, her tearful eyes glistening up at hers. She’d connected with her, though ignored any sensation, scared of what would happen if she let herself feel for the first time. It was undeniable now. It was as if a surge of electricity carried through her bones. For now, it would have to be hidden behind another façade of a tyrant. Not until Michael was dead would Wilhemina be able to show her true nature.
A knock on the door jolted her out of her blissful daydreams. It was similar to Mead’s and for a moment, Venable reminisced to the times when they would play cards and drink champagne, speak jovially about the torture and terror inflicted on the guests. Good times. Good times that would never again exist.
“Who is it?”
“Cordelia Goode,” a hushed although assertive tone replied. “Perhaps you were expecting me? I’m not sure how obvious I was earlier-”
“It’s open,” Venable was soon to respond, swallowing her nerves before painting on her most convincing smile with a deep purple lipstick.
Cordelia was hesitant to open the door, taken aback by the immediacy of Wilhemina. Witch to witch, telepathic communication was easy, though on a human, it was more likely that she’d look like an utter fool making deliberate and prolonged eye contact than have her thoughts voiced. However, it turned out that Venable was stronger than most, which Cordelia had already presumed, and had received her message.
“I assume you called on me for a particular reason, Ms Goode,” Venable seated herself in one of her two black leather armchairs by the fire, gesturing to the other with a subtle flick of the wrist.
“Call me Cordelia, please,” the Supreme insisted as she took up the offer. “Ms Goode makes me sound like my mother.” Both women chuckled as Cordelia continued. “And yes, I wanted — if you’re willing — to form an alliance. Look, I can tell you’re more intelligent, and certainly more cunning, than you let on. I watched you, from the first moment you introduced yourself, and I believe that I could use someone with your spirit to my advantage. As much as I despised my mother, I can accept that she knew how to put up a fight and I am willing to wager that you could do the same if needed. I just need you to trust me.”
Wilhemina paused, taking in Cordelia’s words with heavy contemplation. “And what if I don’t accept? If I don’t choose to trust you?”
“You will most likely die. Not by my hand, or my sisters, I can assure you that. I’ve seen the way Langdon looks at you. There is some admiration, and I’ll admit that I feel that way too about you. Though through that admiration is hatred, dare I call it envy.”
“At this point I doubt that dying would be much worse than living.” Venable bit her lip, turning her head away in a second of weakness.
Cordelia leaned forward, grasping Wilhemina’s free hand that didn’t hold her cane, and holding it between both of hers. “Don’t say that; never. Believe me, I have felt the same way, but if I can get through it I have no doubt that you will. You have a coven on your side, Wilhemina, or at least what is left of it. We can bring down Michael Langdon together.”
Initially Venable shivered at Cordelia’s touch. The last time she’d been touched by another in any way was when Michael examined her back. She could still feel his fingers snaking around her spine, and the fear she’d allowed herself to show. It was ironic, she thought, that the son of the devil made my blood run cold. Minutes passed before she heard a not so subtle clearing of Cordelia’s throat. Venable hadn’t realised that she’d spent the last few minutes staring into space.
“So?” The Witch vaguely asked. “And don’t worry, Wilhemina. The entire room was surrounded by a protection spell as soon as I entered. With you as a temporary exception, no human or demon can enter until I leave. Nor can they hear any of what we are discussing. You can speak your mind in here. Tell me everything.”
*
Wilhemina told Cordelia everything, and the Witch listened not with disdain like she did with Michael, but with reverence. Everything the woman had to say moved her: how she’d began at Kineros, under-appreciated and alone, and worked her way to the top of the hierarchy as soon as the bombs hit. It was inspiring, beautiful. She’d been right all along – Wilhemina was more than her callous persona. All she needed was an opportunity to redeem herself, and the Supreme knew exactly what it would be.
“I still don’t see how me telling you all of this has any significance,” Venable said, lifting herself from her seat and pacing to the other side of the room. “You know as well as I do that there is no way to defeat him.”
“I needed you to tell me everything so I had the entire picture,” Cordelia vaguely explained.
“And that is?”
“I already found out a few years ago that Michael is what you would call a ‘momma’s boy’. He’s emotional, despite his frigidness, and if you don’t mind me saying, so are you.”
“You have a point,” Venable turned to the witch with a contemplative raised eyebrow.
“Like I said, he admires you. If we can manipulate him to fall for you, we have a chance to bring forth his weakness and destroy him.” Cordelia too stood as she spoke, meeting Venable in the centre of the room, only a few feet apart.
“Have you seen me?” Wilhemina’s breathing became heavy as she tried to contain tears.
“I see you, Wilhemina. I see you and I see a beautiful, confident woman who will let nothing stop her. I know your story, what you’ve done and what you’ve overcome. That’s why I told you to stay at the meeting. I watched Michael’s reactions to you, how his face changed when he looked at you.” Cordelia wiped an escaped tear from Venable’s cheek with her thumb, clutching her hands once more. “I was called a disappointment by one of the people that loved me the most. Some have strange ways of expressing their love – you just have to encourage them to show it.”
For the first time that evening, Cordelia and Wilhemina’s faces came within an inch of each other. Their lips so close they felt the vibrations of the other’s. And though they both knew, deep down, that there was a concealed connection, it would take more than a fire-lit conversation to dig it out.
“What do I have to do?” Venable whispered, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.
“Just wait. He will come to you. Trust me.”

Chapter Text

“So what were you discussing last night?” Madison interrupted Cordelia’s train of thought, causing her to jump slightly. The Supreme had been standing against the same wall in the music room that she did when she last saw Misty. Whether it was in subconscious reminiscence or pure coincidence she was unsure, though as she awoke from her daze, she realised that she hadn’t been thinking about Misty at all, but in fact Wilhemina had been the one on her mind. Nevertheless she suppressed her emotions and turned to Madison with an unsteady alertness.
“Woah, someone’s on edge this morning,” she continued. “What’s up?”
“I just had a lot to think about from my conversation with Venable. She’s rather intriguing,” Cordelia began. “In fact, she’s given me the perfect ammunition to defeat him.”
“And what’s that?”
“I can’t explain it without risk of exposure so you and Myrtle are going to have to trust me. For now, just wait until I can speak with you privately. I have some thinking to do.” Cordelia brushed past Madison briefly to exit the room, though span round immediately as the young witch grasped her wrist.
“You’re just gonna leave me with that? I think with all I’ve gone through that I deserve more than ‘just wait’.”
Cordelia scoffed, mocking Madison’s arrogance. She released her hand from the witch’s grip with a sudden jolt, her face now entirely expressionless. “You think you’ve gone through a lot? You died twice, both the result of your own hubris and were reincarnated. You were never abused by your own mother, never blinded, never made a sacrifice. You’re nothing but an naïve little bitch, so self-absorbed that you attempted to kill your fellow sister and refused to even try to resurrect another to gain Supremacy.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Madison retorted, half shouting. “And what the fuck has got into you today? You spent one evening with that woman and now you sound like Fiona.” As soon as she’d finished speaking, Madison felt a sharp pain on her cheek and before she knew it she was on the floor, hair strewn over her face.
Cordelia let her hand fall to her side, relishing – albeit inwardly – in the satisfaction the slap brought her. “Talk to me like that and you will descend to hell again. Though it will be by my hand and I assure you it will be worse than any death you could experience. Don’t test me.”
She left the room without another word, leaving Madison to cradle her cheek, sobbing quietly on the floor.
<>
“Well?” Venable greeted her ally with a smirk as the witch entered her room. “What happened?”
“I told her nothing,” Cordelia sat down in the armchair, Venable following suit within seconds. Both simultaneously crossed their legs as Cordelia continued. “Madison reacted exactly as I expected. It all worked out.”
“So you did as we discussed?”
“Like I said yesterday, Madison is only loyal to herself. She has no allegiance to anybody and if she’s as self-centred as I thought, my little ‘persuasion’ earlier will be the only motivation she needs to pledge her fidelity to Michael.” Cordelia laughed, almost cruelly, though caught sight of her reflection as she turned her head. Never before had she expressed or witnessed this side of herself and to be quite honest she wasn’t sure whether it was as distasteful as she’d continuously told herself. Her entire face had changed; her eyes more piercing and assertive, her smile no longer benevolent but more vindictive. A peculiar, immediate, and altogether confusing change that would have to be ignored for the time being. There were more pressing matters to attend to.
“Why did you want this again? Won’t this just hinder you further?” Venable asked, lifting her glass to her lips.
“We need Michael to believe that he has a chance in hell of defeating us. If he has even one witch on his side, and soon you too, he will think that I am outnumbered and will be too distracted to preempt my attack.” Cordelia stood to adjust her dress as Venable listened attentively to her words.
“Why couldn’t you just get Madison to pretend? To double-cross him?” Wilhemina frowned. As much as she doubted the whole plan, the new Cordelia appealed to her. The woman she’d first met was caring, emotional, but the woman standing before her now was, though not at Venable’s level of sadism, rational and if the situation required, cruel.
“Despite her career, Madison can’t act for shit and would break within minutes. I couldn’t trust her. For now, it’s best that she stays hostile rather than a fickle ally.” Cordelia strode towards the door, turning back as her hand touched the handle. “I have to speak with Myrtle. You are welcome to join me.”
Venable rapped her cane on the floor, her eyes meeting with Cordelia’s momentarily. “I have some preparations to make. And I don’t think your friend is fond of me at all. It’s best I stay here,” she hesitated, mulling over her thoughts before adding, “return to me after, if you will. I quite enjoyed your company these past few days and if you feel the same way I’d like to continue it.”
Cordelia masked her true opinions behind a flattered smile, opening the door and standing halfway between the room and the hall. She wanted to ask ‘Is that a date?’ but only managed a weak though affectionate, “Okay,” before making her way to Myrtle’s temporary residence. Everything was finally coming together, and for once, not for the worse.
*
“I saw Madison earlier,” Myrtle said, bringing a cigarette out of her pocket and holding it between her lips. She side-eyed Cordelia to ask for a light, to which the Supreme responded with a subtle lifting of her fingers in Myrtle’s direction before the cigarette set alight. “She wouldn’t stop crying.”
“Where is she now?” Cordelia’s eyes wandered to the smoke rising above her and, swallowing, returned her focus to the matter at hand.
“That’s interesting,” Myrtle muttered, turning her head to release the smoke.
“What?”
“You didn’t ask why she was crying.” For the first time since they’d arrived, Cordelia was lost for words. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to leave though settled on neither, and sat with an indignant scowl until Myrtle spoke again. “But I suppose you already know why, don’t you? Seeing as you were the one who caused our ice queen to crack.”
“I only did what I had to do, Myrtle,” Cordelia reasoned. “When I spoke to Wilhemina, we came to the conclusion that the only way to defeat Michael was by forcing his emotions to take the light.”
“How, exactly? You’re not making any sense, Delia.”
Cordelia told Myrtle everything she and Venable had spoken about, including Wilhemina’s fake relationship and Madison’s loyalty. It took a while to convince the witch of any of it, partially because she didn’t want to believe that her sweet little Delia was capable of maiming, psychologically or physically, any of her sisters. Of course, she’d seen how Cordelia had acted when exposing Baldwin and Ariel, but that was towards men, and in her biased opinion, men deserved it.
“Why are you so uncomfortable with this, Myrtle?” Cordelia frowned. She began to tap her foot, considering the possibility that Wilhemina would be her only ally.
“Don’t forget that I killed for you, Delia. And I despise that misogynistic bastard just as much,” She paused, noticing the irritation in Cordelia’s glare. “I just don’t think that this impromptu change of attitude is what we need.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Look at yourself, Delia. Listen to yourself. You’re turning into her. The Cordelia Goode I know would never upset her girls; she’d never deliberately cause them to despise her, even for the greater good.” Cordelia bit her lip at hearing the harsh truth.
“If you even suggest for one second that I am becoming my mother then you might as well leave,” she composed herself, and though it pained her to admit, she would have to face the monumental task of defeating the Antichrist on her own. Until she could persuade her mentor to follow her, anyway.
“Delia,” Myrtle put out her cigarette, rushing to the door as the Supreme rose to leave.
“What?”
“I…I just want you to know that I’m not against you. As much as I disagree with how you and Wilhemina are handling the situation, I know that you are only doing what’s right. I know that you’ll protect us all. You made me promise to tell you if you’d become Fiona…and my dear, you are far from it,” she leaned to hug Cordelia, withdrawing at feeling the rigidity in the witch’s stance. “I support you. I love you. I just don’t want to lose you, Delia.”
“I love you too, Myrtle,” Cordelia loosened her posture, and with a quick smile escorted herself out.
‘This is going to be a lot harder than I expected,’ she thought as the door slammed behind her. For now all she could do was wait until Venable made her move on Michael. It would take time, and success wasn’t altogether guaranteed, but it was the best shot they had with Mallory gone.
For the first time since they’d arrived, Cordelia truly took in her surroundings. The last time they’d been here, they’d found the Warlocks all dead. The time before that she’d gotten the mother of all revenges. Everything had been perfect then, everything going to plan. Her girls were still alive and Michael was just a powerless little boy, defeated and alone. She would have done anything to go back to those times; to still have a home and a family; to have hope. Cordelia shut her eyes and breathed in reminiscent meditation.
Seconds passed and her eyes flickered open. She thought she’d heard something, someone approaching. Myrtle hasn’t left her room and she couldn’t hear a cane. Cordelia had barely processed this information before her entire body collided with the wall behind her, head pounding, bones vibrating so violently she was surprised they didn’t crack. Though she had no time to think, no time to even sit up. The last thing the witch saw before the world span into temporary darkness was the four-inch heels of Madison beside Michael’s over-polished boots as her head dropped to the floor. Her eyes desperately wanted to stay open. Her mind fought to stay conscious for even a second longer.
“What happens now?” Madison’s venomous tone echoed through Cordelia’s skull, getting slower, deeper, as the darkness encroached.
“She’ll wake up and tell us everything,” Michael said, crouching to the Supreme’s level.
“What if she doesn’t?”
“You’ll kill her.”