Rachel and Quinn: Witch Hunters!

chapter nine

Puck stood shivering on the street corner, peering into the slowly rising sun, when a Lima P.D. patrol car finally pulled up, an ambulance behind it. The car disgorged two tired-looking officers, one male and one female, who looked down at Azimio Adams' lifeless body and shook their heads almost in unison. EMTs hopped out of the ambulance and began buzzing around like bees, doing EMT things that Puck didn't understand. Then again, he didn't understand much of anything at the moment. He knew he should feel upset, or angry, or something...but instead, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Numb, hollow, like there was now an emptiness inside him that couldn't be filled.

He nodded and answered the questions that came from the officers and medical personnel, explaining in a monotone voice all that he could remember: he and Azimio had been hanging out, wandering the streets of Lima, intending to get a couple of late night pizza slices, when suddenly a car had come speeding out of nowhere, the driver possibly drunk or high or both, slammed into his friend's big body with sickening force, then peeled away far too quickly for Puck to even have a hope of getting its license plate number. Then he had stood over Azimio's corpse, as though guarding it, in shock, for some time until he'd finally had the presence of mind to call 911.

"Don't worry, son," the male officer said, gamely trying to affect an avuncular tone, though at this hour he'd clearly had too much coffee and not enough sleep to really pull it off. "We've got cameras attached to every traffic light in this town. It'll take a little time, but we'll review the footage and ID the license plate, and then we'll find and arrest the bastard who's responsible for this. We'll catch him. We will."

Puck felt not at all reassured by the officer's words as he watched the EMTs cover Azimio with a sheet, load him onto a gurney and then into the ambulance to be taken to the morgue.

"He...his parents...shit, I haven't called them yet," he said, looking to the female officer. Normally, he'd be checking her out, rating her on his patented internal MILF scale, but now he was searching only for compassion, for sympathy and understanding. Chicks were great at all that – and boy, did he need it now. "I don't...I don't think I can do that. Officer – can...can you do that for me?" He offered her his phone. "Please?"

The officer waved it away, and he placed it back into his pocket. "We'll take care of that down at the station. Normally, we'd ask you to come there with us, but -" She looked to her partner, who nodded affirmatively. "I think we've got enough from you now, and you look exhausted. Where do you live? We'll give you a ride home."

"Thanks," Puck said, appreciating the officer's kindness, unaccustomed as he was to receiving such gentle treatment from Lima's finest. Fortunately, these two were not among the many he'd met during his rather colorful high school career – otherwise, he knew, he would not have been so lucky.

Minutes later, he was in the back of the squad car, his hands blessedly not cuffed, and on his way home, numbly listening to the officers chattering away in the front. Strangely, he thought not of Azimio, his fallen friend and teammate, but of Rachel Berry – of all people! - and he wondered why that was. Then he shook his head, irritated, and closed his eyes, longing for sleep, knowing that there would be none for him this day. Slumping down in the seat, he opened his eyes and gazed out of the patrol car's window, watching the streets of Lima pass by and wondering when slumber would finally come, so that he could dream that this night had never happened.

Tina and Brittany snuggled under the covers on the bed in the Berry family guest room. Tina felt a desperate need for the taller girl's warmth, craved the touch of Brittany's skin against hers. The events of this night whirled through her mind, and she knew she'd never get any sleep if she didn't talk about it. Then again, she didn't want to keep a clearly exhausted Brittany awake either, so maybe it was best if at least one of them got some shut-eye.

"Your brain is so loud," the blonde cheerleader murmured. "I can hear it through the pillow."

Tina blushed in the darkness, grateful that her girlfriend was facing away from her, and buried her face in Brittany's neck, inhaling the sweet, delicious scent of the girl's shampoo. Somehow, it managed to reflect her personality perfectly: light and airy, like the aroma of a flower caught in a gentle breeze. Yes. That was Brittany.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Don't mind me. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll...I'll be all right. We'll talk in the morning."

"No, no," Brittany said firmly, turning so that she could face her girlfriend. "We'll talk now."

Looking into Brittany's ever so blue eyes and seeing the love and concern in them, Tina knew that Brittany wouldn't be dissuaded – especially when the taller girl placed a finger on her nose and smiled, saying, "So tell me what's on your mind. You know I can't resist your sexy brain anyway."

Tina laughed. So many of their conversations started this way, yet she never tired of hearing those particular words from Brittany. "You're the only person who's ever told me that my brain is sexy."

"It's totally true. Intelligence is totally hot – and you're the smartest person I know. Now spill," Brittany said with a playful pout. "Or no sweet lady kisses before we fall asleep."

"You wouldn't!" Tina gasped in mock horror, pulling the blanket up beneath her chin with both hands. This was part of the game too, and she loved it. The truth was that this was a completely empty threat; nothing in the world could keep Brittany from indulging in some 'lip on lip action,' as she liked to call it.

"No, I wouldn't," Brittany admitted. "But you need to talk. So talk."

Sighing, Tina turned over so that she was on her back, her eyes focused upwards on a point in space somewhere beyond the ceiling. She had so many feelings, so many thoughts, all swimming around inside her...how could she possibly explain any of it? The events of this night had been a chaotic whirlwind of emotion, insanity and impossibility. The logical, rational side of her brain – sexy or not – struggled to accept, much less make sense of what she'd seen and heard. And now, somehow, she'd volunteered to get involved in some kind of magical battle between her friends – who had revealed themselves to be witches, of all things! - and an unseen, unknown and lethal enemy. An enemy who was already responsible for the death of a fellow student and the traumatization of another friend.

"Poor Puck," she found herself saying aloud, giving voice to just one of the many thoughts in her head. "I've never seen him like that before. I've never seen anyone like that before. The terror in his eyes...I can't stop thinking about it."

Brittany nodded in understanding. She, too, was deeply affected by Azimio's murder and Puck's reaction to it, even more than Tina knew. She was so attuned to the emotions of those she cared for that she couldn't help but feel what they felt when those emotions ran high. Normally, she could filter it out, but when the Elder Being had snuffed out the big football player's life as easily as one might extinguish a candle flame, and Puck had witnessed it...well, she wouldn't burden her girlfriend by sharing the way that had felt. The fear, the pain, the trauma – she had felt it all as a physical blow, heard the screams in her mind as clearly as if she'd been standing there next to the two boys when it happened. Yet somehow she'd been able to absorb it, to withstand the blow without so much a word.

"I can't either, but you know Puck. He's a tough guy," she said, hoping she sounded like she believed it. "It'll take a while, but he'll bounce back. He always does."

"I hope so. I mean, yeah, he's a crude and obnoxious jerk most of the time, but he's our crude and obnoxious jerk," Tina chuckled, thinking about all the lewd jokes and comments to which he'd subjected them all since becoming one of the New Directions. "And beneath all that macho nonsense, I know he really cares about the glee club. He'd take a bullet for any of us."

"He just did – but for his sake, he can't ever know about it." The tone of Brittany's voice was so serious that it sent an icy chill down Tina's spine, causing her to turn onto her side again to face the blonde cheerleader. Brittany met her eyes in the darkness; Tina was struck once more by the way they seemed to glow in the dark, like a cat's. "Seriously, T. He can't. It would be really bad for him. Like, really bad. I know you think he deserves to know, and he probably does, but it would do more harm than good."

Tina frowned. She knew Brittany was right, of course; she always was when it came to this sort of thing, and it served to reinforce what Rachel, Quinn and Santana had said earlier. The fewer the number of people who knew what was going on, the better. If keeping Puck ignorant would keep more harm from occurring, then that was what they would have to do, no matter how much it went against her own personal sense of right and wrong. There was obviously a great deal more than her feelings, or those of any one individual, at stake here.

"I won't tell him. I...I just...Britt, I'm scared. I can't even begin to understand what's happening, and I hate it when I don't understand things. I mean...Rachel, Quinn and Santana are witches!" She paused, shaking her head as though that might impose some order on the chaotic thoughts swarming in her head. "Okay, I guess I could picture Santana riding around on a broom with a pointy hat on her head, but Quinn? And Rachel? The two most squeaky clean girls in all of McKinley? Like, how is that even possible?"

"Don't be scared, T." Brittany took her girlfriend in her arms, held her tightly, as though she might fly up and away. "Yeah, it's weird, but lots of things in this world are weird. Like chocolate flavored bubble gum, or Lord Tubbington's stamp collection. Or Quinn's tattoo of Ryan Seacrest."

The cheerleader gasped the moment she realized what she'd said. She hadn't meant to – it had just slipped out. Not that it would matter to Quinn, who would absolutely kill her if she found out that her deepest, darkest, most shameful secret had been divulged. "Oops – forget I said anything about that."

"Wait, what? Quinn has a tattoo...of Ryan Seacrest?! Where?" The part of Tina's large brain that loved gossip and secrets was fully activated now, much to Brittany's chagrin. The girl shook with barely suppressed laughter, a needed relief from the stress she'd been feeling to this point. "Come on, you can't tell me she's got a tattoo – especially not one like that – and then not tell me where it is! I know you know, because you guys are tight, and she tells you everything."

"You can't ever let anybody know I told you this, Tina. If she ever finds out - oh my God, who knows what she'll do to me? Promise you'll never tell. Swear it, on Lord Tubbington and Charity's lives."

Tina linked her pinky finger with Brittany's, as was their custom. Pinky-sworn oaths were the most solemn and sacred of all. That didn't keep Tina from sighing before she made the vow, of course.

"I swear on all nine lives of the two most excellent cats in this or any other universe – that's Charity and Lord Tubbington - that I will never, ever share a word of this with another soul as long as I live," she swore, in the most sincere voice she could manage. "Now spill, dammit!"

"Okay," Brittany whispered conspiratorially. "Quinn went through a...phase last summer – Rachel calls it her 'weeks of rebellion' – where she decided that she wanted a tattoo. And not just any tattoo, but the most ridiculous, ironic tattoo she could possibly get. Rachel tried to talk her out of it, of course, but Quinn can be every bit as stubborn as Rachel when she wants to be, so...anyway, she went ahead and got it on her lower back."

"Oh my God!" Tina shook with barely suppressed laughter. "I can't believe it," she gasped. "Quinn, of all people, got a tattoo of Ryan Seacrest on her back. That...that is absolutely hilarious! Do you have a picture? You know, proof?"

"I did, but then Quinn went and deleted it from my phone. How she knew I'd taken that picture, I'll never know. Rachel and I are the only ones who've ever seen it. Quinn keeps it hidden with some kind of spell; that's why no one sees it during Glee, no matter how much she spins and twirls. She's super embarrassed over the whole thing, and she's determined to make sure no one else, not even Santana, ever finds out about it."

A thought popped into Tina's head. "Why is she only hiding it, then? Couldn't she just...like, magic the thing away?"

"Because you can't heal yourself with magic; another magic user has to use her power to heal you," Brittany explained, twirling her fingers with Tina's as she spoke. "At least, that's what Rachel told me. She said that Quinn's begged and begged her to get rid of it, but Rachel won't do it – at least not right now. I think she wants Quinn to live with it until she's satisfied that Quinn's learned a lesson about 'not giving in to rash impulses,' or something like that. I don't know; by that point I'd stopped listening."

Tina giggled, a little more loudly than she'd intended. "Shit," she whispered. "I hope they didn't hear that."

"Don't worry. Quinn sleeps like the dead - especially after sex. Rachel told me that Quinn often uses sex to relieve tension after a difficult day. And Rachel is always happy to give Quinn what she needs."

"How do you know that Quinn wanted to have sex, though?" Tina sat up, and Brittany followed suit, the blankets sliding down their bodies as they moved up to prop themselves against the pillows. "They both looked absolutely exhausted, all beat up and almost dead on their feet. No way they were up for doing anything more than collapsing into bed and slipping into comas."

"There's a certain way Quinn looks at Rachel when she needs her like that. Wait – are you telling me you've never noticed that look?"

Tina shook her head. "No. Why would I? It's hard enough for me to get my mind around the fact that they're actually girlfriends, let alone the fact that they have sex."

"I know, right? But yeah, there's a certain look that Quinn gives her. It's kinda subtle, but once you've seen it, you can't miss it. I've seen her give Rachel that look in the hallways, in class, and especially in Glee. Rachel's singing really turns her on." Brittany laughed softly at the look of discomfort she could just make out on Tina's face. "And I saw it when we were all downstairs in the basement, too."

"I don't think I want to hear any more about this," Tina said. "My brain is painting all kinds of pictures I know I'll never be able to un-see."

"Sorry, not sorry. Like I said before, it's weird, but lots of things are weird. We just have to accept them, just like the fact that magic is real and our best friends know how to use it."

"Speaking of that – I know I said I wanted to help them fight against whatever it is that's threatening us, but I don't have any idea how I can do that. I don't have any magic...I don't even have any weird dreams like you do. I feel kind of useless."

"Hey." Brittany took Tina's face in her hands, looked her directly in the eye. "Don't ever call yourself that. You're amazing, T. You're super smart – probably smarter than Rachel and Quinn. You'll think of something. I know you will." She drew Tina's face close to hers, then kissed her, softly, sweetly, tenderly, wanting to communicate her faith and confidence in Tina in a deeper way than could be conveyed in words.

When Brittany finally pulled away, Tina was breathless. "Wow. What was that for?" she asked, feeling pleasantly warm and slightly light-headed. If expressions of worry and self-doubt could provoke kisses like that, she thought, she would have to say such things more often.

"I need a reason for sweet lady kisses now? What, did the rules change when I wasn't looking?"

Tina wrapped her arms around Brittany, and again, she wondered how on Earth she'd gotten so lucky.

"Nope. You never need a reason to kiss me. Especially like that. My toes are still tingling."

"That's good, right?" Brittany asked, already knowing the answer, whimsically bumping her nose against Tina's as they smiled in the darkness. "Tingling toes are good?"

They kissed again, slowly, deeply. "Yes, silly," Tina murmured against Brittany's lips. "Tingling toes are always good."

After a few more sweet lady kisses, they said their goodnights, and Brittany turned over, falling asleep quickly, as she usually did. Tina, however, lay awake in the darkness for a while longer, sifting her thoughts until an idea finally came to her. It was a good idea, she thought; not without risk, of course - but what good idea was ever completely free of risk?

Now, if I can just get Mom to agree...

Always the first to rise, Rachel was showered and dressed before anyone else. Santana had been disgruntled when asked to sleep on the living room couch, at least at first – but when Rachel had made the big coffee table vanish and then transfigured the couch into a large, exceedingly comfortable bed (complete with silk sheets, four equally comfy pillows and a ridiculously luxurious blanket), her grumbles had quickly turned to smiles and a "You have got to teach me how to do this shit," which was, Rachel knew, as close as she'd get to a compliment from the girl at that hour.

Rachel hadn't wanted to kick Santana out of the room, exactly, but when Quinn had focused her tired, yet still sparkling hazel eyes on her with that look, she'd known exactly what Quinn needed, and she wasn't about to deny her girlfriend's needs to spare Santana's feelings. Yet she'd known it would take a major gesture of good will on her part to get Santana to go along with it, as the Cheerio wasn't exactly known for being magnanimous. She felt a little bad about the whole thing, but her body felt so good now that she couldn't be all that broken up over it, especially since the bed she'd created for Santana was actually a replica of the one she used whenever she had to stay over at the Fae Queen's palace, and as such was far better than anything mere humans could even dream of sleeping on. Really, faeries made the best bedding.

One of the many perks of being a witch...if you could survive.

As Santana would soon learn. It wasn't all party tricks and shortcuts to ease and comfort. Being a witch was a deadly serious business, and those who couldn't or wouldn't recognize that essential fact quickly found out just how deadly. Rachel had seen the potential in Santana when she'd awakened her, but she also knew that the girl had a flippant streak in her that might present difficulties as her training went on – and there was no time to indulge that sort of thing. Not now.

She could feel the disturbances swirling like eddies in the magical currents that flowed between all the realms, disturbances that were far from natural, had felt them for a while now. Deep things were happening in the darker places. Powers young and old were stirring, aligning, making plans and forging weapons. Any day now, she and Quinn would be summoned to the Witches' Circle, where they would present Santana as their third, the final member of their sacred, unbreakable Triad - and if they were lucky, they might get a glimpse as to what the seers and counselors were planning in reaction to what was going on elsewhere. Rachel's own vision was murky, and Quinn possessed none of that special sight – but Brittany, she mused, seemed to possess something like it, but not quite. It was something different, something unique – which, duh, of course it was; everything about that girl was different and unique. That was why everybody loved her, after all.

Rachel hummed absently to herself as she flitted around the kitchen, making coffee, quietly pulling out the ingredients for a lovely breakfast from the pantry and refrigerator. Thank goodness her fathers went away on business so often – they never noticed when she magically replaced all the food she and her friends tended to eat. Or perhaps they did and just never said anything. Her dads were good like that, she supposed. Either way, while they fretted and feared for the safety of their only daughter, they'd been assured that together, she and Quinn were more than powerful enough to protect themselves and the Berry and Fabray homes from just about anything.

Still, Rachel was glad that the Elder Being had shown up where it had, and not at their doorstep (or Judy Fabray's, for that matter). Then again, poor Azimio. She wished more than anything that they could have saved him from that terrible creature. He had never been very nice to her or any of the other members of the Glee Club - except for Puck, of course – but the fate he'd met was not one she would ever wish on anybody. Not even Sue Sylvester.

She heard stirrings in the living room and upstairs and quickened her movements, using a bit of magic to speed up the progress of the coffee maker. Brittany was a morning person, she knew, so she'd have no problem with her, but Quinn was notoriously slow to wake until that first jolt of caffeine hit her system. She imagined Santana to be much the same way, but had no idea what to expect from Tina. The coffee maker pronounced its beverage ready, and she resumed humming to herself as she poured cups of the steaming hot brew for Quinn, Santana and Tina, making sure there was plenty of milk, cream and sugar on the table for whoever wanted them, then poured glasses of orange juice for herself and Brittany.

Not surprisingly, Brittany was the first to come down the stairs, followed shortly after by a (thankfully) not too grumpy looking Tina. She heard Santana groan at the sound of their footsteps, and then a yawn from the luxurious bed that Rachel had conjured for her.

"All right, I'm up, I'm up. Jeez, you people are noisy. Rachel, where's your bathroom again?" the Cheerio asked, sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes.

"Down the hall and to your left," Rachel chirped. Brittany and Tina sat themselves down at the kitchen table, the tall blonde waving cheerfully at her and saying "Hi, Rachel," the other girl slumping in her seat as she poured cream and sugar into her coffee with a mumbled, "Morning."

By contrast, Santana lumbered off to the bathroom wordlessly, closing the door more forcefully than she'd probably intended. The sound made Tina jump in her seat, spilling a little coffee on the table – but before the girl could say a word, Rachel gestured, and the spill vanished as though it had never been there. Tina looked at her as if to say, I could have gotten that, but Rachel simply smiled and placed two small plates of toast, two knives, a container of butter and a jar of raspberry jam in front of her and Brittany.

"How'd you know I like raspberry jam? Don't tell me you read my mind," Tina exclaimed. "It's way too early in the morning for that kind of thing."

"She didn't," Brittany said. "I told her a while ago, when she was thinking of inviting all the Glee girls over for a sleepover. Right, Rachel?"

Rachel nodded. "That's correct."

"Oh. Sorry, Rachel. I'm still getting used to...to the whole magic thing." Tina looked genuinely contrite, but even if she hadn't, Rachel couldn't blame her for her reaction. She reminded herself that the girl had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and was probably still trying to wrap her mind around everything.

"That's all right," she replied, shrugging off the comment with her usual pleasant smile. "Do you prefer waffles or pancakes? I can make both – though Quinn is a lot better with the waffle iron..."

The sound of footsteps clomping down the stairs was only partly obscured by Quinn's groggy voice. "By which she means she routinely almost commits arson with the thing, and should never be allowed anywhere near it."

"Very funny, Quinn," Rachel said archly, crossing her arms as the adorably sleepy-looking pink-haired witch dragged her fuzzy slippered feet across the kitchen floor to stand before her with her lips pursed, demanding a kiss. Rolling her eyes, but smiling, she uncrossed her arms and pecked Quinn's lips. "And good morning. Your morning hilarity has now earned you the task of working the waffle iron – after you've had your coffee." She pointed to the still-steaming mug in front of the empty chair next to Brittany. "Sit."

"Yes, ma'am." Quinn saluted, then slowly lowered herself into the chair. Nodding to Brittany and Tina, who said "Good morning" almost in unison, she turned her attention to the coffee mug, enjoying the aroma wafting up from it for a moment before reaching over for the milk and sugar. She poured both into the mug, stirred it with the spoon Rachel had placed next to her plate, then finally raised it to her lips for that first delectable sip.

"Ahhh. Rachel may not be so great with the waffle iron, but she does make a mean cup of coffee," she said happily, to the bemusement of the other two girls. "Thank you, sweetie."

Before Rachel could respond, Santana emerged from the bathroom with fluffy white towels wrapped around her hair and body, leaving her shoulders and lower legs bare. Brittany lowered her head, not wanting to look with Tina sitting right there, even though she'd seen Santana wearing even less than that numerous times in the Cheerios locker room. Tina lowered hers as well, only too aware that Santana's physical attributes far exceeded her own, no matter how much Brittany tried to tell her otherwise.

Secretly, she envied Santana's glowing caramel skin, her high cheekbones and her Cheerios-workout trained body, wished she had the cheerleader's washboard abs and sleek legs. Looking at Santana just reminded her of everything she wasn't, which led to her constantly questioning why Brittany had inexplicably chosen her over Santana. Everybody always went on and on about how beautiful Quinn was, but to Tina's eyes, Santana was just as beautiful, if not more so. She could admit that maybe some of that had to do with the fact that Brittany had once had a relationship with Santana (a mostly physical one, according to Brittany). She'd tried very hard to block that unfortunate but inescapable reality out of her mind from the moment she and Brittany had gotten together, but the truth was that it was never very far from her thoughts; and the worst thing about it was that she just could not shake the fear that Brittany would dump her out of the blue one day and go back to Santana. It was always there, lurking like a shadow behind her heart, and she hated it.

Was that an unspoken reason behind her declaration that she wanted to be part of the battle against whatever mystical threat was looming over them? Yes, of course, she wanted to protect Brittany with everything she had, lack of magical ability or not; but she also felt a need to prove herself somehow, to show that she was worthy of Brittany's love and attention. That she didn't need to be a stunning beauty like Santana or Quinn in order to be good enough to be the one who held Brittany's heart.

Santana, for her part, seemed oblivious to the other two witches' stares, to the beads of water still glistening on the skin of her neck, her shoulders, her calves. She inhaled deeply, let it out with an emphatic "Whew!" and said, "I used your shampoo and conditioner, Rachel. You're kinda low on it now. Hope you don't mind. Got any Lucky Charms? That's Britt's favorite cereal, you know."

"Er, you're welcome, Santana," Rachel said. "And I've got several more bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the closet, so don't worry about that. No Lucky Charms though, I'm afraid." She turned to Brittany with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Britt."

"That's okay. I haven't eaten them in a while, actually. Not since Lord Tubbington tried to put out a hit on Lucky the Leprechaun. He's so the jealous type."

"I think I need more coffee after that one," deadpanned Quinn, shaking her head as the others burst out laughing. She rose from the table, grabbing the spatula off the counter, pointing the utensil at Santana and drawing a circle in the air with it. "You. Waffles or pancakes?"

"You know I'm all about the waffles, bitch." Santana grinned, holding the towel on her head in place with one hand while swatting at the brandished kitchen implement with the other. "Let the batter be poured!"

Rachel rolled her eyes at her friends' absurd antics. "Okay, but first you've got to put on some clothes," she said, watching Quinn flick the spatula at Santana as though engaged in some sort of domestic fencing match. "My kitchen is not a clothing-optional space. Go."

"Yeah, well, you may have an oven, but this -" Santana pointed at herself. " - is the hottest thing in this kitchen, and you know it."

And with that, the Cheerio made her exit, executing a mock storm-out that even Rachel could not have bettered, leaving gales of laughter in her wake. Except from Tina, whose sigh went unnoticed.

After breakfast, Tina and Brittany departed; Brittany stated that if she didn't get home to feed Charity and Lord Tubbington, they might sell off some of her stuff to get cash to order pizzas, while Tina said she needed to speak to her mom about something that could help them all with their situation. This drew raised eyebrows from both Rachel and Quinn, and even Brittany looked surprised, but Tina assured them that she would phrase things in such a way that her mom wouldn't get suspicious or start calling anybody's parents.

"Do you need to call your parents?" Rachel asked Santana, who was still basking in her newly discovered ability to create her own hot outfits with magic, gazing at herself in Rachel's bedroom mirror, pleased with the tight striped dress she wore, and the way it clung to her in all the right places.

"What? Oh, no. No, they're cool." She shook her head. "They're at some medical conference somewhere. I'll just need to check on the house at some point."

"Yes, once you're done checking yourself out," cracked Quinn, before blowing a bubble and letting it pop loudly. "Rachel, I think you may have created a monster."

"You just wish you had an ass like this, Q. Well, actually no, I take that back. I should say you wish you still had an ass like this. Not for nothing, but if you'd stayed on the Cheerios, you would. Honestly, I never understood why you quit the squad in the first place. It's not like you weren't handling both Glee and cheerleading."

Quinn stuck out her tongue. "First of all, my posterior is just fine, thank you very much. Ask Rachel if you don't believe me." She arched an eyebrow at her girlfriend, who blushed in answer. "And second of all, you understood perfectly well why I quit the Cheerios. It wasn't that it was conflicting with Glee; it was that it was conflicting with my relationship. I needed more time with Rachel. Well, and because she wouldn't allow a girl with pink hair on the squad. Simple as that."

"Yeah, right. Nothing is ever simple as that with you, Q. I remember you having some kind of hush-hush closed door meeting with Coach Sue, and both of you coming out of her office looking like you'd seen a fucking ghost. Right after that, she told us that you were no longer a Cheerio, and not to ask her or you any questions about it."

"Which, to my eternal surprise, you didn't. Thanks for that, by the way. And for telling everybody in Glee to do the same. Otherwise I don't think I would have ever gotten Kurt and Mercedes out of my hair – you know how those two are."

"Don't mention it. Seriously – don't mention it. I've had a good day so far, and I'd rather not spoil it by thinking about those two gossip hounds."

Santana plopped herself down on the bed next to Quinn. Rachel eyed the two of them warily, knowing all too well how volatile their chemistry had been in the past. The last thing she wanted to do was referee any fights between them, when what they should be doing was starting Santana's magical training. Her gaze flitted back and forth between the two proud, strong young women, nervous as to where this conversation would lead. Quinn held her secrets close; Rachel was aware that there were some dark things in her past, the details of which Quinn had never divulged. But she had an idea of what this was about, and she wasn't sure how Santana would handle it. She supposed it was as good a test of their newly formed Triad bond as any, but she didn't want to see Quinn upset if things went poorly.

"So - now that we're all Piper, Prue and Phoebe around here, I figure you can give me all the dirt on what really went down with Coach. Come on, Q. You know you can tell me anything. No matter what, we've always been able to be totally honest with each other."

At Quinn's sigh and nod of acquiescence, Rachel reached out to Quinn on their private frequency. Quinn, are you really going to tell her about – I mean, are you sure?

Yes. And you can relax. I'm fine. Really, I'm okay with telling her. She...she should know.

"Okay, Santana. You really want to know the truth? Here it is. My mother got possessed by the spirit of my evil great-grandmother, who would like to see both Rachel and me cut off from our magic and left to die in a desert somewhere. Mostly because she's a Berry and I'm a Fabray and she's still nursing a grudge from a couple hundred years ago, and it deeply offends her that we're in love. I needed to quit the squad so I could keep an eye on my mother and make sure great-gran didn't come out and make her do something awful as a way of punishing her for allowing me to be with Rachel."

Santana's eyes widened, and she shook her head "no" slowly, very slowly. Then her look of disbelief was replaced by a smile...and she burst out laughing.

"Oh, man, Q, that...that's a good one. I mean, I probably would have bought the pink hair thing, honestly, 'cause I know how weird Coach Sue is about her Cheerios and their hair, but...wow. Possession? Seriously, that's what you're going with?"

She wiped away her tears of laughter, but when her vision cleared, she saw that Quinn's expression was serious – really, truly super serious. Her hazel eyes were so cold that they looked like marbles of green ice, and there wasn't even the tiniest hint of a smile at her lips. No one had a death stare like Quinn, and even Santana was not immune to its tendency to make people feel nervous and unsettled. She looked to Rachel, silently asking if what Quinn had just said could really be true, and at Rachel's almost imperceptible nod of affirmation, she looked back at Quinn and swallowed hard. She had the feeling she'd somehow failed a test she hadn't known she was taking.

All right, I screwed up. Big time. I admit it, Santana chided herself. It was rare for her to ever regret anything she said, but now she found the idea of hurting Quinn to feel something like stabbing herself in the gut. Like, it was actually physically painful. She wondered when that had happened.

"So...you're not joking. Oooookayyyyy. Shit, Q. I...I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. That's a hell of a situation – pardon the pun – to be in. Is there anything I can do to...to help?"

Quinn lowered her eyes, but not before seeing in the soft expression on her face that Santana was really, truly sorry for her flippant reaction. The truth was, she hadn't even talked all that much about the situation with Rachel, and it actually felt good to unburden herself about it a little bit. It was also good to know that the witch-bond between her and Santana was strong.

"I wish you could. I'm pretty sure I've done all I can, anyway." Quinn said softly. Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes, which were much softer-looking now than they'd been just a few moments before. "I've got great-gran locked away in a corner of my mom's mind, but I haven't been able to get her out of there completely, and I - I'm always worried that she's going to get loose again and do something to hurt her. Who knows what havoc she might cause?"

Rachel crossed the room to kneel in front of Quinn, taking her hand and gently kissing her fingers, wanting desperately to console the girl she loved so much.

"Fuck. That's terrible," Santana said. "Well, maybe now that we've got this triplet thing happening, our combined badass-ness will force your great-abuela to fly off to Get-the-Hell-Out-of-Here-Ville and leave your mom alone. I mean, I'm sure that Rachel's tried to help you, right?"

"Quinn hasn't wanted to quote-unquote burden me with this particular problem. Save your strength, she keeps telling me." Rachel looked up into Quinn's sad eyes, saw the love she felt reflected back at her. "So she's been trying to handle it alone, and to her credit, she's done a very good job so far. We're hoping to find a more permanent solution at the Witches' Circle, which will be happening very soon." Her questioning look at Quinn was met with an affirmative nod, and she rose, smoothing out her skirt once she was fully upright. "If the answers are anywhere, that's where they'll probably be found."

"Hold up - what the hell is a Witches' Circle?" Santana stood, suddenly feeling more than a little confused. "What's that? You all have some kind of yearly convention or something? Like, with name tags that say Hello, I'm a witch?"

Quinn chuckled, coming back to herself. She was not one to allow grief and pain to overtake her, no matter the situation. Yes, occasionally her emotions would build to the point where she felt like they were too much to handle at once, but she firmly believed that she ruled her emotions, that she wasn't ruled by them. A witch rode that balance carefully; it was one of the keys to survival.

"Not exactly. It's more like a State of the Magical World kind of thing," she explained as Rachel plopped down into the spot Santana had vacated next to her. "We welcome new witches into the ranks, remember those who have passed away, take stock of what's happening in the magical world. There's a lot happening now, as you already know, so this Circle is especially important. Which is one of the reasons why you're coming with us, whenever it happens."

"Like, okay. I'm as up for a sudden vacation as much as the next girl, but how am I going to square that with Coach Sue? And Principal Figgins, for that matter? What about Glee?"

Rachel smiled widely - Santana instantly recognized it as her patented I know something you don't know smile, familiar from way too many glee club rehearsals. It wasn't her favorite of the many smiles Rachel had. No – her favorite was the confident, determined smile Rachel always put on right when she was about to go on stage, knowing that the New Directions were about to crush the competition...it was sweet, but also kind of...sexy?

She gave herself a mental slap.

Wait – when did I start noticing, and cataloguing, Rachel's smiles? Oh, man. I can't be crushing on Rachel, can I? I need to get a hold of myself. Quinn is my best friend! And yeah, she's super hot too, but...fuck, I've gotta stop thinking about this.

"They'll never know," Rachel said, clapping her hands in delight. "That's the genius part of it. The Witches' Circle isn't in a physical place on Earth, you see. It's in another dimension we call the Weirding, which – are you ready for this? - exists outside of time.While we're there, the normal rules by which we live on Earth don't apply. Days will pass there, but only a blink will take place here. I'll admit I don't fully understand how it all works, but it's amazing, don't you think?"

Quinn nodded in agreement with her excitable girlfriend, then continued to explain, as Santana still looked more than a bit confused. "But just in case, we'll have animated simulacra of ourselves here to take our places should the need arise."

"Simu-what, now?" Santana's face scrunched up in an expression of incomprehension and disbelief. "Auntie Tana needs you to 'splain that some more, please and thank you."

"Simulacra. Magically constructed entities that look, move, act and sound exactly like us in every way. While we're in the Weirding, the simulacra will act as decoys, and as our eyes and ears as well, able to alert us if anything happens back here in Lima."

"Okay, I understand absolutely none of this, but it still sounds kinda fun. I've always kinda wanted to have a clone of myself. Can we keep 'em going after we get back? Cause I mean, seriously, I love Mr. Schue and everything, but his history class can get really boring."

They all laughed at that, and the mood in the room lightened considerably. Their hearts beat in sync, and the witch-bond grew stronger still. Soon they would be a true Three-in-One, sharing hearts, minds, bodies and souls – and possibly the most powerful triad in all of Witchkind.

And if what Rachel had been feeling held true, they would need every bit of that power, and maybe more.

"No, Santana, we can't. Not unless there's some kind of extreme circumstance that requires them to remain active. Those are the rules," she said. Quinn's fingers stroked at her scalp, brushed through her long hair. She almost purred with contentment. "Right, Quinn?"

"It's true. Keeping a simulacrum active indefinitely would require far too much energy; it's impractical, not to mention frowned upon. They have been known to go rogue every now and then, and the Circle hates having to send hunters after them - because once they go rogue, their creators can't control them anymore, and they become like rebellious children. It's a use of resources that the Circle considers wasteful."

"Well, that sucks," Santana groaned. "I guess there's no escaping Mr. Schue's class after all."

"Which reminds me – we have homework," said Rachel airily, eliciting another, louder groan from the Cheerio. "Now, now. We're witches, so we can speed-read and speed-write everything. And then we can get started on something even more important."

Santana quirked an eyebrow at her. "Which would be...?"

"Your training. What, you thought that just because I taught you how to conjure a couple of items you know everything already? That's not how this works, Santana. You have a lot to learn, and we don't have a whole lot of time to teach you. Things are stirring. Bad things. We need to get you ready for that, as well as the Witches' Circle."

"As much as you'll probably hate hearing me say this – and you will, because I'll be saying it quite a bit as your training goes on – Rachel is right," said Quinn. "I don't have the sight she does, but I can tell you that the fact that we've already encountered an Elder Being is not a good sign. If anything, it's a pretty serious indication of what we're going to be up against."

Santana swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as dust.

"And you've trained who, may I ask? You're telling me the Circle doesn't have its own Hogwarts?"

Grinning, Rachel replied, "No Hogwarts, I'm afraid; we used to have something like it, but it was destroyed a long time ago by entities we're forbidden to name. Yes, apparently it was that bad. But not to worry – we have, in fact, trained, or at least had a hand in training, other witches. Sunshine Corazon, for one."

"Wait, what? You mean that tiny girl who went to McKinley for a minute, then transferred to Carmel right when their glee club all came down with the worst outbreak of mono in Lima history?"

"Yes," said Rachel. "She wasn't very strong, magically speaking, but when she saw how terribly their director, that awful man Goolsby, was treating them, she felt it was the least she could do."

"And it didn't hurt when the doctors found that Goolsby started the outbreak by kissing one of his students, which resulted in him getting fired," Quinn added.

"Wanky," Santana said approvingly. "And who else? I mean, she can't be the only one, right?"

Rachel looked to Quinn, seeking permission to reveal one of their most important secrets. She'll find out eventually anyway, one way or another, Quinn's dry voice answered in her mind.

She took a very deep breath. "Someone you know very well, actually. Someone whose identity as a Witch is known to very few, for reasons we're not at liberty to discuss."

Santana was practically vibrating. She was thrilled and fearful at the same time about starting her training, but those feelings were pushed aside by her curiosity about this 'secret witch.' The suspense was positively killing her. Who could they possibly be talking about?

"Who is it, dammit? I swear, if you don't spill in the next five seconds, short stack, I'll -"

Suddenly a voice spoke in their minds. A voice Santana did, in fact, know very well. Her expression curdled like weeks-old milk at the sound of it.

Hola, chicas! It's me, Santana. They're talking about me. Holly Holliday – or Ms. Holliday if you're nasty.

"Oh, hell no!" Santana yelled. "You mean to tell me you trained the most unreliable, not to mention the most irresponsible, substitute teacher in the history of substitute teachers to be a damned witch? The one who thought singing a song would get Brittany to love me?" Hot tears formed in her eyes, which narrowed in a fierce glare of displeasure, and she wagged her finger in front of her face for emphasis. "No me gusta."

Hey, look. Brittany's a gentle soul. I really thought it would touch her in a way that would bring her around. How was I to know she was already in love with Tina? I mean, ouch.

Quinn lowered her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers. That's really not helping, Ms. Holliday.

"Where is that bitch, anyway? I mean, not in my head, but physically. Because I'd like to have a few words with her, Lima Heights style!" Santana fumed, pacing around the room furiously, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. "I don't need magic to kick her scrawny little blonde butt from here all the way to Cleveland, that's for damned sure."

Holly Holliday's witch-voice was amused. Oh, come on, sweet cheeks. Don't be like that. We're all sisters now, remember? Where's the solidarity? Where's the comradeship? Where's the love?

Santana responded only by yelling even louder, releasing a stream of epithets in Spanish that surely would have curled Rachel's toes had Mr. Schue ever taught his students how to swear back when he was still teaching Spanish.

Rachel switched to the private link she shared with Quinn. Maybe this wasn't such a spectacular idea after all.

You think? came the expected acerbic reply. Any ideas as to how we can get Santana out of rage mode and back on program?

The last thing I want to do right now is muck with her emotions. Santana is volatile even at the best of times, but right now I wouldn't trust any magic I directed at her not to simply boomerang right back at me.

Quinn sighed, shaking her head. This was definitely not the way she'd envisioned the start of Santana's training. Then she felt the buzz of her phone in her back pocket and reached around to see who was calling or texting. When she saw the screen, the breath caught in her throat, producing a strangled cry of wordless horror. The phone fell out of her hand as though it had suddenly become intangible.

Santana's ranting cut off abruptly as Rachel found herself holding Quinn upright, the girl's body suddenly boneless; the Witch-bond had instantly let them both know that something serious was happening, or had already happened.

Quinn? Quinn, what's wrong? Rachel's mind-voice was frantic. Please, talk to me, Quinn!

Santana picked up the phone from where it lay on the floor at the pink-haired witch's feet, the message still displayed on the now cracked screen. She read the words, and one hand flew to her mouth, which had dropped wide open in disbelief.

"Oh, shit. Rachel, Quinn's great-grandma has gone and set Casa Fabray on fire!"