Something Wicked

by motherconfessor

Summary:

While an apprentice witch, Agatha grows frustrated when she's not permitted to learn magic.

Until someone makes her an offer that she can't refuse.

Notes:

Please note that this is likely a spoiler for the show.

I've read some theories, they make sense to me about Rio, I'm not saying it IS canon, but if it s, this is my version of how their relationship came to exist.

Chapter 1: First Blood

Notes:

Whoops. Realised I forgot to change that anyone can comment. Sorry! I forgot the default had changed <3

Agatha was on her hands and knees, scrubbing at the floor. She was seventeen, nearly eighteen, and had been placed into Enid’s care. She was meant to be learning witchcraft. So far, all she’d been taught was the gross names for plants. 

Toe of dog, buttercup leaves. Wool of bat, moss. Tongue of dog, hounds tooth. 

Ugh. It had been nearly two years. Two years of working as an apprentice and the most magic she got to witness was slowing down the bleeding following a birth in the village. Witch hazel, and some pressure while Enid had whispered some words to help knit the flesh skin back. 

Agatha hadn’t been able to even hear the words with how loud the baby had been screaming. And when she asked, Enid had glared at her and warned her to pay closer attention next time. 

Some help.  

Stopping, she sat back and sighed as she looked at the floor. It’d be easier if she was taught how to enchant the scrub its self to do the work, but apparently that was cheating and being lazy, even though she knew for a fact that Enid’s knees would not put up with doing the floor, so the woman clearly used to enchant her household objects before Agatha was placed into her care.

A knock sounded at the back door and Agatha stood up, fixing her skirts as she removed the apron to peak behind the door. 

“Mildred?”

“Have you done your chores yet?” Mildred asked, peeking into the home to look around. “Come on, I want to show you something!”

Agatha looked back at the floors and decided that she’d done enough. Taking the bucket, she emptied it out and set it aside to dry as she smiled at Mildred. Her friend, having just turned eighteen in the last month, wore her strawberry blonde hair in a braided crown, having woven dried flowers into it, because she thought it made her look pretty.

Agatha thought it made her look a little silly, but Mildred was her only witch friend and she didn’t want to ruin that. 

“Come on,” Mildred said, snatching at her friend’s hand as she lead her to the woods, further away from the town. There was a clearing nearby but the brush and dead foliage around meant that anyone snooping would be heard stumbling through the woods, giving them time to hide what they were up to.

The sky was blue, the sun coming up to midday as Mildred turned on her heel and grinned. 

“Look,” she said, and there she waved her hands and showed off a new spell she’d been taught. 

Mildred was lifted into the air, floating like a dandelion in the wind as she twirled and then stumbled as she landed on the ground again. 

Agatha laughed, watching her friend’s pale cheeks turn pink. “Still learning landings?” 

“I’ve only just learned the spell. But isn’t it wonderful?”

It was certainly something. 

“How did you learn to do it?”

“Mrs Baker allowed me to look at another page of the coven’s grimoire. It was…wonderful, Agatha. Like all of the world’s magic spilled through you. Your body feels warm and it tickles, and then…I can see why they’re careful in letting you read it. I could just sit and read it forever,” she trailed off, sighing. “When do you think Mrs Brown will allow you your first page?”

Agatha had asked this very question, once, and the woman had threatened to use her switch on her if she spoke out of turn. You haven’t proven yourself girl. You’re a poor witch until you’ve learned the basics. 

“Soon,” she lied. “After my eighteenth birthday.”

“Ohh, how wonderful! Promise you’ll tell me the moment you get a spell,” Mildred said, grabbing her hands. “Oh please, each spell you learn is new and different for everyone. What if you learn fire spells? That would be incredible.”

Agatha tasted bitterness on her tongue as she nodded. 

She felt as Mildred grabbed her wrists, twirling her in a circle, and while she tried to smile, she couldn’t help but feel there was something unfair. 

She had specifically been placed into Enid Brown’s care because Enid was known to deal with the most difficult of women and shape them into something worthy. Where as Lucille Baker was lighter, friendly. She would have seen Agatha’s potential and taught her more than just herbs and birthing practices. 

Agatha wanted more. She wanted rituals and runes and learning to fly. She wanted to summon a familiar. She knew that if someone showed her how to do any of it once, she’d know it. She’d always been good at picking things up.

But scrubbing floors and cooking meals wasn’t magic. She could milk the cow and fetch chicken eggs all Enid wanted, but none of that taught her anything. 

“I’ll show you what else I’ve learned,” Mildred said and at this point, Agatha pulled away. 

“Enid will be home soon. I need to make sure we have enough wood for the oven.” 

“I can help you with that.”

“No!” Agatha said, louder than she intended. She swallowed back the bitter taste and smiled and sweetly as she could, trying to ignore the confused look on her friend’s face. “You should keep practicing your magic. It’s almost a full moon and you’ll be expected to help the coven.”

She turned, before Mildred could say another word, and left to return back to Enid’s cottage. 

The place was small, with a patch of land around it that contained a few animals. The women in the village knew to come to Enid when it came to difficult pregnancies. Or even unwanted ones. Agatha found the whole thing rather frustrating. 

She had no desire to be a midwife, or a woman of divination––though, she would admit that the few times heard whispers about haruspicy, she’d been intrigued. It was old magic, practiced in Rome and most of those types of old magics were deemed forbidden and dark. 

Though no one would explain why they were labelled as such.

There were so many rules and do nots when it came to magic and no one was teaching her why. Outside of identifying herbs and learning to read latin and greek, there was very little of any magic teaching and she was bored. 

Mildred couldn’t even read Ancient Greek and yet she was allowed to read from the Coven’s Grimoire. Her private studies included reading from Lucille’s own book, and yet if Agatha dared to each brush her fingertips over Enid’s, the woman would cane the back of her hand until the skin bled, and then she was sent to chores, like cleaning out the cow’s manure and placing it over the garden beds, or raking it into the grass. 

It wasn’t fair.

None of it was fair. 

She pushed her way into the cottage and checked that Enid was still out––helping the Smiths across the other side of town, most likely. 

And then Agatha crept into the witch’s bedroom and reached into the bedside table, carefully lifting the false bottom to reveal Enid’s Grimoire.

Fine. If Enid wouldn’t teach her magic, she’d teach herself.

She’d teach herself something interesting. Something better than anything Mildred knew. 

Her eyes flicked through the pages, not caring if Enid caught her, she’d take the damned caning if it meant she could finally have a taste of real actual witchcraft.

And then she paused, her fingers catching on a thicker piece. Looking over it, she realised the page wasn’t just randomly different texture, it was two pages that were stuck together. 

Enid barely checked the book outside of the healing section anyway. On the free sides were both two boring pieces of magic. One was for digging up mandrakes, something Enid would never use, and the other was for finding water to dig a well.

Even Agatha knew how to do that.

Carefully, heading into the kitchen, she took the paring knife and cut the two pages out, and then carefully tried to remove the bits of paper that remained, folding the other pages around it at the very ends, so Enid would only see if she was looking for it.

Some of the ink and wax stuck to the knife––she’d have to clean that off before Enid saw it, or she’d know to look.

Shoving the book back where it belonged, Agatha looked up, through the window, and caught sighed of Enid returning.

Stuffing the piece of paper down her dress, against her stays, she headed into the main area of the house and wrapped the apron back around her waist, throwing the pairing knife in the pocket to clean the ink off of later. 

She went to the kitchen counter where the dough had remained resting on the wooden board from this morning, and picked it up, taking it outside. 

She managed to gather the already cut wood and place it in the outdoor clay oven––a low fire had already been burning, but she stoked it with the new wood, setting the dough in just as Enid entered the house. 

Agatha pretended not to notice as she began stacking the fire in such a way that it would allow the dough to cook––there was a hearth inside where she would cook the strew, but it wasn’t sufficient for a good loaf by dinner time. It was only as she got the fire going to level needed to bake the bread in the oven that the woman came outside to check on her.

“The floors are only half-done,” she said. “I thought I taught you better than that, girl. You’ve had all morning and you’ve half cleaned the floors, tracked in new leaves and…what’s in your hair.”

Agatha paused, reaching up to where the woman’s steely vision was cut to in her hair. She lifted it up and pulled away a leaf, dropping it to the ground. 

“What have you been up to?” Enid demanded. 

“Apparently half-cleaning the floor,” she said. “I also gathered and cut firewood and made dough, if it pleases you.”

“Don’t lie to me, girl.”

Agatha breathed in, placing a hand on her chest as she felt the paper crinkle under her dress. It wouldn’t do well to start an argument. Not when she was so close to doing something. “Mildred visited,” she admitted. “She wanted to show me her new found magic.”

“She shouldn’t be sharing that with you.”

Agatha shrugged, “Lucille––”

“Mrs Baker.”

“Mrs Baker,” Agatha corrected, trying not to roll her eyes. Her lungs were burning with frustration but she took a deep breath, calming herself. “Mrs Baker allowed her to read another page from Coven Grimoire.”

“Hmph. She’s weak on the girl. Just you wait, that girl will take the easy way out of everything, and do something dangerous that will get herself killed. A witch must learn before they can do.”

“Perhaps I could learn by practicing,” Agatha said, her tone unmasked. It was a mistake.

Enid’s eyes met hers. “You couldn’t draw a sigil to save yourself. Until you can steep a tea properly, there’s nothing to be learned outside of what I’ve given you, already.”

Agatha let out a breath. “Steeping a tea is not the same as doing magic. None of these chores have anything to do with magic,” she stated, rapidly feeling all the frustration begin to boil. “I’ve learned every plant, all of its names in every language. I’ve read Homer and Tacitus in their original languages perfectly, and you won’t even teach me a damned spell that could be useful as starting a fucking wood––”

The slap shut her up and Agatha stared at the ground as the pain bloomed over her cheek. 

“Get inside.”

“No.”

“Get inside, girl. Or these coming lashings will be on your back.”

“No,” Agatha said again, meeting her eye. “I’m done being your apprentice. Bake your own bread.” 

“No one will take you in. Not even the coven if you leave. You have until sundown to return and take your lashing, or I’ll place a banishment hex on you.”

Agatha boots were heavy as she walked away, not looking back. She pushed her way through to the woods, through the clearing and was unsurprised to see it was quiet. Midday had passed. Mildred would have returned to Lucille and begun prepping for dinner, if she hadn’t already started a stew. 

Reaching down into her dress, she pulled out the pieces of paper and looked them over. What would she do if she unpeeled whatever had caused the papers to stick, and found it to be nothing more than a stupid jinx?

With her nails, she carefully worked at the two pages, unsticking them from each other––the paper was thick, and with careful work, she managed to pull the two pages apart.

Her eyes drifted over them and realised that they were a pair. 

The words were smudged between the pages, but Agatha knew if she was careful, she could work it out. 

It was a ritual spell––the only ingredient required was blood of someone who’d never been in a ritual before. Which was easy because Enid had never allowed her to participate in any of the coven’s rituals. Even Mildred had been apart of one when she was sixteen.

She could read the inscription and realised it was a find familiar spell. 

If she had a familiar, she’d be able to do some magic, without having to read from a grimoire. They’d be basics, but enough for her to leave Salem and find her own way. 

With her hands, she cleared out most of the rocks and leaves to draw the markings in the ground, copying the text. 

And then, taking out the knife from her apron, she repeated the latin phrase, calling the earth to her, before she cut her hand, bleeding down onto the markings and called for her blood––untainted by rituals––to summon forth her familiar. 

Her eyes closed, listening as the birds grew quiet. Clouds carried over the sun, darkening the space and then…

Nothing? 

Agatha frowned, looking over the pages to check she hadn’t missed a step.

“Technically,” a warm, feminine voice said, “you wanted famulus. Not familia.”

Agatha turned around, facing a woman. A witch, she realised instantly, though there was nothing to say why knew that. 

“Don’t tell me I summon a relative?” Agatha asked.

The witch laughed. “Not quite. But you didn’t summon a servant either,” she said, smiling at her. “But I am curious…Agatha. You stole some pieces of paper, came out into the woods, and…what? Expected that summoning a familiar would grant you the piece of magic you feel you so rightly deserve?”

“So, what, you’re a divination witch?” Agatha hated how the witch made her feel small as she walked around her. 

“Ooh, close. But no,” the woman said, smiling at her. “You know if you wanted power, real, actual power, your Coven is hiding a powerful tome.”

Agatha paused, looking at her. “Their Grimoire?” 

 The witch laughed. “That tawdry thing? That book is barely a century old. No, they have something far more powerful in their grasp,” She smiled, looking at Agatha. “But only a witch of the coven is allowed to touch its warding, so…how about you and I make a deal. I’ll help you get the power you so rightly are owed. I’ll even give you a taste for free. And in return, when you’re made an acolyte in this coven, you will get that book and return it to me.”

Agatha frowned. “Why wouldn’t I just keep it for myself if it’s that powerful?”

The woman shrugged. “You could, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Every New Moon, come here, and I’ll teach you magic. I’ll help to ensure you become an acolyte to the Coven, and in a year’s time. Exactly a year from today’s date, you will hand the book over to me.”

“And that’s all you want? The book.”

“Well, and to help a fellow witch gain her rightful place in the world,” the woman said, smiling at her. Holding out her, she raised her eyebrows. “So…do we have a deal Agatha Harkness.”

Agatha took the outstretched arm, clasping her forearms in a witch’s binding. “We do.”

The witch tugged her closer, causing Agatha to stumble, and with her other hand, tangled in into Agatha’s long, dark hair before she kissed her. 

It was fast, furious and Agatha kissed back, moaning into her mouth as the woman’s teeth caught her lip, biting down hard enough to make it bleed––but the pain felt good. Right.

And then as quickly as it happened, it was over and the woman stepped back, smiling as she licked her lips and let go of Agatha’s hand, walking around her. “I’ll see you at new moon, Agatha. But I think it’s time you returned back home.”

Agatha turned to see where she was going, but the witch was gone, and all that was left was the tingle on her lips.

Reaching up to touch her cut, she realised her mouth had healed. 

So a green witch, she realised, breathing in as she felt the strangle tingle of magic wash over her.

There was a crackle in her fingertips and Agatha opened her eyes and lifted her hands up, feeling the magic swirl around her. 

Oh, she realised. She was going to like this. 

Chapter 2: Honey Cakes

Summary:

She leant forward and weakly, Agatha stopped her. “This feels like you keep making excuses to kiss me.”

The marks Enid left on her upper back had healed from painful to the irritating stage as she rolled her shoulders, trying to alleviate the itch as she washed the laundry, scrubbing at a particular stain on the apron. She paused, taking a moment to look around, as if checking that Enid hadn’t snuck up on her.

But Enid she was still meeting with the other witches, discussing the push of the rising pressure. The mother that had given birth only a few weeks prior, had fallen ill shortly after Enid’s last visit, and there were whispers as to why. 

Turning back to the laundry, Agatha looked at the stubborn stain and rose her hand above to––

“Agatha! There you are, I’ve been knocking at your front door for what seemed like ages. I thought you may have gone into the town or worse.”

Agatha stood up, dropping the laundry as she turned around. Mildred stood there, basket in hand.

“I’ve been told to avoid the village without a chaperone. Apparently it’s unseemly for a woman,” Agatha said, trying to resist rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

 “I baked you some honey cakes,” Mildred said, removing the checkered covering from the basket to show off the freshly baked cakes.

Agatha practically snatched at a cake, stuffing it in her mouth. She rarely had sweets, and Mildred’s cooking was something of a gift in its self. She wouldn’t be surprised if the witch ended up specialising in potions. 

“This is so good,” Agatha said, her mouth filled with the cake as she felt the taste melt on her tongue. She didn’t even hold back the moan. “How do you do this?”

Mildred shrugged. “Well, you know. Baking with honey on a New Moon adds an extra kick to it.”

Agatha felt herself warm at the mention of the New Moon. Swallowing, she picked at another cake and ushered Mildred inside. The cakes would go better with tea, anyway. “What’s the occasion for the cakes. Don’t tell me you learned a new spell?”

“Well, yes, but it’s nothing interesting. It’s a potion for rashes-–useful, I guess? But, um, Aggie, it’s your birthday.”

“Don’t call me that.” Agatha paused then, as she began boiling the kettle, raising the fire. “My birthday’s not until next week.” She paused then, feeling the itch return as she tried to remember what day it was.

“No, it’s today. I checked with––” she paused then, swallowing. “Did you forget?”

She had. She’d been so busy counting down to New Moon that she forgot her own birthday. It wasn’t like anyone aside from Mildred cared though. Sixteen was the only year that other witches cared for. It was the day you were placed to another witch as an apprentice. 

“I’ve been busy,” she said, trying to ignore the strange sharpness in her chest. 

“At least this means you’ll get to look at the Coven Grimoire,” Mildred said. Her voice was soft, eager for her and Agatha avoided looking at her as she steeped the tea. “You’ll love it.”

“Do you know when the coven will finish their meeting?” Agatha asked. 

“Oh, they’ll probably be late. Mrs Baker said that things are getting bad with the locals. The town is already wary of Enid’s involvement in that poor girl’s birth. The husband, Nicholas, has a fair amount of sway in the townspeople––if she dies, he may be looking for someone to blame.”

“Why haven’t any of the witches done anything for her?”

“Nicholas won’t let anyone near her. He’s paranoid that someone will make it worse. Only her sister is permitted and she never leaves her side, so it’s not like we can use a glamour to get passed him.” Mildred chewed on her bottom lip. “I wonder if they’ll make us leave.”

Agatha doubted it. Witches didn’t run from problems, they faced them head-on. 

Pouring the tea, she settled down in the chair and continued to pick at the cake in her hand, taking small pieces into her mouth before sipping at her tea. The conversation lulled long enough that Agatha asked, “Has Lucille said anything else?” 

“Mm,” Mildred said, trying to think about it. “Some of the crops are dying in some of the surroundings farms. They’re not sure why. Your––ah, I mean, one of the witches went out to investigate, but I think she’s only due back today. I’ll probably know when Lucille returns home, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Agatha asked. 

“Well, she said the meeting would be running late. Didn’t Mrs Brown tell you the same thing?”

Enid didn’t share any information with Agatha, outside of what she believed was explicitly necessary––such as if she needed another hand when tending to one of the townspeople. But Agatha just shrugged at Mildred’s question.

“She probably did and I wasn’t paying attention,” she said, though with something so big happening with the coven, she was surprised that Enid hadn’t shared that she would be late.

Agatha would have at least expected to be made aware of how bad things were getting with the townspeople. Did Enid think she spent all of her time here, doing chores? She had to buy food––they didn’t grow nearly enough to sustain their meals. And there were times that things needed to be replaced. Even witchcraft couldn’t create substance from nothing. 

Her own mother had taught her that.

She rolled her back, rubbing her back against the chair before she set the remnants of the cake aside and looked at Mildred. Her friend was wearing her hair down today, though she’d woven a new flower crown for herself. “Did Lucille ever say to you why I was placed with Enid?” 

“That’s a rather odd question,” Mildred said, her voice pitching. “Enid needed someone, I assume.”

“Is that what Lucille said?”

Mildred shrugged, looking down at her tea. She took a sip and then smiled at Agatha. “Your birthday being on a New Moon this year symbolises that’s it’s a great year of growth is ahead for you. Did you know that?”

“I did.” Agatha also knew that she’d been born under a blood moon. Something that was meant to mark her towards greatness––and Enid’s proteges tended to amount to nothing. When she’d turned sixteen, she had expected someone else. 

“So Lucille’s never commented about my placement?”

“Well,” Mildred said, setting her tea aside. “Honestly, I should get back and make sure the chickens are fed. I….um, hope you have a good day. If Enid doesn’t come back tonight, you can come to mine and I’ll cook us dinner, if you like?”

Agatha held her tongue for a moment before she rose and went to open the front door. “Thank you for the cakes, Mildred. It was very thoughtful.” 

When her friend left, Agatha took Mildred’s tea cup and emptied it outside before looking at the tea leaves, twisting it to seep the last of the water out. Divination had never been her forte. She couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a storm cloud, or something else.

Whatever it was, her gut told her there was an impending danger. 

After finishing the laundry, she went back inside and tidied up, sweeping the crumbs outside before washing out the tea pot. As the day grew late, it became more and more likely that Enid would not be returning home that evening. 

It worked in Agatha’s favour. She had already come up with an excuse to collect ingredients under the New Moon to restock their collection, but given that Enid wouldn’t be home, she’d easily be able to slip out in the evening, heading into the woods. 

When she arrived, it was dark with only the stars lighting her way. She managed to trip, catch her foot and stumble a half dozen times before she reached the clearing. 

“Some people would have brought a torch,” the woman said as she arrived. 

“I thought fire and kindling may have created some unwanted attention,” Agatha said, combing her hair out of her eyes. She felt warm from the walk and as she dragged in a deep breath, she took in the woman’s appearance. 

The witch was taller than her, by an inch or so. She wore a green cloak. By the fact that she could tell it was green in the limited light, Agatha expected it was probably vividly green. And her eyes were steady as she looked at her. A strong, vibrant brown, she’d recalled from the other day. 

They’d also been making a point to appear in her dreams. 

“Are you going to tell me your name this time?” Agatha asked. 

“Rio.” 

“Rio…” she tasted the word on her tongue, tasting the way the witch has said it. “River?” 

Rio gave a soft, amused sound before she stepped closer. “As least you know your languages.”

“Important for witchcraft, so I’m told.” She gave a half-hearted shrug and then looked around. “So…what are you going to teach me?”

“Firstly, I’m going to unbind your magic,” Rio said, lifting up her hands. 

Agatha stepped backwards. “I’m not bound.”

Rio tilted her head. “Oh?” She said softly, tilting her head. There was something…mocking about the movement. Like she was marionette on strings. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Enid?”

“Mm, no,” Rio stepped forward, this time her hands were quick this time. They grabbed at Agatha’s jawline, tilting her head up as the witch looked deep in her eyes. 

“I thought witches couldn’t undo another witches spell,” Agatha said.

“I’m not most witches.” And then Agatha could feel the woman’s magic like static energy snapping through her. It wasn’t like last time, when Rio had kissed her. This was a harsh strike of magic that cracked through, tightening her muscles until she was shaking, frozen in Rio’s grasp. 

It hurt and there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t draw in a breath. It was strangling her, an all encumbering weight and pain.

And yet…the power was immense. She could feel it like a blazing energy bursting through her skin. 

She watched as Rio’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “You like this, don’t you? The feeling of it all.” Her voice was strained, focused and Agatha could see the wrinkle on her brow as she concentrated. 

Even in the dim light, Agatha could feel her vision darkening. She needed to breathe. She needed––

Something snapped and Agatha was dropped back, left to crumple on the ground as she gasped in a breath. 

Coughing, she pushed to sit up and looked at Rio. The woman’s hands crackled with a deep green energy that lit up the clearing, before it disappeared. “See?” The witch said. “Isn’t that much better?”

Agatha felt heavy, even her head hang as she drew in a breath. A weight pulled at her, like her body was made of iron. “What did you do to me?”

“I undid your biding. You must have been a very naughty child to get that,” she said. And then Rio reached out, offering her hand. 

Agatha struggled to take it, but she felt the woman’s coolness against the heat of her own skin, before she was tugged up onto her feet. 

Rio’s other arm looped around her waist, and then she let go of her hand and reached up to tuck Agatha’s hair away from her face. “You’re overcharged, that’s why you feel like that. Here…”

She leant forward and weakly, Agatha stopped her. “This feels like you keep making excuses to kiss me.”

“So what if I am?” Rio teased. 

Agatha’s eyebrows rose tiredly before she shrugged. She didn’t care if that was the reason. “No other way, then?”

“There are, but I can tell you prefer it this way, rather than me standing over your horizontal body, chanting the magic out of you.”

No, that would feel awkward and somehow, pretending the kiss was the lesser of two evils was easier. She nodded, looking at her and watched as Rio leaned forward. “You gonna stop me this time, sweetheart?”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t like how presumptive the woman was. 

And yet, when the woman’s mouth pressed to hers, Agatha felt as the magic was drunk away, and oh, it felt good. Rio was soft, hungry, and as the heaviness lifted, Agatha grabbed at the woman, drinking back from her, kissing her until it felt like the energy was siphoned between them in a loud cacophony.

There were no birds or bats, just the crackling of magic.  

Agatha heard the woman moan as she grabbed at her hair, holding her still to get another taste of the magic she felt. No, this was much better than lying down in the dirt and having someone chant over her. 

She could feel Rio’s hand against her waist, the other had reached over her shoulder, dragging against her shoulder blades with her nails to tug her closer. 

Agatha arched against her, before her grip tightened, hearing a gasp. 

She tugged again, feeling Rio laugh against her mouth… and there was something delicious about it, something Agatha craved, before she pulled back, feeling the night’s cool air wash over her as she breathed in a deep breath and stared at the witch. 

The heaviness was gone and she was back to herself. Except this time, she felt more. Raw, maybe. The wind felt sharper, the grass blades that were taller enough the rub against her ankles felt more present, and Rio’s hand seemed firmed around her waist before she stepped back. Away from the touch. 

“You overcharged me?” She asked.

“Just to break the binding,” Rio said, shrugging as if was the same as picking a lock. 

“Doesn’t that kill a witch?” Agatha was trying to remember a story her mother had told her, but it’d been a long, long time ago now. 

“A fragile one,” Rio said. “But you’re stronger than that. I wouldn’t have chosen you if you were.”

“You chose me?”

“Did you think you found that spell yourself after two years of working under that old bat? How many times had you snuck a look into the grimoire when dear Enid was busy doing witchery, leaving you to your chores. I mean, she wouldn’t even teach you a simple sparking spell,” and with that, Rio clicked her fingers, creating a flame. “It’s one of the easiest spells that exist.” 

Agatha stared at the woman, uncertain if it was a trick or not as she looked to her hand and clicked her own fingers, the intent of a flame clear in her mind. At once, the flame burst over her fingers, alive and bright in a warm, orange colour. 

She could feel its heat, but intensity didn’t burn her. Keeping still, she stared at it, as if were a butterfly that landed on her finger and may disappear if she moved too quickly. 

Rio stepped forward, her fingers snuffing out the flame as she held her eyes. “You will be great, Agatha. Powerful in the way a true witch should be.”

“And you’re going to make me powerful?” Agatha asked. 

“No, I’m just giving you the keys to your own power. What you do with it is up to you…so as long as you get that book for me.”

Agatha pulled her hand away, rolling her shoulders back. “Here’s the thing. The coven’s full and Enid’s not going to allow me to just step-up if someone else stepped aside. Usually, new witches go forth and find their own coven when the time is right.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Right now, I’m teaching you,” Rio said, smiling at her as she leaned forward. “We’ll worry about the pesky semantics once you’ve learned enough. Just be a good girl for Enid, until then. Be the best. You can bring all of your naughtiness to me and I promise to only cane you if you ask very nicely.”

Agatha studied the woman, watching her mask shift and change. She was a performance, but there was something else there. Something Agatha couldn’t quite work out. “Who are you. Really?”

“Oh, no, that’s too fast for me. I promise, with time, it’ll become very obvious.”

She hated that answer. But as she took a moment to stand still, she realised for the first time that the itching in her back had ceased.

Reaching behind her, slipping under the collar of her dress, she felt around the top of her back, where the stays had previously rubbed at the marks Enid had left. “You healed me.”

“Of course I did. All you did was speak up––why should that be punished?” 

“Because it was belligerent,” she said, her voice flat and remembering Enid’s own words. 

You did this to yourself, girl. Belligerence must be bled out of you. 

“Did you threaten her?” Rio asked.

“No––but that’s not––”

“Then did you make any aggressive move?”

“That’s not what she meant.”

“Sounds like you weren’t being belligerent. Wilful, maybe. But isn’t that what it takes to be a witch? Stubbornness and tenacity?” 

Agatha swallowed, uncertain of how to argue, or even why she wanted to defend Enid. “And I spoke up against you, you’re saying you would take it?”

“I’d encourage it,” Rio said, her tongue purring over the word. “Enid would control you. I don’t want that for you, Agatha. I want you unbridled and raw.”

Agatha sucked in a breath, biting back her laugh. “Careful. I’m starting to think you may propose soon.”

“And what if I did?”

Rio was teasing. Or, it was a test. Agatha wasn’t sure, but her instinct told her there was some hidden meaning there. 

Shrugging, she just smiled at Rio. “I’d ask you to court me properly, first.”

Rio stared at her. A slow smile pooling over her lips. “As you so wish.”  

Notes:

What the muse wants, the muse gets, and it's another chapter.

Technically I should be editing my second book's manuscript, but I won't tell if you won't ;)

Chapter 3: Lucky Rabbit

Summary:

“Necromancy is dark magic,” Agatha said, whispering it incase anyone was in earshot. “You know that, don’t you?”

“No such thing,” Rio whispered back.

Notes:

I have a clear vision of where this fic will end up. Until then, apparently it's just these circling each other with grey intentions.

As promised, Agatha was on her best behaviour around Enid. She held her tongue, obediently following the coven witch’s orders whilst side-stepping any derogatory comments. It had been the longest she’d gone without being struck. 

There was something warm about having a secret mentor. Something that made even the sharpest insult from Enid feel like nothing more than the ramblings from an old woman. 

Agatha was finally learning magic. She would become more than Enid ever was. 

Since the unbinding of her magic, she had to be careful. It was like a dam had brokered, and there was a growing itch to it. She could make the fireplace grow, bread rise, she could even levitate as Mildred had––though she didn’t dare to share with anyone. 

It was a secret. 

And oh, the knowledge of it had her practically humming, even if every moment of the day, all she wanted to do was have time to herself to practice the feeling of it. No one had told her that magic wanted to be used. It wanted to escape and be wild, twisting around. Even Mildred had kept that to herself. 

“You seem happier,” Mildred commented as they collected wild plants together. The coven was planning protection charms, and it was good practice for them to identify the correct plants for it. Enid had advised against it, but the other witches had agreed that they would be safe and skilled enough to pick the herbs and alike. 

“Being eighteen feels different,” Agatha said. 

“You’ve peeked at some magic, haven’t you?” 

She held her tongue, shrugging. “I haven’t seen the grimoire yet. But the coven’s busy with the towns people.”

“The baby’s become unwell, too. Did you hear?”

“No,” Agatha said. “Did Lucille say what happened?”

“The coven thinks it’s the food. The baker and their family in town became unwell, too. Have you bought any bread from them recently?”

“Enid makes me make it from scratch. I only buy flour and I check it every time. If it were poisoned, I’m sure Enid would have noticed by now and said something.”

Mildred nodded. “The townspeople are becoming agitated. They’ve stopped coming to us for help. Have you had anyone visit?”

“Just the one.” Only a young girl had visited recently to request some herbal plants to help with cramping. Otherwise, it had been quiet. Agatha knew that at least two women were due to be giving birth and before the woman had grown sick, Agatha had expected to be helping Enid with them. 

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Mildred asked. “Your coven witch is our healer. And mine is our potions. In a town like this, they’re usually busy most weeks. But it’s quiet. Horribly quiet.”

It was concerning. They were shut out from the town and if it continued in such a pattern, Agatha suspected that the idea of running may not be so farfetched. Her mother would never allow the coven to fight back against the townspeople, so what would they do when the town needed to make someone pay. 

“Do you think––” Mildred paused, looking behind her. They were off the road, but there was a noise of carriage and horses. 

Agatha grabbed Mildred’s hand, pulling her behind some of the taller shrubs as they sat and watched. Three carriages pushed by, made out of dark, expensive wood. On the side, in gold, was an emblem that left Agatha feeling queasy. 

They were each pulled by strong, lean horses made for cross-country. This wasn’t a visitor. 

The town had moved to the next stage. 

When the dust had settled and the carriages left, Agatha picked up her basket and looked to Mildred. “We should tell the others.”

“What do we say?”

“That someone new has arrived in town.” 

 

* * *

 

Agatha’s mother had a two-storey houses on the outskirts of the town. People had always known to come to here, when all else failed. But the warding runes were deep and etched into the stone so that any ill-intent was met with confusion hex, causing the bearer to become lost in the nearby thicket of woods. 

The witches were meeting there more regularly in the downstairs drawing room. It was spacious, with enough seats for everyone, except for Mildred and Agatha, who were left to stand and serve tea––as was the way of the apprentice.

In truth, they were lucky that there were two of them. Some covens only had a new apprentice once every century or so. 

“And that’s exactly what you saw?” Her mother asked her. “Were there any symbols on the carriage.”

“The old country’s symbol,” she said. “And below that, scales.”

“The Courts of Assizes,” her mother said, exhaling. “They’ve been summoned early––unless…has anyone heard?”

“The baker died last week,” Lucille said. “I only found out today with how tight-lipped the town is. I had to go in glamour and even then they were suspicious. The mother and child are still alive, but they’re doing very poorly. I don’t think they’ll make it to the end of the week.” 

The room began to mutter and Agatha looked to Enid as the woman’s eyes were sharply narrowed on her, as if somehow she had caused this. 

“Witches,” her mother, Evanora said, quietening the room. “We must not panic. The girls have brought enough herbs for us to make protection bags to fill your pockets. They will help to hold back the townspeople as we look into the matter. The next step will be to see what we can do to fix the issue. With the Court here, Nicholas will likely be requested to speak with them. Now will be our chance to glamour and get close to the mother and child, and see what we can do to fix their ailment.” 

Enid’s eyes snapped to Agatha’s once more, and there, she summoned her with a finger curl. “Girl. Go and grab my grimoire.”

Agatha frowned. They were about to start making the protection bags. Something she was going to be apart of for the first time with the coven. Mildred was already grabbing the cloth and sewing scissors to divide the material for the witches. 

“Now.”

Agatha’s eyes glanced to her mother, but she was busy directing the others to begin preparations. 

She promised Rio she would be good, but Enid made it very difficult some days. 

Swallowing, Agatha nodded and left the house, beginning the trek back to Enid’s cottage to collect her stupid grimoire. The protection spells in there were for warding off spirits, not townspeople. Agatha knew she was on a wild goose chase.

It was a long, winding road around the woods and Agatha clutched at her cloak, feeling the cool air hit her lungs. 

It wasn’t fair––it was ever obvious that Enid was holding her back, and no one in the coven, not even her mother was doing anything to prevent it. The woman had no intention of teaching her magic and was looking to do whatever she could to keep her powerless. 

What harm could come from making protection charms? They were a simple magic. She used to make them with her mother when she was a child. She knew how to make them! But to be with a coven, drawing all of their power into the manual work was something she craved to be apart of. 

“My, my, someone’s grumpy.” 

Agatha nearly tripped, turning to look as Rio stepped onto the path beside her. “I thought we only met at New Moon.”

“That’s when our lessons are, but if you don’t want to see me––”

“No!” Agatha said, surprised by how loud her voice was. She swallowed, standing tall. “I’m heading home to pick up Enid’s grimoire.”

“She sent you away to keep coven secrets, did she?” Rio teased. 

Agatha began walking through the path. The sooner she got back, the happier she would be. “I don’t understand it. She’s always hated me. You know, one of my earliest memories is of my mother promising me that she would be my coven witch, not anyone else. And then I turned eighteen, expecting my mother, and get landed with Enid. Enid. A healer? Is that what they see for me? That I’ll help bring life and cure sickness away as the town’s doctor?”

“Nothing wrong with a green witch,” Rio said, keeping in step with her. “But there’s more to green witches than just healing.”

Agatha stared at her. “Like what?”

“Like…bringing things back from the dead,” Rio said, smiling at her. “Want to see a magic trick. It’s not like anyone’s going to notice you’re gone for a while?”

“Is this not part of our lessons?” Agatha asked.

“Think of it as a preview of things to come,” Rio teased, winking at her. She grabbed Agatha’s hand, tugging her off the road and for a moment, the trees were thick and dark, and Agatha couldn’t see, only follow the tugging from Rio’s cool touch. 

At once, they broke through into a dim place. The trees were tall and thick, their branches entwining into a thick canopy above so that only a few strands of light could break through to the ground.

“Are we still in Salem?” Agatha asked. The air smelled different. Wet and cloying. There was a rotting scent that hung thick in the air, squeezing at her lungs. 

“Oh, yes and no. We’re in the between, but shh, watch.” Rio’s hand left hers and Agatha watched as the magic tugged between the witch’s fingertips, stretching before she knelt down to where a rabbit lay abandoned in a trap. 

It was dead––beyond dead. Likely having died of thirst with the inability to escape. 

But as the magic crackled, around it, the limp fur began to prick with the static energy, before a twitch, and then the rabbit jumped up, frightened as it tried to scurry away but was brought back by the snare on its leg.

Agatha dropped down to her knees, her hand soothing the bunny as she went to its trapped leg and slowly eased the snare off. When she placed the rabbit down again to release it, it stayed still, sniffing the ground as if searching for something.

Rio knelt down and picked the rabbit up, petting it. “So?” Rio asked.

The rabbit had softened in her arms, cuddling up to her. Agatha had never seen such a rabbit before. Its ears were relaxed, its fur soft instead of coarse like the usual grey wild rabbits. She wasn’t even sure that it had looked like that before––but now, she couldn’t help but be wary. 

“Was that a glamour?” She asked.

Rio placed the rabbit in Agatha’s hands, ignoring the protests. “You tell me,” she said. “You know how to spot a glamour.”

Agatha paused, lifting up the rabbit to look into its eyes. She could feel the creature’s heart beating rapidly, see its nose and ears twitch curiously as it gave a blink. If it had been a glamour, it’d been a very good one. 

“Necromancy is dark magic,” Agatha said, whispering it incase anyone was in earshot. “You know that, don’t you?” 

“No such thing,” Rio whispered back, teasing as she leant forward. “Do you know why they call things ‘dark magic’. Because it can be used for power. But anything can be used for malicious intent if you’re clever enough. Even so-called ‘light magic’.” Rio’s fingers brushed over her cheek and it was like warm honey and whiskey was spilling down Agatha’s throat, flowing through her veins. “That is a virility spell. Used on men, it’ll make them last longer in the bedroom. Wives often ask for it when their husbands have problems. But when you charm a woman…”

Agatha’s eyes fell shut, her heart began beating loud and heavy in her chest, as her mouth went dry. 

“Well, it makes them distracted. More difficult to concentrate. If I left you charmed like this, you’d struggle to make it home. You’d have more difficult time trying to get back to your coven. You’d be begging for relief.” 

Agatha’s breath was coming out in a pant, heavy and deep, and oh, Rio smelled intoxicating.  Like honeysuckle and a warm fire. Opening her eyes, she watched as the woman smiled at her.

“Take it off,” she said, hoping the moan in he voice wasn’t obvious. “Rio…”

“Say please.”

Agatha swallowed, breathing in deep and looked at the woman, mustering all of her strength. “Take. It. Off.”

Rio laughed, and with a wave of her hand, the charm washed away and Agatha felt her body sag. She looked down at the rabbit. He seemed unbothered, only going so far as to bury into the crook of her arm as if planning to sleep.

“He likes you,” Rio said.

Agatha shook her head. “What’s the trick? He’s secretly undead and going to, what, try and eat me or get a taste for other animals?”

“No,” Rio stated, as if she’d asked something absurd. “He’s a rabbit. They’re herbivores. Didn’t someone teach you that?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, turning around. “If you’re not going to be serious––”

“Oh, don’t get your magic in a twist,” Rio said. “No, he’s alive as if he was never hurt. Nothing strange will happen, until you treat him poorly, but he’s all yours.” 

Agatha looked at her, blinking. “Mine?” She said.

“Yours,” Rio confirmed. “You said you wanted me to court you. Isn’t it common practice to provide gifts in a courting?”

“And you brought me a rabbit back from the dead?”

“They make for better familiars,” she said, though there was a playful infliction to her tone that made Agatha wary. “Plus rabbit feet are good luck, and what’s better luck that a rabbit who escaped death?” 

Agatha looked down at the rabbit again, trying to understand what had happened. “You brought me here to the in-between to find a dead rabbit, bring it back and give it to me as a familiar?” Agatha said. “Enid will never let me keep it. She’ll kill me if she sees I have a familiar.”

“No, she won’t. She won’t even notice it. Here,” Rio took the rabbit from her in one hand, lifting up high, and then Agatha watched as with her fingers, she drew into the air. Something brushed against the rabbits fur and the rabbit lifted its hind-leg, trying to itch at its ear, as if the spell had irritated its skin.

Rio handed the pet back, letting it settle in Agatha’s arm as Agatha scratched gently at its forehead and ears. 

“There,” Rio said. “She won’t notice a thing. But it’s your responsibility now. You’ll need to feed, water and clean up after him.” 

Her voice was the same satirical tone she used with her annoying smirk, and Agatha only frowned at the comment. She couldn’t tell what the woman’s deal was, but there was something annoyingly endearing about her, and Agatha hated how it made her feel.

It was as though the virility charm hadn’t quite worn off.

She swallowed, looking around. “I really should get that grimoire.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Rio said. She placed her hand in the crook of Agatha’s, as if they were longtime friends, and took a few steps forward, leading her out of the woods. 

But as they stepped out, they were not on the road. Instead, they were just by the woods that came near Enid’s cottage.

Agatha turned around, looking into the same woods that she’d been heading into since she was a little girl––they were not at all the same ones she watched Rio raise a dead rabbit from. 

Rio smiled at her innocently. “See. I can be chivalrous.”

“You won’t tell me who you are or why you’re doing this, will you?”

“I told you why.”

Agatha held her tongue. This went beyond that. She knew it in her heard. “Thank you. For the familiar,” Agatha said.

“What will you name him?”

Agatha looked down at the rabbit, he was rubbing against her hand, trying to press against her fingertips. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Well, before I forget,” Rio said, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, handheld book. It had an embossed cover, with yellowing bound pages. There was no title, only different runes on the emerald leather. 

“What’s this?”

“Study for your next lesson,” Rio said. “Try and learn it all before New Moon. There’ll be a prize for best in class.” She leant forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Agatha’s mouth before she pulled back. “Te veo.” 

Agatha frowned, taking the rabbit inside. She placed him into the small nook of a room she’d been provided by Enid and watched as he hopped around on her bed, before settling on the foot of bed, where her blanket was folded in case the night grew cold.  

Agatha opened up the book, peering into the pages. 

It was a book of runes. Not just runes, but patterns and meanings. Agatha closed the book, stuffing it down her dress, between the slip and bodice she wore, as she tried to ignore the fast beating heart in her chest. 

What was happening. 

Chapter 4: The Truth

Summary:

“Oh, sweetheart, I knew you had it in you. You are perfect.”

“Perfect?”

Notes:

Hmm, just needed this out before the episode airs. I am bouncing on my feet.

Enid had gone off to visit Lucille and a few other witches. Agatha had been enjoying the quiet away from Enid by taking her familiar, whom she’d begun to fondly refer to as Scratchy, out in the garden as she weeded.  

Scratchy, true to his name, itched at his ear. The magic clearly left a minor irritant, but so far the rabbit hadn’t managed to cause any injury to himself scratching at it. At night, he’d taken to curling up against her and falling asleep with his head buried against her arm. 

True to Rio’s word, no one had noticed him. There were times Enid had looked puzzled, as if she caught a glimpse of him out from the corner of his eye, but Agatha knew if she suspected something foul afoot, she would have punished Agatha one way or another. Instead, Enid had been too busy warding the cottage to so much as knock around a few insults.

“When you were little, you used to dig for worms.”

Agatha looked up at her mother before quickly pushing up, onto her feet. She removed her  gardening gloves and placed them into the apron she wore. “Mother. What are you––” she looked to the cottage and realised that Enid’s ‘afternoon tea’ had likely been timely. “I see.”

“Enid’s asked me to speak with you. Shall we have some tea?” 

Agatha cast a look to Scratchy and watched as he seemed happy enough to munch on their overgrown lettuce. “Of course,” she said. She built up the fire inside by hand, stoking at it as she made the tea.

“Enid still has you doing things manually,” her mother commented.

“Yes,” Agatha said. Because there was nothing else to say. 

“It’s good for a witch to know how to do things manually. You know, Enid has taught many generations of witches.” And none of them amounted to anything, she wanted to say. None of them visited, either.

It was as if every witch got as far away as possible once they’d finished their apprenticeship.

Pouring the tea, she handed her mother cup, and then sat across from, noticeably absent of having her own tea. Rio said she was to be good––but a visit from her mother warranted suspicion. 

“Still the same, Aggie. Even after all these years, you pull the same frown as…” she trailed off and smiled. “Well as me, I suppose.” 

“Why did Enid ask you to speak with me?”

Her mother breathed in, setting the teacup aside. Agatha knew her mother’s breaths. This was her I’m disappointed by you. 

“Enid believes you’re got access to magic that she hasn’t provided to you. Has Mildred been teaching you spells?”

“No,” she replied honestly. “Mildred has shown off but she’s never taught me anything.”

Her mother nodded. “Have you…been doing some spells?”

“Like what?” Agatha asked. “Enid won’t even let me make a poultice. I haven’t been taught a simple fire spell to light the kitchen fire, or been taught how to raise dough. What spells could I have possibly learnt?”

“Have you peeked at her Grimoire?” 

“Yes,” Agatha answered. Because it was stupid to lie about that. “I know I’m not meant to, but it’s been two years and Mildred can fly and I’m not allowed to even mix ingredients. All she has me doing is memorising plants and reading greek and latin. It’s not fair!”

“Do not speak of Enid that way, she was changing your diapers when you were an infant.”

As if Agatha needed reminding of that. 

“Don’t be petulant,” her mother warned. “I raised you to be a good girl. Not a brat who steals magic. You understand that doing so could warrant a coven trial. Stealing magic above your station is not permitted. You must follow Enid’s advice.”

“Mother, please,” she implored. “I don’t want to be a healer. I wanted to learn magic from you. You promised me––!”

“Your magic is wild, Agatha,” her mother snapped. “You need a firm hand and Enid is the best for that.”

The pieces fell into place. 

I’m not bound.

Oh? She didn’t tell you?

Agatha swallowed, looking down at the ground as she tried to keep her voice even. “What do you mean ‘too wild’?”

Her mother raised a hand, trying to dismiss the comment.

“I thought I didn’t get magic until I looked at the grimoire.”

“Certain witches may have access to more…raw abilities,” her mother said. “If I had taught you, you would have killed someone else.”

“Someone else?” Agatha frowned. She didn’t recall killing anyone. 

“Enough of this belligerence, Agatha. I am imploring to you to stop going against Enid’s wishes. I have managed to quieten her for now, but if you continue to act so wilfully, you will be trialled. The coven may wish to imprison you, or take your magic away, entirely. They may even banish you depending on the severity.”

“For utilising magic?” Agatha said.

“For stealing it. Tell me, what spell did you take from Enid. What did you try to do?”

Agatha stuttered, and then breathed in, looking down at the ground to where her boots were covered in dirty. She would be sweeping and scrubbing the floor again, this afternoon. “A flying spell. I wanted to fly like Mildred but it didn’t work the way it was meant to.” Two half truths stuck together made one whole truth, did they not?

She looked up at her mother. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to make you proud as a witch. I thought if I was stronger than Mildred, you’d be my teacher instead of Enid.”

“Enid’s a good witch. One of the best. I had a difficult birth with you, and had it not been for her, neither of us would have survived it.” 

Agatha hadn’t known that Enid was apart of her birth. 

“So she knows I’m a blood moon witch.”

“She does, yes.” Her mother looked as though she wanted to say something, but then looked away. “I’ll tell Enid that we’ve spoken and maybe she’ll drop this. But please, Agatha. Be good.”

“I will,” she said, her voice soft. As she took in a breath, she could feel the small pocket book tucked between her slip and bodice, digging in as if to remind her of other promises she made. 

Her mother left shortly after, pressing a hand to her shoulder with a last goodbye, as if it meant anything. And then Agatha was left alone, feeling hollow. 

“That was quite the woman,” Rio said. “I can see where you get it from.”

Agatha turned on her heel. “Why do you just appear like that?”

“I was local,” she said, shrugging. “Thought I’d come by and see how you and the pet were doing. Have you been studying like a good girl?” 

“So you’re just listening in to private conversations?” Agatha looked her up and down. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I missed you, Aggie.”

“Fuck off,” She snapped, pushing passed Rio to exit into the back garden, where Scratchy was basking. He was happily munching on grass, hopping around the garden. Agatha wanted to scoop him up and bring him inside, but she knew that Enid would likely not return until after speaking with her mother, and it was best to give him all the air and food that she could for now. 

She turned around, facing Rio who was pulling an over-exaggerated, awkward expression. “I can see you’re in a bad mood. Shall we reschedule to next month?”

“New Moon isn’t until tonight,” Agatha stated.

Rio frowned. “Technically, the moon has risen,” she said, pointing to the sky. Agatha looked up at the clouds—even if they weren’t there, she had no hope of seeing the absence of a moon in the sky. 

“Fine, what’s the lesson?”

“You are aware that you summoned me?” Rio stated.

“And you made a deal with me,” Agatha returned. “Why are you here? My mother just left and I’m meant to believe this is…what? A mere coincidence that you appeared the moment the door closed on her?”

Rio looked at her for a moment, her eyes drawing over her whole frame. “Are you upset because Mummy left you with a mean old witch?”

“Don’t.”

“I mean, you have to wonder why she bound you. How old were you? Five or six? Do you remember what happened?”

“Stop it.” 

“Maybe you were younger. Your earliest memory is your mother promising to teach you. When did she stop saying that? When did she start to be afraid of you?” 

“I said stop!” 

Agatha felt her magic rage from her as she reached out. A flare of force grabbed at Rio, holding her still––and the woman had the audacity to laugh. The rage brokered from her. From every strike of Enid’s cane, from every harsh criticism from her mother, Agatha stood tall and proud and furious at the witch who laughed at her.

“Oh, sweetheart, I knew you had it in you. You are perfect.” 

“Perfect?”

“Perfect,” Rio agreed. 

The magic wavered and Rio was dropped to her feet.

And yet, Agatha was grabbed and pinned against the stonework of the house. “Look at you,” Rio said. “There’s anger bubbling up inside of you like a cauldron. Your magic is tearing up at the world and you can’t even see it, can you?”

“Let me go.”

Rio kissed her and Agatha hated how her body responded. Even in anger, in fury, she felt her hips rock towards the witch, her fingers expanding to allow Rio’s own to intertwine and hold her in her place. 

Rio laughed against her mouth and Agatha bit her, hard enough that she felt the thick taste of blood spill against her tongue, and oh, it was like tasting ambrosia.

Her knuckles were being dragged against stone, her body pressed against the house as this woman, this witch, pressed her entire being against her, and all Agatha could think was how much she wanted to taste her. “Isn’t that better?”

“I’m still angry.”

“I can work with that. I had other plans for you today, anyway,” Rio said. “Did you study up for me?”

Agatha nodded against her mouth, licking over the bottom lip. 

“Good, good, let’s test that knowledge under pressure,” she said, dropping one hand down to Agatha’s hip as she began tugging up the skirts in a slow, careful move. “What runes would I mark the house for protection?”

“Thurisaz, algiz, orthala,” Agatha stated, feeling the cool air against her skin. “But you’d be better off to tie them together, first algiz, then orthala and finally thurisaz so the intent is clear its use is for protection.” 

Rio was under her skirt now, her fingertips dragging against her inner thigh. Her other hand still had Agatha pinned to the wall and it squeezed at her as she spoke. “Well done, I’m impressed. Imagine the kind of witch you would have been if they wanted to teach you.” 

Agatha’s anger returned. “I don’t need them.”

“No, you don’t,” Rio agreed. She touched over her the curls of her pubic hair, the faintest touch and Agatha felt her body shake––needing more. “How would you break your own protection runes if it no longer served you?”

“Thurisaz,” Agatha said, feeling Rio stroke over her. Her breath was coming in slow and tight. “Uruz,” she continued, as Rio slipped over her clit. It was gentle, too gentle. She wanted more. “Eihwaz.”

Rio paused. “Eihwaz?”

“It’s the connection between two seperate things––anything that can make a connection can also break it with intent.” 

Rio’s face was genuinely surprised, before she smiled, brushing her lips against Agatha’s as she whispered, “Top of the class.” And then she slid inside of Agatha.

Agatha gasped, before her mouth was against Rio’s. It was angry, and furious and god, Rio was curling inside of her, fucking her like this was her reward for reading a book. She moaned against her, clutching at Rio tightly as her hips rocked against the fingertips. 

The stonework rubbed against her back and Agatha could smell Rio’s perfume––honey suckle, wood fire…something else. Like the smell of a storm. She breathed it in, moaning against her mouth and felt the woman smile.

“That’s my girl,” Rio whispered. 

Agatha felt her body tighten, squeezing around Rio’s fingers. She ached, it wasn’t enough, but oh, when Rio’s tongue brushed against hers, Agatha was certain she could taste her magic. 

“More,” she whispered against her mouth. 

“More?” Rio teased. “My greedy little witch wants more?”

Agatha had one hand clutched at Rio, the other stilled pinned. “Come on,” she teased, “Don’t you want to see what I can take?”

The witch looked at her and Agatha wasn’t sure what the expression was. But Rio’s eyes were wide and bright, her mouth parted before she pressed against her, kissing her with such reverence, that Agatha felt something shift between them. 

The magic that poured between them was incredible. It filled her, rolling through her as she was fucked hard. 

Like a storm rushing through her body, she felt the magic wrap around her own and Agatha gasped, feeling how close she was. 

Rio’s kisses were hungry and Agatha squeezed as she grabbed the woman tighter, pulling her close until––“Fuck,” she whispered against her as the world darkened for a moment, her body pulsing.

And then she breathed in and felt her body slump against Rio. 

The woman fingers slid out of her, both hands coming to hold her around the waist and Agatha sighed. She felt light-headed. Her body ached. And yet the warmth of magic was pooling through her. 

“Most witches would have died of a heart attack from all of that magic,” Rio said to her. “You continue to impress me.”

“I’m not most witches,” Agatha said, pulling back. Her head was still dizzy, but she leaned against the wall, watching the woman stare at her like she was something awe inspiring. “Stop that.”

Rio bit her lip, trying to hide her expression. “Your coven witch will be home soon. We should clean up.”

“Clean up?” Agatha took a moment to look around, it was as though a strong wind storm had broke through the garden. Pushing off the wall, she looked around, checking on the animals––the chickens had returned to their hutch early, and with them, Scratchy sat nestled between two of the hens. 

Reaching inside, she grabbed at him and felt as he shifted in her hands, before settling. 

When she turned around, the garden was back in place and Rio was holding her basket, filled with different vegetation. She looked entirely pleased with herself, like she’d done something worthy of praise.

Agatha rolled her eyes, walking over as she took the basket inside, setting it by the kitchen counter. “Isn’t this the part where you mysteriously disappear into the woods?” 

“Yes, but first, you should ask Enid about your childhood. I think she’s been waiting for you to ask for a while now.” 

Agatha frowned, and was distracted when the door opened, with Enid stepping inside. Agatha turned to where Rio had stood and was unsurprised by the fact that the woman had shrunk off, ensuring she wasn’t seen. 

Enid didn’t say a word, just stepped into the room, removing her shawl and setting her cane against the door. 

Enid looked up at her, acknowledging her for the first time. 

“Why did my mother bind my magic and give me to you.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Enid gave a snort. “Figures she’s still protecting you. You murdered a boy when you four years old. He was an older boy in the village. He liked to antagonise you. And then one day, you made sure that he’d never do that again. The punishment for a witch killing someone with their magic and endangering the coven is execution. But your mother pleaded the fact that you were too young to know your own magical abilities, and so it was agreed that you would be bound.”

Agatha swallowed. She didn’t recall any of that. 

“But I see that look in your eye when it comes to magic. You will never stop hungering for it. You were born beneath a blood moon––you would have killed your mother with that birth. Never have I witnessed such a violent birth––but you were determined to be born at such a time to ensure that power was yours.” 

That was the reason, Agatha realised. There. “You think I’m a monster.”

“I know what you are. Your mother believes that you’re capable of good. But I was there when you killed that boy. You watched him drown and thought it was fascinating. You, Agatha Harkness, are rotten and I have done my best to cut that rot out, but it’s festered long enough. Tomorrow I will place forward that you should be stripped of your magic in its entirety and banished. Maybe then you can learn to be good.”

Agatha laughed. She didn’t mean to, but it felt like she was the star of an absurd story. “I’m being punished because I wanted to learn magic?”

“You murdered that boy!”

“I was a child,” Agatha snapped back. “I would dig for worms and ask for bedtime stories. That gave you no right to take my magic. And now you’d have me stripped because I peeked at your grimoire? As if there were any dark spells in there. As if there was anything worth learning from you, you old hag!” 

“I swear to you girl––” she was cut off as something banged against the door. Agatha knew it wasn’t another witch, she knew that that sound meant something authoritive.

Enid turned, opening the door.

In the front garden stood two, tall burly men, dressed in leather armour. One pulled out a piece of paper, holding it towards Enid.

“Enid Brown. You are being charged for witchcraft, sorcery, and the murder of three townspeople. We request that you surrender yourself into our care before the trial.”

Agatha’s heart thudded in her chest, as she looked to Enid. “I’ll get mum,” she whispered, her anger melting away. 

Enid just shook her head. “There’s no use, girl. They’ve already decided my guilt.” 

“Don’t make this difficult,” the man said. “Please surrender yourself.” 

Agatha watched as Enid obeyed, allowing herself to be placed into the jail on the back of cart, her head hanging low. And like she was a child again, Agatha ran for her mother. 

Chapter 5: the Hanging

Summary:

Agatha pulled away, fixing her cloak. “I’m not that type of girl. You’ll need to try harder than this to get under my skirts again.” 

The coven sat in the back of the room, listening to the list of charges brought forward. Sarah Bailey and son, dead. Thomas Rooke, dead. There was nothing to be done. The guilt had been decided. 

Agatha felt as Mildred took her hand, squeezing it as she tried to hold back the sobs. 

Evanora had glamoured the entire coven to look different, ensuring they all tucked see-me-not charms into their pockets, so that even if someone were curious, they would find themselves looking away, not noticing the women in the back of the room. 

“There must be something…” someone in the coven said.

“We’ll think of something,” her mother assured.

Agatha pulled her hand away from Mildred, slipping out of the room. She couldn’t listen to it any further. The discussions about what they could do, how they could fix this… it wouldn’t happen. 

She thought that maybe someone would chase after her, but she’d disappeared without any of them noticing––must have the potency of the see-me-not charm, allowing her to slip away into the shadows. 

She returned to Enid’s cottage and sat with Scratchy, trying to understand the emptiness in her chest. Was she angry? Sad? Annoyed?

All she felt was just a void in her chest at Enid’s demise. 

There was nothing. Just a persevering quiet. 

A part of her had expected Rio to appear, but the woman had been noticeably absent. Enid had been taken two weeks prior. Tomorrow marked the full moon, and Agatha knew that the coven would be out, performing an assort of protective witchcraft for Enid’s wellbeing. 

But it wouldn’t work.

She knew it wouldn’t work, because if it did, everyone would come after them and the witches would have to stand and fight them. 

Closing her eyes, she felt her familiar settle on her chest, his soft fur tickling at her skin and for a moment, she felt something outside of the void, and it was enough to let her fall asleep. When she awoke, her mother was sitting in a chair across from her. 

“Did you summon that familiar?” Her mother asked. 

Agatha pushed up, feeling as her rabbit jumped off and shuffled around to sit at her feet, picking at the food she’d left in a bowl under her bed. 

“It’s just a rabbit. There was no summoning of it.”

“And you’ve hidden it from sight?” Her mother asked. “It’s strong spell-work, but all that magic is more visible the closer we get to hallow’s eve. The veil is thin.” 

Agatha shrugged at her mother. “Enid wouldn’t let me keep a pet and I liked him.”

“Agatha. Can’t you for once just tell the truth. Is that so difficult?”

Agatha grit her teeth. “Before they arrived, Enid told me what happened when I was four.” She watched her mother’s face pale, the perfect mask cracking. “Did you know she thinks I’m some sort of monster because of how I was born?”

“You’re not a monster, Agatha.”

“But I killed someone. And you decided to hide that from me.”

“You were a child,” her mother said. “You didn’t know your limits. You didn’t even understand what death meant. So yes, I hid it from you, but that’s why we bound your magic. To keep you safe from making the same mistake again.” 

“And then you sent me to her,” Agatha said. “She said she’s going to get the coven to strip me of my magic and banish me. Your little ‘chat’ did nothing to sway her opinion. And then what? What would the coven have done? Enid has had me in her care for the last two years, they would think she knows me better!”

“It won’t happen,” Evanora assured. “I would never have allowed it to go to the coven.”

Agatha exhaled, looking at her mother. She could feel her heart squeezing, and the pain of it seeped through her body, until even her lungs seemed to tighten as she asked, “Are you afraid of me?”

Her mother hesitated. And it was enough. She could hear an assurance following that, a soft cry of of course, not. You’re my daughter. But the sound felt muffled in Agatha’s ears. 

It was too late, she’d seen the look on her mother’s face, brief but naked in its truth. What had happened when she was four years old, that even her own mother was afraid of her? 

“Why are you here, Mother? Is it just to make promises that Enid will be safe, and the coven will be strong?”

“Enid will be hung.” A pause followed and Agatha wasn’t sure if she felt anything at the comment. “That was the verdict reached. They’ll be taking her tomorrow to the gallows. I wanted you to know so you didn’t go into town. You shouldn’t see that.”

“But the coven will be there?”

“It’s too dangerous,” her mother said. “We’re going to lie low for a while. Why don’t you pack up your things and you can come back home? Mildred will be coming to live there, too.”

Agatha swallowed and then nodded. “But not tonight,” she explained. “I’ll pack up tomorrow. I should…” she looked around, trying to think about what she should do. “It’s important that I leave this place in good standing for the next witch.”

Her mother smiled, reached forward to cup her cheek. “Such a good girl,” she said, before pressing forward and kissing her brow. “Tomorrow then. And this time, Aggie. I’ll be your Coven Witch. I’ll teach you. Properly this time like I promised you.”

It felt bittersweet.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, she went into the town, dressed plainly. It was raining that day, making it easier for her to hide as she held the hood of her woollen cloak up, over her head and moved into the town’s main square. 

Usually, there would be open shops and vendors from the local farms, offering goods. But today, people gathered. Only the food vendors had set up, selling an assortment of warm foods in exchange for a couple of coin. 

It was a spectacle.

Agatha looked around, trying to see if any of the other witches were nearby, but if they were, they were out of sight.

She managed to get a standing towards the front, almost as if the crowd had parted for her as she made each step forward, until she was standing just before the gallows. They had been built following a townsperson’s murder against his brother. She had stood, watching that too, as her mother told her that that was the reason they laid low and helped people. So that they wouldn’t be the ones who had their feet swinging.

But people always looked for someone to blame, and witches had always been a target. 

She stood, watching until Enid was brought out, as John Hathorne read out the list of charges against Enid: Poisoning, homocide, infanticide, and witchcraft. 

Agatha watched as Enid was placed onto the gallows, the noose brought down and placed over her throat. She was no longer the witch that had caned her. Now, she was a frail, old woman, and she looked it. Her hair was matted, her eyes sullen, and she looked out, meeting Agatha’s eyes.

She didn’t even appeared surprised. There was no anger, but something bitter curled at the woman’s lips. 

“Any last words?” The judge asked.

Enid kept her mouth shut and the judge nodded, allowing another man to reach behind her and tighten the noose. 

Agatha felt her body tremble, until cool fingers reached out, taking her hand. 

She turned to look at Rio, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, but I think we both know why the other is here,” she said, squeezing at Agatha’s fingers.

There was something grounding about it. Agatha laced their fingers together, holding her tightly. 

She turned back to watch as trapdoor was opened and Enid’s body fell. There was the sudden catch of the rope, but not the sound of a neck breaking. Instead, the woman struggled, painfully kicking at the air, her hands helplessly bound behind her back. 

The crowd gasped, and people pushed against Agatha to get a closer look to see as to what was happening, what the witch looked like dangling from the rope, spluttering as she kicked helplessly. 

A murmur rose in the crowd, asking why she was still alive, but Agatha knew. Agatha knew what her mother’s coven was doing to protect her. 

It left Enid alive, struggling, her skin turning red and white. 

The crowd was pressing closer, their hot breaths were turning from murmurs into frustrated yelling. 

Agatha closed her eyes and took in a deep breath until the sound of the crowd disappeared and all that was left was Rio’s touch in her hand. With her the toe of her boot, she pushed at the dirt. 

Thurisaz. Urus. Eihwaz. 

The connection hummed, and then shattered. She could still hear Enid gasping. Opening her eyes, 4she remembered the way Rio had clicked her fingers, but this time, Agatha thought about the click being elsewhere. 

All at once, Enid’s body went up in flames in a great burst, disappearing and Agatha’s surprise was matched with the crowd as she stepped back. She hadn’t thought it would be such a large fireball. She had only wanted a quick death for the witch. 

Rio’s fingers squeezed at hers, tugging her back through the crowd and Agatha followed. There was confusion and chaos, before the judge’s voice raised through the crowd, beckoning them to be calm. But his voice grew quiet as she was lead out of town. 

“That was impressive.”

“I thought it would be more subtle,” Agatha admitted. “I just wanted it to be over.”

“For her, or for you?” Rio asked. “You know what, don’t worry about answering that.” She reached forward, brushing Agatha’s away from her face. “For what it’s worth, it was the right thing to do. They didn’t tighten the noose hard enough. She would have struggled for a while.”

“I didn’t do it out of kindness for her,” Agatha said. “If she had it her way, she would have had me stripped and banished.”

Rio’s eyebrows rose, her head tilting. “So why did you do it?”

“Because I don’t want any witch to be a spectacle for people like them,” Agatha seethed. “The way the crowd watched. They would have gone hungry to see more. It would never have been satisfying. They’d go after another and another until they were fat with vengeance.”

Rio grew taller, looking at her. “So you were protecting your coven?”

“No,” Agatha said. “Maybe. But it was necessary.”

“I only ask because everyone else in that coven was happy for a four year old to be trialed for a murder. Only your mother held them back. Seems like they don’t care.”

“Mildred isn’t like that,” Agatha said. 

“No, she just looked the other way while a woman beat you weekly for standing up for yourself.” 

Agatha’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Mildred had been a friend, her only friend and source of light in the world. “She’s just a girl.”

“So are you,” Rio reached out, cupping Agatha’s face. “I’m not here to protect you, Agatha. I’m here to give you the power to protect yourself.”

Agatha gave a short laugh, rolling her eyes at the sentiment, but she leaned into the touch anyway. “I thought I was here to get your book back for you.”

There was a sharp grin and then a purred voice, “That too.”

Agatha held at Rio’s arms as the woman cupped her face. She was cold, always cold and there was something refreshing about that touch. About how it didn’t burn like everyone else’s did. “Mother said she’d take over as my Coven Witch,” Agatha said. “Will this be the end of your mentoring?”

“I promised you a year,” Rio said, and she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know. And if you get me that book, I’ll walk with you through to the Road.” 

Agatha’s eyes snapped to hers, her grip on Rio’s wrists tightening. “The Road is just a tale.”

“Is that what they taught you?”

Agatha’s smile pulled wide before she pressed forward, kissing the woman. She knew Rio was doing it out of self interest. She knew the woman wanted her book. She knew it was a carrot on the end of the stick to get her to go faster, but oh, for one moment it was nice to pretend that someone actually cared for her. Someone who wasn’t afraid of her. 

She tugged Rio close and then stepped back, breathing in to take control of herself. As much as she wanted sex, right now it was important she went back to the cottage and collected her things. Which included checking on her rabbit. 

“My mother saw through Scratchy’s spell,” Agatha said.

“‘Scratchy’?”

Agatha looked away, ignoring the judgement. “The spell irritates him.”

“Oh, does it?” Rio said. “Well in that case, we could remove it.” She’d grabbed at Agatha’s hips, tugging her back to her before she began playing with the hood of her cloak. “Be a shame to waste the last time you’ll have a quiet house to yourself.”

“You want to fuck me in the cottage of a dead witch?” Agatha said. 

“Yes,” Rio agreed, as if it wasn’t a strange response. “Don’t you?”

Agatha laughed, pushing away.  “I thought you were courting me.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind when it was against the wall.”

Agatha pulled away, fixing her cloak. “I’m not that type of girl. You’ll need to try harder than this to get under my skirts again.” 

Rio’s eyes flashed, and Agatha could tell the woman had taken the bait of the challenge. 

She followed her to the cottage, watching as Agatha moved around, packing her bag. There were things you didn’t take from a witch’s cottage––such as her garden or the ingredients she had collected. Agatha was free to take the herbs and alike that she had collected, however. 

But there were some things that were fine to take. Agatha knew that at the death of a witch, the coven was privy to the grimoire, if it wasn’t well hidden. 

She went to the spot she knew Enid hid her book, collecting it and placied it in her suitcase. Everything else, she left for someone else. 

If any of the other witches wanted to collect it, they would. 

Suitcase packed, and Scratchy sitting out by the hearth, she paused and looked to Rio, watching the woman lean against the doorframe as she studied her. 

“You’re looking perplexed at something. Have you never seen a suitcase?”

“You killed someone today,” Rio said. “Do you feel regret?”

“Should I?” Agatha asked. “She would have struggled for who knows how long.”

“She would have suffered for twenty minutes––the crowd likely would have lynched her following that,” Rio said, disturbingly factual. 

Agatha raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’m not going to ask how you know that, but it’s better that she didn’t suffer.”

Rio’s eyes were dancing around her face, as if she was trying to read her. But Agatha didn’t know what to say. She hated Enid. The woman had nothing nice to say about her, either. The only thing that had haunted her was the way Enid had looked at her. As if expecting her to be there. 

But that didn’t mean that Agatha wanted the townspeople to do that to her. It wasn’t right for a witch. 

She looked at Rio, and for a moment, she wondered if the woman thought she was a monster, but Rio’s face was clear as day. She wanted her. She adored her for whatever reason. 

Agatha pressed against the window sill, the curtains were closed to hold the warmth of the house in. There was no one here but them. 

“Come here,” she summoned her. 

Rio stepped forward and Agatha breathed her in, drinking in the scent. She didn’t know who Rio was––though there was the spark of something, like she could almost taste it––but she knew she was powerful. And she wanted her to get the book. Agatha could put enough pieces together to understand why.

But she also knew that Rio didn’t think of her as just a tool.

She reached up, bringing Rio down to her mouth and kissed her. There was a taste of wine on her lips. Laced with honey and something else. Something sharp. She could spend hours kissing her like this. Hands in her hair, tugging her close. 

But it wasn’t enough. Not today. 

She leaned back and watched the brown eyes flick between hers, puzzling out what was happening.

“On your knees.” 

Rio’s head tilted. “I don’t get on my knees for just anyone.”

“If you want to fuck me, you’ll do it on your knees,” Agatha said, spreading her thighs as she tugged her closer. 

The woman stood tall and proud, and for a moment, Agatha didn’t know what to expect. And then the woman knelt before her. She was still sitting up, still proud despite Agatha looking down at her.

And oh, she was beautiful. 

Leaning forward, Agatha kissed her again. And then she leaned back and slowly eased her skirts up, inching them up bit by bit, until Rio’s eyes dropped hers to her legs. 

The woman pressed forward, pressing a kiss to her calf, her hand dragging up the other and Agatha sunk into the touch, feeling the woman’s mouth slip further up, until she was between her thighs, her tongue sliding over her cunt. 

Agatha moaned, rocking against her, hands curling in Rio’s hair. 

The woman’s mouth and tongue was soft and gentle and it wasn’t enough. She curled her fingers tighter and Rio laughed against her cunt, the feeling reverberating through her.

“Fuck,” Agatha whispered, rolling into the feeling.  

Rio’s hand had slid under her thighs, gripping them tightly, pressing them apart as she curled her tongue inside of her and Agatha could barely hear anything outside of the loud heartbeat in her ears and the desperate pants escaping her mouth. 

“Fuck, more. I want more, Rio.”

Rio’s tongue slid out of her, licking up before she pulled away and Agatha nearly whimpered as she looked down at the witch. She swallowed it back, but she hated the knowing look on the witch’s face.

“Say please.”

“No,” Agatha said, but the woman’s thumb had moved to rub at her clit in gentle, soft touches and it wasn’t enough. It was too soft, barely a tease. “No,” she said again.

“Say please and I’ll give you something akin la petite mort.” 

“You’re going to make me faint?” Agatha said, a laugh almost catching if she wasn’t feeling the slow, growing sensation from Rio’s thumb. “You’re not that good.” 

Rio frowned. “Say please, Agatha. Or I’ll leave you like this. You’ll have to wait until next New Moon.”

Agatha wanted to snap at her, but her hips were rocking and Rio was leaning forward, her tongue sliding around her thumb in a tease. 

“Fine! Please.”

“Like you mean it.”

Agatha gasped, her eyes closing as she looked up at the ceiling and felt the woman suck on her labia. 

“Fuck, please. Please.”

“Was that so hard?” Rio asked, and then her fingers were sliding inside of her and her tongue was on her and god, she felt good. 

A hand slid under her thigh, easing it over Rio’s shoulder to balance with as Agatha rocked against her face and fuck, the woman was good. Rio was firm and steady with each thrust, meeting Agatha’s movements. Her hand had reached up, grabbing at Agatha’s waist to help her hips rock as Agatha got closer and closer. 

She was squeezing around Rio, her body winding tight like she might snap, grabbing sharply at the woman until she finally broke, crying out. 

The world did go dark this time, and then it flickered back, leaving her panting and empty as she looked up at Rio kneeling before.

The woman’s hands were on her thighs, her smile prominent and knowing. “You still there, sweetheart?”

Agatha didn’t like how cocky she looked. Pushing her away, she went to stand, only to feel the world go dim. If Rio hadn’t her caught her, she may have embarrassingly dropped to the floor with how wobbly her legs were. 

“Fine,” Agatha said, catching her breath as she steadily pushed onto her feet again. “Maybe you are that good.”

She could feel how wet her thighs were. She knew that Rio had been the cause of that. 

“I know, but it was nice to make you beg for it,” Rio whispered as she stood up and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

It should have pissed her off, but the weight of the woman against her side eased the annoying tone as she was helped to stand. “It’s a full moon tonight,” Agatha said. “I should get back to the coven.”

“They won’t allow you to replace her.”

“Of course not,” Agatha said. “I’m too young. I’m sure some other witch will stumble into the position. Someone with more experience. They’ll wait a while, though. It’s tacky to replace a coven witch so soon. Unless there’s a great need for it.”

She breathed in, trying not to think about it. 

Rio only smiled at her, and then she stepped away, helping her to take her suitcase and find where Scratchy had run off to bask in the warmth of the stones by the hearth. 

She cleaned herself up and then, together they began the trek back home to her mother. 

“Te veo,” Rio whispered, when they were close enough to the house. Her fingers tracing over her neck and shoulder.  

Agatha hated how it made her shiver, aching to be touched again. 

Notes:

I wrote the sex scene in the back of the uber after work, and then edited it the back of another uber coming home from some friends' place after having dinner with them. Still not the most explicit thing I've done in the back on an uber, but hey. That's just life.

Chapter 6: Quaking Aspen

Summary:

“It’s dangerous to walk these woods alone,” Rio said, catching Agatha by around her waist. “Especially in your dreams.”

Agatha hadn’t thought about what living with her mother again, would be like. She definitely hadn’t considered what living with Mildred and her Mother would be like. But Mildred––lovely, sunshine, Mildred who found different flowers to weave into new hairstyles every day––was sitting crosslegged on her bedroom floor, petting Scratchy.

“So, is he your familiar?” Mildred asked, not for the first time.

“He’s a rabbit.”

“But he loves you.”

“Because I feed him,” she said, looking at Mildred. “Are you that surprised that an animal likes me?”

“No! The goats like you too.”

That was likely because Mildred was scared of the goats, so when they looked like they were going to ram at her, she squealed and ran away. Where as Agatha knew that it was all for show. She’d been milking their mothers when she was a child. 

And even if they did hit her, it wasn’t going to kill her. At most, it just annoyed her. 

Still, she watched as Scratchy seemed to hop away, moving to jump up, on Agatha’s bed and away from where Mildred had been sitting. As if he sensed her jealousy. 

“Where did you find him?” Mildred asked. 

“In the woods,” Agatha said. “Same place as the last time Mother asked you to ask me.”

Mildred went pink, shredding the pieces of lettuce in her hand. “She’s just worried. Ever since Enid was… She’s worried that you’re meeting up with someone.”

“Who would I be meeting up with?”

Mildred shrugged. “A boy?” She offered, looking up at her. 

“No,” she said flatly. She doubted that her mother thought that was happening, but it was odd that Mildred did, too. “Do you?”

The pink was rushing down Mildred’s neck, now. “No,” she said. “We’re not allowed to have boys from the towns we’re in.”

Oh, this was interesting. Agatha sat forward on the bed. “Do you want to pick dogwood and milkweed with me?”

Mildred laughed, curling up tighter on herself. “That would make for some interesting dreams.”

Agatha shrugged. “Might be fun?” 

Mildred seemed to think about it before she nodded. Taking Scratchy with her in the basket, they headed out to the back garden, where her mother’s plants were. 

The back garden was large and filled with different plants that were common in witchcraft. Any of the witches of the coven were permitted to pick at what they needed, so as long as they left enough for others. 

Down the back of the garden, nearby the greenhouse her mother had built, she and Mildred both knelt and began picking at flowers as Agatha’s familiar hopped around, happy to eat grass and enjoy the setting sun. 

“Who’s the boy. Is it the blacksmith’s son?”

Mildred looked up at her. “There’s no one,” she said, though her voice stuttered over the words. 

Agatha smiled at her. “I won’t tell anyone,” she promised. “Is it one of the farm boys?”

And to that, a small smile flushed on Mildred’s cheek. “Don’t be silly,” she said. 

“Which farm? One of the boys who come into town, perhaps? Maybe the ones that sell…corn or wheat?”

“If you must know, he’s a dairy farmer,” Mildred said, looking up at her. “He was up early one morning and we ran into each other while I was collecting mushrooms. He was really very sweet and helped me pick them, and now…” she trailed off, looking sad. “He says he doesn’t believe that we’ve done anything wrong. But I can’t visit him in town. Now that I’m here, I probably won’t see him at all.”

Agatha thought about it. She knew where the dairy farm was. It was only two miles away from where they were. There was a stream that cut through the land, but she was certain it would be easy enough to cross.

Quaking aspen grew near there too, which made for a good excuse to visit. 

“Would you like to see him?” Agatha asked.

Mildred shrugged. 

“I could make a plan, if you’re in agreement. But you’ll have to keep quiet.” 

That evening, when the table had been set and laid out and food served, Agatha looked to her mother. “Have you thought about planting aspen seeds around the different witches places?” She asked. “We could plant them in soil with some charms to help encourage people to stay away.” 

Her mother frowned at her. “Where did you get such an idea?”

“The books you have Mildred and I study in. There was one on trees. I saw that aspen was often planted to ward away thieves. I thought it may at least help keep some of the witches safe.” 

Her mother’s eyes held onto hers and then she nodded. “If you and Mildred wish to collect some seedlings, you may have a look tomorrow. But stay away from the town.”

“We will,” Agatha assured, “We were going to go North and follow the creek. We’ll be far away from the townspeople.” 

Her mother made no sound to disagree, and Agatha looked to Mildred. Thankfully, her friend had the decency to keep her expression neutral so her mother didn’t suspect a thing. 

It was only when they went to bed that Mildred slipped back into Agatha’s room and hugged her tightly. 

“Thank you, for this.”

Agatha hugged her back, feeling as friend squeezed at her. “There’s no guarantee you’ll see him, but we can go early tomorrow, just before sunrise so you get a chance while he’s milking the cows. You can say you’re looking for aspen seedlings to take home.”

Mildred’s smile was wide as she walked off, humming to herself about how excited she was for tomorrow. 

With the room quiet, and both her mother and Enid having gone to bed, Agatha climbed into her bed, pulling a lit candle close as she took out the book of runes that Rio had provided her. She had already memorised each and every page, learning the different runes and tracing different bindings and combinations. 

You could combine some, the book showed her. Or you could use them as a written language, to create a binding. Or you could create patterns, looping them together in different shapes like stars and circles, to create different meanings. 

She took out the dogwood and milkweed that she had collected, and wound them together, careful as she shape the plants into a specific rune, and then she tucked it into her pillow and blew out the candle. 

It didn’t take long to fall asleep. Almost as if the moment her head hit her pillow, she found herself walking in the woods of the in-between. It was dark, and her feet were bare as they crushed through the fallen leaves. 

She was dressed in the same nightdress she wore at home, and here, it felt too cool for the weather. 

It wasn’t snowing, but there was an iciness to the temperature. 

The wet, leafy smell was strong, but it wasn’t as cloying as it had been when Rio dragged her into the woods before. But the sounds were louder than she recalled. All around her, she could hear voices whispering, people crying out. 

I want to go home. Please, I want to go home.

Agatha wasn’t sure why she was here. She hadn’t intended to come to the in-between. She’d just been searching for Rio. But she took a step and felt as a tree scratched at her, as if its limbs had been reaching out. 

She felt something else snatch at her, long, spindly fingers grasping. Please. I want to go home.

Her heart thudded. This wasn’t at all like it had been before. And she didn’t know how to wake-up. She hadn’t meant to come here. 

Take me home—something grasped at her, oily and slick and Agatha recoiled, crying out as she stumbled back, hitting something solid. 

“It’s dangerous to walk these woods alone,” Rio said, catching Agatha by around her waist. “Especially in your dreams.”

Agatha turned to face her, watching as the forest melted back into woods, the voices quietening once again, until it seemed like there was no one and nothing around but them and quiet trees. “What is this place? Is this your home?” 

Rio shrugged. “It’s a home, but it’s not my home. I’m just doing some work here,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Agatha swallowed, she hadn’t got that far in what she wanted to say to her. She hadn’t even been certain she’d get anywhere close to meeting Rio. All she’d known when she was twisting the plant, was that she wanted to try and see what happened.

“Did you miss me?” Rio asked, her fingertips on her hips, holding her steady. 

“Of course not,” Agatha said. “I just wanted to see if I could find you.”

“Mm. How did you do it?” Rio’s fingers were tracing up and down her waist. Even through the nightdress, she could feel the vibration of her nails. What would it feel like against her bare skin, she wondered. What it would feel like to press naked against Rio’s skin?

“I picked some flowers,” Agatha said. “Milkweed, and I placed it in my pillow.”

Rio was pulling her close and Agatha set her hands on the woman’s shoulders, holding her a distance apart. 

“It’s not what you think,” Agatha warned.

“Milkweed,” Rio said. “Milkweed is for dreams of the fae. Do you think I’m a faerie, Agatha Harkness?”

“I don’t know what you are,” Agatha said. “But it brought me to you.”

“It brought you here to these woods,” Rio corrected. “But I don’t think that was the only thing you used, otherwise it wouldn’t have been grounding enough. You wouldn’t be here,” she said, and the tug this time pressed them right together, until their noses were almost touching. “Tell me, Agatha. What else did you use?” 

She held Rio’s eyes. She was in too deep now. “Dogwood. And I twisted them into a rune.”

“Dogwood, protection, illusion…fertility,” Rio said, and Agatha could feel her lips brushing against hers. “What was the rune, Agatha?”

“Ansuz, raidho, and…” she trailed off, feeling Rio’s lips draw over hers. Agatha’s mouth parted, “Laguz.” 

“Oh, you are clever,” Rio said before kissing her hard. 

It was harsh and powerful and Agatha melted into it, biting at the woman’s lip as Rio sucked at hers. 

Agatha knew she’d done something impressive, something that had Rio greedy for her, and she revelled in the feeling. 

But too quickly, it was over and Rio was pulling back, looking at her. “Not here,” she said. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m collecting aspen seedlings tomorrow. You should come find me.”

Rio smiled at her. “Is that so?” she said, kissing her again and again, as if she didn’t quite want it to be over. “As you so wish. Tomorrow,” she agreed. “But it’s time to wake up, now Agatha. Wake-up and be safe.”

Agatha awoke, even in the dark, she reached into the pillowcase and tried to pull out the rune she’d woven, but it came away in pieces of scattered leaves and flowers, the stems broken apart. 

She turned over in the bed, feeling as Scratchy shifted to tuck against her stomach, and closed her eyes. 

If she thought about it hard enough, she could still taste the witch on her tongue. There had been a sharpness to it, like she’d been chewing  rosemary before Agatha had arrived. 

 

---

 

Mildred woke her up early, bouncing on the bed beside her. “Come on, it’s almost sunrise,” she said.

“I’m getting up,” she agreed, making no move to open her eyes or even lift her head from the warm, comfortable pillow. 

“Agatha,” Mildred whined. “You promised. Please. We need to collect the aspen.”

At the mention of aspen, her eyes flew open and Agatha pushed up, out of the bed. “Okay, give me a moment and I’ll get dressed,” she said, shooing Mildred out of the room. 

She washed herself first and then dressed in one of her favoured outfits that she hadn’t been able to wear at Enid’s, without the witch commenting that she may as well put bows on the chickens for all the good it did. 

It was surprisingly relaxing to be able to dress how she liked without criticism. She pulled her cloak on, given the chilly air, and grabbed the deeper baskets, placing cheese cloth in the bottom of them to help retain the soil that would be dug out.

As they walked through the thinned woodland, towards the stream, Mildred began to tell her about the farm boy. “His name is Henry. He’s going to take over the farm, because he’s the eldest son. They own twenty-seven cows and when one of the calves were sick, I helped provide an ailment to fix it.”

Agatha’s eyebrows rose. “You made an ailment for a cow?” 

Mildred nodded. “She was very sick. But she’s better now. They’re not using her milk until they know she’s better, so it’s just been dumped at the moment.” She paused then, looking at Agatha. “He’s really very sweet when you meet him.”

Agatha gave a laugh. “I’m not meeting him,” she confirmed with Mildred. “I’ll collect the aspen seedlings for us. That way you can spend some time with your paramour. We’ll meet back up together around lunch time, when the sun is high.”

Mildred nodded. “This is really very kind of you, Agatha.”

“You deserve to have fun,” Agatha said, surprised that she meant it. 

Mildred’s face lit up, and she rushed forward, pulling her into another classic Mildred hug. “I’m glad I found this coven when my mother died. I don’t think I’d ever be so lucky as to have someone like you.” 

Agatha stepped back, smiling at her as she tried to brush off the sentiment. “There’s the stream,” she said, pointing to where the stones were for Mildred to cross. “The aspen grove a little bit further. You’ll notice it when the stream bed widens towards the north. They’re in a large cluster there.”

Mildred nodded and Agatha watched as she carefully stepped over the stones before turning back and waving at her. 

Well, at least she’d be busy for a while, Agatha thought as she made her way up to where the aspen was. She didn’t know when Rio would be arriving, but she looked around, marking to herself where the smaller aspen saplings were. 

She’d counted out twenty when she felt the air shift. This time, she turned just as Rio was reaching out for her.

“Caught you, this time,” Agatha said.

“You’re getting stronger,” Rio returned, dropping her hand as she stepped forward. She looked her up and down, admiring her appearance before she smiled. “Did you dress up for me?”

“I dressed up for me,” Agatha clarified. “Enid wouldn’t allow me to wear things like this and I wanted to.” 

Rio nodded, but she stood tall, her hands behind her back as she circled around Agatha. “So…why aspen?” 

“Needed an excuse to get out of the house,” Agatha said, brushing the hair from her face. “My mother thinks I’m collecting seedlings to her protect against thieves.”

Rio nodded. “Well, aspens grow in a cluster. All the ones you see here come from one organism. Their roots are a single network––not unlike some mushrooms. It’s a clever idea for a coven protection.”

“Lover of trees, are you?”

“And other things,” Rio said. “But if you were to visit me again in your dreams, you should wear a crown of aspen. They’ll keep you safe in the woods.” 

Agatha’s eyes narrowed and something shivered down her spine at those words. “How long have you been a necromancer?” She asked. 

Rio only smiled, stepping close to her. “Did you ask me all the way here to get some secrets out of me?” 

“No, but is it a sin to want to get to know you better?”

“Depends on who you follow,” Rio teased. “If you truly want to know me, why don’t you get naked for me. There’s no one here but you and me.” 

Agatha eyed her up and down, warmth spilling through her at the idea. “You first. Age before beauty, after all.” 

She watched the mischievous look pool over Rio’s face. It was one of the things she liked about Rio. The way her expressions were open and bare to her. There was no mask, no stillness to her features. She was alight with trickery, yes, but she was still open with her expressions. 

Even Mildred in her sweetness faulted, disguising how she felt. And Agatha would never forget how her mother looked when she asked if she was afraid of her. 

“You knew what happened when I was a child,” Agatha said. “How did you know that?”

“I was there,” Rio said. 

Agatha felt her a cold laugh rise inside of her. “So why am I not a monster to you, then?”

Rio frowned, her head tilting and Agatha watched as her eyes flicked between Agatha’s. “You survive. Persevere. You don’t sit back and take things. That’s not what a monster is.”

“So what is a monster to you?”

Rio didn’t hesitate. “They don’t exist,” she whispered, as if it were a secret. “A monster is just something unknown that they fear. And I’m not afraid of you.”

Easy words to say. “What if I am something to be afraid of?”

Rio’s eyes only lit-up. “I’m hoping for it. But you would never be a monster to me.” There was a reverence there, as though she was tying a prayer to a goddess with her words. And for one, shining moment, Agatha felt it wash over her. She reached for her, pulling her into a kiss, and when Rio’s hands were on her, Agatha undressed, tugging, unbuttoning, untying herself from her clothes, until she was pressed against the woman, naked and waiting, her long hair undone as she looked at her. 

“I want you,” Agatha said, her breath heavy. “I want to taste you.” 

The morning light was surprisingly warm against her skin as Rio undressed, her eyes holding Agatha’s, watching her drink the form in––and oh, it was a form that the muses would inspire. 

Rio’s cloak had fallen to the ground and Agatha kissed the woman, dragging her down so her back was against the impossibly green, woollen cloak as she kissed her. 

She climbed onto the woman’s lap, pressing the weight of herself onto Rio, down against the woman’s cloak as she kissed her mouth, rocking her body against hers––and when she felt Rio’s fingertips slip between her thighs, Agatha grabbed the hand, pinning it to the ground. “No,” she said, “No, I want you.” 

Rio’s eyes flicked between hers, her brow pulling together, and Agatha couldn’t quite read what it was, but she could see surprise. Uncertainty. 

Watching her, Agatha kissed down the woman’s body, tasting over her skin, kissing down her sternum, down her ribs, to her belly. 

And as she reached the ridge of where dark pubic hair curled, she looked up to see Rio’s face. Uncertain, curiously watching as Agatha kissed down, her tongue coming out eager to taste to witch, and oh, she was divine.

Agatha eyes fell shut, her tongue sliding between the labia, eagerly tasting the arousal dripping like warm honey from Rio––it was like drinking Meade. Rich, delicious, drink of the gods and she wanted to stay here forever. 

Her own moans rivalled Rio’s, and as time passed, after she had divulged her own desire, she looked up, curious to see if Rio was still watching her, but the woman’s eyes were shut, her back arching as she pressed against Agatha’s mouth, basking in the sensation. 

All around them, Agatha could hear the sound of nature, birds and frogs and the running stream bubbling with life as leaves shifted beneath their movements, as Rio arched against her. 

Agatha knelt and kissed and sucked, and for the first time, she felt one with nature. 

And then Rio’s hand was in her hair and how had Agatha waited this long to do this? Tasting Rio, fucking her as she felt her body electrify with the fingertips curling in her hair. The sound of soft gasps, soft “Agatha”, whispered through the air. This felt like magic. This felt like a ritual she had discovered all on her own.

And then Rio’s gasps were loud and clear in the air. The world became quiet as the woman panted, rocking against her mouth, tugging at Agatha’s hair until––

“Agatha!”

But it was not Rio’s voice crying out her name.  

Agatha looked up to where Mildred stood, a fair few years away, but standing unsure of herself, her cheeks tearstained. 

Agatha’s mouth pulled away and Mildred turned, running––but as she rose to make chase, Rio stopped her. “Let her run,” she said. “You know where she’ll run off to.”

“She might tell someone!” Agatha said, tugging at Rio’s grip.

“And what would she say?” Rio asked. “To her, I’m just a girl from the town. This might save you.” She reaching up, tucking a strand behind Agatha’s ear. “They would know if another witch were here––to them, I’m just some girl you seduced.”

The thudding in her heart didn’t ceased, but she eased back, sitting on her knees as Rio sat up. 

“Did you plan this?” Agatha asked. “Is this some test?”

“No.” Rio said, taking her hand. “I’m not a divination witch. And you know that. In your heart, you know who I am.” 

Agatha sucked in a breath, looking up at the sky. The morning light didn’t feel as warm as it had before, and she shivered. 

Without a word, they dressed and Rio stood tall beside her, removing a leaf from Agatha’s hair. “Do you think what we did was wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Agatha said. She could feel a stone in her boot, but it didn’t matter. “Help me grab some seedlings.” 

They knelt down, digging at seedlings and one by one, they removed enough from the aspen network of roots for the other witches. When she rose, Rio only looked at her, and there was something uncertain wavering in her voice as she asked. “I’ll see you at New Moon.”

Agatha nodded. “You will,” she confirmed. 

When Rio’s smile brightened, her chest felt a little lighter. There was something…sweet about how she looked at her.

“For what it’s worth,” Agatha said. “Being with you feels like the first time I can be myself.” 

Notes:

I...have nothing to say. The muse leads, I follow. I'd marry her if I could.

Chapter 7: Spellbooks and Charms

Summary:

You don’t understand love,” Mildred said. “It transcends everything else.”

Agatha found Mildred sitting, not in her own bedroom, but in Agatha’s, with Scratchy on her lap. She eyed the rabbit, watching his nose twitch. Traitor, she thought, looking away. 

Setting the seedlings aside, she closed the bedroom door behind her and removed her gardening apron, as if nothing were wrong. As if she hadn’t been caught in a thicket of a trees, eating out another woman. 

“Who was she?” Mildred asked, breaking the silence.

Agatha looked up at her. “A friend.”

“But you never told me about her.”

“Until yesterday, you never told me about Daniel.”

“Henry.”

She wouldn’t remember the name. He wasn’t of importance. She moved forward, hands clasped before her and looked at Mildred. “I got the saplings for us.”

“You…you’re going to pretend––?”

“Pretend what?” Agatha asked as Mildred stuttered. 

“I saw you.”

“Yes, you did,” Agatha said. “You also interrupted me. We weren’t expected to meet until midday and we’re barely at mid-morning.”

A quiet held between them, and she could see Mildred’s face twisting. “You’re really going to act like what you did––”

“What I did. What have you done with Daniel––”

“Henry.”

“Whoever!” Agatha said. 

“I told you about Henry. You said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I said I wasn’t seeing a boy,” Agatha corrected. “You’re the one who made assumptions.” She stepped closer, looking at Mildred. “And you only told me yesterday. You’re the one who lied. Not me.”

“You said you were collecting aspen!”

“And I did,” Agatha said, gesturing to the basket. “I didn’t lie about that.”

“No, but––”

“Nothing,” she cut off. “I never lied. You did. You said there was no boy. You said there was no one. I told you the truth. You may not have liked it, but it was the truth.”

Mildred’s lip trembled, her body shaking and Agatha hated how she looked at her. Curled in the corner of bed her bed, legs pressed to chest, with her arms wrapped around her knees. She was scared and hurt. All Agatha had wanted was a moment of peace and joy. 

And for a brief second, she’d had it.

Drawing in a breath, Agatha pushed the anger aside. “Mildred,” she said, her voice even. “What happened before that?”

Mildred looked down, her body sagging. “Henry’s getting married,” she said. “To a neighbour. Apparently what he and I had was just some fun. He never saw me as a wife.”

Agatha frowned at the comment. “You wanted to be his wife?”

“I wanted to be loved by him!” Mildred said. “I wanted to have a family of witches with him.”

“But you can’t.”

“But I wanted it. I would even have given up my magic like he wanted. I really loved him.”

And there was the thing that Agatha didn’t understand. To give up magic for someone you loved? Why would someone worth loving ever take that away from you. She wouldn’t do it. She’d never love someone who’d ask her to give it up.

Rio would never ask that of her. 

“You’d give up magic over a boy?”

“You don’t understand love,” Mildred said. “It transcends everything else.”

 “Clearly not, because he’s happy with someone else and you’re here no longer able to get your cunt filled. ”

And this time, Mildred looked at her with disgust and horror. “It’s not about that! It’s about love! Love. Have you never felt that for anyone? Even your….your…rabbit?” 

Agatha looked to Scratchy, and she knew that she cared for him. That didn’t mean she’d give up her own power for him. “It’s a part of you,” Agatha said. “That’s like cutting off an arm.”

“And I’d do that too, if he would love me back!”

Agatha didn’t disguise her disgust. For the first time, she found herself facing a variation of Mildred that she didn’t like. She wasn’t sweet. She wasn’t kind and gentle. She was just...pathetic. Desperate to feel loved in a way that didn’t exist. Or if it did, Agatha wanted no part of it.

She didn’t wanted to lose her arm for love. She didn’t want to beg for it, either. Love was…

She wasn’t sure. 

It was something. But it wasn’t that. 

“You don’t understand. You’ve never felt love. One day, you’ll realise what love is and you realise I’m right!” Mildred said, as she pushed off the bed and left her room.

Agatha was all the more thankful for it. She doubted the witch would go cry to her mother, and even so, Rio was right. She doubted that there was anything worth saying if she did. Having a dalliance in the woods may be inappropriate to some, but witches were less prudish. Generally speaking. 

Though try as she might, Mildred’s words left her in doubt. Had she never felt love before? Even a piece of it? She thought she loved her mother, but the idea of giving up her power for her was…difficult. 

It made her angry. 

Agatha picked at the seedlings, looking them over, and noticed that amongst the dirt, there was something else. A see-me-not charm hidden amongst the seedlings, awaiting for her to notice and pluck out a new book. 

This one wasn’t like the rune book. The binding was raw, the leather cover sewn on with nothing identifying about it. 

Agatha cleaned her hands and dusted the soil from the cover, before opening it up. There were pages and pages of carefully written spells, each with notes and small ink pictures. It was a spell book, with only one side of each page written on, so the ink didn’t bleed through and blend the two spells together. 

When vellum was used, it was easier to write on both sides. Even thicker styles of pages usually had both. But it was common practice with pages as light and thin as this book to only write on one side.

Not just to avoid mistakes, but also to avoid the spells themselves touching one another. 

There was one, in the very middle that she flicked to that Agatha saw a little note that caught her eye. For when you miss me. 

Agatha went back, going through the notes, noticing how the ink was darker that the spell notes. The handwriting was neater, despite the smaller script. 

She closed the book, bringing it to her nose and breathed in. For a moment, she could smell honeysuckle and a rainstorm. And then all she could smell was the residue of dirt on paper. 

No, she realised. Love wasn’t having to make yourself smaller for someone else. And that’s what Mildred wanted. She wanted to carve at herself until she fit the perfect picture of whatever Daniel or Matthew or John, or whatever the boy’s name was. 

But Rio didn’t want to make her small. She didn’t want to carve at her and make her a perfect picture. She wanted to unravel Agatha, cutting at the strings that bound her, and have her be whole. 

Agatha didn’t understand why. Not entirely. 

But the witch’s words poured through her ear. I was there. 

Agatha tried to remember the boy. She tried to remember the incident. But there was nothing. No memory. 

She remembered being a child who dug for worms in the soil, looking at them and carefully placing them back. She remembered feeding goats and being afraid of snakes and spiders until her mother showed her how they had very little interest in people, unless they felt threatened. She remembered catching butterflies and showing her mother the beetles she found. 

But she couldn’t remember the boy. 

 

---

 

New moon wasn’t far away, and Agatha persevered through Mildred’s frostiness, and her mother’s teachings––mostly book studies, but at least she was learning how to brew potions and learn actual magic. 

At night, she’d light a candle and read through the book, practicing the spells without doing them. She memorised the words and hand movements, and when the candle grew low, she slipped into bed and read over the small notes. 

You’ll like this one, was next to a spell for tripping hex. It required nailing one of the person’s shoes, but it would mean the person would trip for as long as the shoe was nailed to a wall. Practically harmless, entirely amusing to think about making someone trip. 

When the night of New Moon came, she lied to her mother, feigning a headache and then slipped out into the back garden, climbing over the fence as she headed into the woods. 

The moment she saw Rio, she strode over, grabbing her to kiss her.

“Mm, quite the welcoming,” Rio said, her eyes dancing over her face. 

“I found the book you gave me,” Agatha said. “I’ve been practicing.”

“It’s mine,” Rio said, as if it were a secret.

“I know,” Agatha said, kissing her again. “I know.” 

She would never admit this to a single soul, not even Rio, but there were nights she’d curll up in bed, tracing over the words and breathing in the scent, catching the faintest smell of Rio. 

A feral, primal, part of herself wanting to taste the pages to see if Rio’s touch remained. 

But Rio was here. She could feel the woman’s fingertips on her waist, tracing up and down the bodice, reverberating through it. She could taste her. Touch her. Feel her. 

She could even breathe in the scent of her skin.

“I should be testing you,” Rio said as Agatha kissed her again. “I promised to teach you.”

“I read the book,” Agatha promised, her fingers tracing over Rio’s face. “We were interrupted last time, and I’m making up for lost time.” 

Rio smiled at her. At first sweet, then mischievous. “A trial of skills then?” She said. “I think you’ll like this one more if you fail it, too. You’ll need to be naked for it.” 

Agatha shivered. “What is it?”

“Will you undress first?”

Rio’s voice caught, her desire cutting through and Agatha loved the effect she had on her. Standing tall, she undid her clothes, tossing them aside and watched as Rio undid her cloak, casting it down for Agatha to lie back on.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re going to do,” Agatha asked, as she laid on the cloak. 

“A trial,” Rio reminded. “Try and remain calm.” 

Agatha watched as Rio cast a summoning spell, and then felt as the roots of the trees began to move, shifting to tug at her. 

They caught her hands and ankles, pinning her down and then Rio was on top of her, sitting on her lap as she traced over Agatha’s body. “I told you you’d like this one,” she said.

“Am I meant to escape?” Agatha asked, sucking in a breath as she felt Rio’s fingertips brush over her breasts. 

The woman shrugged, dragging her touch down Agatha’s ribs. “You tell me, what spells did you learn in that book?” 

The roots were tightening, twisting until she could barely move––and yet the pain was tempered with Rio’s touch, as she leant forward and began kissing her clavicle, her tongue tracing over her. 

“Fire,” Agatha said. 

“With all this detritus?” 

Agatha closed her eyes as she felt the woman’s mouth on her breast, sucking at it. She breathed in, flicking through the pages in her mind. Hexes wouldn’t work, you needed an object, and she was bare of everything. 

“Witch got your tongue, Agatha?” 

Agatha hummed, muffling the moans building her throat. She needed to focus. Spells didn’t all require objects. There were spells that required hand movements, spells that required words, spells that… 

Rio had shifted, moving to sit between her thighs as her mouth kissed down her sternum, to her belly, leaving small marks from her teeth.

Agatha arched into each movement, slipping deeper and deeper into desire as she tried to remember another page. Curses could be spoken, but she didn’t want to curse her and intent mattered. 

She could feel the woman’s breath on her pubic bone, “Anything?”

“I’m thinking!” Agatha said. 

“If you win, I’ll show you something secret about that book.” 

Agatha went to laugh, but the woman’s tongue slipped down and a moan came out instead. “This isn’t fair,” Agatha said, rocking her hips.

“I told you you’d like losing more,” Rio said. 

She tugged at the restraints and arched as Rio’s tongue slid over her. She wasn’t gentle or teasing like she’d been the other times. This was purposeful. Distracting and so, so good. The woman’s hands were on her breasts, pinching the nipple between the length of her fingers and god, it was like pricks of desire were scattering through her. 

She could remember potions and runes. There was nothing for transformation. Nothing for––

“Time’s running out,” Rio said. 

Agatha could feel it. Concentrating while battling an orgasm was becoming one of the most difficult things she’d faced. 

She gasped, rocking as she looked up at the sky. There was no moon, there was no moonlight. 

What else could she use?

Her heart was loud and Agatha’s eyes were squeezing shut, her thighs trembling against Rio as her body rocked. She could hear her own cries, soft and almost pleading as they spilled from her with each electrifying touch.  

She had a tree, magic, words––

Agatha realised that while her wrists were pinned down, her fingers could still move. She looked up the sky. New moon was for finishing and planning for the next stage. If she stared up, hard enough into the trees, if she…

She faltered as Rio sucked down on her clit. Time was actually running out.

Agatha thought about the book and the little note Rio had written in the bottom of one page, you can shape patterns with anything, including your tongue. 

It had been a teasing note that Agatha had thought meant that she could try using her tongue to write spells on Rio’s body––but she realised that she could trace the symbols anywhere. Not just in the dirt.

With her fingers she traced runes, stroking the air until she felt her own magic bind to the trees, and then shatter Rio’s hold. 

At once, the roots unravelled, sinking back into the dirt. 

Rio’s pleased laugh vibrated against her, and the woman only held her tighter as she rewarded Agatha. 

But Agatha was needy now. She’d won and she wanted more than what Rio was offering. 

With her hands free, she she reached down, grabbing at Rio and tugged her up to her mouth, so she could taste the woman again. 

When their lips touched, Agatha could taste herself on Rio’s tongue, alongside the sharpness of magic. She was blended against Rio, and it was divine. 

The witch’s fingertips slid inside of her, knowing what she wanted and Agatha felt as though they were one being in tandem. Rio fingers inside of her, her mouth on hers, a hand holding her steady. 

She didn’t care about the orgasm, didn’t care about anything else. She just wanted this, this feeling, this moment, this woman to last for as long as it could. 

It was as if the world had stopped for them. 

When she came, squeezing around Rio’s fingers, her moans caught in Rio’s mouth––and there was nothing else. No forest, no trees, no stars or fears. There was Rio. Only Rio. 

She breathed in, feeling Rio’s fingertips on her thigh, holding her close. “I didn’t think you’d pass that one,” Rio said. “Most witches aren’t good with using the air to break a binding. They need something more solid, like chalk.”

“Or dirt.”

“Or dirt,” Rio agreed. 

There was a shared laugh and then a quiet settled between. The sound of the woods returned. Agatha could hear an owl calling out, the leaves rustling in the wind. 

Agatha turned to the woman, her mouth parted, a question rising and stopping. 

Rio looked at her. Her eyes were gentle, flicking between Agatha’s before her thumb brushed at her cheek, frowning. “Ask.”

“How do you undo a memory spell?” 

Rio smiled at her, but it didn’t look happy. “You can’t. It wasn’t a spell,” Rio said, brushing the hair from her face. “Your mother didn’t make you forget. She told you it didn’t happen until you believed her.” 

“How do you know?”

“Because if there had been any other spell, it would have broke when I overcharged you.” Her fingers were soft as they brushed through her hair. “You were four years old. The coven was practicing a spell to clean the water in the river because people were getting sick. A boy, who was much older, snuck up to where you were told to stand and wait, and he pushed you into the river. You dragged him down with you, and drowned him. The other witches couldn’t stop you. A whole coven of witches tried to but you were angry, determined and powerful.” 

Agatha looked at her. “Have you always kept watch on me?”

“No. That was the last time I saw you until you summoned me. I was in the neighbourhood, and magic often takes the path of least resistance,” she said.

Agatha’s mother had told her the same thing, warning her to always be clear about her intent. Not to allow stray thoughts to tangle into hers or others spells. 

“And so you decided that I would be the one to get your book?”

“It was as though the stars had aligned,” Rio said, grinning at her. “But in truth I thought that any witch powerful enough to summon me while bound, was a witch I wanted to know.” 

Agatha reached up, pressing a kiss to her. “What happens after the year is up?”

“We’ll part until our next meeting,” Rio said. “When the stars align once more.”

Agatha smiled, though there was an ache to it. But she pressed that side of her away and pulled Rio into another kiss, deepening it until she was able to drag her fingers down the woman’s body and begin untying her dress. 

“What are you doing?” Rio asked, against her mouth.

“Finishing what I started,” Agatha said. 

Notes:

But Teddy, you say, why is there always bondage and outdoor sex with your writing?

IDK, I just like writing it.

Chapter 8: A Green Witch Acolyte

Summary:

“I can do it,” she said, looking to her mother. “Let me look at the grimoire, I’ll show you that I can do it. Please, Mother. I could be a good healer for the coven. Isn’t that what you wanted from me?”

Notes:

This one's a bit longer. There's plot and then...I just wanted to write more porn, so here it is...

At the end of the rendezvous of New Moon, Rio had told her to try looking at the book in moonlight with all other light extinguished around her. 

When there was finally enough light coming from the waxing moon, Agatha took the book to her window and watched as the first page disappeared. Frowning, she flicked the page over, watching not just as another page went blank, but as the opposite side of the newly blank page began to reveal a new spell. 

She flicked through the pages one by one, watching the spell wash away on the right and reveal a new one on the left. Agatha moved to sit on the wind sill, using the moonlight to read as she went through, page by page, and read through each of Rio’s small notes around the pages. 

There was one spell about summoning a person that had the small note: you already know this one. Another about encouraging growth of plants with the small note can be used maliciously, if you’re clever. 

It was almost reading a love letter that Rio had written for her. 

She liked the witch’s drawings. The anatomy diagrams showing pressure points and where you could brand a person for different curses and hexes to have different effects. 

There were figures of hands, showing how different positioning of the fingers had different effects while casting––though Rio had circled one of the positions and wrote you’ve mastered this one.

It took her a moment to realise what Rio had meant and then Agatha laughed as she began to grow warm. She flicked through to another diagram, beneath a spell talking about tongue shapes for certain sounds, and a similar comment was scrawled next to it. 

Somehow, it was enough to make her ache. 

She shut the book, trying to not think about how Rio had felt during the New Moon, deep inside of her as she fucked her. She tried not to think about the woman’s mouth, or how she’d tasted, or the sounds she made when Agatha’s fingers were curled inside of her. 

Agatha brought the book to her lips, eyes squeezing shut. 

New Moon was a few weeks away. She could wait. The last thing she wanted was to come off desperate and needy because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Rio sounded. 

There were things Agatha chased, and women were not one of them. 

She set the book aside and moved it under the loose floorboard, keeping it hidden. If her mother wasn’t so clever, she would have used see-me-not charms. But the use of any magic would only draw attention to the fact that she was hiding something. 

Agatha paused then, thinking about the book Rio wanted. If the coven was hiding it, it would most likely be here in the house. Hidden. 

She picked up Scratchy, patting his fur as she thought about how her mother would hide a book. 

And then she realised she’d have to make an apology if it was where she suspected. Ugh.

The next morning, she made a point to knock on Mildred’s door, easing against the doorframe as Mildred sat on the edge of her bed, combing her long, strawberry blonde hair, before she’d begin to wind it into a new style. There was already lavender laid out on the bedside table. 

“I haven’t said anything to your mother, and I won’t. You don’t need to threaten me.”

“I’ve never threatened you,” Agatha said. 

Mildred looked at her, her expression cold before she looked away. “I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore. Or what secrets you have.”

Agatha stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her so mother wouldn’t hear. And then she stepped closer, moving to sit beside Mildred, even as the girl tensed, her fingers setting aside her comb. 

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you about her,” Agatha said. 

“Why didn’t you?”

Keeping her voice gentle, she looked at Mildred. “Why didn’t you tell me about your boy?” 

Mildred swallowed, looking down at her hands. “I thought you’d find it silly that I wanted to marry him,” she gave a dry laugh. “I was right, too.” 

Agatha reached out, taking her hand. “I don’t think anyone who loves you would ask for you cut a piece of yourself off permanently. He didn’t want you. He wanted an idea of you.” 

Mildred’s tears welled up and she looked down. “But I really loved him.”

Agatha went to make a comment about how he was probably only using her, and then decided that it wouldn’t be helpful in getting Mildred to forgive her. Instead, she pulled her friend into a hug. “Think of it this way,” she said. “You know you’re capable of love. One day, someone will be deserving of it.”

Mildred nodded, sniffing as she hiccuped a sob. 

Agatha reached into her sleeve and pulled out her handkerchief, handing it over. Thankful that Mildred cleaned her nose before she rubbed any of it onto her shoulder. 

For a moment they stayed there, until Mildred sat up, her face pink and blotchy as she smiled at her. “I’m sorry for being angry. I’ve never known you to keep a secret, and it seemed obvious that you’d…known her for a while.”

Agatha smiled. “Less than you think,” she teased, pleased when Mildred flushed. “How long did you know the farmer’s son before you and him did the deed?”

“Oh. We’d been friends for a few years, but he kissed me last spring and then we made love in the Summer,” Mildred said. “I was hoping we would again that day, but…he admitted he was getting married…so…” she trailed off, picking at a loose thread on the handkerchief. “Is your beau—er, belle––from the town?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, we met…trading some vegetables,” Agatha said, letting out an exhale. “We ran into each other in the aspen trees and one thing lead to another.” 

Mildred’s face was going red again. “Does it…does it feel different then with a boy?” She asked. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Agatha said. “Never been interested in boys.”

“Why not?”

Agatha made a face. “What do they have to offer?” And as Mildred’s mouth opened to explain, she raised her hand. “That wasn’t a true question.” 

“Oh,” Mildred said. “Well…she seemed nice?”

Agatha laughed. “The brief moment you saw of her naked and close to orgasm is what you would describe as ‘nice’?” 

There was a frown and Mildred’s tell-tale expression of puzzlement. “Girl’s don’t get close to orgasm,” she said. “That’s only what boys do so they can make a baby.”

Agatha stared at Mildred, for a moment uncertain if this was a joke or not. “Who, exactly, told you that?”

“My mother did.” 

“Well, I can’t tell if your mother was lying or if she had a really sad sex life before your father died.” The words came out without her thinking and she watched as Mildred’s face recoiled with pain. “What I mean to say is, it sounds like someone may have lied to your mother. Though most witches  know about orgasms.”

“My mother wasn’t a witch,” Mildred said. “My father was. But he died when I was little.”

Agatha nodded, realising how the mistake had likely occurred. Male witches were rare, and usually not born––though there had been the rare occurrence. She doubted that Mildred’s father was a blood witch. More than likely, he was a man who’d stumbled into magic. Maybe a past lover––magic could be taught to anyone, if they were willing to listen. But gaining powerful magic was usually something acquired by reading things like a coven grimoire.

“Was your father in a coven?” Agatha asked.

“He was. But most of them were killed during a storm. That’s why I came here by myself. They didn’t have the resources to train me and it would take time. So they told me to find a coven, and then I found yours,” she smiled. “I was really lucky. Though, as you know, Helena took me in first––but she couldn’t take on the apprentice work.”

Agatha thought it over. She knew her mother had brought Mildred here to train while the town remained dangerous. Until the tension had watered down. 

Lucille’s home had been the closest house to the town. Though Agatha would have pointed out Enid’s had been the furthest and that did nothing to save her. 

“So…what does an orgasm feel like?” Enid asked.

Agatha laughed. “You’ll have to find out for yourself. You can masturbate, you know. Find out what you like.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.”

“You’re a witch,” Agatha reminded. “Some of the spells you’ll do may require sexuality.”

She left Mildred then to think about what she said, pleased to have made some progress towards mending the friendship. She hated apologising though. It reminded her of all the times that Enid had forced her to apologise with threat of caning––even when things weren’t her fault.

At least she understood why Enid thought she was at fault, now.

She paused then, realising that she hadn’t asked Rio why she had been there at the boy’s drowning. Had she been looking for a coven? 

Agatha doubted it. She seemed happily covenless now. But the question stuck and that feeling that she knew who Rio was, that some part of her knew, was growing louder. 

She’d trail that thought later. Now, she needed to make plans and step carefully. 

Her mother was having them garden that morning, talking about the properties as if Agatha hadn’t memorised them all. The only thing that gave her pause was when Mildred asked, “Will there be a replacement green witch? Most of the coven didn’t do Enid’s work.”

Most of the coven witches here were water witches––remnants from when their coven had been on the coast of the old country. They did potions, or they summoned rain and cleared clouds. Some helped with keeping the well clean, or finding water in the ground. Most of the work came from the nearby farmlands, with Enid having been the sole witch who cared for the mothers when asked for. 

The few others that weren’t water witches would do things like provide protection rights into houses, or bless the lands for fertility. Some did divination. 

Lucille was one of the few witches who did pieces of healing, but she wouldn’t fill the void left by Enid once mothers started to return, asking for help. Healers were rare. 

Although Agatha had no desire to run around helping towns with difficult births, since meeting Rio, her desire to understand necromancy and the alike was increasing. She wouldn’t mind learning to become a healer, if it meant she could privately study other parts of the arts. 

“We’re discussing it at full moon,” her mother said. “You’ll both be invited to join this month, since you’re under my guide,” she said, smiling

Agatha was both pleased and annoyed by this. She’d been hoping to use the full moon to look around the house and see if she could uncover where Rio’s book was. But she’d have to patient. Her mother had been keeping low and quiet with the townspeople, soon she would go out venturing again to inspect how things were going. And then, Agatha would have time to go searching for it.

As it was, the full moon came quickly.  

The witches gathered in the drawing room, whispering to each other about what they’d heard and seen. Despite Enid’s death, tensions were growing. A local farm had apparently lost half their livestock to recent sickness, and were blaming it on a curse. 

Agatha looked to Mildred and watched the girl slowly shake her head. She had nothing to do with it, but there was a good chance that the cattle belonged to her boy’s farm. 

“Why would we curse their cattle?” One of the coven asked. “We rely on their milk too.” 

“There were whispers that their son was courting a witch,” Lucille said. “He’s twenty, so it could be ungentlemanly talk to boast his own sexual prowess––many have lied about bedding a witch to sound like they can tame even the wildest of women.”

Agatha looked over the coven and caught more than a few glances her way. 

She didn’t disguise her disgust. A boy? A boy? She’d rather kiss a spider. 

“Well, we can easily disguise someone to go and investigate the matter,” Evanora Harkness said, “Which brings us the main reason we’re here. We need a healer. There are options. One of you can step forward, if you feel confident in taking over that role. We can summon one. Or, we can look at having an acolyte who will take on Enid’s mantle.” 

“Summoning another witch into this climate may be dangerous,” one of the coven said. “We could summon a covenless witch, and who knows what they may want from us?” 

“ What about Lucille—”

“No,” Lucille said. “No, I get queasy when it comes to bones, I can’t do it.”

The witches went into a discussion, but Agatha was quiet. She didn’t want to push forward, but she was hopeful––

“I’ll do it,” Mildred said. “I’ve studied with Lucille. I know plants and some healing. I can look at the cattle too, we’ve looked at farm animals before. I can take over as acolyte of Enid’s place.”

“What?” Agatha said, looking at her. “But I studied under Enid.”

“We can both be acolytes,” Mildred offered. She was so open and sweet when she said it, and yet Agatha wanted to slap her.

“No,” Evanora said. “There’s only one acolyte position. We will draw a vote.”

“With respect, Evanora,” Lucille said. “Enid refused to teach your girl. I understand you’re finally teaching her magic, but she hasn’t even looked at the coven grimoire. The decision is clear, it should be Mildred.”

Murmuring agreed and Agatha felt the world go quiet as her body went cold. “I can do it,” she said, looking to her mother. “Let me look at the grimoire, I’ll show you that I can do it. Please, Mother. I could be a good healer for the coven. Isn’t that what you wanted from me?”

Her mother’s expression was quiet and still, but her breath betrayed her as she inhaled. There was a tremble to it. “It’s not the time, Agatha. Patience is a necessary part of being a witch.”

“So you’ll let Mildred––” she paused, realising that all of the coven’s eyes were on her. “I’ve worked hard! I know every ingredient. I know all their properties. I know I can do this.”

“But you don’t have magic yet,” her mother said, going to reach for her, but Agatha recoiled, stepping away.

She couldn’t be here. She refused to be here with the coven. They’d advance Mildred as an acolyte over her? It should have been her place. 

She looked to Mildred, her glare cold before she left the house without a word. She didn’t care if anyone followed her, she refused to be beckoned back. 

But no one came for her. No one stopped her as she strode out of the house, without her cloak, into the cold night air as she headed into the woods and far away from the house. She didn’t know how far she had walked––a couple miles at least––before she screamed, letting all of her anger out until it echoed through the woods.

The world fell quiet and when she opened her eyes, the foliage had been pushed away, shoved as if a gust of wind had thrown it in all directions. 

She took a breath, and then exhaled. 

Agatha didn’t need her book to see the spells, she remembered the spells Rio had shared with her. She remembered the one Rio had written for when you miss me. She remembered the summoning spell you already know this one.

It’d be easy to summon her. But as she thought to draw the symbols, her hand dropped into her lap, and instead she cried. No one should see her like this. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried. 

Had she been a child? 

Had it been after the first time Enid struck her with the cane so hard she bled?

She remembered telling her mother, and Evanora had only washed and bandaged her hand, telling her it was important that she listened to Enid to become a good witch. A good witch. That’s all her mother wanted from her, and she couldn’t even given her the ability to show her that she was. 

Agatha felt small and alone. The woods had become the closest thing to a home she had, with winter coming, they just felt cold. 

Her tears felt hot against her cheeks. 

“Agatha?”

Agatha swallowed, she quickly tried to clean her face and then she looked behind her. “I didn’t summon you.” 

Rio gave a half-hearted shrug, stepping forward and moving to sit beside her as she took off her cloak and cast it around Agatha’s shoulders. “I came anyway.” 

There was a quiet, and Agatha shivered, looking to Rio. “Won’t you get cold?”

“I’m used to it,” she said. “But you’re not.”

And then Agatha watched as Rio summoned sticks, stacking them before her before she lit them. The fire burned warmly, and it wasn’t long before Agatha exhaled, her muscles easing. She cleaned at her face again and picked at a threat on her skirt. 

“I failed you,” Agatha said. “They chose Mildred as an acolyte. She’ll take over the mantle and I’ll never be closer to the coven secrets. I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed. The whole coven is afraid of me.”

“You haven’t failed me,” Rio said, looking at her. 

“An acolyte position comes up once every hundred or so years. Usually a witch apprentices, and then leaves to form her own coven. I’ll never be given that opportunity with this coven. They’ll never allow it. I think they’re all just waiting for me to leave.” She sighed, and looked at the witch. 

“It’s not over,” Rio said. “There are other ways. The magic that binds that book is in your blood.”

Agatha smiled. “My mother bound it, did she?”

“Her mother’s mother,” Rio said, and Agatha frowned.

“So you’re old.”

“Time passes, as it always has,” Rio said. Elusive. 

Agatha knew that the more powerful a witch was, the easier time they had at slowing down their age. It came as no surprise to her that Rio was old. Just that she was interested in her, for whatever reason.

A part of her knew, but at the same time, there was more to it. 

For the first time though, she was almost certain she knew who Rio was. 

She watched as the witch had picked at a stick and began digging at the ground. Not drawing, just digging, as if it were something to do instead of looking at her. 

“Why did you come here?”

“You haven’t failed me, Agatha.” 

Agatha smiled, and then she leaned pressing her against Rio’s shoulder and breathed in her scent, comforted by it. “Sometimes you smell of wood fire.”

“It’s from pyres,” Rio said. 

“What about the storm and honeysuckle?” Agatha turned her head, pressing her lips to where the collar of Rio’s dress ended, exposing enough of her shoulder that she could bite on it, if she so wished. 

“You can smell that, huh?” Rio shifted, pulling her hair away from her shoulder, allowing Agatha to move closer, and press another kiss to the shoulder, in the dip before her throat. “That’s just me,” she said. “Do you know what you smell like to me?”

Agatha made a humming inquiring noise as she continued to press slow, open mouth kisses, tasting the salt on the woman’s skin, as she went up her throat. 

“The witching hour.”

Agatha paused. “That’s not a scent.”

“Mm, it is. I’ll show you when it’s time. But the witching hour isn’t for awhile. We’ll need to do something to fill the time.” 

Agatha gave a short laugh, looking up, into Rio’s eyes. “Sounds like an excuse to get under my skirts.”

“Or for you to get you under mine,” Rio returned. 

It wasn’t a bad idea. Agatha could already feel the knot in her chest unravelling as she looked at Rio. The anger for the coven was there. Her resentment at what was owed sat still and waiting for when it was time to dig at it.

But here, in the woods, with Rio. She was able to settle in peace for a few moments longer. 

Agatha moving, climbing onto Rio’s lap and circling her arms over the woman’s shoulders. “I looked at your spellbook in the moonlight,” she said. “I saw some of the diagrams you had circled with the note that I had already mastered one of them. I couldn’t help but notice there were others that weren’t circled.”

Rio’s smile widened. “Are you looking for extra lessons around fingerwork?” 

“It’s important for spellwork,” she said, brushing her lips to Rio’s. “They were your words.”

“Mm, there are so many other things that are important for magic, too,” Rio said, unlacing the front of Agatha’s dress.”

“Is that so? Do tell.”

“Tonguework, fingerwork, concentration,” she added, pulling the dress off. Her fingers moved to Agatha’s bodice. “All of that is important, but also intent. Can you reign your intent in when it’s important for you to do something else?” 

Agatha helped to undress Rio, removing the last of their clothes, before Agatha was sitting in Rio’s bare lap, the warmth of the fire behind her. 

“Try me,” Agatha said, rocking against Rio’s thigh, feeling the warmth of her wetness against her skin. 

Rio’s familiar, mischievous look returned and the woman’s fingertips brushed down her spine, and Agatha felt the familiar virility charm pool through her. At first, as a rush of desire, and then quickly as an aching need between her thighs. 

Rio leaned forward, her mouth dragging against Agatha’s, pulling back when Agatha leaned forward. “I’m going to test your knowledge,” Rio said. “All you have to do is answer the questions. But if you fail to answer, we stop.”

Agatha nodded, closing her eyes as she felt Rio’s hand draw down her neck. She arched into the touch, her head falling back. 

“What’s the most common use for mandrakes?”

Agatha gave a soft chuckle, that slipped into a moan as she felt Rio’s lips against her throat. She felt warm, so very warm despite how cool Rio felt against her. “They can be used in love potions, they’re used to help with sterility…” she paused as another kiss pressed to her throat, Rio’s hand cupping the back of her neck to hold her steady. “But in your book, you wrote about its primary use as anodynes.” She paused again, feeling her hips rock against Rio’s thigh. “But you wrote a small note to me…about mixing it in wine…”

“Mm, and what does that make?”

“You referred to it as…” her thoughts trailed off for a moment, as she felt Rio’s thigh press up, between hers, rubbing against her. “Succubus wine. A hallucinogenic for sexual desire.”

“Next question,” Rio asked, and Agatha tried really hard to listen, even as Rio continued rocking her thigh against her. The pressure was rubbing at against her clit and it was almost, almost enough. “What would a witch use vervain for?” 

Agatha knew that word. She knew it well, she thought. But it was hard to remember when Rio’s hand was combing through her hair as she felt something tugging low in her belly. “Vervain,” she repeated, remembering how the plant looked. “Infections, fever…digestion.” No, there was more than that. “In higher doses, it’s used to bring on labour…” 

She was clutching at Rio’s shoulders, digging her nails tighter as she tried to breathe and ignore the woman’s lips on her throat, as she sucked at her shoulder hard enough that Agatha thought she might orgasm from that alone. There was a tug at her hair and Agatha didn’t hold back her pleased cry. 

“Is that all?” Rio asked.

Agatha squeezed her thighs around Rio’s, “Relaxing…it can be used to help when people are too…too…”

Her muscles were squeezing.

“Mm?” Rio prompted.

“Tense,” Agatha finished, exhaling as a wave rushed over her. It was small, and there was no relief and she was so wet and aching and all she wanted was Rio inside of her. She tried to breathe in, but all she could smell was the woman and her own arousal. 

She pushed forward, kissing the woman and was relieved when Rio let her, her mouth parting to allow Agatha’s desperate, hungry kisses.

“Next question,” Rio said, pulling away too quickly. 

“No.”

“Come on, it’s barely been any time,” Rio said. “I’ve only asked three questions.” She was teasing her now, her hands had moved to Agatha’s thighs and she was urging her to rock faster on her thigh.“Where do you find bezoar?”

“Fuck. Who cares! Any animal! Even humans can develop them,” she answered in a rush of words, feeling herself get closer and closer. “Usually goats, because they eat fucking everything.”

She grabbed at Rio, almost sobbing as she reached closer and closer, the ache growing as Rio continued to push her limits. 

“What would I use aster for?”

“You?” Agatha almost stuttered. “Rio, you’re so powerful. You don’t….mm, need aster. Ah…snakes? No…some people place it in their pockets for…” she trailed off, thinking. It didn’t seem right, either. “To ward off evil spirits. It attracts them but it stops them from…from possessing.” 

“See, you’re getting this.”

Agatha would have growled if she had the energy. She was angry, aroused and frustrated and this was much harder than she expected. 

She didn’t care if she left marks on the woman, she was too fucking close. 

“What’s a common cure for––”

Agatha kissed her, angry and frustrated. With her tongue, she traced σιγᾶν and then sighed as she felt the quiet laugh from Rio. As much as she enjoyed the woman’s voice, she couldn’t bear another question. 

“Just…one. One, and then we can go back to your questions,” she said. 

But Rio shook her head, grabbing and pushing Agatha back until she was pressed to the ground, her body pinned to the dirt, and then the witch undid her silencing spell, and tutted. “I warned you––if you failed to answer, then we’ll stop.” Agatha shoved at her, but Rio held strong, smiling. “Those were the rules.” 

“They’re not fair,” Agatha said, and she paused, panting as she looked at the woman, and took a moment, exhaling to arch. “Come on. Wasn’t I little clever?”

“You were,” Rio agreed. 

Agatha smiled at her, shifting her fingers to brush at Rio’s hands. “Isn’t casting a spell more impressive than answering your questions?”

She was trying to keep her breath even, trying to focus on Rio’s face, but her body burned to be touched. The only source of relief was Rio’s body pressed to hers. 

“It was impressive,” Rio agreed. “But they weren’t the rules.”

“Oh, screw your rules and just fuck me already!” 

The fire near them roared for a moment and they both looked before Rio turned back to face her.  “Oh, I do so enjoy it when you’re angry and powerful,” she said, leaning down to kiss her. 

Agatha arched to meet her, pushing back against her hands––but Rio refused to let her move. Keeping her still beneath her as she kissed her. 

It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough, and as Rio kept her still, kept pinned, she realised that the woman had no intent on letting her have her orgasm. It was a game, of keeping her just on the edge. Just angry and frustrated and desperate enough, because she wanted her to beg.

And Agatha wasn’t going to beg again. Not after last time. She didn’t care how good that orgasm was, she was going to make Rio beg first.

She focused on the air, on the touch, and carefully, slowly, excruciatingly, undid the spell on herself and eased back, feeling the arousal seep away as she dropped back to the dirt.

She ached, but at least the desperation was waning. 

Rio frowned at her. “That’s not fun.”

Agatha smiled. “Next time. I’m doing that to you.” The nights air was finally hitting her and Rio’s body felt soothing to the warm flush across her skin. Agatha sighed, looking up at the night sky and smiled as she breathed in.

“Oh,” she said. 

“Witching hour,” Rio agreed. “It’s almost identical to your scent. Isn’t wonderful?”

Chapter 9: A Hollow House

Summary:

“If the next words out of your mouth are patience, I will hex you,” Agatha said.

They stayed by the fire until it was only embers. Rio’s body on top of hers, her breath deep and slow. 

Agatha’s fingers combed through her hair, watching the last of the logs crackle as she tried to think about what was she was going to do. She knew she would need to return home. But finding the book was imperative to her goals.

Rio hummed and shifted, still resting against her. 

She wasn’t sure if the woman was deep asleep, or if she was enjoying the peace and quiet with her eyes closed, but there was something comforting about her touch. 

Agatha had never had a paramour like this. She’d never felt so at ease by someone. In part, because it felt like everyone, even townspeople, were wary of her for whatever reason. And yet, here Rio was with her. Naked and completely vulnerable to her, and there wasn’t an inch of fear. 

But if she was honest, there wasn’t an inch of fear from herself, either. 

“Rio?” She asked

The woman hummed. 

“Will you tell me your true name?”

She felt the woman shift, eyes looking up at her. “I’ve gone by many names,” she said. “I think I’ve forgotten the first one that was given to me.”

Agatha continued to comb her fingers through the woman’s hair. “My mother named me Agatha. It’s meant to mean good.” 

“Mm, you are exceptional, though,” Rio said, looking up at her. “You can be more than just good.” 

“I don’t think she named me for that reason,” Agatha said, a familiar ache in her chest. 

“There’s magic in naming things,” Rio said, and her fingertips were drawing lazy circles on patches of Agatha’s skin. “Funny thing about magic is that fears can seep into your intent.”

“So I am this way because she feared it?”

“I think you’re this way in spite of everything,” Rio said. “Their fears were your chains, but you’re not an animal or a beast, Agatha. No one should keep you locked up.” 

“They’ll never let me reach my potential.”

 Rio paused, and then she grinned up at her, excitement burning like the embers of the fire. “Show me your hand.”

Rio held out her hand and Agatha hesitated, before she handed her own. She watched as the woman held her fingers above Agatha’s, allowing magic to crackle and dance against her palm. 

“Do you feel that?”

Agatha nodded, her eyes falling shut. It was like soft pricks of static, sudden but not harsh. She could taste the magic in the air, the smell of a thunderstorm, coming soon. 

“Try and reach for it,” Rio said. “See if you can push it away.”

Agatha concentrated on her own magic, feeling it crackle and spark on her fingertips, before it created a current, shooting up against Rio’s. But instead of repelling, it tangled and then seemed to siphon, tugging back. 

Agatha felt the magic slip into her, pouring into her.

And then it snapped as Rio closed her hand, stopping it. She felt it crackle over her fingertips, charging, and then Rio smiled at her. “See that,” she said. “Your magic is different. It’s natural to you, a part of you as much as breathing. I can teach you how to drain others life-forces. Not just their magic.”

“That would truly be dark magic,” Agatha said.

Rio gave a short laugh. “There’s no such thing. It’s only magic. How you use it is up to you. In Kemet they’d use it voluntarily to help the sick by siphoning from the willing. In Hellas the high priestesses  of Hekate would use it to end suffering. Magic isn’t dark, I’ve told you this before.”

Agatha could feel her heart thud in her chest. “What do you get out of this?”

Rio smiled. “You already know what I do. I can see it by the way you look at me. Most people are afraid of me, but you’re curious. You like me, just a little, don’t you?”

Agatha couldn’t deny it. 

“When?”

“Soon,” Rio promised. “You need—” 

“If the next words out of your mouth are patience, I will hex you,” Agatha said.

Rio smiled, and Agatha could see her tongue poke in her cheek, showing more than just amusement. “I was going to say a waning moon. But maybe you do need some patience.”

Agatha eyes flashed at the words and they were barely soothed when the woman kissed her. “I’ve been patient,” she said, a low growl as she pulled far enough way to meet the woman’s eyes. “Why do people keep saying that?”

“Mm, if tonight taught us anything, your patience is lacking.”

The look Agatha gave the woman would have made most falter, but Rio’s expression appeared amused by it. It was vexing, and annoying and Agatha shoved the witch off her. “I need to get back home and do my other studies,” she said, grabbing her clothes. “I’m sure you’ll pop up when you need me.”

“Good night, Agatha,” Rio said, not moving from her place on the ground, still with a soft laugh. Agatha despised how nothing she did made the woman any less than amused. 

When Agatha returned home, the house was quiet. She eased to her bedroom, knowing that sunrise wasn’t far away. 

Changing from her dress, into the nightdress, she was almost about to get into bed to fall asleep when her bedroom door opened. Her mother stood tall, in her own nightdress, holding a candelabra.

“Where have you been?” 

“I went to the woods,” Agatha said. “I stayed, made a fire and thought about not returning home. But I figured it’d be better if I came back before you summoned me.”

The candelabra was set down on her dresser and her mother came to stand before her. She reached forward and Agatha flinched.

“I’ve never hit you,” her mother said.

“No, you haven’t,” Agatha agreed, and she held her mother’s eyes, feeling the fire in chest be stoked. She let Enid hit her. She let the coven yell at her. She even let them bind her magic. “When can I look at the grimoire?” 

“Agatha…you’re not ready.”

“But Mildred is?”

“Mildred’s magic is…softer. She’ll make for a good healer. Only a few weeks ago you were telling me you didn’t want to be a healer.”

“I’ve worked hard,” Agatha said. “I’ve tried to prove to you that I’m a good witch. I study everything that you’ve asked me to. I even made the charms and poultices, and cared for the garden these last few weeks exactly as you asked. I came up with the idea for the aspen and every witch has planted them. Why isn’t it any of it enough for you?”

Her mother’s eyes were on the ground as she searched for words, and Agatha wasn’t sure if she was going to placate her or if she was going to deflect whatever thought she was having, back onto Agatha.

“You aren’t a good fit for this coven,” Evanora began, and the words cut through to Agatha’s heart. “Not yet. You’re impatient. Young. I thought Enid knew best when it came to teaching you, but you’re much further behind in your studies than Mildred. You’re only learning how to create potions and poultices since coming into my care again.”

“But I know how to do them!” 

Her mother looked at her. “For how early you are, you’re exceptional. But Mildred is more practiced. She knows how to pick the flowers without adding their stems. She knows how to use the mortar and pestle to make a paste that’s appropriate. It’s not a commentary on you, she’s just had more exposure.”

Agatha swallowed, feeling the anger turn into a rock in her stomach. She didn’t care about any of that. Potions and poultices were nothing. She knew runes and curses and hexes. She could undo another witches spell, feel the magic shift in the air. 

Even now, she could feel her mother’s magic, seeping from her. There was the smell of lavender and…chamomile, and Agatha realised her mother was trying to soothe her emotions. 

She looked away. “I understand,” she lied, disguising her bitterness. “All I wanted to do was make you proud.”

“I know.” Her mother paused, as if wanting to say something, when all she did was awkwardly pat her shoulder. There was a quiet and then her mother frowned, tugging at the collar of Agatha’s nightdress. “What happened?” She asked.

Agatha could only imagine what she was looking at. “I tripped over some tree roots and fell into bramble.” Her mother hesitated, but Agatha shrugged her touched away, pulling the nightdress back to cover it up. “We’ll call it penance.”

She could see her mother nod, but there was something pressing at the corner of her mouth. As if she wanted to say something. 

Agatha sighed, tired and knowing that some sort of lecture was coming. “What is it, Mother?” 

“It’s important that we stay away from the town for the moment. Even to those that appear sympathetic.”

“I wasn’t anywhere near the town,” Agatha assured.

“Including the farms.”

There, Agatha paused, looking to her mother. Her eyes searched for a clue, but in her heart, she already knew the subtext of her mother’s words. “That wasn’t me. I didn’t harm the cattle.”

“I’m not saying you did.”

“Because I didn’t!”

“All I’m saying is that it’s important we keep ourselves seperate until their witch hunt eases.” 

Agatha drew in a breath, feeling the frustration push at her. “I didn’t go near that farm. I have no reason to go around cursing farmers and their livestock––what good would it do for me?” 

“I wish you would just be honest with me, Agatha,” her mother said. “I know you’ve been frustrated. I know you’ve been trialing your own independent magic through the old ways, but it’s important that we keep the coven safe. You don’t want what happened to Enid to happen to Mildred, do you?”

Even the calm emotions magic was pushing against its limits of helping. But Agatha reigned herself in, enough to shoot her mother a glare. “I am not your monster.”

 Her mother flinched, a still expression on her face as she stepped back. There were no more words said. Her mother turned, taking the candelabra with her, and clicked the door shut. 

 Agatha waited until she heard her mother’s door creak shut, and then she exhaled out the frustration burning in her chest. There was nothing but the stillness of the house.

There was a weight and heaviness to her and she fell back against the bed, tired as she closed her eyes. For one moment, she remembered what it had been like to be in Rio’s arms and feel her naked body against hers. 

Those moments by the fire, with Rio’s body draped over hers, had been the most at peace she felt. An ache filled her chest as she remembered the feeling of combing her fingers through Rio’s hair, feeling the woman’s slow, steady breath against her shoulder. 

Why had she felt more safe there than in her own home with her mother?

Here just felt…hollow. 

She reached for Scratchy, bringing him up close and breathed him in. For a moment, she could almost smell Rio’s magic, still dusted on his fur. And then it was gone. 

The coven did not want her. They didn’t care for her. The only thing that mattered was finding that book, and then she’d leave. Go off on her own. She didn’t need a coven, she’d be a covenless. A hedge witch, if necessary.

But no one would ever dare to hold her back.

 

* * *

 

Agatha awoke closer to midmorning, far later than she usually would be permitted. When she went downstairs, Mildred was sheepishly standing in the kitchen, awaiting Agatha’s arrival. By herself, she’d already cooked up eggs and placed it on the bread that they had both made together the day prior. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Agatha took the eggs, quiet as she listened to Mildred.

“I didn’t think you’d want it. You said you wanted to study ‘real’ magic, not healing. I never would have taken it if I knew it was so important to you.”

Agatha picked at her food, and when Mildred had nothing more to say, she left. Leaving the rest of her breakfast untouched. She wasn’t hungry anyway. She had other things to do.

It was laundry day, and quietly, Agatha worked to clean her clothes and sheets, hanging them out to dry, leaving Mildred’s alone to soak––the witch could do her own laundry, since she’d be becoming an acolyte. She’d be taking Enid’s place by herself, and whenever that happened, she would need all the experience of what it was like to be alone.

Agatha been hanging up the dress she wore yesterday, when something stopped her. There, where the bodice of the dress met the skirt, a flower had been tucked into the stitching. 

Tugging it out, she looked at it, wondering if it had fallen in there when she’d been in the woods. But as she turned the flower over, watching the petal stretch out in the air, she realised it was a white heather––not a naturally occurring flower for the area.  

She twisted it in her hand, bringing it to her nose and wondered what Rio had meant by it. 

Tucking the flower into her dress, she continued her chores and placed new sheets on her bed, before she went into the small library her mother allowed them to study in. Most of the books were things her mother had written, regarding plants and when the best time to collect was. But she moved around, looking over the different books and eyed them carefully, trying to see if anything told her to look away, or distract her. 

It was easier to look at where the dust settled on the books. And when one hadn’t been moved, she would reach out to touch along the spine. 

There was only one book she found that wanted her to look away, and all it contained was information about runes––something she already knew about. Half the information was missing, anyway. It wasn’t anywhere near as detailed as the book Rio had provided her. 

She hadn’t expected anything about Rio’s book to be here, since her mother allowed unrestricted access for her and Mildred both, but Agatha would be annoyed if she didn’t check the most obvious spots. 

Pausing in the library, she looked around the books and then pulled out one of the smaller bindings on flowers, flicking through it until she found her mother’s notes on white heathers. 

Believed to be found in ancient battlegrounds where no blood was shed, the white heathers are known to provide luck and protection to their wearer. 

She pressed a hand to her chest, where she’d tucked the flower, and wondered what it meant. 

I’m not here to protect you, Agatha. I’m here to give you the power to protect yourself.

Agatha pressed her fingertips to the flower, curling against the collar of her dress, and breathed. 

Notes:

Ye, I know, this one's a short one. But it felt right to end it there.

Chapter 10: Waning Moon

Summary:

“You’re not afraid of me,” Rio said. “You were never afraid of me.”

Agatha had ensured the chickens had gone back to their hutch when she turned around to see her mother standing nearby, looking unsettled. For once it seemed her perturbed look had little to do with her, and more to do with something else on her mind.  

“A coven has asked for our help,” Evanora said. “I need you to stay here while Mildred and I visit them.” 

At the mention of Mildred, Agatha wanted to role her eyes. Now that the witch had been promoted to acolyte status, she was having private studies, moving between witches to learn all that she could, while Agatha was stuck learning from books and mixing things in a mortar and pestle. 

She was bored. It’d been only a week since she’d last seen Rio, but the stretch of time seemed longer––Agatha didn’t like it. 

“Why does another coven need our help?”

“It’s complicated, but the witch hunts aren’t local to us,” Evanora explained. “There’s a town a few miles away that’s facing similar issues with illness. Mildred and I are going to see if we can find the cause. While we’re gone, it’s imperative that you stay here, do you understand? Don’t leave the boundary of the house.”

Agatha frowned. “Why?”

“Please. For me.” There was an earnestness to her voice. It sounded almost desperate and pleading. 

Agatha nodded. “I will.” 

Evanora’s shoulders eased and she smiled, “Thank you.” 

The house felt different without her mother and Mildred’s presence. There was a lighter feeling to it. Almost as if something peaceful had settled. When she was certain that her mother and Mildred were far enough away, Agatha climbed the steps to the second storey, to look at her mother’s room. 

The door was closed, but even with it shut, she could see that her mother had carved a spell on the brass handle. She couldn’t quite make it out. It didn’t look like any of the runes she’d studied, but there was a connecting pattern to them. 

Until she knew what they did, she’d keep away.

Instead, she went into Mildred’s room and searched around, digging through her dresser, and pressing at the floorboards to see what secrets the witch had. When she pulled the mattress off from the bed, she found pieces of paper pressed between the slats and mattress. 

Agatha snatched at them, looking them over, and noticing they were blank. 

She went to the candle on the bedside, lighting it quickly to get a better look at the pages. There was a stack of about five or six, all blank, and nothing illuminated when she tried extinguishing the flame and pushing them towards the low-level moonlight. 

She doubted that moonlight would reveal the paper, but it had been worth trying. 

Her eyes narrowed and she took the pages, folding them and placing them on the bedside table before she fixed Mildred’s bed, setting her damned lavender flower back into the pillowcase. She didn’t care if the witch knew she was snooping, if Mildred was hiding something, Agatha wanted to know what it was.

Taking the letters with her, she placed them in her room to look at later, and then she scoured the house, searching up and down for anything she’d missed. Any runes, any markings, any scratches. And she made notes of them all. 

Most of the marking related to protection, but there were some that she didn’t recognise, similar to the ones on her mother’s door. 

After what felt like hours, exhaustion pulled at her and she went to bed––certain that it must be late. 

But as her head hit the pillow, she heard a tap. A constant, tap…tap…tap. Like a tree branch was brushing against the window. 

Rising to her feet, she looked out of the window and saw Rio standing on the very boundary of the house, smiling as she gave a small wave. Despite how ridiculously large her smile was, Agatha felt  something warm light up inside of her. 

She grabbed the notes she’d made about the house, coming downstairs and pushing out the front of the door. Her feet were bare on the cold grass and she walked forward, uncaring towards the cold just yet as she leaned against the fence line and looked Rio up and down. “Did you miss me already?”

“Mm. It’s also waning moon,” she said, pointing up to the sky. “Do you want your next lesson?” 

Agatha hesitated, remembering her promise to her mother, before she looked back at the house. “We could do it here?” She offered. “My mother and Mildred have left.”

Rio’s eyes flicked over the house. “Unfortunately not. There’s a protective spell on the grounds. I’d have to be invited in and you can’t invite me,” Rio said.

“It’s my home,” Agatha said.

“It’s not that kind of invitation. Besides, you don’t want to be near Señor Scratchy while we practice.” She held out her hand and Agatha shivered, taking it. She knew she should go inside and get her cloak and shoes. She should even dress. But the moment Rio’s hand clasped hers, there was a feeling that all would be right in the world. 

Agatha walked the path, feeling a spark run down her spine as she held the pieces of paper in the other grip. 

“I’ve made progress in finding your book,” Agatha said. “But I keep finding these markings.” She showed the piece of paper as they walked, and watched as Rio frowned. 

“It’s a witch’s alphabet,” she said. “Your coven has modified them to their own code, but they’re based on the theban alphabet. Did no one teach you your coven’s language?” 

Agatha stopped, looking at the marking. “Should they have?”

Rio frowned, before she gave a lighthearted shrug. “Clearly your coven is more secretive than most.” 

Agatha grabbed at Rio’s wrist, holding her still. “Are they hiding their language from me?”

“Well, you’re not exactly part of the coven are you?”

Agatha remembered her mother’s words, and frowned. “No. I…I thought I was, as an apprentice, part of the coven just in the lowest station. But...” 

“It’s not like you need them,” Rio said, and she shifted around Agatha, twirling her as if they were in a dance. “Look at how powerful you are in spite of them. What kind of powerful witch as yourself needs them, anyway?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, ignoring the teasing nature as she pushed Rio away. “Well them hiding their language means I can’t get into my mother’s room. So I need to know the code.”

Rio nodded, but there was nothing additional stated. She continued her way through the woods, appearing unconcerned by the new hurdle they faced. Her hand still had Agatha’s and was practically swinging with the woman’s excitement. 

Agatha had never seen her this excited to teach her a spell. 

“This spell, will it harm me?”

“If you do it wrong,” Rio said, her eyes flashing. “It’s a favourite of mine.”

She let go of Agatha, practically skipping forward and Agatha followed, eager to keep pace so she didn’t feel the chill of early winter night’s air. 

They came to a stream, and Rio walked alongside it until they found a piece of the water where the trees didn’t block the moonlight from hitting it. 

“Now, we wait.”

“We wait,” Agatha said dryly. 

Rio lifted up a finger. “This part requires…”

“Don’t you dare say it.”

Rio bit her lip, eyes widening with faux-innocence before she looked to the water, entirely too smug with herself. 

Agatha didn’t understand why everyone kept asking her to be patient. Be patient, be patient. She was tired of being patient. She’d done enough waiting. She wanted to be doing. 

“You’re breathing loud,” Rio whispered. Agatha was going to hex her. “If you don’t want to learn…”

Closing her eyes, she tried push down at the rising frustration and watched, uncertain as to what they were waiting for. And then a racoon appeared, crawling out from the brush, with what appeared to be berries in its grip. 

Rio’s eyes flicked to hers, and she was quiet, impossibly quiet against the debris, moving to stand behind Agatha, placing her head on her chin. Her fingertip slid down Agatha’s arms, and then she lifted the right hand, directing Agatha’s fingers to the racoon. 

With her lips pressing to Agatha’s ear, she whispered, “De aqua, de sanguine, de carne.”

“De aqua, de sanguine, de carne,” Agatha repeated. 

“Afferte mihi vitam.”

“Afferte mihi vitam.” 

Agatha cast the spell, sending her magic forward. It was like a snare had caught around the racoon’s throat, its body seizing, tugging, but Agatha felt the rush of it life force radiate through her like the sun on a hot summer’s day.

Her eyes fell shut, and she could feel the energy coursing through her, running down her spine.

“Let go, Agatha,” Rio said.

Agatha did, watching as the racoon dropped back, cowering before it ran off. Agatha turned on her heel, looking to the witch. “Why did you have me stop?”

Rio’s smiled widened, her eyes lighting up as if enjoying her annoyance. “Animals don’t work as well as those of your own kind.” Rio paused, her eyes looking up and down Agatha’s body. “You’re the first person I know to pick that up on the first go. Most people panic once they feel the life-force. It makes them uncomfortable, but you…” she trailed off, biting her bottom lip. 

“Taught this to a few, have you?” 

Rio hummed, bouncing on her feet. “Once or twice. But only when they ask nicely.”

Agatha paused, uncertain if there was subtext there or not, but the way Rio was looking at her, she wondered if there was a hint. 

It’d be easy to ask. But Agatha felt as if something had leapt into her throat, preventing any words from coming out. Instead, she just smiled. “That’s all there is to it?”

“Yes and no. I wanted to show you what it felt like on an unwilling creature. Willing is…different. You can just take their life force. There’s no need for incantations because they’re pushing it towards you.” 

Agatha gave a short laugh. “Yes, because people will so often be asking me to do it.”

“People don’t always know what they want. And…” Rio trailed off, “sometimes other things blur their intent.”

“Like fear,” Agatha recalled, and then realised with understanding, “Or anger.”

Rio nodded, her grin wide as she watched Agatha’s face. There was a clear, impressed look on the witch. The same, annoying, awe-inspiring face she pulled every time Agatha seemed to do anything.

“Why are you so excited?”

“Because of you,” Rio said, and Agatha believed her. Anyone else, there would be suspicions, concerns, but with Rio… it was different. 

“What is it about me?” Agatha asked. She wasn’t looking for praise or validation, but she knew who Rio was. She couldn’t imagine someone so infinite seeing a favourite mortal and wanting to spend time with them. It’d be like befriending an ant or a gnat. 

“You’re not afraid of me,” Rio said. “You were never afraid of me.”

Agatha sucked in a breath, looking at her. “Is that all it takes, huh? Some tenacity and fearlessness?”

“No, but it’s why I liked about you at first. I stayed because I got to know you as you are.” 

Agatha looked down, ignoring the way her heart raced and her body grew warm. She shook the feeling off and smiled at Rio. “Well, you sure know how to court a girl,” she said, as if it meant nothing. As if it didn’t mean something she’d never faced before.  

“You did say you wanted me to court you,” Rio said. She shifted on her feet, like it was meant to be said playfully, but there was something else there. A nervous energy that made Agatha realise how much Rio listened to her with sincerity.

She played and pushed and teased, yes. But she listened. 

Agatha had stormed off on a full moon from her coven, and Rio had appeared—not because she was summoned, but because she’d heard her and came anyway. 

Agatha’s heart ached. She stepped forward, reaching to take Rio’s hands. “What happens next?” She asked. 

Rio looked at her, her mouth parted and for a moment it seemed like she was hesitating, her thumb rubbing up and down Agatha’s hand. “Find the book and read it. I want you to know me. Not just what you see, but all of me. And then, if you’re not afraid…” Rio trailed off, her vulnerability present.

“I won’t be,” Agatha said.

Rio’s eyes met hers, eyes flicking across Agatha’s face, looking for a lie. But there was nothing to find. “People have said that before.”

“Good thing I’m not like most people, then.”

Rio pushed forward, her fingertips sinking on Agatha’s hips as she kissed her. Soft, open mouthed kissed, turning into something else. 

All those kind words, all those sweet words would have meant nothing to Agatha if it had been anyone else––but Rio. Rio. Her Rio. They were never only pretty words. 

What started as soft and sweet, turned hungry and desperate and Rio’s fingers grabbed at her, until Agatha grasped her touch, twisting so Rio hit a tree. 

“Tonight is my turn,” Agatha said, standing proud and tall as she watched the little surprised expression.  And then Rio smirked, looking her up and down.

“You want to be in control, Agatha? You can be in control.”

“This isn’t about control.”

Agatha kissed her, undressing Rio and tossing her clothes aside to find later. Then, taking Rio’s wrists, she held them above the woman’s hands and had the tree shift and mould to her will, encircling Rio as if it had grown around her wrists, holding them high above her head.

“Not about control, huh?” Rio asked, her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths and oh, Agatha thought this was one of her favourite ways Rio had looked at her. 

“No, I think this one’s about patience,” Agatha teased. 

Agatha splayed her hands on the woman’s hips, leaning forward to press against her as she brushed her mouth against the witch’s, slowly feeling Rio arch against her. 

She ran her hands up and down the woman, feeling her chest rise and fall, enjoying the way Rio’s breath was quickening against her mouth. She’d barely touched her, but as Agatha’s fingers ran down her body, from neck to torso, down her belly, until she was dragging her touch through the dark pubic hair, Rio’s breaths had turned into soft moans. 

She slid her middle finger down, grazing over the clitoral hood and dropped away, feeling Rio rock forward, reaching for her touch. 

And then Agatha stepped back, watching as Rio shook her head. “Is this because of what I said last time?”

“No,” Agatha, her voice pitching as she drew her fingertips in a slow, lazy pattern over Rio’s hips with the blunt of her nails. “I want to see how aroused I could get you.”

Her hands ran up, palming at the woman’s breasts, her thumb and forefinger gently pinching at the nipple––the response of Rio’s head rolling back, a soft moan exhaling into the air garnering the reaction she was after. 

This was slow, careful, but not gentle. She wanted to torture Rio with pleasure, bring her to very precipice of it, all by herself. 

Her hand curved around the woman’s throat, tilting Rio’s jaw up so she could press slow open mouthed kisses over her skin, nipping at the tender flesh. 

Each time her teeth sunk, she felt Rio hiss and then exhale in a moan, her muscles tensing each time. “I love that sound,” Agatha said, before biting down harder, running her hand down the woman’s belly.

Rio laughed between moments of pain, it meltied between a moan and a gasp and oh, yes, Agatha really did love that sound. She wanted her to make it over and over, she wanted to leave her mark on the witch, having her aching and throbbing for her. 

She wanted Rio to forget every last protege, and think only of her. 

Her fingers tightened on the throat, turning the head to the other side to leave her marks there, but this time, she slid the flat of her hand down her body. 

When her teeth bit down, she slid two fingers inside of the witch, curling against the heat of her cunt.

The sound Rio elicited hummed through Agatha’s hand. She was wet, so deliciously, aching wet and Agatha loved it. 

She had done this. She’d done it with her hands and mouth––an enchantment on its own without incantation or magic. 

“Agatha,” Rio purred as she was thrust into. 

Agatha hummed, kissing and biting as Rio arched against her, rocking over the length of fingers. 

“Agatha…let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” Agatha said, a gentle kiss, her pace slowing as she looked up at Rio from the corner of her eye. “I want you to be mine, first. All mine.” 

Rio’s body tightened against hers, her mouth parting as she sucked in a breath. “I’ll be yours,” she vowed, an eager smile as she caught Agatha’s eye. “Only yours…if you’ll be mine.” 

Agatha stood up straight, one hand splayed across Rio’s throat, the other with two fingers thrusting inside of her, feeling Rio’s clench  with each movement. 

Rio was close to orgasm, she could feel it. She was so close and Agatha leaned forward, her mouth brushing against the woman’s lips, as she told her, “I’m already yours.”

The cry against her mouth was the sweetest sound––rivalled only by how good she felt coming around Agatha’s fingers. 

And then her breaths slowed and Agatha eased her fingers out of her, holding her throat steady as she leaned back so she watch. With wet fingers tips, she pressed them against Rio’s lips, watching the woman’s mouth part for her.

Agatha slid down the woman’s tongue, feeling it curve around the length of her fingers as Rio sucked. 

Agatha felt her heart race, a soft moan escaping as the sharp, wondrous feeling washed through her. She could almost orgasm from this. From Rio’s mouth sucking down on her fingers, the way the witch’s beautiful, warm brown eyes held hers, eager and glorifying. But hungry. She wanted Agatha. 

No one had ever looked at her like that. 

“Enough,” Agatha said, panting as she slid her fingers out, her other hand letting go of Rio’s throat. She took a breath and undid the spell around the tree.

The witch wasted no time with her hands free. She grabbed at Agatha, hungry and passionate as she ripped at the collar of her nightdress, exposing the bare shoulders to bite and kiss, as her fingers slid up the loose flowing skirt. 

Rio was not patient in fucking her. She was not gentle.

And Agatha revelled in the feeling, laughing into the night air at how hungry and possessive her witch was. 

She almost didn’t care what would come next. Not now, not when she was gripping Rio’s hair so tight, the woman was moaning and panting heavily at her skin as she fucked her. 

No, a lifetime of this was perfect and Agatha would do anything to keep it. 

Notes:

This chapter was difficult to write.

Initially it was a hugely angsty scene. But when I re-read through the fic, it didn't fit what had happened before. So I cut most of it and re-wrote it. This works way, way better.

I also originally had some face riding, but then my muse tapped me on my shoulder and pointed out that would work better later on. So I cut that for later and re-wrote the above sex scene. Ta-da!

Next chapter should be more plot based. I think. We'll see what happens.

Chapter 11: Little Lies

Summary:

If they knew the truth, the entire truth, they would have trialed and hung her then. 

Agatha returned home aching and sore and relaxed in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.  There were marks all down her throat and shoulders, even her back was raw as material rubbed against it. The nightdress she wore hung tentatively from her shoulders, the hemline stained and oh she didn’t care.

 When she crossed the threshold, she felt a strange wash of magic rush over her. Like an urgent calling. It was uncomfortable and tugging. 

She stepped into the house, and paused at the sight of it. There was a stench of a fire—not the warm, wood fire of Rio, but a cloying stench of feathers, burnt skin and wax. Furniture had been tossed, things thrown around. Pillows had been ripped and torn at, as if a beast had been let loose. 

“You’re alive,” someone said. She turned, looking to where witches of the coven stood. “We thought the town must have taken you.”

Agatha frowned. “No, I…” 

She could hear them murmuring, looking her up and down, from the state of her dress, to likely bits of foliage that clung to her hair. 

“I escaped,” she lied, trying to look small and hurt. “I ran when I could.”

“Did you…” Lucille began, and then faltered. “You didn’t…hurt any of them, did you?”

“No,” she assured. “No, I just escaped and ran into the woods and…hid there for a while.” She blinked, squeezing her nails into her palms to make tears prick at her eyes. “It happened so quickly,” she said. She allowed her voice to stutter, before she took a moment, and breathed in deep, pretending to swallow the emotions away as she looked aside, assessing the damage. 

The townspeople had done this? She didn’t realise they had it in them.

“No one has broken in here before,” Helena said. She was one of the younger ones of the coven, only sixty years of age, with pale blonde hair she wore pinned up. “How did they get passed the wards?”

Oh, Agatha realised. The wards were tied to her blood. Her mother had left before, but not when tensions were high. Without any witch of relation in the home, the wards faltered. Even if not entirely, an angry enough mob could have pushed through. 

“I heard a noise,” she said, at least there was a kernel of truth there. “I went outside to see what it was.” 

“They’re getting more bold,” someone said, and murmuring broke out before Lucille walked over to her and looked over her wounds. 

“These look bad. Are these from trees? They look like claw marks.”

Rio’s nails had dragged against her when Agatha had gone at her again, fucking her as hard as she had been fucked…there’d been some teeth and a I love it when you’re angry, Agatha, hissed into her ear. 

“Look at the state of your knees. You must have fallen hard!”

She did not want to recall out the last few hours with the coven present. So she waved her hand, swaying enough to garner attention and told Lucille that she wanted to clean up. And as the Coven continued whispering to one another, she headed upstairs to her bedroom. 

Unlike the rest of the house, her bedroom was untouched. Agatha assumed a charm had protected it. 

Scratchy sat on her bed, looking up at her before he hopped gently to top of the bed, snuggling against her pillow.

Agatha undressed from the ruined nightdress before she washed the dirt from her body with her basin that she had on her dresser. She was covered in bruises and teethmarks, and she wished she asked the woman to clean her up. 

But Rio had to leave quickly––duties to do, apparently––and had left her suddenly with a quick, needy kiss, promising she’d be back soon. 

Agatha dressed in clean nightdress, combed her hair, tying it in a braid and crawled into bed, ignoring the sound of the coven downstairs. She didn’t want to face them, and it made all the more sense for her to want to be alone following an apparent traumatic event.

If they knew the truth, the entire truth, they would have trialed and hung her then. 

Instead, they left her alone and allowed her to rest.

When Agatha did awake, she dressed in comfortable clothes, cleaning out the washbowl in the backyard, and was surprised to find her mother in the kitchen when she came inside. Her mother’s eyes were red, and she looked over Agatha, at every piece of shown skin (few was on show, she wanted to cover up in case anyone studied to closely) and then for the first time since she was a small child, Agatha was brought into a tight hug.

It squeezed at her, and then Evanora pulled back, cupping her face as she looked over her. “What did they do?” She asked.

“I’m fine, mother,” she assured, meeting her eyes. “I didn’t hurt anyone, I promise.”

“I don’t care about that,” she said, and she hugged her again. 

Agatha went still in the hug, uncertain before she lifted her arms, and hugged her back. She couldn’t recall the last time her mother had been so loving towards her. But Agatha eased into the comfort her mother provided, hugging her tight. 

“I’m sorry I left,” her mother said. “I knew there’d been another death in the town, but I thought you’d be safe.”

Agatha held her eyes, refusing to speak. She’d said enough lies and anything further would only get her into trouble. 

“They burned most of the library,” her mother said.

Agatha’s eyes shot up, surprised. She hadn’t checked. “I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely meaning it. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left the boundary. I heard a noise and…” she trailed off, swallowing back the words.

But her mother’s hands just grabbed at her shoulders, holding her steady––Agatha winced at the touch, mostly because her finger pressed at a particularly sensitive bite mark. She felt her mother’s hands drop away, an apology falling from her lips and all Agatha could do was look down at the floor, uncertain as to what she felt.

A part of her was impressed by her ability to lie so well, but there was guilt laced there. The books carried hundreds of years of her mother’s history. Pages and pages of knowledge that could never be regained in the same way. 

And it had had happened because she had met with Rio. 

There was a strange humour to it, but Agatha tried not to think about it too hard. She was certain that when New Moon came, it would be much more difficult to slip out of the house unnoticed. 

She’d worry about that later. She had a week to figure it out. What mattered now was not fucking up a perfectly good alibi.

“You should see Mildred,” her mother said. “She’ll clean your wounds.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” she assured, brushing her touch off. “It’s not the worst I’ve faced.” She pulled away, ignoring the hand that reached for her as she headed out to the back garden.

The garden was a mess––much like most of the house. The townspeople had come through and slaughtered their animals and Agatha let out a breath. That was a waste. They had been good animals. 

She spent the day cleaning them up, carving and plucking what she could and burying the rest.  It just showed how savage the mob had been, and in a sense, how thankful Agatha was to be away from it all with Rio. 

It was easy to say that the wards would have stood the siege––but being far away, in the arms of another…she felt all the safer for it. 

Agatha had been cooking as much of the chicken as she could when Mildred entered the kitchen. “My bedroom was the only one that was ransacked,” she said. “Do you know why?”

“Yours is a guest room,” was all Agatha said. She didn’t know, in truth. Agatha’s room did not have the same markings on the door that her mother’s had. She’d checked. There was nothing to show that the room should have been protected. And yet it had been. 

“Didn’t they take you from your bed?” Mildred asked. 

“I stepped outside the boundary,” she said. “There’d been a noise.” She didn’t look away from the chickens she was cooking. A few she was roasting, a few were boiling in a pot. At least the coven would eat well, she figured. The bones could be used for broth too to ensure a good stew. 

Mildred hovered and Agatha turned over her shoulder, looking at her. “Was there something else you wanted to ask?”

“Are you sure you didn’t…go off and visit that woman?”

“Did you curse those cows?” Agatha asked.

“No!” Mildred said. “No, of course not. How could you ask that?”

Agatha gave a pointed look and watched as Mildred’s eyes fell, looking to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can…help with a salve for your injuries?”

“I’m quite versed in looking after them myself,” she said, turning back to look at the food. Whatever Mildred had to say went quiet, and the woman left, leaving Agatha alone in the silence. 

Agatha cooked the food, and told her mother, feigning feeling unwell as she went back to bed, shortly around sunset. Her mother didn’t argue, and almost fretted over her, checking for a fever, but Agatha waved her off, confirming that she’d just been standing in a hot kitchen for too long and needed to lie down. 

In the quiet of her room, she pulled out Mildred’s letters and looked them over in the waning light. There, in the very bottom corner, she could see the etched writing of her coven’s language––not so dissimilar to what she’d found written around the house. 

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her finger tracing over them. She’d need the code to break them. Until she had it, the words may as well be random markings from a toddler. 

She hid the papers away and true to words, went to bed. 

The house was quiet when she did awake. Her rabbit had fallen asleep at the end of the bed, and only shifted an inch when she rose to check on a noise. Lighting a candle, she headed downstairs, and wandered around, checking the house over before she blew the candle out, setting it in the kitchen.

Opening the backdoor, she eased out into the garden and followed the path down.

Without the animals, it was quiet as she made her way to the back fence, looking around. IT was a relief in some sense, and hauntingly quiet in another. A reminder of how savage the townspeople had been in their frenzied mob. 

Without a word, Rio appeared from the trees. “My lady,” the woman said, giving a ridiculous courtesy before she came to step closer. There was an inch or so between her boot and the fence where she stopped and smiled at Agatha. 

“Even now you can’t enter?” Agatha asked. 

“Wards have been relayed,” she said, her eyes dancing across them. “You should be careful, though. Those people that broke through did come looking for a witch.”

“All they found were our animals,” Agatha said, and she looked behind her to the empty space where there would usually be goats. “Did you save me from them?”

Rio gave a smile. “I didn’t know they were coming. But I do know that they’ve hung two more women––though they aren’t witches. They were just old women.”

“Why is this happening?”

Rio shrugged. “This is how it always happens. People die and they want someone to blame. Hundreds of years ago, there was a volcano that erupted on an island. The soil became infertile as a result, and even the local witches couldn’t fix it––it was beyond their capabilities. The people that lived there, believing their gods had forsaken them, began to make bigger and bigger sacrifices…until they were sacrificing their own children to appease gods who weren’t even listening.”

“Do the gods ever listen?”

“They have their own problems. This world is a chessboard that they’ve left for someone else to pick-up.”

“Not you,” Agatha said.

Rio gave a soft smile. “It’s different for me.” She looked away, and from a cloak pulled out a scroll. “The theban alphabet—maybe it’ll help with unlocking the door.” 

“If you keep giving me gifts, I’m going to start needing a better hiding spot.”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Rio said. Her eyes danced across Agatha’s face. “What did you tell your coven when you returned?”

Agatha gave a short laugh. “It was a good thing we had so much fun. I managed to convince them that the marks you left were as a result of being kidnapped before I escaped,” she said, not disguising her pride. 

“Mm. They don’t know you at all if they believed that. The Great Agatha Harkness, taken by townspeople?” 

“I like the sound of the Great Agatha Harkness,” she teased, leaning forward over the fence. “Or maybe I just like how it sounds coming from you.”

“Can I see the marks I left?” Rio asked. 

Agatha nodded, carefully checking over her shoulder to the house, before she eased over the fence and, keeping at least one hand on hand on the fence line, removed her nightdress, exposing the marks.

Rio grabbed her hips, turning her around and Agatha felt her fingertips press over them, garnering a hiss before cool lips and a warm tongue slid over the injuries. There was a sharp, itching feeling and then it eased and Agatha exhaled, leaning back into the woman’s touch. 

“I think I’ll leave these ones,” Rio said, her fingers sliding up to cup her breasts. “And these ones,” she said, dragging her mouth over her shoulder. 

Agatha laughed, she didn’t mind at all. Not when Rio’s mouth was pressing gentle kisses over her throat. 

“I should head back inside,” Agatha said. “I’m sure she’ll know if I let go of the boundary.”

“Whatever will you do for New Moon?” Rio asked.

“I’ll think of something,” Agatha said, placing her nightdress back on. “Let me study the scroll and hopefully that will give me a better understanding of it all.”

Rio grinned, leaning forward and pressing a quick, sudden kiss before she smiled. “Te veo,” she said, her tongue purring over the words. 

Notes:

Short chapter again (Sorry!)
we're hitting the last arc.

I had one to get this done before next episode, but alas, I have a big audit to complete across the next few days in a client's office. I'll be busy working long hours so I can (hopefully!) get that done before the next episode comes out. We'll see.

Updates will probably be slower. Maybe one ep a day? We'll see.

Thank you all! I love all your kind words so, so much. I am excited to be sharing this story and my muse has already tapped me for the next fic. Wandavision AU with Rio. Enemies to lovers. (I'll wait until after Oct 31 for that one so I can comfortably say I know the characters)

Chapter 12: Olive Branch

Summary:

“Agatha…” Mildred said, her voice flat. “What do you need from me?”

“Olive branch?” Agatha offered

Mildred had taken over Enid’s home. There had been a day of moving, of ensuring she had what she needed with witches coming to give her a few chickens or goats. It was all overdone in Agatha’s opinion, but she was thankful that while her mother stayed with Mildred, Agatha was permitted to stay in the house alone, providing her the opportunity to have additional peace and quiet in personal studies. 

She’d taken to learning from the scroll provided to her, and had been able to work out enough of the markings to reasonably guess that her mother had an anti-theft and protective charm on her door––though she’d assumed that had been the case already.

Knowing that wasn’t enough to undo it. There was a third of the binding spell that she couldn’t quite translate and without the cipher, she would be playing a risky game trying to creep up under it and break it. 

It was, however, enough to work out what Mildred had used on her letters. Hers weren’t nearly as complicated, and now that Agatha could see what the intent was, it was easy to carve at the letters and change its meaning just enough. 

Breaking an enchantment required understanding the magic, the intent and the outcome that occurred––easier said than done in some cases, but Mildred’s work was simple.

Agatha brought her hand over the markings, and with focus, lifted the enchantment off. As if the markings had been scratched off with a knife, they peeled and fell to the beside table. She burned them and then covered it with wax so no one would notice, before she read through letters. 

 

Dearest Mildred,

I long for you as the sun longs for the moon…as a dog howls for the moon…as

 

Agatha skimmed through the letter, growing frustration. It was, without hesitation, a love letter. There wasn’t even anything decent outside of terrible analogies. She went to the next letter.

 

My lovely Mildred,

Do you recall the summer evening by the barn? I long for the taste of your lips again. The way your tongue felt against my 

 

Nope. Slightly filthier, definitely as horrifically written. She gritted her teeth to push through reading it, but it just waxed on about seeds and spring and left Agatha thinking seriously considering burning it just so she could pretend it never existed. 

 

Mildred,

I write to you following our last meeting. Lovely Daisy grows ever stronger following your supple hand. However can I place into words my gratitude. Perhaps I can once against, press my mouth to your juicy

 

Agatha threw the letter aside and skimmed the rest. They were all love letters from the farm boy. Nothing hidden amongst them outside of terrible poetry. It was foolish for Mildred to keep them, but Agatha frowned, wondering why she’d marked the letters.

How long had they been marked and hidden? 

Surely Mildred had only learned of the language recently. Surely she wasn’t privy to it before Agatha had been. After all, they’d both been apprentices at the same time. Mildred was barely a few months older than herself.  

It was as though a bezoar had formed in her stomach. There was an uncomfortable weight piling up. The coven had bound her, the coven had allowed her to be untrained, the coven kept secrets from her… Mildred kept secrets from her, and she wanted to know for how long.

Agatha exhaled, staring to the back garden and remembering why she was doing this in the first place. The plan she had was a house of cards––getting angry and demanding answers would only lead to her own downfall, no one else’s.

She knew that if she brought the letters to her mother, Evanora would only be disappointed with Mildred––but she would be entirely curious as to how Agatha had accessed them once Mildred admitted to hiding them.

An affair with a common farm boy versus magic she was not privy to? No. It wasn’t worth it. Not now, not when she was so close to getting what she wanted. She had to be careful. She was in a good position now with enough sympathy that she could manipulate it with those around her. For the first time, she wasn’t a suspect but a victim.  

Taking the letters and scroll, Agatha hid them in her secret compartment and went downstairs. One of the coven witches had provided the house with eggs and milk until they replenished their animals. Much of the coven had offered animals, but Evanora had stood firm that they were not desperate enough yet for food––that they would survive the remaining winter and by then, she hoped that the townspeople had settled. 

Agatha took the flour and honey, picking some blackberries from the garden and baked a few small cakes. In the batter, she placed a a small piece of paper, no larger than a bead, that she had carefully scrawled a spell onto, just as Rio’s books had shown her. 

When her mother returned home, Agatha had a dozen small cakes. She left two for her mother, none of which had any magical properties, and took the remaining ten with her, informing her mother that she wanted to provide Mildred with a house warming gift. 

Her mother bit into the cake and seemed satisfied as she smiled at her. “Mildred will enjoy this. I’m glad you’re making peace.”

“It’s important to let go of grudges with the coming New Moon,” Agatha said, tapping at her nose. 

Her mother smiled, “It’s good to see you growing up,” she said, “Please come back before nightfall thought.”

“I will,”Agatha promised. “I’ve made stew, too.”

Her mother looked at her, there was a bright, unusual expression before she went to make herself busy. Likely returning to her room to continue her private research into the poisoning that was occurring in surroundings areas of Salem. 

As so far, they had yet to find the source of the sickness. They hadn’t been able to determine if a curse was afoot, either, though Agatha believed it to be unlikely despite the coven’s whispering. If it were a curse, it would have to be done by someone who had a vendetta against the coven and was either acting alone or completing unafraid of prosecution turning to themselves. Given how small and unsubstantiated this coven was, it’d be unlikely that either case were occuring.

They worked in Salem. It wasn’t like they were a widespread city coven have a territorial dispute. Should any witch need a coven, they were here and local.

Agatha knocked twice at Mildred’s door and watched the curtain peel bac as Mildred looked out, checking who was at the door. 

It was strange to knock as a place she’d previously entered as comfortable as her mother’s house for the last two years, but there was something full circle about it too. 

Especially when Mildred opened it, just as suspiciously as Enid had the first time she’d knocked, confirming her apprentice state.

“Agatha…” Mildred said, her voice flat. “What do you need from me?”

“Olive branch?” Agatha offered, lifting up the basket. “Thought we could have tea and share some cakes. I made them especially welcoming under the waning moon for forgiveness and new starts?” 

Mildred’s eyes softened as she stepped back, permitting her entrance. For the first time, the witch was not wearing flowers in her hair. She did wear the strawberry blonde in thick braids, pinned back from her face and knotted behind her, but there was a different, more mature style to how she dressed.

Her skirts brushed the ground instead of the the toe of her boots. Her sleeves were sewn to make her shoulders look broader, and Agatha suspected she had laced her bodice tighter so her back was straight and breasts appeared bigger than they’d been.  

There had been a time when she may have been endeared to her as a friend for how she was trying to present herself––but other things took focus now over a friend who kept coven secrets from her. 

“How did you find your first night alone?” Agatha asked as Mildred began making a pot of tea. She set the cakes down on a side table, removing the covering. 

“Not so scary, if I’m honest. Your mother ensured the protection wards were still in place, but….” She trailed off, her eyes running looking behind her. “That didn’t exactly stop Enid from being taken.”

“There was never a mob when they came for Enid,” Agatha assured. “They were just enforcers on behalf of the Court of Assizes They were very civilised.”

“Your Mother’s wards didn’t exactly hold for you, either,” Mildred pointed out. 

“I left the boundary,” Agatha reminded her. “I was foolish. I thought it was some kid sneaking around and I wanted to scare him. But you’ll be safe as kittens if you keep in the house boundary,” she assured. 

Mildred fussed around, making tea, though Agatha noted that she didn’t trial it manually. She was free now to use and explore her magic with only minor supervision on some of the larger spellworks.

Not that anyone could stop Mildred if she did it all the way out here. 

Agatha felt something hot and painful flare up like a stoked fire, before it settled again, as she reminded herself that it wouldn’t take long for her to be in the same situation. 

“Is it fun?” Agatha asked. “Getting to use your magic?”

“Oh, yes,” Mildred said. “I’m a bit tentative, to be quite honest. I think so far I’ve just used it to light fire and raise the dough without having to use the outdoor oven.”

Agatha frowned at her. “Why aren’t you using the outdoor oven?”

“Oh, I just…don’t want to go outside if I don’t need to,” Mildred said, handing Agatha her tea. “I think after a few weeks I’ll feel more confident by myself. It’s actually really nice that you visited. After the…the incident I was worried that you were angry with me.”

She wasn’t sure if Mildred was referring to becoming an acolyte or her own supposed attempted kidnapping.

“We’re a coven,” Agatha said. “And you’re my best friend. Where else would I be on such a milestone for you? I know I’ve seemed jealous as of late, but Mildred…you worked so hard for this. My time will come.”

“Oh, Aggie,” Mildred said, and Agatha sipped at the tea to stop from screaming at her. 

Thankfully, Mildred went on then to talk about how she noticed every sound now that she was by herself. 

 As she prattled on, Agatha took one of her cakes and began tearing at it, digging out the piece of paper and discreetly tucking it away. True to form, she watched as Mildred bit into the cake and eagerly chewed it without much thought as Agatha hummed some agreement about how scary it was to be by yourself.

Not that Agatha had ever felt that way. Being herself was more comfortable than sharing her space with most.

“You must be so tired with all of that worrying,” Agatha said. “If you like, I can look after your animals?”

“Oh, no….I should…” 

“I did it all the time for Enid, it’s no problem,” she assured. “I’ll feed the scraps to them and check their water. Did you collect the eggs?”

“Umm…” 

“Here,” Agatha said, she shifted her cakes closer to Mildred, topping up her tea. “I really meant what I said. We’re the two youngest coven members, we shouldn’t let anything get between us. No one understands how difficult it is like we do.”

Mildred smiled, “I’ll get around to it,” she promised.

“Please? Let me make it up to you? Drink your tea and eat your cake, and when I get my own place, you can do the same for me after my first night. How does that sound?” 

Mildred’s shoulders eased, her eyes growing heavy. With how cold it was, it wasn’t difficult for Agatha to increase the flames of the fire discreetly, allowing the warmth to spill through the house. As promised, she took the scraps and fed the animals, checking on them. She even collected the eggs and brought them inside. 

When she turned back and checked on Mildred, she could see the spell had taken affect and the woman was deep asleep.

Taking a blanket, she laid it over Mildred’s lap to see if the woman would stir, tucking it against the chair. Brining over a stool, she set the woman’s feet up and removed her boots, setting them down, beside the armchair she was sleeping in 

And then she set out with what she intended. Agatha took to searching around the cottage. She went to the old nook she had once resided in, which had since been cleared of the bed and replaced with boxes of herbs and ceramic bottles––useless. Agatha moved to Mildred’s bedroom, digging around the false bottom (empty) and then looking for a loose floorboard. There, she paused, discovering something interesting on the ground. 

There was a part of muddy boot print on the floor and Agatha set her foot next to it, measuring the width and length of the partial print. It was certainly longer and broader than her own or Mildred’s. 

Oh, she realised, looking to Mildred. Someone hadn’t let their heart rest. 

Did you summon him here? She wondered. Or did he come searching for you, lighting her fires and “rising her dough”.

Agatha paused then, recalling what had Mildred had said before she’d fallen asleep. 

Going out to the outdoor oven, she reached inside of it and dug around the ashes. There, in the very far corner, was a book no larger than her hand.

She pulled it out, looking it over and confirmed what the book was. Hidden and buried under a thick pile of ashes was a small leather-bound book with a forewords, confirming that it was the coven’s language, written with its matching theban counterpart. 

Agatha almost laughed. She’d found it. She’d found it and proved what she already knew.

The coven have provided it to Mildred for study. Because they trusted her.

How long had she had it? How long had she had it that she’d learned how to mark her letters and hide her words––how long had she hidden it from Agatha and buried it amongst her own belongings, keeping it secret because the coven told her to. 

How long had Agatha been an outcast. 

Her lungs were tight, her hands gripping the book so tightly that her thumbs were leaving an intent on the supple leather cover. She wanted to rip it apart, tear out its lining and never let anyone else have access to it.

But she eased her grip, reminding herself what it was all for. 

The book. Rio’s book. 

She couldn’t steal it away, Mildred would notice when she came looking for it next. Instead, Agatha flicked through pages, and then removed her cloak, laying it down against the oven as she took a piece charcoal and began writing the cipher on the inside of her cloak, down just above the hem, where it would unlikely be seen or smudged. 

Once done, she hid the book back where she found it, and returned home. 

She took out the scroll that had been provided to her by Rio, and setting her cloak up, wrote next to each letter, learning the differences. She didn’t care if the scroll was a priceless artefact––all that mattered was breaking the code on her mother’s door. 

She was close, she could feel it. Close to getting the book that was secreted away. Close to discovering who Rio was, close to being done with the coven. She could almost taste it. 

Hiding everything away, Agatha thought over the plan, counting out everything she would need. She would need her mother to go away, and the only way that would happen is if she could build confidence with her once more. 

Or, Agatha realised, create an emergency that her mother must attend to. 

That night, Agatha used the same sleeping spell on her mother with dinner. She didn’t quicken it, like she had with Mildred. She just needed it to lull her mother, not drag her to sleep.

She waited by sitting in the parlour room, going over one of the books that had survived the fire, until she heard her mother’s feet drag around upstairs, finalising her private study. There was a creak of the chair, then movement, the sound of a wardrobe opening and closing. Quiet and then she heard the final telltale sound of the bed settling with a weight.

Creeping upstairs, Agatha lit a candle and confirmed the symbols on her mother’s door, checking her own cipher before she exhaled. It wasn’t only an anti-theft or protection spell. It was cursed, too. Though it was warded in a way that most people wouldn’t accidentally touch. 

Which would explain why Agatha had never had a desire to enter her mother’s room without knocking and awaiting permission. 

Despite that, the curse would be a problem however. There was no way she could enter her mother’s bedroom without desiring to steal the book. 

Rio’s Spellbooks spoke about inflicting curses, not breaking them. And the coven had taught her nothing.

She was alone in working this out. 

Blowing out the candle, Agatha slipped back to her room, looking out at the evening sky. A sliver of the waning moon remained, nearly unseen, but Agatha watched it lift into the night sky, thinking about what she knew.

She had been taught how to break enchantments, to slip beneath spells and crack their hold. But curses were something else. They were burnt into an object, moulded with it. The moment her hand pressed against it, the curse would knit into her flesh. 

So the question remained, how did you avoid touching a curse that barred an entire door?

She went over and over it, until Agatha realised that there was another, more important question. Why did that warding exist? The house was warded to keep every enemy out, except those in the coven. And her mother trusted everyone imperatively in the coven.

Except for Agatha.

And Agatha was meant to be bound. Her own engagement with magic was intended to be through the manual labour of witchcraft and incantation––not her own visceral power. 

She conjured a plan, going over and over what she’d need to do, and then Agatha went to bed, feeling entirely pleased with herself. 

Tomorrow, at New Moon, she’d would make the beginning steps to finally returning Rio’s book. 

 

Notes:

sometimes I can just write a plot chapter. Not usually, because I really like writing a sex scene, but sometimes the muse allows me to write plot.

Chapter 13: Torn Love Letters

Summary:

“Did you bring us a picnic?” Rio teased.

“Of sorts,” Agatha said, showing her the contents. “I think you’ll like this idea a bit better, though.”

A clever witch usually knew when she was being cursed or enchanted––the trick, Rio had scrawled in her spellbook, was to distract her with something else, so she didn’t notice the subtler spellwork. 

“Mildred’s been learning some strange alphabet that I don’t recognise,” Agatha said at dinner. She watched her mother pause before taking a bite of her food. “Is that something acolytes get taught?”

“Did she tell you?”

“No, I went to help her around the cottage. She hasn’t been sleeping and she’s been afraid to go out. I found a book while I was cleaning up outside.” Agatha picked at her food. “Will I get to learn a new language when I become an acolyte? Are there are other witchy languages to learn? I know Egyptian is one. Do we learn them all?”

“You…” her mother trailed off, clearing her throat. “Greek and latin are the most prominent languages. But you could learn German, if you wish?”

“Don’t they use the same alphabet as us?” Agatha asked.

“You’ll learn nordic––runes are very useful for witchcraft.” Agatha didn’t tell her that she already knew how to read and write in runes. 

“But what about Mildred’s language?” She pressed, watching the vein in her mother’s forehead begin to throb, telling her she was saying exactly the right thing to annoy her. “There were two types in the book. They were both similar though there were a few different ones. Can’t I learn with her?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

Agatha looked at her mother, frowning. “I’m good with languages,” she pointed out. “If I’m allowed to study it, I can memorise the script and work from there. It’s important that I’m continuing my studies, isn’t it? I’d love to learn more about incantations to help the coven with full moon practices.”

“Aggie, you’ve just had a horrible scare with the townspeople. Rest. When all of your injuries are recovered, and the town is settled, I will teach you a new language,” she promised. 

She waited, watching her mother pick at her food. And then once a few more bites were taken, Agatha continued. “Most of our books are gone––if she still has a book, isn’t it worth me learning the language to––”

“Enough, Agatha. I won’t discuss this further!” 

Agatha looked down at her food, staring at it as she tried to hide her delight behind frustration and anger. From the corner of her eye, she could see her mother carve into the food, her thoughts far too busy to notice the enchantment, likely wondering how Mildred could be so silly as to keep a book somewhere that Agatha would so easily discover it.

It didn’t take long to watch as her mother grew weary. She drank a glass of wine and then, following dinner, murmured that she needed to finish some studies upstairs. 

Agatha heard the telltale sound of the bed creaking and then knew that the spell had quickened enough to set her mother into a deep sleep. When Agatha should cross the boundary, she’d be too far charmed to notice.

Taking a basket, Agatha grabbed some necessary items from the pantry and then went into the garden, picking at a few more items before the New Moon rose. She took her time, humming to herself, and then once satisfied she had everything she needed, Agatha slipped over the fence line, into the woods.

She walked far enough in, and then, once satisfied that she was deep enough in the woods, far away, she waited. 

It was quiet. There were crickets nearby, and an owl. She could hear the rustling of a racoon, but there was little other sounds in the woods. No voices, no incessant murmurs of people. Just the trees and animals. 

Drawing in a deep breath, she brought in the scent of the trees, the leaves, the foliage…and a storm, she turned as Rio appeared and watched the woman smile at her, before her eyes flicked to the basket.

“Did you bring us a picnic?” Rio teased.

“Of sorts,” Agatha said, showing her the contents. “I think you’ll like this idea a bit better, though.”

Rio’s eyebrows raised, picking through the flowers. “Are you planning to organise an orgy—isn’t it a little early for Lupercalia?”

“Mm, as fun as it would be to whip you. No. I was thinking about what you said,” Agatha said, ignoring the way Rio’s expression had shifted at the word whip. “About how even the most harmless of spell can be used with malicious intent.”

“Oh, let me guess…” Rio said, her fingers picked at the items, and Agatha watched as she dug through the assortment. “Let’s see, rose petals, honey, wine and…mandrake root, and a love letter?” She look up at Agatha. “Are you going to put this in the town water and make them all fuck like crazy?”

“Not, the town’s, no,” she said, and then she beckoned Rio to follow her. They walked quietly through the woods, crossing the stream to a wooden fence line. It was sturdy, and much taller than a garden fence, meant to keep the bulls penned and safe from visiting the other cows. 

She carefully climbed over it, jumping down beside the water trough. 

In the field, she could see the two bulls. One was asleep, underneath a tree, as the other walked around, grazing. 

“Bulls?” Rio asked, intrigued.

“Two angry bulls in a farm, it’d be horrible if they went for the cows nearby the house. It would wake the family, and then they’d have to deal with it and someone could get hurt,” Agatha said, taking out the love letter first and tearing off a single piece into the water. That should guide the bulls. 

She then took out the items and one by one placed them into the water, swirling it clock-wise twice as she whispered the incantation. Her fingers curved in the water, allowing the swirl to rush against her hand as the water shifted from clear, to pink, to yellow, and then back to clear. 

Stepping away, Agatha lifting a droplet of water to her lips, feeling the heat rush through her. It wasn’t enough to provide a hallucinogenic frenzy for her, but it was enough that when her eyes opened, she could feel her body come alive. It was exactly as she hoped. 

Rio whistled, a long, sweet note and both bulls rose, coming to walk over and drink from the trough as Agatha opened up gate. 

Neither of them even need to be told what to do, the bulls, after drinking, began to walk and then they ran through the open gate, rushing down the road to unleash their frenzy. Agatha couldn’t wait for the mayhem they would cause. She looked to Rio, looking for her approval and instead found something more: the woman’s eyes were alight like a fire had been lit inside of them. 

“All that carnage,” Rio said, her voice a purr. “Did you do that for me?”

“It’ll cause a nice distraction.”

“You do realise the witches will be able to see what you’ve done? They’ll know that someone did this.”

Agatha shrugged. “That doesn’t mean that I was the one to do it. After all, I wasn’t the one sharing love letters with the farmer’s son who went and got married to the neighbour’s daughter. I mean, that would cause most people a fair amount of anger and resentment for any witch who studied potions…one of which is a common virility potion…” She took out a piece of paper from the basket, and tearing it into four pieces before blowing it to the wind. 

The pieces scattered, flying away, but not Agatha knew they would be found. 

“The coven will punish her.”

“Serves her right,” Agatha said. “Did you know that she was studying the coven’s language before she became an acolyte. She hid that from me!” Agatha looked aside, feeling the potion race her heart. “I was born into this coven, and she just stumbled across it because her coven couldn’t bear the brunt of a storm. And my own mother tried to lie to me, pretending that she was learning something like German. She didn’t even dare to mentioned what it was, but she’ll Mildred!”

Rio laughed. “Are you jealous, Agatha?”

“Of Mildred? No. But I will take what is owed to me. And if that means leaving her to the mercy of the coven, so be it.”

She breathed in, feeling her lungs expand. She could taste victory––years of learning, of scraping for even the smallest bit of magic, and now she was about to unshackle herself completely from the coven. 

Because of one person. The only person who had seen her potential and not tried to stifle it. 

She looked to Rio, stepping closer to her and eyed her. Rio was still, but her expression was open. Her eyes were wide open, mouth parted. If it had been a full moon, Agatha was certain that her cheeks would be flushed. 

“Is this too wicked for you?” Agatha asked her. 

“No,” Rio said, raking her eyes down Agatha’s body. “No, this…anger and righteous fury. It’s a good look. You should do it more.”

“Is that so? Does that mean you’re going to just stand than and admire me?” Agatha asked. She stepped back, leaning against the wooden fence as she fixed her skirts. “Perhaps speak some more flattery about your witch?”

Rio’s eyes jumped to hers at the word your, and moved closer, her hands pressing around Agatha’s waist, holding her to the fence as she eased closer. 

She was a breath away, her lips so close that Agatha could almost feel them pressing to hers. 

“Is that what you want, Agatha? Do you want me on my knees, singing my praise for your wickedness?” Her fingers were tracing patterns through Agatha’s skirts, tracing up her body. “Shall I tell you how good it feels to watch you perform feats of magic, how your mastery in inflicting chaos is truly a sight to behind? Would you like that, Agatha?”

Agatha brushed their lips together, feeling Rio’s mouth part. “Get on your knees, then.”

Rio’s eyes didn’t leave her as she knelt down, her hands sliding to Agatha’s hips, holding them steady. She was on her knees, and Agatha loved the sight of it. Here was one of the most powerful beings to exist––and she was on her knees for her. 

“This is the part where your sing my praise,” Agatha said. 

Rio pushed up the front of Agatha’s skirts and leaned forward, her mouth pressing over her thighs in slow, open-mouthed kisses. Each press of lips sending a cascade of excitement through her.

The elixir Agatha had tasted was already rushing through her, she could feel her arousal slipping down her thigh, and Rio’s mouth, pressing higher and higher to where she wanted her, was only encouraging it. 

She leant back on the wooden slats of the fence, her breath heavy as she looked up at the naked sky. The stars were out, the moon hidden but still there. She could feel it if she closed her eyes and searched for it. 

And then Rio’s tongue slid out, pressing over as her mouth sucked at just the right spot. “Exactly like that,” she said. 

She didn’t bite back her moans, didn’t dare shy away from the feeling as Rio’s tongue slipped over her, truly showing her adoration. She didn’t care if anyone heard. Let them. Let them know that she was finally reaching her power. That she had a goddess on her knees, worshiping her. 

Rio looked up at her, her tongue deep inside of her and Agatha reached down, combing her fingers through the woman’s hair before she curled and tugged her up, pulling her to her mouth. 

The slick arousal coated Rio’s tongue and Agatha gave a short, breathy laugh as she turned and pressed the woman to the fence. “Do you like being on your knees for me?” She asked, tugging Rio’s dress up. 

“There are worse places to be.”

“Let’s see what the truth is,” Agatha said, sliding her hand between Rio’s thighs, watching the woman inhale a slow breath at her touch. She was wet, beautifully, deliciously wet and aroused for her. “I think you’re underselling how much you liked it,” she said, stroking her. “I think you love being on your knees for me.”

Rio’s eyes mouth was parted, her chest rising and following as she made soft humming pleased sounds. “You know, few can say that they’ve had me on my knees.”

“Twice,” Agatha reminded. 

“Mm. How does it feel?’ Rio asked, her voice was husked and Agatha could feel her hips meeting her rhythm. 

“To know that you’re mine?” She asked, sliding inside of her––the sound Rio made was rich and visceral. Agatha leant forward, tasting it on her lips as she told her. “Powerful.” 

Rio grabbed her, tugging her close to kiss her. Until Agatha was drinking in her moans, fucking her as Rio pressed tight, riding her until she orgasmed around Agatha fingers. 

Agatha slid her fingers out, and brought them to her mouth, tasting Rio’s arousal. Ambrosia had nothing on this. 

She held Rio’s eyes, watching the woman pant, before a new wave of energy filled her. The witch grabbed her, smiling knowingly as brought Agatha to the ground and climbed on top of her. 

It was messy and angry and Agatha revelled in the feeling of it as she clung to Rio’s shoulders and kissed her as if the world would be ending tomorrow. 

It wouldn’t, not yet. But it may be their last chance for some time.

By the next New Moon, she would be free. 

Notes:

One of my favourite images is Rio lying over the arms of a throne, just writing little notes in her Spellbook, laughing to herself about Agatha eventually reading them.

Legit how I picture her writing in the Spellbook.

Chapter 14: Violets

Summary:

“Is this a new dress?” Her mother asked.

Notes:

Thank you so much to gazpachito for making this beautiful artwork of the beginning scene!

It was growing late. She knew that she needed to go home. She knew that she should fix her shoes and hide her injuries before her mother awoke and realised she wasn’t there, but Rio was combing her fingers through Agatha’s hair, humming. And there was something soothing about it. 

She was pressed to Rio’s shoulder, her arm strewn across the woman’s waist, feeling the chest rise and fall. Somehow, after redressing, Agatha had fallen asleep. 

It’d been brief. They had been chatting and Agatha had thought she’d fallen asleep on the grass, but awakening here, like this, made her long for something she couldn’t have. The fingers in her hair, the soft music that Rio sung…

It was peaceful. 

She wasn’t sure for how long she’d been asleep, but Rio’s hum sounded almost familiar. Agatha’s eyes felt shut as she listened to the song, and for a moment, it was as if the world had ceased to exist, and there was only the two of them in a field beneath the stars.  

And then a kiss pressed to her forehead. “You should head back. All hell will break loose, soon.”

Nodding, she pushed up and blinked at her surroundings. There was a heavy weight to her limbs, but as she stretched, she expected to feel as sore as she had at last New Moon. Instead, there was something…entirely restful about that sleep. 

“Did you do something to me?”

Rio smiled. “Can’t have you going back home with new injuries. People will ask questions. I kept a few for you to remember me by.”

Agatha paused, looking at her and then offered a small smile. “Thank you.”

Rio brightened at her words, shifting so she could steal a quick kiss, and then from behind her back, she revealed a violet, presenting it to Agatha with the same ridiculous flare as when she was teasing her. Agatha rolled her eyes, but a smile slipped from her as she peeked back at Rio. 

“What’s this?”

“I think purple suits you,” Rio said. 

“Purple, hmm?”

“It’s the colour of royalty,” Rio said. “And ambition.”

Taking it, brought it to her nose and breathed it in. “It’s beautiful, thank you,” she leaned forward, pressing a last sweet goodbye kiss and then looked Rio. “Soon,” she promised. 

The entire walk, she hummed to herself, twirling the flower between her thumb and forefinger. 

Once she’d climbed back over the fence line, instead of going to bed, Agatha brought Scratchy down to dig at the garden, picking different berries before she set her basket in the kitchen, just as her mother came downstairs. 

Dawn was breaking, and the house was quiet, especially with Scratchy hopping around outside, but Agatha turned to look at her mother, for the first time entirely at peace––a part of her wanting to believe it was because she’d tucked the violet into her bodice, feeling it press against her heart.  But she also knew that it came from the satisfaction of knowing that this would all be over soon. 

“I thought we could have some fruit with the oats for breakfast?” Agatha said to her mother as she pointed to the basket. 

Evanora’s expression pulled, eyes dancing over Agatha’s face. 

Six months ago, Agatha would have shrunk beneath her mother’s stare, and then likely try and push back. But Rio’s kiss still felt sweet against her lips.  Instead of worrying, she turned back to the pot she’d set out and began making a bowl of porridge, cooking the berries through it on top of the fire.

She hummed to herself, and when the porridge was cooked, served it with honey, coming to sit by her mother. 

“Is this a new dress?” Her mother asked.

Agatha looked down, noticing for the first time her dresses colour. She had left in a dark dress  with strips of blue material last night, and had apparently returned with a dress that was lined with purple instead.

“It was dyed,” she told her mother.

Her mother’s eyes frowned. “Who dyed the material of that dress?”

Agatha paused, considering the weight of lying, and then decided she didn’t care enough about the consequences. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Some girl from the town. She was sweet on me before Enid…” and there she trailed off, making an effort to appear lost in painful thought.

She did try to remember how it had looked, when the fireball had burned through Enid. But all she could recall was Rio’s fingers, tightly laced in hers, before she was tugged away. 

“A town girl?” Her mother prompted, taking the bait.

“I haven’t visited the town since you asked me to avoid it,” she assured. “But she was sweet.”

Her mother smiled, hand reaching out to take Agatha’s. “The people will settle,” she promised,  “It will just take time.”

“How long do you––”

A knock on the door sounded, heavy and rapid.  

Agatha looked to the door and then glanced to her mother. “Are we expecting guests?” 

“No,” her mother said, standing up and looking concerned. “Stay here, don’t move.” 

Agatha stood up, following to the edge of the hall to peak around and watch as her mother opened the entrance door, frowning at who was there. “Mistress Harkness,” someone––male, young––said. “Please. The farm animals have gone wild. My father… please release us from the curse. We will never speak ill of witches again. We’ll pay out tithe. Here,” something heavy was pushed forward, and Agatha could hear the sound of metal sliding against wood. “Please accept this as penance. We’ll do whatever you wish, you can have half of our cattle––but please don’t kill any more of my family.”

“Show me what’s happening,” her mother said. Agatha’s heart leapt into her throat and she watched her mother turn, glancing to her. “Stay here.” 

Agatha nodded, ducking her head. She had no intention of leaving this time. 

She waited until she was certain her mother had left, peeking out of the curtains to check that she was following him back to the farm––and then Agatha headed out to the back garden.

Her mother’s room sat at the very end of the house, facing east. Her room was tall, and there were two windows that faced the garden. The style of house meant there was nothing to climb, not even ivy––though Agatha would never have dared to place her weight on it. The closed tree was the other side of the house, and completely useless to her.

But now, Agatha had magic. Real, proper magic. 

Her mother may have cursed the door, but Agatha doubted that she’d done anything to the window. It would never have occurred to her that her daughter would ever be able to reach it without magic––and while she had been able to access some magic, flying was something reserved for those who’d studied the coven’s grimoire.

She pushed up with magic. The window was locked, but Agatha pressed her hand to the glass, willing the lock to undo––The screw turned, metal winding and then clicked. 

Sliding the window up, she climbed into the bedroom and looked around. The room was orderly, tidy as she expected. Agatha closed her eyes, and breathed in. Her mother’s magic clung to the space, but there, in the cracks, she could smell honeysuckle and a storm. Subtle at first, but as she walked around the space, she could almost feel it. 

Her hands pressed against the floor, feeling for it. She dug under the bed, and then turned, looking to her mother’s wardrobe. 

The wardrobe was tidy, but Agatha could feel the magic. There was a coolness to the space that nowhere else had. She dug around, shifting things about until she found the false panel and opened it up. 

There it was. 

She grabbed it and pulled it close, breathing it in. There were so many bindings spells on it. She could feel not just her mother’s influence, but the entire coven’s. Each one had placed their own binding spell. 

Had Agatha not been so familiar with Rio’s magic, she may never have found it. 

Taking the book, she left the same way she came, ensuring the window closed behind her and then she went through the back garden, picking up Scratchy as she headed out, into the woods. She wanted to be somewhere alone to read this, as she promised. 

In a quiet spot, far enough in, she sat her familiar down in her lap as she sat against the tree and began unpicking each binding spell. Some were clumsy––like Mildred’s––and easy to undo. Others were stronger. She could even feel Enid’s magic, etched into it, and witches of centuries past. The ones that Agatha had seen perform magic were easier to undo, but others were harder. 

But as the last bewitchment was undone, and the magic dispersed, she was able to look at the book and really feel it in her hands.

It was cool to the touch. The pages were made of vellum, and sewn together in a gnarled leather binding that had shrunk and cracked with age. Agatha’s fingers slid over the title, tracing the letters.  Necronomicon. The Book of the Dead. 

The book was filled with things like necromancy, puppetry and how to speak with the dead. But in amongst the spells were mentions of a tome that the book was moulded off––something ancient and powerful and corrupting. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, reading through it. But the woods grew dim. 

“Agatha.”  She had expected Rio to arrived. Instead, she was greeted with rasping Mildred. Her voice sounded dry, like she’d been screaming for days. Her face was red, her eyes bloodshot and there was blood on her hands and clothes. “Agatha…what did you do?”

Agatha rose, holding her hands behind her back, uncertain if Mildred was talking about the book or something else. But the witch just stepped closer. 

“What did you do?” Mildred asked again. 

“What happened to you?” Agatha asked.

“You!” Mildred screamed. “You were the only one who knew about him. You stole those letters. They were mine!” 

Agatha pressed backwards, watching as the witch sobbed, her head hanging as she hugged herself with her bloody hands.

“They were mine. And you stole him from me.”

“Mildred, I didn’t––”

“Don’t lie to me!” Mildred said. “All you’ve done is lie.”

Agatha felt her anger stoked, and with it, the last piece of kindness she had for Mildred. “Me? What about you. What about all of your lies? How long have you kept coven secrets from me? How many secret meetings with the witches did you attend where they told you not to keep it secret? Tell me, Mildred, did they tell you I was dangerous…monsterous?”

“They said it wasn’t your time to learn,” Mildred said, there was a tightness to her voice, a lie to it. “That Enid would guide you.”

“Now who’s the liar? You knew. You watched as Enid would beat me, and you did nothing. You learned magic, read from the grimoire and watched as I begged for scraps at the table as the coven tried to push me out. Tell me, Mildred. When did you learn the coven’s language?”

“None of that matters––I know what you did.”

“No you don’t. You don’t know what I did, and I can tell you want to know. It’s important to you,” Agatha said. “So I’ll tell you what, tell me the truth and I’ll tell you truth.”

Mildred stared at her, her gaze hot. “A year,” she said between gritted teeth. “Now admit what you did.”

Agatha laughed. “I charmed the bulls with a virility charm. I knew it would make them go into a frenzy. I knew they would attack anyone who got between them and the object of their desire. I knew there was a good chance that your precious farm body would get hurt, but I needed the distraction.” 

“The distraction?” Mildred said. “You murdered him for a distraction?”

“I didn’t murder him. He would have been fine if he stayed away. It’s not my fault that he jumped in front of the bull.”

“You––” she paused, the word catching in throat. “They really are right about you. You’re…you’re evil, Agatha. I didn’t believe them, but this…you knew how I felt about him, and you murdered him anyway.”

Agatha paused, it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on her. To be thought of as monstrous was one thing––but evil. The term was heavier. The coven had never referred to anything as evil before. Not even demons. 

As a child, she’d thrown the word around haphazardly and her mother had sternly warned her not to use it. That to call something evil was to assure its need for destruction. Monstrous was avoidable, you stayed away from monsters unless the need arose––but if the coven thought her evil…they would never stop searching for her.

“Is that what you really think?” Agatha asked. She felt like she was sixteen again. 

And Mildred’s expression was hideous as she glared at her. “I can’t wait to see you burn for what you’ve done,” she spat, before throwing her magic at her. 

Agatha felt it strike her, it was sharp, and then rapidly felt her own magic drink in, reaching for and swallowing up against Mildred’s. 

Unlike Rio, Mildred couldn’t stop it. She was powerless, pouring her magic in, her intent having sealed against Agatha’s––and too quickly, Agatha felt all of Mildred’s power pour into her. 

It wasn’t at all like the racoon. This didn’t feel like catching a creature into a snare.

It was so much more. It warmed through her, coursing through her blood stream like she was drunk on wine. It felt like sex with Rio. The angry, vicious moments where they laughed into the night’s air, thrilled by the pain and pleasure.

Her body was alive, so wonderfully alive––and then Agatha felt the line snap. The feeling eased away and she closed her eyes, catching her breath. 

There was a thump and Agatha looked up to the source, swaying on her feet. 

“Mildred?” She asked. The magic buzzed through her as she stepped forward. 

The body on the ground was dressed like Mildred, but her hair way white, her body grey and old, shrunken as if everything had been emptied from her, leaving nothing but a husk. 

Agatha stared at it. 

That had been her friend, once. Her friend who made her honey cakes for her birthday, and squeezed her tightly in a hug, who had visited her so often while she was with Enid, just so she could share a smile with someone. Mildred hadn’t seen her as some dark creature––not until moments ago. Before then, she’d believed that she was good. 

Agatha remembered how she looked, floating in the clearing like a dandelion fluff, giggling as she fell down. 

It was… wonderful , Agatha. Like all of the world’s magic spilled through you. Your body feels warm and it tickles, and then…I can see why they’re careful in letting you read it. I could just sit and read it forever.

She was just a girl. A heartbroken girl. 

She’d loved someone who hadn’t loved her as equally, and because of that heartbreak, because of the heartbreak Agatha inflicted, Mildred was dead. 

Gone. 

She hadn’t meant to kill her. She didn’t even know she would. It’d happened so fast.

“Agatha.”

She turned, looking at Rio and her hands shook. “It was an accident,” she said.

“I know,” Rio assured. “She didn’t leave you with much choice.”

“I didn’t want that!” Agatha said. “She was my friend.”

Rio’s arms slid around her, holding her firm against her. “She was going to have you burned at the stake,” Rio said. “She lied to you about the coven and hid secrets from you. However you felt about her, she did not see you the same.”

Agatha clung to her, eyes squeezing shut. 

“It’s not fair,” she said.

Rio’s hand stroked through her hair, holding her steady. “No,” she agreed. “It never is.” 

Notes:

Can I just say one thing since episode 5 came out. I fucking knew Evanora was a piece of work. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

Side note, I actually wished I'd written a broomstick scene. I love witches on brooms, flying through the night air. I may just write a one-shot because that scene where Agatha looked at Rio was just...so beautiful.

Chapter 15: A Summoning Circle

Summary:

“Agatha Harkness!” Her mother’s voice called, summoning her.

The woods had always seemed peaceful, but now, they were loud. There owls and scurrying animals. Wolves that howled in the distance. The trees swayed in the wind, rustling their leaves, creaking as if they might just fall.

Agatha stood, staring at the corpse of Mildred. 

“Agatha?” The words were softly spoken, coaxing her attention.

She looked to Rio. The woman was standing next to her. “You have to leave don’t you?” 

Rio’s head tilted, her eyes holding hers. Steady, warm. “I’ll come back,” she promised. 

And then what, Agatha wanted to ask. What would happen next? Mildred was dead, her coven would forsake her for that crime. There was nothing she could do except leave and…what? Discover new magic, news spells and tomes?

Agatha paused then, remembering was the Necronomicon had inferred about a more powerful tome. She didn’t know what it was, but she wanted it. It would make her safe. People would think twice before they hunted her down. 

“Before you go,” Agatha said, reaching down, she picked up Rio’s book and dusted the cover off. “Here,” she said. “As promised.”

The woman’s fingertips brushed over hers as she took the book. There was something anticlimactic about it. When Agatha had dreamt about this moment, she’d been charged by the thought of it. Excited. They were meant to be celebrating as if a new chapter had opened.

She supposed a new chapter had. 

“Five months,” Rio said. “I’ve provided others with more knowledge years…decades to obtain this and they’ve failed, but you, Agatha Harkness, succeeded with only five months of magical training.”

Agatha offered a smile. “What can I say,” she said. “When I want something, I’ll stop at nothing to get it.” She paused then.

Rio’s eyes held hers, and there was something painful about the way she looked at her––as if she could see straight through to her soul. 

Maybe she could. 

 “Do you regret killing her?” 

“No,” Agatha said, and that she was certain about. “But when you showed me how to take life, I thought I would be in control. I thought it would be like…” she trailed off, looking at the corpse again. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Rio’s cupped her face, dragging Agatha’s eyes back to hers. “You’re not a monster. She had a choice. She chose to attack you first. You survived.” 

Agatha swallowed, looking at her. “I know you have to leave…” she took a breath, trying to find the courage to ask her. She didn’t know how to say it. How to place into words this feeling she was having. This desperation that clawed at her but quietened when Rio’s hand was holding her. 

“I’ll find you again,” Rio assured. She leant forward, pressing her lips to Agatha’s. There was a sweetness to them, and Agatha felt as though the world was held together in Rio’s hands when she pulled back. “The ones you care about hurt the worst, but there’ll be other times when it feels sweet.” Her thumb rubbed against her cheek and Agatha sighed, her eyes falling shut until the touch fell away and she knew Rio had left.

The scent of honeysuckle lingered, and Agatha breathed in it, feeling the ache ease once more. 

Agatha would be fine. She’d survived worse. 

I can’t wait to see you burn for what you’ve done.

Was that really the same girl who had brought her honey cakes? She’d been so angry—Agatha knew that in that moment, Mildred had meant it. She’d intended for Agatha to suffer. She wanted to bask in her demise, even if only in that moment. 

Agatha hadn’t even felt that way about Enid.

She turned around, looking to where her rabbit was. She knew she should pick him up, but her hands shook as she thought about it. No. No, she needed to be busy. 

A part of her wanted to bury Mildred. The last thing she wanted was for wild animals to take her, but she couldn’t make herself move further than a few yards. She was pacing around the trees, trying to get her thoughts to stop circling around Mildred’s death.

She hadn’t meant to. She hadn’t been in control of it. 

But Mildred had wanted to kill her. Even if it was only in that moment. 

And Agatha would admit that taking her magic, her life force had felt…good in the moment. She’d felt powerful in a way that she hadn’t since Rio first broke the binding on her magic. The world was louder––painfully so, but it would ease. 

Mildred had lied to her. She’d been lying to her for some time. 

But she’d still been the only one in the coven who hadn’t despised her. Until today, that is. And then she saw Agatha as evil as the rest of them did. How long until they came for her? How long until they dragged her back and trialled her and bound her. She’d be banished––not just from her coven, but from all covens. Powerless and broken. 

And then who could possibly love her? 

Agatha paced, her boots crunching on the ground. The foliage and sticks crumbling beneath her heel. In the distance, she could hear a wolf howling––a pack must be hunting.

She needed to leave. Animals would come here soon, they would smell the corpse, and if she was here, they would see her as a threat. She needed to act. She needed to run. To survive.  

Picking up her familiar, she drew in a breath and headed forward, leaving the corpse behind. She was alone, but she’d always been alone, so it shouldn’t make a difference. Rio would find her. She just had to survive.

She had to get out of town. 

And yet there was a pain in her heart. She was unmoored. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? So why was there was a bitterness on her tongue. A hesitation that had her glancing back to the direction of her childhood home. 

There was nothing there for her. 

They really are right about you. You’re…you’re evil , Agatha

Did her mother think that about her? She couldn’t. Her mother had wanted to protect her, hadn’t she? She’d defended her when she was a child. Some part of her, deep down, must love her. But she had a coven to look after and it was clear that the coven came before Agatha.

She would never be first. 

No. She couldn’t go back. There was forward. Only forward. 

She would head east and work out what she was doing when she was far enough away from the town. She needed to find a place. She needed to get away from this cesspool of a town and—

Agatha paused. The woods were quiet. Even the crickets had ceased. She glanced around, feeling as if the world was tipping over. 

“Agatha Harkness!” Her mother’s voice called, summoning her.

Agatha felt the world narrow and pull. Her familiar slipped out of her hands and Agatha went to dive for him, but something tugged her back. “Agatha Harkness.” Her back hit the ground, and the air exhaled from her lungs as the trees above her blurred. “Agatha Harkness.” And then she was lying in the middle a circle of the coven witches. 

They had summoned her from end of the forest to the other. 

Two witches grabbed her, pulling her to her feet and holding her still. Agatha pushed at them, but it was useless. Their grip was tight, binding so she couldn’t cast any magic. 

All of the coven wore cloaks, their hoods up in a ridiculous display of trying to be intimidating. Two held up torches to cast a warm light, but all did was confirm what Agatha knew. The entire coven was here, and she was being interrogated. 

 Her mother stepped forward into the circle, and stared at her with cold eyes. “Agatha Harkness, you stand accused of stealing. Do you confess?”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” Agatha said. 

“Where did you hide it?” 

Agatha squirmed in the grasp, looking at her mother. “Where did I hide what!” 

“The book?”

“What book,” she asked, twisting again. “I don’t have a book on me!” She showed her exposed hands, proving there was nothing.  

“You stole the book. Your magic was in my room––magic that should be bound.”

“I didn’t do any unbinding of my magic, either,” she said, looking at her mother. “I didn’t steal and I didn’t unbind my magic. You have the wrong witch.”

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed you flaunting it around, humming old spells as you made breakfast?”

Agatha had no idea what her mother meant, until she recalled that morning. It had been a life time ago, but she had hummed the song Rio had sung. The music had been caught in her head. “It’s just a song I heard,” she said. “That’s not magic! You’re accusing me of theft because of a song?”

“Do not lie to me! No one in this coven would have taught you that song.”

“They didn’t,” Agatha said, pulling against the tight grip. “I heard it in the woods. It was just a song.”

“It is a sacred song, not meant for someone foul as you.”

Agatha flinched at the venom in her voice, stumbling. “Foul?” She echoed. “Is that how you see me, Mother?”

“Tell us the truth, Agatha. Tell us where you hid the book. We the Salemites compel you to speak to the truth.” There was a wash of magic and Agatha glared at her mother, holding her tongue. She refused to play into this game. 

“Where is it?” Her mother said again, her magic reaching out, tugging at Agatha’s voice. “Agatha Harkness, you must tell us where the coven’s book is! I compel you to!”

“I didn’t steal the coven’s grimoire!” 

“No, the book we had in our protection. The book you stole from its protection in my room. We left the old country to keep it safe. It has survived in this coven for generations and you will return it and its magic to us, or you will be punished. Tell us where you hid it.”

Agatha looked at her mother, at all the anger and desperation that was clawing at her. She could feel the compulsion tugging at her as she leant forward and told her, “Sounds like it was never your book to keep, then.”

The coven broke out in a roar of voices and the circle closed in. Agatha flicked, avoiding the reaching hands before Evanora called out in a loud voice. “Silence!” She said. The coven obeyed, stepping back into their place. “This is your last chance, Agatha. Tell us where the book you stole is.”

“Or what?” Agatha said. “Or you’ll bind and banish me?”

Evanora’s face didn’t shift. “Where is the book?”

“I didn’t steal it,” she snarled. “You have the wrong witch.”

Her mother recoiled, looking her up and down. “Dawn will break soon. Agatha, you will be imprisoned until midnight when you will stand trial for your crimes.”

“Trial? I didn’t do anything,” she said. “Mother! I didn’t do it.” She felt hands clawing at her, tugging her. “Mother, please!”

Evanora’s gaze was cold as she watched Agatha be lead away, deeper into the woods. There was nothing there. No acknowledgement of who she was looking at. No remorse. Just a cold, stony expression.

She could see the other coven members staring at her. There was no doubt in their expressions, no remorse. They believed her to be monstrous and evil. They wanted her dead. 

Agatha wasn’t sure what she had expected. Eighteen years with the coven and not a single true friend amongst them. 

No one except Rio. 

She was dragged through the woods, and no amount of twisting or pushing could escape their grasp. The hold they had on her arms, preventing even the smallest bit of magic. 

“Please,” Agatha said. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything.”

She tugged at their hold, pleading for mercy, but it fell onto deaf ears as she was dragged deeper into the woods, until at last they arrived at her prison.

There was a cave that was nearby that she was dragged to and thrown into, the mouth of the cave sealed and leaving her alone in the space. In the brief light of the torches, she saw there were runes carved into the walls, though the space had became dark once the entrance was sealed. Only a thin crack between the rock against the mouth of the cave remained. 

She tried, desperately, to spark her magic. But whatever they’d done, they’d bound her from using the spells. She couldn’t push at the rock that covered the mouth––it was too heavy. She couldn’t teleport with her magic. Couldn’t do anything except sit in the dark…awaiting her trial.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but there was a thin, golden light when something stirred outside the cave. 

“Agatha?” 

She looked to the crack and moved towards the sound of Rio’s voice. “You’re here,” Agatha said. “I…didn’t think I’d see you until the trial.” 

“It’s not a trial,” Rio said. “It’s an execution. They’re building their magic in preparation.”

Agatha gave a dry laugh. “No, no. I’ll be bound and banished. That’s what my mother said would happen when Enid tried. They’d mark me so that no coven will take me in. I’ll be powerless and…” she trailed off, thinking about how cold her mother had been, staring at her. 

“Agatha…”

“She wouldn’t.”

She could hear Rio draw in a breath, and then a soft. “I’m sorry.”

A quiet settled and Agatha felt the weight of the words hit her. She knew it wasn’t a lie. “Some part of her must love me?” She asked, her voice sounding small to her own ears. 

“She’s a fool not to,” Rio said. 

Agatha’s hand pressed against the rock, eyes squeezing shut. “My own mother is planning my execution.” She felt the hollow laugh spill from her mouth, echoing around her. “…am I that difficult to love that not even my own mother could find it in her heart?”

“No!” Rio said, her voice fierce. “No, Agatha. You are not difficult to love. They’re just cowards and fools. Afraid of something they don’t understand. You—” and she could hear the voice catch. “You are so much more than they’ll ever know.”

Agatha smiled, and for a moment, the ache softened. She placed her forehead to the rock, watching the shadows shift in the crack as Rio moved outside. She could hear the woman’s body, dragging agains the rock as she moved closer, and if Agatha closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that they were both together, hands reaching out for each other, through the rock and stone. 

“You still have to teach me for a year,” Agatha said. “I thought our next lesson could be somewhere else. We could go south to where it’s warmer.” 

There was a light chuckle from Rio. “I’d like that. You should visit Europe, one day. You’d like it there. There’s so much old magic in its bones. There are sunflowers in the southern parts of France and…” she paused, and then, almost too quietly said. “They make me think of you.” 

“There’s a whole world out there for us,” Agatha said. “I can’t wait to explore it.” 

She could imagine Rio smiling, imagine how she looked, thinking about the world. There were so many places to visit, so many people to meet. Tonight would not be her end. She would not die at the hands of coven who refused to even see her as a person. 

“Will you be there?” Agatha asked. “Tonight?”

There was a pause, before Rio said, “I can get you out.”

“No,” Agatha said. “If I run now, I’ll always be running.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” Rio said. “Until the end.” 

Agatha eased at the words. Whatever happened next, she would accept it. If her mother wanted an execution so badly, she could have it. 

But at least Agatha knew that she wouldn’t be alone when it occurred. 

“Rio?” She asked.

A soft hum came in return. 

“If I had to do this all again. I would if it meant doing everything with you again.”

She could heard the sound of movement, of a soft laugh. “Agatha Harkness,” and for the first time, her named sounded so sweet in another’s mouth. “You may be the first person to make me blush.”

“I bet I can do more than that,” Agatha teased. 

“Mm, I know you can.” 

A quiet settled and Agatha shifted, turning her back to the rock. She wasn’t afraid any more. She wasn’t angry. A sense of peace had washed over her as she began telling Rio stories about her childhood. About digging for worms in the ground and her fascination with how things worked. She told her about how she’d grown up, how magic had always felt to her. 

She spoke about cakes and cooking, and how she used to pick up garden snakes and play with them as if they were kittens.  

The woman listened–-and spoke to Agatha about what the world was like when Agatha asked. As the day passed, they discussed magic, history, Europe and the depths of the oceans. They even spoke of the stars. 

“What happens when the year is up?” Agatha asked. “When you’ve finished with me.”

Rio didn’t even hesitate. “I won’t be finished with you for a long, long time, Agatha. This is just the beginning.” 

Agatha laughed, easing against the stone and the cold ground.

Rio spoke with her so easily that Agatha knew, she knew that she wasn’t the monster they wanted her to be. But If this is how they wanted to see her then she’d play the part well.

It didn’t matter in the end how the coven saw her. Rio knew who she was––and more than that, she knew who she was. No one would ever take that away from her again. 

Notes:

I'm not sure if there's one or two more chapters. We'll see. But we're coming to the end...naturally.

I've started writing the wandavision AU. So we'll see how that turns out ;)

Chapter 16: An Execution

Summary:

“Agatha Harkness, are you a witch?” Her mother asked.

Agatha didn’t sleep. Rio spoke to her for most of the day, telling her stories about the world. There was much to see, Rio promised her. Magic to wield. After this night…they would set out and travel the world together.

“They’re coming,” Rio told her. 

Agatha pressed to the cave, it was too dark now to see, but she knew Rio’s touch was close. “Until the end?” She asked.

“Until the end,” Rio vowed.

When the the rock was moved, exhaustion pulled at Agatha as two witches grabbed and tugged her out of the mouth of the cave.

She cried out as they grabbed at her, their fingers tight on her arms, nail digging into flesh.

Agatha knew that at the end of the day, the coven didn’t care about her, some sadistic part of them wanted to make sure she hurt as much as possible. But that didn’t mean she didn’t try to show them who she was––she was a person. She was only eighteen. Couldn’t someone help her? Couldn’t they see that this was too far?

“No. No. No.” She whispered against the two women who tugged her forward in the woods––she knew where she was been taken, she knew this wasn’t just a trial. “Please, no.”

Her heels dug at the ground––she knew Rio was close. She knew Death was close––but to face it, when she was so young. Panic seized in her chest. Even knowing that her mother may have orchestrated this, she hoped…she pleaded that this would just be a banishment. Surely her mother didn’t hate her? Surely she saw some good in her. 

She had named her Agatha. 

There was a tug, and nails ripped against her skin as she pulled back, seeing the pole in the middle of the woods. They didn’t care. They wanted her dead. The entire coven wanted her dead.

“No. No. Please!” She cried out, pushing against them.

She tried to resist, but they dragged her up the steps, pushing her against the pole, and then her hands were bound behind her––Agatha knew. She knew what was coming. And yet through the crowd of the coven, she searched for her mother, hoping she wasn’t there. But if she was, she hoped that some mercy would seep through.

Her mother wasn’t a fool. The coven may be, but her mother had to see that despite everything else, she was just a girl. She couldn’t control her magic, she’d only been four years the first time. It wasn’t her fault!

Evanora stood before her as the witches pushed her to the pole, binding her hands. And Agatha stared at her, pressing against the bindings as the coven tugged and pulled at her. They were all dressed in their cloaks, their hoods up to hide their faces––but she knew each and every one of them. 

This had to be a sham. It had be some sort of play or fiction she was placed in to teach her a lesson––Rio couldn’t be right. This could not be an execution. 

“Agatha Harkness, are you a witch?” Her mother asked. 

It was cold and dark in the woods, and the coven stared at her, pressing forward. She knew how to play her part. 

“Yes!” Agatha said. “I am a witch.” 

Her mother’s appearance only grew colder. “Yet, you have betrayed your coven,” she said, removed her hood. Agatha watched as the other witches in the coven did the same thing––she knew, then. She knew this wasn’t a trial. Rio had been right––and for what? For returning a book that did not belong to the coven.

She looked at her mother, standing tall, “I have not,” she told her. 

Her mother’s mask didn’t crack. “You stole knowledge above your age and station. You practice the darkest of magic!”

Lies she wanted to scream. “I know nothing of these crimes. I swear it!” 

“Enough deception!” Her mother cried, cutting her off.

Agatha pressed back against the pole her hands were bound to. In the woods, she knew Rio was near. She could breathe in the scent of a thunderstorm––whatever her mother thought of her, she knew she wasn’t alone. She’d never be alone again.

She didn’t care what the cover thought of her.

But, she did wish her mother saw her for who she was. How long had she obeyed the coven? Her greatest crime being that she snuck a peek at Enid’s spellbook––and still they saw her as a monster. Because of what reason? Because as a child she had access to magic they didn’t––because she’d inflicted that magic on to someone who had tried to hurt her?

What had they’d done to protect her?

They had stolen Rio’s book, hidden it from her and claimed it as their own. They had bound her, stripped her of her own abilities out of fear––and yet somehow she was the monster? 

Agatha looked at her mother. “I did not break your rules,” she told her, firm in her words. And watched as her mother’s face broke, showing her disbelief. “They simply bent to my power,” Agatha finished. 

Evanora’s eyes flew downcast and Agatha knew what would happen next. 

The coven looked at her. And then began chanting––building their power as Rio said they would. Agatha twisted against her bindings, looking to them all. “Wait,” she warned. “No. I cannot control it! I––”

She looked to her mother, her eyes wide open. How long had she bared her power, unmoored? She had five months of been taught by a competent witch––it wasn’t nearly enough. 

She looked to the coven, looked to her mother. “If you would teach me!” She promised, and then cast a look to her mother. “Help me! Please.” 

Her mother didn’t meet her eyes.

“Mother! Please!” Evanora only watched the coven, her eyes refusing to meet hers, but Agatha pulled at the restraints, leaning forward. “Please!” She begged. “Mother!” 

And then Agatha watched as her mother joined the coven’s chant. Rio had spoken the truth. This was an execution. And her own mother was behind it. She should have expected it, but some part of her, some small, child-like self, had hoped that her mother would see her as her own blood––as something to protect. 

But apparently she wasn’t.

She was evil. Something to be destroyed. 

Agatha looked to her mother, watching the chant rise. And then her heart thudded in her chest as the witches of the coven pulled back and then thrusted their magic forward––there was only one way this would end.

“No!” She cried out. 

It was too late. 

Their magic thrummed through her. Burning her. And for a few moments, she could feel their intentional to cause her destruction. Her own magic seeped out, clinging against their webs and she felt the moment they realised what she was doing. The moment that they understood that they weren’t in control.

And oh, a part of her loved it. Drinking them in, feeling their fear as they tried to destroy her––as she took everything from them. These were the people that had hated her since her birth. Who had bound her. Who wanted her dead at the age of four for simply existing and fighting against a bully. 

She felt the rush of their magic, their being course through her. It was stronger than it had been with Mildred. This time, it hurt––at first––and then the wave changed to something else. Not a forceful, cataclysmic crush of power, but something divine. Her lungs were filled with oxygen, her blood was thrumming through her. For the first time, she really understood what it was to be alive. 

Agatha could hear the witches choke, their power waning and she looked to her mother. She wanted to stop––she didn’t want to stop. 

Her mother rose, lifting high against the dulled moonlight and pushed her magic forward––Agatha knew their intent. The coven wanted to overcharge her, they wanted her to die.

Her own mother wanted her dead.

Her own mother. 

Agatha reached to the binding on her arms, snapping it like the flimsy spell it was and reached forward––drinking the coven in. The power was immense, their lives steady and strong in a way she hadn’t felt with Mildred. So much, and so many thrumming through her and oh, she wanted them to pay for what they’d done.

She couldn’t stop it if she wanted to.

She almost didn’t want to. 

She looked to her mother, looked to the woman who was trying desperately to destroy her. Agatha stared, her face still as she took everything owed to her from the coven one-by-one. Until nothing remained.

The corpses fell to the grounded like the puppets they were. And she was sated. They were gone. She could start anew. She didn’t need to be destroyed. 

She wouldn’t be hunted any more. She could just live her life.

Her mother remained. Surely she’d understand. 

Agatha looked to her, trying for the last time––“Please,” she said, and she meant it as a plead. Her vengeance was wrought. She was done. She had finished with the coven. “I can be good,” 

“No, you cannot,” her mother told her, voice catching.

It happened quickly. 

Her mother attacked and this time Agatha didn’t want it. No matter how her mother felt, Agatha still loved her mother. And yet all the love in the world couldn’t stop her from draining her mother––until her corpse was piled onto the others. 

A quiet settled. And Agatha paused, steadying herself with the power. 

She stepped forward, reaching down to take her mother’s pendant and held for a moment. Was this it? Her coven was dead––gone, and she the lone survivor. Her own mother was nothing but an empty husk on the ground––she should feel something. Some…remorse or guilt?

It was cold in the woods. 

Agatha left––there was nothing else for her here. 

She returned to the aspen forest, easing against the tree. Her mother was dead. The coven was dead. Everyone she’d known––

No, not everyone. 

She turned, and Rio stood between the trees, holding Scratchy. Carefully, Rio set the rabbit down and then watched her. 

Agatha didn’t wait, she rushed over, slipping into her arms and breathed the woman in. Rio’s arms were steady on hers.

 Then Agatha pulled back, her eyes flicking across the face, afraid of what she might see, she was met only with a softness. Rio’s expression was transparent: there was no anger or fear. She didn’t look at Agatha like she was standing before a monster.

No, Rio looked at her, and Agatha felt herself grow steady beneath the gaze. “You had no choice,” Rio said. 

“They’re all dead,” Agatha said. 

“You had no choice,” she repeated, her hands cupping Agatha’s. “They attacked you. They wanted to execute you.” 

“Why?” She asked, but there were too many questions in the one word. “Why did they hate me so much?”

Rio smiled, tucking Agatha’s hair back as her thumbs brushed her cheek, soothing her. “Because they were fools,” she said. “They were afraid of you when they should have revered you.” 

Agatha tried to smile, her hands coming up to grab at Rio’s wrist––she didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her stop holding her––she might break if she did. 

Rio’s arms pulled her in, holding her and there was relief to it. She was safe. She had survived. 

There was nothing else to do except carry on. 

She leant forward, her head pressing to Rio’s shoulder and breathed, feeling the woman’s arms circle her waist. Agatha didn’t know what would come next, but she knew that she wasn’t alone. She’d never be alone again.

“What happens next?” Agatha asked.

Rio laughed. The single piece of joy reverberating through Agatha’s chest, warming her. “Whatever you want,” she said. “We’ll travel the world. Discover new magic. Write history.”

Agatha pulled back, looking at Rio. “I don’t want this to ever happen again,” she said. “Standing and waiting trial… other witches will come for me when they find out what happened.”

“They won’t stand a chance against you,” Rio said.

“No,” Agatha agreed. “But I don’t ever want to stand trial again.” There was a vow to her words, a finality to it and she watched as Rio’s expression only warmed to her. “You have me for the year, but after that I’m going to ensure that no one hurts me like that again.” 

Rio pressed forward, kissing her and Agatha revelled in the feeling. She could be wicked––and Rio would still know her heart. She would still know who she was, even if no one else did. Agatha could kill a thousand covens and Rio would still look at her and know her in a way no one else would. 

She remembered the day that Mildred had spoke of love, of wanting to cut her own magic from herself to make herself perfect for someone else. 

But Rio would not cut at her. She had unbound Agatha and worshipped her for who she was. From her anger to her vulnerability, there was nothing that Rio would ever change about her. 

 You are not difficult to love, Rio had told her.

And oh, how Agatha felt it. There was no one in this world, no one in the entirety of the universe, that she could have loved except for Rio. She’d do anything to keep that love, even if it meant burning the world down, just to make her smile. 

“I’m yours,” Agatha vowed against her lips. “And you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Rio agreed. “There’s no one else that I’ve ever wanted as I’ve wanted you.” 

Agatha knew she would spend lifetimes seeing the world, and she knew that there was no one else she’d ever love as much as her. 

“Prove it,” Agatha said, a soft tease as her heart began to race. 

Rio’s smile grew wide, and she pressed Agatha to the aspen, kneeling before her. “As you so wish,” she said. 

Notes:

And that's all she wrote folks. Thank you to everyone who read this fic. It truly means the world to me. I loved, loved, loved writing it.

I've started and almost finished chapter one of the wandavision AU. Should post late tonight (it's almost 11am here in Sydney)

There'll be slower updates with that one because it is reliant on knowing canon. I think I can get away with it early though.

I've also got my second manuscript I need to finalise for my publisher by Mid-November. There's some edits to Madame Hyde that have been requested before they go to the editor (hopefully my muse will agree with me on that one, because all she wants to write is witches)

love to you all <3
Teddy

Notes:

Mostly this is because of the sneak peek with Rio saying "I'm the green witch." Also her name meaning. But, um, yeah. Anyway.