train
The train car surprisingly didn’t have that many people. As Agatha walked down the aisle, she noticed most of the seats were empty, and only 10 or so seats were occupied. Grateful for the minimal noise, she shrugged and found her seat. Her phone rang just after she had settled down, and she accepted it without a second thought.
“Hello, Agatha.” Her mother’s voice came from her AirPods.
Agatha internally cringed. “Hi.”
“I wanted—”
“Tickets, please, tickets!” The conductor’s voice cut over whatever her mother had said.
“Are you on the train?”
“Surprise…!” Agatha weakly exclaimed. “I figured I’d come down to see you.” Truth be told, Agatha didn’t feel like having her mother over and criticizing everything in her home. She’d rather go to her mother’s in the city and have the urban noise there distract her. She knew her mother loved her, and her harshness was for the best, but it could be a bit much sometimes for her.
“Oh. You could have given at least a warning.”
“That defeats the purpose of a surprise, mother.”
“Well, then I’ll reserve us a table for dinner. Maybe you will meet a good man here; who knows?”
Agatha pursed her lips. Her mother’s very public and blatant homophobia had stopped her from coming out in her teens, and she still hadn’t told her mother. Evanora had been looking for a man for Agatha for five years, but Agatha had turned down every single candidate. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother she was a lesbian. but was still annoyed when she suggested meeting another Ralph or Dylan.
“As appealing as that sounds, Mother, I am in a relationship—”
Evanora gasped almost theatrically. “You are? With whom?”
“...A relationship with my work.” Agatha finished.
“Oh. With the Darkhold series.” Evanora heaved a deep, disappointed sigh. “It kills me seeing you like this, darling. What is the point of this if you have no one to enjoy it with?”
“There’s a reason I write about spies, not romance, Mother. It’s less complicated.” Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Oh, please. Any writing you produce is average, whether it be spies or romance.” And then Evanora hung up on her.
Agatha took a deep breath, trying not to punch the window. It was only her method of criticism, she reminded herself. Her mother’s opinions were important, and only the methods she chose to convey them were flawed. Agatha glanced at the aisle, straightening up when she spotted a figure approaching her.
The figure sat down across from her with a sigh. The woman gently shrugged her backpack off and set it on the seat next to her. She had her dark brown hair up in a bun of sorts with a few strands pulled out, with minimal makeup and an ensemble that made it look like she worked a 9 to 5. She wore a white button-up with a black blazer over it that matched the black slacks she was wearing. She rested her arms on both the armrests and crossed a leg over the other with the most attitude Agatha had ever seen. She had sunglasses on, something Agatha was mildly disappointed to see.
She popped a stick of gum into her mouth, her jaw working as she chewed. Just then, a man appeared next to the woman. “This is my seat.”
“And?” She cocked her head at him, raising her eyebrows, like it didn’t matter.
“I need to sit here. This is my seat.” The man said slower as if she couldn’t understand him the first time.
“Well, I’m sitting here.” The woman shrugged with an insanely attractive attitude.
“So, you need to move.”
“No, I don’t. You do.”
“This is my seat; I paid for it.” The man was becoming increasingly annoyed, his brows furrowing together with every word.
“Don’t worry, I paid for a seat too.”
“Then sit there!” His voice raised an octave.
“I don’t want to.” The woman’s voice was completely leveled.
“Why?”
“I like the company here better.” The woman eyed Agatha and gave her a small smile. Shit.
“Ma’am, I paid for this seat. I’m supposed to sit here.”
The woman searched her pockets before handing the man a small slip of paper. “Here’s my ticket. Go sit in that seat. 40B.”
“But I paid for this seat!”
“Do you know this woman personally?” Her voice was firmer now, but still polite.
The man glanced at Agatha. “No.”
“Then you don’t need to be sitting here. Keep it moving.” She gestured for him to keep walking, her head slowly turning in his direction again when he refused to move after a few seconds. “What?” Her tongue poked against her cheek in a manner that had Agatha biting the inside of her own cheek.
“I still should be able to sit here.”
The woman leaned closer to the man. “It’s a business class ticket, man. I could always take it back.” The woman held her hand out. Agatha noticed a few rings on her hand, each gold. One on her middle finger was a little thicker, and Agatha couldn’t help but notice there was nothing on her ring finger. (Her nails seemed a bit short, too-)
The man muttered an “I’m okay” before handing the woman his ticket and scurrying down the aisle. The woman shook her head disapprovingly before taking her sunglasses off in one fluid motion. She folded them and hooked them onto a blazer pocket before leaning back further in her seat. “Men,” she mumbled, shaking her head again.
Agatha silently watched, intrigued by her mannerisms and frame of mind. She wanted to get to know her, to be friends with her. She seemed like an interesting, classy woman.
Said woman nodded to herself for a few seconds, looking around their surroundings. She noticed Señor Scratchy in the backpack carrier Agatha took with her everywhere, gesturing to it with another nod. “That a rabbit?”
Agatha took a second to reply, too busy analyzing the woman’s jaw movements. “Uh, yeah.”
“I love rabbits.” The woman rolled her sleeves up, catching Agatha off guard as she got up to put her suitcase into the overhead bin. Agatha saw the way her muscles flexed as she hoisted the deep green suitcase into the compartment. She quickly averted her eyes from her biceps as soon as the woman sat back down, back to her original aloof position. “What’s his name?”
“Señor Scratchy,” Agatha replied, slightly embarrassed by the name now.
“Cute,” The woman chuckled deeply, something Agatha definitely wanted to hear again. This is getting out of hand.
Agatha refocused her thoughts. Here she was, noting every small movement the woman made, knowing damn well she’d never see her again. The woman in front of her was attractive, no doubt, but that didn’t necessarily mean that Agatha was attracted to her. She had no reason to be thinking about her laugh or the way she leaned back in her chair. She was an interesting, mysterious stranger, and nothing else.
Plus, Agatha had a chapter of her own to worry about before she started this one. She pulled a book out of her bag, one that always motivated her to write, and cracked it open on the table in front of her. Meanwhile, the dark-haired beauty (whom she was not going to see again) in front of her pulled out a book of her own.
Agatha swore her heart stopped beating when she saw the cover. There, in all of its dark purple-tiled glory, was the fourth book of the Darkhold series. The woman paused, looking at Agatha as she held up the book. Fuck. Shit. Damnit. “Have you read this?”
Agatha breathed out a small sigh of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”
“Yeah?” The woman smirked before opening the book to an interesting flowery bookmark that didn’t seem to fit her demeanor.
But Agatha wouldn’t know that.
She rested her head in her hand in an interesting way, her pointer finger held up against her cheek while her pinky supported her chin. Agatha was sure nobody actually held their head up like that, but the more she glanced at the woman, the more she believed she was engrossed in the book. Her eyebrows would occasionally skyrocket at a sentence or two, or sometimes her eyebrows knitted together as she focused a little more. But Agatha wouldn’t know that, as she was reading her book and staying focused on finding motivation for her next chapter. The woman in front of her wasn’t exactly going to write the chapter for her. She needed to focus.
But for the next few hours, Agatha seemed to be staring at the woman more than reading. She looked at the page number after three hours and realized she had read an astounding number of two pages. As she flipped between them, she discovered that she hadn’t even comprehended those last two pages. Agatha fought the urge to put the book down and stare at the woman.
Because that would be weird, and creepy, and stupid, since she didn’t even know the woman. It didn’t matter, she reasoned. That woman was not going to be important five years into the future, and Agatha wasn’t even attracted to her. She simply wanted to be her friend.
As the journey went on, Agatha found herself ogling the woman more and more often. Fuuuuck. This was getting her nowhere.
By the time she finally snapped her copy of her Darkhold book shut, Agatha wasn’t even bothering to look at her book anymore. The woman glanced at the back cover, finding a photo of none other than Agatha Harkness staring back at her. “Wait,” she muttered, looking up at Agatha.
Agatha, realizing she’d been caught staring, suddenly went back to her book, pretending to read it with great interest. “The same minute I find out you’re the author is the same minute I find out you’ve been staring.” The woman laughed, dropping the book on the table in front of her. “I mean, I’m flattered. I am a big fan.” She shook her head with a smile. “How do you do it? Crank out book after book like it’s all mapped out?”
“You know, when you’re passionate about what you do…” Agatha finally closed her book with a soft thud, setting it aside.
“You never work a day in your life,” The corner of the woman’s mouth quirked up in an amused smile of some sort. Agatha’s gaze gravitated to her lips for a split second. “Well, since I have your attention.” The woman teased, leaning forward and setting her elbows on her knees. “We’re both lucky that we’re passionate, aren’t we?”
“Oh, yeah? What is it you do?”
“Espionage.” The woman replied without missing a beat.
Agatha paused. “Right.” She was just joking.
“The greater the spy, the bigger the lie.” The woman read, mumbling the tagline inscribed on the back cover. “That’s catchy.” She looked up to find Agatha’s questioning gaze on her. “Oh, not what you expected a spy to look like, huh?” She tilted her head, almost sympathetically. “I mean, that’s about the only thing your book gets wrong. Not all of us look like we’re about to commit a bank heist. I mean, take a look at everyone else in this car.”
What? Agatha’s mind was spinning. She was just messing with her. This had to be a joke of some kind. The woman’s voice went in and out as Agatha’s thoughts consumed her.
“...you know, I meant it when I said I was a fan. But the next fan that comes over, he’s not just dropping by for a friendly selfie. He’s one of them.” Her voice was almost a hushed whisper now. “I know this may be hard to believe, but by the time I’ve broken his wrists and his pistol falls into your lap…”
Excuse me? Broken his wrists? What pistol? Agatha was getting dizzier by the second.
“Reality one, you are in grave danger.” The woman was staring at her directly now. “Reality two, when I say it’s time, it would be extremely beneficial for you to hold on to me as tight as you can. Like bear-hug-you’ve-never-held-anyone-as-tight-before type. You understand?”
Agatha blinked a few times, trying to convince herself she was too preoccupied with finishing the series and was simply projecting. Before she had a chance to speak, a young man, maybe 20 or 21, gingerly stepped over. “I, uh, am so sorry. Are you, um, Miss Harkness? Would you, uh, mind signing, um, my book, please?”
The woman rolled her eyes, the authority she had with the man earlier floating back to her. “We’re really gonna play this game?”
“Uh, yeah.” Agatha smiled at the guy. “Um, do you have a pen?”
“It’s embarrassing,” the woman continued addressing the fan.
Agatha heard a metallic click, vaguely registering the presence of a needle coming out of the man’s pen before the woman lunged at him, twisting his wrist in the other direction. She paused for a moment, looking at Agatha. “Here we go,” she sighed and elbowed the man’s head, sending him in the opposite direction.