Chapter 2
Agatha didn’t stop thinking of the stranger in the clearing for the entire two weeks that passed since her first dabblings into necromancy. She thought of her small smile when she had appraised Agatha’s work, her bright eyes in the moonlight, her long dark hair. But mostly she thought of what she had said to her; I came to see what you could do. How long had she been watching her? Agatha wasn’t one to doubt her own potential, but something about the other woman’s attention made her feel invincible. Never had anyone had any faith in her pursuit of power before. She knew all too well the looks of horror she would have seen on her coven’s faces if they had stumbled across the scene in the woods that night. They would have looked at her like that poor, witch girl had before Agatha had stripped her of her power and life.
Will you do it again? Another question that swirled constantly through her mind. Yes, she had answered, so surely. She would do it again if she had to. She would do whatever it took to survive. That was simple, understandable. But it wasn’t the only reason for her agreement. The thrill that the mere memory of siphoning the witch’s power gave her was intoxicating, like her entire body was alight with the sensation. In the dark, quiet hours of the night, Agatha had even let her fingers trail down between her thighs to meet her excitement there, touching herself at the thought of that flow of power into her own body. The rush of taking what was not hers to own. The strange, dark-eyed woman staring at her across the clearing.
This giddy feeling made her careless. The loose papers she had stolen from her mother’s grimoire had been stashed beneath her pillows ever since her return from the woods. The blade she had used upon herself was concealed under a pile of dresses at the edge of her room, and Agatha had felt no rush to return them until she noticed them missing. The knife came first. She had finally decided to wash her clothing that morning, lifting the pile loosely and expecting the blade to hit the floor as she shook them but it did not. As the first wave of panic settled in, Agatha tore apart the garments until she was sure it was gone, before rushing back to her bed to discover a similar fate had befallen the spellbook pages.
They had been there the night before. Agatha was sure of it. She had felt them crinkle beneath her head as she tossed and turned thinking of that night. Someone had come in a daybreak and stolen them. An irrational hatred surged through her. She may have taken them herself without permission, but what right did anyone have to nose through her private belongings? Her rage turned cold when she considered the possibilities of who could have done this. The first thought was her mother, and the idea made her heart seize and she pushed it aside. Perhaps it was someone else, someone more harmless. Maybe they would just return them to their rightful place and no one would ever be the wiser.
She calmed herself this way for the remaining hours she waited for her mother to return home. Agatha would know when she met her cold eyes whether Evanora Harkness had seen what her daughter had done. Time passed slowly, and the world grew dark outside. It was getting late, far later than her mother would usually be home, and Agatha was considering, not for the first time today, simply fleeing into the woodlands alone when she heard voices approaching from the entranceway.
Evanora was home, but she was not alone. As she rounded the corner, Agatha could see the entire coven gathered there. She had walked out into a well-laid trap. Her mother did not speak to her, not even to curse her name and diminish her as she often did. The rage and shame in Evanora’s eyes told Agatha enough of the story, and she backed away as the women moved forward to seize her. Ignoring her cries, they pulled her from the only home she had ever known in silence.
She had known she would face punishment for her actions, but Agatha had not expected this. She clawed at the arms that dragged her unrepentedly towards the woods, screaming for help that wouldn’t come. Her pleading seemed to fall entirely on deaf ears, and her mother led the way into the darkness.
When she saw the clearing approaching, the first thing she noticed was the stake. It stood tall and foreboding in the centre, and the sight of it nearly stilled her heart. This couldn’t be happening. Agatha searched for her mother in the chaos, but all she could see was the uniformed mass off her covenmates organising themselves into a circle around her. They bound her to the stake by magic, and for half a moment, Agatha feared they might actually burn her.
“Please!” She begged, knowing her words would be ignored. “I can be good!”
The attack was a blaze of white light, and it hit Agatha’s chest with a burning intensity. The focus on each of the women’s faces was only on killing her, wiping her from their coven’s history as though she were a dark stain. Even her own mother struck her. But they all fell. One by one she drained them dry, feeling their life force pulse inside her and her own magic grow. She had not intended to take from them, the instinct that overcame her was simply irresistible, but she could not deny that no part of her wished for this to end. It was intoxicating, even as she mourned the life they had just ended for her, and a laugh escaped her. Exhilarated and ever the thrill-seeker, Agatha relished this influx of power and control until there was nothing left to take.
When it stopped, Agatha was alone. She stood, unbound, traces of purple haze still moving around her fingertips. Heaving breaths finally slowed, and she took her first unsteady steps down from the stake. The circle of corpses that surrounded her brought her no pity, and she spat at the ground where they lay. It was then that Agatha noticed her, watching silently in the treeline. She did not look the same, half her face nothing but bone, but Agatha recognised her instantly.
Agatha knew who she was now. It felt so simple once the thought had occurred. She stared across at the skull-faced creature, unmistakable as the woman she had thought of each night, and felt no fear. She is death. Death was watching her. Strangely, there was no panic at this realisation, even as the woman moved slowly across the clearing to greet her. After everything she had seen tonight, Agatha still felt comfort in getting to see this woman again. She had hoped it would be under different circumstances, but she had thought of nothing else for many nights.
“You’re Death?”
It wasn’t a question that warranted a response, and Death did not give her one. She merely cocked her head to one side with a small smile, as though mildly impressed by Agatha’s deduction.
“Like the reaper?”
This made her laugh, and Agatha blushed despite herself.
“Rio.” Death said quietly. There was a shyness to her, Agatha noticed, that was quite endearing. It was although she was nervous to see her too. “You can call me Rio.”
The exhaustion of the evening suddenly felt heavy, and Agatha slumped down to the floor. Pressing her warm hands into the dirt by her sides as though attempting to ground herself. It took a moment, but Rio slowly moved to sit down beside her, careful not to be close enough to touch. Still, Agatha felt the thrill of being close to her. When she turned to look at her again, she noticed the woman’s features had returned to the human mask she had seen two weeks ago. Pretty, she thought again.
The silence stretched between them and Agatha grew more irritated with each second. She could not quite explain why, and if asked would have been beyond words, but she needed the other woman’s focus. She hardly knew her but she wanted her. She wanted those brilliant eyes fixed on her own, the cruel smile she often flashed to be because of her words. She could not quite pinpoint why it mattered so, but when those relentless eyes were focused on her, she had never felt so seen. It was a kind of nakedness. No one had ever thought to look past her charade before she had met Rio, and she was finding herself quite addicted to the sensation despite her usual aversion to such vulnerability.
“Did you know this would happen?” Agatha spoke first, cutting through the weighted silence.
“You told me you would do this again.”
“I didn’t plan this.”
“No, but it was always going to happen.” Rio spoke with such certainty. There was an order of things, a way that things are bound to happen, and must be done. This must be the way of life for Death.
“You knew they were going to try to kill me?”
Rio nodded. Agatha thought she noticed something akin to anger blaze across her features but she smoothed it as quickly as it came.
“Would you have saved me?” Agatha asked without hesitation.
“No.”
“No?” Rio’s solemn response took her aback, and Agatha struggled to regain her composure quickly. “And I thought you were starting to like me. Isn’t that why you have been following me around?”
“My feelings are irrelevant. I cannot interfere. I couldn’t save you from your fate any more than I could take your life myself.”
“So you do like me?”
“My job doesn’t lend itself well to relationships,” Rio spoke slowly, as though she were fearful her words might hurt Agatha, or perhaps like she was still trying to convince herself. “Of any kind.”
There was nothing to say. Agatha had no honest response that wouldn’t sound like an agreement. No matter how much she wished it to be untrue, Rio simply didn’t interact with the world in the same way as other people. She can’t want you like you want her.
“Of any kind?” Agatha raised her eyebrows, a teasing smirk replacing the more intimate compassion that had been there, and she watched a faint flush colour Rio’s cheeks. Oh, to make Death blush. There was that thrill she had been chasing.
“No, not of any kind.”
There was a simple truth sitting there in the open spaces between what they both said, and Agatha knew it then even as she pushed it aside. Agatha had no ties; no family, no coven, no divinely gifted job or purpose. She was free to want, to take, to have in a way that Rio was not. She wanted Rio to belong to her, but Rio already belonged to the world. She had a purpose, a function, and all Agatha had was her hard-won freedom.
“Have you ever thought about it? Relationships? Of any kind?” Agatha tried to keep her tone light, teasing, but there was such a weight behind her words she struggled to keep it inside.
Rio took a long moment to respond, and she kept her gaze trained on the borders of the clearing while appearing deep in thought. Agatha nearly gave up hope for a reply when Rio finally looked back at her with blazing intensity in her eyes.
“There have been times, but I am afraid if I allowed myself to truly want, as mortals do, I would be unable to stop myself.”
“You don’t have to stop yourself,” Agatha whispered, and she reached out to rest one hand on Rio’s thigh. Only gently, a mortal offering comfort to a god-like creature. Rio let out a small sigh beside her. But then she moved away, stretching herself back up to stand over Agatha. It looked for a moment as though she might say something to Agatha but thought better of it.
Agatha watched as Rio approached each body in the clearing, each life Agatha had stolen and could now feeling humming in her own veins. Every time she stopped beside one, she disappeared for a moment as though flickering out of this realm of being, and when she reached the last one, Evanora’s emaciated form, she did not return.