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"Can I meet her ?"
"No," Agatha's brow clenches, "Nicky I do not think."
"Mama." Nicky says stamps his foot.
Agatha raises a brow, "Nicholas."
Nicky rolls his eyes and crosses his arms sitting on the floor of the dead witches cabin. He is pouting as though it is his decision to make.
Agatha stands from the chair with her arms crossed in the open doorway. He isn't moving and she knows he will ask about this until she relents. He is her child and so she shakes her head in disbelief because he will sit there until he tires himself.
"We must give her some time to work and then she may visit, in the in between we will clean this home for a guest." Agatha is trying to hide the fear in her voice, she isn't ready for this. Not strong enough if her trust is betrayed in front of her and she will not be strong enough to protect him. This coven was strong but none of them have ever been quite the charge as her first.
Nicky smiles and leaps up to run himself into his mother's knees. His arms clasping around her and squeezing as tight as he can. Agatha brushes the top of his crown with her fingers, "There's a broom in the corner and remember...,
Nicky cuts her off muffled by their embrace, "Right to left, right to left."
"My wise boy." She says with a sense of pride that remains even when he let's go.
"What will you be doing mama ?" Nicky asks and she notes to herself how curious he's becoming. He watches as she gathers herself and steps closer to the door
"We need medica so you clean until I return, I will be quick in haste." Agatha kisses the top of her son's head and he runs to pick up a discarded bundle of hay . She grasps the doorway and leaves a sigil there to "tuck" the cabin in between space. It will keep him safe and hidden until she returns.
Agatha walks just over the bank of hills to the clearing she left her last coven. Their bodies still just warm to the touch and her veins cursing with purple. The bodies are still there but she can sense her lover near and walks quick to gather herbs and greens she needs. When she returns to the cabin the sun is still in the sky and it's as if no time has passed at all, she's well aware of how early her murders were.
"Nicky !" Agatha announces walking into the cabin. It's as spotless as a 6 year old can make it and he's fast asleep on the bed in the corner. Agatha begins on their meal, finishes cleaning, and watches the door now covered in a thick green moss and her magic. They cannot stay here more than the night and Rio is already close, there will be no running tonight. No matter what happens today Agatha knows on the morrow she will have to carry the boy and be quick on her feet.
After Nicky has woken and their bellies are full she ushers him out the door. He walks next to her holding her hand. There are many many questions about where they will meet her, why is the rule he cannot touch their friend, how will she know to visit, and what should he call her.
"You may call her any name you'd like."
"What do you call her?" Nicky asks while pulling his mama to the clearing faster.
"Many names." Honeysuckle, love, life, the end, and so many more dance in her head but she remains sileny.
They make it to the base of the clearing distances from the cabin. The sun has fallen slightly in the sky and the leaves and fresh crops of flowers glitter gold.
"Mama does she like flowers?," Nicky yells his question running in the swaths of flowers that are nearly his height. They grow in all direction curling out of the ground from body shaped mounds. Every color he has seen in his 6 years us displayed around him.
"Stay close to me Nicky," Agatha says with some anxiety in her voice and the boy turns from his excitement back to his mother. Agatha sits on a convenient log and when he nears she brushes the loose hair from his face, "Pick them close she loves flowers."
"Yes mama." Nicky says and starts gathering a bouquet in his tiny fists only a few feet from his mama and he is mindful to not go further.
Agatha whispers to herself just like you as she watches her son inspect the petals and step respectfully around the slowly sinking dirt.
Shes watching the sun glint through the trees when she senses her before she feels her. Agatha' eyes go wide and immediately seek out her son standing unaware in the clearing now laying on the flowers and talking to the sun.
A cold hand gently rests on Agatha' shoulder to calm her before Rio' green cloak resrs next to her and their knees are barely touching.
How now? Agatha breaths out without staring or glancing toward the witch. Her eyes fixed to the boy and her hands gripping the bark of her seat. This was foolish and too risky she thinks because she is nor strong enough yet.
Cheer, hail Rio whispers in return. It is an attempt to be non threatening but she does stare at Agatha so she can see it does not work. The woman is breathing nervously and her pupils small, her heels digging into the earth in case she needs to run. Rio cannot resist the scrunch of her face and leans forward to press her lips to Agathas temple. "Not this day," Rio says.
"When ?" Agatha asks quietly as she turns to Rio, she almost shivers when their eyes meet. There is no malice or lie, just a nervous witch with a figment of a face. The sharp nails scratching up her spine gently through her linens settle her restlessness but her heels are still ground dirt.
"Not this day."
Rio smiles genuinely and Agatha fights the grin of relief on her face. Rio swallows lightly with Agathas hands cupping her chin so sweetly.
Agatha fixes the whisps of Rio' hair the same way she does the boy now humming their tune twirling a simple bouquet of wild flowers in his hands. She keeps him in her peripheral as she pushes back the green witches cape and hums the tune as well. Rio looks more content then she ever has and taps on her knee the melody the mother and son mimic.
"Nicky," Agatha calls turning to stare at the boy with kindness.
A hand grips hers quickly when he rolls over and stands and Agatha must curl the laughter on her tongue. Rio is as still as her nature and her throat dry with fear. Death is afraid of a child who was always meant to know her face.
"She's here." He yells while jumping from his toes almost dropping the clutched unwilted flowers in his hands.
Nicky bounces in his step as he walks. The boy nearly ran over but walks after a subtle slow down motion from his mother. She doesn't trust Rio but the entity's word is always good. Good can be good enough for just this one time and then she can return to cloaking her coven in her fear and anticipatory grief again.
Nicky smiles widely at the green witch and Rio' eyes sparkle with recognition. Her hand is clenching Agatha' tighter as her loves thumb deepens its movement to soothe Rio.
Death is afraid of a boy who turns the corners of his face upwards with the same glee.
Nicky is fiddling with the flowers until he picks a drooping green one with purple edges. He pouts pulling it from the bouquet and hands Rio the flowers in her free hand. "These are for you, I apologize for the one."
His eyes are sad and Agatha runs her free hand over his shoulders as he leans into her knees. She relaxes with him so close no longer too far to be snatched and too close to her to be pulled away.
"May I see it," Rio says with an unusual lilt.
Nicky nods and holds up the purple flower turning brown in the orange glow.
Rio touches the petals far from his hands and the boys eyes expand. His smile widens as the flower expands a blooms into a much grander flower than he even picked. It's beautiful Rio thinks and her lips whisper to herself, "he's beautiful."
Agatha catches her eyes and whispers with her chin on his head, "I know."
"It's beautiful, mother," Nicky says looking at Rio with a secret in his eyes and wonder in his words.
Agatha sees his hand moving upwards and draws the flower from it just before he can touch Rio's hair. She doesn't snatch it away or pull him closer, she just adjusts it higher and as his hand falls the flower tucks into black strands. He knows the rule they all do but she wants her to have the flower too.
Death is afraid of the gentlest part of Agatha's heart made real. Death is afraid of few things and of few things is her son.
"It is."