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“Do you think this ectoplasm makes my ass look big?”
Billy sighed, and he turned around from his desk to face Agatha, who was grinning at him. They both knew that if Billy gave her the silent treatment, Agatha had no issue being more persistent in grabbing Billy’s attention. Billy’s brow furrowed as he took a glance at Agatha’s semi-opaque form. “It looks like it always has. I think. I don’t stare at your ass.”
“You’re useless.” Disappointment flooded through Agatha’s… veins? Did she still technically have those? “I’ve been doing Pilates while you sleep. Nothing’s working.”
“Okay, if you want your ass to look big, you don’t call it big, you call it fat. Context is important.” As Billy explained the lingo, Agatha nodded, tapping her temple as if to store it there.
It was then that Agatha noticed she had actually interrupted Billy doing something. Over Billy’s shoulder, she saw scribbles of math problems. “What’cha doin’?”
Billy moaned, putting his head in his hands. “Calc.”
Agatha pursed her lips, and then pointed at a previous problem Billy had already finished. “Wrong. That’s zero.”
Billy straightened up as he looked back at Agatha, eyes wide. “Huh?”
“It’s a constant,” Agatha said. “The derivative of a constant is zero.”
She explained it like it was obvious. Billy erased his pencil markings. “How the hell do you know that? You know calculus?”
Agatha’s hands notched her hips. “Oh, so a woman can’t—”
“No.” Billy put his hand up. Agatha’s latest gig had been mockingly accusing Billy of misogyny every time they disagreed or he said something slightly more antagonizing that Yes, Agatha, you are always correct, thank you for gracing your pet with your time and energy. “I asked because you’re older than Isaac Newton.”
“I’m not, actually. He was born about thirty years before me.” Agatha stuck her tongue out. “But, no, I went to study mathematics.”
Billy blinked. “At… what level?”
“Just a Bachelor’s.” Agatha sighed. “It was the 50s. Women, even white ones, rarely got to go into Master’s studies.” At Billy’s shocked expression, she asked, “What? You don’t think studying the rate of change is important for understanding magick? Applied mathematics actually shows you how it works in the real world, not just on a piece of paper. If you want to be able to cast spells on the fly, you need that sort of knowledge.”
“But I hate calc.” Billy pouted.
Agatha matched Billy’s glum tone in a deadpan manner. “Well, I guess all that’s left is priesthood.”
“It’d be a rabbi, stupid.” Agatha blew a raspberry at Billy’s whip-smart response, not as used to having to be the one to offset smart aleck behavior. The student becomes the master, and all that jazz. Billy shook his head. “I don’t want that, anyway. I just didn’t expect my human schooling to apply to witchcraft at all.”
“History? Science?” Agatha tilted her head. “Why did you think those things wouldn’t have a witchy counterpart? What you learn in school is important.”
“With all the ways you like to bother me during my studying, I thought school was way too rigid for you,” Billy joked, trying to keep it light.
But Agatha got serious. “Of course I take education seriously. I would have loved to have the opportunity for free access to knowledge at your age.” At Billy’s squirming and what was probably his realization that, oh yes, Agatha had had a hard life as the daughter of a Puritan era witch, Agatha laid off a bit and gave him a bit of a smirk so he knew he was okay. “Also, any taxes that I definitely paid went towards it, anyway. It should be the best of the best.”
“I’m just scared I’m gonna fuck up this test.” Billy looked at his homework forlornly.
Agatha was used to tackling emotions with a proverbial chainsaw. But Billy was kind of like a baby bird— definitely not meant for chainsaws. It reminded her of a certain someone. Maybe that was why she was so lenient in softening up like warm butter around the kid. “You’ll do fine. Worst case ske-nario, one bad test isn’t gonna make or break your academic career.” Agatha took a glance outside: the sun was beginning to set. “How about you take a bit of a break? It’s Friday, right? You have time to complete that another time. Let’s do a magick lesson.”
Billy perked up. “Really?”
“I’m feeling restless.” Agatha did a little shimmy to show all the energy pent up in her ghost body. Billy shook his head. “There’s only so many times I can knock Kale Kare products off the shelves while you go out and have a life. You should be spending more time with me.” Agatha pouted dramatically. “I get bored.”
“You’re three hundred and fifty years old. You can figure it out.” Billy grabbed the car keys he kept on his dresser. “Where do we get to go?”
“The dump.”
“The du—” Billy paused his movements. “The dump?”
“The one in Salem, to be specific.” Agatha raised a finger. “I want it to be a place where you’re not familiar with its people. We’re gonna learn how to trace objects.”
That did seem interesting. Billy seemed to find the chances of getting grimy worth it, yelling out a, “Gonna go and see Eddie!” as he walked out the front door.
“Gay,” Agatha supplied helpfully.
Billy ignored her and got in the car. When Agatha followed, she noticed how he wouldn’t turn the car on, instead choosing to sit and stare at his surroundings. It was as if he was nervous about something.
“What’s up, kid?” Agatha asked, and it startled Billy, showing how in his head he must’ve been. “C’mon, spit it out.”
“I’ve never driven on the highway before.” Billy, antsy, looked at the steering wheel under his hands like it was an entirely new machine he was going to be operating. “What if I mess up?”
“The rules of the highway are easy,” Agatha said. “Just be faster than everyone else.”
Billy hummed suspiciously. “I don’t think those are the rules.”
“And who has been here since the automobile was invented?” Agatha crossed her arms. “Me or the Department of Transportation?”
Billy rolled his eyes, and he started the engine. “Just buckle in.”
“I don’t need to buckle,” Agatha complained. “I’m a ghost.”
“Okay.” Billy had put the car in reverse, but he pushed the gear back into park. “I’ll just wait.”
“Are you—” Agatha groaned and lifted the seatbelt up, working her new ghostly dexterity to click it in. It strung taut as if there was no one in the seat. “It didn’t even do anything.”
“You didn’t even have to concentrate on moving it, though.” Billy looked over to Agatha and grinned.
Agatha, who realized Billy had essentially used her stubbornness to trick her, said, “Meh meh meh.”
Billy was backing out of the driveway when something hit him. “Wait, why are you staying here instead of just going to the dump yourself? You have, like, witchy transportation powers.”
“Being in a car actually takes a lot of effort from me.” Agatha explained. “I have to know about how fast you’re going and match your rate to stay apparent to you.”
“You have been getting better at holding and manipulating physical objects,” Billy agreed.
Agatha smirked. “Exactly. I’ve been moving your things while you sleep.”
“Is that why my socks were in the fish tank? Of course that was you.” Billy groaned. “I don’t know why I thought otherwise.”
“Stop badgering me and pay attention to the road,” Agatha ordered, though her voice held no malice.
Billy knew it was just a way to end the discussion. “Mhm.”
About twenty minutes in, Billy realized this wasn’t so bad. He looked at his speedometer and he was going about sixty miles an hour. But it didn’t feel inhumanely fast. He was cruising, and he was okay.
“I think I have the hang of this!” he said excitedly. His limbs looked almost slightly relaxed.
“You’re going ten under in the right lane,” Agatha muttered, pseudo-sinking into her seat. She didn’t need to, but it proved a point.
“This isn’t so bad,” Billy continued. “I don’t know why I was so—”
Thump. A large and questionably meaty item hit the hood of Billy’s Subaru Forester before rolling over and hitting the shoulder. Billy screeched— the tires screeched— and Agatha pointedly very much did not screech, thank you very much, though there was a woman-like scream in the car that came from an unknown origin. Agatha placed a splayed hand over her ghostly heart in shock.
Billy stomped on the breaks.
Agatha hit him on the shoulder, though her hand waved through. “Pull over. Pull over! Jesus, I don’t wanna get rear-ended.”
Billy curved the steering wheel and somewhat ungracefully made it to the side of the interstate. Thankfully, it was not very populated. As Billy opened his door to run to whatever his car had hit, Agatha materialized through the car door to float behind him as he ran.
“It’s a body.” Billy had bolted up to the body and now he was breathlessly dry heaving. “Oh my god, I killed someone with my car. I’m a murderer.”
Agatha chose not to give the unhelpful response of Don’t worry, you kind of already were one and noticed the stains on the man’s shirt. He was fairly young, but Agatha could tell he was older than Billy. “He has vomit on his shirt and he already looks a bit bloated. He was dead before he dropped on your car, Max-y.”
“Wait, what?” Billy sniffled and wiped his nose with a sleeve like a toddler. Eugh. He looked down at the corpse to look for what Agatha mentioned, but his eyes widened. “Oh my God. I know who he is.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes, lips pursed in thought. “Someone from Westview?”
Billy shook his head and pointed. “That’s Mr. Beast.”
Agatha, unimpressed, asked, “Who?”
“He’s a YouTuber who pits people against each other for a lot of money,” Billy explained.
A muttering that may have sounded like Why didn’t I think of that? left Agatha’s mouth before she paused. “Wait, how long has he been dead?”
“Do I look like Dana Scully to you?” Billy outstretched his hands. After another glance at the body, he gagged and turned around while pinching his nose.
Agatha knelt down and opened an eye. Unresponsive, obviously. “Judging by the rigor mortis rate… a couple of minutes.” She shot straight up. “We have to go.”
“What? No!” Billy fished out his phone. “We need to call the cops.”
“We can do that later!” Agatha grabbed Billy by his jacket hood and, surprisingly for Billy, he started to be tugged along. “We need to—”
Billy shivered. “Why did it get so cold all of a sudden? It’s March.”
Agatha dragged her hands down her face. “I made it five months. Five beautiful, beautiful months.”
“Wait.” Billy finally caught up. “Do you mean—”
Agatha? A chilling voice rattled through the wind. Agatha and Billy didn’t hear it as much as they felt it. Is that you? You’re not dead?
“I am dead, thank you very much.” Agatha sniffed. “You saw it happen.”
A figure appeared. When it took its head off, the jaw consisted of only bone. But the brown eyes were recognizable. Ugh. You’re a ghost. Really?
“Not everything I do is based on annoying you, dearest.” Agatha motioned at Death’s get-up. “And put on the rest of your face. You’re creeping the kid out.”
Sure. But Death followed through, the bottom half of her face filling out until a pair of pouty lips appeared. “Is that the only reason you wanted to see my mouth?”
“Gross.” Agatha turned her head to the side. “No way.”
“Hi, Rio!” Billy waved belatedly. He sheepishly motioned to the corpse. “This isn’t ours.”
“I know that,” Rio stated. “His producer poisoned him with cyanide and then pushed him from the helicopter they were in.”
“I knew that rat bastard was up to something!” a voice tinnied. Everyone turned to see the semi-transparent form of Mr. Beast. He stomped his foot. “And no one was recording. It won’t even go viral—”
“Ghosts never learn how to shut the hell up.” Rio waved her hand and Mr. Beast disappeared.
“Oh shit, where’d he go?” Billy looked around, as if the ghost was hiding somewhere. “Did you take him to the pearly gates?”
“Ha!” Rio actually laughed at that one, clutching her stomach for emphasis. She wiped a stray tear, and then deadpan, said, “No. But thank you for the humor.”
Billy fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call the cops.”
“Woah!” Agatha reached her hands out to stop him. She tried to bat his phone away, but it stayed in Billy’s grip. “Why? Billy, ACAB was one of the first lessons I taught you. Have you no shame?”
“We should at least fake a note about the producer,” Billy pointed out. “I don’t want to be connected to this! I’m too pretty for prison.”
Agatha tapped her chin in thought. “It’s true. You wouldn’t last. Go get a notebook and pad from the car.”
Agatha realized this was the incorrect decision when she was left alone with Rio. She stared at the other woman… entity-thing.
“Hi,” Rio greeted.
Deciding on the silent treatment, Agatha turned her head to look away and petulantly crossed her arms.
Rio’s voice sounded irritated. “Really? How mature.”
“Well, you’re five billion years old. Think about that next time you rob the cradle.” And then Agatha growled because she’d spoken, not being able to help the witty comeback she’d mentally conjured.
“I don’t even know why you’re upset,” Rio argued. “You made me kill you. You’re the only person I’ve ever murdered. I’m not supposed to be able to murder people!” She motioned to her Grim Reaper get-up. “I’m Death!”
“The only person?” Agatha glanced back over to her secret-third-thing of a wife. Though she didn’t move her neck, so it was through her peripherals. Even then, her blue eyes were electric. “Seems like I’m pretty special to you.” And then she decided to give Rio her full frontal attention. “If it helps, I’m still here! See?”
“As a ghost,” Rio groaned, “which I hate.”
“Because you don’t have control over them,” Agatha scoffed. It hit her. “Wait… you don’t have any control over me.”
“What?” Rio’s human-like brows furrowed. “Agatha, I’ve never had any control over you. I literally break cosmic rules for you.”
“Are you serious?” Agatha almost had to cackle at the thought. So she let out a little one. Hah! “You are the purveyor and collector of mortal souls. I went through our entire marriage thinking about how much power you held over me.” Seeing the beginnings of Rio crumpling at that admission, Agatha wagged her finger to continue. “It’s not that I ever thought you would take advantage of it. I just knew I would have to face it one day.” Her voice softened. “And I did.”
“That power you speak of… it’s not mine,” Rio said glumly. “You scorned the knight for the decrees of the monarch.”
“But you carried the sword,” Agatha argued. “Don’t separate yourself from what you did.”
“I don’t have a choice!” Rio’s throat actually sounded like it was raw. With tears, or the like. “It’s like… if I were to blame you for owning a set of lungs that expanded and took in oxygen. If you breathing was a crime you purposefully committed instead of partaking in something you were built to do.”
“Calm down, Allen Ginsberg.” Agatha took a stray piece of Rio’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I don’t even have lungs.”
Rio’s eyelid twitched. “You are so throttle-able.”
That made Agatha’s eyes sparkle. She started to slowly maneuver around Rio as if sizing her up. “Oh, really?”
Rio growled and shot her arm out to grasp Agatha by the neck, who sputtered in shock as Rio’s thumb dug into her windpipe. Agatha felt the breeze in her hair in a way she hadn’t in months.
And then Agatha realized— Rio’s fingers dug into her windpipe. She could feel Rio’s fingers on her.
“Keep… doing that…” Agatha wheezed out.
“I’ve barely touched you,” Rio chastised, and Agatha mewled under her touch.
“I didn’t know…” Agatha coughed, and her hands instinctively grabbed Rio’s wrist to try and pull her off. When she got a little wiggle room to breath (oh, to breathe!) she hoarsely said, “I didn’t know you could touch me.”
A single eyebrow raised as Rio opened her mouth to say something, but Agatha interrupted her, jumping back to free herself from Rio’s grip. She immediately pounced like a kitten at play as Rio toppled over, somehow affected by Agatha’s ghostly weight, and started wringing Rio’s neck back. “Aha!” she said joyously. “I can touch you, too! This is so delightful.”
“You…” Rio’s head bobbed up and down as Agatha dramatically shook it. “Freak…”
“Pot.” Agatha wrenched Rio’s neck around in the rhythm of her spoken syllables. “Ket-tle. Wow, this is much more fun than talking about feelings.” That last word was said pointedly disdainfully.
“Umm,” a distinctly male teenage voice cut through the two wrestling. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Meh,” Agatha said right as Rio answered, “Yes.”
Agatha leapt up off from Rio, dusting imaginary dirt from her translucent shoulders. Rio got up, but in a manner that was much more uncanny valley— she essentially shuffled around her bones to build her form back up to a vertical standing, like magically fixing a stack of Jenga blocks. The bones grinded together, making a layer of crackling sounds. It was not unlike when they had summoned her on The Road.
It made Billy whine in a disgusted tone. Rio only grinned: that had been her prerogative. Freaking out the freak of nature.
“I can touch her!” Agatha recounted to Billy, and a bit hopefully. “In a way I haven’t been able to with anyone before.”
“Well, I’m not human,” Rio explained. “I straddle the mortal and posthumous planes.”
“I know something else you could straddle,” Agatha purred. She wiggled her eyebrows for emphasis. “If you can tangibly feel me, there are so many new things we could try.”
Rio’s eyes lit up, twin torches in the night.
Billy, on the other hand, took a mighty step back before emitting a loud gagging noise. “I think I’m going to make what I said to my parents the truth and see if Eddie is doing anything.”
Agatha snorted, waving her hand dismissively. “Gay.”
“And what’s this, then?” Billy motioned to Agatha, who had a hand tangled in Rio’s cloak. Her fingers were truly combed through like they were solid and real, instead of passing through like usual.
Rio’s dark eyes instantly slid over to Billy. She cocked her head ominously. “Do you know what a heart outside of its own ribcage looks like?”
Billy felt his forehead, which had suddenly warmed. He squeaked out, “Uh… no?”
Rio wore a completely straight face when she asked, “Would you like to find out?”
“Er.” Billy actually pulled at the collar of his shirt like a nervous cartoon character. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
The tires practically screeched in relief as Billy drove away. When it was just Agatha and Rio, Agatha slipped her fingers under Rio’s cloak and undid the tie holding it together. When it revealed a naked, heaving ribcage, Agatha frowned just a bit.
Rio noticed Agatha’s reaction. “Were you hoping for my breasts?”
“No,” Agatha protested, but then her fingers started to make their way in between Rio’s ribs. “I like this.”
“Mmm.” Rio grabbed onto Agatha’s wrist like it was an anchor. “I missed you.”
When Agatha didn’t respond, Rio continued. “We have to talk about it sooner or later.”
Agatha wet her lips to hide her nerves as she remembered the last time Rio said she missed Agatha. When had Rio become the emotionally mature one? What happened to ignoring things for hundreds of years? Agatha loved doing that. But then she also remembered the type of test she’d conducted to see if she would take this form. She hadn’t been completely lying to Billy when she said it wasn’t about him— as a ghost, Agatha doesn’t need to sustain herself. She’s unsure if she can actually perform magic or not; she’s been spending most of her time trying to hold or move objects in the regular-degular mortal realm. She can transport herself places, but that feels more under the ghosty-magick umbrella more than the Agatha-magick umbrella.
And now, as a ghost, Rio doesn’t hold the same power over her, in a way. What can Rio do, kill her twice so she can reap Agatha’s soul? There was a reason Rio hated ghosts, and it was because their souls were wispy and practically impossible for her to catch and collect.
A perfect situation for Agatha, if you asked her.
So since there were technically less consequences to face from it, Agatha had less of a problem telling the truth. “It would be much easier to hate you.”
And Death herself pouted at that. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” A toddler-like question. Agatha missed dealing with them. Not from Rio, though.
As Agatha’s fingers started to migrate to Rio’s flat sternum, Rio sighed. A release. “I used to think there were two constants to the universe.” When Agatha didn’t say anything, Rio continued. “One, I must carry a soul when it is that soul’s time. Two, the heat death of the universe. And then I met you, and there were three.” Rio’s eyes bored into Agatha, as if Rio couldn’t see a bit of the highway shoulder through her. “But then it went back to two. You know this, right? I broke that first one for you.”
Agatha’s hand left Rio’s bony body, though Rio held on until Agatha conceded and slipped their fingers together. “If anyone else had turned their back on me, I’d have skinned them alive.” And at that, she sighed. “But you’re not alive. Nor do you have skin, really. It was a conundrum.”
“I’d have kept him longer if the seams of the universe hadn’t started to rip,” Rio admitted.
Agatha actually looked up to meet Rio’s eye at that. “The fabric of reality was warping?”
“Of course it was.” Rio gave her a look as if to say, You didn’t know that? “But if the universe was gone, you’d be gone, too. I had to do something.”
Agatha hummed and glanced down at her and Rio’s intertwined fingers. “When I actually do have to be chaperoned into the afterlife, will you bring me to him?”
“I would if I could. The afterlife doesn’t work like that.” Rio’s free hand lifted Agatha’s chin so they could see each other again. “Souls are… what do humans call it… recycled? Energy is neither created nor destroyed.”
“Nicky is reincarnated?” Agatha stepped back, looking around. “He’s out there?”
“Not in the sense that he’s Nicky,” Rio explained. “Memories are chemicals. They don’t exist once the body is gone. But a soul… a soul is a little something else. Like a container. Human uses box to move books, and then uses it to move plants. Same box, but a different use.”
“You’ve become sophisticated in your metaphors,” Agatha noticed.
Rio’s cheeks dusted a little pink. A purposeful reaction to show Agatha her metaphorical underbelly, considering she doesn’t have veins to pump blood through. “I read and observe more, since you.”
“I want to see him,” Agatha begged. “I want to see Nicky.”
“It’s not him in the way that you know,” Rio reminded her, rubbing a soothing circle into her palms. It’s electric; Agatha can’t tell if it’s because she’s not used to touch anymore, or if it’s because the touch is Rio’s. “It’s his container.”
“I want to see his container, then,” Agatha amended. “I want to see if it’s being taken good care of. What if the soul using it is horrible, like he’s a Kardashian or something? I mean, they’re entertaining to watch, but I don’t need them using his soul.” She blanched. “Oh, fuck, what if it’s Donald Trump? I’ll kill him.”
“I always make sure to give his container to someone who would use it wisely,” Rio assured.
Agatha sniffed, and said, “Good,” haughtily, as the other option was to cry a little. She added, “I’m probably gonna kill that rotten orange disguised as a politician anyway, though. Also,” and at this, she glared at Rio, “why have you never told me this is how souls worked?”
“You never asked,” Rio stated neutrally.
“I never thought to,” Agatha corrected. “I don’t think I can ever forgive you for what you did.” Rio wilted like an unwatered flower at this. But Agatha shook her head and continued. “But I think I can learn to grow around it.” Her face morphed into a bit of a pout. “These months with Billy… well, the kid has a very secure attachment style and a healthy concept of love. I guess he’s been rubbing off on me, or whatever. I’m tired of fighting.”
Rio hummed. “I don’t mind the fighting.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I like fighting with you.” Agatha grinned, showing her canines for emphasis. “I meant with myself. When you only want to hate when you can’t… it makes the hate hurt. I’d rather my hatred feel exhilarating. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Rio shrugged, then.
Agatha sighed. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Just then, a car whizzed by them. Neither of them could be seen nor were they affected by the car, but the wind and buzzing in Agatha’s ears rattled her. “Okay,” she started, “I don’t want to be on the side of a highway like a true crime victim anymore. I want to see our son.”
Rio closed her eyes and took a measured breath as if to prepare herself. “But I just want to remind you that it’s not him. I can trace his soul— I can do it with most souls, but I check in on his every few decades or so. Just to make sure. His is easier to track… since we created him, his mix of cosmic and human karmic energy is easy to spot. I haven’t checked it since an elderly woman in Thailand passed away years ago. It could be anywhere, and it could be anyone.”
“I want to know,” Agatha swore.
Rio paused as if she were an animal snuffling in the air. She said, “His container is closer than I expected, actually.” She offered Agatha an outstretched hand. “I can take you to the location.”
It was a park; the sun was about to dip below the horizon. Agatha was surprised that she recognized the shrubbery, the placement of the benches. They were still in Westview. There were crickets chirping.
“He’s over there.” Rio motions for Agatha to look closer.
A few intimate giggles. Agatha realized it was Billy and Eddie, trying to use the swingset in tandem. They were just a little off, Billy’s swing a little faster than Eddie’s.
Agatha’s ectoplasm-filled heart stopped right in its transparent chest. “It’s Billy?”
“No,” Rio insisted quickly. “Wanda really did… create his soul out of thin air.” She muttered, “Chaos magic.” She cleared her throat then. “No, his soul merged with William Kaplan’s. Nicky’s container is right there.”
She pointed right at Eddie.
And Agatha had never really known Eddie. She and Billy didn’t exactly know how to break it to his boyfriend that Billy could see the ghost of his old babysitter. Agatha had also learned that non-magick humans were unable to see her, and even most witchkin had to try fairly hard. The closest she’d got other than Billy was Jenny Kale probably putting two and two together on who kept disorganizing her store during the night.
Agatha felt her throat prickle. It was swollen like she’d started going into anaphylactic shock instead of experiencing a nuanced emotion. That boy really had the shell of Nicky’s soul in him. And what of the people who came before him? Had Agatha come across them and not even known?
Had she—?
Almost as if she had been reading Agatha’s thoughts, Rio whispered, “You’ve never come across his soul before now. I am always the one to collect it. I would know.”
Agatha tried to subtly sag her shoulders in relief, though she was sure Rio could tell. “Well, I don’t want Billy to know we’re here.”
“Where should we go?”
Agatha pondered for a second, and then she said, “The woods?”
She didn’t have to specify which ones; they were about three hundred miles away in the earthy heart of Massachusetts. Even when civilization had spread, the forest where Agatha and Rio met and built their original cottage stayed, the same trees lining the same horizon.
Agatha now wondered if Rio had intentionally protected any of the land here to upkeep it.
When Rio asked, “What should we do next?” Agatha guided Rio’s hand to her waist.
“I just miss touch in general,” she reasoned, closing her eyes at the weight of Rio’s fingertips against her body.
“You have evolved in your emotional maturity," Rio acknowledged, and Agatha peeked an eye open. Serene moment ruined. Rio must have realized the tone change, because she asked, “What? You are a selfless person, Agatha.”
Agatha chuckled, her fingers cupping the flesh of Rio’s cheekbones. “That’s not true, but it’s nice to hear you say it, darling.”
And then she squirmed a bit.
Rio noticed the small movements. “What?”
Agatha sighed dramatically, blowing bits of her hair around her face. “I just… you know, you’re really the first being I’ve interacted with since my death other than Billy. And one grows restless, you know.”
Rio’s mouth split into an irritatingly attractive gap-toothed grin. “I see.”
“It’s not—” Agatha eeped! in surprise when Rio grabbed her waist to pull her closer. “It’s not a very big deal, really.”
“You still want me,” Rio sing-songed.
Agatha let out a warning. “Rio.”
But Rio ignored it as she dipped down to meet Agatha’s lips in a harsh kiss. Had they ever exchanged a soft one? The answer was unknown, but probably unlikely. At the most, they had shared a few tentative kisses when Agatha had taught Rio how centuries ago, back when Rio didn’t quite understand why humans enjoyed mashing their mouths together. She learned why fairly quickly.
But even in their most passionate throes of unabashed, uncomplicated love, Agatha and Rio enjoyed engaging in that line between erotic and violent. When Agatha bit down on Rio’s lip, she groaned and opened her mouth up for Agatha to take what she wished. Rio’s hands gripped at Agatha’s hips, relishing in the way her flesh bent to the muscle in her fingers. As Death, Agatha felt just like she had when she was human, albeit her body temperature was a tad cooler.
“You know...” Agatha murmured against Rio’s lips. “If I’m a ghost, do I have any sort of physical limits like I did when I was in a body?”
Rio licked her lips. “Not that I know of.”
Agatha grinned. “Why don’t I take the knife this time?”
Rio blinked. Blinked again. “Wait, by take, do you mean—”
“But you’ll have to catch me first!” Agatha sprung out of Rio’s grip and started running. Even when she disappeared between the trees, Rio could hear her gleeful cackles. That made Rio relievingly happy. Not just because Agatha was also happy— that was surface level. But because if Agatha was emboldening Rio to catch her, it meant she wanted to be caught.
And Rio liked a good chase.