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“Do this and I will hate you forever!” Agatha wailed, clutching her belly. “Please, my love!”
Rio squeezed her eyes shut, fingers anxiously twisting the flower around and around. “My love, you do not understand.” Rio whispered.
Agatha’s brow crinkled, face still tight with the pain of her contractions. “What?”
“I am not here for him. His soul is tied tightly to the mortal plane.” It pained her to say it. To have to tell her wife of the situation they were in. In truth, Rio had always dreaded this day. When she would have to reap the soul of the one she loved the most. She thought she had more time. Witches lived a long life span, their magic extending their lives long after most humans were afforded; Agatha should have hundreds of years ahead of her. Rio could have never anticipated this.
Agatha went slack jawed at the admission. “I am…”
“Dying.” Rio confirmed. “Our son takes after you and has been draining your magic through the duration of your pregnancy.” Her teeth clenched tightly. “I have been so busy that I did not notice it sooner. We could have done something.”
Her wife’s hand tightened on the fabric of her dress at her stomach. “I would not have let you, my love. This is how it was always meant to be.”
Agatha’s lips trembled, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “I do not want to go. I want to meet our son. Raise him together as we always spoke of. This cannot be.”
“It must be.” Rio reasoned. The natural order was definitive. There was no changing how things may be. The natural order would sort itself out before long. Rio sighed. “I can give you only time. I do not know how much, but I cannot raise the boy myself. I am needed to protect the natural order constantly. He will need a mother.”
Blue eyes studied her sadly. “I do not want to lose you, my love.”
“I will lose you either way.” Rio said tremulously. “You either die now and I walk you, or you die later, and I walk you. I could take the boy in your place, but I cannot bear even the thought of your hatred. It would scar me for Eternity.”
Agatha cried out as another contraction gripped her, and Rio ventured to her side, green magic curling around her fingers to heal bleeding that was killing her. The universe shifted, tilting with the injustice of it all, and Rio’s head swirled uncomfortably. The tug of Agatha’s soul did not cease, but some color had returned to her cheeks, and her breathing- though still labored- evened out some.
With a loud scream of pain and a final push, their son entered the world, squalling louder than Rio thought little lungs would be capable of. She placed him gently in Agatha’s arms, cutting the umbilical cord neatly with her dagger, and cleaned them both up with a quick burst of magic. Agatha’s eyes were locked on the boy, tears of wonder streaking her face. “We spoke no spell and said no incantation. You were made from scratch.”
Rio settled on the wooded ground next to the pair of them. “What shall we name him, my love?”
“Nicholas. Nicholas Scratch.” Agatha answered.
“A wonderful name. Strong, like he will be.” Rio said fondly, her eyes also roving over him, committing every detail to memory.
“I dare not give him the Harkness name for fear of following my own mother’s misdeeds.” Agatha breathed, barely above a whisper. As if speaking louder would bring it into existence.
“You could never.” Rio responded firmly. “Your mother was a blight upon society who should have never been allowed to raise a child. You deserved a better sire, and you will be a better mother. Not that the standard is difficult to surpass.”
Agatha chuckled, then groaned as she shifted and rushed to pass their son off to Rio as she dealt with the afterbirth. There were more alarming amounts of blood as the universe tried to right itself and take her, but Rio healed her before it could.
Once cleaned up and settled in their home with Nicholas sleeping soundly in his cradle, Agatha leaned against her wife, watching him. “How long will I have?” She asked softly.
“I do not know.” Rio said. “Time will tell, but the natural order will have its due. I will try to avoid it for as long as I can, but there is only so much I am able to do. I feel the pull of your soul, even now. The pull will only become stronger and more tantalizing, so I am afraid I must ask something of you, no matter how much it pains me.”
“Anything.” Agatha promised, brow knitted with uncertainty.
“You must run from me. For as long and as far as you can.” Rio said, her black heart cracking irreparably. “I would never hurt you knowingly, but the longer your soul stays where it isn’t meant to, the more tempting it will be to take you. And our son is too young for that, yet. He cannot survive his own right now. So, you must take him and leave. Do what you must to keep yourself hidden from me.”
Rio leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to her wife’s lips. “I will be gone when you wake in the morning, but know this, my dear, sweet, Agatha. My love for you outnumbers the stars in the sky and grains of sand along the beaches. I love you so much that I will go against the natural order for you for as long as I am able. Nothing will change that. You are my one, my only, and my everything. There will never be another for me. Not for as long as time stretches before us and the Earth decays and is swallowed by the sun. I will wait until the day Eternity and Infinity craft a new dimensional being to take my place so that I may join you and our son in the afterlife once his time has come as well. That is my vow to you.”
Agatha threw her arms around Rio, the succubus’s tears soaking into her cloak. “I love you, too, my love. So much more than I can express.” Her lips trembled when she pulled back, blue eyes dark with both sorrow and love.
“I will leave you gifts for as long as I am able. So that you may see them and think of me.” Agatha promised, voice warbling with her pain.
“Mi vida, everything reminds me of you. I hear the beauty of your voice in the birdsong of the woods and see the color of your eyes in every lake and ocean I come upon. I feel the gentleness of your touch in the wind brushing past me and your smell in the fields of flowers I tend to. There is nothing in this lifetime or the next that will make me forget you.”
Agatha choked on a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You have such a way with words. I find myself unable to reciprocate.”
“You inspire poetry in me, my love.” Rio brushed a thumb across Agatha’s cheek to rid it of tears. “I do not wish to spend more time on this, sweetheart. If this is the last night we have together, I would like to hold you and look upon our son.”
“Then we shall.” Agatha responded simply.
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Nicholas Scratch knew a great many things about life, in his opinion. He knew the names of the plants he and his mama came across on their travels. He knew the words to his song. He knew how to kill the witches that attacked him and his mama, as well as how to drain some other to fuel his own power. He knew most of all that his mama loved him.
But he also knew that his mama was sick.
She had been for as long as he could remember. There were days when she would be nearly immobile with fatigue, her eyes glossed over with a fever that would make her sweat and shake and call out for his mother. Mama had told him a lot about Mother. From the color of her eyes to the tone of her voice, Nicky had heard it all. She was his mama’s favorite subject, second only to him and their song. She had told him many times before that Mother couldn’t be with them not because she didn’t want to be, but because she couldn’t. “I am living on borrowed time, you see, Nicky.” She would say. “Your mother has given us a wonderful gift with these extra years. It is why we must kill the witches. They are gifts for her.”
“But, Mama, why would Mother want the witches for gifts? They are already dead; what use are they to her?”
So, Mama would tell him more about Mother. About how she was responsible for upholding the natural order and taking the souls of the dead to the afterlife. She spoke more of Mother after her bouts of illness, when the fever had just receded and her mind was still slightly addled from its heat. Nicky asked most of his questions then. It wasn’t that Mama was closed lipped about his mother when she was well, but she always looked so sad. When she was just getting over her illness, she smiled sweetly when she told him about Mother and their love. Nicky came to love his mother, himself, through those stories.
Time passed steadily in their routine. They would walk the wind-y road and sing his songs and kill witches as gifts for Mother. They stopped every now and again when Mama’s illness got worse, and then they would kill more witches, and she’d get better. It was how his world worked.
It was on his sixth birthday that everything changed irrevocably. He’d wanted to sing his song at a tavern they’d passed by. Nicky was so proud of how it had turned out. He wanted to share it with everyone. He hoped- in a secret place in his mind that he wouldn’t dare share with his mama- that one day Mother might hear his song, as well, and feel proud of him.
Mama agreed to let him sing in the tavern on the condition that should any witches sense the magic on him and offer him aid, he would take it and lead his mama back to them so that they may kill them. He could see the bags beneath his mama’s eyes deepened as the days passed, her breathing becoming more and more labored as they walked. Illness was once more upon her, and killing the witches would make her strong again, so Nicky agreed.
The energy in the tavern as he sang was indescribable. People sang the chorus along with him and some offered him ale while Mama passed around a hat to collect favors for him. One kind gentleman at the bar gifted him a piece of hard candy for his performance. The high Nicky felt from it rivaled that of the magic he absorbed from the witches he killed.
A woman approached him, and Nicky would practically taste the protection magic coming off her in waves. Likely she recognized him for the witchling he was and thought him unchaperoned. While he knew Mama had been a fearsome witch when she was younger, spells became harder and harder for her to cast as time went on, and she had little magical signature these days.
Nicky opened his mouth to accept the witch’s offer when he saw a figure in a green cloak watching him from a distance. The stories Mama had weaved of his mother had prepared him for this moment. He recognized her instantly. He realized with no small amount of shock that Mama had been correct. He looked a lot like Mother.
He would come to regret that moment for the rest of his days, but the words that fell from his mouth were not an acceptance of help from the protection witch. No, instead he said, “I’m sorry, but my mother needs me home.”
Nicky didn’t know what possessed him to say it, but he sprinted for the woods after he did, eager to meet Mother for the first time.
When he got some distance into the woods, he found that Mother had disappeared once more, vanishing before he could see her. His heart broke a little when he realized it. Didn’t she want to meet him? Wasn’t he good enough?
“Nicky, are you alright? What happened, my sweet boy?” His mama said from behind him, her voice thick with concern.
He pushed the disappointment down far enough that she would never see it and turned back to her. “I am sorry, Mama. I do not know what came over me.”
A cold hand pressed against his forehead and then slid over his head to comb through his unruly hair. “You don’t have a fever.” Mama murmured. “Do you feel okay?”
“I am fine; I promise.” He sighed. “Can we kill the witches tomorrow? I would like to spend my birthday at the lake.”
He knew that Mama would feel better when she had taken the magic from the witches, but the upset at missing the chance to meet Mother weighed heavily upon him and he wasn’t in the mood to play the part he needed to right now.
“Of course, darling. Anything you want.” Mama said with a tired smile. “It is your day, after all.”
She waved the hat she’d passed around after his performance at him. “We’ve got almost a full silver in here. What else does your heart long for? It shall be yours.”
Nicky grinned widely, his near miss with Mother almost forgotten at the prospect of meat pies from the butcher in town.
That night, Nicky snuggled up to Mama in front of the fire, her arm wrapped securely around him. He always felt safest when they slept like this. As weak as Mama may be when ill, he knew that she would never let anything or anyone hurt him. He fell asleep quickly.
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Something was wrong, Nicky thought, as he opened his eyes. The birds still chirped in the trees and the breeze still ran through the leaves, but something was missing. Something important.
He sat up, frantically rubbing the sleep from his eyes and cast his gaze around the forest around him. “Mama.” He said, reaching behind him to jostle her shoulder lightly. “Mama, something is wrong.”
Her arm flopped limply to the blanket when he pushed at her and Nicky’s chest went ice cold with dread. He whirled around and tears filled his eyes before he even took in the sight of her properly. He knew in his heart that she was gone before he even laid eyes on her still form.
Mama’s face was pale and peaceful. He might have thought her still sleeping had it not been for the stillness of her chest. Her ribs did not rise and fall with breath and no air escaped her lungs.
Nicky’s jaw trembled with grief, and he jerked her shoulder a little more forcefully. “Mama, wake up. Please wake up.”
Sobs tore forcefully from his chest, and he pounded at the dirt in anger and frustration. “No! You can’t leave me, Mama!”
Nicky wormed his way into her arms once more, wailing into her cloak. “Please, you can’t leave me! I still need you! We can find more witches and you can take their magic! Please, Mama, I’m sorry!”
“Mijo.”
Nicky jerked in shock at the unexpected voice, glancing over his shoulder to see who had spoken. Just behind him stood the woman from the day before. He rolled over, still as close as he could be to his mama. “Mother. You are here.”
“I am.” She said.
Something like hope flooded his chest, remembering all of the stories Mama had told him, and he sat up quickly to run into his mother’s arms. “Mother, please you have to help us. Mama-,” he choked on a sob. “She’s gone.”
He looked up at her with all the faith a child could have in their parent. “But you can bring her back, right? Mama said you helped souls when they died, so you have to bring her back!”
His mother ran a hand soothingly over his back, not saying a word and dread started to settle. “You can fix her, right, Mother?”
Mother’s breath shuddered and her grip on him tightened a fraction. “I am sorry, mijo, but I cannot.”
Fresh tears sprang to his eyes. “You have to! You should not have taken her! It wasn’t her time yet!”
“You are correct, my love. Her time came long ago. Before you were even born. I gave her as much as I could, but borrowed time should not be spent, and she had borrowed so much.” Mother said with sorrow dripping from her words.
“No.” Nicky said, choking on another sob. “It cannot be.”
“It must be.” His mother confirmed. “I came to help you with the body. To help bury her. There is a cabin not far from here where you may stay. You will be safe there while you grow.”
Nicky ripped himself from her grasp. “No! No, this is all your fault! You took her from me!”
A frown pulled at Lady Death’s lips. “I did not want to, my son. I loved your mama more than anything.”
“If you loved her that much, you wouldn’t have killed her!” He cried. “I hate you! I will always hate you for this!”
“Nicky-,” she started, tears filling dark eyes that looked exactly like his.
“Do not call me that! Only Mama could! And you took her! It is your fault! Leave me alone and never return!” He shrieked, black magic bursting from his palms to strike Lady Death in the chest.
Her expression morphed to one of shock and pain. “My son. Please do not do this.”
“I never want to see you again! Leave me!” He screamed, anger and grief mingling in his small body. He had so many emotions and no idea what to do with them. He fell to his knees and sobbed, tears and snot dripping down his face in equal measure. Mama would have wiped them away by now, but she was gone. And it was Death’s fault for taking her.
When Nicky calmed down enough, he looked around, hoping somewhat that his mother had not yet left, whether to provide comfort or further emotional expression, he did not know, but it mattered not. He was alone in the woods. His mama’s corpse remained on the blanket nearby, her body stiff and her skin taking on a gray hue. She had been left to the elements for too long, and Nicky knew that it was time to put her in the ground before the predators came for her.
Mama had taught him enough green magic that he was able to use it to dig a hole deep into the earth. He commanded the vines to rise from the ground and wrap around her still form, pulling her from their campsite to the grave he’d prepared. Before he let her fall in, he pulled the locket from her cloak, clumsily placing a cutting of her hair in it before he pinned it to his own shirt.
Then, he packed the dirt back in himself, one handful at a time until night had fallen and then turned to day again. His eyes burned with exhaustion but wouldn’t leave until Mama had a proper grave.
As he relocated flowers and stones to decorate her resting place, new words in the tune of his song fell from his mouth.
I had always thought
This road was kind and calm
I bury my own heart
Here with you, my mom
If one be gone, we carry on
But every mile I go
With every bend
Beyond the end
Your child loves you so
“You must know the way, then.” A voice called from behind him, and Nicky whipped around, fear lancing through him.
“How dare you?” He shouted, for truly, how dare this woman interrupt his grief? “Who are you?”
“Forgive me.” The woman said. “I heard your singing. I thought you may know way.”
“The way to what?” Nicky demanded. What kind of witch demanded knowledge from a child? His mama never would have stood for this, and Nicky didn’t see why he should either.
“The Witches’ Road.” The stranger clarified. “I heard tell of it. The Road offers a prize worth the peril to witches who are brave and true. You know The Ballad and I am in great need. Might you show me the way?”
As this woman explained, a plan began to from in Nicky’s mind. A plan to get magic and supplies. If this witch was stupid enough to think that a child might be able to help her open a Road that didn’t exist, perhaps she would be easily fooled into attacking him with her magic.
A wicked smile curled Nicky’s lips. He wouldn’t know it, but Lady Death watched him from the shadows and wondered at just how much he resembled his mama in that moment.
“Of course.” Nicky said, rushing to wipe the tears from his face. “My mama is the only one who was able to walk it and lived to tell the tale. You inquire in good faith, so I shall respond in kind. I have heard the story so many times that I know the way by heart. But first, we must gather a coven.”
267 Years Later
Wanda rushed to the door when she heard the knocking, taking a moment to smooth down her dress before she opened it.
On the other side was a dapper man, dark hair gelled back in a classic style and a friendly smile curling his lips. He held a potted plant in one hand and offered the other to Wanda, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with his grin. “Well, hey, there, doll. I’m Nathan, you neighbor to the right. My right, not yours.”
A laugh track played in the background as Nathan passed Wanda the potted plant. “Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to our cozy neighborhood. My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.”
He winked at the nearest camera as he brushed past Wanda, mischief dancing across his features. Nicky loved a good con with a big payout, and this one seemed like it would be quite fruitful.