Everytime (American Horror AU 5)

Chapter 12

During her first night working at the strip club the night before, Amy had promised Michael that she would come to his house for lunch late that morning. Constance had answered the door when she knocked, and at an instant the old woman gasped at her provocative attire—Amy wore an outfit consisting of a button-up sleeveless tank top with a folded collar and a hint of her cleavage showing, a navy blue skirt that only reached to the middle of the thigh, and black, fake leather d'orsay pumps that clacked in time with her graceful movements. It was when Constance noticed her heavy makeup that she gasped openly.

"Oh, hello," she said nervously, Amy's sapphire eyes seething through her. "Why are you here?"

"I was invited," Amy replied. "You know, by Michael?"

"Oh."

"He's getting ready, isn't he?" the witch asked. "Tell him not to rush."

"Come on in," Constance said, moving aside as Amy stepped her foot in the doorway. "I'll make some tea."

The young woman followed Constance as she slowly moved into the kitchen, gesturing Amy to sit as she got the tea kettle full of water before setting it to a boil. The sound of manicured nails tapping against the table caught the old woman's attention, her brown eyes looking to see a hot pink glazed onto Amy's fingertips.

"Would you like cream and sugar?" she asked.

"Nah, I take mine plain," Amy replied.

"I'm surprised," Constance remarked. "Green Dragon is a strong tea."

"I drink a lot of strong stuff anyway," the witch said. "I'm used to it."

Constance took her time preparing the tea, and during the time spent doing so, she was shocked that Michael had not come downstairs yet. He had never taken so long to get ready, which concerned her somewhat. The strong smell of the tea filled the room as she served it. Placing the kettle back on the stove, she made her way toward the small table and took out her box of cigarettes—Amy had forgotten her own.

"Can I have one of those?" she asked. With a nod, the old woman extended her cigarette box.

"Certainly," she responded. "Just don't let your mother find out I'm encouraging your vices."

"My mama's dead," Amy said, pyrokinetically lighting her cigarette with Constance making a short, shocked glance. Christ on a stick, she thought, looking at the witch nervously as she took a long, slow drag.

"How did she die? How old were you?"

"Five."

"And that is when Miss Goode adopted you?" Constance asked.

"Yeah. I don't even know the full story. She and my dad died in an accident with my aunt," Amy explained, tapping the ash off the tip of her cigarette.

"So life in your new house is going well?" Constance questioned, her eyes focusing hard on the gorgeous blonde witch as she sipped her tea.

"It's alright, I guess," Amy speculated, "but…considering we are never alone, I'm fine with it."

"I have a lot of bad memories in that house," Constance told her, watching the witch sip her tea gently. "We moved out and lived next door ever since."

"What kind of bad memories?" Amy asked.

"I lost my children in that house. My husband was having an affair with the maid. Then again, that isn't to say that I didn't have an affair with someone else, too," the old woman explained, sipping from her tea. As she was drinking from her fine china cup, Amy speculated, looking at her conspiratorially as she remembered first encountering Tate with her sister. She remembered what he had told them verbatim during the telling of his story, suddenly realizing who she had been talking to.