Teeth | Agatha All Along

01

The 1980s had been kind to Dahlia Thorne. Salem was no longer the Puritan backwater it had once been, and though the town still bore the scars of its history, it had become a haven for those who sought the macabre and the mystical. Tourists flooded the cobblestone streets, searching for traces of the witches of old, unaware that one of them still lived among them, more powerful than ever.

Dahlia had long since perfected the art of blending in. To the public, she was a wealthy, reclusive woman, a relic of old Salem society. Her wife, Margaret—once a beautiful young socialite, now nearing her seventies—was slowly withering away in their grand estate on the edge of town. The fortune would soon be Dahlia's, as she had always intended.

But Dahlia was in no rush. She had lived for hundreds of years, after all, and patience was one of the many virtues she had mastered. The world was a playground, and she moved through it with the ease of someone who had long ago learned how to manipulate every thread of fate to her advantage.

That night, as she wandered through the flickering candlelight of a local occult shop, the air felt thick with anticipation. Dahlia had sensed something shifting in the town, a presence she hadn't felt before. She moved through the shop, her fingers trailing over old leather-bound books and jars filled with herbs and crystals, but her mind was elsewhere, her magic prickling at the edges of her awareness.

Then she felt it—a surge of power, not far away, something raw and untamed. Dahlia straightened, her lips curving into a slow, curious smile. Whoever it was, they weren't trying to hide. That kind of magic, wild and unrestrained, didn't belong to just anyone.

She followed the sensation outside, her heels clicking against the cobblestones as she made her way toward a small bar tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The sign above the door was dimly lit, and the music spilling out from inside was soft, almost drowned out by the low hum of voices.

Dahlia pushed open the door, stepping into the warm, darkened space. Her eyes swept the room, and that's when she saw her.

Rio Vidal sat at the bar, one elbow resting lazily on the counter, her dark eyes half-lidded but sharp as they scanned the room. Her posture was relaxed, but there was an undeniable edge to her—a coiled energy that hummed beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Her lips quirked into a smirk as she noticed Dahlia's gaze, and she raised her glass in a silent toast.

There was something electric about her, something that pulled at Dahlia in a way she hadn't felt in years.

Green witch, Dahlia realized. A powerful one, at that. The air around Rio shimmered with the energy of the earth itself, wild and uncontainable. Dahlia had no idea how long Rio had been alive, and frankly, she didn't care. Time meant little to witches like them.

With a smooth, confident stride, Dahlia made her way to the bar, taking the empty seat beside Rio. She let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring the crackling energy between them before she finally spoke.

"You're new," Dahlia said, her voice low and velvet smooth, carrying with it the faintest hint of an accent she had never fully shed, "I would've noticed someone like you before."

Rio glanced at her, eyes glinting with amusement.

"And you're not," She replied, her voice sultry, with just enough rasp to send a shiver down Dahlia's spine, "But I'm guessing you prefer it that way."

Dahlia smiled, though it was more predatory than warm, "Most of the time."

There was a flicker of something in Rio's eyes, something knowing. Dahlia couldn't place it, but it didn't matter. There was a charge between them, a connection that went beyond the casual conversation they were exchanging. Dahlia could feel Rio's magic, buzzing just beneath the surface, so similar to her own yet so very different.