Daughter of a Witch

The Quiet Before

The storm was crawling in.

The late afternoon light had dimmed to an eerie shade of amber, casting long, slanted shadows across the crooked floorboards of the Westview house. Wind pressed against the windows like breath on glass, the trees swaying in long, slow arcs, dancing lazily for now, but waiting.

Agatha was trying. Trying to stay patient. Trying to keep her tone measured. Trying not to let her eyes roll back so hard they conjured a portal.

"Again," she said, biting off the word like it tasted bad. "With your focus this time."

Billy huffed, flicking his hand upward. The sigils cracked in the air like angry chalk. They were... almost right. Almost stable. But the energy was wild, fractured, like it was fighting him instead of answering.

"You're forcing it," Agatha snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. "Magic isn't a tantrum, it's a contract. Respect it."

"I am respecting it!" Billy's voice had that high-pitched, defensive edge. "I'm just..."

"...Being dramatic?" she offered coolly. "Inventive, perhaps. But sloppy."

He rolled his eyes and let the spell die with a loud, frustrated sigh. "I'm done for today."

"Excellent," she said, smiling with sweet acid. "So am I."

Billy trudged off, muttering something about Eddie waiting anyway, cloak flapping behind him like a sulky crow. Agatha waited until he was halfway up the porch steps before letting out a long, irritated breath, pressing her fingers to her temples.

"Saints and spirits," she murmured to no one. "Let that boy fall into a bottomless pumpkin spice latte and emerge reborn."

She brushed dirt from her sleeves, composed her expression, and headed toward the house. What she needed now was a cup of tea, a sarcastic remark from Jen, maybe a blanket thrown over her shoulders without asking, but mostly, she needed her family.

Her wife and daughter.

Inside, the living room was its usual chaos: enchanted candles hovering midair, one of Lilia's jackets slowly knitting itself back together on the armchair, and a bowl of levitating popcorn spinning in lazy spirals above the coffee table.

Jen and Alice were still watching the potion reality show. Lilia had vanished.

"Has anyone seen Rio or Y/n?" Agatha asked, stepping into the room.

Alice looked up. "Weren't they with you?"

Agatha arched a brow. "Do I look soothed and emotionally balanced?"

"Point taken," Jen said. "They weren't upstairs. Maybe the study?"

Agatha checked. Empty. She checked the bedrooms again. Still nothing.

She moved back to the kitchen, tension building low in her chest. It wasn't like Rio to disappear without leaving a note or a charmed whisper in the air. And Y/n....well, Y/n didn't usually vanish without at least sighing about it first.

Agatha poured herself half a cup of tea before something caught her eye through the kitchen window. A shape. Two of them.

She leaned in, squinting.

There, under the weeping willow.

Rio and Y/n sat nestled into the roots of the tree like a painting. One in a white sweater, the other in Agatha's favorite deep burnt orange sweater, both with books in hand, heads tilted in perfect concentration. They were reading. Just reading. As if the storm hadn't curled its fingers around the horizon, as if the winds weren't already teasing at the edge of the wardline.

Agatha blinked. A soft sort of ache blossomed in her chest.

Her lifelines.

She didn't grab a coat. Didn't say a word. She just opened the back door and strode across the lawn, her boots quiet against the cooling earth. The temperature had dropped sharply, and the wind picked up a sharp whistle as it moved through the branches.

By the time she reached them, the sun had fully disappeared behind bruised gray clouds.

"What," Agatha said dryly, "are the two of you doing out here?"

Both startled. Y/n gasped softly, her book snapping shut in her lap. Rio looked up with a small, guilty smile.

"Hey, Mama," Y/n said sheepishly.

Agatha crossed her arms. "You're reading. Under a tree. While a storm rolls in."

Rio winced. "It wasn't this dark when we got out here."

Lily stood, brushing off her leggings, her cheeks pink from the wind and her own embarrassment. She glanced at the sky and blinked.

"Oh," she said simply, as if just now noticing the roiling clouds and sudden drop in pressure. "It's really pretty."

Her voice was soft, but Agatha caught the strange distance in it. The words didn't have their usual sparkle. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

It stung.

Agatha stepped forward to inspect her daughter, but Y/n had already moved, placing a light kiss on her cheek and murmuring, "Sorry, Mama," before walking briskly toward the house.

The wind picked up just as she reached the porch. The sky cracked faintly with thunder.

Agatha watched her go.

"You saw that, didn't you?" she said without turning.

Rio stood now, brushing leaves from her skirt. "I did."

Agatha exhaled slowly, the chill nipping at her fingertips. "She's never distracted like that. Never."

Rio moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "She's been carrying a lot lately. And you know she doesn't like to show it."

"I just..." Agatha's voice trailed off.

They stood in silence for a beat as the wind pulled at their clothes and hair. The willow above them danced restlessly.

"I don't know how to help her," Agatha admitted, voice quieter now. "I've protected her from the world since the day she was born. From grief. From danger. Even from me. And now... she looks at me like I'm not the safest place anymore."

Rio squeezed her side. "That's not what I saw."

"No?"

"She looks at you like she's afraid you're hurting too. And she doesn't want to make it worse."

Agatha's jaw clenched. "I hate that she feels that way."

Rio reached up, cupping her wife's cheek gently. "That's because you're a good mother. And she knows it. She just needs time. And maybe a little less of Billy's nonsense poisoning the air."

Agatha chuckled darkly, resting her forehead against Rio's for a moment. "You're the only person who ever makes me feel like I'm not failing."

Rio smiled, pressing a kiss to her lips. "You're allowed to stumble, mi amor. But you're not failing. Not even close."

A gust of wind stronger than before rushed through the trees. Thunder rumbled again, louder now, closer.

"Come on," Rio murmured. "We should go in before the first drop falls."

"Fine," Agatha said, linking their fingers. "But I'm not doing clean-up if someone leaves the windows open."

Rio laughed as they walked back toward the house, the first droplets beginning to fall, slow and cold.

Behind them, the willow swayed in the wind, shedding leaves like sighs.