Chapter Text
Agatha—now Agnes––held the plant, looking at the ridiculous bow on it. It had been a long time since she’d felt magic this powerful. It was clumsy magic, but she’d managed to slip through it, looking around to get an idea of what was happening.
A black-and-white sitcom had been a surprise. She rarely had much interest in television, there’d been other things to do, especially from this era. This era of television had been entirely too wholesome, as if trying to pretend the world was squeaky clean and not coming off a world war as it headed into a nuclear arms race.
“Stay here,” she told the man as she picked up the plant. What had been his name? Ron? Ralph? Something ridiculous. “I’m going to go pop by the neighbours and give them a nice, warm welcome.”
Pot plant in hand, she went to the front door and opened it––
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Agatha said, her act dropped.
The woman smiled, running her eyes over her. “Didn’t realise we could swear here,” she said, looking around the black and white house. “I was in the neighbourhood.”
“Don’t care,” Agatha said, pushing past her. “I’m busy.”
“I can’t leave, Agatha. I need you to undo this spell so I can continue what I was doing.”
Agatha paused, her eyes alight as she turned back to face the woman. It had been a long, long time since someone had managed to trap her. It hadn’t ended up so well for that last person, and Agatha had taken great pleasure in inflicting a long, painful death on the last captor.
But that had been before.
And seeing her now just brought up all the anger she’d so very carefully packed away. “So sad to hear, but I don’t see how that’s my problem.”
“Fine. Then I’ll find the witch who cast it myself. Shouldn’t be too difficult to force her to undo it––maybe even shoo her away from this town to where she really belongs.”
Agatha closed her eyes, pushing the anger aside. “What do you want?”
“I need to do my job.”
“‘Your job’,” Agatha echoed, her smile bright as she set the plant down on pretty little side path and walked back to the woman. “Maybe this is the universe telling you to go into retirement. Have a fucking holiday.”
The woman flinched, her eyes flicking between Agatha’s. “I can’t,” she said. “And you know that. So undo this spell or I will.”
Agatha seethed. “Give me a week.”
There was a pause, a head tilt. “That’s a long time.”
“You’ve been held up longer,” she reminded. “One week. And I’ll consider us…even.”
She watched the woman swallow, her eyes dancing across her face. “Okay, Agatha. You can have your week. But when the seven days are over––no matter what…this spell will end.”
“Fine,” Agatha said. “We have our deal. Now leave.”
The woman paused, and then she looked at the awnings around the house, flicking to the garden before she came to smile at Agatha. “No, I don’t think I will,” she said, her smile growing wide. “I think I’ll stay here. You’ve already set up, haven’t you? I can smell your magic here. Is the Darkhold hidden somewhere inside?”
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Or what?” Came the purr. Familiar and dangerous. “What will you do to me if I play my part? You’re the nosy neighbour aren’t you? I’ll be the rebellious outsider. I can ride a heavy tool between my thighs, rev the engine where needed. Do you remember those days, Agatha?”
Agatha closed her eyes, pressing at the burning anger. “Do what you want but stay hidden,” she said. “Don’t screw this up for me.”
She was smiling at her, taking a step closer, her body a slow, familiar saunter. “Or what?” She asked. “Will you spank me?”
Agatha drew tall, her smile growing wide as she picked up the house plant and gave a bright smile. “Well, silly, it’s just not very neighbourly, is it?”
“I can be neighbourly…if you ask nicely.”
Agatha’s smile dropped. “I’ll come for you when I’m done.”
And then she left, heading down the road to where the new house had appeared, leaving the woman behind her to play house alone.
She knew that she wouldn’t be followed.
It was easy to fall into the role, letting go of the past to slip seamlessly into the ridiculous play. Lean into the magic and smile and laugh. My right, not yours, Agatha—Agnes—had joked to her new neighbour. “Forgive me for not welcoming you to the block sooner, my––” mother-in-law she’d gone to say––classic trope, women of this era often hated their mother-in-laws––instead what came out was, “brother-in-law was in town. So I wasn’t.”
She paused for a moment––the audience still laughed, but Agatha—Agnes––blinked in surprise. Something had compelled her to change the dialogue.
She packed the frustration away––she’d deal with that problem later.
Pressing the plant into the woman’s arms, she kept to whatever absurd script they were playing in, “So, what’s your name? Where are you from?” She asked, sauntering into the house. “And most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?” She paused, hearing the laughter and turned to smile at her so-called neighbour––the main star in this fucked-up parody of 60’s sit-com.
She tried not to think about the woman in her house.
That didn’t fit whatever storyline this woman wanted. And obeying this storyline was imperative.
“I’m Wanda.”
“Wanda,” Agnes echoed, reaching out to take her hand and shake it. “Charmed.”
It was fun flirting this close with reality, watching this witch––this woman––play into the trope of a domestic-bliss housewife. She wasn’t any coven witch, if she was, she would have known who Agatha was the moment she stepped onto her porch.
She was someone though. One of those avengers, Agatha had done her research, picking at every piece of history she could to get understanding of why someone like her was so powerful. But none of it explained her magic; Agatha hadn’t found anything to implicate that she was coven born, and her magic was exceptionally strong.
Oh, it would be so delicious to have it.
They danced around the topic of marriage, continuing the script as Agnes asked about single status. “I assure you, I am married. To a man. A human one and tall!”
Mm, yes she was aware of her robot entity––though who was she to judge when her history included a cosmic entity that existed from the moment the universe was birthed and was now apparently walking around the neighbourhood.
“As a matter of fact, he’ll be home later tonight for a special occasion. Just the two of us.”
Ah yes, Agatha thought. The very special occasion. Classic miscommunication. She smiled, leaning forward, “Is it somebody’s birthday?”
“No. Not a birthday.”
“Well, today isn’t a holiday, is it?”
“No, it’s not a holiday…” Wanda said, circling the narrative structure. They were getting close.
“An anniversary, then?”
“Yes!” Wanda said, clapping her hands. “Yes! It’s our anniversary.”
Agatha smiled as Agnes, reaching forward to clasp at Wanda’s hands. She could feel the magic there, reverberating and loud like a wasp nest that had been disturbed. There was so much effort going in to control an entire town––the very edges of it having people frozen, waiting for their turn to be a background character in the show.
“How many years?” Agnes asked as she squeezed at the fingertips, but not even a spark of magic slid out.
“Well, it feels like we’ve always been together,” Wanda responded, her voice tight as she nodded enthusiastically for the audience. The dramatic irony seeping through scene.
“Lucky gal,” Agnes said. “The only way––” and she tried to say Ralph. That had been his name, hadn’t it? The idiot of a man whose house she’d taken over. Instead, what came out, tugged by the spell was, “Rio would remember our anniversary is if there was a beer named June 2nd.”
There was a pause for laughs and Agnes smiled. Moving the scene on, asking about Wanda’s plans for the anniversary dinner while concern gnawed at her underneath the lights.
She could put two and two together, but it was odd that a sitcom of this supposed era would even skirt around the proximity of sexuality. Despite the tail ends of this era being the start of a free love movement, the first gay man wouldn’t be on prime time television until the 70s.
Perhaps that was Wanda’s doing, adding flair to an otherwise dull time in television.
Or perhaps someone else was messing with the spell-work. She needed to make an excuse to leave and check on the only other person who would be picking at her magic.
“A young thing like you doesn’t have to much,” Agnes said, stoking an idea to Wanda for her so-called anniversary dinner. “But it’s still fun to set the scene!”
Wanda’s expression shifted, her eyes blinking rapidly at the flirtation to the rating. Talking about sex wasn’t done in polite conversation, but Agnes was a nosy neighbour. It was her job to get a few laughs from the audience by pressing a bit too close to boundaries. Literally and figuratively.
Pushing up from the couch, she turned on her heel to look at Wanda, “Say! I was just reading a crackerjack magazine article called ‘How To Treat Your Husband to Keep Your Husband’.” She paused, lowering her voice, “And let me tell you, what Rio could really use is ‘How To Goose Your Wife, So You Don’t Lose Your Wife.” She gave a wink, watching the shade in Wanda’s otherwise white cheeks faintly shifted.
It was almost endearing. It’d been a while since she played with such a sweet thing.
For a moment, Agatha wondered what other storylines she could weave into this fun clean little sitcom. It would be fun to break her down. Gently at first, until Wanda was almost begging for it.
Still, she needed to leave to check on her unwanted guest—ensure that someone put her on a leash before she got bored. “Hang on,” Agnes said, her voice loud as she walked behind the couch, heading to the front door. “I’ll go grab it and we can start planning. Oh, this is gonna be a gas!”
She looked to Wanda, watching the woman settle again into the story, entirely unaware that she wasn’t in control. She would however start noticing if two witches were playing with her spells.
Agatha waited until she’d walked up the road, turning inside of her house and pressed the door shut before she let her visage drop.
“What are you doing?” She called out, pushing into the lounge room.
The blonde boy wasn’t where she left him, he was now tied up and gagged in the centre of the room––something to fix later. She shooed him back to sleep with a spell and watched as the Unwanted Guest, who’d been happily wielding her dagger, turn to her, unamused.
She was dressed in a leather jacket and tight pants––playing the part of a rebellious outsider, though the slicked back hair was a bit much.
“I was only going to play with him for a moment.”
“Is that why you’re messing with my spellwork? You’re bored? Read a fucking book next time.”
She shrugged, pressing the end of her knife against her finger. “Can’t ignore me now.”
Agatha couldn’t lose her temper. She was in the middle of important work. “You were meant to give me seven days. It hasn’t even been an hour.”
“I am giving you seven days. But I’m not going to sit around waiting. It’s either this,” she said gesturing to herself. “Or I start playing with the neighbourhood. Which would you prefer?”
Agatha had a growing, aching headache. It had been a long time since she’d dealt with the woman, and being in her proximity was bringing back a wash of complicated memories. “I think a lesbian relationship in a sixties sitcom may raise a few eyebrows,” Agatha bit back.
“Didn’t stop us––”
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t bring up our past. Don’t dig around, looking for forgiveness. Don’t. When these seven days are up, I don’t ever want to see you again. Do you understand?”
There was a tight smile, and Agatha knew that look, that pain in the woman’s eyes. “I thought you promised that we’d be even after this.”
“It doesn’t mean forgiveness,” Agatha said. She looked to the man, slumped in the chair. “Clean him up, the last thing we need is a kidnapped victim breaking the thin veil of this spell.”