Simmer: Or, The Second Life of Callis Wardwell, Witch

PART 2: HUNTING THE WREN

(NOTE: references to miscarriage and suicide (both are hypothetical and don't actually occur), and some violence at the end of this chapter.)

If I had seen my reflection / As something more precious / He would've never... / And if my child needed protection / From a fucker like that man / I'd sooner gut him / 'Cause nothing cuts like a mother / Give in

(Simmer, Hayley Williams)

None of Callis's old clothes fitted Agatha particularly well, so, twenty minutes later, dress more safety pin than actual dress, they dithered outside a door which looked more or less like any other door on the corridor. Callis was making an awful fuss over the safety pins, that Agatha suspected was more procrastination than actual care for the fit of the dress, a hypothesis that was almost immediately proven;

"Before we go in," Callis said quietly, trying to flatten part of the fabric on Agatha's shoulder. "You need to understand that my mother is..." she paused, struggling for the wording, then seemed to give up. "...never mind."

"But she's on our side." said Agatha. "She's your mother."

Callis didn't respond to that. Instead, she said;

"She probably won't say much for a good few minutes, don't stress about it. She's just... ponderous."

She turned and opened the door without knocking, giving Agatha no time to respond.

"None of you knock, anymore." said the voice of Callis's mother, which, Agatha realised with a start, was not dissimilar to Callis's own.

"Because you always know who it is anyway, so what's the point?" said Callis. "I brought Agatha. And Lancelot tagged along."

"So I see."
Agatha, who had been attempting to hide behind Callis and Lancelot as if she was a child, was shunted out into the open by a strategic turn of Callis's hip.

The Grand Duchess Unspeakable, who Rhian had been building up as some kind of major threat just weeks ago, shot her a very brief glance, then looked back at her papers. Agatha got the uncomfortable impression, however, that it was all that Iphigenia needed to get an impression.

Callis's mother was a slightly gaunt, physically unimpressive woman in her late sixties, with long features and a stiff fall of iron-grey hair that had clearly used to be black, plaited rigidly at the back of her head. Like many of the other witches Agatha had seen here, she was wearing a gown of some heavy, dark fabric with a sharp neckline and cuffs; the only variation being in rings, earrings, and the fact that she was wearing a malachite pendant in her neckline, carved with what looked like an eagle.

A little girl suddenly popped up from beneath the table, and stared curiously across the desk Agatha. She was dressed in much the same manner as the adult witches, only with shorter sleeves and hemlines, and flat shoes; Agatha could see the thin iron heels of Iphigenia's boots glinting under the table.

Iphigenia put her hands under the girl's armpits and lifted her onto the bench next to her.

"Grandmamma says we're cousins," the little girl told Agatha. Her hair was plaited in the same manner as her grandmother's, which gave Agatha the impression Iphigenia had done it for her.

"...oh?" said Agatha. "That's, um. Cool."

"I'm Tisiphone." she said. "I'm eight."

"I'm Agatha."

"I know," said Tisiphone. Then, in a faintly accusing manner; "You're seventeen, and you're a Princess."

"...yeah...?"