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

EPILOGUE: ST. PURPLE AND GREEN

When Agatha got to her mother's office, they were carrying a woman out.

Well, a girl, really. A first year Nevergirl, by the look of it, though it was hard to tell, since she was covered in lurid purple boils. None of them paid any mind to the Queen of Camelot in the corridor, but that was probably best, given the state of them. Agatha grimaced and got quickly out of the way as the girl was towed down the corridor by her classmates, squelching purple pus under their boots. Then she pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.

"Please don't tell me you did that."

Someone had clearly told Callis she was coming, because her mother didn't even turn around, rifling through the shelves of ingredients behind her desk.

"I'm not hired to jinx them, dear. They had, as usual, muffed a too-high level spell and come crying to me to fix it."

"Can you?"

"I need an hour to make an antidote, but then, yes. Sit down..."

Agatha installed herself in the least dubious looking chair she could find, as Reaper came sloping out from under a bookshelf, rat clamped in his jaws.

"Good catch, Reap."

Reaper dropped it with a wet thud.

"Good hunting, in Evil."

Callis turned around and came around the desk to hug her, retrieving a slightly dusty bottle from under her desk, which she held out to Agatha. Agatha stared at it dubiously. Callis cracked a smile.

"It's chocolate milk, dear."

"Oh!" Agatha took it and screwed it open happily. "Thought it was going to be your toadstool ale..."

"Bit early in the day for that. I use them as bribes to get the Nevers to behave." She turned to a cauldron in the corner. "I'll offer you tea, as well, but I had to do something else, or I'd feel like Mother..."

Agatha snorted, and took the tea as well.

"How is she?"

"Mother? Fine. She tells me Hamelin will accept your terms sooner or later, so keep redrafting."

"We'd gotten that far, but nice to have it affirmed. Is she going to backseat drive the whole of Tedros's reign?"

"Definitely."

"There's worse things." sighed Agatha. "She's usually right, anyway, and she's eerily patient with Tedros and the prescience thing..."

"She's patient about everything." muttered Callis. She banged the ladle on the side of the cauldron and turned around to lean on the table. "How's Dull Gwen's brat?"

"Which one?"

"For once, I didn't mean Tedros."

Agatha snorted. "Right. Myfanwy. She's fine. Doted on, I think–"

"So, spoiled?"

"A little. Probably inevitable. She's not styled as a Princess, she's a Lady, but she may as well be. Sweet kid, though..."

Callis pulled a face and went back to the cauldron. "I'm sure."

"It still bothers Tedros a bit." Agatha paused. "...a lot. But he's trying to reconcile himself to it. He's sweet to the kid, and she loves him, because he could charm the leaves off a tree in high summer–"

"I sometimes wonder if the Iris Crown saps sense from royal brides, dear."

"I haven't worn the Iris Crown since Michaelmas celebrations," Agatha said, unimpressed. "It's in the vault, most of the time."