Not letting myself overthink it, I pick her up and lift the suitcase so the wheels don’t make noise on the wood.
Like a thief in the night, I sneak through my childhood home, the only one I’ve ever had, and don’t waste a moment on sentimentality. Not that there’s all that much to hold onto. For every happy memory outside of my bedroom, there are three I’d love to forget.
When I step outside, I close the front door as quietly as I can and let out a sigh of relief. The crisp night air prickles my skin, seeping through the thick sweater and long skirt I’m wearing. It feels good.
It feels like freedom.
I’m already off the porch when I hear quiet sniffling from around the corner.
Biting my lip, I look down at Hexate, and then at my old Volkswagon Bug parked at the curb. It’s only four a.m. but my mother runs on very little sleep, and sneaking out of her house was never an easy task.
The sound carries through the air again, this time with a raspy sob, and I know who it is before I round the corner.
“Agatha?” I whisper and squint through the moonlight.
She looks up from the swinging bench, cupping something small in her hands with tears running down her cheeks.
For the first time in my life, Agatha looks younger than me. She’s always been bigger than life in my mind. My heart cracks a fraction at the sight. When I take a step closer and see what—who—she’s holding, it crumbles.
With quick steps, I kneel in front of her and gently cup her hands, which are holding Thimble. He’s not moving and there’s a small pool of blood in her hands.
“What happened?” I ask, already positioning my hands over his body. I’m confident I can resurrect him, but I’ve never done this for a familiar before. I don’t know what happens to their bond if he dies, even for a few seconds.
She lets out another sob and shakes her head, trying to speak. Closing my eyes, I focus on Thimble and sense his life source. It only takes a second before I feel his weak heartbeat pulse through my body.
I don’t bother asking any other questions before I rise onto my knees and gently turn him on his back, still in Agatha’s hands. Her sobbing quiets and I can feel her eyes glued on me.
I’ve never been able to turn my back on a creature I can save—especially the small, harmless ones that are misunderstood. My spirit magic has never been pushed further than a few rabbits—not sure I could harness the power needed to perform a full resurrection—but I can dothis.
With a deep breath, I blow a puff of air over him, offering him a fragment of my own life source. For a creature as small as Thimble, I can hardly feel the drop of my essence drain from my body. Other animals, like rabbits or birds, take a little more out of me. It’s like when you open the front door on a cold winter morning and the chilly air slams into you. It doesn’t linger like contact with a ghost does. Our life force wavers, stronger some days than others, but it’s always there. At least until the fates decide.
Thimble’s legs twitch and he lets out a squeak, turning onto his side. “Renata,” Agatha says in a watery voice. The gratitude is evident, but her surprise is as well.
“I wouldn’t leave him to die,” I say, but don’t meet her eye. Taking another breath, I blow another puff of air over him, hoping to heal some of his injuries.
Agatha has better healing abilities than I do. My magic can bring someone back to life, but I can only fix mild ailments—and I’ve never been that skilled at potions or elixirs. It’s enough to ease his pain until she can clean him off and better assesses what’s wrong.
Sitting back, I watch her hold him to her chest and try not to shed more tears in front of me.
“Agatha,” I whisper. My tone is tired. Even a little harsh. “What happened?”
She looks around, embarrassed, before meeting my eye. That’s one thing I’ll give my sister—she never lacks courage, even when she’d rather hide.
“I was with Monty,” she admits.
I grimace, not hiding my reaction from her. Monty is her high-school sweetheart she’s perpetually on-and-off with. My parents never likedhim, insisting he wasn’t good enough for Agatha. I agree wholeheartedly with both of them.
My mother’s opinion quickly changed once his father became Hemlocke’s mayor a few years after Dad passed away. After that, it didn’t matter what Agatha wanted anymore—only the power gain my mother saw for her legacy.
She ignores my reaction but continues, “He wanted to go to the Alechemy, so we did.” The local bar is the last place I’d expect to find Agatha, unless her personality drastically changed in the few years of distance between us. I doubt it.
“What did he do?” I ask flatly.
Monty has always been a hot-head. He’s never taken his anger out on Agatha, as far as I know. He does, however, love to start a fight. Unfortunately, he’s not as good at ending them.
“I don’t know—it all happened so quickly,” she admits with a small hiccup. “They were playing a game of poker with some college guys stopping through for the night when one of them accused Monty of cheating.”
He probably was, I think to myself but stay quiet.
