Chapter Text
“Did you ever kill anyone as a sheriff, Nicole?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with silence, the second it leaves Waverly’s mouth, It feels louder than it is.
The question is chorused by the sound of wood tumbling into the metal fireplace. Waverly kneels and rips up newspaper. She stuffs it in the nooks and crannies of the wood.
Nicole shifts her hat, taking it off of one of the mewling cats circling her legs. She hums deeply, from somewhere at the bottom of her chest, before sighing. “No, Nedley made sure that never happened.”
“Why?” Waverly says the question nervously, a mouse afraid to leave the darkness. She keeps her eyes focused her eyes on her task. She shifts her position and let’s her hair act as a curtain for the late evening sun.
“Nedley said that the unhappy dead had a habit of haunting you.” Nicole’s cowboy accent thickens at the end of her sentence. They both chuckle at the word haunting. “And the murdered are never happy ‘bout being dead.”
Waverly nods, quieting completely. Even her labor becomes mute at the presence of the new information. She rubs her eyes, how long has she been preparing? Since sunrise? Before that? Midnight? It was dark when she woke up.
Nicole studies her, The stiffness of her movement and the carefulness of them. She watches Waverly place the cookie sheet on top of the faux fireplace and mime flicking in a match before frowning and readjusting everything. “If it is any consolation, Constance probably is not gonna haunt you. I’m not sure what deal she made for her power with the devil, but he probably expects his dues and patience is not going to be his strong suit.”
Waverly squares her shoulders. “I don’t plan on leaving a body anyways.”
The vast openness of nature is “holding its breath today” as Nicole put it earlier. The wind is barely more than a whisper and the only sign of animal life are the mosquitos sticking to Waverly. The air is so dry that just breathing it in makes Waverly thirst.
Everyone goes about their tasks with muscles-coiled-to-strike kind of tension. Wynonna waits on the hood of the truck, twirling Peacekeeper in her hand. She watches the driveway like a watchdog, an unusual seriousness set into her face. Doc places salt down as Dolls draws symbols in locations and murmurs latin over them before marking it down on his map.
The cats prepare differently. They swirl around Nicole like her personal guard, constantly with their claws trapped in ghostly pant leg or climbing all over her body. Their protectiveness makes Waverly’s mood lighten. Waverly looks the wrapped up barn up and down, before looking at Nicole.
“A lot of books I read said that cats have an eye in both worlds. The supernatural and the natural one. Its why they make such good familiars. I guess that’s why your cats can actually affect the corporeal world.” Waverly offers the icebreaker bit of information.
Nicole just nods quietly. “Are you sure, you are ready?” Reality floods back to Waverly. Her shoulders sag under its weight.
“You can’t really be ready for this- I mean -I'm prepared as I can be.”
“My shining knight.” Nicole throws her hand to her forehead and fakes a swoon.
Waverly smiles and nods with appreciation. “I’m going to check on the house. Do you wanna come with me?”
Nicole shrugs. “Sure, if I can get enough cats off me to get up. Do not wait up for me.”
Waverly does a mock salute before grabbing Doll’s arm as he passes and leading him into the house. She points at his map and begins inquiring about his work.
Wynonna watches Waverly and Doc pass the threshold into the house. She pauses a second before rising to her feet. Her heavy combat boots thudding against the metal. She jumps down, sparing one last glance down the road.
Nicole hears Wynonna at her back before the elder sister even talked. “When the time comes, you aren’t going to let her destroy Constance’s soul.”
Nicole nods, ever so slowly. Wynonna settles down next her, receiving hisses from the felines on Nicole’s lap and shoulders. “I understand.”
“How can I know if you do until I make sure you do? Waverly isn’t like the other Earps. It’s the best thing about her. She’s optimistic, and careful, and smart, and painfully good. If you even let her think she killed Constance. I will remind you that my parents have been getting rid of ghost infestations since before America was a country.”
“You are quite good at this protective big sister thing.”
Wynonna shrugs, passively, and relaxes. “No one has ever trusted me to do any other job.”
It’s nice when two people’s goal are the same. Keeps things from being too messy.
Waverly calls from inside the house “Nicole, are you cat free, yet?”
Nicole pets Fizz loving. She pulls him close to her mouth. “Sic her, boy.” Before putting him down next to Wynonna. He crawls onto the Earp’s lap, mewling like a starved kitten. Soon, the other cats join him on Wynonna, mewling loudly.
“Fuck, if these are your hands, Casper, I will fucking bottle you up and use you as a supernatural battery.” Wynonna swats at the kittens, her hands going through them, pissing them off at the disturbance of their forms.
Nicole brushes herself, now to Waverly… walking is much too slow, it would be rude to make Waverly wait. Nicole flashes into the house, behind Waverly. Waverly startles at her completely mute entrance.
“Okay, I’m gonna explain to you the entrances and exits to the house. They’re basically like supernatural doors. Get on whichever side you need to be and say the latin phrase “Wynonna est malum” it should shut tight, We hope her magic can’t break our spells, but if it can, use that time to put distance between you and her. Remember, the barn is where we want her to end up going.”
Nicole traces her hand over the symbols around the door, winding up and down and in all directions like an infestation of letters. “Wynonna est malum?”
“Wynonna is evil, Doc’s idea not mi-”
“Waves!” Wynonna’s voice is a stiff shout that slices through the air. Waverly turns to the ghost, expression grave.
“Hide.”
Nicole nods. “Remember, I trust you.” She says before vanishing.
Waverly takes a deep breath before stepping out to the front yard. Clootie leans on the fence, casually, her feet behind the salt line. Waverly doesn’t look. She stands next her sister.
Wynonna keeps her eyes on Clootie. “I’m going to need a distraction to leave.”
Waverly looks at Wynonna. “Be ready to run whenever then.”
Waverly slowly shifts her eyes from Wynonna to Constance Clootie. Clootie is dressed in a black jack with a raven feather collar. Her hat is white and her heels are high. Waverly feels underdressed in her crop top and shorts.
“I came,” Clootie begins once Waverly’s attention has been on her for a moment, “before night , to offer you a small before night. You should know that a full moon does wonders for people like me.” She says it calmly like it’s not a threat but a fact she’s reading from a text book. “Of course, I’m going to destroy the ghost in front of you, but I promise no harm will come to that little fleshcage of yours.” She straightens up off of the fence.
“I’m going to destroy you, Clootie.” Waverly’s voice sounds much calmer than she feels.
“With what? Child’s drawings and rock salt? I hope you don’t make me eat it and I have a sodium induced heart attack and die!” Her voice is thick with sarcasm. “How terrible.” Her voice grows slow and venomous.
“Dolls!” Waverly shouts.
Dolls stands up from behind the truck. “Mangez merde s'il vous plaît!” He shouts, yanking the passenger car door open and pulling himself in. Wynonna takes off running. She hoists herself up into the driver’s seat. Doc pulls himself into the truck bed and slaps the side of the truck a few times.
The engine roars to life like a beast full to the brim with fury. Wynonna puts it in drive and aims it right at Constance with the full intent to hit her. Constance waits, stock still.
The truck suddenly swerves, a hair’s breadth away from Constance’s person. She mutters something under her breath and Doc flies off the truck bed. Wynonna’s curses split the air. He rolls on the ground, towards Clootie. His bones make a sickening crack on impact and his flesh audibly hits the ground as he rolls towards Constance. He stops at her feet, as if he rolled straight into an invisible wall.
She puts her heel on his throat and smiles down at him. “You’re going to be a great help.” She purrs.
The truck swerves one last time, halting with a violent lurch a few meters from Clootie.The driver door in full view of Waverly and Constance. Wynonna throws the door open and stands in the open door of the vehicle, with just her heels keeping a part of her in the truck. Her hair is messier than it was earlier and her chest heaves with rage.
“So help me god, witch-bitch.” She shouts the threat, hand on a mirror.
Waverly watches as Constance smiles down at Doc, a patronizing smile like a mother to an insolent child. “You can stay and fight me for your boy or you can run like a dog with its tail between its legs.” Clootie says the words as slow as molasses, an obvious taunt.
Wynonna is already riled up, her fists clenched and trembling. Waverly can read her sister like a book: she’s going to slug Constance and that’s not a fight that her sister can win. Waverly takes a deep breath, just noticing her own rapid breathing.
“Wynonna. Run.”
“I’m not going to aband-” Wynonna's mind has already begun to shift from the agreed upon plan at the presence of eminent danger.
“Leaving doesn’t make you our parents. It doesn’t mean you don’t care. Trust me to take care of Doc. I will protect him. Trust me.”
Wynonna swallows her words and her rage and nods, sliding back into her seat and buckling it up. The engine rumbles to life, quieter this time. Wynonna reaches for the door.
“Coward.” Constance says, just loud enough for Wynonna to hear.
Wynonna’s hand reaching for the door halts mid-air. Her hands blur with the speed of her quick motions. She pulls out the Earp family revolver. She points Peacekeeper and fires a few shots off at Constance as the truck begins to move. Waverly can feel the invisible bursts of energy whiz past her.
Constance suddenly bends over, ever so slightly, before letting out a small hiss of pain. She takes deep breath. “Fine, then, no mercy.” Peacekeeper bullets disrupt spiritual energy, hence why it's typically used on ghosts. If one hit Constance? Waverly can only hope it disrupts the witch’s powers.
Constance straights up and locks eyes with Waverly before kicking Doc over the salt barrier, breaking the line. Doc grunts at the kick and salt is rolled into his wounds. Waverly runs to him, helping him up. He’s covered in cuts and his arm doesn’t look quite right. He smiles, obviously injured.
“Don’t feel so grand today, Waverly. One might say I feel a little under the weather.” Doc says, keeping his voice low.
Waverly nods. “Stay clear then.”
“This gent could never let a fellow soldier fight on their own.” Doc’s good hand fixes the collar of his jacket as he talks,
“Then help when you can, but don’t do anything you aren’t a thousand percent sure you can do.” Waverly pats him softly on the shoulder. He limps away.
Constance Clootie takes a slow step over the broken line of salt. She feigns a pout. “I wanted to play with him a little more. Oh well, I can always stick him down a well once I’m through with you. There isn’t going to be a Lassie to find him just like there wasn’t one to save your girl.” She takes slow steps towards Waverly as she talks.
Waverly squares her shoulders. Her stomach feels like a fist, clenched and angry. Constance takes that last final step. “Protego!” It bursts forth from Waverly’s mouth, wild as lightning and loud as thunder. Constance’s body makes a noise like she walked into glass. Her vile, playful, expression oozes off her features. Waverly smiles, proud of herself. “Oh, yeah. I used a Harry Potter spell on you, because guess what? It’s latin for protection.”
Constance’s fingers ghost over the invisible barrier. “Latin, huh?” She says it gently, like she’s trying not to spook a newborn lamb. She looks Waverly in the eyes as her face turns wicked. “Pefringo.” She states simply.
Waverly turns heel and runs before she can hear the magic barrier shake and shatter. Her feet fly beneath her as she beams straight for the house. Constance follows her with a slow villain walk as the sun sets behind her.
Waverly’s elbow thuds against the wooden door as she frantically turns the handle and pushes herself inside. She slams the door behind her and locks it. She shoves a metal broom handle and jammed it into Wynonna’s makeshift lock. She recedes into the darkness of the house, her footsteps melding into the creaks and moans of an old building.
The knob shakes as Constance turns it. “Waverly, I’m a witch. I’ve had congress with preternatural beings of unimaginable strength. You think a simple lock made by teenagers is going to keep me out.” Constance grabs the doorknob. It oozes between her fingers like a thick sludge until it’s a silver puddle on the ground, running down the sides of the door with the texture of mercury. The witch sticks her hand through the hole the doorknob once occupied. She grabs the metal broom handle and melts it away as easily as the doorknob. The air is thick with the stench of burnt metal, it aches in Waverly’s teeth, like chewing on aluminum
The floorboards creak loudly as Constance Clootie steps inside, as if the house itself was rejecting her. “Stop dawdling and come on out, Earp. You and your ghost friend can’t hide forever, there’s only some many places she can go… in fact,” she waves her hands over her eyes. “I’ll just put a spell on myself to reveal all your hidden little traps.”
She looks around the house from her view in front of the door, nothing special. Open cabinet doors, an overturned couch, an open window with drapes billowing. There was nothing in the shadows. No spells scrawled into the walls. Just, an old house.
She looks down and startles at the small kitten on the floor in front of her. It mews at her, eyes wide and expectant. Constance laughs humorlessly, “If I didn’t know better. I’d say this was the thing you were protecting. It is cute, but-” Constance holds her palm out to the kitten “-children shouldn’t play with dead things.”
“And witches get stitches.” Waverly says it like a warcry, the words burning themselves into the air against the icy blackness of Constance’s slow menacing talk. She slams a bag of rock salt into Constance’s back, it bursts open like a blister, spewing its contents onto Constance. She hisses and rages as it burns her skin, falling onto the ground from the force of the impact and the pain of the salt.
The kitten scurries away, a mess of limbs, after completing its task. Waverly runs too, closing the window she snuck out of as she runs behind the house. Her heart beats violently in her chest, an ocean in her ears.
“We might actually have this.” She whispers to herself, breathlessly.
Constance appears at her side, a blurred form into solid. Her skin has melted away in spots, some to the point of exposing the milk white of her bones. Her blood is thick and viscous, the wrong shade of red. A smell like bile rolls off of her. It chokes Waverly, making a home deep in her throat.
The witch grins, despite missing half of her right cheek. “Don’t get too cocky.”