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“Why do you pretend to not like each other?”
There was a pause in which Nanny Ashtoreth summoned some of her supernatural power to not give up into the urge to meet the eyes of Brother Francis over the rim of her book. Instead, she firmly kept her gaze on the little Antichrist in front of her.
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” she asked, her tone suggesting that she had very well understood what Warlock meant and didn’t approve of it.
Warlock, ever the little rebel (she was so proud), didn’t falter.
“You and Brother Francis,” he explained impatiently, “you always act like mum and dad – just the other way around. You really like each other.”
The boy looked at them with triumph in his eyes, obviously proud of his deduction even though he tried not to let it show.
“Now, now, young Master Warlock,” Brother Francis chided good-naturedly. “Your parents like each other just fine.”
“Do not,” Warlock insisted and gave him a cool glare as he would every now and then when Brother Francis offered an unsound explanation or spoke to him as if he was a child.
Nanny Ashtoreth knew that Warlock considered Francis to be a bit dumb in such moments.
“What do you think then?” she intervened.
Warlock’s face lit up as he took to the challenge, his brows coming together in a concentrated frown, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
“Mum and dad pretend to like each other because they are parents,” Warlock observed, sensibly offering something he had already figured out first.
Ashtoreth hummed encouragingly which earned her a disappointed head tilt from Francis. She ignored it.
Warlock’s eyes glistened triumphantly. Then he went back to being thoughtful.
“Mum and dad think they should be getting along but they really don’t” Warlock rephrased. His voice tainted with the effort he put up. “You and Brother Francis…you think you should not get along, but really do.”
“Do we?” Francis’ voice was somewhat high pitched. The corner of Nanny Ashtoreth’s mouth twitched.
“Yes,” the Antichrist emphasised with an air of superior annoyance that clearly told Brother Francis to keep up.
“And why would we pretend?”
“Are you…the opposite of married?”
It was a solid guess. His nanny was impressed.
“What would that be, darling?”
“Divorced!” Warlock exclaimed after a moment of most concentrated contemplation. He looked quite pleased with himself.
“You could put it like that,” Ashtoreth agreed, again avoiding Francis’ gaze.
“Ashley’s parents are divorced. But they don’t act like they like each other much. They don’t at all. Why did you become divorced if you like each other?”
“Circumstancess.” There was a rare hiss to Nanny Ashtoreth’s voice, but Warlock wasn’t disturbed by it.
“Is it because of religion?” (He had recently learned that Brother Francis was in fact a religious man, not an actual brother.)
“In a way,” Ashtoreth allowed.
“I think that’s stupid.” Warlock crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well, dear, one day, when you rule over the world-“
“-which you really shouldn’t,” Brother Francis interrupted dutifully.
“-you can change whatever you want,” Nanny Ashtoreth continued as if she hadn’t heard the other.
There was a longer pause in which Warlock considered that while Nanny Ashtoreth went back to reading and Brother Francis went back to pretending to tend to the house plants.
“When I rule the world, I can make you married again?” Warlock finally inquired.
Brother Francis reached for the pot with the daisies that, suspiciously, had not quite hit the ground when he had let it drop a second ago.
Nanny Ashtoreth seemed at a loss of words, regarding her little protégé thoughtfully from behind the shadow of her glasses.
“Well, dear,” she began as she usually did, “you will be of incredible power, so I suppose you can.”
“I dare say that would be quite rude of you, young Master, don’t you think?” Francis said hastily. His words sounded harder than they usually would even though his tone was as mild as ever.
Warlock turned to him. “Why?” he inquired.
“Well, you can’t just go around making people married against their will, can you. I think we should have a choice in that.” He looked flustered.
Nanny Ashtoreth raised an elegantly plucked eyebrow behind Warlock’s back.
“What an interesting moment to start believing in freedom of choice, Francis,” she observed, her voice uncharacteristically low.
“I don’t!” Warlock exclaimed proudly. “Besides, you do like each other. I’ll make you married as much as I want.”
“You do that, dear. But know that you may see things much differently by then.” The nanny leaned towards him, speaking in an intimate voice as if letting him in on a big secret. “You will know everything there is to know. That can change you.”
Warlock’s eyes shone with the prospect and with the amount of rightful arrogance that you’d expect from the future ruler of the apocalypse.
“In a good way?”
“Oh, no, darling,” Nanny Ashtoreth laughed reassuringly, “in the most terrible way.”