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Rio couldn’t exactly explain how she knew when a soul was waiting for her. It was as if she got a feeling? A sense? Something otherworldly she had never really cared to explore. She knew her role, and she knew how to do it well. That was enough.
Rio stalked through the trees, a feeling in her stomach she’d never felt before. Almost… fear? Apprehension? A sense of foreboding? She knew why she had been brought here; to claim a soul, to take another body. But, something about this felt wrong. Familiar? Whatever it was, Rio was especially cautious walking through the trees.
Rio and Agatha had lived in this village for six months already- the longest they’d stayed anywhere since they met- and she hadn’t quite grasped the landscape yet. She knew how to get from the middle of the village to their cottage, and from their cottage to the middle of the village. She knew the paths Agatha strolled along with Nicholas, she knew the way to the lake they swam in. But, as is always true in her soul-collecting, Rio had been summoned to a random spot on the edge of the village, with only her perception to guide her towards her soul.
Leaves crunched beneath her as she danced through the forest, taking in the beauty of nature. Flowers had begun to bloom in the clearings, indicating the beginning of spring. She took in the fragrance as she walked, stopping briefly to pick some flowers. She could take them home to Agatha later. Bouquet in hand, she continued along the path. The trail became familiar, and Rio could almost tell where she was. The village centre was to her left, to the South. The sun began to set in front of her, casting an eerie shadow across the path, illuminating patches of woodland between the trees. She was headed West, towards the sunset. The feeling of unease returned.
And then, she knew.
The wind caressed her face as she walked towards the house, her strides growing faster with each step. The cottage came into view. From the outside, it was obvious the lanterns were not lit. There was no sound, no movement from the cottage. Almost as if it had been abandoned, sitting in the middle of the forest.
‘Agatha?’ Rio exclaimed, rushing into the house. ‘Where are you?’
Usually, she was met by a warm fire in the main room, Agatha making dinner in the kitchen. Tonight was different. The fire had not been lit, not for some time, and Rio could see her breath in the air, despite the darkness of the house. There was no sound from the kitchen, no clanking of pots in the kitchen, no humming as Agatha bustled around, preparing dinner for her family. The silence could have been peaceful, if Rio didn’t know what was waiting for her. She’d seen plenty of scenes like this before. But it had never been her own family. It had never been somebody she had loved.
She stepped through the archway separating the main room from the remainder of their cottage. The house groaned from beneath her as she stepped through the corridor. A quick glance into the kitchen confirmed what she already knew. The lantern was not lit. Agatha was not in the kitchen.
Rio heard a noise from the back of the cottage. She moved towards the source, leaving her standing in front of Nicholas’ room. It was small, barely bigger than a cupboard, but they had put in enough effort to decorate. Agatha had handsewn patchwork curtains from old clothes, while Rio had stencilled patterns onto the wall. The door was cracked open, and Rio could see Agatha’s silhouette on the floor.
‘Agatha?’ She whispered, pushing the door open. Agatha rested on Nicholas’ rug, his blanket scrunched in her hands. She didn’t acknowledge Rio, remaining hunched over the blanket.
Rio’s gaze flicked to the bassinet in front of her. Nicholas. He lay in his bassinet silently, not moving. If Rio hadn’t gotten the message already, she might have thought he was napping. She stepped closer, looking at his small, pale body, laid out on his bed. She reached over the bassinet, fingers stroking his cheek.
‘Don’t touch him.’ The hatred in her voice startles Rio, who takes a step back. Agatha scowls at her, visibly shaking. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘What happened?’
‘ What happened? ’ Agatha’s tone is almost mocking, her expression a picture of disgust. ‘You’re here. What do you suppose happened?’
‘What did you do to him?’ Rio regrets the sentence the second it leaves her mouth. The anger drains from Agatha’s face.
She hadn’t meant the implication. She knew Agatha would never purposefully hurt any child, especially not her own. Rio wasn’t entirely sure what she had meant by the comment. Did she not trust Agatha? The thought washed over her. She’d just considered the possibility that Agatha had taken the life of their own son, the boy they’d raised for two years, the boy they had loved and held. The son they had begged the universe to bring them. Did she really think Agatha was capable of such cruelty?
‘Do you think I would hurt our boy?’ She whispers, standing from the floor.
She covers Nicholas with his blanket, tucking his arms and legs beneath it. She turns to Rio, tears filling her eyes. She stares for a moment, as if she’s begging Rio to answer her question. Daring her to confess her true thoughts.
‘I wouldn’t hurt him.’ Her voice is sombre, but she isn’t trying to convince Rio. There’s something devastating about it. To Agatha, Rio had just accused her of killing her own child, and she was too grief-stricken to defend herself.
Agatha nodded her head, as if accepting the silence as an explanation. She walked from the room, closing the door behind her. Closing the door on her family.
Rio took the time to look at Nicholas, sweeping his wisps of hair away from his face. He was cold to the touch, undeniably dead. Rio wouldn’t have been sent if he wasn’t, she knew. She was death. It wasn’t her job to save lives but, if she could, she would have saved Nicholas a million times.
She felt the flowers in her hand, the bouquet she had collected for Agatha. The spikes stuck into her palm, but she did not bleed. She placed the flowers beside Nicholas, a final gift of sorts. There was nothing she could do but stare at her lifeless son, and wonder what could have become of him.
Nicholas, the mortal child of death and a Salem witch, a being whose existence should never have been possible in the first place.
—
She cowered outside the door, arms wrapped around her chest as though she were hugging herself. Her body shook with incredulity. Agatha presses her fingernails into her palm, hiding from Rio’s gaze. Rio stepped out from Nicholas’ room, closing the door.
‘Would you like to say goodbye?’ Her voice was soft, cautious.
‘I want you to bring him back.’
‘I cannot do that.’ She takes Agatha’s hands in her own, stroking the nail marks in her hands. Her palms were warm as they shook against Rio’s touch.
‘Why not? You did it for me.’ Rio can feel the heartbreak in her voice as she tilts her head to look at Rio.
She knows she’s right, at least on the surface. She brought Agatha back because she was on the road too, because the road and the earth surface were different realms, with different rules and procedures. Agatha had made a deal with her. Other bodies in place of hers. As long as Rio had other witches to take, she didn’t need Agatha. It wasn’t the same for Nicholas. Nicholas was a baby. He was incapable of reason. He was too young, too innocent. She could protect him better than Agatha could. She could save him from the horrors of the world. Taking the soul of a loved one was the ultimate gift and Rio wished Agatha could see her perspective. But she couldn’t. It was clear from the poison in her voice and the shake in her body, that Agatha saw Rio taking her son away, not saving him. She knew that it was impossible to ask a mortal being to understand, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying. Rio wished she could say anything to take her lover’s pain away.
‘I will never forgive you if you do this,’ Agatha replied. ‘If you throw our life away, I will too.’
‘My love, I cannot.’
Agatha nodded silently.
‘I need some air,’ She muttered, tears forming in her eyes. Rio let go of her hand.
In a way, Rio felt as if she were letting go of Agatha forever.
—
Rio was left in the silence of her home, with the corpse of her son.
Agatha clearly didn’t want this life anymore. She didn’t want Rio, she didn’t want their family. She didn’t want to bury her son.
Rio glances over at the bassinet, almost expecting him to cry. If only Nicholas would cry, and then she could scoop him up in her arms and run after Agatha, begging her to come home. To her. To their son.
But Nicholas did not cry. And Agatha did not return.
Rio waited until night fell over the village, the dull lantern her only source of light as she carried Nicholas’ weightless body through the trees. The moon had hidden behind the clouds and Rio could taste the impending rainfall in her mouth. She walked until she was far enough away from the village that nobody would spot her. Nobody would be in the forest this late, nobody Rio wanted to associate with, anyways. The dense treeline faded as she approached a small lake. The same lake she had taken Agatha to during the summer. Where they had taken Nicholas for his first, and only, swim. Where they had fished with their nets and caught small bass to take home for dinner. Where Rio had collected flowers, and Agatha had chased Nicholas around the lake.
Rio thought it was a fitting place.
She placed Nicholas on the soil beside her. She had taken the time to wrap him attentively in white cloth, a few of his possessions tucked in beside him. A wooden toy he had adored. One of Agatha’s pendants. A spell jar made by Rio. She stared at the boy for a while, watching for any source of movement. But, it didn’t happen. Nicholas was undeniably dead, and he had been for several hours.
Rio dug into the soft ground with her hands, the recent rainfall making the ground malleable. When she was finished, she gently picked up Nicholas and placed him into the hole. It felt almost wrong for her to leave him here, in the dark and cold by himself. But, she knew she had no choice. Agatha wouldn’t bury him.
‘God, Nicholas. I’m so sorry,’ She finds herself apologising to him even though she didn’t kill him. Neither had Agatha. He was always meant to live a short life. Any life Rio created couldn't possibly survive. Rio wasn’t sure how much comfort that information would bring.
She scooped the dirt on top, pressing it down with her hands. The ground looked disturbed, and she knew that anybody passing by would immediately recognise how out of place it looked. Thankfully, nobody walked through these trees.
Rio turned to the flowers beside her.
White roses. Innocence and purity.
She placed it on top of the mound. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a small slate stone. ‘ NICKY’ was scribed across it, painted by Rio as decor for his room. She supposed, in a way, it was still decorating his room. His forever room. His resting place.
If Rio could feel grief, she would have felt it then.
—
Rio wasn’t expecting Agatha to be sitting on the porch when she came back. She had figured Agatha would have left the village, moved on to another without a glance backwards. She had always been good at moving on. But this; Agatha with red eyes as she sat under the wooden roof, clutching Nicholas’ teddy as if her life depended on it. This wasn’t the scene of a woman who didn’t care. It was the scene of a grieving mother.
‘Agatha?’ Rio asks softly, walking towards her.
Her head lifts slightly, as if to acknowledge Rio, but it doesn’t break her gaze.
‘I’m so sorry.’ It’s all Rio can think to say. It’s pathetic and she knows it. But it was true. And the truth meant something.
‘You did not kill him,’ Agatha’s voice is hoarse, as if she had been crying, or screaming. Rio knew Agatha wasn’t the type. But, everything that had happened in the previous twelve hours had been surprising, and this had not been the pinnacle.
‘Neither did you.’
‘I killed him because I gave him life,’ Her voice is venomous, and it almost takes Rio by surprise. ‘And you did not save him.’
Rio felt the insult flood her bones. She wanted to grab Agatha and shake some sense into her, to scream in her face until she understood. But it wasn’t worth it. Agatha could never understand.
‘That’s not fair. Not to either of us.’
‘You know what ‘isn’t fair’? Nicholas being dead.’
‘Agatha, if I could have stopped him from dying-’
Agatha scoffed. ‘You bent the rules for me.’
But, it was so much more than that. She brought Agatha back because she loved her. She loved Nicholas too, but it wasn’t the same type of love. And as much as Rio wanted Agatha’s soul; to kill and keep her with her forever, it wasn’t what Agatha wanted. And what was love without sacrifice?
‘You have dirt on your hands,’ Agatha whispered. Rio’s thoughts snapped back to reality, and noticed Agatha looking at her, tears in her eyes. Her voice shakes as she asks. ‘Did you bury him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘By the lake,’ Rio replies. Agatha nodded, seeming to understand the significance. Then, her face twists. ‘He’s going to be so cold.’
Rio takes Agatha into her arms, holding her up as she sobs. She doesn’t stop when the rain begins. The storm only seems to drown out her sorrow. She doesn’t stop when the water leaks through the porch roof, streaming down onto them. She doesn’t stop when thunder strikes behind them. She only stops when Rio shuffles slightly.
‘Let us go to bed, my love.’ Rio is soft, quiet, and calm. Everything Agatha wanted, needed. She just wished it hadn’t come from the woman who had refused to save her son.
When the sunlight streamed through the laced curtains the following morning, Rio wasn’t surprised to turn around to an empty bed. She sits up, looking around. Silence. Agatha wasn’t there. A folded piece of paper on the table catches her eye.
‘No, no, no,’ Rio mutters, feet pattering across the cold wooden floor towards the table.
Agatha’s writing swirled out the message:
I’m not angry. But I can’t pretend I forgive you. I never will.
Goodbye, my love.
‘Agatha?’ She calls through the cottage. It’s pointless, and part of her knows that, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. It doesn’t stop Rio from rushing around the cottage, calling out her name. It doesn’t stop her from calling out her name as she roamed through the trees, looking for any signs of where Agatha had gone. But, Agatha was gone, the only reminder of her presence the small memoirs left in the cottage.
The village square, the river, Nicholas’ grave.
Rio looked anywhere Agatha could have been. It was futile, and Rio was well aware, but she would never forgive herself if she didn’t even try. S he found herself back at the cottage, back where it all began and all ended.
Never, not in a million years, could Rio have ever imagined this would be the way it ended. She knew she played a dangerous game, following in love with a mortal, allowing herself to feel that love. Rio should have ended things there. She had allowed herself to have a child with a mortal, something which fundamentally broke every universal law. She wasn’t sure what was worse- having a child with a mortal, or expecting that child could ever live a normal life. Perhaps it was for the best that Agatha had left. Rio could save her from any more pain, in the way she couldn’t save Nicholas.
Agatha was right. This was all Rio’s fault. If she hadn’t created Nicholas, he would not have died. If she hadn’t allowed herself to fall in love with Agatha, she never would have been hurt. If she had remembered her place, as death, not as life, then perhaps she could have saved somebody she loved from the worst pain possible.
Death hurt people.
She hurt people.
Nothing had made Rio feel alive like Agatha had. A fleeting love, doomed from the start. A sacred and yet forbidden passion. It had gone against every rule in the universe, the natural order of the world.
And yet.
Death had found happiness in life.