“You can come in, Dear.” Meredith sputtered through a messy sob. The sickly light of what looked to be an even larger pager betrayed more details in the dark. Her face was glistening on one side, auburn hair down, caught by the stream in little strands. Moving slowly partly from sluggish sadness, and partly from caution, she reached towards her bedside lamp and clicked it twice. If Agatha was still dismissing the spell in her left hand, Meredith surely didn’t see it. The wrinkles in her bed sheets were doing their best to claim her attention. Despite mostly confirming that her foster-mother was probably not possessed by her newly acquired familiar, she still felt letting her guard down was a mistake. On cue, Meredith looked up, and her arms unfolded. Like a feral creature to its first meal in weeks, Agatha crossed the threshold of the bedroom door and right up to the open arms of danger.

The warmth and kindness radiating from this woman’s arms and torso was excruciating for the girl. Her jaw remained stern, vigilant as ever, but her shoulders relaxed and surrendered on impact. Meredith punctuated the change in posture with a gulp of tears. You really had me in the first half, Meredith. You played the stern parent so well, she reflected. It sounded backhanded, but she meant it endearingly. Agatha wasn’t sure that the line between neurotic pushover and actionable adult would ever be crossed. In a way, she was counting on the former, but part of her couldn’t help but be proud of her. On the other hand, she was hugging through clenched teeth, unable to articulate the frustration this pager represented. The sniffles and tears slowed down steadily over the course of the hug, until they separated and sat together, legs crossed. Meredith knew what she needed to say, and Agatha knew to wait for it. It came out like the last squeeze of toothpaste in an old tube:

“You know... I thought about giving you the two-way pager. I thought... I thought it would be so much safer. Beeping you, letting you send a number or an address back, knowing you were safe. But I couldn’t bare putting that much weight-- this burden, on you. The thought of being tied to this while trying to make friends, or focus on school... It was just too much, you know?”A remorseful smile shined through the red tangles in her face, and cracks began to form. Either another cry or a chuckle was coming.

“... but then my boss told me I couldn’t just give my pager to a teenager, because admin needed me to respond to on-call, and... I remembered that this was a discussion about my promotion.” Meredith chuckle-cried.

The sheer earnestness of it all was crashing down on Agatha’s carefully laid defenses. No, not like this. Get it together, maintain distance, and don’t crack. You can still undo this.

“I never meant to worry you, Mo-- Meredith, I’m really trying to... to do well. In school. I’m staying out of trouble... please.”

I really just had to punctuate that with an accidental ‘Mom’ didn’t I? Why couldn’t that have been with my Math teacher or something normal! She condemned, in searing rage behind soft doe eyes.

“But that’s just it, sweetheart. Everyone your age has some trouble.”

Agatha’s Heart had practically herniated into her pelvis.

“You don’t come home smelling like cigarettes. You don’t hang around the bad crowds. Or any crowds, for that matter. You keep to yourself, please all of your teachers.... Then you evaporate from thin air every day. For as long as you can get away with it.”

A momentary silence formed. Agatha nodded. Meredith continued.

“That first day you took off on your own to see the town, I thought you might just... run away. Never to be seen. I don’t know how the police ever found you, and I’m not sure they could do it a second time... But you did come back on your own. An hour after nightfall, you finally got back and merely asked if you could make Mac & Cheese. In that moment you made me question my capacity to understand... Teenagers. Parenting, and everything else that comes with this... this thing. But you also strengthened my reason for wanting to do this.”

Wow. I’ve really been acting like some kind of Alien toward her...  Agatha admitted in silent shame. I tested her unfairly and she’s pushing back just as hard. I deserve this.

“...Well. I’ve since learned not to pry. I either get silence or misdirection. If I can’t know what this... this secret life of yours is, so be it.” Said Meredith in complete resolve. Then as if from nowhere the dam broke. No chuckles, only wet sobs.

“But I can’t risk... losing you. There are people out there, things out there that would hurt anyone, but you especially! I can’t bare the thought that... somehow in trying to appease this... this need for space, that I give you so much space that I... I can’t reach you when you need it the most. I couldn’t forgive myself if anything ever happened to you. I can’t do that Agatha. I don’t have it in me. I’m sorry...!”

The monolith of Meredith crumbled and expanded into the wall of tears and hugs that Agatha was forced to catch. Her cool exterior remained, arms pressed but firm, but inside she was shaken to the core. Thoughts started but faded between whimpers. All She could do was hold this broken woman just a little tighter with each sigh. Eventually the well dried again, and Agatha had at least one thing to say.

“You’re... right. Right to do this, that is.”

Meredith was transfixed by this. Simultaneously impressed by the admission and waiting for the catch. It never came.

“If this will keep you from worrying, I’ll do it.”

It would have been so easy to drop a but I can take care of myself, but both of them knew it wasn’t necessary. It was simultaneously absent and implied. This young girl’s demeanor wasn’t that of a victim, it was the cold reckoning of a survivor. What Meredith thought, and Agatha knew, was that her independence would spell disaster for their relationship if the safety she offered was ever in question. Only one of them could live with that. It was this trailed thought that led to a kiss planted on the would-be-mother’s forehead, and a thoughtful, “Goodnight, Mere.”

    After closing the bedroom door behind her, Agatha’s eyes returned to sharpened icicles. Where are you, Wanzewan? I almost concussed my Foster Mother looking f--

ON YOUR BOOKSHELF

MOST HIDDEN FROM YOUR PEERS.

SO MUCH ENTICES ME HERE

I HAVE TASTED... NONE OF YOUR BANQUET.

The curious sensation of a Television on full blast coming from her bedroom, and knowing no one else could hear it, was a uniquely discomforting experience.

And the tote you were in?

IN YOUR CLOSET.

How did it get there?

I BROUGHT IT WITH ME.

You moved on your own?! What if Meredith had seen you?

IMPOSSIBLE. SHE CANNOT SEE THE SILK WORM TUNNELS.

Agatha took pause for clarity, shelved the questions, and decided to jump to the matter at hand. Back in the sanctity of her room, she flipped the light switch and scanned the room. There in the dead center of her wall mounted desk bookshelf was the Spiral notebook, nestled between some poetry and a cheap paperback novella. Opening the closet did reveal her tote, wet as ever, inside. Sighing, then contorting her face, she turned to face the spiral menace.

You cannot simply move things to avoid detection. This causes inconsistencies. I almost asked her of your whereabouts, and this would have been cause for suspicion. Do you understand?

I AM PUZZLED

WHY DID YOU NOT MERELY ASK FOR MY WHEREABOUTS?

Agatha hated how simple that solution was. Wanzewan being almost incapable of accusation made it all the more annoying. Ever the master of redirection, she posited,

Very well. You are granted autonomy in the event of imminent detection for the sole purpose of remaining obscured. Is that clear?

YES. BUT I HAVE ONE REQUEST.

...That would be?

MAY I CONSUME ONE OF THESE

MORSELS

Hardy Boys.

No sooner than her permission did the cheap pulp turn bright orange with ethereal embers and twisting tendrils. What looked like smoke formed and evaporated in a low hiss, but never managed to trip her smoke detector. A useful quirk, she decided.

Be sure to clean up after yourself, I don’t want ashes on my shelf by morning. And don’t touch the Silverstein.

In the absence of a response, she imagined Wanzewan knew better than to respond with their mouth full. Content to let herself doze to the rhythmic crackles of the book fire, she fell into a dreamless sleep permeated by only one thought: Did things just get easier, or harder?