For an alleged God of Madness, Wanzewan was surprisingly methodical. Agatha was situated in her favorite seat, a little mahogany end table with just enough space for a notebook and the emerald Banker’s lamp on the corner. Her little helper could call out names, dates, and even their location via the Dewey Decimal system. The entire library was swept thoroughly in a little more than half an hour.
If she was impressed, it wasn’t showing. Cold determination and rapid pen movements were all she could afford to display. The chance of a breakthrough on her father’s whereabouts was too close now, despite low expectations. A thorough search of every yearbook and checkout slip in the last 40 years yielded 2 pages of names and possible aliases… To be checked manually, and hope they had relevant leads. In some ways, this was worse than leaving empty handed.
If ever there was a subject that was touchy to a Warlock, aside from asking for their True Name that binds them cosmically to reality as we know it, it’s asking their age. The man looked no older than 35 from the time she was born to the last goodbye, and the reason was clearly supernatural. Dad also hadn’t been very clear on the time period of his youth, but she knew he had gone to school in the area.
…We used the bunkers under the gym basement as a clubhouse, Her father would recall with nostalgia. But we had to cover our tracks since the janitor still cleaned and restocked them back then. This was one of only a handful of stories Agatha kept written down in her journal as her biggest leads, knowing full well that narrowing schools and years down by ‘With Bunkers’ and ‘Post war’ was still a very wide margin.
It was times like this that really contextualized just how far up the creek she was, and how little paddling could be done with a wooden spoon. Every day a new obstacle presented itself, she felt closer and closer to the white waters ripping her spoon away. The river was getting louder now as the waterfall approached. Head in her hands and tapping her feet, she appeared to be a bundle of hair operating a sewing machine. At the peak of anxiety, a voice struck from behind:
“Careful Agatha, the others might start to suspect you sleep and eat like the rest of us.” Skylar was proud of that one, and let it be known from the smile crease in every consonant. Agatha was shaken by that comment, decidedly not from the jab at her perfection complex, but the fact that she didn’t feel her eyes approaching at all. The prank was harmless though, and Skylar was the beginning and end of the list of people she would prefer to be startled by.
They’d been getting along like two peas in a pod from their first day of Home Economics. Skylar learned they may be the only two people to have seen Hocus Pocus in theaters this summer, and Agatha technically lied because she had seen it on TV about 15 years from now.
“Seriously, why’d you bother coming early if you’re just gonna sleep in? Or maybe you’re just stressed? I’d offer a cigarette but, you know, nicotine kills, kiddo.” She certainly has a way with words, Agatha thought, commanding her bangs to resume formation.
Her friend was garbed in the traditional Skylar Spencer attire: Orange beanie, matching scarf, oak brown and grass green sweater with blue jeans. She was a walking sunrise and landscape, with a matching personality: Optimistic, but down to earth. Her thin light brunette hair came down like baled hay poking out from the folds. If she wasn’t so fond of it, Agatha would have insisted on teaching her some haircare weeks ago.
“OK, you caught me in a moment of weakness. AP Bio is kicking my ass.” Her lie was swift, but immediately questioned.
“I find that hard to believe,” Said Skylar, “You’re kind of, like, an expert on Biology.”
What she was referring to was respectfully being left unsaid. At some point, the truth about Agatha being transgender had slipped to Skylar, and the whole thing really only served to strengthen their friendship. Skylar admitted her attraction to both boys and girls, and this being ‘93 naturally meant they had Mutually Assured Destruction material on one-another. At least for the rest of the year, if Skylar could manage attending graduation.
“Well…” Agatha started sheepishly, “I may have also had another spat with Meredith.”
“Your Foster Mom?”Skylar appeared to be doing algebra, weighing the tired girl before her, dividing by known Meredith Anecdotes and deriving the square root of her demeanor. Apparently she found the sum. “Wanna talk about it?”
Agatha adjusted in her seat, swinging around to speak eye-to-eye. “I disappeared again,” She started, fishing through her bag for the bane of her existence. “For a Little too long. Now she’s got me on a wirelessly transmitting leash.” Said bane was nestled between her thumb and forefinger, evoking imagery of a black obelisk towering over her. Few things could make Agatha look small, and the shame of it all was causing her to implode.
“Shit. Those are expensive. I think she likes you!” Said Skylar with a cackle.
Ugh. “Think she’ll bedazzle my collar, too? I was hoping for spikes, but I think she’ll get me gemstones. This isn’t some gift, Skylar!” Agatha did little to hide her frustration with that comment. Anyone else would have been offended or intimidated, but not Skylar. She knew this was just one of her more innocent antisocial tendencies. A leftover from when being tough was part of the job title for being a homeless youth. Her sympathy wasn’t pity, though. There was a heart, deep down, under the concrete and spite. She just had to dig.
Readying her proverbial jackhammer, Skylar began to chip away. “You know, you could be on lockdown right now. Full Rapunzel treatment. She shelled out cash for an expensive baby monitor instead. Meredith clearly made a compromise that cost her, and she thought the money was worth it. My mom grounded me for a month the first time she so much as smelled weed on me. “
“Glad to know it can always be worse, Skylar.” Sighed Agatha.
“What else are friends for?” Said Skylar half-heartedly, knowing she’d failed the speech check.
Agatha pondered this question, rather than treating it like the rhetorical question it was. She put on her best ‘constipated thinking’ face, then held up a finger:“Eating my Angel Food Cake?”
“I told you that was the dog!”
“I’ve seen you eat plenty of things off the floor Sky. I’m not convinced.” Said Agatha, sneering with her eyes.
There’s the smile I was looking for Agatha, her friend thought, happy at the expense of her own pride. She wished this side was more visible to her other classmates, fearing that she would be friendless next year. “Oh that reminds me, are you ever going to swing by the book club like I asked?”
Agatha was giving her a sideways glance. Book club? You’re not the type. It wasn’t just what she was thinking, it was in bold print all over her face. “Uh-huh, what day is that?”
“Normally it’s Thursday, 4:45 to 06:00, but it’s Friday this week. I swear it’s worth it. They have good taste! They read the kind with and without pictures.” Said Skylar, pleading in honesty. Her efforts did not go unnoticed.
“I’d love to… if I didn’t just promise Friday to Meredith. Some new show will be on, and she’s ordering takeout.” Said Agatha, trying to make the whole affair sound grueling.
Skylar crossed her arms and shook her head. “Only you know why the caged bird sings, Agatha.”Walking back playfully towards the library doors, she turned back and waved. “Hey, pack up your baby monitor or we’ll both be late for first period.”
Agatha managed to get both her pager and Wanzewan’s notebook form into her tote by the time Skylar looked back. “I’m never late Skylar, don’t worry about me.”
