Agnes Waters is back at the Café…
And she’s meeting an old enemy. Or rather, the old enemy has come looking for her. Though he disrupts her delightful afternoon tea, he’s not there to cause trouble. In fact, Nickolas has tracked Agnes down to ask for help. Agnes holds grudges for a very long time, and her grudge against Nickolas still burns hot.
But curiosity travels with Agnes through the eons, and Nickolas’s story strikes her interest.
Agreeing to help an old nemesis means endangering past secrets. And puts her beloved Café at risk. It could also provide answers to keep everything she cares for safe, though.
And Agnes will go a long way to keep the people she cares about safe.
AGNES ONCE AGAIN AT THE CAFE is available to read for free until the 1st of September, when another story will be posted. For readers who would prefer to read on a device of preference, or who would like their own personal eBook of this story, you can find it here.
***
Agnes Once Again at the Café
A Café Story
Agnes Waters didn’t usually mind when things didn’t go to plan because that often involved moments of entertainment and interest. Agnes had been around on this earth for a very very long time, and that meant interest and entertainment could often be hard to come by.
She did enjoy her peace and quiet, time to enjoy a good book and sip excellent tea, which was the reason she found herself at the café so often these days. Attached to a bookstore which stocked books that appealed to Agnes’s taste—she suspected on purpose once she’d become a regular—the café stocked an excellent selection of teas, some of which could be hard to come by. All of which made this a wonderful spot for Agnes to enjoy passing time without noticing it so much.
When one lived as long as she had, moments when time passed unnoticed were quite wonderful.
Today, however, it seemed her peace and quiet were doomed to be interrupted. And while she didn’t normally mind these things, in this particular case, she was less than happy about the disruption.
Nickolas Costas settled into a seat across from her without invitation. Agnes narrowed her nostrils on her inhale but didn’t comment on his manners immediately. She was quite curious what had brought him here, after all this time, even if seeing him wasn’t something she was particularly pleased about.
She raised a brow at the intrusion and he had the grace to look uncomfortable. Well. That was something at least.
Around them, the café bustled with the usual midday business. People coming and going from the comfortable tables and couches that Nina, the owner of the café, had scattered around the seating area. The whir of the espresso machine as Nina and her assistant Akira served up drinks and pastries. Nina’s witch familiar, Boo, a giant pale gray Maine Coon, sprawled on his too small stool, ignoring everyone.
There were a few regulars in the café, people Agnes was used to seeing but whom she’d had little conversation with. Frank, the writer, sitting at the back of the café pounding away at his keyboard. The goddess Diana sitting near the entrance to the bookstore, flipping through magazines and trying to pretend she wasn’t a goddess—and that she and Agnes had never met. Agnes happily played along with the ruse. There was something entertaining about being in a room with someone almost as old as she was while they both pretended to be of this modern era.
There was Nina’s admirer, Rhys Witherby, sitting near the front window, pretending to watch the pedestrians outside while sneaking glances at Nina. And just in through the café door, the young guitar player, Jamar, who’d only just recently discovered his true sound—with the help of Boo—made his way to the counter. The minute Jamar headed to his usual seat in a nook near the register, Boo jumped off his stool and went to join the musician. They had grown quite fond of each other over the last month or two—though she was certain Jamar had no idea Boo was a witch’s familiar and could speak. Boo was quite good at his guise as an ordinary cat.
With all the familiar murmuring and noise of the café around her, the scents of excellent coffee and tea, the undertone of buttery pastries and the hint of paper and ink from the bookstore, Agnes felt in her element. Which made this a good place for her to be having this meeting. But it also somewhat stained her feelings about the place. She’d have preferred Nickolas never come here. She didn’t want to associate him with the café in any way.
“This is unexpected,” she said as she stared at him over her tea mug. Just to set the tone. She ensured her “unexpected” couldn’t be interpreted as her being happy to see him either.
“Agnes,” he greeted, with more civility than she was giving him. “You’re looking well.”
“As always. You haven’t changed much.”
He was still average height, and quite lean, dark hair, almost black in the soft café lighting, and dark brown eyes. He’d had a full beard and mustache the last time, she thought. Or maybe that was the time before. Now he just had a groomed goatee. His skin tone leaned toward olive brown and he had a distinct, island-shaped plum-colored birthmark on the side of his neck that had actually caused him trouble in certain centuries. He was currently dressed in a gray, three-piece suit, which suited him she was irritated to admit, and the watch chain hanging from the vest pocket looked gold instead of brass. Which would also suit him.
The last time she’d dealt with him in any way that was more than passing, he’d been dressed significantly differently, a doublet and breeches as she recalled. Working with those horrible witch hunters in Spain. So unbecoming.
They’d had the bad fortune to bump into each other since then, of course, or he wouldn’t know the name she was currently using. A name she was quite fond of. It sounded antique and she was old enough to appreciate that small tell.
“Why are you here?” she asked, getting straight to the point so they could get this over with.
“I can’t just wish to catch up with an old…friend.”
She snorted, very inelegantly, and gave him a look. He smiled slightly and tilted his head in a nod of acknowledgement.
They were not friends. They had never been friends. And often, they were on opposite sides of history. She was significantly older than he was, of course. There was no one like Agnes in this world. Even most of the gods had come into existence after Agnes. But there were a few beings who lived quite a long time. And the world was only so large. Eventually, one did tend to run into people one had met before. If one lived long enough.
“I have a request,” Nickolas said after a moment.
“No,” Agnes answered with a smile.
“No, what?”
“That’s my answer to your request. No.” She nodded to the café door. “Now, since you aren’t staying, perhaps you can leave sooner rather than later.”
He let out an exasperated sigh and leaned back in his chair. As was her want, she’d taken one of the tables in the middle of the seating area, a comfortably sized, round wooden table with a wooden chair. The couches and low-slung, cushioned seats were all well and good for some, but Agnes preferred something with a little more structure and stiffness. And she liked the poetic symmetry of sitting on something hard while reading erotica. It was her own little private joke.
She was pleased to see the seats were not to Nickolas’s personal preference. He moved around more in the seat than was necessary, and huffed in discomfort, glancing at a set of unoccupied cushioned seats against the wall. She ignored his pointed look and continued to stare daggers at him.
That was a nice turn of phrase. Staring daggers at someone. It had a very evocative imagery. And perfectly suited her current stare.
“You’re being difficult,” Nickolas said.
She raised her brows. “So?”
He snarled. “I would not be here if this wasn’t important, Agnes.”
“What is important to you is often the opposite of what is important to me.”
“You’re still mad about the witches.”
“I am still mad about the witches.”
Agnes wasn’t a patron saint of witches, necessarily. She liked some, disliked others. Case in point, she was quite fond of Nina. An excellent example of the species, really. But what Agnes couldn’t abide was the willy nilly slaughter of women in the name of some man-made religion—and yes, she meant “man” in this case, because the women weren’t slaughtered in religions made by women very often.
Agnes had lived through several of the human sacrifice eras of humanity. Honestly, there was still a bit of that in the way humans dealt with each other. She was not unfamiliar with human-created horrors. But when someone like Nickolas got actively involved in and encouraged those atrocities, she did tend to get her knickers in a twist, as they say.
“This is something you’ll find important then,” he said, without any shred of regret or even an attempt at an apology.
Not that she’d accept an apology. He wouldn’t mean it.
Agnes had, of course, dealt with many kinds of beings over the years. Including demons. Sometimes, she was even fond of the occasional demon—a few of them did have redeeming qualities like artistic skills, or they were simply entertaining. She interacted with beings that were, at their core, evil. And could somehow manage to remain emotionally distanced from that.
It was not the same with Nickolas. It would probably take therapy to uncover why she was still so angry with him, and couldn’t rise above the anger. Shame there weren’t any therapist who understood what Agnes was and could help.
“Have you started encouraging witch burnings again?” she asked, because yes that still bothered her a lot.
“Of course not. That time is well behind the human world.”
She pressed her lips together primly. She got online. She’d seen things. She didn’t trust a certain modern segment of the human race to not engage in witch burnings again. Or at least to try it.
“But…this does have to do with witches.”
“Then no.”
“I’m not on your wrong side of the situation this time.”
“You are always on my wrong side.”
“Agnes…”
“Nickolas…”
He really brought out the immaturity in her. And given how long her existence had been, that was saying something.
“Stop, please,” he said. “Just hear me out.”
The “please” had her brows raising. “Please? It must be important. You’re not usually polite.”
“I need your help.”
“I doubt it.”
“There’s a woman who’s holding a document that, if it falls into the wrong hands, could lead to many deaths. Deaths of people she wouldn’t want killed.”
“And how are your hands not the wrong hands?”
“I don’t want these people dead.”
“Since when?”
He huffed and shook his head. “Since I found religion?”
She snort-laughed, nearly choking on her tea. Across the café, she spotted Diana flip her magazine with a little more force than was necessary and rip a page. Anges wasn’t entirely sure what that was about, but Nickolas making a very bad joke about religion in front of a goddess did have some amusing irony to it.
Unfortunately, he’d also sparked Agnes’s curiosity. Curiosity was one of the few things that made her very long existence possible. She had an enormous amount of it. And thanks to that curiosity, each era, each century, each year had something interesting in it for her. Something that allowed her to move through so much time without any of the tiresome emotions like ennui and boredom. Life was never boring, when one was curious.
“My tea is getting cold and I need a new cup. You have the length of time it takes for me to finish the rest of this—” she lifted her mug, “—to explain your request. At which point, we will be done.”
Nickolas sighed. “I suppose that’s more than I could have hoped for.”
“No it isn’t, or you wouldn’t be here.” She made a show of sipping her tea and raised her brows at him.
“Fine. There is a woman who collects the histories of witches. She’s quite a good historian and very good at locating and acquiring documents that most people don’t even believe exist.”
Well, Agnes might not be interested in Nickolas’s request but she was now interested in this historian. She liked historians. There was, of course, a lot they got wrong. But how could they not? They had to work off sometimes unreliable narratives and writings from victors. Much of the smaller writing, the things written by women that outlined the day-to-day of life were lost to time because men didn’t feel the need to save them. And often, record keepers simply lied to inflate their own egos or their ruler’s ego. Unless you were there, it could be very difficult to know.
But Agnes loved the way historians tried. They so loved the past, and she did so love discussing that past with them. It was the closest she got to being able to discuss what and where she’d been and done with someone who might have a clue.
She didn’t say as much to Nickolas, and wasn’t sure he’d know of her fondness for historians. He was probably here because of her fondness for witches. But the bastard had roped her into his story, even if he hadn’t realized he was using a double lure.
“She’s even gained access to some demon witch documents that the hunters haven’t been able to acquire.”
Agnes deigned to raise her brow at that because it was actually quite impressive. “If this is about demon witches, you’re better off discussing it with demon hunters.”
“This isn’t directly about demon witches,” he said. “That was more a demonstration of the historian’s abilities. The document she acquired, just two weeks ago, actually traces back to seventeenth century witch trials. A set of trials that have managed to remain…unrecorded in human chronicles.”
Agnes clenched her teeth together over her knee-jerk snarl. Then very carefully took another sip of tea. It really was excellent tea. But it was cooling. She was near the end of her patience for all this.
“And,” Nickolas said, “this document records the existence of my son.”
***
Nickolas having a son gave Agnes pause. She stilled with her cup halfway to her mouth. She hadn’t known Nickolas had a son back in the seventeenth century.
She was not biological capable of reproduction, and that was as it should be because there was not enough room on this planet for beings such as herself that lived as she did and could reproduce. But over the years, she’d had call to…adopt the occasional child. Foster might be a better word. Though there were a few she could claim to have adopted, acting as parent right through most of their lives.
And perhaps that’s where her anger with Nickolas and the witch burnings came in. She’d adopted a boy, a good century and a half before that. A boy who’d captured her heart and was as much a son to her as any child she’d ever encountered. He went on to have a lovely family, and a line that was still going the last time she’d checked. She’d, of course, had to drop out of their lives before it became too obvious she was immortal. But she did check in on his descendants occasionally.
There were many witches in that family.
None had been the subject of Nickolas’s particular atrocities. But perhaps that was the reason she hated and could not get over what he’d done. Hmm. No need for a therapist after all. The witch trials had just, perhaps, hit too close to home. In a manner of speaking.
And now, to discover that Nickolas had a son of his own—perhaps adopted, or perhaps biological. Nickolas wasn’t unable to reproduce. He was just not very good at it. All long-lived beings had some limits on their ability to create offspring, or those offspring would overrun the planet. Biology was a wonderfully complex thing. She quite enjoyed it and the study of it. Although, this wasn’t really the moment for that interest.
That Nickolas had someone he called “son” was really the point. Someone who’s existence was actually recorded. That was…interesting. If he’d just been a human, like those children Agnes sometimes adopted, then there should be no reason for Nickolas to fret much over this document. An ordinary human, living an ordinary, if potentially abhorrent, life showing up in a historical document was neither here nor there.
“My tea is almost finished,” she said, taking another deliberate sip.
“My son wasn’t one of the witch hunters,” Nickolas said. “He was one of the…witches.”
Well, that was…what did the Hindus call it? Karma. That felt like Karma to Agnes. “Was he burned?”
Her question was blunt and to the point, and Nickolas had the grace to wince.
He sucked in air through his nose, an action that narrowed his nostrils and made the mustache part of his goatee ruffle. Then he said, “They tried. He, of course, did not burn.”
Interesting. “So…biological son, then?”
“Biological son.”
“Mazel tov.”
“This isn’t a joke, Agnes.”
“Neither was my wishing you joy of him.” She shrugged. “Although maybe I wasn’t sincere either.”
“I cannot have records of him turning up in histories kept by humans. That document was…lost before I could retrieve and destroy it. But it records the fact that he did not burn. It gives evidence that…beings such as ourselves exist.”
“You and I are not the same.”
“Would a human know the difference?”
“A witch might.” She rather thought Nina, the witch who ran this café, would have a good idea of the difference one day. If she survived another century—and there was no reason for Agnes to think she wouldn’t. Though, if she kept hanging around with a vampire hunter…
At any rate, a witch would know that Nickolas was something different than Agnes.
His kind had been called many things through the eons. Gods—though they weren’t, and Diana would absolutely object to that moniker. Demi-gods, which got rather closer to the point. Ancient ones, worked even if it did tend to insult some of them. She rather thought they might be called superheroes in this era, or perhaps supervillains, depending on one’s perspective and the individual being’s actions. Nickolas would, in her book, definitely be a villain.
At any rate, there had been documentation to record them and/or tell the story of some of them through the years. This wouldn’t be the first “evidence” of a being that didn’t fit the definition of mundane. There were even occasional references to Agnes in the annals of history. She found those reference very amusing, quite entertaining really.
Given how much time had passed, how many different names and “lives” Nickolas and his son would have lived since this document was created, she couldn’t imagine how it would pose any threat to his son.
“I do not see how this has anything to do with me,” she said, “and I have one more sip left. Then I’ll need a new cup, and that will be the end of our conversation.”
Nickolas laid a hand on the table. He didn’t try to touch her, but the imploring gesture was not lost on her.
“Please,” he said again.
Fascinating. He kept using that word. She hadn’t thought it part of his vocabulary—except maybe for use in a sarcastic manner.
“I need to retrieve this document. It’s important, Agnes. But…the witch refuses to negotiate with me. She seems to know that I’ve been no friend to her kind, though I’m not sure how. Instinct perhaps. She seems aware that I’ve a past linked to enemies of her kind.”
“Which you do.” Agnes sniffed. “And your own offspring ended up in the clutches of the very people you sided with.”
“I’m aware of the irony. It’s irritating as fuck.”
She chuckled.
“None of this is the point.”
She made a show of bringing her cup to her lips for her last sip.
“Agnes, please!”
“You need to get to the point, because I haven’t heard it yet and you have been rambling on for some time now.”
“The point is that the document can trace my son’s children forward.”
“Your son has children?”
“Had them at the time the trials tried to burn him.”
Well. That meant Nickolas’s family was more extensive than she’d known. How irritating. She’d have rather liked to have known that before this moment.
“There are…names and dates and things that would allow an astute person to follow the genealogy to my great grandson. And he is…not like the rest of us. He’s vulnerable. He is more of the human half of his family.”
“Is there a reason you think this witch would be bothered tracing your lineage and finding your great grandson? And if she did, what makes you think she’d be a threat to him.”
“She wouldn’t necessarily be. She might not have any interest in tracing my line. She’s not the one I’m worried about.”
“Ah.” So. He had enemies and they might get their hands on this document. Trace his descendant. Punish Nickolas by killing one of his great grandsons.
Irony and Karma. Some combination.
“I suggest you ensure your great grandson is protected, then, and get on with life. I’ve still not heard why I should be involved in any of this.”
“My great grandson isn’t the only one who can be traced through this record. There are a number of others…” He flattened his mouth, then said, “The people who would endanger my relative, they are very much the modern version of those centuries old witch hunters. They will kill all the descendants found through those documents. They might even discover the reality of beings like me, and come after us. That would endanger you, too, Agnes.”
She snort-laughed and gave him a look. From across the café, she heard Diana chuckle as well.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nickolas.” She paused to admire the rhyme in that. Then said, “I’m in no danger here. We both know that. And again, I’m seeing Lady Karma at work. Or perhaps I have that wrong. It’s been a while. I’d have to reread some books. But it feels like a Karma thing, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t risk this group discovering people like me exist, and I will not let them harm my great grandson.”
“Good for you,” Agnes said. “Good luck with that.”
“Agnes, damn it. Please.”
“Again with the please. Are you sure you know what it means?”
“I need you to get the document back from the witch. She won’t deal with me. She’ll deal with you.”
“Why should I bother?”
“She’ll be killed by the people who want it. They will take it from her and kill her. They might take all the history records she’s kept. All that information on witches through the centuries. There might even be information on that line of witches you…check on every now and then.”
Agnes’s mouth flattened. She hadn’t realized Nickolas knew about her witches.
“I kept them out of the trials,” he said quietly. “I ensured no suspicion was ever turned their way, even though I knew who they were.”
“That’s supposed to make what you did better?”
“No. But perhaps it will buy me a modicum of grace from you.”
“Not really.” Actually, maybe a little. But not much at all.
Because he’d still happily involved himself in the torture and destruction of other people’s loved ones. That he’d avoided harming people she personally cared about could have just as easily been him attempting to keep her uninvolved. It hadn’t really worked. She’d still involved herself, ensuring any number of “witches” got away from the trials.
Perhaps if they’d ever targeted one of her son’s descendants, she would have done more. Destroyed them all. Possibly.
It was easy to see how Nickolas’s motives were more selfish than any attempt to rescue those she’d consider family. So, no, he got no grace from her for his actions.
“Agnes, they will kill hundreds of innocent humans. They will restart the witch trials. They are as fanatical as the people I was associated with in Spain. Maybe more. True believers.”
“Mmm.” Agnes really couldn’t abide “true believers.” That term was so rarely applied to good people in this era. “And you think all it will take to prevent that disaster is to destroy this one document the witch historian has in her keeping? That’s a very simplistic view of history, Nickolas. Especially for you.”
“It isn’t the only thing it will take,” he acknowledged. “But it will keep my son and my great grandson off their radar. It will keep a lot of other witch descendants off their radar as well. And it will keep the records of a witch historian out of their hands.”
“How? If they know she exists, there’s no reason for them not to go after her, even if she no longer has the specific document you’re interested in.”
Which was a complication she might have to look into. But Nickolas didn’t need to know that part.
“They are still…unaware of her. They know the document was uncovered. They’re looking for it. They don’t know who she is, or that she has the records she has. They will only know about those histories if they find her with this document.”
Agnes sighed. She quite doubted Nickolas was telling the truth about this last part. He wasn’t an honest being. Although, she did believe some of what he’d revealed. The note about his great grandson being vulnerable and more human than not rang true.
Honestly, she wouldn’t mind meeting this witch historian and chatting with her. She imagined there was a lot the witch could tell her. And that would be very entertaining.
“What do you suggest?” Agnes had some suggestions of her own, but she wanted to hear what Nickolas had in mind first. Mostly to see if she could gage if there was any duplicitous intent. She’d like to ferret out any nefarious plot before taking part in it, thank you very much.
He glanced around the café, his gaze skimming over Nina behind the counter. Then he met Agnes’s gaze. “We could ask Ms. Alexander to meet us here, as a neutral space, and you can talk her into handing over the document.”
“To you?”
“It does have my great grandson recorded in it.”
“What about giving the document to me. For safe keeping. That seems a much better idea. Don’t you think?” She watched his expression closely as she threw out the suggestion. Watched his eyes darken, his mouth flatten, his jaw tighten. Hmm. Not pleased with that idea at all.
“I’d rather my descendant’s fate isn’t in your hands either.”
“Why not? My hands are perfectly safe. And your descendant has nothing to fear from me.”
Nickolas raised his brows at that.
“You doubt me? Nickolas, I’m wounded. After all these years. You think I would use an uninvolved human to get back at you for all the shitty things you’ve done?”
“I would.”
“I know.” Her turn to flatten her mouth. “I very much know.”
He sighed. “I would like to ensure the document is locked away and can’t be accessed by the…people looking for it—”
“Not destroyed?” she interrupted. That was unexpected. She’d assumed he’d want to destroy the record to ensure his great grandson’s safety and also hide any links to himself.
“Personally, I’d prefer it destroyed. But the witch will not turn it over if I do that.”
“What’s stopping you from lying to her?” Agnes was still not sure what she personally had to do with any of this. Why he was looking to her to negotiate for the document. There was more to this and he was so very reluctant to admit it. What was it?
“Nothing,” he said, maybe a little too fast. “But she won’t negotiate with me because I’m not a witch. She doesn’t know I was…directly involved all those centuries ago in Spain, of course.”
“Of course,” Agnes growled.
“But she refuses my overtures of friendship and a business arrangement.”
“Why?”
He sighed. Shook his head. Looked toward the front door to the café.
“Fine,” Agnes said. “Don’t tell me.” She emptied her cup and said, “Good luck to you, Nickolas. I hope for your grandson’s sake you’ll be successful in your quest.”
She started to stand, to go get her next cup of tea. She’d really been enjoying her book, so it would be nice if Nickolas left. She’d look up this Ms. Alexander later, of course. And probably try to ensure the document Nickolas was worried about was well hidden from any fanatics. And she’d ensured Ms. Alexander was safe from the same fanatics.
But Nickolas didn’t need to know about any of that.
“Wait!” He half stood, half reached for her. The gesture drawing attention from others in the café.
A significant tell of his desperation, because this was not the sort of time when he’d wish to draw attention to himself.
Agnes glared down at him as he settled back in his seat.
“Please,” he said. Again. “Please sit down and listen to the rest.”
“Oh, Nickolas, you of all people know that I have no patience for things that are not entertaining to me. And this story stopped being entertaining when you refused to admit why you can’t negotiate with the witch on your own.”
“If you sit, I will explain,” he hissed out under his breath.
“Hmm.” She considered her mug. “I still need more tea.”
“I’ll get you another. Just…sit.”
“I don’t trust you with my drink. I’ll be back in a moment.” She started away, turned back. “You can remain there until I get back. But I warn you, my patience is very short now.”
She went up to the counter, where Nina met her with a concerned gaze, flicking a look toward the table. “You okay, Agnes? You want me to remove him from the café?”
Agnes smiled and shook her head. “No. I’m actually much more entertained than I’m letting on.” She leaned in to whisper this so Nickolas wouldn’t hear. “But it wouldn’t do for him to know that. He’s a nasty piece of work, and I have no soft feelings for him. But he’s telling me a good story. And I’d like to hear the ending.”
“Okay.” Nina smiled a little, but then grew serious again. “But the minute you want him gone, I will ensure he leaves.”
“I thought you might.” She considered Nina a moment. The “story” of witches and a witch history keeper might be of interest to her. Nina might even know the history keeper. But that was something they could discuss later. She didn’t want Nickolas to even suspect Nina of being a witch. Given his history.
Nina refreshed her mug of Earl Grey, and Agnes returned to her seat, and the man doing a terrible job trying to hide his impatience.
***
“You have already attempted to negotiate with the historian and she’s refused you,” Agnes said as she took her seat across from Nickolas and sipped her refreshed tea. The strong bergamot flavoring perfectly balanced against the black tea. Nina really did get in excellent brews. “Not because you’re not a witch, and not because she suspects your past. It’s because she knows you’ll destroy the document if she turns it over. And she doesn’t believe your lies that you won’t.”
“Yes.” He made a face and let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders dropping in resignation. “I should have realized you’d already figured this out.” He huffed. “Historians are so attached to their bloody documents.”
“In some cases, documents with actually blood even.” She shrugged when he didn’t seem amused by her comment. “I can’t blame her, not wanting to turn over something she sees as valuable, only to have you destroy it.” She gave him a look over her mug. “But if you’re expecting me to talk her into turning it over, only so that you can destroy it, I won’t help with that. I don’t know this history keeper and I already like her better than you. I’m certainly not going to help you betray her.”
He didn’t scowl or even frown at her insult, which she suppose she should have expected, but she’d been hoping for a little rise out of him. Ah well.
“If I agree, with you, not to destroy the document, even though I want to and think it would be best, would you help me?”
“No. I obviously don’t trust you. Any more than the history keeper. And I have more reason not to.”
His mouth worked as he glanced away from her. Then he faced her again. “I cannot allow that document to fall into the wrong hands. And I am prepared to go far to ensure it doesn’t.”
“A threat? That’s not helping your cause at all.”
“Not a threat. An offer.” Again, he glanced away. And his hands, where they rested on the table between them, fisted tightly. “I will offer… The witch will be allowed to place a compulsion spell on me that guarantees I do not damage the document and only hide it away. It will remain in my possession in perpetuity, until such time as the threat has passed for my descendants—”
“Which will be never.”
He gave a head nod of acknowledgement. “Or until such time as the witch has died.”
“She’s a historian, Nickolas. She won’t consider the value of the document to suddenly vanish with her own passing.”
“Fine,” he growled. “I will never destroy the document and keep it hidden away forever. And her spell can compel me to do that.”
Agnes considered him over her mug as she let the delicious Earl Grey citrusy scent warm her face. The type of spell he was talking about wasn’t something just any witch could do. Compelling a human’s behavior—or in this case the behavior of someone not really human—was complicated and took a lot of power. There were ways, of course, to ensure a human did or did not do something. The Irish called them geis or geas. Scottish, too, she believed. Though the Irish tended to associate the geis with fairies. And since the Fae did use the occasional geis to compel behavior—usually as a kind of punishment or as insurance something got done—the Irish were not far off.
But witches weren’t Fae. There were only certain kinds of witches who could place a geis on someone. And only certain kinds of witches would build a compulsion spell that could work on someone like Nickolas. Especially for any appreciable length of time. When dealing with immortals, time did come into play.
And perhaps that was his angle, his…loophole. That the witch’s spell wouldn’t outlast her life or that she just simply wasn’t the kind of witch who could place such a spell.
It would be interesting to find out.
“She can meet us here,” Agnes said. “In three days.”
“Why three? This is a time sensitive matter.”
“I like threes. And besides, it’s a good witch number.” She also had a little research she wished to do before the meeting.
Oh, what fun! A research project. She did like a research project. She’d witnessed most of the great events of human history, many of them first hand, and yet there were still things she didn’t know. That was always fun to discover.
“Thank you, Agnes,” Nickolas said, sounding very close to sincere. At least for him. “I do not want these people discovering my family line.”
“I’d rather they didn’t discover anything useful about anyone at all,” Agnes said. “If they’re like the people you dealt with in Spain.” She sniffed and sipped her tea.
He nodded, but his expression said he wanted to say more.
“Spit it out, Nickolas.”
“I don’t often regret the events of my life. Why bother? Regret is pointless.”
“Quite.”
“But I am sorry I got on your bad side.”
“Ha! You should be. I’m a formidable enemy.”
“You are. I should have ensured we were allies instead.”
“Given your willingness to commit the acts you did in Spain, Nickolas, we could never have been allies. I do not hold with such people as can do such things.” Which, unhappily, meant there were many people she couldn’t abide. But she was always heartened when she encountered people she could.
“Yet you’ll still help me,” he said quietly. “Even though I might not help you if the situation was reversed.”
“That’s because I’m the better person,” she said without any modesty and it made him smile. “We both know that.”
“Quite,” he said, echoing her.
And his admission that he’d kept her own descendants out of the trials went a small way toward disproving the statement that he wouldn’t help her. True, he’d helped for selfish reasons that really had nothing to do with “help” and much more to do with “self-preservation.” Still. Life was complicated. Especially for immortals.
“We are not going to be friends now, Nickolas,” she said firmly. “Not in this lifetime and not in any future timeline. But I don’t like the kind of ‘true believers’ who feel the need to harm people in their, often misplaced, righteous zeal. This, I do for the witches of the past. Who were not so lucky as to have found me before the zealots found them.”
He nodded and dropped his gaze.
“And for the descendants who do not necessarily deserve to be punished for the evils of their ancestors.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank me after I’ve spoke with Ms. Alexander. She might still refuse me.”
“Who could refuse you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Nickolas, flattery is not your strong suit. We’re done here.”
“Three days,” he said, and stood to leave. “You don’t trust me to handle your drink, but may I at least pay for the next?”
“I won’t object. Be polite to Nina. I’m fond of her.”
“Three days,” he repeated.
She didn’t watch him leave, but she did listen to make sure he wasn’t rude to her current favorite café owner.
A witch historian, in a café run by a witch, with a former witch hunter in attendance. Well.
That was going to be a very interesting day.
***
The day of the expected meeting, Agnes sat in her usual seat in the center of the café, with a brand new book she was looking forward to starting—a little diversion from her usual reading with a more standard romance, but it was a monster romance and she was intrigued.
Diana wasn’t in the café that day, but Frank was sitting at the back, typing away. And Nina’s beau, Rhys Witherby, was sitting at the front window, watching the world pass when he wasn’t watching Nina. Boo sprawled with little concern on his too-small stool, his pale gray fur fluffy and blowing lightly whenever the front door opened to let in a new customer.
It was the middle of a work day, so both the café and the bookstore were relatively quiet. She’d selected a time period when both would be in a lull, ensuring there weren’t a lot of other humans wandering around. Agnes did regret a little that Diana wasn’t here today. She thought the goddess might enjoy this conversation. But perhaps she had other things to do. Agnes couldn’t imagine she’d stayed away just to provide privacy. Agnes wouldn’t have.
With the scent of her chamomile and honey blend tea floating around her, she waited patiently for both Nickolas and Ms. Alexander. She considered starting her book, but since it was a new to her author and genre, she wanted to have the time to sink into the story without interruption. Instead, she focused her attention on the taste of her excellent tea and the warm cup in her hands and the small sounds of movement around the café. When the bell over the door rang, she didn’t look back at it. But she listened to the movements. Slightly hesitant. A pause. Then a clicking of low heels.
Agnes smiled into her cup before setting it aside and looking up at the young woman standing next to her table. “You must be Ms. Alexander,” she said.
“Lexie Alexander.” The woman stretched out her hand. “Ms. Waters?”
“You can call me Agnes.” She shook the witch’s hand and watched her closely. Watching for hints that she knew what Agnes was. Even Nina didn’t for sure. So it would be interesting if Lexie Alexander did. Given she was a historian.
She was a lovely young woman, not tall per say, but a little taller than Agnes, with soft pale brown hair that brushed her shoulders and a sharp featured face that highlighted lovely brown eyes. She was dressed professionally, in tailored black pants and a button down pale blue shirt. No blaring signs of “witchiness” about her. Even her jewelry was understated. A small gold chain necklace with a little pentagram charm that was discrete enough, one would have to look hard to see what it was, and small gold hoops in her ears. No rings. Light makeup.
To the average person, she probably looked like an ordinary historian, maybe someone working at a university. And while she was pretty, she wasn’t the sort of pretty that drew a lot of attention.
Like Nina, she was the kind of witch who blended into her surroundings, who looked the part, so to speak. A good guise.
“Please.” Agnes gestured to the seat across from her. “Join me. Would you like a coffee or tea? The tea is really excellent. I do recommend it.”
Agnes had very definitive views on tea, given she’d been around when the Chinese were still using the leaves for soups and as a spice. She’d seen the evolution of tea as a drink, through its different iterations as it spread through the world. She was not the sort to waste her time on weak tea. And she quite approved that that phrase had worked its way into the vernacular not long ago as slang to mean something unimpressive. For Agnes to recommend tea, that tea was absolutely not “weak.”
Lexie nodded. “I think I will need a coffee for this discussion.”
“So you know, then,” Agnes said before Lexie could rise, “before we get started, I’m inclined to be on your side instead of Nickolas’s. I don’t really like Nickolas. But…he’s a point about one thing and that one thing is the reason we’re here.”
Lexie narrowed her eyes, but nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Agnes had done her research after leaving the café three days ago. There did seem to be a rise in a particularly nefarious group of religious fanatics at the moment. She hadn’t noticed because they were still operating quietly, trying to stay under the radar. She was surprised how far and wide the group had spread, though, and because they were a danger to witches, she was annoyed with herself for not noticing them earlier. She did usually try to keep an eye on things like that. Especially after Spain. But even prior to that, Agnes watched out for those fanatical types because wherever they showed up, something bad eventually happened. Best to be prepared, she always thought.
And now she was. She knew about the group and would keep an eye on them and their spread and growth.
She’d done some research on the document Nickolas was so worried about, too. That was a little more difficult because it was a historical document that shouldn’t have existed, cataloguing a witch trial that supposedly never happened. But, of course, there were always rumors and legends and conspiracy theories, and that’s where she’d found the information she needed. Sometimes legends and conspiracies contained kernels of truth one could plumb.
It wasn’t quite what Nickolas had claimed it to be, which wasn’t at all surprising, but she did believe it contained references to his son, and that said son was, indeed, burned as a witch—a process which failed. And references inside the document would, almost certainly, lead this fanatical group to Nickolas’s modern great grandson who was more human than most of Nickolas’s kind.
Lexie rejoined Agnes with a large mug of coffee, milky and sweet smelling. Her gaze kept jumping to the stands of prettily displayed pastries on the counter, but she hadn’t ordered herself one and Agnes wondered if she was avoiding the desserts for a reason.
But as she wasn’t here to engage in friendly, getting-to-know-you conversations, she kept her questions to herself. For the moment.
“Mr. Costas will be here soon?” Lexie asked.
“I should expect so,” Agnes said. “Have you studied the document he’s hoping to purchase from you?”
“I have.”
“Delightful.”
This made Lexie raise her brows.
“Do you understand why he wants it, then?”
“The witch that didn’t burn?”
“The very same.” Agnes lifted her tea mug in a little solute. Then savored a sip. The chamomile blend really was quite good. She’d have to have this one more often.
“An ancestor of his?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I’m not prepared to give any witch documents up to someone…like him.”
“A fair judgement,” Agnes said. “What do you know of him? For certain.”
“That he has ties to the witch trials in Spain.”
Ah. Nickolas hadn’t known she knew that much.
“He’s descended from one of the people in charge.” Lexie hid her expression in her mug as she took a sip of her coffee, but Agnes heard the very slight pause before she said “descended from.”
Interesting.
Well. Agnes really should have guessed. Ms. Alexander was a historian after all. A witch historian at that. Nickolas should have guessed too. And maybe he had and had just lied to Agnes about Lexie’s knowledge. That wouldn’t surprise her at all.
Agnes smiled. “I feel you understand the situation quite well, then.” When Lexie raised her gaze to meet Agnes’s, Agnes winked.
Lexie’s eyes widened. Before she could comment, though, the bell over the café door jingled and Nickolas walked in.
Agnes didn’t have to turn to know it was him. He walked around like he owned the space, and his essence proceeded him. She watched Lexie instead as the witch spotted Nickolas. Her eyes narrowed, and Agnes noticed the silent movement of her lips and subtle movement of her fingers as she cast a spell. A shield spell if Agnes was any judge—and she was, given the line of witches she…checked on occasionally. What amused Agnes, and also pleased her, was that Lexie placed the shield around herself and Agnes.
Wasn’t that terribly sweet.
Nickolas joined them, taking a seat at the small table, but being forced by Lexie’s shield to sit a little farther away from them.
Agnes scowled at him. “No drink again? Very impolite, Nickolas. Get something at least. The proprietor has a business to run.”
Nickolas rolled his eyes, but after a brief glance at Lexie, he rose again without a word and went to purchase something. Agnes nodded her approval as she sipped her tea.
“You two…know each other well?” Lexie asked.
“Well? Unfortunately better than either of us might like, I suspect. For a long time. Let’s put it that way.”
Lexie’s brows rose at that, and she gave Agnes a speculative look. Agnes did wonder if the historian had heard of her before. After so long, word did get out. But since she was so long lived and so unique, even those who suspected what she was didn’t always believe what she was. She wasn’t even sure Nickolas fully understood. He might well consider her just an older version of himself.
Which was, if she were being honest, a tad insulting.
“How long?” Lexie asked, with a forced casual smile.
“Long enough to know that Spain was an abomination, and I’ll never forgive him for it.”
There. That should clear the air. Somewhat. Well, of course, things were still quite vague. But if Lexie understood what Nickolas was, Agnes hoped her phrasing made it clear she did too.
Lexie nodded. “Why are you helping him, then?”
“The document in question…it will attract a certain, well, not to put too fine a point on it, a group of witch-hating fanatical types.” She snarled.
Lexie’s mouth flattened into a line, but she didn’t comment.
So Agnes asked, “Have you heard of them? I hadn’t and had to go searching.”
“I just started to hear rumor recently. But since most of what I do involves gathering histories, things happening in modern times sometimes escape me.”
“Indeed.” Agnes gave her a reassuring nod. “At any rate, we both know now. And we can be careful. But… Well, given who these people are and the wealth of information you possess on the very people they hate, it would be rather disastrous to bring you to their attention, wouldn’t it?”
Lexie frowned. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“And why would you? No, of course not. You’ve always been very good at staying relatively under the radar. I’m afraid it might be too late for you to avoid them all together, so you’ll have to take further precautions. Something I’m sorry about it. It’s very irritating that this keeps happening every few centuries.” She huffed. Humans were both wonderous and irrationally horrible entities. She mostly loved them. Watching them grow and develop. But my goodness, they were want to run around killing each other. The excuses they made. Ridiculous.
Nickolas rejoined them. He had a chocolate muffin on a plate. Without asking or comment, he pushed the muffin toward Agnes. “It’s safe,” he said when she raised her brow. “Even I wouldn’t tamper with chocolate.”
Agnes chuckled. “I’ll eat it when we’ve concluded our business. Now.” She set her cup down delicately next to the muffin. “Ms. Alexander and I have been getting to know one another, and discussing the situation surrounding the document in question. I just got to the part of the ‘true believers’ who would endanger her and all she’s collected.”
“The document cannot fall into their hands,” Nickolas said, intently.
Agnes waved that away. “Yes, yes. We’ve been discussing that too. She’s read it, of course.”
Nickolas glared at the woman but Agnes snapped her fingers near his face, at least as close as Lexie’s shield allowed. “Stop that,” she said. “She’s a historian. You think she wouldn’t have read it? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Nickolas still looked disgruntled but he turned his scowl from Lexie back toward Agnes. That was better.
“I was just getting to the part where we offered a compromise of sorts.”
Nickolas gave a small grunt and nodded.
“The compromise, Ms. Alexander, is that Mr. Costas will allow you to put a spell on him that compels him to store and never destroy the document.”
Lexie’s head snapped around to Nickolas, her eyes wide. Nickolas pretended to look casual and unaffected by this concession. Though Agnes did see the tightening skin around his eyes before he’d relaxed. Well, it was good he wasn’t comfortable in this situation because he was, after all, asking quite a lot.
“He will also pay you handsomely for the document and you will take that money because it can help you secure the rest of your collection and ensure it remains hidden. So far, this group do not know about you—according to Mr. Costas.” Agnes asked him a silent question with her raised brows.
He answered aloud with an affirmative grunt. So talkative today. She sighed.
“If they are hunting this document in a different direction, you should be secure enough,” Agnes continued. “But it never hurts to erect precautions.” She smiled and gave a little nod toward the shield surrounding them both.
Lexie’s cheeks colored but she nodded.
“Good. Then, spell and significant money for Ms. Alexander, in exchange for the document transferring to Mr. Costas. The spell to compel him to not damage the document will remain in force in perpetuity.” Agnes met Nickolas’s gaze and said, “I’ll ensure that.”
His mouth tightened, and she could practically hear his teeth grinding, but he nodded.
“Finally, Mr. Costas will ensure he protects the identity of Ms. Alexander from any and all comers. Until such time as Ms. Alexander’s identity is no longer a life-or-death piece of information.” She glanced at Lexie. “After you die, your identity won’t cause you to be any deader. However, if your identity being known to the wrong sort might endanger your loved ones, it will have to remain a secret then too. Is that fair?”
Lexie nodded, and wisely remaining silent.
“Good,” Agnes said. “For your part, Ms. Alexander.”
“My part is giving up the document I do not wish to give up,” Lexie said.
“Yes, well, that is part of it.” She glanced at Nickolas. Then back to Lexie. “Having read the document, your knowledge is now potentially dangerous to people, someone in particularly, that Mr. Costas would prefer remain safe. You can understand that, of course.”
Not quite a question, but Lexie nodded anyway.
“You will allow me to…not so much wipe the information away—that wouldn’t be fair—but to muddle it and tuck away the bits that might allow you to give away details that would endanger Mr. Costas’s someone. This will not damage your mind, will not tamper with any of your other memories, and will not remove the document itself from your mind. It will just bury two specific details deep enough that you can’t really access them, even when questioned. The name of the witch that didn’t burn. And Mr. Costas’s name.”
Nickolas would change his name again. They all did through time. But Nickolas made the mistake of keeping his surname and reappearing as his own descendant through history. He was too prideful to abandon that lineage completely. Which was a mistake he was now suffering for. His son didn’t have the Costas name. Of course he wouldn’t. But there was supposed to be a genealogy in the record to justify accusing Nickolas’s son of witchcraft.
An interesting twist in the rumors around the document was that this particular group weren’t fanatics out to burn all witches. They’d been part of a small community, living in the territory that eventually became part of the United States, and they’d had a very valid reason to think Nickolas’s son was a witch. They’d apparently done a lot of diligent research and gathering of evidence to ensure they had the right culprit. It was actually quite an impressive feat for a seventeenth century legal body, if true.
And also, if true, meant that the person leading that particular legal body was likely more than they appeared.
Agnes would love to take a look at the document before Nickolas hid it away. She thought there might be some fascinating facts and details about this long-lost community who’d been very reluctant to kill a witch despite the fury of accusations and punishments happening around them.
At any rate, the details of the supposed witch’s name and Nickolas’s name wouldn’t take much away from Lexie’s knowledge of the document, but it would make it impossible for her to accidentally betray those details to the witch hunters should they ever encounter her.
Agnes rarely meddled in people’s thoughts. It was really quite rude without permission and even with permission was a delicate thing to do. But in this case, she’d make an exception to protect Lexie, and, though she was loath to admit it, Nickolas and his descendants.
Lexie stared at her for a long time, and in that stare, Agnes suspected was a lot of instinctive analysis underway. Most witches did rely quite a bit on their instincts. So Agnes held her gaze and allowed Lexie to look a little deeper than Agnes allowed most people. She was asking a lot of the historian. It was a fair exchange that the historian be given a small glimpse into Agnes’s nature.
After a few moments, Lexie blinked hard and sucked in a deep breath. “I think that would be acceptable,” she said.
“Have you brought the document with you?” Nickolas asked.
Lexie didn’t look away from Agnes, and Agnes held her gaze in return. “I didn’t. But it’s nearby. Just in case.”
“If you’re content with the terms and willing to agree to them, we can manage the exchange today,” Agnes said. “If you would like a few days to consider, that would be acceptable too.” Agnes raised a hand to silence Nickolas when he opened his mouth. He could wait a few more days. Time was of the essence, but not as tightly as Nickolas thought.
Agnes might have arranged a distraction for the witch hunters that would keep them occupied for a few months. They were horrible humans. A little dead end quest was harmless comparatively speaking, and honestly, they deserved much worse.
Lexie nodded slowly, her gaze turned inward now. “I will need a few days to prepare the binding spell. At which stage, I’ll be comfortable with the other elements of our agreement.” She finally glanced at Nickolas. “I’ll expect this substantial amount of money to purchase the document provided at that time. Or there is no deal.”
Agnes hid her grin in another sip of tea.
Nickolas resisted a snarl, but she could see the shadows of it around his mouth. He didn’t want to delay again, but he had very few other options. Especially since Lexie appeared quite adapt at protecting herself from even someone like Nickolas. A delightful discovery.
“Fine,” he said. “Two days. Will that suffice?”
“Should. I’ll let you know if I need more time.”
“No longer than a week or this arrangement won’t work.”
“Oh hush, Nickolas. Everything will be fine. Trust me.” She winked at Lexie before giving Nickolas an even stare.
“Fine,” he spit again. “Here?”
“Here would be perfect,” Lexie said. She glanced at Agnes then at the counter where Nina was wiping down the espresso machine attempting not to look like she was watching them, and Boo sprawled on his too-small stool, making no bones about watching them. “Yes,” Lexie said. “Here would be ideal.”
“I thought you might like this place,” Agnes said. “Two days then.” She waved her hand in a little dismissive gesture, releasing the others to the wild. She had a book to begin.
***
Somewhat to Agnes’s surprise, Lexie was waiting for her when she arrived at the café on the designated day. And the sweet girl had already bought her a tea. Though Nina only brought her over the fresh cup after Agnes arrived. No tepid water waiting for her. No worry about what the witch—who was, after all, mostly a stranger—had slipped into her tea.
Not that anything would actually kill Agnes. That wasn’t how things worked for her. She was, as true as the word could be, an immortal. There were others who could live millennia. They could all be killed, though.
Once Agnes was settled and her Earl Gray was steeping—it was definitely an Earl Gray sort of day out, what with the fall weather starting to turn sharper and cooler—she asked Lexie, “You’re here much earlier than expected. You have something you wanted to discuss with just me?”
Lexie nodded. “You’re not a witch.”
“No,” she said, even though Lexie wasn’t asking a question.
“But you are…something?”
“I am something.”
“Nickolas is more than he seems, also.”
“Yes.”
“Am I making a mistake handing over this document?”
“No. Or I wouldn’t have negotiated the terms with you. But I think it will be safer for you not to have this in your possession. I believe that. Nickolas can…survive any potential confrontations with these modern-day witch hunters.”
“I’m not exactly an unskilled witch.”
“Oh I’m certain of that!” Agnes laughed. But grew serious when she recalled the information she’d dug up on this new group. “But these are dangerous people who are in the tradition of people who’ve done some very bad things over the centuries. And I wouldn’t want to see that history repeating with you.”
“That’s why I’m agreeing to this. Because…well, history.”
Agnes nodded and removed her tea bag. They had a quite few moments as they sipped their respective drinks.
Then Lexie said, “I also came early in case… Well, I got the impression you like history.”
Agnes smiled, quite impressed. “As a matter of fact.”
“Would you like to see the document before Nickolas arrives. I don’t think you’d take the information to the witch hunters.”
Agnes waved that away with a snort. “Not likely.”
Lexie grinned. She reached under the table and produced a soft-sided attaché case. “The material is delicate, but not as delicate as you’d expected for a centuries old stack of papers. It was stored in the basement of a witch family who’d inherited it through the centuries and didn’t really know what it was. I was told many of them tried to throw it out over the years but it kept returning, so they got creeped out and finally stopped trying to get rid of it.”
“Did anyone try to burn it?” Agnes asked, curious.
“That apparently didn’t work either.”
“Just like Nickolas’s ancestor didn’t burn,” she murmured.
“Mm hmm.” Lexie glanced around the café before opening the case.
Nina was behind the counter helping a customer as Boo hung limply on his too-small stool as usual. The familiar had no bones at all. Frank was here yet again today. He must be working on his newest novel. And Diana was back, but she hadn’t even glance up when Agnes had walked in. There were a half dozen others around the café. Including one of the young vampires who liked to hang out in the corner and pretend to drink coffee while they hid in science fiction books. They were quite new—to the café and the world of vampires—so Agnes had made it her mission to learn more about them as soon as they decided to open up to the space a bit more. Right now, they were so closed and quiet, she assumed they still needed their space.
The coffee smell lingered beneath the stronger smoky citrus scent of Earl Gray today. And there were some new looking pastries under the clear cake domes on the counter. She’d investigate those when her meeting was concluded. She’d be feeling peckish afterward, she was sure. She’d finished the monster romance, which had been quite delightful. Very dark and broody and sexy. So she’d picked up another to try. A new monster this time from a new author, just to shake things up. She found she was quite enjoying these modern Romances. She’d have to mix more into her reading rotation.
Once Lexie had assured herself that no one was watching them, she opened the attaché case and slid out a handful of yellowing pages. Agnes had read that there were five pages to the document, but since there’d been only speculation and conspiracy and legend to inform that information, she wasn’t surprised to discover the document was larger. From the stack that Lexie set delicately on the table, it was at least twenty pages.
Agnes always found it fascinating, the difference between rumors, legends, theories, and the reality of a thing. Sometimes, she encountered this phenomenon in hindsight—legends that build up around people she’d encountered in real life—but sometimes, she encountered it with foresight, so to speak. Like this moment. Where the legends were her first exposure to something and only after, did she encounter the real thing.
A fascinating experience.
In this case, outside of the document being significantly longer than rumored, it was also in remarkably good shape for paper that was nearly four centuries old. The pages were an older vellum that wasn’t made today, and leathery around the edges. But they hadn’t yellowed much, or thinned, and didn’t look like that’d shatter at the first touch. Lexie didn’t even handle them with gloves or delicacy.
The young witch must have anticipated Agnes on that, because she said quietly, “I actually use a small spell on my hands when handling delicate documents, especially if I don’t want people to realize what I’m handling is important.” She set a hand to the pile. “Better if they just assume this is an ordinary pile of papers.”
“True.” Though Agnes didn’t think anyone in the café at the moment would be a problem. “May I?” she asked gesturing to the stack.
Lexie gently slid the papers over to Agnes. “Please.”
Agnes had brought some white gloves with her, on the off chance she’d get to see the pages, and she had presented the persona of an older woman who might wear white gloves out of an old-fashioned sense of delicacy, so they wouldn’t stand out on her hands too much. But when she hovered a hand over the documents, she realized she probably wouldn’t need the gloves.
“That’s a very interesting bit of protection woven into the pages,” she murmured. “Have you felt it? I’ve not encountered this particular magic very often.”
“I wondered,” Lexie said, “but I haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact spell.”
“It’s a little different to a spell,” Agnes said, settling her hand very gently on the top page as she searched through the energy woven into the very paper. “It’s magic. Something akin to what a weaver would do. Only with paper. How interesting.” She started to read.
By the time she was finished, her tea had gone cold, which was unfortunate, but she was enlightened, and now had a much better idea why Nickolas wanted this document hidden.
The town from which this came had not be an ordinary human town. It had been made up of supernatural beings, witches, wizards, shapeshifters, Fae. All sorts of otherworld beings who weren’t quite strong enough to survive on their own among their own people. They gathered together in this frontier town located in an area that would become part of the United States, living at a distance from the more populated human cities and towns, making arrangements with the Peoples whose land they wanted to occupy to actually purchase said land so there were no problems with their indigenous neighbors, no “taking over” a piece of real estate that was already claimed by another. Agnes appreciated that.
And their “trial” of Nickolas’s son wasn’t an attempt to ferret out a witch. It was an attempt to ferret out a traitor who was going to bring the witch trials to their town. Nickolas’s son had the ancestry to fit the bill—thus the genealogy in the document that could trace forward to Nickolas’s great grandson—and that’s why they’d tried Nickolas’s son. He was found to be there as a spy of sorts and they sentenced him to the same punishment as witches were enduring.
Except he didn’t burn.
Afterward, his true nature was revealed. And there was the real reason Nickolas didn’t want the document to get out. His son had been exposed for what he was to the entire town, and they had documented everything, in the language of their time. Here was evidence of Nickolas’s kind, of the immortals that would probably be called superheroes now. Written proof that such people existed.
The modern witch hunters were fanatics and would be terrified to discover people like Nickolas walked among them. They would absolutely go after them.
And might even figure out how to kill them.
So. Not so much to protect his line and his great grandson—though she was confident there was an element of that to Nickolas’s quest—but also to protect himself. And everyone like him.
No wonder he’d come to her. This could potentially complicate her own life as well. Not that she hadn’t lived through plenty of that over the eons, but there would be a modern rendition if this document got into the wrong hands.
It would also expose a lot of other supernatural beings. And the town. Which still existed.
That addendum on the last page was very interesting. And surprising. And something Agnes intended on looking into. But not yet. First, she’d deal with the current situation.
“I presume we can trust you with the knowledge that’s in this document, given it would expose your people more too,” Agnes said. “And none of us want that. I will still bury the names I said I would, because that is information it would be best you don’t have access to, should someone ask, for your own safety.”
“That’s fair,” Lexie said. “But…I’m not sure a former witch hunter is a good person to protect this document.”
“He won’t turn it over to the modern fanatics because it exposes him for what he is.”
“He might go after the town, though. Since it still exists.”
“Oh, he already knows where it is,” Agnes said with a sigh. “It’s where his great grandson is living.”
And wasn’t she feeling a bit peeved she hadn’t known about all this before. Really! An entire town of supernatural beings, housing one of Nickolas’s own descendants, and she hadn’t even known about it. That was embarrassing, really. Felt like she’d let too many things slip recently and gotten complacent with her knowledge gathering. That was something she’d have to rectify. Forewarned was forearmed as they said.
“So… So he is one of them.”
“He is.”
“Will he try to kill me?”
“No. Not now that I know where his great grandson lives.”
“Oh.” Lexie frowned a little at that, but then asked, “You don’t like him. Why?”
“Spain.” That was more than enough explanation.
Lexie nodded slowly, frowning, but didn’t say more. “Okay. I don’t want this document, or this town, to fall into the wrong hands. I don’t think Nickolas’s are the right hands, per say, but I do think he’ll keep all this to himself and not let dangerous sorts gain access to it. Am I right about that?”
“You are. And you can rest assured he isn’t a danger to this town.”
“That was my last, big worry. The reason I wanted you to read the documents.” She glanced at the counter. “The witch here likes you. That speaks well to my ability to trust you.” She looked back at Agnes. “And my instincts say I can trust you. That speaks well of you too.”
Agnes smiled. “Thank you.”
“So I’ll let you into my mind to bury the two names. But I’d like to keep knowledge of the town. When it’s safe, I would like to…visit. And maybe see if there’s any history there for me to collect.”
“Oh, I’d say there is plenty.” Agnes rested a hand on the documents. Then said, “Shall we do our part before Nickolas arrives? Or would you like to wait so he can witness the results?”
“Wait. I want to ensure I get paid first. I have some travel plans, and some delicate work that will need special storage. His money will go a long way to help with that.”
“Of course.” Agnes considered Lexie Alexander for a moment. Then said, “And perhaps, when all this is settled and things have quieted a bit, you and I can sit down and have a nice long chat. About history.”
Lexie smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
Yes, Agnes thought. So would she.
So would she.
***
Thanks for reading AGNES ONCE AGAIN AT THE CAFE. I hope you enjoyed it! If you’d like your own personal eBook copy of this story, you can find it for sale here. You can also peruse the previous Café stories that are individually available for sale here.
Curious about Lexie Alexander? There's a story for that! DEMONIC DATES is available as a standalone novella as well as part of the HAUNTS AND HOWLS WHERE DEMONS DWELL collection! For my print readers, the Haunts and Howls collection is the option. If you're an eBook reader, either will suit.
Don’t forget to check back on September 1st for the next Free story from The Café!
AGNES ONCE AGAIN AT THE CAFE Copyright © 2025 Kat Simons
All Rights Reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.