Whitney Writes…

Agatha sat on the chair at her desk, her fingers drumming on the worn, dark wood as she stared at the basket on the bench below the window. The babe’s hair glowed red, like an ember in a fire, in the darkness that still shrouded her bedroom. Her heart was hammering loudly in her chest. It was impossible. It should have been impossible.

And yet… there it sits, Jacques mused with a hiss in the direction of the basket. 

She nudged the cat idly with her toe. ”Stop that,” she said shortly. The glow of the babe’s hair drew her gaze back to the basket. What in….

You know what it is, Jacques interjected. 

Agatha looked fully at her feline familiar. Her brow furrowed in concern. ”But…” her gaze shifted back to the basket, “there has not been one of them for… centuries.”

A Dreamwalker has not been seen for centuries, Jacques corrected. That does not mean they have not been.

She stood abruptly, Jacques harrumphed in her direction, and she strode across her bedroom to where the basket lay. Pulling back the blanket, she looked down at the baby. It’s sapphire eyes stared back up at her. As she gazed at the child, there was the slightest probing feeling in her mind. Agatha’s heart skipped a beat.

See, Jacques chided. 

“That is quite enough out of you!” Agatha snapped at the cat. ”I know very well what we are facing here, despite my dismal attempts to convince myself otherwise.” Jacques shrunk down, away from her, his eyes squinting. ”I am sorry, Jacques, but you were overstepping.”

She turned back to the babe in the basket, studying it. It’s little face was serious, studying her right back. The probing was there again, more intense. 

No.

The babe winced. It’s hands began to tremble as they balled into little fists; it’s face turning red, it’s features crumpling into the mess of hysterics. It let out a blood-curdling scream, tears welling in it’s eyes as they squeezed shut. The screams were deafening. 

Guilt overwhelmed Agatha. She reached out with a probe of her own, feeling for the child’s mind. She was met with a well of emotion. Hurt, confused, sad, lonely, scared… She moved towards the basket, leaning forward and scooping the child out for the first time. She cradled the child into the crook of her neck, rubbing it’s back, in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. ”I lost sight of you because of what you are. I should have been more gentle, but you cannot go probing into minds of others without invitation or consent.” She bit her lip, realizing she was speaking to an infant. ”I know those are all big words,” she continued, lowering her voice further into a sing-songy tone, “but I promise I will teach you about them one day.”

The cries had subsided, giving way to small hiccups that shook the child’s entire body. ”How about some rest, it’s quite early still, hours until dawn,” Agatha said. When she bent to put the child back in it’s basket, their little hands unballed to grasp the fur collar of her dressing gown. ”Alright,” she whispered, feeling the trembling beginning again. ”I’ve got you,” she said, taking them back to her bed. She created a nest of pillows so the little one could sleep safely in her arms without risk to either of them. 

After a few minutes, they settled into a deep sleep.

In her dreams, there was a child. With flaming red hair that glowed with the light of an ember. Sapphire eyes glittered beneath prominent brows that always wrinkled in mischief. The child was a boy, grown into a well of curiosity, charm, and seriousness. He was fond of whimsical things, but often fell to pieces when faced with strong emotions. But most of all, he was brave, gentle, and kind, his little heart often too big for him.

As Agatha watched the boy in her dreams, out of the corner of her eye, she could always see her. The woman from her dream before… but it hadn’t been a dream, had it? Agatha knew now, in her dream state, that she had not been dreaming at all, nor was she now, but she had been visited by a Dreamwalker. And here she was again. Agatha looked from the boy, to the woman, seeing the resemblance. 

Cassian.

Agatha awoke to the sound of baby cooes beside her. She rubbed her eyes groggily, turning towards the sounds. The baby – Cassian – had a feather. It was a pearly-white Fenrick feather. The owl was perched on the canopy support above them, his golden eyes peering down at them, Cassian specifically. 

The owl’s head tilted curiously. A new familiar? he asked.

Agatha gave a little laugh as she sat up. ”No,” she said. ”A changeling, brought in the night.” The owl hooted his acceptance. Agatha cast a glance at Jacques, who was in his loaf position, staring at the window that had presented the infant Dreamwalker. But his emerald eyes were tightly closed in sleep, some watch-cat. She couldn’t help but wonder as to why he couldn’t be more accepting of her decisions, like Fenrick.

Because I know better, came Jacques response. Agatha rolled her eyes, pulling herself up, and scooping Cassian up.

Making their way downstairs, it was becoming more and more apparent to Agatha just how ill-equipped she was to deal with a baby. She had no fresh clothes in which to change him. No bottle from which to feed him. Nothing to put in said bottle. No toys, besides Fenrick’s feather, which would only last until Cassian decided to see what it tasted like. She had not planned to go into town today, but it was beginning to look as though she had no choice.

She took Cassian back upstairs, settling him in the nest of pillows as she hunted for her warmest traveling clothes. Wool stockings, leggings, and under shirt, topped with one of her favorite dark green wool dresses. The creamy white embroidery on it always popped in the wintertime. Not that anyone would see it under all her layers. She tied on her fur-lined boots and pulled a few of her longest wool scarves down from a basket on her wardrobe before scooping Cassian up again and going back downstairs.

Her familiars were all craning for a view of Cassian as she re-swaddled him, then wrapped him in a few of her scarves. Agatha then began sorting through her coats and cloaks on her coat tree, pulling off various items. She pulled on her traveling coat that fell past her waist. Then she pulled on her long winter coat. She fashioned a sling out of her longest wool scarf, and carefully fitted Cassian in his swaddling within it. Standing over pillows strewn about the floor, she slowly removed her hands. Cassian stayed where she had placed him. Feeling triumphant, she returned to her coat tree and swirled her riding cape around her shoulders, then her fur-lined and trimmed velvet cloak. She fastened the hooks along the front, adjusting them slightly so Cassian could still get fresh air, and then she headed for the front door.

Her hand paused above the brass knob. Without looking down, she could see the glow of Cassian’s hair within all her layers of clothing. She reached for one of her smaller stocking caps and plopped it on his little head. It sat askance on his little head, just the right side of looking ridiculous. She smiled. Perfect. Her hand then went to a dial beside the door. She consulted the handful of pie-piece-shaped slots. Her gaze settled on the pine-green slice, Vestaburg was always lovely this time of year. And she far preferred their market.

As she turned the dial so the pine-green slice was selected by the brass pointer, a voice sounded in her mind.

You’re not telling the Council, are you? Jacques asked.

“No, Jacques,” Agatha sighed, “I am not telling the Council about Cassian. He is an infant.“

An infant Dreamwalker, Jacques pointed out.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose; yanking the timber door open, she stepped outside, ignoring Jacques, and slamming it sharply behind her. He was her guiding light, her comforting companion, her power amplifier like none other, but by the gods did he know how to get on her nerves. It were as though sometimes he forgot who was the familiar and who was the witch.

She shook her head as she started down the garden path towards the white fence. It was thoughts like that which prompted familiars to act out against their witches, treating them as lesser. She paused at the gate, lifting the metal latch, taking a deep breath of the icy air. She felt her thoughts melting away.

It was a beautiful, but frigid, winter day. The sky was a clear, crystal blue, the sun, a warm ball of golden warmth that shone brightly, blindingly off the fresh, pristine snow. There was a light breeze, just enough to stir the snow from the branches of the higher up trees, causing them to cascade down in sheer curtains. Agatha pulled the hood of her cloak up, stepped through the gate, closing it behind her, and started off down the wooded lane towards the village of Vestaburg. Tucking her arms back into her cloak, she caressed Cassian through all of his layers.

“We’re going to get you some proper provisions, little one,” she said gently as she fixed a charm to clear the snow from just in front of her feet before each step she took. “Some proper clothes, some toys, basic necessities that even I don’t know about yet.” She smiled. “It will be a proper little day out.”

The walk to the village itself of Vestaburg was a quiet one. Agatha had chosen to situate her cottage’s presence in this land deep into the forests that surrounded the little village. There was the lane that ran past, but she had made certain it was not a popular travel route. The forest was lively with wildlife; she spotted a herd of deer through the trees, squirrels watched her curiously from the branches above her head, and birds chirruped merrily all around her. Vestaburg was her favorite town to visit, when she was required to mingle amongst the mortals. It was as peaceful and tranquil a place as she had found amongst them.

Agatha hummed quietly as the outer buildings of the village began to come into to view through the trees. She made a list to herself about where all she wanted to go. Estelle’s shop would be the first on list. Estelle was a competent seamstress, by no means anything spectacular, and the gossip in the village amongst the other shop keepers was that not many could stand the woman’s company. But Agatha always found herself drawn to Estelle’s shop because of it’s quietness, and Estelle seemed to have a way with textiles where she could work out what it was best suited for. The woman did not make anything particularly ground breaking, but everything she made seemed perfectly suited. The dark green wool dress she was currently wearing was from Estelle’s. And given that Estelle was on her sixth or seventh child of her own, Agatha knew she would be the one to consult for judgement-free advise.

She also thought Estelle’s husband was a woodworker – or perhaps it was a farmer, she assumed she would learn that shortly – but if he was, perhaps he could assist with acquiring some furniture pieces. She would have to find somewhere for toys, once she learned what sort of toys a baby would like. And, of course, books. A collection would have to be started on Cassian’s behalf until he learned what he liked.

“I suppose you’ll need your own room for all of these things,” Agatha said to Cassian. His head was heavy against her breast, Agatha assumed the gait of her walk had put him to sleep.

The door to Estelle’s shop swung open with the softest of creaks and the tinkle of a small, silver bell. Agatha could see the small, stout woman behind the counter, her dark curly hair bound up in a scarf and her pale blue sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Estelle had a kind face, one easy to lighten with joy, and it did just that as she saw Agatha come through her door. She straightened from the fabric she had been cutting, and hurried out from behind the counter as fast as her round little body would allow her.

“Agatha!” Estelle cried breathlessly. “I wasn’t expecting you for another few months, being you just got your winter updates!” Her face lit up further as she spotted the green wool of her dress beneath all of Agatha’s coats and cloaks. “Still wearing the ol’ favorite, eh?” She wrapped Agatha in a hug before she could stop her. Estelle leaned back abruptly, one hand holding Agatha’s arm above the elbow, the other patting the Cassian-shaped-lump. “Why! What, or should I say who, did you bring for a visit?” Estelle cried.

Agatha gave a little smile, carefully pulling back her layers and then shifting the hat a little further back on Cassian’s head to reveal his face. To Agatha’s surprise, his sapphire eyes were wide open as he took in the sight of Estelle, who was perfectly at his eye level.

“Who is this handsome little cherub?” Estelle demanded.

“This is Cassian,” Agatha said.

“Where… But….” Agatha could see the wheels spinning, and faltering in Estelle’s head. She saw now the fault in her presentation. She had seen Estelle less than two months ago, and six times in the past year, and had clearly not been expecting a child. “I don’t mean to be rude, or blunt, Agatha, but where have you come by a baby?”

“He’s my sister’s boy,” Agatha said before she could give it too much thought. “My estranged sister, I’m afraid I don’t know what has happened to her, I imagine something dreadful, and she has sent her son to me.” It wasn’t too much of a lie, and Agatha could tell by the look on Estelle’s face that it was believable.

“To lose one’s mother, so young,” Estelle said sadly, giving Cassian’s cheek a caress, “poor dear.”

“I hate to ask this,” Agatha fumbled, “I feel incredibly stupid, but I fear I am out of my depth, Estelle. My sister and I were not on speaking terms for some time, I have no idea when Cassian was born. Would you have a guess on how old he is?”

“What a trust your sister must have had in you,” Estelle said wistfully. Tears were glittering in the woman’s dark eyes. “I would venture he’s no more than four months, a late summer babe.” Estelle was hastily wiping away the tear that had escaped down her cheek. “I imagine you need all sorts of things,” she was saying, moving off towards the back of her shop. “We have some hand-me-downs from Henry you’re welcome to!’

“Estelle, no,” Agatha chuckled. “You need those soon. I’m a paying customer, as always.”

Agatha did her best to absorb all the information Estelle was throwing at her while the shopkeeper made a small stack of infant clothing on her counter. There were little socks, tiny pants, mini sweaters, one-piece pajamas with little footies. When Agatha asked after warm-weather clothing, Estelle cackled with laughter.

“Oh, darling,” Estelle managed, as she gasped for breath, “you have no way of knowing how much or little he will grow by then.”

“It’s… not standardized?” Agatha murmured.

“You crack me up when you act as though you have not the faintest idea how humans work,” Agatha laughed again, disappearing into her back room. When she returned, she had the most beautiful of blankets in her arms. “I’ve been making this, with no purpose in mind, just something to fill my time,” Estelle said, spreading it out on her counter. It was a waving gradient of woven, soft cashmere in every shade of gold, orange, and red one could imagine. “I actually just finished it last night. I would like for it to be a welcome gift for your little one.” Agatha’s eyes caught on the twinkle of blue in the blanket. Estelle gave a little blush of delight when Agatha pointed out the contrast stitching she had used. “No one but you ever notices those little details,” Estelle said.

“No one else deserves them, then,” Agatha said. She smiled, “It’s perfect for Cassian.” The way all the colors seemed to fade in to his hair, and the way the accenting flashed the same as his eyes, it was unnerving how much it appeared to have been made for Cassian. “Now, would Garreth be available for some furniture constructing?”

“Let me go and fetch him,” Estelle said with delight. She disappeared into the back once more.

When Garreth emerged into the storefront, he smiled at the sight of Agatha. “I would have known it was you even if Stelly hadn’t told me,” he said, his grey eyes twinkling above his dark beard, “you’re the only person that makes her light up that way.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now,” he continued, “I hear you have a little one in your charge these days!”

In under an hour’s time, Agatha found herself on Estelle’s front porch, bidding the other woman goodbye. “I suppose I won’t see you for another few seasons,” Estelle said, her voice almost sad. “I imagine once you see how fast that little one grows, you may be tempted to take up sewing yourself.” She smiled, running a finger down Cassian’s cheek. “By the time I’ll see you next, maybe ours can play together.”

Agatha considered herself aloof. She knew she did not always understand when something was being asked of her. But she understood Estelle’s tone perfectly well. “Have Garreth send for me when the baby arrives,” Agatha said. “I’ll bring a welcome gift. We’ll have a proper catch up.” She was surprised to find she meant it. Estelle beamed at her, giving Agatha one last hug before she departed.

The remainder of Agatha’s visit to Vestaburg was quiet and uneventful. The rest of the village seemed to avoid her, casting a mixture of looks at her as she proceeded with her shopping. Most of the items she had the merchants set outside in a pick-up trunk, telling them she would send a courier. But really, she would magic them away during the night.

Usually her trips into the village left her feeling drained and angry at the humans of this world. But this time, she felt hopeful. Excitement, perhaps? Cassian made a burble of curiosity. Agatha smoothed the blanket on his back. He was right: Perhaps having friends would not be so bad, after all.