Dead Witch Walking

There was no perfect home between Dublin and the wild woods; Morgan and Deirdre looked. Every village, every suburb, every dilapidated farm. Too far from public transit, too many people, not enough distance from the other Dolans. So they built their own, two floors high and hugged gently by oaks. They painted the gables black and the sidings blue, the shade of Morgan’s eyes. They built a stable for a couple of cows that would do nothing but laze and let themselves be spoiled. They planted everything from potatoes and mint to geraniums and roses. When a storm drowned and trampled most of it their third year in the house, Morgan said they really would get around to building a greenhouse this time. So far, however, that remains a dream. But they did get a shed for crafting and a shed for death. They made a rooftop deck for stargazing. They papered the walls with shelved books and furnished the rooms with their most important treasures from the last hundred years or so. They kept the brick hearth clean and warm, first with blazing fires, then, as the earth warmed and dried a little more each Samhain with family art and pictures. Especially once the baby was born.

On this day, the baby was twelve and went by Steph instead of Persephone because last year Aoife Murphy said Persephone sounds gross and made her cry, not that she would say so if asked. She started secondary school away from her old classmates, the same one Morgan taught at, and things were almost better for her there. If she could just get through this field trip to the natural history museum without everyone finding out how bizarre her moms were, maybe Kelly (gorgeous, terrifying, and most popular Kelly) would want to invite her to her birthday party.

On this day, Morgan didn’t even try to feign sleep as she lay in bed with her wife. She and Deirdre had never tackled chaperone duty together before and she didn’t know what to expect. She taught all day, so Deirdre was the field trip expert through Steph’s primary years. But now. Now Steph was in the same building as her all day, and they didn’t have to be spread out until nightfall. They could be a family, happy and out in the world and together and everyone would see and no one would mind and if she could just stop being terrified of screwing it up, she might actually get to enjoy it.

Steph called from below. “Mammy! You said we’d start early!”

Morgan stiffened in bed, hand digging into Deirdre’s arms. “I also said early would be seven-thirty, not seven,” she sighed.

“Mammy!”

“I heard you, baby!” She called. With another sigh, she rolled over to see her wife in all her bed head glory. “Morning,” she said sheepishly.

Deirdre, on this day, responded as she did every morning when faced with the sight of her wife: she smiled, sat up slowly, and in defiance of their screaming child, kissed Morgan with great lingering. “Good morning, my love.” The morning was a magical place, filled with dewy morning air and the light their old blinds couldn’t stop from cutting across their messy bedroom claimed by books and a busy schedule. At least it wasn’t as bad as it had been when Persphone was first born. But the morning could not be claimed by annoyance at the dust collected over their furniture, and the too-full bookcase that begged for an ally, perhaps in the little space they had across the room. A hundred years ago the morning could have been taken by such thoughts, but after a decade of thinking something terribly wrong was going to rob them of their happiness and the following decade of confusion, Deirdre realized anxiety wrought mornings were a waste of time. She could worry about her mother coming to claim Pershephone under proper Dolan tutelage, she could worry about whether or not Pershephone might scream on this trip just as she worried the same countless number of trips ago, she could even worry about their aging dog, whose life could only hold on for so long. The cows, which no longer produced milk and now lived simply to be themselves--creatures that didn’t need utility to have value--could even be a center of fear. But none of it for the morning.

Rather, the morning was just the place to wonder how it was, with about one hundred years of marriage, Morgan managed the art of looking more beautiful each day. And each year, not an ounce of love waned. In the morning, there was no space for fear, not where there was so much love.

“You’d think it was Yule with the mood she’s in. Remember when she used to stand by the door, whining until one of us got up? Now she just yells from the kitchen.” Deirdre laughed, stealing another kiss as she remembered that Pershephone--Steph, as she now liked to be referred to--stopped barging into their room specifically because they, as she once put it, kissed too much. That made Deirdre laugh again, but it wasn’t until Steph called for them that she rolled out of bed with her own whining. “Did you eat breakfast?” She called out, searching for her robe among the clutter.

“Yes!” Steph screeched back, already with the lungs of a banshee.

However, Steph wasn’t in the sort of mood to let there be a morning. And Deirdre chuckled as she put on her robe and turned to look at her wife. “It’s serious,” she teased, “you better get down before she drives herself to school.” And the morning, the worry-free morning of lazing and affection, crumbled as healthy concern filled Deirdre’s gaze. She reached for her wife before she was out the bedroom door, pressing a kiss to her hand as she held it. “How are you feeling?”  

There was no such thing as bringing a zombie back to life, but Deirdre’s morning kisses came bewilderingly close to it. Morgan relaxed and melted back into the world where she belonged. How could she do anything else when Deirdre had such a preternatural capacity for loving her? Since their marriage, she had never waxed and waned like Morgan did. She never took her for granted, never withdrew out of misplaced fear, never sampled a different life for the novelty of it. In Deirdre’s eyes (finally showing a little wrinkle, especially when she smiled), the morning always made Morgan new and wonderful and right.

“Good morning, my love,” she whispered back, automatic though more awed than usual.

After a moment of staring dopey eyed at her (her honey-brown eyes, the shine of her hair, her still perfect freckles, the absurd mix of mischief and kindness in her smile), Morgan got up and began climbing into the casual suit she’d laid out for herself the night before. She flinched when Steph screamed up again, louder than before.

“You know, for some reason I feel like it was a lot cuter at Yule. Or maybe that’s just because she was five and we were in the pre heavy eye-roll years.”

But she wasn’t really irritated, not in a way that didn’t dissolve five seconds later. In her dark months of the year, sure, the little things felt worse. But it was early autumn, and the day was bright. Life was short and long at once and time dissolved so strangely, it just wasn’t worth dwelling on tiny irritations that she would look on fondly anyways twenty years down the line. And if she came downstairs looking composed, she might be able to soothe the anxiety-temper out of her daughter before they squeezed into the car together.

She clipped a frilly bow tie onto her blouse to soften her look and grinned over at her wife. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

And she really did, maybe, until Deirdre stopped and grounded her again. “I’m…” Fine was the word that came to mind, but of course that wasn’t true and she didn’t really want to bother with that game anyway. She shrugged instead, mouthing nothing as she searched for the truth. “…I just want this to be good. For all of us. That’s all. I really, really want this to be good.” She squeezed Deirdre’s hand and tugged her close. “How are you?” Her eyes flickered to the half open door, then back. “Will it make anything better if I promise you not to be embarrassing?” She was teasing, but there was a little knot in her heart that was ready to do it.

“No promises.” Deirdre replied quickly with a gentle laugh, and a finger tapping Morgan’s nose as she so often did to hers. She knew Morgan didn’t mean it, not truly, but even so, a century together told her that a piece of Morgan thought it might fix something. And they both knew what a bad idea vague promises were. They had a rule with Steph, and an unspoken one between each other. “No promises,” Deirdre repeated more softly, “you don’t need them, my love. Whatever happens, your daughter loves you. She’s just a little--”

On cue, Steph yelled again, “Mammy!”

If she had been activated, a sound like that would crack their pretty stained glass, and ruin the more delicate furnishings. Even though she wasn’t, there was also a rule about being loud in the house. Not the sort of rule that meant harsh punishment that Deirdre and Morgan knew, just the sort that ought to be heeded in everyone’s best interest. It was true that Persephone didn’t know a moment of pain like either of them had, even after how much the two had worried one scolding went too far, or that they couldn’t manage to raise anything at all, perhaps they shouldn’t. But they did. And down a small wooden set of stairs was a young girl, barely a teen, who despite her yelling, really was the best little girl Deirdre knew.  

“No yelling, dear,” Deirdre called down and after a pause, smiled as a meek apology rose from down below. “She’s just excited. I bet she also wants this to be good, really good. In her case, so she can hang out with Kelly, but…” Deirdre trailed off in the sort of way she knew Morgan understood as, you know what I mean. She kissed her wife again, slow in just the way their daughter would have a fuss with, and lingered just shy of the corner of her mouth. “I’ve never known you to make anything less than really good,” she murmured, “and if our daughter calmed down for a moment, she’d agree. But I don’t think she’s going to be calm unless she knows you’re coming down so...well, as much as I enjoy keeping you to myself, I should learn to share by now.” Deirdre kissed Morgan again, reluctantly moving out of the way. “And I’m okay,” she responded after a moment, not much better after a century at handling that question. “I wish I was still in bed, but I’m okay. I’m going to wear my big jacket so I can take a bone or two, I think.” Deirdre smiled, wide and lopsided and twinkling with mischief. Steph called out again, quieter this time. “Let’s greet the day, my love.”

Morgan had to bite her lip to keep from whining as Deirdre parted from the kiss. Here in the world of their room, everything was safe and no one could be disappointed and nothing-problems could be seen for what they really were. Over their threshold, out in the real world, anything might happen.

“This is probably why the PTA moms already think you’re older than me, huh,” she said. Then, because the silence between Steph’s calls was starting to tear at her nerves, “I love you. So much. Please be kidding about the bone, because we will not be forgiven if you get banned from the museum again.” One last squeeze and then she was racing down the stairs toward the burning glare of sunrise and the wide, worried face of their little girl. Deirdre was right. The day was for greeting, like a new guest, and the three Dolans could do it just fine together.

#

“Do we have to stand together all the time?” Steph hissed. They had just finished another headcount after the last one revealed that Connor McCarthy had slipped away to see what the ticket counter looked like from behind. Now, mostly thanks to Deirdre, they were finally heading into the Egyptian exhibit visiting the city.

“Bug—Steph,” Morgan corrected herself quickly. No home names for Steph at school. And definitely not when there were other students around. “We’re all standing together. That’s how these things work.”

Steph gave her a look so much like Deirdre’s when she was irritated that it took some of the sting out of not being wanted. You know what I mean.

Morgan nodded, conceding. This was fine. This was what Steph wanted and forcing her to conform to some idealized fantasy wasn’t going to make anything better. And so she was fine. Absolutely fine. “I’ve got the front, your Ma’s got the back, so if you want to make time with Kelly, you should get her somewhere in the middle.”

Steph hesitated a moment, sensing that her win wasn’t as right as she wanted it to be, then faded back into the little crowd of her classmates.

The unfortunate part of chaperoning a trip with Morgan was that they had to be separated by a group of squirming children. Deirdre shot several looks of encouragement and longing over the crowd, but she was about as happy being stuck apart from Morgan as Steph was at being stuck sandwiched between her two mothers. At the back, Deirdre had accrued her own gaggle of kids, who remembered her as their chaperone in primary school and mysteriously enjoyed her company. The kids were too old to be bribed into happiness with snacks, but just the right age to indulge strange thought journeys. Deirdre liked children, they were far more like fae than she ever cared to notice before, but at this age, the preoccupation with social acceptance hindered any fun she had before with them. It was like corralling sheep that didn’t want to listen; that thought they didn’t have to. She disliked wielding authority, and wasn’t sure how much longer she could accept playing chaperone. Maybe it was time to retire. But until then, her gang of kids at the back were happy enough to play along with her game, aptly titled: how do we steal this? A simple thinking exercise in how to commit crime, and secure a few more bones for her collection (the last part was her own secret). The kids at the back, mostly boys, seemed to enjoy the game. And when they entered the Egyptian wing, they shared her excitement.

Over the crowd, Deirdre gave Morgan a thumbs up, and blew a kiss quickly before Steph could notice and glare. In the center of their small group, she could see Kelly with her bouncy blonde hair, flanked by her friends and their bright clothing. And poor Steph, trying to inch herself into their circle. “Now, what are we stealing?” She whispered to her accomplices, hoping Steph couldn’t hear and wouldn’t feel embarrassed that she hadn’t learned how to stop talking about crime, which was an issue three years ago on a zoo trip. The boys ran up to the first display, shoving each other to read the inscription.

“I’d steal a sarcophagus,” one of them said. “No way, I want that shriveled foot thing!” Another added. “Look at the mummy!”

The kids were leaning into the display excitedly, so much so that Deirdre didn’t have the heart to tell them not to touch the glass. Those who couldn’t see in were ducking around trying to look or elbowing themselves into a space. Kelly was holding her nose. Her friends looked at her, then around them, then followed suit. Deirdre turned back to the children and noticed for the first time that not all seemed as excited as the boys. Some had their faces scrunched together, some gazed just to turn their faces away and gag. Even the boys had misplaced delight; not in how beautiful death was, but how gross. Through the crowd, she couldn’t read Steph’s face. Deirdre looked to Morgan, hoping there was just some great anecdote or story a part of her lesson that would change their minds. The children started to reel from the display. Deirdre’s brow wrinkled; she moved closer to her wife, despite the rule that she was to stay at the back. That too, was just the sort that could be broken without harsh punishment.

Morgan, finally reaching a point in her life where she found preparing for disappointment useful, wasn’t surprised by the mixed reaction. A few years in lower level secondary school could do that to a woman. She sidled up to some of the louder skeptics. “Is a big first year like you really scared of one little mummy, Miles?”

Of course he wasn’t scared, Miles insisted. It was just so old and falling apart, not like in the movies, and in the photos the mummy’s skin looked disgusting, that was just facts, even Mrs. Dolan had to admit that.

“Would you be more scared or less scared if you knew you were insulting a cursed mummy?” Morgan asked.

The word curse caught the attention of a few and Morgan stalled by running though what little she knew about the curse of the pharaohs and Tutankhamen until the real guide showed up. She promised a secret prize to the first student who could prove whether or not there were any ‘cursed’ objects by looking closely and paying attention; that guaranteed about a third of the raucous ones would stay in line.

When the guide did show up, Morgan finally gave in to the proximity between her and Deirdre and took her hand. She spoke softly, just for her wife’s ears, but kept her eye on the students. “I think they look rather nice, personally,” she said. “But then, I’m probably biased in favor of a society that mummifies departed pets so they can all be together in the great beyond.” She leaned her head on her shoulder, basking in being unnoticed for the first time all day. “Also, is it cute or lame if I pilfer you a plastic mummy finger from the gift shop? Hypothetically.”

Steph knew where each of her mothers were in a room even when she didn’t want to. Their signals, as she thought of them, faded or grew stronger with proximity in a way she couldn’t ignore with so many normal people around. So she didn’t need to see them pair up behind the group to know that was happening, she was just relieved they were far enough away that nobody would notice if they started kissing. But she didn’t know how long she could count on them to stay like that. She had to take her chance with Kelly now.

“The curse thing is just a myth,” She scoffed, side-eyeing the other girl. Kelly didn’t believe in ‘baby stuff’ and liked being skeptical at everything. “One of the men they say the curse killed was murdered, actually. Smothered in his sleep at his club. They never caught the killer either. Can you believe? Looking at a blue asphyxiated body and thinking it must have been magic?” She laughed, waiting for some of the girls to laugh too, or at least nod.

Deirdre relaxed into a small smile as Morgan tried to notice the children. It was one of those things Morgan was good at, one of those things Deirdre could only watch with adoration. It didn’t work perfectly, but nothing ever did with humans. After more than a century, some things never changed. The music might have been new and strange, and the technology more advanced and confusing, but death was still untouchable. History was still foreign. They didn’t pause to think the body there had been taken from its home, that their own funeral practices might seem as odd thousands of years later. How long did it take until graveyards were exhumed for the sake of history? Would it be their bodies sitting there? Gawked at? Too much had humans come to know death behind glass, at safe distances, too little did they ever think about the mummy without a name.

But now was not the time to worry, human nature wasn’t her concern. Being a parent had shifted the focus; it didn’t matter to her what these children were thinking, but what Steph was. The girl who brought bones and dead animals into the house. Who pinned butterflies sitting on Deirdre’s lap. Who used her dolls to reenact a murder scene. The very same little girl who knew there was nothing gross here. Trusting her daughter to know better, Deirdre relaxed again, leaning into Morgan. “All these years later and people still find the Ancient Egyptians to be weird. That poor nameless mummy is practically dust.” She shook her head, laughing quietly along with Morgan. She thought it was nice too, but Morgan had heard enough of her death ramblings to know that she did. “Funny,” she laughed into a kiss against Morgan’s cheek. “I was going to get you a gift shop mummy. Maybe I’ll have to steal a vase then.” She hummed; surrounded by death, holding the woman she loved and watching their child, she knew peace.

“I think you’re more qualified to be teaching them about curses than…” Deirdre‘s voice fell away. Steph’s words rose above the din and all seemed to quiet as she spoke. Steph was expectant for agreement, but behind the crowd, Deirdre tensed. The very same little girl that sat between them as they explained why grandma Siobhan would not be coming over, and why she would never meet grandma Ruth. The exact girl who once delighted in watching her Mammy’s fingers regrow, who asked why she couldn’t be blue all the time because it was prettier. The girl who learned. The girl who knew better. The very girl who knew that if anyone had thought a blue body was magic, it was her and her mother, who was still standing rigidly behind them. Because she had thought it was magic until she knew the words. And Deirdre still thought it was magic, even though she knew them, because it was Morgan.

Morgan felt something was wrong before she understood it. There was a sickly prickle in the air, a swelling sense that something was about to happen. Can you believe? Looking at a blue asphyxiated body and thinking it must have been magic? A little pool of silence formed around Steph. One drop, then another, another.

Morgan was limp and frozen at once. If she had remembered her last violent days of being human better, she might’ve recalled that liquid, helpless feeling of being struck by a hard blow and falling to the ground without any hope or plan of fighting back. Because this was it. Children had to distance themselves from their parents, it was a sign of developing a strong sense of self. They had to feel safe trying out different looks and personas. They had to make their own choices and their own mistakes. And so what could Morgan do but watch Steph laugh like she was an absurd joke? Like she didn’t exist at all? Children acted out. Children tested boundaries, both their own and others. What could Morgan do besides watch her daughter’s betrayal come to nothing?

She squeezed Deirdre’s hand. “Stay here,” she  said. “Stay with me.” She meant to sound firm, to draw a line between what they both wanted and what they could do. But her words came out as nothing more than a thinly veiled plea in a frail voice.

Deirdre’s lips twitched as she held Morgan tightly. A reprimand burned on the edge of her tongue. But Kelly dolled a punishment far worse than Deirdre ever could. She was looking at Steph like the others, but her lips were the first to thin and then pull down. Her eyes were the first to narrow and her brows the first to pull together. One word escaped her mouth, “ew.” And as she laughed, shrill and sharp through the thick of silence, laughter inspired in spurts around the crowd. Steph slouched, shrinking into herself, her eyes were focused on the tiling below. Kelly spoke the same way she laughed, “I think I just found something worse than the mummies.” As if she remembered suddenly who Steph was, she looked at Morgan, “I’m sorry for laughing Mrs. Dolan, but Steph’s making me uncomfortable with her talk of murder.” She couldn’t help the way her lips twitched, fighting back a smile. Kelly took her a moment to remember how to look wounded, and so she did, big eyes and batting eyelashes. There was another quick apology to Steph, just to cover her bases. Then, confident that there was nothing Morgan could say to scold her, she turned back, blonde ponytail grazing Steph’s nose.

Kelly was calculated, quick. Where interest shifted from her, she was fast to reel it back. As her friend managed meekly to ask why the man had died, Kelly just as quickly issued another sharp retort, killing the question where it started; in the girl’s throat as a gargle. She stood at the center again, more confident. In many ways, Kelly reminded Deirdre of herself; what little she did remember of herself at that age. But so did Steph, tall and thin with hair much darker than her classmates, trying her best to become invisible in the back. She didn’t look at her mothers, but if she had she’d find that where disappointment once tugged Deirdre’s features, worry now did. The rest of the children shuffled toward the guide awkwardly, trying to pretend nothing had happened. The few that turned to look at Steph were met with Kelly’s friendly gaze, and in desperate situations, a quick compliment or question to get them looking where she wanted. There was them, and then there was Steph.

Morgan’s frozen expression warded off any protracted speeches from Kelly, thank the stars and it held in place until the worst was over. The tension she’d been holding released  itself in one terrible squeeze of her wife’s hand, and in the letting go. She couldn’t be herself right now and the three of them would never be the three of them in a setting like this. She had been delusional to think that would happen.

The guide uncomfortably moved them along, and every child went, edging further and further away from Steph as they did. It was just the three of them in the back now. Reluctantly, Morgan slipped away from her wife and followed too.

She kept stride with Steph at the back for a few paces but did not look at her and did not speak. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, or what she should do. She only knew she wasn’t allowed any of it, per Steph’s pre teen boundaries. “I’d like to speak with you about this at home,” she said. Her voice was flat, emotionless, which was how Steph knew the extent of the damage she’d done. Morgan drew herself up, fixed her face into her bright, unflappable teacher self, then moved ahead to mind the other children.

Steph didn’t make a move to acknowledge her Mammy, she was too busy fighting back tears. Everyone was leaving her behind, no one liked her, no one understood her, and all she wanted was a sandwich and a nap and for today to have never happened. She tried to look through her hair and find her Ma without showing it, but the moment she registered her shape, she looked away again. As long as she didn’t see her face, she could hold out hope that her Ma wasn’t mad at her like everyone else.

It was Deirdre now who pleaded softly for Morgan to stay, her fingers recoiling at the empty air between them. The only thing she could manage was quiet whining, completely obscured by the museum heater and the guide’s monotone explanations ahead. Stay, her eyes told Morgan’s back, stay and let’s talk to her. But Steph wasn’t just Morgan’s daughter, she was her student, and she wanted to be treated as such. She made a big deal out of it; she wanted to be Steph not Persephone. But all Deirdre could see was their daughter, and the little girl that she was. With more resolve, she might have been able to give Steph what she wanted, but the last century had turned Deirdre into the sort of woman incapable of looking away. So moved next to her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. When that was slowly shrugged off, she pressed a kiss to the top of her head and didn’t mind the garbled complaint that never managed to be formed into any words. “I’m sorry it didn’t work, sweetie,” Deirdre said softly, burning to hold her daughter’s hand as she shoved them into her pockets. Steph sniffled, mumbling something Deirdre couldn’t hear and didn’t think she was meant to anyway. There was a lesson here to give, but Deirdre thought it would be cruel to make Steph listen to it now. “I love you,” she opted for instead. When her hand met Steph’s shoulder this time, she didn’t shrug it away.

“You’re embarrassing me,” Steph bit the inside of her cheek and mumbled in that sort of petulant way she did when she couldn’t admit what she actually wanted to say. In this case, four words. Deirdre didn’t mind it.

Softly, Deirdre asked, “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Steph nodded. “Are you going to be okay?” Steph didn’t respond. “Do you want to go home?” Steph nodded, then shook her head. “Do you want me to push Kelly down the stairs?” Steph let out a small, watery laugh, swiping at her eyes. She shook her head. “Do you want to talk to Mammy?” Steph looked up at Morgan, then quickly back at the ground. Heat rose to her cheeks, and Deirdre let her hand fall away from her daughter’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to her first, how does that sound?” Steph nodded and Deirdre reluctantly left her to catch up to the group on her own.

Beside her wife now, Deirdre wrapped her arm around her waist and leaned in slowly for a simple kiss against her temple. She tried her best to pull them back into their own little bubble again, out of earshot of the students. The guide seemed more enthusiastic as Kelly made it a point to ask questions, in a show of her best, irrefutable behaviour now.

“I remember when I was like that,” she started softly, “you’re only so powerful as long as you’re paid attention to; as long as you’re important. And it’s easy to make sure you’re the only person people are looking at.” She paused. The guide was leading them into the ‘Queens of Egypt’ section of the exhibit now, through a thin dark tube-shaped corridor illuminated by fluorescent recreations of hieroglyphics. They stopped inside to marvel at the art, Deirdre turned around to watch Steph’s lanky frame be coloured by blues and purples. “You know she wants to talk to you, right?”

Morgan shivered under Deirdre’s touch. It took most of her nerve not to melt into her completely. She watched Kelly hold court among the other students, the confidence in her shoulders and the swish of her hair. “I never had that,” she said.”Did it ever feel as great as it looked?”

But Deirdre hadn’t found her smooth out her hurt with dry repartee. Deirdre, and her absurd, unimaginable, wise love, was trying to fix their family. Morgan shook her head. “She wants to be something she’s not. Like that.” She nodded toward Kelly. “She wants everything we did. Because that’s just life, apparently.” But she slid her gaze back to her daughter, unable to help herself, and she remembered not being able to be small enough, good enough, enough enough, and she wanted Deidre to be right.

“What could we even say? I’m—not even me right now. It’s not like how we are at home. I shouldn’t have built up any idea that it would be in my head.”

Kelly was swishing through the crowd to get a better look at the jewels, trying to superimpose her reflection on them and decree them ugly at the same time.

Morgan turned her face into her wife’s shoulder, the better to hide the frustration on her face. “My gods, but I wish I could do something to Kelly besides write her up to the fucking office. That never does anything.”

“The unfortunate part is that it did, most of the time, feel just as great as it looked.” Deirdre sighed, pressing her lips to Morgan’s head again, hoping her wife would let her hold her closer, as if they weren’t meant to be responsible, respectable adults right then. “My love, who are you if you’re not you? Who are you meant to be right now?” Deirdre’s voice became soft, and her eyes softer. In time, her hand found Morgan’s and she squeezed. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting something to be good, you know that. There’s nothing wrong with having some hopes or expectations. I’m sorry the day wasn’t all that you wanted, but the day isn’t over just yet.” She smiled, wishing she could transfer some of her energy to Morgan. It was the death around her that buzzed like a beehive in her chest, and her love for Morgan that gave it all a home. But she was also not meant to be anyone’s teacher right now. She was wife and she was mother, and those were two things she could always be, and two things she always was. “I love you,” she said, “and I do think you are magic.”

Her eyes followed Morgan’s to Kelly who, in an agonizing play-by-play of Deirdre’s own school persona, held her head high and her smiles wide. “We could do something,” she mused. If Kelly really was anything like she had once been, all they needed to do was pull the rug out from under her feet. They could be vicious about it, even. But Kelly was still a child, and Deirdre didn’t know what felt fair. For her daughter, she would’ve done anything, for Morgan, she thought it was wise not to completely terrorize her student. Maybe they could get that attention back onto Steph, she knew a lot more about the ancient Egyptians than any of the other children. And she had things to say about death, and mummies and curses. But what if they only made things worse for their daughter, who sometimes seemed as though nothing was ever right for her? “I could make my eyes go black and pretend I’ve been cursed and then touch her. Maybe she’ll think she’s caught something and throw a fit. Or maybe you can throw your hand at her or…” Deirdre trailed off, “what do you think, my love?”

Morgan hid her face in Deirdre again as the last of her dry, stiff shell fell away. “I love you too,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry about everything until this point. I’m not helping, I know I’m not. I don’t know how you take such good care of us when I get all—” She sniffled and gestured vaguely, trusting her wife to fill in the missing words.

She thought Deirdre had some good ideas, actually. Most of hers involved fae allies they didn’t actually have at their disposal. A little staircase critter to bite the wedge heel off her shoes, some pixies to glamour her face into some really bad acne… before she knew it, Morgan was laughing as the images piled on. “It’s funny you mention my hand because I was actually kind of thinking of putting a finger or two in her bag and pretending to discover it. Or outsourcing some help to make her look foolish, but I haven’t spotted any ghosts and you would’ve noticed any fae by now.” She plucked her knife out of her purse and looked up at her wife, all herself again. “Is it too mean if you crack some glass in front of her so she thinks there really is a curse?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Deirdre said with a smile. “You’re not doing anything wrong.” Comfort was as easy to give as it always had been; love, understanding and patience had never been particularly hard. Not for her family. And it was even easier to say that Morgan was always worthy of her best care, just as Steph was. It was, of course, similarly easy to plan mischief. And Deirdre did so with a grin, and another kiss before silently securing the plan with Morgan and going off to get it all done. In her expression, sentiments that a century had made obsolete in the spoken word moved between them. Be careful was in her eyes, don’t hurt yourself was the way her lips curled up, and I love you was everywhere, but most of all the way her fingers lingered in the air after they parted. She caught Steph’s confused gaze back in the corridor, and winked.

Kelly had become bored, with no challenge to her position and the realization that now she did actually have to listen to the guide, there was nothing to do. She had begun tapping at the display glass, sighing and moping around as her friends tried desperately to find something interesting to cheer her up. When she reached a bust of Hatshepsut encased in glass, she traced the outline of her face with her fingers; the nose, the jaw, the eyes, over and over again as the guide struggled to keep the attention of the children.

“Hatshepsut had her own curse, you know,” Deirdre smiled at Kelly who, to her credit, did not care. And, to Deirdre’s convenience, wanted to be vocal about it.

“This exhibit sucks. The pharaoh’s are boring and no one cares about the queens.” Kelly sighed, forlorn in her disposition.

At once, Deirdre screamed, earning herself the gaze of every child and guide in attendance. Easily, she laughed the sound off, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought something touched my shoulder! Must have been the heating.” As attention shifted away from Deirdre, it fell on to the display of Hatshepsut, now sporting web-like cracks under Kelly’s frozen fingers. The murmurs started quiet before they were an uproar of stating the obvious.

Kelly drew her hand back, “t-that wasn’t me! I didn’t do that!”

Morgan could only spare a moment to admire her wife as they parted. (Her achingly soft, beautiful wife with her forgiveness and her wisdom and her chaos. You would never guess who she’d been, would never imagine how much good she was capable of.) Slicing her own finger off was a trick she’d become very good at, but that didn’t make hiding it any easier. But Deirdre screamed and the eyes in the room turned and her knife went through her pinky, just above the knuckle. She cradled it in her palm, careful to keep as much of the black-green liquid that drooled off the skin as possible.

“Okay, everyone!” She called, bright and commanding as a teacher should be. She waded through the students and herded them along into the last room. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Kelly, come on honey, get away from there before anything else happens.”

Kelly nodded, whimpering, and didn’t think twice about nice Mrs. Dolan putting a hand on her back, or hovering by her open bag. Morgan dropped the finger in, smiling warmly at the girl as she did it. “Be careful,” she said, teasing gently. “The stories say broken glass foretold each death of the curse.” The stories said no such thing, but Kelly would never know that.

The little girl nodded, flushed with embarrassment, and hurried off to join her friends. Morgan patted her bag as if sending her off and pop. Out came one dead little pinky.

One of the students lagging behind screamed.

“Uh, Kelly?” Morgan called.

The other students at the back of the line were pointing, gaping at the finger with disgusted wonder.

“I wasn’t running, Mrs. Dolan, I was just catching up so I wouldn’t get lost.”

Morgan picked the finger off the floor and held it up high to make sure everyone else in the group saw it. “You dropped something, honey. Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Ew! I don’t know what that is, it’s not mine!” Kelly protested.

“I saw it fall out of her bag,” Connor McCarthy said.

“I saw it too! I thought I smelled something weird!” Soon students who were in front of Kelly had somehow sensed all along that she had a weird dead finger in her bag, and the more Kelly protested, the more everyone was convinced of the lie.

“We can settle this at school,” Morgan chided. “Come on, there are much more impressive dead bodies in the exhibit than whatever weird props your classmates are hiding.”

The guide, bless their heart, distractedly sped through their prepared speech of the last room, and after Morgan dragged Connor McCarthy away from the broken glass (he wanted to have just a piece as a souvenir), she was able to drift over to where Steph was: in the back, too bewildered to risk getting close to the others just yet.

“Hey, bugaboo,” she whispered, warm where she had once been cool. “Are you hanging in there okay?”

Steph couldn’t look at her Mam, her cheeks hurt from where she bit their insides to stop from laughing. And they burned where guilt and embarrassment scorched them red. She turned to look at her Ma, who was engrossed in conversation with the employees about the nature of the glass used, and if it was on the fossil exhibits too. Kelly was ahead, screeching about her innocence. And here was her Mammy, talking to her after everything. Steph wanted to say she was sorry, but ended up kicking invisible rocks away on the ground.

“Um,” she kicked at more rocks. “I know it doesn’t hurt but you don’t have to chop off your finger, it’s weird.” Steph’s face burned hotter, her gaze stronger on the tiles below. She didn’t want to say it was weird; it wasn’t weird. It was cool, even if it made her scared sometimes that it wouldn’t grow back one day. She wanted to say thank you, even if her heart was hammering in her chest and her eyes kept darting up to her Mam’s hand, trying to see if the finger had come back by now. Her mind raced and her tongue struggled to catch up. “I’m–Um–You’re…”

Slowly, in trembles and hiccups, Steph cracked. A flood of tears met her dark eyes and she turned to bury herself into her Mammy’s shoulder. She didn’t care who saw, it didn’t matter so much anymore. She cried like she was eight and had tripped over one of the garden rocks and wondered why it hurt so much, and why her insides were so red. She cried like it was movie night, and one scene of harsh flashing lights and loud banging scared her so much she had to hide behind her Mammy. She cried like Persephone might, and called for her Mammy without a care for how childish it sounded. She didn’t even mind being called bugaboo. She was happy her Mam was talking to her at all, and she had so much to say. But first there was, “I’m sorry.”

Morgan wrapped her arms around her daughter. What hurt she harbored was washed away by those little tears on her shoulder. “Oh, little bug,” she sighed. “I love you always. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, I love you always.” She kissed her head. “I forgive you, and we are okay, and you will be okay. Just as you are. Because that girl, the one you are when you aren’t pretending, she’s the best kid I know.”

She gave her another kiss and another squeeze, then looked up in search of her wife, and smiled bigger than she had all day when she found her. “I was thinking,” she said, “Why don’t we do something tonight, after we finish up with school. We’re all in town together for a change, and it’s October tomorrow, maybe we can make the most of it. See a show, go to that burger place you like so much, at least get an early start on Samhain season, huh?” She pulled back and brushed her hand over her daughter’s face to wipe her tears. “Think about it, at least. Let me know what you decide when we get back to school?”

Steph nodded quickly, laughing and sniffling through being fussed with. The back of her hand was good enough to wipe tears away with, but her Mammy’s hands were better and they buzzed and tickled wherever they went. Steph shivered from the cold and laughed again, meeting her Mammy’s eyes finally. “Yeah, I’d like that,” she said with a few more sniffles and laughs. “I love you too,” she mumbled through her hands.

When Deirdre met up with her daughter and wife, her arms went around both for as long as she could manage until Steph squirmed free. Ahead, one of the girls was waving and calling Steph over, and with her a few joined in, eager to get their classement to join them in whatever they were looking at. And when they noticed their teacher lagging behind too, they called out again. Excitedly, Steph looked between her mothers before taking her Mammy’s hand and trying to drag her forward. “We still have to go through the fossils! And I wanna see the mummy again before we go. Come on! Come on, Mammy! Ugh, you two move so slow.” Moving behind them, Steph tried to push her mothers from the back, finding that they were both much heavier and that the floor was much more slippery than she thought.

Deirdre laughed and urged Steph to go ahead without them for a moment, if only to steal time to kiss Morgan before she had to work again. “That seemed like it was pretty good to me,” she smiled.

Morgan took Deirdre’s hand and ambled slowly. She would catch up eventually, and maybe slip a tip to the guide for taking up some of her duties without being warned. But for now, her hope was brushing against her fingertips, better than any caress from the living. “It really was. Thanks to you.” She leaned against her wife as they walked, not caring how intimate they seemed to anyone.

Steph was already bouncing back and chattering with one of her real friends, holding her head just a little higher as she pointed out something in a photograph of the Book of the Dead. In the spring, she would be thirteen and even more like the vision Morgan had seen in a magic mirror more than an age ago. Morgan would hold her breath each day in fear that some horrible accident would force a pair of moth wings to cut through her daughter’s little back. A few more years beyond that, they would have to start seriously discussing what choices they would make for activating her if fate hadn’t made that choice for them already. And in the time after that, they would all have to learn how to be happy again, as everyone did at least once while they lived.

But for now, the little girl that made the seasons turn for Morgan was smiling and looking at her mothers with so much love it seemed impossible to imagine they could be parted. For now, home was more than an address in Ireland and a blue cottage never quite done. It was in the pressure of her wife’s hand, the glimmer in her daughter’s eye, the rush of affection in her own chest, better than any human heartbeat.