Agatha Harkness's Arc

Chapter 21 of 21

Agatha climbed from the rabbit hole with clean arms and a clean debt. The curse was gone. She flew straight home, wanting only her bed and her silence. But when she stepped into her manor, she saw it. A mirror in the hall wore a smear of black soot across its glass. She pressed her palm to it. The stain did not smear. It bloomed, spreading a thumb's width while she watched. The curse had left her skin but touched her house on the way out. If she did nothing, it would eat every mirror she owned. Soot could not be frozen. Ice could not seal it. She had learned that already. But this was only a smudge, not a debt in her blood. She needed someone who unmade things cleanly, before the rot set deep. She thought of the elder fae who had once silenced her frost mirror for a year. Enchantments faded for that one, always. Perhaps stains did too. She found Seraphina in an overgrown cottage tangled with vines and crooked shelves of teacups. The tiny fae stood on a stool, dusting a jar of dried stars. Her staff leaned against the wall, its crystal dim. She did not turn around. "You again," Seraphina said. "My magic is nearly spent, witch. Whatever I give you will not last." "It doesn't need to last," Agatha said. "It needs to end something. A soot stain is spreading through my house. I want it gone, not delayed." Seraphina climbed down and studied her. "Every gift of mine expires. That is my whole nature. I cannot destroy. I can only make a thing wear out faster." She tilted her head. "But a stain is not a curse anymore. It is only its shadow, left behind. A shadow I can age into nothing." She lifted her staff. The crystal woke, faint and gold. "This is close to the last of me. Take me to the glass." Back at the manor, Seraphina laid her small hand on the stained mirror. Agatha watched the black creep toward the fae's fingers, then stop. Gold light seeped into the soot. The stain thinned. It grayed. It flaked, drifting down like ash from a cold fire, and left the glass clear. Seraphina's staff went dark. "That mirror is clean," the fae said. She swayed on her feet. "But my magic is done for a long while. If another shadow rises, do not come to me. Find someone with power to spare." Agatha walked her guest to the door and shut it. The hall mirror showed her own face, whole and unmarked. Her house was silent. Her skin was clean. The curse was truly finished. Then she saw the small pile of gray ash on the floor beneath the mirror. She bent and touched it. It was cold. But one flake clung to her fingertip and would not brush away.