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Dark clouds roll across the grounds, and Hecate stares out at the fields through her bedroom window, the forest beyond. The grey day suits her mood, but she can’t be certain if it’s merely coincidence, or if her magic actually has something to do with it. The air feels thick, humid and suffocating and she tries to take slow, measured breaths.
She should be used to this by now. Used to other people deciding her fate. The thought makes her skin itch, makes her feel hollow and numb. She wants to be angry—is, somewhere deep down, furious and heartbroken—but she’s exhausted, from sleepless nights plagued by nightmares and the looming sense of foreboding leading up to today.
There isn’t much she can do—isn’t anything, really, other than wait for Ada’s return, keep the school running in her short absence, keep things quiet. Dimity, she knows, has been taking care of the girls, giving her time and space away from everyone. Ada and Dimity have been walking on eggshells around her for the past two weeks, since the hearing was called, and she tries not to be resentful—tries not to hate their tentative smiles, their reassurances that everything will be fine, you’ll see, try not to worry.
She isn’t worried. She’s too tired to be worried, too used to things never falling quite her way.
She hadn’t been free a week when the Great Wizard turned up, furious at Ada for breaking her confinement without his permission; furious at Hecate for “taking advantage” of the situation, for leaving the grounds. Furious that his law was undermined, and it had taken Ada and Dimity to calm him down enough to agree to a fair hearing, whether or not her confinement should be reinstated. Whether she should be allowed to go free. Whether she’s served her penance.
She doesn’t get a say in the matter. Isn’t certain what she’d say if she did. Ada’s been gone a while now, and she doesn’t know if that bodes well or not; isn’t entirely sure what “well” is, but she knows that at least part of her—a large, terrified part of her—has already resigned herself to losing. To being trapped here, again, and after her brief, fleeting freedom, it’s almost worse than never having been granted it at all.
She hasn’t traveled much—her flying isn’t exactly up to par for long distances, and her transference is immaculate within a short area, a bit more finicky when she pushes too hard, too far. But she’d gone to Pentangle’s, once, a few weeks ago. Felt that she had to, felt it urgent and necessary, all of a sudden, to see Pippa. To talk to her. To explain... everything.
She hadn’t really known what to expect—if Pippa would be angry, if she’d hate her, if she wouldn’t forgive her. She’d resigned herself to that, but couldn’t stomach the thought of lying to her any longer, not when she was suddenly, gloriously, free. To come and go as she pleased. To see her whenever she pleased. To not be quite the same kind of burden.
Pippa had been angry, but to her surprise, it hadn’t been at her. She’d been furious about the confinement itself, furious that no one protected a child, furious at herself, that she didn’t realize. That she wasn’t there for Hecate.
The admission had startled her, and Pippa softened instantly, took her hands, held them tight. She’d offered to help in any way she could, offered to let her stay at Pentangle’s, offered to go on short flights with her, offered and offered and Hecate hadn’t understood, none of it made sense, Pippa’s unwavering support after everything, until Pippa had looked down at their hands and said,
It’s because I love you. As your friend, of course, but also... in ways you might not be ready for. Might not want to hear. And that’s okay. She’d smiled. I’ll wait.
Pippa had been right, a little—she wasn’t quite ready to hear it. But by the time she’d made it back to Cackle’s, Pippa’s admission had curled something bright and warm in her chest, and it had felt like the beginning of something precious, something hers, feelings she’d buried for so long that maybe, now, she could finally act upon.
And now it’s falling apart, as surely as the rain falling in sheets in the distance, ever closer.
She moves away from the window, tries to convince herself to make some tea, or do some work, something to take her mind off things, as best she can.
And then there’s a knock at the door, and her heart stalls. She didn’t think Ada would be back quite this soon, and she isn’t in any state to deal with a crisis, or Dimity, or anyone else. But it’s her job, will probably remain, after this is over, the only thing she has left, so she squares her shoulders and opens the door and stares, almost blankly, at Pippa, standing on the other side, clutching her broom.
“I came as quickly as I could,” she says, a bit breathless, soaked to the skin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hecate swallows and stares and it’s a long moment before she remembers her manners, remembers to open the door and allow Pippa inside.
She clears her throat, tries to summon the words—she hadn’t told her because she couldn’t, because it hurt, because she was and is terrified of losing what little she’s gained and equally terrified of everything changing.
Pippa leans her broom against the wall and turns to watch her, her eyes wide and wet and she’s shaking slightly from the cold.
“Oh, Hiccup,” she murmurs, and before Hecate can say anything at all, Pippa wraps her arms around her neck and holds her close, a tight hug that doesn’t end.
Her clothes are wet and her cheek against Hecate’s is cold but Hecate doesn’t care, can’t bring herself to do anything other than sag into Pippa’s embrace, to curl her fingers in Pippa’s dress and hold on, and it’s the first time in weeks she’s felt grounded, even a little.
“I’ve got you,” Pippa murmurs, brushing her thumb over the back of Hecate’s neck, her voice slightly muffled. “I’ve got you, darling.”
The endearment cracks something in Hecate’s chest and she buries her face in Pippa’s shoulder, holds back tears that she imagines have been a long time coming. She doesn’t cry, won’t let herself, but it’s a long moment before she feels stable enough to pull back, to step out of Pippa’s embrace.
Embarrassed, flushed and vulnerable, Hecate clears her throat again and tuts at Pippa, though her voice is hoarser than she’d like.
“You’ll catch your death like that,” she says, and waves a hand for a drying spell.
Pippa shivers as her magic rolls over her, but she smiles softly, a bit self-deprecating. “I couldn’t help it,” she says. “I’ve been in a state since I heard.”
Hecate frowns, then glances out the window—the weather has calmed slightly, to a slow drizzle. “That was you?”
Pippa shrugs. “My magic’s been a bit tetchy lately.”
“Why?”
Pippa gives her a soft look. “Because I’m worried about you.”
Hecate blinks, doesn’t quite understand—Pippa’s magic is powerful and usually well-controlled, and for her to cause something as severe as a storm, even a mild one, Hecate knows, Pippa’s emotions must be running almost as high as her own.
“You didn’t have to come here,” she says, and hopes her voice isn’t has harsh or frail as she feels.
Pippa shakes her head. “As if I’d let you go through this alone.” She pauses, and studies Hecate’s face, and then says uncertainly, “Unless you’d rather be alone—I’d understand if you did, I just—I thought perhaps—I can go if you—”
“No,” Hecate says, her throat dry, the prospect now of Pippa leaving more terrifying than her presence. “No, I—I am grateful. That you’re here.”
Pippa smiles softly, tinged with sadness, and takes Hecate’s hands again, looking up at her with such sincerity and devotion, Hecate doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
“We’ll get through this,” she promises. “Whatever happens, whatever that old goat decides, we’ll fight it, or we’ll work around it.”
“Pippa—”
She shakes her head. “I’m not letting you suffer this alone. Not anymore.”
Hecate takes a shaky breath. “If the Great Wizard decides to continue my confinement, I won’t—it isn’t fair to you to—”
“I’ll decide what’s fair to me,” Pippa says firmly, gently, squeezing her hands. “Having you in my life again is the most important thing to me. I won’t let anyone ruin that.” She smiles. “Not even you.”
Hecate snorts softly, but she tightens her grip on Pippa’s hands in response, staring at her silently, wondering if she really deserves this, deserves someone like Pippa. She doesn’t, she’s certain, but she can’t quite make herself pull away.
Everything has felt so dark for so long, and Pippa is full of light. She’d be foolish not to sink into it, in whatever way she can, whatever way Pippa allows.
She tries to smile, knows it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but Pippa seems to understand, seems to read her, and after a moment, releases her hands and insists on tea, and perhaps a game of chess.
The tea helps, the game of chess keeps faltering, on both their sides. Hecate can’t concentrate, and Pippa doesn’t seem interested, too busy sneaking glances at Hecate, as if to make sure she isn’t breaking.
It should bother her, should sit uncomfortably on her shoulders, but instead, Pippa’s presence is calming, her care feels precious and unearned.
They give up on chess after a few moves each, and Pippa distracts her with stories about Pentangle’s, naughty students and ridiculous shenanigans. She can’t quite laugh, but just the sound of Pippa’s voice quiets her frantic mind, just a little.
At some point, Pippa gets up for more tea, and when she returns, she sits next to Hecate on her small sofa, curls her legs up beneath her and sets a hand on Hecate’s thigh, her touch warm. It makes Hecate flush a bit, but she doesn’t pull away and Pippa doesn’t say anything, just continues talking, a little softer. Hecate fiddles with a knight and adds the occasional interjection, but all she can think about is this: the two of them, together, the easy companionship and warmth that spreads through her bones and she wants so desperately to keep it, doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know, if the Great Wizard decides to reinstate her confinement, how she’ll keep her grief, her bitterness, at bay. How do keep it from coming between them, again.
She isn’t certain how much time passes—it feels both too quick and horribly slow—but just after the clock chimes five, there’s a rush of magic, and a small, sealed envelop appears on her coffee table, her name printed on the front, CONFIDENTIAL stamped in the corner.
She stiffens, and Pippa stops talking abruptly, and they both stare at it. Hecate’s hands being to shake and she drops the knight, and Pippa curls her fingers around Hecate’s knee.
“Is that—”
Hecate nods. “They informed me they would deliver the verdict by letter after the meeting.”
Pippa scowls. “Cowards. Won’t even tell you in person.”
Hecate agrees with her, to some extent, but admits, “I prefer it this way.”
Still, she doesn’t reach for the envelop.
“Take your time, darling,” Pippa murmurs. “It isn’t going anywhere.”
Hecate doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, and a moment later Pippa turns slightly on the couch towards her.
“Talk to me,” she says softly.
Hecate isn’t sure she wants to, isn’t sure she doesn’t, isn’t sure about anything other than the knot in her throat. Her chest feels tight, like there’s not enough air, and the only thing keeping her centered is Pippa’s hand on her knee, her thumb brushing back and forth.
“It’s... it shouldn’t matter,” she says finally. “I’ve been here my whole life. I’ll likely be here the rest of it. It shouldn’t make a difference.”
“Of course it matters,” Pippa says. “You were given your freedom—”
“Not officially. My confinement was for life. Simply because I was temporarily needed elsewhere doesn’t mean my actions have been excused.”
“I don’t think anyone is excusing you of anything,” Pippa says, a bit sharply. “You were a child, and they punished you for a mistake. They’ve been punishing you for decades. Even if the situation had not resolved itself—which it did, and Indigo is fine—it was still cruel and unjust. To reinstate it after everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done for this school and the girls and Indigo herself—”
“It doesn’t erase what I did.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Pippa says. “But Mildred almost did the same, and you protected her, the way someone should have protected you.” She shifts slightly, touches her fingertips to Hecate’s jaw and guides her eyes to hers.
“Whatever this says, Hecate, it doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change the remarkable things you’ve done, the care you’ve put into this school and your students. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of your freedom.”
Hecate shudders, finds herself tilting her cheek slightly into Pippa’s palm.
“I’m afraid,” she admits, and Pippa nods, brushes away an errant tear and rubs her thumb gently over Hecate’s cheek.
“I know. I am, too. But whatever happens—you deserve your life back, Hecate. You deserve to find love, and happiness, and joy wherever you can, outside these walls. And if they can’t see that, then we’ll make them see it.”
“The Great Wizard won’t take too kindly to your interference,” Hecate warns, and Pippa scoffs.
“The Great Wizard isn’t nearly as “great” as he thinks he is. And whatever the risk, it’s worth it,” she adds softly. “For you. You’re worth it to me.”
Hecate stares at her, waits for the but, for the other shoe; but Pippa just keeps on staring at her, eyes bright and wet and her hand so soft and warm on her cheek and she doesn’t know anymore, doesn’t know what to think or how to feel but she knows that this is right, this is what she wants, and despite Pippa’s instance that everything will be fine, she knows better. Knows, that this might be her last chance.
She leans forward and kisses her, kisses Pippa, soft and unsure and afraid but Pippa kisses her back, cradles her cheek in her palm and kisses her back and when Hecate pulls away, she can taste salt.
She turns away, unable to bear the love in Pippa’s gaze.
Before she can talk herself out of it, she reaches for the letter, Pippa’s hand over her knee, her thigh pressed to hers, warm, and safe enough for now.