Chapter Text
“Shit,” Agatha let her head fall against the wheel, allowing the horn to blare out into the lush Palmetto oak trees bordering the highway. “Shit, shit, shit!” She had been ignoring the thumping sounds her 2017 Toyota Camry had been making since Virginia, and now that she had finally arrived in South Carolina, it seemed that her precious car had finally decided to give up on her. Why didn’t she just stop at a mechanic? She thought as she opened the car door and stepped out onto the shoulder of I-95, uncharacteristically quiet in the early morning light. Agatha stepped towards the front of her car and lifted the hood, faintly smelling a hint of smoke in the air, and let out a long sigh. It’s going to be a long day.
Looking into the hood, Agatha couldn’t tell one part from the other, but even she could figure out that the only way she was getting off this highway was by calling a towing company. With a creeping headache she could feel behind her brows, Agatha grabbed her bag from inside the car and fished out her phone, quickly calling the top result of her google search for the nearest tow service. Then, she searched around the bottom of her bag for the familiar rectangular paper Marlboro box, slightly worn with a couple weeks of being taken in and out of her bag, along with her smooth purple lighter. Agatha lifted the lid and grabbed a cigarette before throwing the box back into her bag and lighting the cigarette, putting it between her teeth, slowly taking a long drag and letting her eyes close as she leaned against her car.
As she waited for the tow truck to arrive, her mind wandered to contemplate what she was even doing on this road trip in the first place. She could be back in her small colonial home back in New Jersey right now, grading papers at her kitchen table as she sipped on a hot mug of coffee (the very same chipped mug adorned with small stars that now currently sat in one of the many boxes filling the back of her car). Of course, that would only be possible if she hadn’t been let go from her previous position at the local university because of “budget cuts,” which she knew was code for her own lack of new research and the exciting and upcoming new historians the department was making space for. She had been a professor there for six years, and she too used to be the inspiring recent graduate with her discovery of a hidden collection of journals of a group of young girls during the Salem Witch trials. But that was before she gathered dust along with the many books and papers on the shelves of her office, and failed to find any material for a new publication, much less the energy to do it. What with the hundreds of essays, many muddled with AI, she had to grade every semester and the droning lectures she now had to force herself to give to undergraduates barely trying to hide the phones in their laps.
That was why she forced herself on the almost eleven hour drive from New Jersey to Magnolia Oaks, South Carolina. After putting out her resume to what felt like every college and university on the east coast, Cedar Grove University was the only school that seemingly liked her enough to offer her a position. She would start her curriculum of classes revolving around the period of Colonial America starting next week. When Agatha received her list of classes as she read the email still standing in her warm kitchen, mention of the Witch Trials was notably missing, despite the topic being her only significant addition to the world of history. Yet she sighed in relief when she realized, her shoulders dropping slowly from their position next to her ears, resignedly grateful for the opportunity to talk about anything else. She loved her work, and she loved the era, but God was she sick and tired of looking for more straws to grasp and make something out of a period where she was almost certain everything had been discovered, and she was saying that as a historian! But besides, she hoped that if she found some way to stand apart from her colleagues at Cedar Grove, which she secretly believed wouldn’t be all that hard to do in Hicksville (as she had been unkindly referring to Magnolia Oaks in her mind), she might be able to claw her way back to a top school up north. She’d show them all back in New Jersey what they missed out on. Bunch of farmers and hillbillies couldn’t possibly out do the Dr. Agatha Harkness. She was invited to give a talk at Amherst College for God’s sake! Once, but still.
The blare of the horn and bright lights snapped Agatha away from her thoughts. A green tow truck made its way up to her and her car, “Mason Brothers Towing” was emblazoned on its side, stopping in front of the still smoking hood. The truck door opened slowly as Agatha noticed first the boots of the man stepping out of the vehicle, then his impossibly dirtier jeans, seemingly stained with grease. “Hi there, ma’am! Seems you’ve gotten into a bit of a hitch this morning,” the tow truck man said, expression on his face that Agatha could only describe as southern charm. She grimaced, trying, and failing, to hide the distaste from her appearance.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Agatha responded as the man started grabbing what she assumed were the necessary tools to attach her Camry to his truck. “If you could tow my car to Magnolia Oaks, that’d be great.”
His eyebrows rose slightly in confusion at her tone, but to his credit, started the process of connecting the two vehicles. “Sure thing, ma’am. I could take you straight to the mechanic in town.”
“No need, my rental house is fine,” Agatha replied as she decisively closed the hood of her car and stamped out her cigarette onto the pavement, hoping that the town really was as walkable as her online query promised. Besides, she was tired, still had to unpack, and the smoke did nothing to help her head ache subside.
“Okay ma’am, no problem. I take it you’re not from around here then?” the man continued, seemingly trying to initiate small talk.
“Nope.” And with that, Agatha hiked her purse further up her shoulder and opened the passenger side door of the tow truck, climbed in, and pointed the warm air of the fans to hit her. Presumptuous, sure, but that was Agatha.
After a forty five minute drive into town, the tow truck man left Agatha and her Camry in the driveway of the cabin rental that would be her home for at least the upcoming school year, and subsequently drove away after Agatha paid him and promised that she would get her car checked out by a mechanic soon. These Southerners, Agatha huffed, don’t they get tired of being disgustingly helpful? Taking a glance at the horde of boxes in her backseat, she decided that she definitely did not have the energy to unpack right now and instead made her way to the heavy wooden door framed by the white shingles of the cabin, and a rickety porch that creaked as she stepped across it. She had received a text last night from the owners of the rental that they would leave the key under the mat for her, and sure enough, under a cheery rug that aptly greeted her with a “Howdy, partner!” laid the brass key that she used to let herself inside.
Aside from the outright gaudy welcome mat, the furnishings were to Agatha’s likings for the most part. The house was small, but not much more so than her old home back north, and it had its own sense of charm, even Agatha had to admit. She left her shoes at the entranceway, peeking up the staircase that led to the singular bedroom upstairs, and walked down the short hallway that led to the connected kitchen and living room. Agatha made a beeline for the kitchen, stopping to notice the welcome note on the round kitchen table that provided her with the hosts’ contacts, Wi-Fi info, local recommendations, and a promise of refreshments in the fridge and pantry–information that had accompanied the texts she had received last night–alongside the bottle of whiskey that sat next to the note. She went straight to the cabinets and searched for a glass to pour herself some much-needed alcohol. Reflexively, she read the label on the glass bottle that proclaimed itself as coming from a local distillery and being a “Hometown Favorite Since 1902!”
Agatha rolled her eyes as she took her glass over to the cozy living room and stood in front of the large window on the opposite side of the plush sofa, letting her shoulders relax as she took a long sip of her drink, feeling the tension at her brows subside, if only gradually. She gazed out the window in front of her, soft morning light seeping onto the hardwood, taking in the sprawling grassy field that extended behind the house. The scene was strikingly different from the cramped neighborhoods she was used to, where not a square mile wasn’t inhabited by a Wawa, or so it felt. She took a long breath in, then out, before resolving upon sitting down on the large sofa in the center of the room.
Sitting down, Agatha could fully appreciate the crowded wooden bookshelves that adorned either side of the window frame, filled with books hand-picked by the rental owners. The bookshelves were one of the top reasons Agatha had decided to stay in this particular house; That and the fact that it was at least partly secluded from the rest of the neighborhood and slightly further away from the main street than the other rentals. Already she looked forward to the upcoming chilly autumn nights when she could peruse the mysterious shelves for a new book to read on the appealingly soft sofa with a big mug of tea, or more likely a glass of whatever alcohol she would stock in the pantry. She could almost picture her life stretching out before her here. Rising early in the mornings to make a leisurely cup of coffee, before taking her daily commute to Cedar Grove, hiding from her country colleagues in the peace and quiet of her office until she taught her classes for the day. The same thing every day, monotone, as Agatha was sure nothing could excite her this far south, among the corn fields, neighing horses, and dusty farmers. However, Agatha would take monotone over being jobless, and she was set upon her ability to stand out at the university–someone would surely note her academic brilliance or her aptitude for research–and there was only one school year standing between her and a position at a leading institution in the country, she was certain. As she sat there, Agatha felt her exhaustion come over her in a wave, and let her glass rest on the coffee table in front of her before allowing herself to shut her eyes and drift off, letting her tiredness take over her. One nap in over thirty years couldn’t hurt, I deserve this, at least.
Agatha woke to the sound of a repeating knock coming from the front door. Judging by the warm yet bright sun coming in through the shades and her rumbling stomach, she deduced that it must have been at least past noon. Who could possibly be at my door right now? Agatha continued to sit there, resting her arm over her eyes to block out the sun, and she silently willed her surprise visitor to go away. When the knocking stopped, Agatha could faintly hear a soft whistled melody coming from outside and a series of footsteps on her porch, before the knocking began again. Groaning, Agatha stood up defeated, and gathered the strength to walk towards the entrance. Before opening the door, she tried to pat down her hair and smooth out her shirt, but looking presentable after eleven hours of driving and a nap for God knows how long was a rather impossible task. Begrudgingly, Agatha turned the door knob and took in the sight of her unexpected guest.
The woman stood in front of her, a worn cowboy hat sitting atop her messy brown hair, in a way that Agatha could only assume was unironically. Her tanned skin contrasted with the soft green button up she was wearing inside of the muddy Carhartt jacket over her shoulders, and as Agatha let her eyes fall down to the rest of her outfit, from the jeans to the cowboy boots that matched the hat on her head, she made a face at the increasing levels of dirt that covered her visitor. Behind her, Agatha could see a dusty red Ford truck sitting in her driveway, bags of mulch sitting in its bed.
“Hi, partner!” The woman greeted Agatha, and she shifted her gaze to her deep brown eyes. “My name’s Rio, and I live on the old ranch just outside of town. The Hendersons told me someone new was moving into their cabin this morning, and I just wanted to see how you were settling in!” The woman, Rio, looked at Agatha expectantly, a charming grin plastered across her face.
“Yeah, I’m just peachy, thanks.” Agatha kept her hands on the side of the door, ready for Rio to leave now that she had ensured that Agatha had “settled in.”
Sensing her apprehension, and likely her annoyance seeping through, Rio stood a little straighter, nodding. “Well, great! Let me know if you need anything at all, you can always find me in town or up at the ranch. But I’m sure everyone in town will be sure to help you find me if you ever need a little help finding your way around!”
“Sure, yeah. I’m all good here, but thanks,” Agatha responded as Rio began to turn back to leave. As Rio made her way down the gravel path towards the driveway, she stopped abruptly in front of the Camry, noticing the car’s still ajar hood, turning back around to face Agatha.
Her eyes met Agatha’s through the closing door, imploring Agatha to reluctantly open it once more. She shouted from the drive, “Looks like you’re having a bit of car trouble here!”
Fuck. She had forgotten all about the car. “Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Agatha admitted reluctantly.
“Well, I’d be happy to give it a look for you! Of course, I’d need to grab my tools from the ranch to actually fix it, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be much of a hassle,” Rio said as she propped the hood open further. “Looks like a simple faulty fuel pump, nothing too crazy. Here, I’ll give you my number and you can call me when you’re a bit more, um, unpacked,” she continued, glancing at the boxes still in the backseat, “and I can swing by and check it out!” Rio walked over to her truck and grabbed a ripped piece of paper and a pen from her glove compartment, scribbling something on it before jogging back up to Agatha on the porch. “Here you go!” she said, handing Agatha the note reading: Rio Vidal - 803-757-8642.
As Rio made to leave, Agatha looked at her walking down the steps, deciding that maybe the dirt on her jeans could be forgiven for the way they hugged her ass. “I’m Agatha, by the way,” she called after the rancher.
Rio spun around gallantly, tipping her hat at her before turning back to climb into her truck, “Nice to meet you, Agatha.”