TTW: Six The French Connection (Patreon)

The next morning, Agatha and several other witches came to collect the couple after breakfast. The changes in Lydia had continued their progression; her right foot now matched her left, and the aging had spread up her arms, nearly to her elbows.

The truly disturbing thing, Thomas thought as he buttoned up a gray dress the clerk had brought for Lydia, was that she no longer thought her changes were strange in any way. It was as if she was accepting them.

"How do I look?" Lydia said, twirling, letting the skirt rise up. She spoke in a french accent and gave him that crooked smile he'd fallen in love with.

"Beautiful as always," he kissed her.

"Hah!" she turned to look into the mirror. "Liar." It sounded like "Liah!"

She had a streak in her hair on the left side. It accompanied a few wrinkles that had sprouted at the corners of her eyes and mouth. He'd wanted to grow old with Lydia, he just hadn't expected it to happen in their twenties.

A polite knock came at the door.

"Ooh!" Lydia smiled. "Zey are here!"

"Yeah, Lydia... once we're out the door though, we should make a break for it."

"Don't be zeelly." Lydia slid her changed arms up over his shoulders. "Do you know the kind of power she haz?"

Thomas shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Lyds, you're aging right before our eyes!"

She turned to look in the mirror, and slid her shriveled fingers through the streak. "Zis is all kind of punk rock, though, don't you think?"

"Don't do that, Lyds."

"Do what, darling?"

"Speak in that accent. You're already changing enough..."

She frowned at that. "I do not know what you are talking about, mon ami?"

She gave him a peck on the nose, then opened the door.

Grumbling at his wife's attempt at humor, he followed.

"This is Beatrice Vale," Agatha said, indicating a woman to her left with voluminous iron-colored hair and a keen, penetrating gaze. She wore a black dress with ruffles along the bottom.

"And this is Dorothy Weaver," Agatha indicated the woman to her right. Her hair was the color of pewter but was snarled and tangled. She was missing several teeth and had a wart that decorated an extended nose. Her dress was black and knee-length.

"Welcome to Willowbrook," Beatrice said in a gruff voice that sounded like gravel sliding in a cement mixer.

"Hello there!" Dorothy said, smiling a small gap-toothed grin.

Agatha wore a silver dress that matched her hair perfectly. "We thought we'd take you on a tour of Willowbrook, and perhaps look at home options."

"We 'ave been looking for a 'ome!" Lydia said, skipping a little. "We haven't found anyzing yet!"

Thomas frowned. Lydia was pouring on the act a bit thick. She spoke with a French accent that might have been endearing if Thomas hadn't known it was fake. Maybe it was helping Lydia to get over the shock of her changing body?

Marjory stood in the doorway and nodded to Agatha as they passed. Agatha nodded back and continued speaking.

"The Whispering Inn has been here for centuries, run by the same innkeeper," Agatha smiled. "You know her as Marjory, but she is also a vampire of the first order. The only first-order vamp allowed to live in Willowbrook."

"What iz this first order?" Lydia said, walking with Thomas and sliding her arm through his. Thomas cringed again at the accent.

"Vampires come in orders based on class," Beatrice said. "Fourth-order vamps, like David the clerk, are like bumblebees. They can sting but not much else. First-order vamps, well..."

"They can control entire nations of people," Dorothy said in her grating voice.

"Indeed," Agatha said. "You'll learn all about the orders in due time, child."

Lydia nodded, smiling.

The day was overcast, the bay misty. It was a lovely scene, albeit a bit gloomy. Thomas noticed a few others walking in the distance; some had horse carriages, others drove modern vehicles that would look appropriate on any street in any city.

"I wonder if ze sun will come out today?" Lydia said.

Thomas stopped. "Lydia, cut it out!" he said in a soft voice. "It's not funny anymore!"

Stung, Lydia looked at him. "What am I do-ing wrong?"

"The French accent shit!" he said in a harsh voice. "Lay off!"

"I do not know what you are talking a-bout. I am zpeaking in a normal..."

"It's the geas, darling," Agatha touched him on the shoulder. "She can't help herself."

"What?"

Agatha turned to Lydia. "Comprenez-vous ce que je dis en ce moment?"

"Oui, bien sûr que je comprends ce que vous dites. Pourquoi tout le monde parle-t-il de façon si étrange?"

Thomas gaped. "What the bloody fuck?"

"She feels like we are the ones speaking strangely. I'm afraid the geas has penetrated into her language production area and is re-writing it to be French. So now, she has to translate from English into French and back, which is giving her a rather pronounced accent."

"But you can still understand me?" Thomas said to his wife, feeling a sick slick oiliness in his gut.

"Of course, I can understand you, mon amour. Do you think I am... how you say... folle?" she stopped a moment thinking. "Uh, crazy?"

Thomas gripped her changed hands tight. "No, I don't think you are crazy, but babe, we have to get out of here! Can't you see what they are doing to you?"

She gave him a bright smile and a shrug.

They continued on with the tour, arm in arm.

***

"This is our town center. You can see the Tree of Life here. It is the center of magical power for this entire bubble and allows us to exist in the plane between realities," Agnes explained.

Agnes translated what she had said into French for Lydia, who now, apparently, needed it. Lydia gushed and asked several follow-up questions in French, and Agnes was happy to answer.

"What did she ask you?" Thomas said, as they continued.

"I ask..." Lydia considered a moment. "What 'appenz if ze Tree of Life were to be damaged, or..." She spoke to Agnes.

"Destroyed," Agnes said.

"And?"

"And I told her the bubble would collapse with all of us inside."

"Terrible," Lydia said in french.

"That's why we have several wood nymphs and other forest creatures who help with the care of the tree."

As if on cue, a woman stepped from the bark of the tree and smiled. "Hey there," she said in what sounded like American English.

"Uh, hi," Thomas said.

"I'm Jo," the nymph said, holding out her hand. She was gorgeous, with hair the color of sunrise tumbling over tanned shoulders. She was also very naked.

"Nice to meet you, uh, Jo," Thomas replied. He shook her hand and felt very aroused by the sight of her.

"Merde," Lydia said, pulling him away.

Agnes gave a chuckle. "As you can see, without protection, you would be at the mercy of any being who cast their eye on you, child."

They continued on their walk. Agnes showed them the library, the constable's office, the town hall, public works, and several other buildings Thomas didn't catch. As they walked, Lydia conversed in fluent French with Agnes, and they translated for him occasionally.

They entered a neighborhood and walked past different houses of mostly Northwestern style. Peaked roofs for snow, large windows, and wood shakes were common themes. They passed several, and Lydia spoke to Agnes again in French.

"I tell her... Big, ah, windows... ah... three bedrooms... ah... large..." she rattled something off in French to Agnes.

"Back yard," Agnes said.

"She doesn't know what the word 'backyard' means anymore?"

"It is the geas, mon cher," Lydia said, smiling.

They approached one house that stood on a little hill overlooking the town. It had a large yard and soaring windows, though it was an 'A' frame that Lydia hadn't really wanted.

"Ooh, zis one looks perfect!" She let go of his hands and practically ran up the path to the enormous wooden door. Thomas jogged to keep up with her.

She went inside, twirling around, laughing, and clasping her hands together. She darted from room to room, then clattered up the stairs, her feet wearing the heels Agnes had given her the day before.

Thomas also went upstairs, and she squealed as she moved from room to room.

"Oh, isn't zis ze perfect 'ouse for us, mon cœur?" Lydia called out from one of the rooms.

Thomas walked into the master bedroom and looked out the window. The town spread out below them, lights beginning to come on as dusk fell. The bay in the distance looked eerie and a little spooky, but the house was... well, perfect for what they had been looking for.

Lydia came up to him, taking his hands and smiling, turning so his arms were around her, and she swayed as they looked out of the immense window.

"If this is what you want," Thomas said. "But baby, the price?" He turned to look into her eyes.

They had been nearly the same height; he was a hair over six feet, and she was five eleven. Now, he had to look down into her eyes slightly.

Another streak of gray had crept into her hair on the left side of her head. He pulled it out for her to see, and she took it in her altered hand. She held out her right arm, and they both saw the aging had taken her arm clear past the elbow.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he looked at her arms. "Babe, we can leave RIGHT NOW and be back at the car in a few hours!"

She nodded, closing her eyes. "It is... ce que je veux. What I want."

"But, babe, what if you're not... you at the end?"

And whether she didn't understand him, or just didn't want to answer, she gave a soft smile and turned, staring out the window at the gathering gloom beyond.