Anathema watches as they burn up the second book of prophecies Agnes had written. She had been struggling with the decision for the last few days, the urge to look and read each and every thing written in those pages consuming her and not letting her sleep well if at all. Newt soothes her (he tries to, really), whispering and massaging her, but all she can think of is what it will be like to not be a descendant anymore. To not have her life carefully planned out bit by bit by the words of a sixteenth century madwoman.

“You’re not a descendant anymore,” Newt tells her, pulling her into a quick kiss and she reminds herself of how he’s another thing tying her to the family history. Agnes had prophetisized she’d meet a man after he had a car crash, that she would sleep with him. That it would happen and that there was little she could do about it apart from get used to what was coming for her. A life with him— kids, maybe; maybe not.

But he’s still Newton Pulsifer, dorky and a virgin until four days ago, not a computer engineer. She enjoys his company but it doesn’t sit right in her skin. She smiles a little and lets him pepper kisses across her face, giggling at the touch. Her stomach unfurls uncomfortably, something sharp and tangy in her belly.

*

She is becoming more and more unsettled by the title. Girlfriend. Newt’s girlfriend. It makes her skin itch and she doesn’t know why, she’s not one of those people, at all. She knows she likes men— Agnes knew she likes men. That’s why she slept with Newt within an hour of knowing him, that’s why they’re dating now, that’s why he’s her first boyfriend ever, because her mamá had told her she had to stay like this until the moment Agnes had seen for her.

She doesn’t know what this means. When she visits the Them, Pepper looks at her and says that she needs to find a better boyfriend. Or better yet, a girlfriend. Adam snickers and tells Pepper he’ll make sure she gets a girlfriend. Anathema doesn’t know if his powers are still there (maybe dormant, maybe not), but she is still positive that Pepper will have a nice little girlfriend in no time at all.

Newt eventually leaves to London for a week or two, as their two month mark quickly approaches. She knows it’ll be fine, her mind’s rejection of everything about Newt keeping her calm as the days pass. It will be okay, she tells herself over and over again as she struggles to find sleep, her mind plagued by images of beautiful women kissing her neck, it will be okay. These are just weird dreams. Prophetic dreams, maybe. She’s got it in her blood, after all.

*

Two days after Newt leaves, there’s a knock at the door.

Anathema fixes her long dress and makes sure her hair looks just right before she opens the door. Aziraphale is there, smiling at her, his eyes nearly shining with care and interest in her.

“Aziraphale?” she asks, stepping back to allow him in.

He doesn’t step in.

“Well, yes, hi!” he says cheerfully. “I received a call from you.”

“I haven’t called you.”

“No, no, a metaphorical call, more like.” He shifts his weight on his feet. “Hm, I need to find a way to phrase that better.”

She squints at him. “What do you mean a metaphorical call? What called you over here?”

He sighs and steps in, finding a comfortable spot in her tiny little cottage before sitting down on the couch. He keeps his eyes trained on her and fiddles with his hands as he tries to find the correct words to say to her. She stares at him intently, waiting for him to say something that will be a clue as to why in the Hell is he here.

“If you think Newt— or any man— isn’t the right fit for you, you should let him know,” he says.

She tries to seem scandalized. “I love Newt!”

“You started dating him an hour after you met him, Anathema,” he says tiredly, waving a hand around as he props his feet up on the armrest. “And I’m— a bit of a guardian angel.”

“You’re not—”

He interrupts, “Of a large group.”

She knows what he means. She knows what him visitng on behalf of that group means.

She sobers up and nods. “Okay,” she says, voice thick with something she can’t begin to name. “You can leave now, then.”

Aziraphale beams at her and squeezes her hand. “Good luck, Anathema.”

She watches as he leaves, as he walks away from her cottage and back to his and Crowley’s back in South Downs. She stares until he fades away from the line of vision and immediately sighs, heading back to her room.

*

“We need to break up,” is the first thing Anathema says when Newt comes into her cottage.

Newt stares at her, eyes wide. “Wuh— what?! What did I do?”

She sighs and pats the seat next to her; he immediately follows her lead and sits down, looking at her worriedly with those puppy dog eyes of his. She tries not to focus too much on him, Aziraphale’s words echoing in her head along with his letters next to many self-help books and books about the lesbian experience. She hadn’t ever understood herself that well until she read all those words that made sense about her life. That made all too much sense.

“Well…” she starts before clearing her throat. “I’m…” She looks away. She can’t say it. She digs her nails into her knees. “I don’t like men,” she settles on.”

Newt stares for several seconds and she doesn’t dare look at him. Because she can see his reaction, wide eyes and upturned nose and a grimace and he’s disgusted, disgusted with her—

“That’s alright,” he says, reaching out a hand. “I suppose you knew before we slept together?”

She laughs a little and turns to him. “Well, I always sort of knew. I’m…” She sucks in a breath and glances down to the floor. “I’m sorry for like, leading you on. Or something like that.”

“No!” Newt immediately exclaims. “It’s okay, Anathema, I’ll deal.”

She nods. “We can… stay friends, if you’d like.”

He smiles and leans in to rub her shoulder. “Of course,” he tells her, looking at her with the same wonder he has whenever he talks about the happenings leading up to the apocalypse that wasn’t— especially the UFO.

She’s not sure if she’s straying from the path Agnes set for her, but she knows it’s her own path now. And that Newt is a good friend to lean on as she walks along.