Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The break-in happened late that night.
The front window was shattered, glass scattered across the floor like dangerous snow.
The register had been forced open. Empty, thank god, because Grandma had taught him to never leave cash overnight.
A few candles were knocked over, some crystals scattered, but the magical inventory behind its warded door remained untouched.
Grandma’s protections held.
Locke spent hours at the police station, giving his statement, filling out forms. By the time he trudged back upstairs to the apartment, exhausted and wrung out, Jack was pacing.
The familiars hovered nearby, staying out of his way. Jack moved in long strides, sharp turns, his robes snapping with each pivot. The carved features were tense, the carved mouth curved into something sharp.
“Boss, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Bramble muttered from his perch on the windowsill.
“Some ill begotten fiend dared to enter this sacred space to take what does not belong to them!” Jack’s voice was tight with fury he could barely contain. He hadn’t been this agitated since... since Locke couldn’t remember. Maybe ever.
“The bad guys are gone now though!” Pip offered hopefully, doing a nervous loop in the air.
Russet adjusted his vest, worried. “My lord, you’re not thinking of doing something... dramatic, are you?”
“I’m thinking of doing something NECESSARY.”
The familiars and Jack all turned as Locke entered, rushing to greet him. Jack reached him first, those carved lines sharp with concern. “You were gone for hours.”
“They said it was probably just some tourists looking for quick cash. Nothing major was taken...” Locke rubbed his face, exhausted. He just wanted to sleep. Forget this whole night happened.
Those carved lines were sharp, angry, protective. “You were in danger.”
“I wasn’t even here when it happened!”
“That’s not the point. You could have been.”
Locke sighed. He could see where this was going. “Jack, it’s fine. The shop has insurance. Grandma’s wards kept them from getting into the actual magical inventory. It’s handled.”
“It’s not handled.” Jack raised his hand, and Locke felt power gathering in the air. The temperature dropped. The vines on the walls rustled though there was no wind.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh no,” Bramble muttered.
“My lord, perhaps we should discuss this...” Russet tried.
Jack’s voice resonated with divine authority, echoing off the walls in a way that made Locke’s bones vibrate. “HEAR ME, SHADOW-BORN. I CALL YOU TO SERVICE.”
The air tore. Not metaphorically, but actually.
Locke watched reality split like fabric, darkness bleeding through.
A shadow demon manifested in their living room, all writhing darkness and teeth and promised violence.
It had no solid form, just suggestion of limbs and claws and a hunger that made Locke’s hindbrain scream predator.
“JACK!”
“Don’t be afraid. From now everyone else will fear you.” Jack’s voice was calmer now, satisfied. He gestured at the demon like he was introducing a puppy. “This is a guardian. It will keep you safe.”
Locke stared at the demon. At Jack. At the demon again. His brain was trying very hard to process and failing. “What is it? Is that a Demon?”
“A minor one. Perfectly safe.” Jack said it so casually, like he summoned demons every weekend. The carved features were relaxed, pleased even. “It will follow you and eliminate any all threats.”
“Eliminate?!” The word came out strangled. “No! Absolutely not! You are NOT siccing a demon on tourists!”
The carved features turned stubborn, unyielding. “But you need protection.”
“I need you to NOT summon demons in my grandmother’s apartment!”
“It’s kinda cute though? In a scary shadow-monster way?” Pip zoomed closer to the demon, examining it with genuine fascination. The demon ignored him, its attention fixed entirely on Locke.
“Pip, you are not helping.”
Jack moved closer, and Locke could feel the earnestness radiating off him. “It won’t hurt innocents. Only those who mean you harm.”
“Jack, this is too much.”
Something in Jack’s posture shifted. Frustration bleeding through. “The feast was too much. The seed was too much. Apparently, everything I do is too much! But I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe.”
The words hit differently than Locke expected. He could hear it now: the desperation underneath the grand gestures. The fear. Jack was trying so hard and failing and trying again anyway because... because he cared. Really cared.
Locke’s voice softened. “I didn’t say... look, I appreciate that you care, but...”
“Then let me do this. Please.” The carved features shifted, almost pleading. Jack had never sounded like that before. Vulnerable. Uncertain.
Locke looked at the shadow demon. At Jack. At those carved features that somehow managed to convey so much hope and fear and desperate need to protect. The demon would be dangerous, yes. But temporary. He could manage it for a few days. And Jack looked like he needed this.
“...Fine. But if it does ANYTHING weird, it goes. Got it?”
Jack’s carved expression softened immediately. Relief flooding through his posture. “Understood.”
“This is going to end so badly,” Bramble muttered.
And for three days, it didn’t.
The demon followed Locke everywhere. A weight at the corner of his vision, a shadow that never quite touched but never left.
It was unsettling. Creepy in a way that made the hair on his neck stand up.
But it didn’t hurt anyone. Didn’t do anything except follow him like the world’s most ominous puppy.
Customers at the shop couldn’t see it. Only Locke could feel its presence, cold and watchful.
It was also kind of touching that Jack cared that much.
The final rehearsal came with the kind of electric energy that only happens right before a performance. Everyone was keyed up, running on adrenaline and anticipation. Jimmy had them run through the whole play twice, making notes, adjusting blocking, generally being Jimmy.
By the time rehearsal ended, Locke was exhausted but buzzing.
He and Rowan walked out together into the cool October evening. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that Jack would probably approve of. Streetlamps were just starting to flicker on, and someone nearby was burning leaves, the scent mixing with the crisp autumn air.
Rowan was in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly. “I can’t believe I was the one who started it! I swear I was like ‘what the hell are you thinking kissing that himbo!’”
Locke laughed, the sound echoing off the buildings.
They’d been talking about the play’s kiss scene for days now.
Rowan had been chosen to demonstrate stage kissing technique with Xander, much to everyone’s amusement.
“He’s a hot himbo so you’re forgiven. I mean I probably would have kissed him too. ..”
“You are the WORST liar.” Rowan grinned, shoving him playfully. His hand hit his shoulder, more friendly push than anything else.
The shadow demon lunged.
One second everything was fine, just two friends joking around in the twilight. The next, cold shadow wrapped around Locke, pulling him backward as something dark and sharp sliced through the air where he’d been standing.
Rowan’s jacket ripped. A clean tear from shoulder to hem, fabric shredding like paper under claws that shouldn’t exist.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
Locke stepped between Rowan and the demon instantly, one hand raised like a warding gesture. The demon hovered, still protective, still ready to strike if Rowan moved the wrong way.
“Rowan, are you okay?”
“My jacket just...” Rowan turned in a circle, looking around wildly, trying to find what had attacked him. But he couldn’t see the demon. Only Locke could see it, floating there with its shadow-claws extended, its formless face somehow conveying satisfaction at protecting its charge.
“Must’ve snagged on something. You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. But that was... weird.” Rowan’s voice shook slightly. He pulled his jacket closed, examining the damage. The tear was too clean, too deliberate.
“I’ll walk you home. Come on.” Locke took his arm gently, steering him away from the theater, away from the demon that watched them both with its non-eyes.
He got Rowan home safely, made sure he was inside and okay. Then he turned to face the demon.
It floated there in the empty street, waiting. Obedient. Dangerous.
Locke remembered what Jack had taught him about summoning magic. How to call things forth. Which meant there had to be a way to bind them, to control them, to...
He reached out, felt for the threads of the summoning, found where Jack’s power connected to the demon. And he pulled. Hard. The binding magic came easier than he expected, wrapping around the demon like ropes, tightening, constraining.
The demon struggled, but Locke held firm. This was his magic. His power.
By the time he got back to the apartment, the demon was bound in glowing golden ropes, floating beside him like a balloon on a string. Locke shoved open the door and marched upstairs.
Jack looked up from whatever he’d been doing, surprise flashing across those carved features. The familiars scattered.
Locke dropped the bound demon at Jack’s feet.
“Banish it. Now.”
Jack stood slowly. “What happened?”
“It attacked Rowan.”
Jack’s carved expression shifted to confusion. “That’s impossible. He would never mean you harm.”
“He PUSHED me. We were PLAYING. And your demon tried to KILL him!”
“Oh no,” Pip whispered, hovering near the ceiling.
“I can teach him...”
“NO. You’re going to banish it. Right now.”
Russet hovered closer, carefully. “Perhaps the young warlock is right, my lord. The demon may be too aggressive.”
“It almost hurt my best friend because we were MESSING AROUND. How is that protecting me?!”
Jack’s voice rose, frustrated and hurt. “I was trying to keep you safe!”
“By making me a danger to everyone around me?!”