Chapter 5
Chapter Five
By noon, Jack was bored out of his mind.
The shop was small. Too small for the throne he’d conjured from his castle, but he’d made it fit anyway, shoving aside shelves and displays until the massive chair sat behind the counter like it belonged there.
Dark wood carved with autumn leaves and acorns, the back rising high enough to be properly imposing, cushions in deep burgundy.
He sprawled in it now, one leg hooked over the armrest, watching Locke help customers.
Tourists, mostly. Halloween brought them in droves, looking for “authentic witchy vibes” and crystals they’d never use and candles they thought were decorative rather than functional.
Locke handled them with endless patience, smiling and explaining and ringing up purchases while Jack sat on his throne and tried not to die of boredom.
He’d wanted to be in charge of the festival. Offered his services to the mayor, explaining that as an actual harvest deity, he was uniquely qualified to ensure proper seasonal celebration.
The mayor looked at his carved head, said “That’s a great costume, son,” and suggested he help with the children’s craft table instead.
Insulting.
So Jack retreated to the shop, conjured his throne, and now spent his days watching Locke work.
Not because he wanted to watch Locke specifically. Just because there was nothing else to do. Obviously.
Locke moved between customers, restocking shelves during the lulls. He was rehearsing lines under his breath, Jack realized. For the play. The one where Locke played a warlock summoning an autumn deity.
The irony was not lost on either of them.
Jack watched him reach for a high shelf, his t-shirt riding up slightly. Watched the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was thinking. Watched the small furrow that appeared between his eyebrows when he was trying to remember something.
He’d been watching for a week now. Couldn’t seem to stop.
Locke glanced over and caught him staring. Something flickered across his face, awareness, maybe. Interest. He held Jack’s gaze for a moment, then looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
Jack’s carved expression shifted without his permission, something almost predatory. He forced it back to neutral boredom.
He wondered, not for the first time, what Locke saw when he looked at the carved pumpkin. If he was curious about what was underneath. If he’d kept trying to remove it because he wanted to see Jack’s actual face, or just because he didn’t like mysteries.
Probably the latter. Locke didn’t seem like someone who tolerated unanswered questions well.
A tourist approached Jack’s throne, phone out, grinning. “Dude, sick decoration! Can I get a picture?”
Jack didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.
The tourist leaned closer. “Damn this looks almost real!”
Jack’s carved mouth stretched into a too-wide grin, the expression shifting from neutral to menacing in half a second. His eyes blazed brighter.
“BOO.”
The tourist yelped and stumbled backward, knocking into a display of empty decorative potion vials. They clattered to the floor, scattering across the wood.
“Shit! Sorry!” The tourist scrambled for the door.
Locke sighed from behind the counter. “Jack.”
“They touched my throne without permission.”
“You scared them.”
“They deserved it.”
“We’re going to get bad Yelp reviews.”
“I don’t know what that means and I don’t care.”
Locke came around the counter, kneeling to pick up the mess Jack watched him, then snapped his fingers. Bramble, Russet, and Pip materialized from wherever they’d been lurking, their tiny forms shimmering into visibility as they set to work gathering the scattered glass.
“Thank you,” Locke said quietly.
Locke still had trouble processing the small impish beings who bounced about here and there. It was Jack conjuring them into existence that made him faint and the little fey were the first creatures he saw once he woke up again as they yelled for their Lord that his warlock had finally come to.
“You’re a warlock,” Jack explained while Locke nursed his headache.
“I’m a what?”
“A warlock. Magic user. Witch, if you prefer, though that’s technically what one would call a woman. You have power.”
Locke stared at him. “I have power…?”
“Significant power. Raw, untrained, completely unconscious, but present.”
“Magic isn’t real.”
“I’m sitting in your home having summoned three fae familiars while my head is a literal jack-o’-lantern.”
Locke opened his mouth to rebut but what the hell could he rebut with? “Okay. Fair point.”
He spent the rest of the day walking around the apartment touching things, trying to “feel the magic.” Jack watched with fond exasperation as Locke pressed his hands against the vines, the leaves, the transformed walls.
“Am I doing it?”
“No.”
“What about now?”
“Still no.”
“How do I know if I’m doing magic stuff?”
“You’ll know.”
Locke gave him a frustrated look but kept trying. By day four, he managed to make a candle flare brighter just by looking at it. By day six, the herbs in the kitchen were growing at double speed whenever he was nearby.
Progress. Slow, but present.
Now, Locke straightened as the familiars finished gathering the glass, shooting Jack a look that was half fond exasperation, half something else. Something that made Jack’s carved expression soften before he could stop it.
He was getting sloppy about that.
A hippie-looking woman entered the shop, long skirt swishing, canvas bag covered in patches. She approached Locke with a dreamy smile.
“Excuse me, do you have any sage bundles?”
Jack straightened in his throne. “If you bothered to look around for five seconds you would have seen them on display behind you.”
Locke’s head whipped around. “Jack!”
“Is this what retail is like?” Jack continued, voice dripping with disdain. “Because it is complete and utter hell.”
The woman’s dreamy expression evaporated. “I heard this business had good vibes!”
Locke moved quickly to intercept, his smile bright and apologetic. “Ma’am. I am so sorry! Let me get you a bundle.”
He went around toward the displays nearby and grabbed a sage bundle, rang it up while she side-eyed Jack’s throne. The moment she left, Locke turned on him.
“You can’t just talk shit to customers like that.”
“I didn’t talk shit. I merely pointed out the obvious.”
“Jack.”
“She was standing near the display. How is that my fault?”
Locke pinched the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
“You can close early and escape this retail hell with me.” Jack gestured broadly toward the door. “I heard the chief of this town—“
“Mayor.”
”—wants to place someone in charge of decorating that oak tree in the square and I have some ideas for it.”
Locke’s eyes widened. “Ugh, Jack for the last time. The town isn’t going to have an orgy by the oak tree!”
“It’s not that!” Jack protested. “I understand you mortals have been taken over by duller Gods. I am capable of adapting and…”
The door chimed.
Rowan strode in with his dark hair tousled and bold fashion.
Today he dressed in a white loose shirt and black leather pants with lace up the sides and a single dangling pearl earring in his right ear and as usual and this time the only other jewelry was the silver ring between he center of his lips.
Locke’s face lit up, actually lit up, his whole expression going bright, smile wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. The way he looked when something truly delighted him.
Jack’s carved mouth tightened.
“Rowan!”
“Hey.” Rowan’s voice was flat. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, his usual confident energy dimmed. He glanced at Jack’s throne, his expression seemed amused as his brow raised. “That’s still there, huh?”
Jack slumped lower in his seat, radiating boredom. He’d learned quickly that Rowan noticed too much. Better to look uninterested than give him ammunition.
Rowan’s gaze caught of something near his shoulder but Jack was certain he couldn’t see them. Almost certain at least. Pip, hovered too close to admire the dark-haired beauty causing him to swat absently at the air. Locke tensed, watching him, but he just shrugged and moved on.
“So, pizza tonight?” Rowan asked, turning back to Locke. “I can bring the good stuff from Mario’s cause oh shit I got some gossip to get off my chest.”
Locke’s expression flickered. Guilt, Jack recognized. He’d been dodging Rowan all week, making excuses about being busy or tired or needing to reorganize inventory. All lies. The real reason was the apartment, which currently looked like an autumn forest had exploded inside it.
“Oh, uh... I really want to, but the apartment’s kind of a mess right now.”
Rowan’s eyebrows rose. “Since when do you care about mess?”
Locke said nothing. The silence stretched.
Rowan’s expression hardened. “Right. Okay. Maybe next week then.”
“Rowan, it’s not.”
“It’s fine, Locke. You’ve been busy with your new friend who just showed the fuck up. I get it. I swear to God he better be fucking you into oblivion for you to be ignoring your friends like this!”
“Jesus Christ Rowan!”
Jack straightened slightly in his throne. The bitterness in his voice was interesting. Not anger, exactly. Hurt.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Jack said.
Locke whipped around. “Jack, don’t.”
“I’m not jealous,” Rowan snapped. “I just really need to talk to my BFF right now and I haven’t had the chance to do that cause you keep hogging all his time. If you two are dating, I already said I think that’s cool. Especially after what happened in Portland.”
Jack leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. “What happened in Portland?”
“Nothing!” Locke’s voice pitched higher.
He shot Rowan a look; desperate, pleading.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “You know how I can be when I’m in a bad mood. I’ll head out and if it bothers you so much then please clean the hell up cause I really gotta talk about… Xander.” He made a disgusted noise after the name.
Locke’s face twisted. “Ew! Don’t tell me…”
“Shut it! And now you see why I need to talk. I think I’m losing my damn mind.”
They laughed, the tension breaking. Jack watched them. This was what Locke had without him. History, inside jokes, the easy familiarity of people who’d known each other for years.
Jealousy, he realized with distaste. He was jealous of their history, their inside jokes, their ease with each other.
“Xander…” Jack said slowly. “That’s the dumb one whose part I stole?”
Rowan sighed. “One and the same.”
Jack’s carved expression shifted into something decidedly wicked. “Maybe you should invite him up.”
Locke ignored him, turning to Rowan. “How about I take you out for pizza after rehearsal tonight and we can talk. My treat.”
Rowan’s whole face brightened. He moved forward and hugged Locke tight, squeezing him like he’d been waiting all week for this. “I knew you were still my bestie! See you tonight.”
He started toward the door, then stopped. Lingered. His gaze swept the shop, landing on corners where nothing was visible, tracking movement that shouldn’t be there.
“You know what’s weird?”
“What?” Locke’s voice was carefully casual.
“I keep seeing these... I don’t know. Shimmer things. Like floaties in my eyes, but they’re moving around the shop.”
Bramble perched on the bookshelf, Russet hovering near the crystals, Pip doing loops near Rowan’s head. His heart kicked into overdrive. Did he see them?
“Probably just dust in the light,” he said.
Rowan hummed, still looking around. “Yeah. Probably.” A pause. “Or your place is haunted now.”
“It’s not haunted.”
“Oh, but it is I who haunts this place,” Jack intoned dramatically from his throne.
Rowan blinked. “I can actually believe that.”
“He’s joking,” Locke said quickly.
“I am not.”
“Joking. He’s joking.”
Rowan studied Jack for a long moment. His expression was unreadable. “You’re kind of weird, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“How long are you staying in Hollow Hill again?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Various factors.” Jack’s gaze slid to Locke, holding there.
Rowan followed the look, something knowing flickering across his face. “He always this vague?” he asked Locke.
“Pretty much.”
Rowan headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. “Well, enjoy your mess. Let me know when it’s clean enough for company cause I still want that sleepover.”
The door chimed as he left.
Silence.
Locke exhaled slowly. “That was awkward.”
“Was it?” Jack examined his claws with exaggerated disinterest.
“Jack. He knows something’s up.”
“He suspects you’re hiding something. Not the same as knowing.”
“He’s my best friend. I hate lying to him.”
“You’re not lying. You’re simply... withholding details.”
“That’s literally what lying is.”
“Semantics.”