Chapter 11 Lochlan
Lochlan
“DO YOU KNOW WHO’S MAKING YOUR COFFEE? WE SIT DOWN WITH THE DESTROYER OF BLOODLINES, NATASHA GOBBLEGRIND.” —THE WEEKLY HEX
Lochlan clutched a batch of cookies and a velvet envelope containing his latest project: a restored first edition book filled with fairy tales. The crisp evening air nipped at his skin as he stood outside New Chapter, but his attention was fixed on the building three doors down.
The Charis Foundation’s sign hung above the door, its letters catching the golden light of the setting sun. Nia should be finishing work soon—or perhaps she’d already finished, or her work had taken her to another part of Stella Rune. Lochlan didn’t know, and Nia hadn’t said.
No text. No call. Nothing since she’d rushed out the door that morning.
She’d been flustered, darting out so fast she hadn’t even glanced at breakfast. He told himself it didn’t matter.
He’d made it for her, wanted her to sit, to stay.
Maybe that hadn’t been a fair thing to expect.
He’d hoped to recapture the gentle, unexpected comfort of eating together the previous night.
But, he reminded himself, Nia hadn’t asked for that.
And then, of course, she’d fallen down his stairs.
Lochlan exhaled hard and raked a hand through his hair. He hoped she was alright.
The warm, yeasty smell of the sandwich shop’s bread drifted down the emptying street, mixing with the scent of his cookies. It should have been comforting, but unease twined through him instead.
He wasn’t in a position to demand answers.
Still, he’d finished his restoration project for the book shop early, and dropping it off was a perfectly reasonable excuse to swing by Charis around the time Nia had finished work the day before.
Restoring books for New Chapter wasn’t part of Lochlan’s work at the Videt.
But a few years ago, he’d stopped by and seen the aftermath of a botched repair—a stitched-up relic, barely holding together.
It had bothered him enough that he’d made an offer: bring him anything delicate, and he’d fix it.
He hadn’t expected to keep at it. But he liked the work.
The puzzle of it. The feeling of restoring something lost.
And the shop’s owner and her father never turned down his baking.
Shaking off his unease, Lochlan stepped forward and pushed open the antique door. A bell chimed overhead, its cheerful tinkle as familiar as the scent of old paper wrapping around him.
Jimmy, an elderly witch with an ill-fitting toupee slightly askew, was perched at an ancient wooden table, a teacup halfway to his mouth. He squinted at Lochlan in confusion.
“It isn’t Friday,” his voice wavered with age and suspicion. “Right?”
Lochlan placed the box of cookies in front of him. “No, it’s still Wednesday. I finished the book early for Helen.”
Every Friday, like clockwork, Lochlan delivered his weekly project to Helen, Jimmy’s daughter and the shop’s owner. Today, she emerged from behind a beaded curtain, pushing it aside with one hand while patting the front of her overalls for her glasses with the other.
“Lochlan!” she exclaimed, her tone warm but surprised. “It isn’t Friday.”
“I finished early,” he repeated.
Helen frowned, tilting her head. “I don’t have your next book in yet—it’s coming all the way from bumfuck nowhere.”
“Language,” Jimmy croaked through a mouthful of cookie, crumbs sprinkling the table.
Helen waved him off. “The tracking says it’ll get here Thursday.”
“I’ll come back Friday morning to pick it up,” Lochlan replied.
“With more cookies?” Jimmy asked, his eyes twinkling as he took another bite.
Helen rolled her eyes.
Lochlan managed a genuine smile as his eyes bounced between the two witches. But even as they bantered around him, his thoughts drifted back to Nia.
Lochlan said his goodbyes and stepped out of New Chapter. He took several steps down the sidewalk, then paused halfway between the bookstore and The Charis Foundation.
Nia might still be there.
Would it be crossing a line to go looking for her?
The question burned in his mind, tangled with doubts. Their arrangement was barely a day old—fragile and untested. In the little time they’d spent together, he hadn’t managed to get to know her any better, really, and she hadn’t made any headway in proving her father wrong.
The thought made him hesitate. Then, reluctantly, he turned to head home.
A crash shattered the quiet.
Glass. Something heavy. Loud enough to send a spike of adrenaline through him.
His gaze snapped back to The Charis Foundation and, without thinking, he broke into a run. The waiting area blurred past him, his pulse hammering in his ears as he rounded the corner to her office—
And froze.
Nia stood, her posture tense but unyielding as an enormous man loomed over her. His voice booming with anger.
“You think you’re powerful? You’re a fucking leech.”
Blinding rage surged through Lochlan, his fists clenching at his sides. His body coiled, ready to intervene—
But Nia didn’t look hurt. She didn’t even look rattled. Still, when her gaze met his, he caught it—that flicker of relief. Right before her face twisted in unmistakable annoyance.
Shit.
The man thundered on, his rage unchecked. “You’ll regret this, you fucking bitch.”
Lochlan’s fists tightened, ready to step in and—shadows slid into motion around the room. They moved with a fluid grace, wrapping around the man’s limbs like living restraints, pinning his large body back against the wall with no apparent effort.
“My ride’s here,” Nia said with quiet authority. “So we’re done. You have until next Saturday to make sure the donations go through. If not, you know what will happen.”
Lochlan didn’t know what this meant, but the way the man’s face paled told him it wasn’t an idle threat. A memory surfaced of the Mabon celebration—he’d seen her speaking to someone else who looked like they were angry, or in pain. Was this the same thing?
Was Nia forcing people to donate?
The man strained against the shadows binding him, his mouth twisting as if to speak, but the magic held firm.
His face turned purple, eyes bulging, everything about the man seething with rage as Nia marched him through the waiting area and out onto the sidewalk before her shadows finally released him.
She locked the door behind him before turning toward Lochlan, her expression unreadable.
Part of him wanted to go to her, to pull her close, to feel her against him—whole, safe, here.
The other part of him wanted to ask what the hell he’d just witnessed.
Caught between the urge to comfort and the storm of questions spinning in his mind, Lochlan stayed frozen as Nia strode back into her office.
The air crackled, charged with magic, as shadows rose—twisting, coiling, righting furniture and collecting pieces of the broken picture frame Lochlan had heard fall. Nia’s anger pulsed through the room with her shadows. She crossed her arms and broke the silence. “Nothing to say?”
Lochlan hesitated. There was plenty he wanted to say, but none of it would come out.
“No comment on how dangerous that was?” she continued, her voice tight with frustration. “How I’m stupid for putting myself in a situation like this?”
Yes, it had been dangerous. Reckless, even. And he hated finding her in the middle of it. But if he wanted to earn her trust, to understand her, he needed to choose his words carefully.
“Why are you even here?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
“I want—” Taking a deep breath, Lochlan ran a hand through his hair. “—to know if you’ve eaten.”
She blinked, her anger flickering into confusion. “What?”
“Have you eaten?”
“I heard what you said.” Her tone was brisk, but it lacked the ire from before.
“And?” he pressed, surprised by how calm his voice sounded.
She paused, her brows knitting together as her shadows finished their work and dissolved into the darkness of the room.
“No,” she admitted. “I haven’t eaten.”
He nodded, the tension in his chest easing slightly.
Without another word, he walked toward the entrance.
Before unlocking the door, he checked the sidewalk to make sure it was clear, then opened and held it for her.
Nia hesitated for a moment before stepping past him, her expression a mix of wariness and confusion. But she didn’t protest.
For now, that was as much encouragement as Lochlan expected to get.