The Screaming Himbo Incident
I’m pacing in my living room like a caged animal. Back and forth. Back and forth. The floorboards creak under my feet with every circuit.
“What are you up to, Little Witch?” Dis asks from his circle.
He’s still sitting cross-legged. Still looking like a dark prince slumming it in the mortal realm. Still devastatingly attractive in ways that make me want to throw something at him.
I whirl around and glare. “If you want to be fed, you will stay silent. Not a word. Not a sound. Nothing.”
His eyes narrow. Those burning blue eyes that see far too much.
“You are planning something foolish,” he observes.
“Silent!” I snap. “I mean it, Disney. One word and I will leave you to starve.”
It’s an empty threat. We both know it’s an empty threat. I’ve already established I’m not cruel enough to actually let him fade.
But Dis’s jaw tightens. The shadows around him ripple with something that might be irritation or might be grudging acceptance.
He falls silent.
I go back to pacing.
The guy from Grindr is supposed to be here any minute. Callum. Twenty-four. Works in marketing. Likes hiking and craft beer and apparently scowling goths who lie about their height on dating apps.
Not dating apps. Hookup apps. The distinction feels important right now. I need the clarity in my life. The precision.
Some confidence would be great too. And I should be confident. Things are going great. By some miracle, Hex never materialised, and now I’m enacting a great plan for problem two. Everything is looking up and it’s going to be fine.
There’s a knock on the door.
My heart nearly stops. For a moment I can’t move. Can’t breathe. This is actually happening. I’m actually going through with this absolutely insane plan.
I force my feet to carry me to the door. Force my hand to turn the handle.
The guy standing in my hallway is tall. Very tall. He has to be at least six foot two. Broad shoulders. A grin that takes up most of his face. The kind of person who probably played rugby at university and has never had a negative or original thought in his entire life.
A himbo. I’ve summoned an actual himbo.
He looks down at me. The grin falters slightly.
“Oh,” he says. “I thought five foot seven would be taller.”
I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack. Five foot seven was an optimistic estimate. A generous rounding up. Okay, it was a complete and utter lie.
I’m four foot something. Maybe five foot if I’m wearing boots with good soles. But I’m not about to admit that to this grinning giant.
I force a smile. It probably looks more like a grimace. “You coming in?”
The grin returns in full force. “Yeah! You’re cute.”
Something in my chest does a complicated thing. No one has called me cute for a long time.
I shove the feeling down. This isn’t about me being cute. This is about feeding a shadow king without having to get directly involved.
He steps into the hallway. I close the door behind him and pull the blindfold from my pocket.
His eyes widen when he sees it. “Oh wow. Kinky.”
“It’s my thing,” I say, holding it out.
“I’m into it.” He takes the blindfold and ties it over his eyes. I can’t reach his face without standing on my toes, and that would be humiliating, so I’m grateful he just does it himself.
The fabric settles into place. He’s grinning even wider now. Completely oblivious to what’s about to happen.
Guilt tries to surface. I crush it ruthlessly.
“This way,” I say, taking his hand.
I lead him through the flat. Into the living room. Toward the summoning circle.
Dis is standing now. Arms behind his back. Posture perfect. Looking every inch the ancient king he used to be.
He raises one elegant eyebrow when he sees us.
I put my finger to my lips. Give him the most threatening glare I can manage while simultaneously leading a blindfolded himbo across my living room.
Dis’s expression shifts to something that might be amusement. His mouth curves into the faintest suggestion of a smirk.
I glare harder.
The himbo is still grinning. Still completely unaware. Still trusting me to guide him safely.
I’m a terrible person.
I position him at the edge of the circle. Take a breath. And push.
He stumbles forward. The magical barrier that keeps supernatural beings trapped does absolutely nothing to stop human flesh going in. He walks right through it and stops in the centre, directly in front of Dis.
“Uh,” he says. “Where are we? This feels different.”
Dis is staring at him. Not with hunger or interest or any of the things I expected.
He’s staring with disdain. Complete and utter disdain.
Like I’ve just presented him with a pile of rotting garbage and expected him to be grateful.
Outrage flares hot in my chest. I just brought him food. I went through the mortifying process of creating a Grindr profile and lying about my height and luring a stranger to my flat and giving him a blindfold to put on.
And he’s looking at my offering like it’s beneath him.
But there’s something else mixed in with the outrage. Something I don’t want to examine too closely.
Smug pleasure.
I’m pleased that Dis is looking at this tall and attractive, grinning himbo with disdain.
What is wrong with me?
But suddenly there is no more time for questions, because the blindfold slips. In slow motion. The fabric slides down. The himbo’s hands come up too late to catch it. His eyes open.
And he sees Dis.
He screams.
Not a startled yelp. Not a surprised shout. A full-throated, lung-emptying, wake-the-dead scream of absolute terror.
Then he thrashes. Arms flailing. Legs kicking. He crashes into Dis and bounces off like Dis is made of solid stone.
Which he might be. I have no idea what shadow being flesh actually feels like.
The screaming doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets louder.
The entire building can probably hear this. The neighbours down the street can definitely hear this. Everyone within a three-block radius can hear this.
“Do something!” I hiss at Dis.
“Such as?” Dis asks calmly, stepping away from the thrashing, screaming himbo with the kind of grace that suggests he’s dodging hysterical humans regularly.
“I don’t know! Make him stop!”
“He is in your circle, Little Witch. This is your problem.”
“He’s here for you!”
The himbo crashes into the invisible barrier and bounces back. His screaming takes on a new note. Pure panic now. The kind that comes from being trapped with no way out.
“Wipe his mind,” Dis suggests.
I stare at him. “What?”
“His memory. Remove it. Quickly, before he draws unwanted attention.”
“I don’t know how to do that!”
“Then he will continue screaming until someone investigates. Someone might call the human who owns this building. That human might ask his fiancé to check on you. “
Damn it. He’s right.
The himbo is still screaming. Still thrashing. I can hear footsteps on the stairs. Someone is coming.
“Why do you even care?” I snap.
Something flickers across Dis’s face. Something that might be shame or might be fury.
“I do not wish to be found like this,” he says quietly. “The shame would be too great.”
There’s something raw in his voice. Something that sounds almost vulnerable.
Dis, the ancient shadow king who overthrew Hex’s father and ruled the Shadow Realm with absolute power, does not want to be discovered trapped and powerless and reduced to having screaming himbos thrown at him.
I understand that. More than I want to admit.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Tell me what to do.”
“Come closer,” Dis says.
I move to the edge of the circle. The invisible barrier hums with energy. I can feel it against my skin.
Dis extends his hand toward me. Palm up. Waiting.
“Give me your hand,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I have the skill and power to wipe his memory, but I am bound. You are free. You can channel it.”
I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this.
But the footsteps are right outside my door now. Someone is knocking.
I reach through the barrier.
The sensation is strange. Like pushing through cold water. The barrier resists for a moment, then lets my hand pass through.
Dis’s fingers close around mine.
His touch is cold. Not ice cold. Shadow cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and settles there.
But his grip is solid. Real. Certain.
“Focus,” he says quietly. “Feel my magic. Let it flow through you.”
I close my eyes. Try to feel what he’s talking about.
There’s power in him. Enormous, ancient power that presses against the bindings like an ocean held back by a dam. It’s dark and vast and utterly terrifying.
And it’s right there. Waiting.
The connection between us opens like a floodgate.
His magic pours into me. Through our joined hands. Up my arm. Into my chest. Cold and dark and so much bigger than anything I’ve ever touched.
I gasp. My free hand comes up to grip the barrier for balance.
“Breathe,” Dis says. His voice is closer than it should be. “Control it. You can control it.”
“Channel it toward the human,” he continues. “Shape it into what you need. Remove the past ten minutes from his memory. Replace them with something innocuous.”
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
“Yes, you do. You are a witch. You understand magic. This is simply magic of a different kind.”
His hand tightens on mine. Not painful. Just firm. Grounding.
I force myself to breathe. To focus. To shape the wild, ancient magic pouring through me into something resembling an intention.
Remove the memory. Replace it with something safe.
The power responds. Flowing from Dis through me toward the himbo. I can feel it wrapping around his mind. Gentle but inexorable.
The himbo’s screaming cuts off abruptly. He stumbles out of the circle, the magic allowing him to pass now that he’s calm.
He’s standing there. Blinking. Looking around with confusion, but not terror. It’s like he can’t see Dis at all.
The knocking on my door is getting louder.
“Did we...?” the himbo starts.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, pulling my hand free from Dis’s grip. The connection breaks. The power cuts off.
I feel weirdly cold without it.
“It was great. You should probably go now.”
His face breaks into that wide grin again. “That was amazing! Can I get your number?”
“No.”
“Right. Cool. Yeah. I’ll just...” He gestures vaguely toward the door.
I grab his arm and practically drag him out of the circle. Through the living room. Down the hallway.
The knocking continues. Insistent now.
I pull open the door.
The himbo is standing behind me, still grinning. And in front of me is Mrs Edwards from the flat next door.
She’s in her sixties. Sharp-eyed. The kind of neighbour who notices everything and is unhappy about all of it.
“Felix,” she says, looking between me and the himbo with an expression I can’t quite read. “Is everything alright? There was screaming.”
My brain scrambles for an explanation. Any explanation.
“We were just...” I start.
“Having fun!” The himbo supplies helpfully. His grin gets impossibly wider.
Mrs Edwards’s eyebrows rise. She looks at me. At the himbo. Back at me.
Oh god. Oh no. I’m not a prude, but this is a lot. And Mr Himbo is so not my type.
“I see,” she says slowly. “Well. Please try to keep the... fun... to a more reasonable volume. The building has thin walls.”
I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
“Right. Yes. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
The himbo is still grinning. Still completely oblivious to my mortification.
Mrs Edwards gives me one more long look, then turns and heads back downstairs. I can hear her muttering something in Welsh that I’m grateful I don’t understand.
“Thanks for tonight!” the himbo says cheerfully, squeezing past me and heading for the stairs. “This was fun!”
He disappears down the stairwell, still grinning.
I close the door. Then I lean against it and try to remember how to breathe. Disaster has been averted, for now. But it’s not just the crisis that has me unsettled.
That… that whole working with Dis thing was intimate in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Feeling Dis’s magic. Having him guide me through it. The way his hand felt. The way it felt like we were connected by more than just magic.
I push away from the door. Walk back to the living room on legs that feel unsteady.
Dis is back to sitting cross-legged. Arms resting on his knees. Looking perfectly composed, except for the way his eyes track my every movement.
I sink down to the floor. Back against the wall. As far from the circle as I can get while still being in the same room.
I’m exhausted. Wrung out. My magic feels strange in ways it hasn’t since I was first learning to channel power.
Dis is quiet for a long moment.
Then he speaks.
“I’m still hungry, Little Witch.”