Chapter 6
Jackson Nocturne finishes unpacking his new room in the penthouse apartment of Alexandria Heights.
Jean-Claude had portaled all his personal belongings from his old apartment over the night before.
Annabella had the place cleaned and dusted ahead of his arrival, with all-new furniture and electronics set up for his comfort.
Jackson brews himself a cup of coffee and steps out onto the terrace, taking in the city below.
A large landing filled with potted plants and new outdoor furniture overlooks the grand Wychwood Park, the green heart of Solomon City. The air is crisp up here, the gentle winter sun warming his pale skin. The scent of coffee tickles his nose as he inhales deeply.
Jackson is thankful for his father’s elven blood. His body doesn’t suffer from a vampire’s usual aversion to sunlight. One small blessing amid the pool of dread he feels regarding his magic.
On the table at the terrace’s center, atop a pedestal of runed stone, rests a crystal orb: a mana well.
Whenever Jackson felt suffocated by the buildup of mana in his body, he could release it into the orb for storage or even disposal at a later date.
He would find a better place for it soon.
For now, he just didn’t want it inside his room, constantly reminding him of his lack of control.
Jackson’s phone dings in his pocket, pulling him back to the present.
He checks the message from Wendy—his father’s assistant, who over the years had become something of a friend—and finds that the first set of room applicants would be dropping by in a few hours.
He lets out a tired sigh, his shoulders slouching as his head falls to the side, and returns to his coffee.
“Well then, Mrs. Lee,” he mutters, rolling his eyes as he grumbles the honorific into his brew, “let’s see this grand scheme of yours play out.”
* * *
Across town, in a cozy two-bedroom apartment nestled above the Shape of Brew café, Hakeem Al-Najim pulls on a brown winter coat and packs his messenger bag for a trip to view the mysterious apartment that’s been on his mind since yesterday.
“Hakeem, mon chéri! Oh, my sweet boy! Oh, how I will miss you so dearly when you leave me here. Alone. Desolate. Abandoned.”
A forlorn voice catches Hakeem’s ear as he heads toward the door.
“Charlie, I love you, but spare me,” Hakeem says with a fond sigh. “Something tells me this apartment might be what I’ve been looking for.”
He turns to the person sulking dramatically on the couch behind him, clad in tiny shorts and a tank top. A cascade of blue-and-blonde hair curtains their face, one limp hand draped across their forehead as they swoon deeper into melodrama.
Hakeem arches a brow. “I’ve worked and lived with you for six and a half years.
And just to remind a certain someone, I’m scheduled to work every day after classes start back up on Monday.
We’ll see plenty of each other. I just need to spread my wings—something you’ve been telling me I should’ve been doing for years. ”
He pats Charlie on the shoulder (only slightly condescending) before heading back to the door.
Charlie pulls themselves upright and glares at Hakeem.
“How very dare you use my own sound advice against me! Okay, fiiiine. So maybe I’m the tiniest bit worried.
The world is big and scary, and you are a sweet, hopeless romantic ripe for the crushing.
I can’t help but fear for my best worker—who also happens to be the best roommate I’ve had in my twenty-nine years. ”
“Twenty-nine, Charlie?” Hakeem scoffs. “In what, dog years?”
Charlie clutches their chest in an exaggerated gasp, then hurls a small pillow at his head.
“Do not use Bea Arthur against me! I’ve changed my mind.
I want you gone. Go—take your sweet smile and culinary blessings and throw yourself to the wolves.
Leave me here to age and wallow like forgotten starlets of the golden age. ”
Hakeem rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you at work, Charlie. Want me to bring you a croissant from that nice bakery on Alexandria Street when I get back? Speiffel Tower? It is just a viewing, after all.”
It was a horrible name—some unholy combination of spice and Eiffel—but it did stick with you.
Charlie perks up instantly. “All is forgiven! Text me when you get there, okay? I’m still not convinced this ad is legit, no matter whose magic says otherwise.”
“I will, Charlie. Yallah, I gotta go. Bye.”
Hakeem shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his lips as he heads out the door.
* * *
A few streets down from the Shape of Brew café on Sunrise Boulevard, rows of brownstone apartments line Selene Avenue. Inside one of them, Oswald Rivers and his mate, Bernard Woods, help their longtime friend and roommate Eddie Seung-LaLune pack up his room.
“Thanks again, guys,” Eddie says. “I want anything I don’t use day to day packed and set aside. I’ve got a couple viewings today, so I really appreciate the help.”
As more boxes are packed and taped shut, Oswald; a shorter man with an athletic build, tanned skin, and hairy arms, wearing black gym shorts and a white muscle shirt, passes another box to his partner.
Bernard, a large man in black sweats, his dark brown arms threatening to burst from short blue sleeves, takes it and adds it to the growing pile before turning to Eddie.
“Oh yeah, bud, no worries,” Bernard says. “We kinda forced you out without realizing it, so this is the least we could do, yeah?”
Oswald crosses the room and plants a quick kiss on his love’s cheek.
“Bernie, we didn’t force Eddie out. We’ve been together for years.
It’s good to have variety in one’s social life.
Sure, it just so happens to be a year after we declared our undying love for each other.
A year of making up for time lost to anxiety, depression, and inner saboteurs—not to mention my transition.
But it’s not like we’re rubbing our happiness in Eddie’s face and making him feel sad and lone… ”
He freezes. “Shit. Eddie, did we force you out?!”
Oswald and Bernard exchange a panicked look, the tension broken by Eddie’s chuckle.
“No,” Eddie says, laughing. “For the tenth time, you guys—your lovey-dovey public displays of affection didn’t force me out. I’m happy for you both. Relieved, honestly, like the rest of our friends, that you got the help you needed to accept each other’s love. I just need a change.”
He steps forward and pulls them both into a hug. “Don’t worry. We’re friends for life. You’ve always had my back, and I’ll always have yours.”
As they finish packing, Oswald turns to Eddie. “Is that place on Alexandria Street today or what?”
“The apartment in Alexandria Heights? No, that’s tomorrow, according to the email,” Eddie replies. “I’m keeping my options open, so I’ve got a couple viewings today. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Bernard hooks an arm around Oswald’s waist and kisses his cheek. “Hear that, Ozzy? A couple hours all to ourselves.”
Oswald laughs and kisses Bernard on the lips, slow and gentle.
“And that’s my cue,” Eddie groans, rolling his eyes as he heads for the door. “You two can’t even wait until I’m out the door. It was adorable the first three times—the twelfth? Not so much.”
Oswald yelps as Bernard scoops him up, Oswald grabbing his neck for a deep kiss. “Unless you want a full show, I think this is Bernie’s way of telling you to get to your viewings.”
“I’m going, I’m going. By the gods—bye!”
Bernard waves him off, Oswald still clinging to him. “Have fun, bud. And you—come here.”
Eddie shuts the door behind him, shaking his head.
A melancholic chuckle escapes him as he leaves his two best friends wrapped up in each other.
He hopes he finds something like that one day.
Someone to kiss and laugh with. Someone to hold and spin around, like happy couples at the end of romantic movies.
* * *
Back in Alexandria Heights, Jackson has just thanked and said goodbye to the third applicant of the day.
He couldn’t bear the idea of living with any of them for even a day, let alone eighteen months.
Maybe he was being overly picky. There was nothing explicitly wrong with any of them—but none of them felt right, either.
He sighs and glances at an old photo frame on the mantle beneath the television his mother had installed over the fireplace.
The picture, taken about ten years ago, shows him and his grandmother Eloise celebrating Brenda’s hundredth birthday.
Watching your best friend grow old—weak and fragile—was never easy.
It was why he viewed his long life as a curse.
Growing close to the wrong people meant watching them fade into nothing before his eyes.
“Why did you add that clause, Brenda?” he murmurs. “What future did you see for me here, in the place where we spent the best years of your life together?”
Before he can sink further into thought, the buzz of the intercom snaps his attention back. He carefully sets the photo down and moves to answer it.
“Yes, Steven?”
A soft, elderly voice replies; the voice of Steven, the concierge of Alexandria Heights.
An arcanist skilled in telepathic magic, Steven had stopped many stalkers and ill-intentioned ex-lovers from sneaking into the building.
Their thoughts, he often said, were loud and frantic—easy to spot.
He was also an all-around pleasant man, and quite the looker in his prime.
“I have another applicant at the front desk for you, Mr. Nocturne. A Mr. Hakeem Al-Najim.”
“Send him up, thank you, Steven.”
One more for today. That’s all Jackson has to get through. Maybe this one won’t be awful.
He is far from hopeful.