FIC: Some Practical Magick, Part Three

[rainbowstrlght]

Title: Some Practical Magick, Part Three
Pairings: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, Joe Quinto/Karl Urban, Eric Bana/Zachary Quinto
Rating: NC-17

Parts: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Author Notes



Mama and Auntie Marie came back early Sunday afternoon, looking sun-kissed and blessed without worry. Zoe had blue and yellow glitter painted on her face, swirling out towards the hairline and across her eyelids, while Anton had red and yellow suns stained on both his cheeks. Noah even had a new bandana.

Zach had already been up, nursing a cup of coffee. Him and Joey had slept together in the same bed for seventeen hours straight, and it felt too familiar of a hangover. Joey’s eye had been tended to once they woke up, the compress of slippery elm and ice seeming to soothe the abused skin-yet the eyelids were still so tired and battle worn.

When the front door opened, Zach already had a plan of action: He would tell them about the gardening him and Joey had just started. New beginnings, new plants-Joey had grown up with herbs, so it wasn’t unlikely. And Auntie Marie and Mama would love another flower patch in their garden.

“Dad!” Zoe bounced into the kitchen, and Zach barely had time to set the mug aside before he caught her. She pushed him into the counter with her hug, which caused Zach to smile into her long, dark hair. She was rarely this enthusiastic and silly-maybe naked people under the full moon had been a good idea, after all.

Anton piled onto the side, causing Zach to oof.

“I missed you guys! Did you have a good time?”

He looked to Zoe for the report, and she didn’t disappoint. “There were so many people-so many like us!”

“I met Flint and Axel.” Anton showed him a paper bag of goodies. “And got lots of stuff!”

Zach took the bag and peered inside. “You guys made new friends?”

“Don’t worry Dad, we got their addresses,” Zoe said solemnly. “I’m going to help Anton write his letters when I write to Skylar and Lily.”

Zach pulled out a homemade dreamcatcher, letting it dangle from his fingerstips. “That sounds exciting. Why don’t we hang this above your bed, Anton?”

Zoe’s grin grew wider. “We actually made that for Uncle Joey. Can we send it to him?”

Zach was about to open his mouth, when a voice from the living room rang clear beside them.

“You can help me hang it upstairs.”

Zoe and Anton whipped their heads to the side, and then it was a blur-like spider monkeys on a rampage, they clung to their Uncle Joey. He barely kept balance, although he laughed and tried to heft up both of them at once.

“Anton-Little Z!” He kissed both of their heads. “Did you have a good time?”

“Uncle Joey Uncle Joey UncleJoey!” Zoe squeezed his neck. “Dad said you were sick. Are you okay?”

Joey pulled back to look at her properly, which caused Zoe to press a thumb to the edge of the yellow bruise. But he grinned instead of wincing. “I am now.”

“Joseph”

That caused both boys to turn their heads, as Mama and Auntie Marie finally walked into the kitchen. Zach tried to stifle a moment of panic-what was there to worry about? Nothing, absolutely nothing-as Mama crossed in front of him, and raised her hands to Joey’s face.

Zoe and Anton dropped down and backed away, and Joey placed his hands over Mama’s, trying to smile into her anxious eyes.

“Hi, Mama.”

She took a deep breath, her own fingers tracing the edge of the bruise. “Did you use slippery elm?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Then all that’s left is plenty of love.” She kissed him on the cheek, then his forehead, then lips. “Welcome home, honey.”

He wrapped her in a big hug, both of them swaying there a moment as Auntie Marie came up behind them. Joey opened an arm and she snuck in.

“Joe, you worried us.”

“I’m sorry, Auntie Marie. Won’t let it happen again.”

“You better not.” Auntie Marie squeezed a bicep. “Did you eat?”

“No, I’m starving.”

“Zach,” Auntie Marie tsked as Zach raised his hands.

“We’ve been busy-honest!” Which was the truth. It’s not like Zach really had time to eat either, but you saw nobody asking him.

“We saw that new patch out front.” Auntie Marie pulled out a pan, then grabbed the butter dish near the stove. “What are you planning?”

Mama scooted Joey to the dining room table near them, but Zach didn’t miss the raise of his eyebrow.

Zach hoped the mind reading worked both ways.

“Herbs,” Joey finally said, as Auntie Marie placed a coffee cup in front of him. “Lots and lots of herbs. For Zach’s shop.”

Both women were so pleased with the idea, that they missed the brief look of relief on Zach’s face.

***

However, what sprouted up in the weeks to come was not an herb, but an unruly rose bush.

“I don’t know, Mama,” Joey said honestly as they looked out the window. “I didn’t plant roses there.”

“The fairies have a mind of their own,” Auntie Marie said from the parlor. “They are all over this property, always wanting flowers. I had a tomato plant that they uprooted once.”

Mama agreed, giving an anecdote of her own vegetable garden five summers ago. But Zach joined Joey by the window-both boys unable to quell the inner disquiet over the roses being a bright, blood red.

***

But having Joey around felt completely right. It was as if all the puzzle pieces of Zach’s life finally fit into place, and the world was exactly how it should be. They hadn’t done this since they were teens, but their habits somehow slipped right into sync-the ways to annoy each other automatic, their morning habits automatic. Joey even remembered how Zach took his coffee, and Zach remembered how to fix Joey’s eggs.

Because Joey lived with the group of them, of course. Mama wouldn’t have accepted anything else. They moved another bed into Zach’s attic bedroom; and while there was no more room for pacing, there wasn’t a need to pace, anymore.

The kids also loved the arrangement. When Zach went to his shop some early mornings, Joey would cook breakfast and make the brown bag lunches. It became a comfortable routine-despite Joey being the worst cook in existence. But the kids didn’t complain either, although perhaps this was due to the empty containers of Lunchables and Teddy Grahams in their backapacks.

But Joey fit in so well with all of them. Soon it seemed the bruises inside were also healed and forgotten. Joey laughed more, smiled more-reminded Zach of the boy he knew when they were growing up.

Even better, Joey helped out in his herbal shop. He took photos of their wares and set up displays in the windows. Zach had not cared too much about the aesthetics, but Joey drew a design and went with it-beautiful blue bottles, with matching labels of entwining vines.

“The bottles are made of recycled glass. You’re totally environmental, Z.”

Zach went with it. He hadn’t cared much either way, but he loved Joey’s enthusiasm. Plus the bottles were cost effective.

However, as the weeks passed and their little suburb heard of Joey’s return, other things were uprooted from the past. Gossips had a field day over the rugged man with a tramp stamp and Celtic cross around his neck, unabashed with his lack of reserve in photographing their way of living.

“I’m going with roots,” Joey would start, trying to hone in on their acquiescence. “I want a series about people expressing reactions to their origins.”

But whomever he had taken a photo of would decline-except a young child here or there, unaware of the rumors.

“Apparently they think I’m stealing their soul.” Joey laid his camera on the dining room table with a sigh. “Truth is, I ran out of canisters for that ages ago.”

Zach chuckled over a pot of red sauce. “Souls are so easy to get, Hell is practically liquidating them.”

“See Zach, this is where I was joking, and then you start actually scaring me by having it make sense.” Joey clapped him on the back. “We’re having sausage with this, right?”

“Of course. I know how you just love sausage.”

Joey barked a laugh. “Might be more in the mood for fish lately, you never know.”

Zach made a face and tripped him, making Joey drop a stolen piece of garlic bread.

“That was less than three seconds.“

Zach rolled his eyes in an attempt to hide a grin. “Set the table, will you?”

Joey stuffed his mouth with a growl, but did exactly that. Soon after every Quinto in the house sat around that table, passing more garlic bread.

Zoe followed Joey everywhere, and Anton followed Zoe. That meant Zach smiled across the table at all of them, as Uncle Joey taught the two kids some more bad table manners.

Zach felt an elbow at his side, and he turned to Mama smiling at him.

“You’re feeling what I’m feeling,” she said. “I can tell by the smile on your face. Your whole family, your loved ones-they’re near you, where they belong.”

Zach glanced at a giggling Anton, who was almost seven and still unable to keep his shirt from spills. He mirrored his Uncle Joey, who made a huge production of tucking a bib into his own belt, while Zoe rolled her eyes at the both of them, clearly appalled.

“Yeah,” Zach said quietly as he soaked it all in. “Just like that.”

As Zoe’s serious and disapproving face cracked under Joey lowering individual noodles into his mouth, Zach decided he would love for it to stay like this-for time to freeze exactly right here, for always.

***

The Summer Solstice blended into the Fourth of July-then Lammas, then the Autumnal Equinox. The latter inspired Zach to create more spice and apple fragrances, yearning for the moment he could dig out a sweater and see the kids trick-or-treating.

And with the incoming cold front, Zach hoped the red rose bush would finally die. Some weeks ago, him and Joey has hacked away at the unruly thing, trying to cull it to the point of no return. They even poured vinegar and hot water directly on the roots, and sawed the strongest stems until only a stump seemed to remain. They tried every trick in the book-short of chemicals to taint Auntie Marie’s organic garden. But the roses always came back-they would be there next morning, leading to another full thrush of red roses, more vibrant than anything else in the garden.

It was disconcerting, and Zach started to wonder when Auntie Marie and Mama would figure it out. Maybe when the damn roses peeked under mounds of snow.

“Dad, I don’t want to leave,” Zoe said, looking out the spell parlor window.

Zach zipped up her backpack. “What? Babe, you have a test today-“

“There’s a scary man out there.”

Zach narrowed his eyes. “What? Is he coming towards the door?”

Zoe shook her head. “No, he’s just standing by the rose bush.”

Zach marched over to the window, with Joey not far behind.

Anton tugged on their sleeves. “I need my jacket.“

But he was ignored as Joey and Zach exchanged an alarmed look. Neither one saw the man Zoe spoke of, yet the origin was plainly obvious.

“Uncle Joey is walking you both to school today,” Zach stated roughly, kissing both kids on top of the head before racing into the spell parlor.

He didn’t keep track of whether they actually left. Instead Zach hefted the heavy grimoire on top of the table, and wildly wondered where to even begin.

There were spells for death and destruction. If magick is what caused the garden to be tainted, then surely magick would be the source to fix it-with belladonna not an uncommon ingredient to see in the spell lists. A fact which gave Zach an idea.

“Zachary, what are you up to?”

He was busy boiling a bag of dried leaves on the stove, crumpling their entire stash of belladonna with frantic need. Zach didn’t look up at Auntie Marie until he was stirring the contents in the giant pot.

“Um, just brewing something.”

There was too much silence after that, and Zach prayed mentally to the Gods that she wouldn’t come over and look at the package labels. He wasn’t in the mood to fumble for more excuses-he just wanted to get this shit taken care of, once and for all.

But instead he heard Auntie Marie cross behind him to the spell parlor door, leaning to look out the expanse of garden windows.

“My goodness, that rose bush is certainly… aggressive.”

Zach froze in his stirring, allowing the wooden spoon to swim helplessly on its own in the copper pot. But Auntie Marie didn’t even give him a second look, walking out the kitchen as silently as she had entered.

***

Zach finally killed that rose bush. He poured the hot cauldron of belladonna directly onto the roots, and prayed to all the deities he could think of for help.

Not that he likely deserved help. But for several days afterwards he waited, thinking that the fairies would eventually take revenge for Zach messing in their garden, concocting an evil plan to make his hard work moot.

But it never did-the bush never returned. Instead it shriveled and died in its plot, gray and decrepit against the morning frost. The timing had certainly been apt, with other things wilting in the garden due to an encroaching New England winter.

Zach decided he liked winter. He felt more at ease now that things were truly dead.

Joey also seemed to relax, considering the death an early birthday gift.

“What do you want to do for your birthday, Joe?” Zach asked him in the shop, readying another large order of herbal shampoo. While the townspeople may want to burn them all at the stake, they probably would want Zach’s cosmetics recipes, first.

Joey shrugged. “I don’t know-stay at home.” He lined up a row of bath oils at a tilted angle. “I would rather spend it all with you. Dinner and a board game.”

Zach wasn’t sure whether to be pleased with that or incredibly worried, as he knew that sort of thing hadn’t been Joey’s style. In his letters of the past, Joey had described the hard partying of New York-the liquor, the drugs, the sex. While Zach knew Joey was trying to live simpler, there wasn’t harm in going out dancing every once in a while-and wine was plentiful in their household, always.

“Mama,” Zach said later when most of the house was in bed. “I’ve got an idea. Tomorrow. At the exact second he turns thirty-four.”

Mama listened to the plan and smiled.

***

Zach placed a kiss on Joey’s temple and waited for the eyelids to flutter. When they did, Zach leaned in close and whispered:

“Midnight margaritas.”

Joey groaned and rolled over, completely ignoring him.

It was to be expected. So without much movement, Zach straightened and grinned, tinging his crystal glass loudly in the silent room-the sound raising the energy of the space, making Zach’s skin go electric.

At that Joey fell involuntarily out of bed, knocking his head against the wooden floorboards. But both boys were giggling, stifling their laughter as they stumbled out into the hall-Joey rubbing his forehead as Zach handed him his own glass.

Mama and Auntie Marie met them on the second level, throwing confetti at Joey and holding glasses of their own. They all ting-ed the crystal in unison, and the energy in the house magnified and exploded-each ting a spell to make the world feel alive, with warmth blossoming on all their faces, the flush evident before they even touched a drop.

They would show Joey that they knew how to party.

As they reached the living room, everyone was already giggling with the excitement in the air. If Zach had to be blunt about it, it felt like the bliss after an orgasm-all of his particles suddenly in harmony with the Earth, humming with happiness. Even the animals felt it, with Noah barking and jumping at their heels, while Siouxsie Sioux cozied up to Harold for a nice, long nap.

Zach turned on music and pulled Joey towards him, his grin widening as they touched chest-to-chest, feeling light-headed. Joey was trying not to laugh, but Zach insisted on spinning him more than once, making Joey stumble from dizziness. Their arms eventually wrapped around each other’s waists to steady each other, as Auntie Marie started to fill their glasses.

They swayed goofily and Joey sputted at an awkward attempt for a dip.

“You’re a lousy dancer,” Joey accused, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“And you’ve been acting like an old man.” Zach dipped him again. “Cut it out.”

But Zach was grinning as he said it, and Joey grinned back as glasses were thrust eagerly into both of their hands.

Auntie Marie held up her drink for a toast. “Midnight margaritas, ladies. Don’t let me down.”

Zach caught Joey’s eye. “I’m drinking you under the table.”

That caught a surprised laugh out of Joey. “Oh, you’re on.”

They all clinked glasses and rushed their drinks-with none of them leaving the others far behind.

Midnight turned to one o’clock, then two-the dancing halting after a while to collapse on the sofas in giggling fits. Then at three they moved into the kitchen, finding more booze and shot glasses for the dining table, where four o’clock summoned the letdown. Auntie Marie shook a clear bottle with disappointment as Zach wondered when the room started to spin.

“On a cleeeeear day,” Mama started to sing, “riiiiiise and look arouuuuund you-“

“And you’ll seeeee whoooo you arrrrrree,” Auntie Marie joined in, leaning against her sister’s shoulder. “On a clearrrrr day, how it will astouuuund you-“

Mama leaned back. “And the glow ooooffff your beeeeeeeing-“

They crooned together, “Outshiiiiiiiines every starrrrrrr.“

Zach blinked, his hands grasping the table surface.

“You’ll feel paaaart oooofffff every mountain, seeea and shooooree-“

Zach frowned at Joey, who had more cognizance to rip the Smirnoff bottle from Auntie Marie’s hands.

“You can see foreeevvvver, and ever, and evvvver-“

“Where did you get this?” Joey demanded.

The sisters jostled and knocked their heads together, squinting to see what Joey was holding.

Zach knew what it was-the exact brand that Karl had been drinking. Just like he had sung that stupid fucking song.

Auntie Marie uncharacteristically giggled, then said in a sing-song, “I fouuund it on the porrrch!”

Zach grabbed the bottle from a stunned Joey, shoving his chair back to march to the sink and shatter it. The pieces flew everywhere-but Zach didn’t give a damn. He couldn’t look at that bottle for another minute, couldn’t have its existence for another moment longer.

He perched over the sink and watched the remaining liquid go down the drain. Zach was trying to focus and have his vision catch up with his brain, when a hand harshly pushed his shoulder.

It wasn’t Auntie Marie like he expected, but a stern and angry Mama.

“What have you done?” she bit out, and each word stung like a thorn.

Zach swayed and wanted to shake his head, but he clung to the counter for support.

Without an answer she turned to Joey, who had stood from the table and watched them in shock, his mouth also stuttering for an answer.

When none came from him, Auntie Marie breezed past them in bristling anger while Mama pointed at the sink.

“You clean up your own mess.”

And with that, she turned on her heels and left.

While Zach and Joey stared at each other, abruptly sobering, they had no idea what that truly meant. Not until hours later, when they woke unhappy with their alarms and Zoe informed them of the news: That during the night Auntie Marie and Mama had kissed both children goodbye, and had left them all before dawn.

***

Zach winced at the sound of the glass shards hitting the bin, and touched his temple as Joey finally entered the kitchen.

He ripped open drawers. “Don’t we have fucking aspirin?”

Zach wanted to shake his head, but instead softly said, “We’re so fucked.”

“No, no-“ Joey said, dismissing him with the wave of a hand as the other banged open cabinets. "No we're not."

“Yes, yes we are,” Zach whined, holding his forehead when he raised his voice. “Fuck Joey, they know.”

“Well, they didn’t call the cops on us.” Joey failed several attempts to unscrew the child-proof bottle, and smacked it repeatedly against the counter in anger.

Zach made a grab for it while grimacing. “Joey, don’t-“

“Dad?”

Zach looked down at Anton, whose backpack was unzipped and beckoning.

Zach tried to control his pained expression.“Babe, what is it?”

Anton pointed. “I don’t have a lunch.”

Zach groaned-wow, he was certainly turning into Parent of the Year.

But Joey stumbled to the fridge door, quickly scanning the inside contents. He wound up tossing a wrapped sub Anton’s way, where it luckily landed at the lip of the backpack.

Anton looked down at it. “What is it?”

“My former lunch,” Joey huffed out, leaning over the sink. “Good stuff, but probably won’t touch it today.”

Anton looked at it curiously, before his sister ran into the room and gripped his shoulder.

"We need to go." There was unmistakably stern look she threw her father’s way, and Zach tried not to flinch. “Bye,” she spat, then marched her brother out.

As the front door slammed, Zach also tried not to let that sting. But Joey mumbled, “Dude, that was harsh.”

“She’s just upset,” Zach said calmly, authoritatively-like any good, wise parent. But after a minute he cradled his face in his hands, whining, “Gods, my daughter hates me. She hates that her Grandma and Oma went away.” He looked up for sympathy. “Joey, I made my daughter’s Grandma and Oma go away.”

Joey murmured inaudibly-probably something encouraging-then reached over to pat a shoulder. “We’ll be okay, Z. We’ll figure it out. I won’t let that bastard get us down.”

Zach blew a raspberry, the bad taste in his mouth suddenly too apparent.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, both boys were hunched over the sink.

***

It was close to 8:30. Who the hell wanted to chat with them at 8:30?

The doorbell rang again and Zach held his head up.

"There's no way I can answer that." Which was partially the truth. He probably looked like death warmed over, not to mention a toothbrush and shower would be welcome about now.

But when the doorbell rang the third and last time, Joey looked up and said, "Maybe they did call the cops."

However a minute later the metal mail slot squealed as it opened, where something obviously fell and whispered against the hardwood floor.

"They're sure being respectful," Zach murmured, and then tried to straighten up. He clutched his stomach and moved gingerly into the foyer, where a white envelope taunted him on the floor.

Zachary Quinto, in large letters of handwritten ink.

"Fucking eh," he whispered, as when he got closer the return address was clearly embossed in blue: L.A.P.D.

Zach had no doubt who was now hovering outside. "Okay, okay-" he started saying to himself. "We bought some time, maybe."

"What's up?"

Joey stomped in-or at least Zach felt every footstep-as he opened the envelope and a business card fell out.

L.A.P.D - Det. Chris Pine - Homicide Unit

Zach wanted to faint. "Oh, fuck me."

But when he flipped over the business card it said Please Call, instead.

"Hey Z, there's a strange guy looking at our garden."

"What is this, shit in my mouth day?" Zach tried not to glare at Joey by the living room windows, and instead went into serious business mode. "Joe, make me some goddamn tea. I’m going to brush my teeth, put some real clothes on, and when I come back down you're going to hide upstairs."

"Like he just won't search the upstairs."

"The fact that he just didn't burst through our door does prove that, yeah," Zach snapped, but then touched his head. "Please Joe, make the mint tea."

Zach only hoped that the investigator would at least give him five fucking minutes to come up with something good.

***

After brushing his teeth and shrugging on a pair of blue jeans, Zach convinced himself that he couldn’t hide Joey. As much as he wished for a magic carpet to whisk away his older brother, the truth was that Joey wasn’t on the run-yet. But a good way to rouse suspicion would be to send him away. Which lead to the conclusion that in the end, Zach just had to act normal.

Yeah, right.

The circles under his eyes were pretty epic, but at least his hair didn’t stick up at odd angles. With a white t-shirt and sweater, he just looked like an old, tired man-and hell, that was depressing, but maybe it’d make him seem defenseless as opposed to incredibly culpable.

“You-upstairs,” Zach pointed at Joey, then drank the lukewarm tea quickly. Although the sudden turn of events was a grand dose of sobriety already, the tea was a calming ritual.

Joey ran quickly, and by the time Zach dumped the cup in the sink twenty minutes had barely passed from doorbell to crossing the kitchen. But if Zach was lucky, maybe the dude was gone and they’d have more time to recoup-

But of course, glancing through the spell parlor windows on his way out, the cop had only moved to another patch of bushes.

It had been six months and the garden no longer showed signs of a recent disturbance. So what was the man doing out there, and what was he looking at?

It was another minute for Zach to walk across the lawn, nervously crossing his arms in his wool cardigan. Which was a minute too long, as an unfortunate thought to passed through Zach’s head:

Wow.

The man, about his height, was leaning down to touch a strand of ornamental grass.

“Can I help you?” Zach croaked awkwardly.

The man spun, startled, and light blue eyes narrowed in on him. It took a moment before his stance eased, and he tried for an easy smile.

“You have, uh… an interesting garden, there,” the man tried unsuccessfully, the sheepish grin trying to cover up his true intent.

The blond wore jeans and a black blazer, with a blue shirt underneath that only helped his eyes.

Zach tried an unsuccessful smile himself. “Yeah, my aunt has a green thumb.”

The man nodded, then ticked a finger. “You wouldn’t by any chance be Zachary Quinto, would you?’

Zach tried a coy sideways glance. “Maybe I am.”

A minute passed, with Chris and Zach just politely smiling at each other, before Zach waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry. I had just shuffled the kids off to school, and I must’ve been cleaning upstairs when you rang.”

It was partially the truth, and better than the line he delivered now. “Glad you were still out here, though.”

“I’m Chris Pine with the LAPD-“ the man pulled out his badge, the golden star catching morning sunlight, “and I’m also glad you’re still around.”

The voice was slightly gravelly, but there was a part of Zach immediately sucked in-as if the man standing before him just couldn’t possibly be the bad guy, but more like the tourists who sometimes wandered into his shop.

“LA is rather far away, Mr. Pine.”

“Call me Chris.”

“Doesn’t shorten the distance, though.”

Chris quirked a lip at the humor. “You’re right, it is. But it’s only because the person I’m tracking used to live out here.”

Zach wondered if he kept a straight face at that remark. “And what do I have to do with this person?”

Chris shrugged and said lightly, “Oh, I don’t know. Just thought you might know where your brother is.”

Zach tensed, and Chris didn’t fail to notice.

“I just need to talk to him, Mr. Quinto,” Chris said with a steady gaze.

“It’s Zach.”

“Well nice to meet you, but I still want to talk to Joe.”

Zach held his breath-and realized instantly that he was acting on the defensive. What for? Zach knew of course, but this cop was supposed to have no idea.

It wasn’t polite to be combative with guests that Zach had no reason to fear.

“Joe is upstairs. If you want to come in for some coffee, I’ll go wake him.”

Chris scanned his face, as if waiting for some intent of deceit, before his eyes darted to the house behind them. “Would be a pleasure.”

Zach pressed his lips together, then awkwardly turned to head back inside. He assumed Chris would follow. He ambled up the lawn, then stretched out an arm to keep open the screendoor, of which a strong hand quickly caught.

The man had rather long fingers.

“Um,” Zach said, going to the coffee maker and nervously tapping the counter. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both, please.”

Zach quickly opened a cabinet and grabbed a cup, missing at first and almost causing a mug to roll onto his head. But he set it down in front of the already-made pot, and tried to steady his breathing as he poured the dark liquid-as if he needed to burn himself, on top of everything else.

Chris was quiet, and Zach had no doubt that he was watching him. His body language was probably like an open book-what the hell was wrong with him? He could usually play it cool and level-headed. He was supposed to be the logical, analytical one.

But when he turned around with the cup and sugar bowl, he was met with calm eyes on his own-now almost slate-blue against the red décor.

Wow.

“I’ll go get Joey,” Zach stuttered after he placed the cup in front of Chris and then whirled to the fridge for creamer. “He’s not a morning person. It might take him a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh no,” Chris said patiently, stirring his coffee. “Take your time.”

Which was too nice a voice to not set off alarm bells.

Zach backed up slowly, and then tried to walk like a normal person up three flights of stairs. But instead after the second floor he bolted to Joey’s half of the attic bedroom.

“Joe,” Zach whispered franticly, although there probably wasn’t a need. “The cop is downstairs and wants to talk to you.”

Joey was sitting on a quilted bedspread, Om and meditative pose in sync. If only Zach could have an ounce of that composure.

“A minute, Z.”

“He’s from LA.”

“I know, Zach.” Joey took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, opening his eyes gradually in the process. “You need to chill out.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand.“ Zach barely understood. “Joe, I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Nonsense, you lie to me all the time. If you can lie to someone you love, you can lie to someone you don’t.”

Zach raised a finger in protest, opened his mouth, then flustered a bit as he lowered his hand.

“I’m going back down. He’s just having coffee, so you can clean up a bit if you want.”

“Will do, Z,” Joey said, but remained cross-legged and again closed his eyes.

After it was apparent that Joey did not feel the same sort of urgency, Zach turned on his heels and went back down.

He should probably dread going back and use the minute to compose his own features. But there was electricity in his fingertips, and he knew nothing would ground it except food or ridding the source of agitation.

Which further increased when he entered the kitchen and saw Chris calmly petting Siouxsie Sioux.
“You’re a good cat, huh?” Chris said quietly, a finger brushing against her furred cheek. “Protecting everybody in this house.”

Which would’ve been adorable-seriously, had he ever heard that cat purr?-except Siouxsie Sioux chose that exact moment to acknowledge Zach’s presence with a loud hiss, running away in exaggerated fury.

Gods, that cat and Chris were in cahoots.

“Joey will be down in a minute,” Zach said as he desperately rummaged a breadbox, pulling out a wrapped banana nut muffin.

“Great,” Chris said calmly behind him, then managed to add, “nice cat.”

Zach had to grab another muffin, then turned to walk-hopefully in a normal fashion-to the dining room table, where Chris was perfectly at ease.

No doubt because everything he suspected had been confirmed by Zach’s dumb mouth.

“Want a muffin?” Zach asked as he pulled out a chair a few feet away and tossed the goodies between them.

Chris shook his head. “Coffee’s great, thank you.”

It was too polite. Zach felt his anxiety take itself out on the muffin wrapper-of which the fucking thing wouldn’t open.

After a minute Zach wanted to run back upstairs and bury his head, for Chris was staring at him with raised brows, the kind he probably reserved for crazy people.

“Let me,” Chris said and plucked the wrapped muffin surely from his hands. Fingers, of course, had to rub together, and Zach couldn’t tell if his cheeks were heated from that or Chris opening the thing within three seconds.

“Thanks,” Zach mumbled, then torn off a chunk from the top.

Chris only gave him a knowing smile, and Zach couldn’t look at it for too long.

“I’m not here to arrest you, Zach.”

Zach shoved another chunk in his mouth and hummed an uh-huh.

“No need to be nervous.” Chris leaned forward, and again the smile was too easy. “So you said you had kids?”

Zach tried to swallow-what, was this for Child Protective Services?

“Two,” Zach said.

“School age, right?”

Zach nodded. “Zoe is in sixth grade, and Anton just started first.”

Chris grinned. “First grade-life’s so much easier at that age. Does he like it?”

As Zach was left with the crumbly bottom half of his banana nut muffin, he wondered if this was how Chris interrogated five-year-olds.

“He’s doing pretty well,” Zach said cheerfully, trying to sound like a normal parent. “Zoe is at an eighth grade reading level and curious about everything.”

“That’s good,” Chris awkwardly commented, then fiddled with the mug handle. “Parenting must be hard to manage on your own, especially as a widow.”

Zach was about to nod again when a part of his mind froze, registering the statement.

Chris’ gaze flickered quickly to his, a moment of apprehension that might’ve played out if it weren’t for-

“Hello,” Joey said from the bottom stair.

There was a moment where he and Chris still watched each other, their gazes feeling magnetic. But then they turned their heads to Joey, who entered in clean clothes and a lion’s swagger.

Zach inwardly rolled his eyes at the obvious.

“You must be Chris,” Joey said a few feet from them, and he held out a hand. “I’m Joe.”

Chris made a motion to get up as they shook their greeting, but Joey held out a halting hand and touched his arm.

“Please, sit.” Joey leaned on the chair between them. “Can I get you anything else?”

Zach stuffed the last of the muffin in his mouth as Chris’ eyes took it all in.

“Just some answers, maybe.”

“I’m all yours,” Joey said, slinking further over the chair. His Celtic cross fell out of the dark sleeveless t-shirt and dangled like a pendulum between his tattooed and toned arms.

Chris’ eyes remained on Joey’s face, however. “You’ve been in a relationship with Karl Urban for the last ten years, correct?”

“Oof,” Joey said with an exaggerrated huff. “Way to start with the sensitive questions!”

Chris raised his brows as Joey waved a hand.

“We haven’t been dating the last six months.”

“Which is why you’re in Pittsburgh?”

“There’s no place like home,” Joey said smoothly, perhaps too easily.

Chris leaned forward. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Urban?”

Joey cocked his head, as if mentally trying to recall. “Hmm-in Los Angeles, I think.”

Zach snuck another muffin with his fingertips and tried to discreetly open it.

“You think?”

“Well, I was out there for a photo shoot. He followed me out, we broke up, and then we saw each other a few times in passing.” Joey made an aggrieved sigh. “I don’t know, he was a bad mistake-I try to block it out.”

At the fifth attempt of opening the wrapper discreetly, Chris held out his hand.

“Did you two have an altercation?”

Joey looked hesitant, although not in a Joey-way that Zach could pinpoint.

“He gave me a shiner, yeah.” Joey looked down, picking at his hands. “That was the last straw. I left him behind, and I’ve tried to stay away from him ever since.”

Chris opened the wrapper smoothly, then handed it back-Zach was pretty sure he was being ignored like the idiot younger brother in this equation, and he took it sheepishly.

“So you haven’t seen him since?”

Joey shook his head. “Not since I left LA.”

“When was that?”

Joey made a thinky face and Zach blurted out, “That Tuesday night.”

Eyes whipped towards him, and Zach stuffed as much muffin in his mouth as he could muster.

Chris turned in his chair. “You were with him?”

Oh, that was nice. Of course Chris hadn’t connected those dots.

“Um-“

“I called him,” Joey interrupted. “About the shiner and Karl. He came out to get me because I was upset, that’s all.”

Chris folded his hands on the table, and no matter how much Joey leaned over he was still staring right at Zach.

Who had nothing left in his hands.

“Zach, did you see Karl?”

No. “Yes.”

Zach wanted to clamp his mouth shut, but the words kept tumbling out. “I went to get Joe, and we saw him on the way out.”

Joey was staring at him now-truly staring. In the way a snake might hiss before killing someone slowly and with pleasure.

Chris tapped the table. “Did he say anything to you?”

No. “Not really.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “So he was there when you left?”

No. “We walked away rather quickly.”

Well, that was better than saying they were abducted and held at gunpoint.

“Where did you go?”

Joey stood up. “We came here.” He looked over at Zach. “Directly here.”

Zach closed his mouth, then bunched the wrappers together in his hands.

But Chris honed right in on Zach. “How did you get here?”

“Plane-“

“Drove,” Zach answered, then winced mentally as Joey went to the coffee pot and loudly got out a mug.

“All the way across the country?”

“Yep,” Zach answered to the table. He didn’t even want to look at Chris now. “That’s what you do when you love each other.”

Which was maybe the safest thing he’d said in the last half-hour, as Chris finally went quiet.

Blue eyes looked towards the spell parlor, where windows were clearly visible to the front yard.

“Is that your car out there?”

Joey leaned against the middle kitchen isle with his cup. “Yep.”

Which sounded reasonable enough to Zach, until-

“That car is still registered to Karl Urban.”

Zach wanted to rewind the day-maybe rewind all the way to Midnight Margaritas. But all Joey said was, “Yep. The asshole owed it to me.”

“Still vehicular theft.”

Joey shrugged. “Karl never came back for it.”

“So he knows you took it?”

Joey opened his mouth but Zach rushed out, “I did.”

Perhaps it was best if Joey went and got the duct tape now.

Chris scrunched his brow. “You did?”

“Well, he-I-we-“ without the wrappers, Zach would embarrassingly talk with his hands. “He kind of made me drive.”

“Made you?”

“He abducted us.”

Surely this was a form of stress-induced tourettes.

“He what?”

Chris was leaning far across the table now, the eyes too trusting and insightful, and Zach found himself draping the distance.

“Well-no.” Zach tried to finish, but had to tack on, “He made us drop him off near the hotel, and then we drove home.”

Chris looked skeptically between the two of them, and Zach was suddenly very sure that he was going to jail. There was no way in hell this story made sense.

But instead Chris finally looked at Joey.

“And that was the last you saw him?”

Joey sipped his cup. “Yep.”

Chris looked out the windows again, and Zach wondered what the man was thinking. Probably that they were crazy-that Zach was crazy, at least.

But instead Chris sighed and got up from the table. “Thank you, both of you.”

Zach didn’t follow-this was probably for the best.

“Mind if I look around? I’d like to glance at the car, too.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Zach answered, just as Joey had opened his mouth.

Chris smiled. “Thanks,” he said, then proceeded into the living room.

When his back was turned Joey mouthed What is WRONG with you?. Of which Zach only mouthed back I DON’T KNOW, and put his head miserably in his hands.

***

That, of course, had not been the last of the investigator. While Mr. Pine had come and gone from their house without much hint of trouble, he seemed to pop up everywhere Zach went-from grocery shopping, to taking the kids to school, to driving home from work. His blond head was immediately visible from a crowd, as he used his charm and good looks to get whatever information he wanted.

Zach could see him from the shop windows as he interviewed folks at the farmer’s market. That was something to imagine-what people were probably saying about the Quintos, or maybe about Zach in particular.

If the man didn’t think he was strange before, he was going to get confirmation soon enough. And maybe once he did, perhaps he would leave. The week of him meandering around was already anxiety-inducing, causing Zach and Joey to snap at each other with their last nerves. There was the worry he would show up at any moment, maybe taking both of them-and what would happen to Anton and Zoe without Mama and Auntie Marie?

But Zach hadn’t heard a peep from them. He wanted to think they were on a beach somewhere, perhaps smiling, instead of still being pissed at the both of them. The image was pleasant, caused the veins in Zach’s forehead to pop a little less.

It was inevitable, however, that he would talk to the investigator again. Zach braced himself for days afterwards, pouring himself into work at the shop. Zoe and Anton helped marginally, the truce between him and Zoe tenuous at best; one that most likely wouldn’t be eased until her Grandma and Oma returned home.

But after a week, neither of them did. Zach would be worried, except he had other pressing matters.

“You know, according to half the people in this town-“ Chris started once the bells on the shop door had stopped ringing. “You’re either worshipping the devil, or you are the devil.”

Zach didn’t turn around, more focused on placing the oil bottles in his arms on the correct shelves. “I’m not exactly surprised.”

“What, so you make herbal remedies. Last time I checked, all sorts of people did that.”

Zach pursed his lips. “True.”

“And you live in a big, colonial house and grow your own herbs. Lots of other people do that, too.”

“Also true.” Zach went to a cart of canisters and bottles, pushing it to another end of the store.

There was an exasperated sigh behind him. “But that doesn’t mean you actually fly on broomsticks, or eat people’s children or anything.”

“Nope,” Zach said casually, picking up a glass canister of mint.

“Good.” There was a scuff of shoes on linoleum. “But it’s just-strange. All these stories about your family.”

“We’ve lived here a long time.” Zach shifted to another shelf. “We’re from an old line of witches, so hyperbole was bound to enter the picture eventually.”

There was a moment of silence, and Zach couldn’t help but glance behind him. When he saw Chris gaping at him, hand halfway to picking up a lotion tester, Zach smirked.

“You heard correctly, Mr. Pine.”

“It’s Chris, and I’m not really sure I did.”

Zach walked towards the small table of lotions, using the moment to take visual inventory. “What are you confused about?”

“Just-witches?”

Zach stopped fiddling with the bottles on display and took a moment to nod. “Yep.”

“I thought there weren’t male witches. Like, they’re warlocks or something.”

Zach sighed. “That actually originates from an offensive term in Old English-means ‘oathbreaker’ or ‘deceiver’.” Zach smiled. “I’m not exactly either one of those.” Although cavorting with the enemy probably would count with some people.

Zach moved to fiddle with another display and Chris followed.

“So, you’re all witches? Joe too?”

“Yep.”

Chris took a moment to think that through. “I’ve met some Wiccans.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s not that bad. Nature worshipping, right?”

Zach made a face. “We’re a little bit different. Wicca originated in the 1940s from England. We’re farther back than that.”

Chris frowned. “I don’t get you.”

Zach sighed, leaning against the table. “Not to regale you with my family history-“

“I’m kind of asking.”

“But there are older traditions in Europe. Passed down from person to person. Very secretive.”

Chris mirrored his leaning. “But these aren’t Wiccans?”

Zach shook his head. “Wicca is based off bits and pieces of the past. There was a man named Gerald Gardner who in 1939 claimed to have been initiated into the older tradition, and he basically used that to create Wicca. But us-“ Zach motioned behind him where, metaphorically, his house would be, “we’re one of those that predates it. We have grimoires dating back hundreds of years-“ At the confusion on Chris’ face, he corrected himself. “Spell books. Basically handwritten instructions on the craft.”

Chris looked hesitant. “So you’re saying you’re like the Salem witches?”

Zach motioned a so-so with his hand. “We’re not related to them, and historically a lot of them weren’t actually witches. But… yeah. We’re a long line of herbalists. I probably do have something in common with the cunningwomen who were midwives and nurses, actually.”

Chris quirked a lip. “Cunningwomen. You’re like this town’s cunning… man?”

Zach grinned. “I don’t like the word, but yeah. I’m half-Irish, you can blame them for that terminology.”

“What’s your other half?”

“Italian, from my father. Who was a Catholic.”

Chris laughed at that, his white teeth flashing as he settled into a smirk. “He didn’t try to burn your mother, did he?”

Zach shook his head, smiling stupidly. “Nah. Joey and I were baptized Catholic, actually. She was allowed her own thing-which he didn’t quite understand, but tolerated.” Zach paused at a sudden memory. “My great-grandmother on his side is actually a strega, combining her family’s craft with Catholicism. Happens a lot with the old traditions. Although with my grandmother and father, it didn’t trickle down very well.”

Zach watched Chris’ expression. He was concerned at first that he had bored him, but saw that Chris was listening intently.

“My maternal grandmother brought it over from Ireland and settled here in the 1920s. And, well-we’ve been here ever since.”

“And you mostly use… the craft? For herbs.” Chris looked at the walls lined with canisters, some darkened for light tolerance, but most of them clear and showing dried leaves and flowers.

Zach pressed his lips together, feeling a sudden need to go back to his cart. “Something like that.”

There was a pause as Chris nodded, then casually glanced around him. He settled on perusing the other wall of herbs. “So you don’t use magic?”

Zach shrugged, picking up a canister of rose buds. “Magick is essentially a witch’s form of prayer. When I put things together, create a remedy for someone-some of that is combined with my faith.” Zach glanced behind him, spying Chris by a stash of dandelion. “But it’s not like, a laying on of hands or anything.”

“More a practical form of magic?”

Zach could deal with that. “Sure. It’s just… really about the intent.”

Chris’ fingers hovered above several glass canisters, reaching the end of a row of Cs towards the Bs. “Intent is an interesting word.”

Zach hesitated a moment, then continued with something he rarely expressed. “I think there’s this perception that magick is inaccessible, foreign-something that only people of a certain stripe can perform.” He straightened a container of red cedar. “Or mythical.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not one of those people, Zach.” Chris was bent over, glancing at a lower row. “I’m not sure about homeopathy either, to be honest.”

“A lot of people feel that way. But we all believe in something.”

Zach leaned against his cart as Chris straightened, clearly looking displeased.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m agnostic.”

“That’s nice, but that’s not exactly what I’m referring to.”

Chris walked slowly towards him, his head tilted. “This is another witchy thing, isn’t it?”

When he got closer Zach met him halfway, fighting off a smile as he pointed to the lapel of Chris’ blazer. “Excuse me Officer, but I think I need to see your badge.”

Chris narrowed eyes at him, studying his expression. But after a moment he reached in and pulled it out, allowing Zach to take the badge from him with little resistance. The gold star still shone under the fluorescent lights, beautiful with its tarnish and years of use and dedication. Zach grasped it with both hands, his fingers idly touching the points, and allowed himself a small smile.

“I think the last time I saw anyone that pleased with it was my mother, after I graduated from the academy.”

Zach looked up, seeing Chris curious with a raised brow.

“Even blessed by your mother-this is indeed special.” Zach turned it carefully in his hands, then held it up to face Chris. “In magick, we’d call this a talisman. But it’s really just a symbol-a simple star. But it represents something you fiercely believe in, this idea of justice and finding the truth.” Zach handed it back. “Your badge-it really can’t stop criminals on its own, can it? But it gives you the power to do just that, because you believe it can.”

Chris stared at it a moment, gingerly caressing an edge as he took it back. He swallowed before seeming to regain his senses, then tucked it away. “Never thought of it in that way before.”

Zach gave him a coy smile. “Guess you could consider it a practical form of magic.”

Chris huffed a laugh, “I guess so.”

Zach liked that easy turn of lips. And admittedly, that laugh was a wonderful sound. Even better was the look Chris gave when something occurred to him, his tongue darting out to nervously swipe the corner of his mouth.

“Say, I’ve got a question.”

Zach raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Let’s say I just walked into your shop-“

“A rarity when I’m closed, but go on.”

“And I told you I had some intense insomnia.” Chris watched him closely. “What would you prescribe me?”

The answer rattled off Zach’s tongue easily. “Valerian root.”

Chris looked along the walls, and Zach eventually pointed. “It’s down there, third shelf.”

The easiness of the previous moments seemed to quickly dissipate as Chris kept asking questions. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“It’s a mild sedative. You can make it as a tea, or you can buy it in capsules or drops.” Zach didn’t follow, but saw Chris looking at the clear canister. “You can’t really overdose on it, so it’s the first thing I prescribe. The worst that can happen is stomach cramps.”

Chris nodded, straightening once he was done peering down at it.

Zach leaned against his cart once more, looking for a clear baggie. “If this supposed ‘insomniac’ would like a sample, he could also come in at any time and get one-free of charge.”

Zach had meant it kindly, but when Chris looked up he appeared mostly agitated.

Chris pointed at the canister. “This supposed insomniac would really like a sample, please.”

“Not a problem.” Zach opened the small baggie, squeezing the edges with two fingers so the mouth of it formed an O. But when Zach moved in front of Chris and was abruptly avoided with a step back, it was then that Zach confirmed his off vibes. Although over what, he wasn’t quite sure

“Here you go.” Zach sealed it and handed it over.

“Thank you.” Chris looked down at the dried chunks of root, feeling them with fingers through the bag.

“You make a tea with them-with a tea ball.” Zach moved towards the counter and grabbed a small one from a holder. “Place a few pinches between the mesh cage here, submerge in hot water for five minutes, and you should be good.”

Chris looked down at both objects, swallowed, then looked up sharply. It almost made Zach take a step back from the abrupt and obvious change in mood.

“I need to ask you further questions at a later date,” Chris said, eyeing him steadily.

Zach nodded. “Sure?” Although he thought he had been doing just that ten minutes ago. “Come by tomorrow morning, at eight?” Zach laughed purposefully, trying to lighten the mood. “The kids will be making pancakes, and Joey will just eat all the hard work if nobody intervenes.”

But instead of smiling like Zach wanted, Chris only nodded back. “That’s fine.”

They exchanged another look-one that Zach wished he could pinpoint-before Chris walked away from him, opening the door to the shop.

The bells clanged together as Chris turned and said, “Have a good evening, Mr. Quinto.”

And before Zach could wish him the same, Chris closed the door and exited the shop, turning left towards a known area of tourist motels.

***

Strangely, Zach wasn’t any more nervous about Chris’ arrival than he’d been in the past week. There was a part of him-an acceptance now-which felt he was likely living the last moments of an old life, about to be turned over to the new.

“Dad, what’s this?” Zoe asked, helping to organize leftover herbs from the shop into the spell parlor.

Instead of the valerian root she was supposed to be handling, there was a small leather journal in her hands.

Zach bundled lavender together with twine and quirked an ironic lip. He had been about Zoe’s age when he had finished that version of his book of shadows.

“An old journal of mine.”

She fingered through it, and Zach had no qualms with that. She probably recognized some of the spells-maybe surprised by others.

“You did a love spell?”

He faltered in hanging the dry bundle and almost dropped the entire batch in his right hand. There was something tugging in memory, although he couldn’t quite place it.

“’I wish for a love that I can’t resist… someone so perfect, they can’t exist’,” Zoe read verbatim, and that triggered the memory for him.

The light of the full moon-the pain him and his mother still had over Pop. Joey meeting him on the balcony.

Zach turned around, seeing Zoe scan the page from twenty years ago.

She looked up eagerly. “Was this about Papa?”

Zach looked down at the herbs on the table, wanting to twine another batch of lavender. But instead he shook his head-he couldn’t lie to Zoe. Besides being cruel, she was always clever enough to tell.

“No, babe,” he said regretfully. What a story that would’ve been-although the damage of the love spell would’ve been his own, and would’ve perhaps only made the eventual end only worse.

Zoe nodded. “I guess Papa’s hair wasn’t ‘like hay’.”

Zach gave a small smile. “No, it wasn’t.” It had been dark like the night, and Zach had loved combing his fingers through it.

The pain wasn’t as poignant as it had been. The sting in his chest still there, but easing with acceptance over time. Zach imagined he’d always love Eric, and would always miss him-but he was 31 years old. Eventually human nature would catch up with his grief and help him move on.

As Zoe contemplated the pages, Zach went back to tying some other herbs. With the twine they made little broomsticks of sorts to be hung up, simple but symbolic. Mama liked them for the fireplace, using them to honor the Goddess Brighid-she would hang these bundles on hooks for her altar, only to burn them every New Moon in a sacrifice. It was his mother’s way of honoring family, of making sure they all stayed safe and together in their home.

“Dad?” Zoe interrupted again, and Zach looked up from a bundle of chamomile.

She closed the book and put it back in a drawer of writing supplies. She said quietly, “I bet that man is still out there, you know. The one with the yellow hair.”

Zach leaned on the table. “I suppose he is.”

She turned around to look at him, gathering a bagged bundle of sage. “I bet he’s really nice.” Zoe looked up, and an unexpected small smile was on her face. “I hope you meet him soon.”

Zach bit his bottom lip, watching as she went back to placing herbs in their proper compartments. He wanted to say a soft Thank you, but instead he whispered, “I love you, Zo.”

The words hung in the room, but he knew she had heard them. The silence was further proof of an acceptance that they would be okay.

Part Four